#Senior CLASS Award

[b3ach-bunn7]

STILL LOVE YOU

You, a senior at Jujutsu high, are just trying to enjoy your last year in your schools theatre team. And then Gojo gets cast at your lead and love interest, and everything takes a turn for the worse

Highschool au, (one sided) enemies to lovers, slight nsfw, sooo theatrey

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Gojo Satoru is the annoying kind of person that’s good at everything.

And you wish you were being dramatic, but you are unfortunately not. You’ve seen him dominate a basketball court in the gym, and your whole school has seen him winning awards for always being top of the class. He’s popular, too. Probably due to skin that is so unfairly clear for a teenager, and the fact that he looks good enough to be a model. You think he might actually be one. He’s rich enough to have his family pay him into a Versace show. 

Everyone loves Gojo, but the thing that makes you hate him most is that, of all the talents in the world, Gojo had to have the voice of an angel.

It’s no secret that you’re a theatre kid. You accept that title with pride, and you’ve never been embarrassed of it. Of course, you’ve considerably calmed down from your younger years, which you are kind of embarrassed by. You doubt anyone would ever find the videos of you horribly singing defying gravity on YouTube now, though. You’re a senior and you know the social suicide it is to be too outwardly obsessed with anything.

But theatre was your safe space. You were good at it and you loved the little community you’d built up with all your fellow castmates. Every year the school would put on a show and you were in every one, and for the past two years, your seniority above the younger students made sure you always got a part. It did also help you were quite a good singer. If you were being modest. It’s also your last year before you’re off to college, so you need to make sure this year is your best.

You knew everyone too. All the tech guys, the estate managers that set up the stage every year, and every single person who auditions. Which is why you have not a single clue why Gojo is currently talking to the head of drama at the front of the hall.

You cross your arms and scowl. There is absolutely no reason for him to be in here, in your safe space. You nudge Choso’s arm and he looks up from his phone. He’s one of the tech guys, and also your best friend, but he always comes to rehearsals to keep you company.

“What?”

“Why is he here?” You mutter, and Choso turns towards the front.

“Why is who here?”

“Gojo. Doesn’t he interfere enough in this school? Now he has to be here? Theatre is mine, Choso.”

He tilts his head a little. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“It does in my head.” You sigh and sit down. The plastic chairs of the auditorium stick to your thighs and you pull your school skirt down and huff. 

The show this year is Grease. So not only is this definitely your year, because you think you might burn this school down if you don’t get Sandy, but you need it to be perfect. The only problem is is that the theatre lovers at Jujutsu High are quite limited. That, and Yuta, the usual lead for these sorts of things, has taken to sport this year, so if a guy like Gojo auditions there's no way he won't get Danny. You tell Choso as much and he snorts a laugh.

“Is that what’s got you so annoyed?”

“Yes. Don't say it like it's stupid.”

Choso hums. His attention is back on his phone, where his fingers swipe leisurely on Subway Surfers. “It kind of is.”

“Imagine if- If Gojo suddenly barged into your tech room and started doing all the lights for the show.”

“I’d be grateful for the help.”

You shove his shoulder and he tuts as he hits a train. “Hey.”

“It’s just so annoying. Isn’t there a test for him to ace or a basketball court to bother?” You mutter.

Gojo is smiling brightly at Mrs Jones, the head of drama, a strict lady who always favoured the drama kids. Something you’ve never minded. You love the private smiles and soft voice she just saves for you guys. So you have no idea why she’s looking at Gojo like he’s hung the stars. It can’t be good.

“The boys and girls audition separately, so I won't even see his.” You shake your head. “I’ll just be bombarded with it when the cast list drops. And if he gets the lead I’ll crash out.”

“Oh, however will you survive.” He deadpans.

“I might not.”

Choso chuckles. “Why do you even hate him so much?”

You watch as Gojo bows, writing his name down on the audition list. He saunters over to his equally attractive friend, Geto, and gets clapped on the back. 

“I don’t know. He’s- He’s annoying. So good at everything. Drama is mine.”

“Ah.” Choso nods understandingly. “It’s jealousy.”

“Shut up and play your game.”

.

You were right. You were right that he’d get the lead and you were right that it would fill you with insurmountable rage.

“You see this? Oh my god. He got Danny!” You yell.

The halls bustle with students rushing to class, but you're rooted right in front of the information board. You’ve dropped your backpack on the floor in your rage, and you snatch it up and hoist it onto your shoulder. Choso leans forward to look at the sheet. He points to the line where your name is written in bold.

“Yeah, but you got Sandy!” He smiles encouragingly.

“Yeah, duh. I sang ‘Hopelessly Devoted’ perfectly.”

Choso rolls his eyes. “So modest, too.”

You smile sheepishly. “Sorry, sorry.”

It’s okay. You can live with this. You guess it’s not that much of a big deal. At least with a guy like Gojo on the cast, the show will get more sales, more publicity. He’s got enough little fangirls that will be dying to see him in even a slightly romantic role that you’re sure this year the show will be sold out. Though you’re unsure how that bone white hair will work on a greaser.

Maybe you’re just dramatic. It’s sort of built into your genetic code. Maybe this will be fun, meeting new people and all that. You rub at your eyes.

“It’s fine. It can’t be that bad. I-”

“Hey! Sandy!”

You turn at the sound of a voice you’ve never spoken to. Gojo is taller than he looks when he bounds over and stands right in front of you, bright blue eyes peering at your over tinted sunglasses.

“Congrats on getting the lead.” He grins. “Excited to be my lover?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Yeah, scratch that. This guy is insufferable.

“We’re indoors. Take the sunglasses off.” You drawl, and walk off, dragging Choso behind you.

.

You wish that had been the last time you spoke to Gojo. But instead, you start seeing him every single week.

Your annoyance only grows as he starts to frequent the places you usually hold so dear to you more and more. On Mondays you meet up in Mrs Bergman’s room to practise the songs in the show. She’s your favourite music teacher, young and excited about everything she does. It turns out he does have an amazing voice. Which he loves to make known with the litany of very unnecessary riffs he loves to use while signing. You can see him snicker whenever your voice falters slightly or you miss a note, and all it does is piss you off more. 

And then you see him on Wednesday and Thursdays after school, where you and the rest of the cast rehearse all together. You have two months until the show, a fact Mrs Jones doesn’t hesitate to remind you all of every second of every day. And he gets on so well with all the cast and the teachers. He brings snacks on the days where things run too long and he is always happy and smiling. You want to throttle him.

You sigh heavily and drop your bag down on the floor. The backstage of your school's little auditorium isn’t too big, but you’ve claimed a far corner for yourself. It's a small rickety table and a chair stolen from the audience but you call it home. You pull out your water and take a sip. You should probably start warming up but you just got out of a chemistry exam and your brain hurts. You need a few minutes to yourself.

“Hey, Sandy.” You cringe as two arms come to rest on your shoulders. “How’s my beautiful costar doing today?”

You shrug him off. “Your beautiful costar wants you to kindly fuck off.”

Gojo pouts, pulling up a chair beside you. He sits too close and you can smell the heady scent of expensive cologne. He’s unbuttoned the first three buttons of the school assigned white button-ups, and he pushes his sleeves up his forearms. The black sunglasses he can't seem to live without are pushed up on his head, white hairs falling around them.

“That’s not very nice.”

“Good thing I wasn't trying to be.”

He laughs loudly, and you roll your eyes. The worst part about Gojo is for all your anger towards him he just seems to find you hilarious. “Why are you here? Don’t you have to run lines, or something?” You snap. Your much needed break has ended suddenly, so you take to pulling out your script.

“Yeah, I was thinking we could run lines together.”

You pause where you were digging in your bag. “What?”

Gojo leans an elbow on the table. “Run lines with me, baby. It’ll be fun.” “Don’t call me that.”

“Okay, okay. Just- I don’t know anyone else in the show.”

You look at him incredulously. “You don't know me! We have literally never spoken before!”

Gojo looks slightly offended. “Rude. Who have you been talking to for the past month of rehearsals?”

You falter slightly. You shake your head. “That’s not talking, that's- That’s rehearsing. Something completely different.”

Gojo rolls his eyes. “Right. Okay, fine. Can we start talking then? We’re practically friends anyways.”

You scoff a laugh. “That’s bold of you to say. It takes a lot for me to tolerate the presence of you and those stupid glasses.”

Gojo pouts once more. He slips the glasses off his head and twirls them between long, slender fingers. “Hey. I have sensitive eyes.”

He blinks rapidly, bright blue, and you raise an eyebrow. 

“I don’t care.”

“You will.” He singsongs and you wave him away.

.

It’s been a week. That's all you need to learn that Gojo Satoru is a very persistent person.

He waits at your locker after class. He uses that charming nature to make the guy you’re supposed to sit with in history move two rows over so Gojo can pester you as easily as he’d like from right next to you. He interrupts your lunches in the cafeteria with your friends, he is just everywhere.

And all so that you’ll run lines with him, and practise outside of your scheduled times. It’s dumb. It’s annoying. You have no idea why he wants it so bad. Maybe he takes pride in how frustrated you get at his insistence. You and Gojo had never even spoken once before all this, so his eagerness to become friends is just weird.

It’s even weirder when he's dressed like a greaser.

“Come on, sweetcheeks. The show is in like, a month and a half. Don’t you want to practise summer nights?”

You cover your mouth, struggling to stifle your laughter. Today is one of your first dress rehearsals. He’s got a leather jacket on and his hair has been slicked back with way too much gel. “You look so fucking stupid.” You giggle and Gojo slumps.

“Right.” He smoothes the side of his head and you watch as a strand of crispy hair curls around his face. “I look hot as fuck.”

It is kind of working on him. But you will never tell him that.

“Sure.”

“Like you look any better.” He mumbles.

You think you look cute. The long yellow maxi skirt and matching cardigan looks good. Your hair is still not styled but you're sure the ponytail will suit you.

“I do look better. I look cute.”

Gojo looks you up and down. “I can agree with that.”

You scowl. “Pervert.”

You’re saved from hearing a response because Miss Jones calls for attention at the front of the room. Luckily for Gojo and unluckily for you, today is the day to run over summer nights. Mrs Jones directs the freshmen she's chosen as her assistant for this show to prep the stage. You warm up, practise some runs, and then you see it out of the corner of your eyes.

Gojo is chatting up MeiMei. At least that’s what it looks like from where you’re standing. She’s leaning against one of the fake cardboard cars in the back of the set and he is standing with his arms crossed, a stupid half smile on his face as he makes her laugh. Gojo is not that funny. She giggles again and nudges his shoulder. You watch her hand linger and slide down his arm, resting on his bicep. Is this a porno? You’re in school for god's sake. He catches your eye and you turn away before you can see his reaction.

You suppose that’s just how Gojo is. It’s not a surprise to anyone that he’s flirting with MeiMei. Gojo flirts with everyone and everything. He’s the kind of person that knows exactly what he’s doing, how alluring he is, and does it regardless. It’s rude. Really. The way he can call you cute and then make MeiMei look like he just proposed to her.

You hate him. 

“Alright! Gojo and Y/N, please head to the front of the stage. We’re going from Act 2 scene 4.” Mrs Jones yells from the front of the room.

You all shuffle into position. Gojo clears his throat.

“You ready, Sandy?” He whispers, raising an eyebrow at you.

You shoot him a glare. “Shut up. Stop calling me that.” You whisper as loudly as you can.

Gojo falters a little, and you watch as, for maybe the first time ever, a little flicker of annoyance crosses his features.

“What’s up with you?” He questions and you brush him off.

You adjust the waistband of your skirt. You’re a good actress. You can put aside your anger to portray the perfect in love teenage girl. 

Or at least you thought you could. 

It turns out it’s much harder when the person you’re supposed to be in love with is who you’re so angry at. Your lines feel stilted and your voice sounds off. All your failed acting just makes you even more frustrated. You’re supposed to be good at this. And it makes it worse that everyone can notice it around you. It takes three runs before Mrs Jones stands from her seat at the front, script flying in the air as she shakes her head.

“No, okay, what is going on with you two?” She snaps. “You look like you hate each other!”

“It’s not my fault! It’s her!” Gojo points at you and you scowl.

“It’s not my fault, it’s so hard to work with him!”

“Me? You're the one with the mood swings!”

“Alright!” Mrs Jones' voice booms across the room. You both shut up immediately.

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know what has gotten into you two today, but you’re both done. I’m going to call this a one off and practise some other scenes today. You two go sit down and get over whatever petty squabbles you’re in.”

You nod tersely and storm off the stage. You snatch up your uniform and huff your way over to the changing room. Changing room is a stretch. It’s actually an old storage closet you all use because the toilets are way across the school and none of you could be bothered to walk all the way there. You prop your shoe in the corner of the door. This room doesn't open from the inside for whatever weird reason, so you have to remember to leave it open so you can actually get out. You start pulling out your uniform when you hear the door creak open behind you.

You turn quickly and watch Gojo stride in.

“We need to talk.”

You watch as he kicks your shoe out the way. Lets the door start swinging shut. You reach forward, quickly, but you know you’ll be too late.

“Wait, Gojo, don’t-”

The door clicks shut and you groan. Gojo looks at you, confused.

“What?”

“The door. It doesn’t open from inside, which means I am now stuck in here with you.”

Gojo frowns. “You. What- Why do you say it like that? What did I ever do to you?” He asks, incredulous.

“No. We are not having this conversation.”

“Why?” He steps forward, and you frown. “We need to settle your little one-sided beef now.”

You frown. The room is small, empty apart from shelves stacked with toilet paper and old junk you think should probably be thrown out. You back hits the only table in the room. You feel slightly cornered with the way Gojo is staring you down,

“It’s not one-sided, I-”

“Oh, but it is.” He laughs. “You hate me, Sandy. And I don't hate you back. That sounds pretty one sided to me.” 

You furrow your brows. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I will if you’re being stupid. You’re going to ruin the show over this.”

You push past him and walk to the door. You rattle the doorknob and curse under your breath.

“Think it’s locked.”

“Oh, shut up!” You yell. “You just think you’re so much better than everyone!”

“I kind of am.”

You groan, frustrated. “See? You’re so-”

“Confident? Charming?”

You throw the school shirt that’s still in your hand at him. He catches it easily. 

“So vain. It’s so annoying!” You breathe heavily.

Gojo studies you carefully. He takes one large step towards you, and you try to back up but you just hit the door. The room is small and every time you try to back away from him you’re remind of that fact.

“You know, I don’t think you hate me.”

Gojo looks smug. He crosses his arms and the leather jacket stretches over his arms. The light above you two is small and barely illuminates the room, but it seems like his eyes are lighting up as they stare you down, lips tilted into a smirk.

“What?”

“I said-“

“I heard what you said.” You snap. “I very much do hate you.”

Gojo tilts his head. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Lying doesn’t suit you, sweetheart.”

You feel anger flare up in your chest. “You’re wrong.”

Gojo scoffs. “I’m never wrong.” He takes another step closer. You’d wish this interaction could’ve happened when you and Gojo are not dressed like you’ve just stepped out of the seventies. You swallow roughly and his eyes dart to the lines of your throat that sinks beneath the collar of your shirt.

“I’m very smart. And I’m also very attentive.” He says.

“And you’re also very up your own ass.”

He doesn’t reply to that. Just takes one little step closer.

“I saw you looking at me and MeiMei. You looked really angry, you know.” He nods and you shake your head. He drags out his syllables, his voice deeper and softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“No. I wasn’t angry, I was. I was- grossed out. You two were practically humping on the stage.” 

Gojo laughs. “We weren't humping. Maybe you should’ve been looking a little closer.” He murmurs and you push past him.

But there's nowhere to go. Just a locked door and you and him behind it. Your phone is sitting uselessly back in the auditorium and Gojo makes no move to phone for help, so you also assume he’s done the same. You rub at your eyes and you hear Gojo sigh behind you.

“So. How are we going to fix this?” He asks and you shrug.

“I don’t know. I guess we just wait out for someone to come looking for us. Choso probably-”

Gojo holds up a hand to stop you. “Not that.” 

There's a hint of impatience in his voice and when you turn back around he’s somehow shrugged off his leather coat and tossed it on the floor without you noticing. He’s starting to piss you off. Much more than he usually does.

“Fix what?”

“Your undying affection and lust for me?”

He says those words, those stupid and completely ridiculous words, with so much sincerity and seriousness that it takes a second for them to really sink in. And when they do, your mouth gapes and his grins and you shake your head furiously.

“What? You- You have lost your mind!” You yell, and he places a hand on his heart.

“Don’t worry. I’m not mad or anything, baby, I’m really flattered. It’s just getting in the way of the show, and all so, we should probably sort this out now.”

You have never met anyone so overconfident in your whole life. There he is, standing in front of you like he’s the best thing that ever happened to you. There with his hair that's sticking up where the gel has lost its hold, blinking bright white lashes at you that curve over blue eyes that you think can read your mind. And he licks his lips, lips that are plump and always glossy. Sort of always so kissable, if you’re being completely honest.

Okay. You don’t know where that thought came from. Because you don’t like Gojo. You hate him and his smooth, pitch-perfect voice that’s always running loops around your head. Especially that stupid accent he’s been trying to convince Mrs Jones to let him use for the play. It makes you laugh. He makes you laugh.

Oh God. Do you like Gojo? No. You don’t. You can’t. More out of principle sake. You’ve sort of spent the last few weeks running your mouth about him to Choso, so you might have to hate him so you can stand on business. 

You realise you’ve been quiet for too long. You open your mouth to say something but you honestly have no idea what.

“Are you thinking about me? Is that why you’re so quiet?”

“Fuck you, Gojo.” He tilts his head to the side. “Really? You want me to?”

“I-“ Your face heats. “What?”

“You’ve been saying that a lot, you know.” 

Gojo takes the glasses out of his shirt and tosses them on the table in the back. They clatter as they hit it and you jolt a little at the noise. 

You don’t know if you want Gojo to fuck you. It’s really hot in here and you wish the collar of your shirt wasn’t so pressing into your throat and you wish Gojo wasn’t looking at you like that. It’s not how he was looking at MeiMei on the stage or anyone else you’d seen him flirt with. It looks hungry, and yet satisfied like he knows he's about to get what he wants.

“You wanna kiss me so bad that it makes you look stupid, Y/N.” He reaches close enough that he grabs two of your hands in his own. Hands that are bigger and warmer than yours. If you weren’t so dazed by this whole situation you’d push him off. He smiles at you softly.

“Don’t think I haven't noticed. It's cute. Watching you act all mad at me always. I think it's a whole lot of unresolved sexual tension.”

Your face is burning up. You try and tug your hands out of his but he tightens his grip and pulls you closer. Your chest bumps against his, and you look up. Has he always been this tall?

“It’s not unresolved tension.”

“So you don’t want me to kiss you?”

You bite your bottom lip. Gojo’s eyes follow the action. 

You have two options here. You could slap Gojo in his smug face and spend however long it takes for someone to find you two in awkward stilted silence. Or. You could take him up on his offer. Pass the time. Maybe answer the very quiet, very incessant voice in the back of your head that has in fact been thirsting over Gojo for the past two months.

“Fine. Do it and then shut up.”

His hand curls around your cheek and lifts you up. He leans in, close enough that his lips brush against yours as he speaks. “You nervous?” He whispers.

“I thought I said shut up.” You whisper back and he grins.

Gojo presses his lips against yours. He’s so tender with you. So soft as he pushes closer, his other hand squeezing your waist. His lips are as smooth as they look and he bites your bottom one and licks into your mouth. He tastes like mint and the too sweet milkshakes they sell in the cafeteria and you lean in closer. You think it would be smarter to pull back and away because you’re already starting to regret this. But then Gojo’s hand slides up your waist and over your chest and you whine in the back of your throat as your mind goes blank.

He smirks. “Love those noises you make, baby.” His lips and red and bitten as he presses them on your chin, your neck, fingers clumsily unbuttoning your shirt.

“Stop, Gojo.”

“Satoru. Call me Satoru.” He utters, licking the mark he sucks into the valley of your chest.

Your eyes flutter shut as his fingertips push your shirt open. Your bra is lacy and pink and Gojo raises his eyebrows.

“All this for me?” He slaps the elastic against his skin and you wince.

“Gojo-”

“Satoru.” He scolds as he bites down on the top of your breast.

“Satoru, please.” You whimper, hand grabbing his hair and pulling him back.

Gojo smiles, boyish and handsome as he presses a kiss to the red mark he left behind. 

“You're so pretty, you know. I love it when you get all mad at me. I love it when you stare at me all the time.”

“I don’t stare at you, Satoru.”

He groans. “And the way you say my name. I could fuck you right here.” He kisses your neck once more.

“I’ve said your name like twice-”

“Say it more.”

“And I am not fucking you in a storage room closet.” You pull him back once more and he places one more hasty kiss on your lips.

He pouts. You’re sure you look a mess. Your shirt is unbuttoned and your bra lopsided where Gojo had been toying with the fabric. Your hair is ruffled just like his and you wonder if your lips looked as kissed out as his does.

“Boring. Would’ve made it real good for you.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. It’s not that you don’t want to. Because judging by the coil of need in your stomach and the embarrassing wet patch you're sure is on your underwear, you are not having sex at school.. Not only could anyone walk in, but your own head wouldn’t ever forgive you for it.

You take to fixing yourself up. Gojo leans against the wall and watches you. After you button up your shirt and smooth your hair down, you turn to him.

“Stop staring at me like that.”

He hums. “You love it.”

“No. You’re not even my type.”

“You kissed me like I am.”

You huff, busying yourself with packing up your uniform. You’ll just go home in this little get up. You are not getting changed in front of that horny man. You turn around, and prop yourself against the table. You keep the distance between the two of you because you’re not sure you’d be able to keep your hands to yourself otherwise.

“So. We really aren’t hooking up in here?” He mumbles.

You shake your head. “But. We can hook up later? At mine maybe?” He asks hopefully.

You feel your face heat. You shrug. And then you nod. Gojo grins widely, digging into his pocket.

“Perfect. Here, give me your number.” He slips his phone into your hand and you gape at the device.

You wave it in the air. “You had this the whole time? And you didn’t call someone to let us out?” Gojo has the decency to look a little apologetic. He shrugs. “Yeah, well. This place makes for a good confession room. You might not have kissed me if I did this in the auditorium. Close proximity, and everything” He explains, and you shove his shoulder.

“Dickhead.”

“Yeah, the dickhead you just made out with.”

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guys icl this wholeeee fic was me projecting my theatre kid dreams.. and my love for gojo and his overconfidence idk its kinda sexy...

also i love that all my fics r just enemies ot lovers like YESS give me that tension

and i WILL be writing a pt 2 where they get down and dirty.. the only reason its not in this fic is because this was already 5k words..

HOPE U ALL ENJOYED BBYS!!

PART TWO

[pumpkinrootbeer]

on the subject of voyager being absurd I need to talk about how insane of character Harry is like he's actually not just overacheiver career boy, he's overacheiver in Life because he felt like his parents loved him too much for what he was so he had to earn their love. he was literally in juliard youth symphony right. music was a very real viable career for him. more than that like yes he was also an absurdly skilled engineer. in a timeline where he never left earth he gets promoted to lieutenant in like 6 months, wins several awards, and designs a revolutionary engine. and still in the Canon Real World he graduated summa cum laude of his Starfleet class. Literally top of his class. he also has an award in piloting proficiency. and also ends up being a senior office on his first day.

but more than any of that, the most absurd thing to me is he was a star athlete. I think about this daily like he was captain of the Velocity team and also a fucking. three times champion in the stupid space racketball game. like that's so insane to me. just star athlete on the starship. it's like— okay what's an athlete gay people are likely to know. okay before Caitlin Clark was in the wnba she was really big in college basketball right. so it's like if you worked at NASA and one day Caitlin Clark just strolled into the office, and then due to a series of increasingly unfortunate events you ended up on Mars and Caitlin Clark was also there. on Mars. the whole time with you. am i getting this across does anyone else feel how insane this is.

[sutorus]

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DESCRIPTION: gojo satoru and geto suguru are the jewels of your university. glued at the hip, you have your eyes set on one of the best friends, but you should already know to expect double the trouble with this packaged deal.

PAIRING: gojo satoru x reader

WC: 3.8k

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. fem reader, afab reader, pet names (baby, honey, sweetheart, some derogatory terms like s!ut :c), university!au, frat!au, characters are in their 20s, oral (fem receiving), gojo is a douche (sorry!) with a soft spot for you, gojo and geto are both taller than reader, gojo wants you sooo bad you don’t even know, dubcon if you squint, annoyances to… something else!, implied 3sum but that’s for part 2 ig bc i got tired. enjoy!

A/N: first fic here yayyyy pls support (kiss kiss

they were those boys in your campus. every university had them, or so you’re told. the ones to be proud of, but also weary of. the ones who could show you a good time you’d probably regret the next morning. the ones you’d tell stories about and never really forget.

at your school, that was geto suguru and gojo satoru. you heard they knew each other since high school, best friends back then and best friends now. they were part of the most infamous party house, the most awarded college teams, the most scandalous groupchats, the most torrid bathroom stalls conversations. everybody knew them, every guy wanted to be them, every girl wanted to be with them. you know the drill.

and although this was only your second year, you’d had enough run-ins with them to know exactly what they wanted — and what you wanted, too.

the two were truly inseparable despite not being all that similar, just like brothers. considering the stories you’ve heard, that proximity would be almost weird if they weren’t so hot. but that’s a can of worms you don’t want to open and, most importantly, don’t need to open in order to sit on geto suguru’s dick.

because of course it’s geto. 

sure, gojo is hot — in a really fucking annoying way. in a way that makes you want to slap that stupid grin off his face every time he ogles you and your friends at a party. you’d go for it, really, if you didn’t have to live to see the next day. you knew gojo would never let you act like it never happened, and not in a romantic way, but in a disgusting braggy way. 

gojo satoru is hot as fuck but you’re not built to handle him, if you’re being honest. not innocent enough, not devoted enough, not googly-eyed and pink-glossy-lips-drooly enough. gojo satoru was complicated like that. he came with a warning label as big as a cvs receipt in which big bold red letters warned DO NOT TRUST. and you knew better, anyway. 

but geto? geto was pretty much perfect. his looks were sweet, dark and kind of edgy, like a black kitty with really sharp teeth. he had really cute fuck me eyes and really big veiny hands and a really cool manbun and you wanted to sit your ass on his fat sick. it was simple math. 

the only thing that preoccupied you, though, was his reputation. and not his manwhore reputation or his party animal reputation or his fucks-hard-and-doesn’t-cuddle-after reputation — no, who cares about that. what worried you was his reputation with his best friend gojo satoru. 

ever since you enrolled at your university you’ve been hearing rumors. apparently, the two of them were so close that they shared everything. everything. 

would never let a brother go hungry and all. 

so yes, there was the slight possibility (only corroborated by, i don’t know, the hundreds of girls you’ve heard the same story from) that geto would want a threeway. 

you, having sex with gojo satoru? you can’t say you’ve never thought about it. you did have that one class together, your freshman year. in retrospect, the fact that he was your senior and taking the same elective as you should’ve been enough of a red flag. 

by the end of the first lesson he came up to you and told you to text him if you ever needed any materials for the class, almost sounding sincere before shrugging and saying, “i’m just on top of things. by the way, would you like to be one of them?”

and scene. 

that was your first impression of gojo satoru. 

if you two fucked a year after that initial offer of his, would it be comical or tragic? he’d never look at you the same way — that is, he’d stop looking at you like he can see your tits through your shirt with x-ray vision and start looking at you like he has seen your tits because he will have. and that sounds annoying. 

but whatever. you’ve heard the stories of how gojo fucks, after all. it’s not like it would be a bad time. 

and tonight seems like the perfect night to make a stupid decision like that because geto looks so fucking delicious in a hawaiian shirt (how is that even possible?) leaning against his yucky frat’s wall and sipping a beer. 

god, you want to bite him. is that weird?

“is that weird?” you turn to shoko, who so kindly accompanied you to another house party with the promise of free, gojo-sponsored liquor. “i want to bite geto.”

shoko looks disgusted, all too acquainted with your ramblings about the guy. her eyes scan around the room before settling towards the kitchen. “i’ll leave you to it, then, and go get a drink. do not abandon me until i’m drunk enough to be by myself in this shithole.”

you nod to her before she’s off to get her fix. and you’re gearing up to get yours, adjusting your skirt and correcting your posture until a too familiar, grating voice yells out from behind you:

“yo!” 

you sigh, rolling your eyes before turning around. 

“gojo.”

he throws one of his long arms over your shoulders, pressing your sides together. your fingers absentmindedly go back to your skirt, pulling it down. 

gojo has to lean down to talk to you, his face hovering over yours. you can feel how hot his torso is against you, his white shirt already completely unbuttoned. it sends a shiver down your spine. 

“long time no see, cutie,” gojo’s breath is warm against your ear, his voice high to be heard over the music. he gestures with his solo cup, “how are you finding the facility?”

you look up and give him a tight smile. “gross as always! is there something you want, or…”

he laughs heartily, and you feel his whole body rattle against yours. you huff in annoyance, antsy to get a word in with geto before he’s occupied. 

“so mean to me!” he looks down at you and if it weren’t for his sunglasses, that he wears indoors at nighttime like a dick, you’d be able to see his eyes looking right down your cleavage. “just when i was coming here to do you a favor.”

you can’t help but laugh at that. 

“what in the world could you possibly do for me?” he lifts an eyebrow and your finger flies up in between your faces. “don’t answer that, actually.”

“i came here to tell you a very interesting secret,” he sing songs right into the shell of your ear, earning another shiver from you. you take the cup from his hand and sip, too distracted to know what it tastes like. nibbling on the plastic rim, you gesture for him to go on. 

gojo’s smile grows that much darker, that much more sinister, a dimple appearing on the side of his cheek. 

“a little birdie told me suguru’s dying to screw you tonight.”

your demeanor must visibly brighten at that information because gojo lets out another lurching laugh. your eyes instinctively zero in on geto, across from you, who’s either doing a really good job of pretending he doesn’t hear the two you talking in the doorway or is genuinely clueless as to what his best friend is saying about him. 

you force yourself to regain your composure, shoving gojo’s solo cup into his bare chest and wiggling out of his hold. “and you care because?”

but you suspect you already know the answer to that. he puts his hands up in mock surrender, and god, your height difference is kind of reeling. 

“like i said, ‘s just a favor,” you eye him suspiciously. he continues, “he wants to fuck you, you want to fuck him. i’m just being a nice guy.”

right. nice guy. 

“and who says i want to fuck him?” you try to play it cool, even though you probably know as much as satoru knows as much as suguru knows that you’d crawl on your knees towards geto right now if that meant you could put his cock in your mouth. 

and who could blame you? 

“playing dumb?” gojo pokes your cheek. his voice grows thicker, “cute. look at you,” and he does, hungrily, eyes scanning your entire form and making you feel oddly self conscious. 

he snakes a hand around your waist and leans in close again, whispering into your ear, “all dolled up just for him. in class with me you show up in other dudes’ hoodies but for darling suguru you dress slutty. everyone knows.”

you inhale sharply. what is he playing at? is he trying to get into your head or what? people dress up at parties, people want to fuck people, it’s a thing. god, gojo is so unbearable. 

you scowl up at him. 

“first of all,” you rip his hand from your waist and he lets it fall limply by his side. “second of all, again, how is that any of your business? salty you can’t get laid without the hotter best friend’s help?”

gojo just smirks, huffing out a chuckle through his nostrils. “you don’t have to worry about me, sweetheart. although i have to say, i do worry about you…”

“what? why?” you can’t help sounding sincere at his words. he twirls a piece of your hair with his index finger. 

“���m just saying, what kind of best friend would i be if i handed you off to suguru without taking you for a test drive first?” gojo’s disgusting, he’s audacious and cocky and it’s doing something to you. you find yourself uncharacteristically quiet as he continues, “i mean, for all i know, you just might break once he gets inside.” 

“you’re ridiculous,” you manage to utter, feeling too small and too warm. geto is no longer in your line of sight and neither is shoko and you rapidly start to feel like you’ve fallen into the lion’s den without realizing. 

“you know i’m right,” and you don’t, really, you don’t think he’s right at all but why do you want to prove him wrong so badly? “c’mon, baby, lemme break ya in a little.”

that seems to snap you out of it. “ew. you’re disgusting, where is—“

“ugh, i love it when you degrade me,” he groans sardonically, hand leaving your waist and grabbing your hand instead. “come on. i’ll take you to him.”

whatever that feeling was just then, you shake it off and relunctantly let gojo guide you through the sea of bodies in his living room, the two of you earning some whistles from his friends. eyes too busy scanning for geto, you’re surprised when you suddenly end up in front of the bathroom. 

“quick pit stop!” gojo tries. you roll your eyes. 

“you won’t even try to take me to your bed? like, you live here,” you say. 

gojo is grinning. “nah, nah. room’s for the main attraction,” he winks and turns the doorknob, letting you go inside first. what a gentleman. “this shouldn’t take long.”

the bathroom door muffles the loud music outside, leaving your ears ringing in the silence. gojo looks like a douchebag, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, shirt unbuttoned and wet with some sort of liquor, and your eyes do not dare scan any lower than that. 

you suppose he is a douchebag.

but he sounds so painfully sincere when he whines low in his throat, “wanna kiss you so bad.” 

you laugh at his face, pushing yourself up to sit on the counter. 

“i’m serious,” he says, taking a step forward. you instinctively open your legs a little to make more room. 

“you want to what, ‘break me in’, you said?”

gojo laughs and that doesn’t sound sincere at all. he takes another step towards you, slotting his hips in between your thighs. 

“suguru’ll like it sloppy,” and that’s all the explanation he gives you before he’s closing the distance between you two, crashing your lips together. 

you should be feeling ill at his words. you should be pushing him away. if you had any self respect, you would. 

but his hands on you feel so good, he’s kissing you like, yeah, he wanted to so bad. his grip on your hips is almost bruising, pulling your body closer to his so he can grind against you. 

you moan into his mouth and he’s quick to return it, tongue pushing up against yours hungrily. you feel like you’re being devoured, the kiss all encompassing, but it’s not bad, it feels so so good and gojo is so good and—

he breaks your kiss to command, “wrap your legs around me,” and you do so immediately. 

his hands push your skirt up, grabbing your ass and pulling you that much closer to him. you tug on his hair, grinding down hard against him, and he lets out the sweetest, most pitiful moan that sends your head reeling. 

“gojo…” you say his name but you don’t know what for, don’t know what you want or what to ask or what to say, all you know is yes and good and more. “satoru—“

gojo whines and presses his lips to yours desperately, grinding his hard on against your clothed pussy. he’s big, you can feel him all over your cunt, and you suddenly need all these layers between you gone. 

“fuck, let me see,” he swallows hard, pushing your shirt up fully. “lemme see those tits baby, that’s it—”

you puff your chest out when gojo pulls your bra down. you expect him to go for your boobs but instead he goes back in for a kiss, panting into your mouth. 

god, it’s too much. for how collected he acts one hundred percent of the time, seeing gojo satoru disheveled is a power trip. 

“touch me,” you mumble against his lips. 

he gives you a few pecks, nibbling your bottom lip before pulling away. 

“fuck, you’re so fucking perfect,” gojo says, one hand grabbing your tit and another pulling your panties to the side. the cool air on your dripping core makes you shudder, and you feel yourself gush at the slightest brush of his fingers against you. 

he bends down to pop a nipple into his mouth and you arch your back, gripping his hair hard, ‘cause apparently he likes that. you both let out a unison moan as he sucks, saliva audibly swishing inside his mouth. 

you know it’s gonna leave a mark, he’s gonna leave a lot of bruises as he bites and sucks and keeps you distracted while he slips a finger into your wet core. 

you suddenly regain conscience and remember the man working your body with nothing more than his hands and mouth probably has a pretty painful big hard cock inside his pants, so you reach out to help him. 

“wait,” he says, mouth popping against your breast, “wait, you can suck it, i just wanna—i gotta do this first, lemme—“

that’s all he says before giving you another kiss and dropping to his knees. 

you’re obviously not going to complain, you can neglect his dick just fine, nevermind the fact that you want it inside you immediately. but in the meantime, gojo’s got two fingers pumping in and out of you and he’s about to put his face between your legs. 

it’s beautiful, it’s a lot, you want it so fucking bad and it shows. 

“so fucking wet, all f’me” he lays his tongue flat against your clit and licks a fat stripe up your pussy, making you groan in anticipation for what’s to come. “been thinking of this pretty pussy for so long.”

“yeah?,” you whine, brushing some hair away from his face before coaxing his head closer to where you want it. gojo moans in response and starts working his tongue in tight circles over your clit. 

fuck, is gojo satoru in a frat bathroom the best head you’ve ever had? he might be, with the way he expertly rubs his fingers against your walls, instantly finding that spongy patch that makes you jut your hips out. 

“fuck, right there,” you grind against his face, delighting yourself in the debauched moans he makes against your cunt. not only does it feel good, it looks so fucking hot and you can’t tear your eyes away. “stay right there, you’re so good.”

the way he eats it like he needs to, like it’ll save your life, like this alone is enough to make the both of you cum, you can’t help the too-honest praise tumbling from your lips. 

“yeah? tastes so fucking good” he mumbles, rubbing a thumb over your clit. you nod, bottom lip held tightly between your teeth. “play with your tits, baby, those juicy fucking tits, do it for me.”

you obey, head hanging back in pleasure. you keep one hand anchored firmly in his hair, your fingers gripping so hard they start to tingle. 

you shove his face closer, earning a deep groan from him. he noses at your pussy, replacing his fingers in your entrance with his tongue, fucking in and out of you. your breathing has lost all rhythm, your chest feels tight and on fire and a bead of sweat rolls down your back. 

you can faintly make out gojo asking do you like this? just like this baby? and all you can say in response is a string of “yeahs” and breathy little moans. they almost sound surprised, and they might be, because every twist of his tongue and every brush of his fingers knocks the breath right out your lungs. 

it’s so much pleasure that it doesn’t make sense. you think, suddenly, this is why people do drugs, this is why people develop addictions because you have no fucking clue how you’re supposed to live without gojo satoru between your legs from now on. 

“satoru. i wanna cum,” you whine, mind to mouth filter completely obliterated because all you want to do is fucking cum for gojo satoru. message relayed. 

“fuck yeah, baby, you wanna cum? i’m gonna make you cum?” he’d sound pathetic if you didn’t know how much of a whore he was. his fingers go back inside you and speed up ever so slightly, his lips wrapping around your clit. gojo’s tongue works you over and over and over and all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears and the sound of gojo swallowing every few seconds. 

he doesn’t stop, mumbles his dirty talk right into your pussy, like fucking cum for me baby cum all over my face yeah do it i’m gonna make you cum so hard god you look so fucking sexy wanna fuck you so bad, and you don’t want to know why but it makes you all the more intent in coming the hardest you ever have. 

you grip gojo’s hair and grind into his face mercilessly, revelling in the gurgling sounds coming from between your legs. 

“ohhh fuck, fuck, satoru i’m so close, just keep doing that, yeah just like that—“ gojo groans, using his free hand to play with your nipple. 

it’s too much, it’s too good, the coil in your belly that’s been building up since you started entertaining the idea of maybe getting laid tonight finally snapping. 

you’re sure you’ve never been this loud as you cum, hard, you can feel it gushing out of you and right into gojo’s awaiting mouth. with ringing ears and trembling legs, you find purchase in his hair as you keep cumming for him. 

the muscles on your thighs seize up as you ride out your orgasm against gojo’s face, your feet trying to find any sort of balance or solid ground. but you wiggle desperately in his hold, the man below you fulfilling his promise of drinking every last drop of you until the two of you are satisfied. 

you’re catching your breath when gojo finally pulls away from you, his face and neck flushed as you’re sure yours are. your back falls against the foggy bathroom mirror, chest rising and falling dramatically as you catch your breath. 

he finally stands up, sneaking a very obvious hand down his pants to readjust his erection. once he catches your gaze, he smirks at you. 

you try to roll your eyes, you really do, but what comes out is a slow, languid blink. you’re completely fucked out and he loves it, leans in to kiss you so fucking deep you taste yourself all over his mouth.  

before you can do anything else, anything more or less than kiss him back, you hear three knocks on the door. 

they’re gentle, nothing like the sound of a pissed off college student, murderous because you’re hogging the bathroom. 

gojo pushes himself away from you, grinning. “right on time.”

he grabs both your tits in his hands and plants a wet kiss on one, then the other, before pulling your shirt back down. 

you’re still dumbfounded, your overworked body slumped against the bathroom counter. 

before you have time to react, gojo’s opening the door to let geto suguru in. 

your body jolts, legs closing shut in what’s almost abject horror. you nearly forgot he’s what you came to this party for. 

it feels like you got caught red handed, and it must show on your face because geto shakes his head and laughs that pretty, sexy laugh, waving a hand around to tell you it’s okay. 

“please, don’t stop on my account,” are his first words to you tonight. 

you would say something if you weren’t sure your voice would fail you. but like usual, gojo satoru can’t stay quiet for too long.

“all done. she’s too easy” he announces cheerily, but the funny thing is, he doesn’t leave. instead, geto lets the bathroom door close behind him as he crowds in. 

you realize this space is far too small for two very tall men, most definitely far too small for whatever is about to go down between the three of you, and your calming heart starts to race again. 

“hey, pretty,” geto reaches out and wipes the side of your lip. “having fun?”

you can only nod, looking at gojo satoru of all people for answers.

he looks at you like he hasn’t just eaten your pussy with the intensity of a starving man, like he wants to do it again, right now. 

geto is sporting a similar look of hunger, looking between you and gojo and quickly assessing the situation that just happened here. 

this is weird. this is so fucking weird and so stupidly hot. 

“wanna take her for a ride next?” gojo asks geto like he’s not talking about a person, like you don’t have a say in it, like you belong to the both of them to play with, and it turns your brain to mush. 

geto smiles, handsome and dangerous. 

“what do you say, honey?” this time he addresses you. you swallow hard, looking between the two men in front of you. gojo grabs the outline of his hard cock through his pants, a reminder that whatever this is, it isn’t over just yet. “down to have double the fun?”

[pawsitivevibe]

A Quick Guide to Dog Shows

I tend to see a certain amount of confusion about how dog shows work. So I'm going to break it down here. Note that this is based on the Canadian Kennel Club and might differ based on organization. It is basically the same as the American Kennel Club. If you watched Crufts, some of the classes and awards have different names, but operate in a very similar progression.

There are multiple "stages" in conformation. This is where I see the confusion.

CLASS:

So, you sign up your dog for a dog show. They are going to be entered under their BREED. Within their breed, they will be entered in a CLASS. A class is basically just a category under which they are judged. The main classes are usually:

6-9 month old dog (often called Junior Puppy)

6-9 month old bitch

9-12 month old dog (often called Senior Puppy)

9-12 month old bitch

12-18 month old dog

12-18 month old bitch

Open dog

Open bitch

Canadian bred dog (the dog was born in Canada)

Canadian bred bitch

Bred by exhibitor dog (the dog's breeder is also the dog's handler)

Bred by exhibitor bitch

These additional classes are also common:

Veteran dog (7+ years old)

Veteran bitch

3-6 month old dog ("Baby Puppy" does not compete for points, but may compete for "Best Baby Puppy")

3-6 month old bitch

Dogs within the classes will be judged based on the breed standard, but in the age based classes the judge will be keeping in mind that they are still puppies. Your dog may be eligible for multiple classes, so you choose the one you think your dog has the best chance of winning. For example, I have a 20 month old English Cocker Spaniel dog. He is eligible to compete in Open dog, because dogs of any age can compete in Open. He was bred in Canada, but I did not breed him, so I could enter him in Canadian bred, but not bred by exhibitor. I choose ONE class to enter.

Alright we're in our CLASS. Each class is then judged based on the breed standard. Each class will be judged for 1st through 4th place. The 1st place dog or bitch in each class will then move on to the WINNERS ring.

WINNERS:

The winners of the dog classes will compete for WINNERS DOG. The winners of the bitch classes will compete for WINNERS BITCH. There will also be a Reserve Winners Dog (2nd place) and a Reserve Winners Bitch. Note that the winners dog and bitch may be puppies.

BEST OF BREED:

The Winners Dog and Winners Bitch will then go on to the BEST OF BREED ring. They will be joined by dogs and bitches of their breed who are already show champions. Champions have already won enough "points" in previous shows to receive the title of champion, and do not have to compete in the CLASS or WINNERS stages. The judge will now look at the winners dog and bitch and all the champions, and choose 1 to be awarded BEST OF BREED, meaning they are the best dog or bitch overall. The judge will then choose a BEST OF OPPOSITE SEX, meaning the best dog of the opposite sex to the best of breed winner. If the BOB is a bitch, then all the male dogs will be judged for BOS. The judge will also look at the Winners Bitch and the Winners Dog to choose a BEST OF WINNERS between the two. The judge will also choose a SELECT DOG and SELECT BITCH, for the best champion dogs after BOB and BOS. Sometimes the judge will also choose dogs to be given an AWARD OF MERIT, to recognize exceptional quality in dogs who did not receive BOB, BOS, or Select.

BEST PUPPY IN BREED:

The judge will then call in all the puppies, dog or bitch, that were not defeated by another puppy. These puppies may have been entered in any CLASS, not just the puppy classes, because you can also enter puppies in Open, Canadian bred, or any other non-age-restricted class. The judge will choose an overall BEST PUPPY. However, if the BEST OF BREED dog was already a puppy, that dog will automatically be awarded Best Puppy as well.

GROUP:

Now there are many many dog breeds, and the breeds are divided into "groups", which is usually indicative of their function. Groups have different names and divisions in different organizations, but the CKC has 7 groups: Sporting, Hound, Working, Terrier, Toy, Non-Sporting, and Herding. Spaniels, setters, pointers, and retrievers are in the Sporting Group. Sighthounds and scent hounds are in the Hound group. Herding dogs are in Herding, and so on. Every breed within a group will have the BEST OF BREED sent to the BEST OF GROUP ring. Each of the BOBs of the different breeds will be judged against their own breed standard to determine which of them is the best. There will be a top 4 dogs awarded in each group.

There will also be a separate competition for BEST PUPPY IN GROUP. All of the BEST PUPPY IN BREED winners will compete for this. If a puppy was also the BEST OF BREED winner in a particular breed, they will compete in the group and puppy group.

BEST IN SHOW:

The 7 BEST OF GROUP winners will go on to compete in the Best in Show competition. Remember, they are being judged based on their own breed standard, and if they fit their own standard better than the other dogs fit theirs. So the best in show judge is looking to see if this Cocker Spaniel is a better Cocker Spaniel than this Shetland Sheepdog is a good Shetland Sheepdog. It's not a "this breed is better than this breed" competition. This is why you will sometimes unfortunately see an unsound dog win BIS, like a German Shepherd with bad hips or a Pekingese. The judge doesn't think they're actually the prettiest dog ever and what a pretty dog should look like, just that they best fit their breed standard. Unfortunately some breed standards emphasize traits that are unhealthy. A RESERVE BEST IN SHOW winner is also awarded for the "2nd place" dog.

There's also a separate BEST PUPPY IN SHOW competition for the BEST PUPPY IN GROUP winners to compete in. A puppy who already competed in the BIS ring might also compete in BPIS. However, if a puppy won Best in Show already, they will be automatically awarded Best Puppy in Show as well.

There may also be a Best Baby Puppy in Show competition, for the 3-6 month old puppies. They would have also had a group competition. The Baby Puppy category is meant to prepare future show dogs for the ring, so it is focused more on fun and providing a good experience for the babies.

A RECAP:

A dog will compete under their breed in a CLASS

Class winners will compete for WINNERS DOG and WINNERS BITCH

The 2 Winners will compete against the Champions for BEST OF BREED and BEST OF OPPOSITE SEX. The Winners will also be judged against each other for BEST OF WINNERS.

The Best of Breed for each breed in a group will compete for BEST OF GROUP. There are placings for 1st through 4th place.

The Best of Group of each of the 7 groups compete for BEST IN SHOW and RESERVE BEST IN SHOW.

[lukesvangelista]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐖𝐄'𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍ᵃᶠ¹⁹

in which adam’s deepest regret is loving you too deeply.

warnings; argument between a couple, angry adam, allusion to the events that happened about a month ago

Adam Fantilli had been in love with you for as long as he could remember. The two of you had met in New Hampshire, when Adam had decided to follow Luca to boarding school to play hockey. The two of you had hit it off immediately, meeting in history class his first year there. Within a few months, Adam had asked you to be his girlfriend.

Over sophomore year, he had decide to take some advanced classes, graduating a year early before heading off to Chicago with Luca. You stayed behind in New Hampshire, finishing out your junior and senior year at the academy. Adam ended up playing with the Steel for two seasons, and despite the distance, the two of you remained strong. You'd come visit him over long weekends and holiday breaks, even visiting his family in Nobleton a few times.

Everything was perfect, and continued to be when he signed at Michigan.

You didn't follow him to Michigan, choosing to go to college in Chicago after falling in love with the city. And as much as it sucked, the two of you were used to the distance by then, so it didn't affect much. FaceTimes and phone calls were constant, and some of the boys would even tease Adam about how whipped he was. As much as he tried to ignore it, he couldn't deny it.

He finished the year out at Michigan, declaring for the NHL draft after just one season. You were extremely proud of him - winning the Hobey Baker award as a freshman was no easy feat and he deserved nothing more than to play in the NHL. When he was drafted to Columbus, he finally asked you to follow and move in with him.

So you did. As much as you loved Chicago, you would drop everything for him. Instead of transferring, you talked to your advisor and decided to go virtual for the remainder of your time at college. And as you settled into Adam's apartment in Columbus, everything was perfect.

But now, the apartment was suffocating with tension, the air thick with words unspoken and emotions bubbling too close to the surface. You stood near the kitchen counter, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, trying to shield yourself from the storm that was building between you and Adam. You'd been through a lot together - much more than most couples your age - but tonight, things felt different. It wasn't about the little things you guys usually bantered about, like leaving clothes on the floor or who was supposed to take out the trash. Tonight's argument ran deeper.

You knew he was having a hard time with the start of the season, especially with what had transpired over the past few weeks. The air inside and outside of the locker room was different, and not in a good way. It was understandably taking its toll on Adam. You tried to be there for him, you really did. But he had shut you out, the distance between the two of you increasing even though you were standing right there in front of him. You guys weren't 15 hours away from each other anymore. Hell, you weren't even four hours away from each other anymore. But right now, it sure felt like you were.

"Why do you always have to make things so difficult?" Adam muttered, his back turned to you as he stared out of the window, watching the rain patter against the glass.

You stared at him in utter disbelief, "I make things difficult?" you echoed, your voice a little higher than you intended, "You're the one who's been avoiding me for days! I just want to know what's going on with you, Adam. Why won't you talk to me?"

Adam turned around, his face a mix of frustration and exhaustion, "Because I'm tired, Y/N! I'm tired of always being the one holding everything together. I can't do this all the time!"

Your heart sank at his words, "You think I don't feel the same way? You think it's easy for me?" your voice cracked, and you bit your lip to keep the tears from falling. "I get it, Adam, I do. You're under a lot of pressure with hockey, and I know you're grieving. But that doesn't mean you get to shut me out! All I want is to help you."

His jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists at his sides, "I'm not shutting you out."

"Yes, you are!" you snapped back. "You haven't said more than ten words to me all week unless it's about something trivial!"

"Maybe I don't have the energy to talk about the heavy stuff right now!" Adam's voice rose, echoing through the apartment. His eyes, usually soft when they looked at you, were now filled with a fire that matched your own. "Maybe I just need some space without you always breathing down my neck, waiting for me to fall apart.

You felt like you had been slapped. The weight of his words hit you square in the chest, making it hard to breathe, "So that's what you think of me? That I'm just... waiting for you to mess up?"

Adam groaned, running a hand through his messy hair in frustration, "That's not what I meant."

"Then what do you mean?" your voice was softer now, trembling slightly. You were tired of this, tired of the fight, tired of feeling like the two of you were on the verge of breaking.

Adam looked at you, his expression torn between anger and regret. His chest heaved as he tried to find the right words, but in the heat of the moment, he couldn't stop himself.

"I wish I loved you less!"

The words hung in the air like a weight neither of you could lift. Time seemed to stop, and the silence that followed was deafening. You stared at him, your heart shattering into a million pieces as his words echoed in your mind on repeat.

"You... what?" your voice was barely a whisper, but the hurt in it was unmistakable.

Adam's eyes widened, as if he hadn't fully realized what he's said until it was too late, "Y/N/N, I-"

"Don't Y/N/N me," you whispered, your voice dripping with pain as you shook your head, taking a step back from him. "No. Don't you dare. You don't get to take that back."

He tried to reach for you, but you pulled away from him, "I didn't mean it like that."

"Then what did you mean, Adam?" your voice broke, the tears finally spilling over. "Because it sure sounded like you meant every word."

Adam's heart sank as he watched you crumble in front of him. He wished he could take it back, but the damage was done. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of your crying, "I'm so sorry."

You wiped at your face with the sleeve of your sweater, but the tears wouldn't stop. "Do you even hear yourself? You just said that you wish you didn't love me as much as you do. What am I supposed to do with that?"

He stepped closer, desperation lacing his voice. "I didn't mean it that way. I just... God, Y/N, I love you so much it hurts sometimes! And when things get hard like this... I don't know how to handle it. I feel like I'm failing you."

Your breath hitched at his words, but you still couldn't look at him. "You don't have to be perfect all the time, Adam. I don't need you to have all the answers. I just need you to be honest with me."

He nodded, his heart aching as he reached out and gently touched your arm. You winced, pulling away slowly. The hurt in his eyes mirrored your own, and he continued, "I am being honest. That's the problem. Loving you is everything to me, but it scares me too. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you. That's why I said what I said. I wish it didn't feel so... all-consuming."

You finally looked at him, your eyes red and filled with pain. "You don't get to say you wished you loved me less, Adam. If this is too much for you, then maybe-"

"No," Adam interrupted, panic flashing in his eyes, "Don't say that. Please. I don't want that."

You sighed, shaking your head at his words. "I don't want that either, Adam. That's the last thing I want. But I can't be here right now."

His face twisted in heartbreak, but he let you continue. "I'm going to call Odette and see if I can stay with her and Zach for a bit. Call me when you figure it out."

With that, you left to go to your guys' shared bedroom. Adam whispered your name over and over again in protest, but you ignored him. As much as you wanted to turn around and hug him, you couldn't be around him with that he just said.

You slipped into the shared bedroom, quietly closing the door behind you, your back resting against the cool wood as you took a shaky breath. The silence in the room felt suffocating, and stark contrast to the muffled sounds of Adam moving around in the living room. Everything between the two of you felt frayed, like a thread pulled too tightly, on the verge of snapping. You can’t bear to look at the room you’ve shared for so long — every inch of it filled with memories, good ones, but also the ones that now haunted you.

Your hands trembled as you unlocked your phone and scrolled through your contacts, hovering over Odette's name. You hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing down on your chest. Should you really leave? Could you even explain what happened to someone else when you barely understood it yourself?

But you needed space - space to think, to breath, to not have Adam's face constantly reminding you of everything you guys were struggling through. So, with a deep, unsteady breath, you tapped Odette's name and listened as the phone rang.

"Hey!" Odette's cheerful voice came through the line after a few rings. The brightness in her tone felt like a stark contrast to the dark cloud hanging over you.

For a second, you almost lost your nerve. How could you drag someone else into this mess? But you forced yourself to speak, your voice barely more than a whisper, "Hey, Odette. I, um... I need to ask you something."

Immediately, her tone shifted. "What's going on?" her voice was gentle now, concerned. "Are you okay?"

You swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump in your throat. "I... I was wondering if I could stay with you and Zach for a few days. Just until I figure things out."

There's a pause, a heavy silence that filled the space between the two of you, and you worried for a moment that you've overstepped, that you asked for too much. But Odette finally spoke, her voice soft but firm. "Of course you can, love. But what's going on? Why do you need to leave?"

You squeezed your eyes shut, a tear slipping down your cheek as you wrapped your arms around yourself, curling in on the bed like you could hold yourself together. "It's Adam," you admitted, your voice breaking. "We had this fight... I don't even know how it started, but it just kept spiraling. It feels like everything's been spiraling, and I just... I can't stay here right now. I need space, and I don't know how to get it when he's here, constantly reminding me of what's wrong between us."

Odette's sigh was audible through the phone, and when she spoke again, her voice was laced with empathy, "Oh, Y/N, I am so sorry. I know how much you care about him."

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the sob that was clawing at your throat. "It's so hard, Odette. It feels like I'm drowning, and I don't even know how to make it stop. I love him so much, it hurts. But I don't know who I am when we're constantly fighting."

"You don't have to explain it all right now," Odette assured you, "Just pack a bag and come over. You're welcome here for as long as you need. I'll be here, and we can talk whenever you're ready, okay?"

You nodded, even though Odette couldn't see you, a fresh wave of tears filling your eyes. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice shaking, "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You don't have to do this alone, Y/N," Odette said softly. "We'll figure it out together, okay? Zach and I will be here. Just come over whenever you're ready."

The call ended, and you stared at the phone in your hand, the silence in the room feeling even heavier now. Your eyes drifted to the framed photo on the nightstand - you and Adam, arms wrapped around each other, smiling like you didn't have a care in the world. It felt like a lifetime ago, like you were different people back then. Maybe you were.

With a shaky breath, you rose from the bed and started packing a bag, each item a reminder of the life you're stepping away from, even if just for a little while. Every drawer you opened, every glance at the room you shared, made your heart ache. But you couldn't stay. Not like this.

As you zipped up the bag, you paused for a moment, glancing toward the door. You know Adam is just outside, probably sitting on the couch as he pretended that everything was fine, that the two of you hadn't been drifting apart for weeks. Part of you wanted to go to him, to tell him everything you're feeling, to fix it. But the other part - the part that'd been breaking under the weight of the unresolved tension, the part that Adam said he wishes he loved less, knew that you needed to leave. You needed to find yourself again before you lost everything, including your own sense of who you were.

With one last glance at the room, you grabbed your bag and quietly opened the door, slipping out before the weight of it all pulled you back in. "I'm going, Adam. Call me when you're ready to have a civil conversation."

Adam just stared at you as you left. There seemed to be no reconciling what he had said.

He sat on the couch, his leg bouncing restlessly as the reality of what just happened hit him. He could still hear the hurt in your voice echoing in his head. He'd said things he didn't mean, and the look in your eyes before you walked away... that's something he would never forget.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm the knot of panic tightening in his chest. His first instinct was to call Luca, but as he thought more about it, he realized he couldn't do that. Luca was too much like him - impulsive, emotional. He'd tell his younger brother to stand his ground, but Adam knew that this wasn't the time for that. He needed someone who'd be calmer, more rational. Someone who could actually help.

There was only one person he could think of.

Without overthinking it, Adam scrolled through his contacts and tapped on Kent's name. It was late, and for a moment, he wondered if he should even be calling him right now. But the phone rang, and Kent picked up, his voice groggy on the other end.

"Adam? What's up, man? You okay?"

Adam swallowed hard, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He felt like the air in the room was pressing in on him. "I screwed up, Kent. Big time."

Kent was quiet for a second, but Adam could almost hear him sitting up, fully awake now. "What happened?"

Adam took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut like it might make the guilt a little easier to bear. "Y/N and I had this fight. I don't even know how it started, but it just... got worse and worse, and I... god, I said some things I shouldn't have. And now she's talking about leaving. Like, actually packing a bag and going."

He expected Kent to immediately start calming him down, to say something reassuring, but instead, there's just silence on the other end of the line. The longer Kent said nothing, the worse it made him feel.

"You're telling me she's leaving?" Kent finally said, his voice more serious than Adam was used to hearing. "Like, leaving for good?"

"I don't know," Adam admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. "She called Odette to stay with her and Zach for a few days. I didn't mean for it to get this bad, Kent. I didn't think it would ever come to this."

"Well, what'd you say during the fight that could've made her leave?"

Adam paused, not wanting to repeat the words that caused so much damage.

"I said that I wish I loved her less."

Kent exhaled sharply, and when he spoke again, Adam could hear the disappointment and anger laced in his tone, "What made you think that that was ever okay? Adam, man, you fucked up. Big time."

Adam's heart dropped into his stomach, and he leaned against the couch, letting KJ's words hit him full force. He expected it, but hearing it out loud still stung.

"I know," he muttered, running a hand over his face. "But what do I do now? I don't want to lose her."

Kent paused again, clearly thinking through his words carefully before speaking. "If she's walking out like this, and understandably so, may I add, you can't just sit there. You need to do something. Sooner rather than later."

Adam's throat tightened as the weight of Kent's words settled in. He knew that Kent was right. You were not just upset. You were on the edge of something bigger, something that could end everything between you two. And if he didn't act now, he might lose you for good.

"But what if..." Adam trailed off, staring blankly at the floor, his voice barely audible. "What if it's already too late?"

Kent's voice softened, but it was still firm. "It's not too late if you don't let it be. You've got a window, but it's closing fast, dude. You need to talk to her - really talk to her. No more fights, no more letting things spiral, no more saying stupid fucking shit. If you love her as much as you truly do, you have to prove it, Adam. Right now."

Adam nodded, though he knew Kent couldn't see him. He knew what he had to do, but the thought of facing you right now, of admitting how badly he'd messed up, terrified him. The hurt in your eyes was burned into his memory, and the guilt felt like it was choking him. But if KJ's right—and he knew he was—then waiting isn’t an option.

“Thanks, Kent,” Adam said, his voice raw with emotion. “I’ll fix this. I have to.”

“Yeah, you do,” Kent replied, his voice softening again. “Just don’t wait too long, okay? You can’t afford to.”

With that, Adam hung up. His heart raced as he stood up, his feet feeling heavier than they've ever felt as he walked toward the bedroom door. His hand hovered over the doorknob, and for a split second, he wonders if he should give you more time. But Kent's voice echoed in his head - "you can't afford to wait."

His heart was pounding in his chest. He couldn't bring himself to walk inside your room. The weight of your fight, of everything he'd said in the heat of the moment, felt like it was too much to face right now. You had gone to Odette's anyway, and he knew that you needed time.

With a heavy sigh, Adam pulled out his phone and stared at the screen, the blank text message to you glaring up at him. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, unsure of what to say. He wanted to fix it, but he'd never been great with words when it came to you. Maybe giving you the night, letting you breathe, was the only thing he could do right now.

i'm sorry. i know you need space, and i'm giving it to you. i don't want to make this worse. but when you're ready, i'm here. i'm ready to talk in the morning. i need to fix this. i love you.

He stared at the message, reading it over a dozen times, wondering if it was enough. He didn't want to sound desperate, but he also didn't want you to think he’s not willing to fight for you. With a shaky breath, he hit send.

As the message went through, Adam sat down on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. The silence was deafening, and the absence of your presence was suffocating. He couldn't help but wonder if this is what it would feel like if you left for good.

All he could do now was wait for the morning, for you to text him back, for the two of you to finally talk civilly and try to fix the cracks that had been growing between you. He knew it wouldn't be easy, but the thought of losing you was more painful than any fight he'd ever had.

To his surprise, you texted back almost immediately.

i'll meet you at the apartment tomorrow night. don't screw this up, fantilli.

The next day, Adam waited impatiently for you to come back home. He knew you weren't going to be happy to see him, as Kent had repeatedly reminded him at morning practice. He could tell he fucked up badly when Zach glared at him through almost the entire practice, too.

But now, Adam's back was against the window as rain pattered against the glass, his eyes staring firmly at the door, waiting for you to walk through. It was as if you read his mind. Not even a minute later, you walked through the door, hair messy and dressed in a Blue Jackets hoodie.

He smiled softly at you, but you didn't return it. Instead, you took a seat at the kitchen counter, your eyes focusing on him as he slowly made his way over to sit down next to you.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I am so fucking sorry for everything," he started immediately, emotion lacing his voice, "I don't want to break up. I don't want you to go."

You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest. You didn't want to go either, but the truth of the matter was that he had hurt you. His words had cut through you like a knife, stabbing you right in the heart. It felt like five years had been flushed down the drain.

"Then what do you want? Because I can't keep doing this if you're going to push me away every time things get tough."

Adam took a deep breath, his shoulders slumping as he finally let down the walls he’d been holding up for so long. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you, Y/N. I just… I’m scared. I don’t know how to balance everything.”

Your face softened slightly, though the hurt was still there. “Then let me help you. We’ve been together for so long, Adam. Don’t shut me out now.”

He stepped forward, pulling you into his arms. You resisted at first, but eventually melted into his embrace, your face buried in his chest. “I’m sorry,” Adam whispered again, his voice cracking. “I’m so sorry.”

You nodded against him, your arms wrapping around his waist. “I’m scared too, you know,” you admitted quietly. “But I’m here, Adam. I’m not going anywhere. But you cannot do this again. I deserve to be treated better than that."

Adam nodded profusely, "It won't happen again, I promise. Kent drilled that into my head all of last night and today. I fucked up, and I realize that. I love you so, so, so much, Y/N. More than you will ever know."

You nodded, and he rubbed his hand along your back, trying to make sure you were really there in front of him.

"I love you too, Adamo."

For a while, the two of you just stood there, holding onto each other as the rain continued to fall outside. The fight wasn’t over - you still had plenty of things that needed to be talked about - but for now, you were okay. You had each other, and in the end, that was what mattered most.

[highway-143]

when ice cracks- park sunghoon

genre: fluff, smut, strangers to enemies (?) to lovers?

pairing: figure skating teacher!sunghoon x female!reader

warnings: swearing, blood, kissing, unprotected sex, ass slapping, oral, (f. rec) thigh fucking, (?) doggy style, (never thought i'd write that one lol) soft-ish dom sunghoon

synopsis: when you decide to finally take figure skating lessons, your instructor is much cuter than you expected... but he doesnt seem to like you as much as you like him.

taglist: @urlocalmultigroupfan @minkilicious @vrusha01

song: like that- babymonster

a.n- this one was kind of a surprise lolll... i dont know where it came from but here you go :D

(proofread)

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

------<?3------

"do you know any good figure skating teachers?"

"what?"

"figure. skating. teachers." you say, your fists planted firmly on elissa's desk as you try to get your best friend to help you.

"bitch, can you see i'm busy?" she asks, gesturing to her open computer and papers scattered across the white surface of her desk.

"ughhh" you groan, knowing she was right. studying to be an engineer had to be more time consuming than normal work. at least the major you had picked was easy enough... and you were in senior year.

"wait, figure skating? since when have you been interested in that?"

"since i decided clown training wasn't an option." you say sarcastically.

elissa rolled her eyes. "ha ha."

"because i want to explore new hobbies."

"i heard from my sister's friend that park sunghoon is starting lessons." she says.

"am i supposed to know who that is?"

"you don't?" she asks, looking shocked.

"no..."

"he's really famous. made it to the olympics, and he's number 7 in all of korea. he's only our age too."

elissa starts typing on her computer, turning it around to show you pictures of a handsome man, either on the ice or in a suit at awards ceremonies.

and damn, he was gorgeous.

he had a sharp jawline, accentuating his full lips and perfect nose, a small mole dotting its side and one under his eye. his hair fell in swoops, framing his face in a way yours could never.

he was beautiful.

and pricey.

you look at the cost of his lessons, $75 per session. who had that kind of money?!

apparently you did.

because when you apply for three classes on his website and put in your card information, your bank account cries a little.

you reassure your conscience with "its okay, all you need is basic training. and if the lessons aren't good, you can always find someone else."

right?

------<?3------

you pull into the parking lot, your old car sliding into an empty spot.

reaching into the backseat, you pull out your skates. last week, you explored amazon for the best and cutest pair you could find, coming across these. white faux leather with light blue threading and laces, and shiny silver blades, that currently held covers so you wouldn't cut your fingers.

you carry the skates out of the car, and into the rink. the outdoor arena was perfect. not too big, but enough space for you to be comfortable.

the crisp winter air reddened your cheeks and nose as you walk to the small tented pavilion next to the rink.

when you step inside the room, you find sunghoon.

and you can't speak anymore.

you cant think.

you cant move.

sunghoon looks up at you from his seat on a bench, his skates half tied and his hair slightly hiding his eyes.

you gape at him as he stares at you, looking you up and down.

"what are you wearing?"

"h-huh?" you say, unsure of what he means.

"your clothes. you should wear something less bulky for your top. it's more aerodynamic."

you look down at your thick coat. "i... i didn't know-"

"obviously not. i assume you're a beginner?" he says flatly, his eyes boring into yours, no warmth in them.

"i mean, yeah. thats why i'm taking lessons, right?" you say, slowly getting more and more pissed off.

"yeah, but even untrained skaters could figure that out."

you curl your hands into fists around your skates. who did he think he was?

"i reccomend leggings and a thin sweater for next time. now, get your skates on and we can start. hurry up." he finishes tying his skates and stands easily on them, walking smoothly over to his bags.

you sit on the bench and start putting on your skates, tying them with the pastel laces.

sunghoon steps closer to you, watching you tie the second.

"you're doing it wrong." he scoffs.

you stare at him as he looks at your skates. "care to enlighten me on how i'm doing it wrong? you ask.

"feel how loose they are? not going to support your ankles, are they?"

you bite back sarcastic comments. "well i tied them the best i can."

sunghoon crouches down, one knee on the floor as he grabs your foot. your cheeks heat up as he unties your laces.

"terrible skates. i swear, half of you prioritize looks over functionality."

"what's wrong with them!?" you ask, fed up with his critical reviews of everything.

"the material isn't very supportive, the pads on the soles are too thin, and the blades are duller than they should be." he says simply. "maybe you should do better research next time."

you roll your eyes. "sorry i bought the wrong thing. they were affordable. thank heavens, because your classes practically killed my bank account."

"i didn't ask you to take these classes, did i?" he says, moving to untie your other skate. "if it was really that big of a deal, you would've gone somewhere else. and considering you signed up for three classes, you had enough money."

you sputter, trying to find the words to tell him you literally had no clue about anything figure skating related.

"okay, so i bought the wrong thing. i have never skated before, how am i supposed to know what to wear or buy or do?"

he smirks at you, standing back up. "maybe if you scrolled a little farther on the website, you'd find links to everything. and tips for newbies. but you didn't. its all on you, y/n"

you sit in shock, his words like a slap to your ego.

sunghoon walks away, still looking smug. "stand up, newbie."

you struggle to your feet, ankles slightly bending outward as you rise. you had to admit, the support to them was very helpful. if sunghoon hadn't tightened them, you'd probably have fallen already.

without looking back at you, sunghoon speaks. "told you they needed to be tighter. fix your legs. don't stand like a baby deer, straighten your knees and stand up. don't let your ankles pop out, and keep your feet locked straight ahead."

you do as he says, and suddenly, your stance is perfect. you don't wobble or fall over, you stand tall, feeling proud of yourself already.

sunghoon struts back over to you. "lets get on the ice. remember, ankles locked. flex your calves if you have to."

"okay," you slowly take steps forward, growing more confident as you walk farther away from the bench. "so what are we doing today?" you ask sunghoon, who is already stepping onto the rink, gliding away as he circles around the ice.

"the basics, newbie" he calls, swerving and spinning while you cautiously step onto the slippery surface.

you place one foot onto the ice, and slowly put weight on it, getting ready to bring your other foot on. but as you lift it up, your foot on the ice slides away from you, and you grip onto the railing to pull back.

sunghoon appears in front of you, another smirk plastered over his devastatingly handsome face. "need help, newbie?" he asks, looking at your sliding foot.

"no thanks, i've got it," you say, trying and failing to get your whole body onto the rink.

after your fourth try, sunghoon is holding back laughter. you glare at him, foot slowly sliding away again.

"want some advice?" he asks, smirking.

you nod, pulling your foot back in.

"when you're ready to step your other foot in, don't push forward with the one on the ice. try to shift your weight to the side. the skate doesn't naturally want to move that way, so it'll basically lock in."

you push your weight sideways, and find yourself with both feet on the rink. you steady yourself with the short wall surrounding the edge, and look over at sunghoon.

"look at that. now, lets really get started. let go of the wall." he says, skating away from you.

letting your fingers pull away from the surface, standing up straight, ankles and knees locked.

"now what?"

"do you want to move forward?" sunghoon asks, twirling figure eights in the center of the rink.

"yeah."

"push your weight to the side on one foot, like before, and then move forward with the other. then switch sides."

when you slowly start skating away from the wall and towards sunghoon, you feel a smile growing on your face.

the rest of the lesson progresses very slowly, you struggle with speeding up and some of the techniques sunghoon tries to teach you, and sunghoon's temper rises higher and higher, but he doesn't break.

not yet.

------</3------

the front door creaks open as you walk inside, and you call out for your roomate. "elissa! are you home?!" you yell, setting your skates by the front door.

"no, i'm in the bahamas." you hear her say from the kitchen.

"so funny," you roll your eyes, moving into the kitchen to find elissa making a bowl of cereal. "guess who i met today?"

"ronald mcdonald?"

"bitch-" you lightly slap her shoulder. "no, park sunghoon."

"and? did you make a fool of yourself at the lesson?"

you roll your eyes and sit down at the island counter. "no. well... as a beginner, not much. but maybe a little"

elissa sits across from you, chewing on her cheerios. "you're going for more, right?"

"might as well. i signed up for the lessons. but not gonna lie, sunghoon is kind of a jerk."

"really?"

"yeah," you say, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl. "he was critical of everything and very demeaning... like it's my fault i signed up for classes that are for all levels, including beginners. sorry."

elissa chuckles. "but is he cute in person?"

"very," you say, eyes glazed, your mind picturing how beautiful sunghoon looked at the lesson.

especially when he was on his knees for you.

nope, you can't go there. never gonna happen. he practically hates you.

"... said he was really nice." says elissa.

you were too zoned out to catch what she said. "hmm?" you ask, shaking the image of sunghoon out of your mind.

"i said, my sister's friend said he was really nice. he was a beginner too. so i don't know why sunghoon is treating you weird."

"yeah, i don't know..." you say, drifting back into your sunghoon dreamland.

his hair covering his eyes, his large hands on your skates, holding the blue laces, veins sticking out, his lips that were so easily kissable, so out of reach. every part of him was perfect.

except for his attitude.

------</3------

one week later, you and your car trundle into the parking lot.

you walk into the tent, and sunghoon is sitting on the bench, tying his laces like last week.

"hey." you say, and just like before, he looks up at you through his hair.

"hey," he looks you up and down, again, and nods. "better choice this time." he says, gesturing to your black leggings and army green sweater. "maybe this week you will actually be better. oh wait, it's your skills that are bad."

you frown and sit down on the bench, sliding your skates on and tying them as tight as possible.

"still too loose," sunghoon comments. "give me your foot." he reaches for your leg and pulls your foot into his lap. you have to swivel your body to face him, and your cheeks heat up again. his fingers on your skin felt like fire.

he ties your laces in silence, and when he moves to grab your other foot, you hear a sharp gasp.

"ah, shit," he says, grabbing his hand.

you look up and see his finger cut open, a trickle of blood falling from the slice. his other hand holds it tightly, trying to lessen the blood flow, and you notice a small part of your blade wasn't covered by the gaurd.

you jump up, feeling guilty. "i'm so, so, so, so sorry," you say. "do you have any band aids?"

"in my bag." he says, bringing his finger to his lips and sucking the blood off.

and you couldn't help but stare at the way his lips molded around his thumb as you hand him the bandage. how they wetted his finger so perfectly.

he catches you caught in a trance, a quizzical look upon his face. you immediately look away, embarrassed.

when he had tied the band aid around his finger, he grabs your other leg and reties the laces. you watch his expert fingers dance across your skate, every accidental brush to your skin causing an unsolicited reaction that displayed itself as a redness to your face.

you and sunghoon stand, and he turns to give you his trademark smirk. "you ready, newbie? maybe this week will be better."

with a nod, you follow sunghoon to the rink. this time, you easily step on the ice and move away, but you're no match for sunghoon, who starts twirling with ease.

"this week, we should start an easy routine. it'll help you learn more of the basics."

"okay," you nod along with his words. "what is it?"

"it's a song i choreographed. it's called XO. english or korean version?"

"i dont care," you say, "whatever you think is best."

sunghoon grabs his phone and puts the song on. the instrumentals start and he moves to the center of the rink.

"i'll show you how it's supposed to look, and then we can get started."

you smile and lean back against the wall, and the song starts.

sunghoon starts moving on the ice, and you're easily mesmerized by his skill. he pirouettes and leaps around the rink, and you find yourself caught in his beauty, skill, and grace.

the song plays in the background, the lyrics in korean pairing well with the english ones.

so just say O babe, 저 달을 향해 날아가 볼래

sunghoon twirls back to the center, and bows. when he rises, you can see the gleam in his eyes.

he really loves this.

------</3------

after the lesson, you step out of the rink. your legs are sore and a little shaky, and your palms hurt from how many times you fell. you had lost count at this point.

sunghoon walks into the tent, catching you staring at your reddened hands.

"seven" he says.

"what?"

"you fell seven times... and just a tip, don't have your fingers all spread out when you fall. it's dangerous, especially when there are other people on the ice."

"okay," you start untying your knotted skates. "thanks for the lessons. you're a really good skater. probably the best i've ever seen"

sunghoon nods. "thank you. and you're pretty good for a newbie. you learn quickly."

you laugh cynically. "yeah, i guess i do. how's your thumb?"

"oh... it's fine now. it doesn't sting anymore, so that's good."

"good."

and then you fall into an awkward silence. sunghoon looks at his phone while you take off your skates.

you stand up to leave when sunghoon stops you. "ah... y/n, wait."

you turn around, confused. "whats up?"

"i... never mind. see you next week."

------</3------

it feels like years until your next lesson. when you finally walk into the tent, sunghoon isn't there.

you wait for him, putting on your skates and tying them tighter than humanly possible, and then sit back.

and wait.

and wait some more.

15 minutes later, sunghoon runs into the tent, panting and carrying his bag.

"i'm s-sorry," he says, bending over with his hands on his knees. "c-car broke down. i had to run five blocks."

you look up from your phone, amused. "it's okay, i don't mind waiting."

"y-your skates... are too loose again," he says, standing up. "hang on."

sunghoon sits on the floor in front of you, pulling your foot onto his thigh as he unties your skate. you sigh, even when you thought you had it, you didn't.

he fixes your laces, even thought they feel exactly the same, and starts putting his on. you take a second to look at his pair of skates, old and creased, but somehow still clean and usable.

"how long have you had those?" you ask, pointing to them.

"uhh... almost 10 years i think."

"why so long?"

"my mom gave them to me. it was my birthday present. they still work, so i still use them. plus, they remind me of the person who supported my dreams the most, you know?"

"wow," you say, staring at the faded white material. "that's really cute."

"yeah," he laughs. "cute was really what i was going for."

you fall back into an easy silence. sunghoon pulls out two plastic water bottles from his bag and hands you one. "you might want this today. lets go."

and you follow sunghoon off to the rink, water bottle in hand.

------</3------

"no, you need to tuck your ankle in the back of your knee. kind of like a flamingo." sunghoon demonstrates the position. "not like some russian dancer."

you try again and this time, he nods. "now bend your hips and try to sink lower. lock all of your body and then pop it into a spin."

he shows you how to do it and you try, hitting the move with ease.

"now all together."

you tuck your ankle and practice the full move. sunghoon waves his hand, skating closer to you. "you're not putting it together right."

he moves behind you, adjusting the way your knee held your ankle.

and then he grabs your hips.

and you forget how to breathe.

because with sunghoon's hands touching you, everything feels calm.

but also rough.

the way the pads of his fingers press hard into your skin.

the way his breathing quickens ever so slightly when you turn your head back to look at him.

the way he gets lost in your eyes, and you in his.

and you're suprised to find warmth in them this time. not the same glare you saw before.

tenderness.

"you need to stick your hips out. rotate them. that makes it easier for your body to pop," sunghoon says, breaking whatever moment you just had.

"try again."

------</3------

you turn to sunghoon in the tent, staring into his eyes before you speak.

"i want more classes."

he smirks at you, and you roll your eyes. "because i'm not that good at the routine yet. i want to keep practicing."

sunghoon nods. "okay, lets do it."

before you walk out of the tent, he grabs your wrist.

"i'll even offer a discounted price. half off. if you promise to work your ass off. and practice off the ice."

"don't worry, i can do that." you grin up at him, pulling your wrist out of his grasp. "i knew you liked me."

he sputters, trying to find words. you stand there with your hands on your waist, waiting for his excuse.

"no. absolutely not. i do this with all my students. especially the good ones."

"so i'm a good student?"

his eyes soften. "yeah, you are."

"thanks... i gotta go. see you next week."

you jog to your car, sliding into the drivers seat and turning on the ignition.

you're about to pull out of the lot when you see sunghoon exit the rink and start walking.

"hey!" you call, waving out the window.

he walks up to your car, bending down to look at you.

"what's up?"

"need a ride? your car broke down, right? least i can do for the lessons."

"yeah, that would be great, thanks." he walks to the other side and hops in, his long legs barely fitting behind the front console of your car.

you plug your phone into the charger, and a song starts to play.

XO... XO... kiss me, don't say no

"you like it that much, huh?"

you blush and scramble to change it, but sunghoon stops you.

"it's fine, i like it too."

you start driving, humming along to the song.

and sunghoon hums with you.

------<3------

your car pulls into the parking lot of sunghoon's apartment, easing into a tight spot.

"you wanna come in? for lunch?"

"sure!" you say, stepping out of the car and following him into the complex.

his apartment isn't big or small. it's just average. the kitchen is a nice size, and everything is decorated well, which didn't surprise you. all the furniture and appliances are sleek and modern, something your broke college student ass only dreamed of having.

"damn, sunghoon. this is nice."

he smiles and puts his skates in a bin by the door. "thanks. i worked hard for it."

"i bet."

"do you want a sandwich?" he asks, rubbing the back of his neck.

"that sounds awesome. anything i can do to help?"

"nah, just sit there and look pretty."

both of you freeze at the words that just came out of his mouth.

sit there and look pretty.

and neither one of you mentions it.

------<3------

"okay, my turn. what's the most embarrassing thing you've ever done?"

you and sunghoon spent lunch asking each other questions ranging from what's your favorite color? to when did you realize that skating was your dream?

"damn..." says sunghoon. "uhhh... probably the time in first grade when i ate dirt thinking it would impress the girl i liked. i ended up puking right in front of her."

you start laughing, and sunghoon can't help but join you. the way your eyes scrunch up and you try to cover your mouth with your hand mesmerizes him.

you catch him staring, and he looks away.

"when were you the happiest."

you look up, racking through your brain. "honestly, skating with you. it's a nice distraction from all the schoolwork, and you're a really good teacher."

"wow... that's really nice." he says, looking a little shook.

"what's the best thing you did to trick somebody. like anything at all?"

"honest answer?" he asks, looking nervous.

"honest answer."

"so... don't get mad, but you know how your skates are always too loose?"

"mhm..." you look at him expectantly.

"well they aren't. i just really like helping you. it feels good, you know?"

"wait... what?"

sunghoon nods his head, maintaining eye contact with you as he drops the biggest bomb.

"i like you. a lot."

and you sit there, your jaw dropped slightly, thoughts running through your mind faster than sunghoon could skate.

"ah, i'm sorry, i made it too weird, didn't i? just forge-"

you cut him off by placing a soft kiss to his lips, cupping his jaw in your hands as you finally taste them.

finally let them taste you.

and sunghoon doesn't pull away. he doesn't push you away either.

he pulls you closer.

one hand on the back of your head, he moans while pressing his lips deeper into yours, the vibration sending chills through your body. he runs his hand through your hair while he grabs your chin with the other, caressing your skin. he nudges your lips with his tounge, asking for entry.

and you immediately give it to him.

his tounge pushes into your mouth, twirling around yours, tasting you fully, completely.

like he can't get enough of you.

and you cant get enough of him.

------<3------

slap

"ahh... hoonie... please!' you cry, a red mark forming on your ass.

you never thought you'd be here. bent over sunghoon's dining table, both of your clothes somewhere on the floor, your legs spread for him so nicely.

damn, sunghoon loved it.

he bends down and presses a soft kiss where his hand hit you. your legs shake and your cunt drips at the feeling of his lips on you.

you were so wet for him.

he takes a second to smell your pussy, the juices that were already slick between your thighs, dripping down your legs helplessly.

embarrassingly.

he sweeps up your wetness with his tounge, eliciting a loud moan from you, your fists grabbing the edge of the table as he licked up your cunt.

"so wet for me, hmm?" he groans between licks to your core, lapping up your slick like a hungry dog. although you couldn't see it, his cock was hard, standing straight up. but now wasn't time for his release. he had to pleasure you first.

when your legs threaten to give out, he holds you by your hips, obscene slurping sounds coming from where he was eating you.

his teeth lightly nip at your clit, and the overstimulation sends a jolt through your body. you moan his name as you feel yourself climaxing.

"h-hoon.... ah.... i'm gonna cum... shit..." and you scream as your orgasm crashes over you, sunghoon's tounge working you through your high, drinking all of you until there was nothing left but a dull ache between your thighs.

"so beautiful baby," he says, licking his lips. "so delicious."

sunghoon stands behind you and places a kiss to your shoulder, working his way up.

your neck.

your jaw.

when he reached your lips, you can see the remnants of your orgasm on his chin.

and you could taste it in his mouth when he crashes his lips on yours.

he gripped your waist, pressing your chest harder into the table with his. his cock slipped between your thighs, and your sensitive clit could barely handle the contact.

he slowly thrusted between your closed legs, your thighs hugging his hard dick so perfectly, he almost came on the spot.

no. he had to make this perfect for you.

he speeds up, his pelvis slapping hard against your ass every time he pushed in. you moan deeply into the table, and his hand snakes up to grab the back of your neck, holding you down as your back arched.

he grunts as his orgasm starts to take over, pulling out from between your legs and keeping himself from cumming.

edging himself out.

so that he could cum inside you.

you whine desperately when he pulls out, shamelessly wiggling your ass at him, begging for more.

his deep chuckle echoes in your ears. "such a needy little baby, huh? what do you want, princess?" he asks, bringing his lips to your ear, whispering sultrily to you.

"need your cock, please hoonie... please, please, need you in me."

he groans at the way you wiggle in front of him, begging, pleading for him to ruin you.

and he doesn't hold back.

he grabs your legs and spreads them wide, exposing your cunt to the cold afternoon air.

when sunghoon rubs the tip of his cock through your folds, you whimper, so utterly wrecked for him. so perfect for him.

you slightly sway your hips around him, eliciting a groan from his perfect lips.

and without warning, he pushes inside you.

his thick cock stretches your little hole so much, all you can do is squirm, little yelps cried out with every small push into you.

sunghoon moans. "fuck, y/n... you're so damn tight... shit, baby, i'm not gonnna last long."

"s'okay," you whine. "fill me up, please hoonie... pleasepleaseplease..." your words trail off as he bottoms out, your pussy clenching around him like a vice, sucking him deeper and deeper in.

and then he moves.

he pulls out of your dripping hole and slams back in, tears already starting to form in your eyes.

and he thrusts again.

and again.

he pounds into you so powerfully, you feel like you're about to be split open. all you can do is helplessly whine as sunghoon hits so deep, you can feel the tip of his cock kissing your cervix.

with every thrust, a tear falls down your cheek, spilling onto the table as sunghoon pumps into you.

the room is filled with the sounds of skin against skin, your wetness sucking around him, and both of your mingled sounds of lust.

"hoonie... holy fuck, sunghoon..."

he notices the tears painting your face, and leans forward to wipe them with his lips, pressing gentle kisses that were the complete opposite of how hard he was thrusting into you.

"princess, fuck... i'm coming. fuckfuckfuckkk"

you feel sunghoon bury into you one last time as he fills you up, his cum dripping out of your cunt alongside your own.

you both shake with orgasm, and sunghoon presses his lips against your back, riding out his high.

you look over your shoulder at him as he pulls out. his hair is a mess of sweat, sticking to his forehead, and his lips are puffy and swollen from how much he used them on you.

he smiles down at you, motioning for you to stand up.

you turn to face him, and your legs give out.

you sink to the ground, limbs feeling like gelatin, and sunghoon laughs.

"i ruined you that bad?" he asks, kneeling down in front of you.

you whine, defeated. "it's not funny, sunghoon." but you laugh anyways, leaning your head against the leg of the table.

"lets go, baby," he says, reaching for your hand. "i need a shower. care to join?"

"hell yeah," you shakily stand, and sunghoon immediately picks you up and tosses you over his shoulder.

you can't help but laugh as he pats your ass, carrying you into the bathroom.

------<3------

you wake up the next morning to find sunghoon's limbs wrapped tightly around you, and an unknown tee shirt you could only assume was his covering your chest. his hair was messy from sleep, and there was a faint trail of drool falling from his mouth, tiny snores sounding through his nose.

you giggle at how adorable he looks, and he wakes from the feeling of your laughter against his chest.

"hmm? wha-" he looks down at you, a dorky smile spreading across his pink lips. "oh. its you."

"rude." you say, staring up at him. "you drool in your sleep."

"not what i meant." he mumbles, wrapping his arms tighter around you. "and i know. might as well get used to it."

"what does that mean?"

"it means, i'm asking you to be my girlfriend."

you pretend to debate the thought, scratching your chin. "i don't know.... what's in it for me?"

sunghoon laughs and plays along. "hmm. how about free skating lessons and my amazing, award winning, delicious, bisquick waffles for breakfast?"

you smile up at him, catching his eyes. "of course, sunghoon. i would love to be your girlfriend."

------<3------

a.n- oh dear god. this was the fastest and longest fic i've written ㅠㅠ if you liked it, please reblog/comment! and if you have any ideas, feel free to send me an ask, they're always greatly appreciated.

also- if anybody is interested in a part 2 for this fic, i have some ideas. lmk if you want to see it hehe

masterlist

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Bespoke kisses

Gil-Galad x reader. Modern AU. NSFW!! (moodboard)

*****

You really thought you had made it. 

“I knew you could do it, (name)!” your friend Mirdania comments happily as you both walk out of the door, leaving the large building that houses the Arda Fashion Academy, which you both attend as final year students, behind you. She is prettier than ever in her deep green halter dress -personally designed by her, of course, just like you created your shirt and altered your knee-length skirt so that it better fits your body; nothing more natural, for two budding fashion designers like you are! “That three-piece suit was beautiful, I knew the examination board would appreciate it!”

You smile, sincerely flattered and happy for your recent success, even though, you have to admit, she is the one who should be congratulated, since the mullet dress she created was enthusiastically received by the board, and was awarded the highest marks among the thirty submissions on behalf of as many seniors, and she was the first student selected for the internship. “I bet the designers came to blow for the privilege of having you as an intern.”

“Oh, come on, you’re exaggerating…”

You are -just a little- but it’s hard not to feel overenthusiastic in a moment like this. The internship you and your friend have been selected for is an exceptional opportunity, the sort that happens only once in a person’s life; the Arda, the country’s most prestigious institution in the field of fashion, has established a collaboration with three important designers, each of whom would be be paired with a final year student for a six months collaboration. The selection was to be based, as well as on the hopefuls’ academic records, on the submission of a personal creation: a set of clothing, be it a dress, a suit, a simple trousers-and-shirt combination -someone submitted a bikini paired with a sarong, flip-flops and a beach hat- that a panel of the Arda’s most respected lecturers would judge. 

As expected, most of your fellow seniors applied for the internship, and you and Mirdania were among the three chosen, together with a talented student named Elrond, who you know less well. You really can’t wait to begin: not only a period of employment in a prestigious fashion house will undoubtedly improve your resumé, but you’ll have the chance to see a talented designer at work, and to learn from them; the pay is low and between the internship and the classes you’ll still have to attend you’ll end up sleeping three hours per night, but who cares? Fashion has always been your passion, and while being admitted to the Arda was the first step to fulfilling your ambition of becoming a famous designer, you feel this could be your chance - the chance to find new inspiration for your works and learn on the field, rather than in class. 

And who knows, I would not be the first intern who remains to work for their mentor even after the allotted time… 

“I still can’t believe I am going to meet Celebrimbor, the Celebrimbor, tomorrow.” Mirdania comments as you both walk towards the metro station, which is where you’ll have to part to return home. Your friend has long been an admirer of one of the designers who offered their collaboration to the school, and was ecstatic to learn Celebrimbor had expressly asked for her as an intern, having been favourably impressed by her submission “I swear, I keep pinching myself because I think it might be a dream!”

“You’re not dreaming; and since he has already proven to appreciate your work, I’m sure you’ll enjoy working for him.”

“I think so too. What about you? Looking forward to putting a face to Gil-Galad’s name?”

You have to admit you are more than a little curious. Unlike Celebrimbor and Cirdan, the designer Elrond will intern for, your allotted mentor, Gil-Galad, is a mysterious figure in the world of fashion, well-known for his sense of style that has been appreciated, and worn, by celebrities all over the world, but very few people can say to have met him. He is probably the only fashion designer in the world who does not attend his own shows, nor does he give interviews in person - only by phone or mail. No official, proven picture of him exists on the internet, and you have heard that his closest collaborators -an inner circle among which, you imagine, you are going to be admitted tomorrow- are required to sign a non-disclosure agreement to swear not to share his personal information with third parties.

All it is known about Gil-Galad is that he’s a male, native of Lindon, and probably on the young side, since he started making a name for himself only a few years ago, soon before you started attending the Arda, and the rest is nothing more than gossip and assumptions; there is even the possibility he is using a pseudonym rather than his real name. The thought that you are going to meet such an elusive personage, whose identity fashion lovers and journalists all over the world would give an arm to discover, is intriguing, but all things considered, the personal matters of your mentor are none of your business; all you want is to learn as much as you can from him, and hopefully begin your career as a fashion designer.

“A little bit.”

“I can imagine. We’re celebrating tonight, yes? It’s Friday, we can go to the Moria.”  

The Moria is one of the city’s best-known clubs; the music is good, the cocktails even better, and you always have a good time there, especially on Friday, when the club hosts its famous theme nights.

“I don’t know, Mirdania.” you confess as you follow your friend down the steps leading to the metro station, surrounded by a veritable crowd moving in both directions; it’s almost rush hour, and you already know that finding a seat on the train will be impossible “You do remember we are going to meet our mentors tomorrow, yes? I was planning on going to bed early, to be well-rested…”

Your friend assures you she is as determined as you are to make a good impression, and doesn’t plan on showing up to the Arda for her first meeting with Celebrimbor still tipsy from the night before, her make-up smudged and her breath smelling like alcohol. “But we do deserve to celebrate, don’t we? Come on, just a couple hours! We have a drink, we dance a bit, and then we return home. Keep in mind how busy we will be for the next six months!”

She has a point, you have to admit as you adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder, especially because you haven’t been to the Moria, or to any club or pub for that matter, in ages, since you were so busy with your classes and preparing your submission to the internship. An eight-, or even nine-, hours sleep would do you a world of good, but on the other hand, you do feel the need to celebrate…

By the time you have come to a decision, you and Mirdania have reached the station’s central joint: from here you’ll have to part to take different lines. 

“Alright; I’m in.”

“Great! We’ll have fun, I’m sure.” Mirdania comments happily, her excitement contagious as you find yourself smiling “We deserve it, (name); we won fair and square.”

You assure her that you know, and your friend promises she’ll come pick you up at your apartment that night. You had no doubts she would be chosen for the apprenticeship, since Mirdania is undoubtedly the most talented student in your year, but you are happy the panel recognised the value of her work. You were a little less sure about yourself, since there are so many talented designers in your course, but since you got in as well, you have to have done something better than the others, right?

“I’ll see you tonight.” you promise, and Mirdania waves you goodbye as she walks away, her bright blonde hair soon swallowed by the crowd; you linger for a moment, already excited both for the night awaiting you and the day that will follow, and then turn to walk towards your train. 

*****

You really thought you had nothing to worry about. 

One of your favourite fashion designers, you read once in their autobiography, used their siblings as models at the beginning of their career, since they couldn’t afford to pay professional ones. You can’t do the same, being an only child, and most of your friends don’t have the time, or the patience, to let you spend hours fitting clothes on them, which is why most of your creations, except those you realise as presents, are tailored on a specific body type: yours.

Wearing the three-piece suit that won you to the internship for your celebration night felt like the most natural choice, and as you observe your reflection in the full-length mirror of your bedroom, having already taken care of your hair and make-up, you have to admit you do look good; more importantly, you feel good, and are quite proud of your creation. 

A quick honk outside your window announces Mirdania’s arrival. You go out to meet her, and when you find yourself face to face with your friend, both of you burst into laughter: like they say, great minds think alike, and Mirdania looks amazing in the mullet dress the internship panel awarded full marks to. 

“I doubt this is the Moria’s style.” you point out, amused. 

“I don’t care; come on, I need one of Durin’s drinks.”

You happily sing along with the radio during the short ride to the club, and finally the Moria appears in front of you. You leave your coats at the entrance, and as you predicted, almost every person present turns to look at you and Mirdania as you step in the room, intrigued by your clothes; you and your friend share an amused smile, and you privately have to admit how flattered you feel, even though as a fashion designer what you enjoy is creating clothes, not wearing them yourself. 

“Oh, it’s you guys; and here I thought two top models were gracing my humble club with their presence.” the barman and owner, Durin, jokes when he sees you approach, already busy preparing drinks behind the counter “You really put the rest of my clientele to shame tonight.”

“Thank you, Durin; we made these ourselves!”

“You both look lovely, truly. I wish I had worn a suit like yours on my wedding day, (name), rather than looking like a penguin…”

A grand piano is set on the stage at the centre of the room, a young musician playing a classic piece you vaguely remember hearing before. You and Mirdania decide to sit at the counter for a while, nursing the drinks Durin has already prepared for you. You let your gaze drift over the room, the people sitting at the small tables surrounding the stage, the soft notes soaring from the piano, the few couples who have already started dancing, gently swaying in the arms of their partner. You should feel happy tonight, relieved for your success and excited to begin your internship, and you do! You are happy, even though at the same time you can’t help but feel a bit wistful, and worried…

Mirdania is asking Durin about his wife, Disa, who recently gave birth to their first child, but then she notices your expression, and preoccupation colours her lovely face. “(name), are you alright?”

“Yes, yes; I’m just thinking.”

“About what?”

“About the future. About where I will be, nine months from now.”

By then, barring accidents, you will have graduated from the Arda, free and at the same time forced to begin earning your living. “I thought you planned on finding a job in an important fashion house, just like me.” she points out; that is the most natural choice for a person with your education, unless they are exceptionally talented -or exceptionally wealthy- and are therefore able to get the funding to open a fashion house of their own. 

“I do. It’s just… I don’t know if I can actually manage that.” you confess, to Mirdania’s open surprise; while you like to think you are not as presumptuous as some of your fellow students, who already imagine themselves as top selling designers, whose creations grace the covers of magazines and fetch top dollars among celebrities and members of the elite, it’s not like you to doubt your talent and potential, not to mention your chance of turning your passion in a profitable career.

“Why shouldn’t you? You are one of the best students of our course, you have obtained a prestigious internship, and many alumni of the Arda went on to become famous designers.”

“Yes, but not all of them; in fact, I bet many former students ended up doing something else, and not because of lack of talent. Fashion is one of the most difficult fields in which to break in; why should I succeed where so many others have failed?”

“(name)...”

“I’m sorry.” you murmur, suddenly melancholic, and scared, for a reason you can’t quite describe. Rationally speaking you have every reason to be happy, satisfied, and even hopeful regarding your professional future, given your excellent academic record and the prestigious work opportunity you just obtained, but thinking that at the end of it you’ll be only a few weeks away from your graduation led you to reflect on your future, which you have never felt more pessimistic about “I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight…” 

Who says your academic successes will be enough to guarantee you a career in the field of your choice? So many aspiring artists, actors and singers and writers, wait years and even decades for their big break, which never comes, no matter how good an education they have received, and even how objectively talented they are; it’s the same, or even worse, in the field of fashion, where maybe one out of a hundred or more hopefuls reaches some level of notoriety. 

You already knew when you enrolled in the Arda how hard it would have been to actually become famous, or even just earn your living, as a fashion designer, and you don’t regret choosing such a difficult field to work in. Fashion has been your passion, your only ambition, ever since you watched shows on television with your mother and your grandmother taught you to sew when you were ten, and there would be nothing shameful in having to get another job to support yourself while you wait for your shot to stardom. But if you think that while you wait might end up meaning the rest of your life, and that your years at the Arda, and all the time and effort you have dedicated to your dream, all the hopes and the ambition, might amount to nothing, and you will have to work maybe a steady, even prestigious job, but that you find no joy or even just interest in, just to pay your rent and bills…

Oh, God; what am I doing? Maybe I should stop while I still can, and get a job at a  supermarket or as a bank teller, it’ll be less exciting but at least I won’t have to fear any disappointment…

“You want to return home? I can drive you, it’s not a problem.” Mirdania proposes, an offer you actually consider but that you don’t have the heart to accept, given how excited your friend was about tonight.  

You thank your friend, sincerely grateful, and do your best to relax and enjoy the music and your drink, both of them actually good. You turn your gaze back to the piano, the musician having now switched to a melancholic jazz piece… 

“No, I’m fine; it’s probably because of the stress of these past weeks.” you try to reassure her, forcing yourself to smile “I just need to relax.”

“If you change your mind we can leave; I don’t mind, truly.”

… and then, almost casually, your eyes meet those of a man sitting across the room from you, and time seems to stop.

He has dark hair, and is wearing something black; that is all you can see of him, given the distance and the soft light permeating the club, but it’s his gaze that compels you… a gaze intense and open, even blatant, proper of a person who feels no shame in expressing their thoughts and feelings. 

He seems to have stared at you longer than you have been aware of; the man smiles at you, and you smile back, suddenly shy, and force yourself to look away to talk to Durin. 

A few minutes later a man your age approaches the two of you: it’s Malendol, a friend of Mirdania you know she has a particular interest in. You chat for a while, and soon after your friend is invited to dance.

“I’d like that, but…”

“No buts; you go and dance.” you tell her, well aware she’d decline in order not to leave you alone; you actually don’t mind, and the last thing you want is for your bad mood to ruin your friend’s night “Come on, off you go.”

“Are you sure it doesn’t bother you?”

“Absolutely sure. Malendol, keep her away for at least half an hour.”

He nods, grinning at you, and a moment later your friend is walking towards the dancefloor, her dress once more attracting the attention of whoever she walks past. 

Durin smiles at you, his arms resting on the counter. “That was kind of you.”

“No one wants to be the third wheel with a friend and a potential partner; and I don’t want to infect her with my bad mood.”

“Something bad happened?”

“No, and that’s the worst thing of all. I should be happy, but…”

“Hello.”

You realise it’s him even before looking; you remain still for a moment, suddenly struggling to swallow, and then turn, offering your best smile. “Hello.”

The first thing you notice, as natural for a future professional in the field of fashion, is his suit; expensive, clearly tailored to the body of the person wearing it, emphasising the width of his shoulders and his narrow waist, and paired with an elegant golden-coloured shirt. 

And then there’s him, his face, and no matter how much you like his clothes, that is what makes your heartbeat accelerate suddenly.

“I hope you won’t consider me too forward, but I noticed you from my table, and… I saw your friend left to dance. May I sit?”

“Of course.” you answer happily, and a moment later the man has occupied the stool next to yours. Like you had noticed, his hair is dark, and longer than most men’s, a soft-looking, lucid mantle falling to his waist; he has a classically beautiful face, the sort you usually find on marble statues or antique paintings, bright dark eyes, and a friendly, open smile.

He is handsome. No, you correct yourself as you move your legs away to make space for him, too slowly to avoid his knee brushing against yours, he’s absolutely gorgeous, without a doubt one of the most attractive men you have ever met -and that’s saying something, with all the male models you have seen at the various fashion shows you have attended- and the way he’s looking at you is making you feel as if Durin had turned the heating to the maximum.

“My name is Ereinion.” he introduces himself offering you a hand you shake; he is wearing several rings, even though not, you notice with relief, the one that suggests he may have a spouse waiting for him at home.

“I am (name), good to meet you.”

“... you said (name)?”

“Yes, why?” you ask, surprised; is there perhaps something wrong with your name?

“... nothing. The pleasure is all mine, (name); may I say I really like your suit? It’s very smart, I like the embroidery on the lapels.”

“Thank you.” you say, sincerely flattered “So, uhm, is this your first visit to the Moria?”

You spend a few minutes talking, the conversation flowing free and relaxed like it rarely happens to you with a person you have just met. You tell Ereinion you are still in school, but when he ask what you are studying you propose to change the topic; you’re usually more than happy to talk about your studies, and the Arda, and all that concerns fashion, but at the moment the less you think about your future, and how little chance you have to actually earn your living as a fashion designer, the better. 

“No problem.” he answers easily “Can I buy you a drink?”

You gently refuse, since two drinks per night is usually your limit and you don’t want to lower your guard in the company of a man you still don’t know you can trust. You and Ereinion end up talking for more than an hour, discussing everything from movies and literature, to travels and even politics. Your new acquaintance is an endless source of interesting facts and ideas; he has told you he’s self-employed -which, you gather, means he’s a businessman- and he travels much for work.

He’s interested in you, you can see it in his eyes, the feeling blatant and open even though he’s acting like a perfect gentleman, and even though this has happened to you before you feel both flattered and a little intimidated. Ereinion can’t be much older than you, but his suit, the heavy watch at his wrist, and something in the self-confidence he exudes suggests he is a man of wealth, which is as different from your situation as it can be, since you are attending the Arda on a scholarship and still have to rely on your parents’ help to pay rent. You seem to have hit it off, but you doubt you and this man have much in common…

“... and then my cousin, Galadriel, took offence, and threatened to carve that man’s face with a steak knife; had I not intervened, physically lifting her to carry her outside, she probably would have.”

“Oh my God!” you say, unable to stop laughing as Ereinion tells you about the latest disastrous family reunion he attended “I can’t believe she really threatened him!”

“She did. I am very fond of Galadriel, but sometimes I wish she had more self-control.” he admits with a soft smile; he remains silent for a moment, as if debating his next move, and then his hand covers the one you have placed on the bar’s counter, the touch feather-light but enough to make you perceive the warmth of his body “Would you like to dance?”

You swallow. “I’d love to.”

Durin looks approvingly at you as you let Ereinion’s hand at the small of your back guide you to the dancefloor; a moment later you have joined the couples gently swaying to the music, his hands resting on your hips, your arms circling his neck. He is the one leading, which is good, because by now you have completely stopped listening to the music, too focused on the firm, warm body embracing yours.

“What’s wrong?” Ereinion asks after a few minutes, his murmur caressing the shell of your ear. 

“Nothing!”

“I can feel you are tense; is something bothering you?”

“I’m fine, really.” you try to reassure him as you meet his gaze, but you don’t seem to succeed, because a moment later, with a jolt of panic, you feel him pulling back.

“(name), if I have… made you uncomfortable somehow, I am truly sorry.”

“You haven’t; really, err, it’s not your fault. You can’t help being so terribly handsome, after all.”

You hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but you have, and blushing and covering your mouth with your hand doesn’t help. Ereinion grins, openly flattered.

“I… haven’t, actually; but thank you very much. I think you are extremely beautiful as well.”

“You really think so?”

Despite your embarrassment, you find yourself smiling. “Oh, don’t be coy; I wanted to ask you if you ever considered a career as a model.”

“Well, thank you…”

You share a smile, the tension between the two of you dissipating. The next two hours pass quickly; you dance, you talk, you drink -a non-alcoholic for you- and in the end Ereinion accompanies you on the club’s tiny veranda for a breath of fresh air. You have met Mirdania’s eyes a couple times, as she danced with Malendol or sat with him and his friends, and you’ve seen approval in her eyes; clearly neither of you is disappointed her friend has found someone else to spend the evening with. 

“I like this place.” Ereinion comments as he rests his back against the wall by your side, his eyes focused on you rather than on the sky full of stars above you; he has already offered you his jacket to wear, in case you felt cold, and you declined, secretly flattered by the offer “I’ll have to thank the people who recommended it to me.”

It’s a feeling you know well. “And they are right?”

“You have a favourite place here in the city?”

“A few. I, err, haven’t been to a club, or any other place really, for a long time. I’ve been very busy with my work and… people say that I don’t know how to relax.”

“They are. But I’m feeling very relaxed right now, which is pleasant.”

Ereinion smiles; and you thought he couldn’t look more gorgeous. “What are you thinking about?” he asks, and you hesitate only for a moment before answering in the only way you can: truthfully.

“I’m thinking that even though this is one of my favourite clubs and I had been in the company of my friend until a minute before I was feeling pretty down, so I really have to thank you for coming to talk to me; I feel much better now.”

“Glad I could help.” 

A moment of silence as Ereinion turns to look at you; his hand cups your cheek, and you forget how to breathe. “Do you want to know what I am thinking?” he asks softly, and you not imperceptibly, heart pounding in your chest “I’m thinking that you must be the most beautiful woman I have met in a long time, and I’m dying to kiss you.”

It’s as if you had been holding your breath ever since your gazes first met; and now, finally, you can exhale. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

You are surer of this than you are of your name, and you don’t care how desperate it makes you look to say it. “I am absolutely sure; please, I want it too, I want it so much…”

A moment later Ereinion has claimed your mouth in a searing kiss; you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his, and whatever he feels seems to please him, because you hear him moan in your mouth. His body is large, warm, powerful, and you lose yourself in the intensity of his embrace; your hands move up and down his chest, and Ereinion holds you by the hips as his tongue takes possession of your mouth. 

The next ten minutes pass as if in a dream. Ereinion is now kissing your neck, the sweet caress of his mouth leaving goosebumps behind it, and you moan out loud, well aware that whoever among the club’s clients -or worse even, Durin- felt the need for a smoke or a breath of fresh air could see you, and physically unable to care.

“Oh, God…”

“Good?”

As if he could doubt it! “More than good. Please, please don’t stop…”

He has no intention to, and he proves it by holding you tight as he moulds the shape of your body with his hands. You can feel him smiling against your mouth as he kisses you again, and for some reason the sensation fills your heart with joy… and then you jump, when Ereinion lifts your leg around his waist, pressing his hips against yours. 

“Fuck.” you murmur. You can feel how hard he is, and you barely know him, way too little for something like this to be the smart, or even just the safe, thing to do, but caring, reminding yourself of the rules you have set for yourself when you started dating as a teenager, is suddenly the hardest thing you ever had to do; you’ve never felt so aroused in your life, you want this man desperately, you need to feel his body against yours and in yours as soon as possible, you need to feel his hands on your skin and his mouth kissing every part of you…

Ereinion groans as he feels you rubbing yourself against him, desperately searching for some relief, a raw, blatantly erotic sound that makes you wish you were truly alone, naked, on a bed or whatever other surface sturdy enough to support your combined weight “God, you feel amazing…”

Your heart is pounding; your mind is spinning; your body is begging for contact, and if you don’t do something about it now you’ll end up on your knees in front of him - which will be undoubtedly amazing, even though not completely satisfying. So you meet his eyes and

“Yes, it’s fine; I just need to tell my friend, and take my coat.”

“Can we go somewhere else?” you ask, and Ereinion grins.

“Do you want to come to my place? My car is outside.” 

He nods, clearly happy, and you return inside together, his arm resting on your shoulders. 

*****

Ereinion’s car is exactly like you had imagined, and exactly like him; large, elegant, powerful, and you feel yourself shivering with pleasure as you lower yourself on the leather seat, after he had chivalrously opened the door for you.

He drives unhurriedly among the city streets, focused on the road ahead but looking away to meet your eyes once in a while; you share a smile, no need for words between you.

You’re not at all surprised that, when the car finally stops, you have reached one of the most upscale neighbourhoods of the city, and the building in front of you must cost more per square meter than your yearly tuition at the Arda.

Ereinion once again opens the door for you, and offers you his hand to get out; you smile, secretly flattered. “Can I ask you a very straightforward question?”

“Of course.”

“You are rich, aren’t you?”

He laughs, sincerely amused. “I’m… comfortable.” he admits “I am fortunate enough to have a job that pays well, even though I do work hard and have paid my dues.”

You assure him that he has no need to justify himself, even though you must admit you do feel a little intimidated; most of your friends, and former partners, are or were students like you or people who work to support themselves, and while Ereinion looks only a few years older than you and doesn’t seem the sort of man who boasts about wealth, you have already perceived there is a huge gap between the two of you. Would he think less of you if you told him you still need your parents’ help to pay rent, don’t own a car, and still buy most of your clothes at the mall?

The sense of inferiority feels like a heavy and unpleasant weight on your stomach: still, he did not ask for your bank statement before bringing you home, and as you take his hand to be led inside, any fear and anxiety you may have felt disappears, leaving behind only joy and desire. Mirdania, who you have left in Malendol’s excellent care, asked in a whisper if you were sure of what you were doing, and you are, you are like you have rarely been of anything before.

You want him; and you only need to look at the handsome man now opening the house door -after you, miss- to know he wants you too. 

“Come, make yourself comfortable.” Ereinion invites you kindly as he guides you through the door, which is as elegant and refined inside as it looks outside, all marble and fine furniture “Something to drink?”

You tell him you’d be happy to have a glass of water, since anxiety has dried your mouth, and he leads you to the kitchen, where you find out that, as was to be expected, Ereinion does not live alone.

“This is Aiglos; Aiglos, meet (name).” he introduces you, fondness evident in his voice, as the beautiful German shepard that stood from his bed near the fridge approaches and starts sniffing you; the inspection must yield satisfactory results, because a moment later the dog is licking your hands “I’m sorry, I should have asked you if you have problems with dogs.”

You assure him that you don’t, even though you have never had a pet in your life, and briefly play with the animal, a beautiful adult specimen with black and brown fur and bright, intelligent eyes, while Ereinion takes care of your last drink of the day.

“So it’s only you and Aiglos?” you ask then, after you have quenched your thirst and his dog has gone looking for his toys in the living room “Living here, I mean.”

“Is this your way of asking whether I am married?”

You blush, unable to hide it behind your water glass. “No, I… I’m sorry, I was just thinking that this house seems too large for a single person…”

“It’s fine.” he reassures you with a smile “And it probably is, I have come to realise since I moved here. And I am free as air, I swear.”

You believe him; you have no reason to, all things considered, but you just do. “I am single as well, in case you want to know.”

“I do… even though I don’t doubt you have several admirers vying for your attention.”

You don’t, actually, even though the main reason you have been single for more than a year, after your latest partner cheated on you, is that you have been so focused on your studies, and the upcoming internship, to have much time to dedicate to relationships. 

It bothered you, at times; but right now, you couldn’t be more relieved. 

You place your empty glass in the sink, and smile as Ereinion takes you in his arms once more. “God, you really are gorgeous.” he murmurs; he’s holding you close, not hurting you but tight enough you would probably be unable to wiggle out if you wanted to.

Good thing, then, that I don’t.

“I haven’t done anything like this in at least five years, you know?” Ereinion murmurs; then, as if realising his words could be misunderstood: “Taken someone home, I mean.”

“If you’re… uncomfortable in any way, we don’t have to…”

“No, absolutely; it’s just that… the last time that person stole my wallet and my dog while I was asleep, so it’s not exactly a good memory.”

“Oh, God, that is horrible…”

“Well, I was able to find Aiglos at least, a few days later.”

“That’s good. And in any case…” you murmur as you slip your arms under his jacket, feeling the firmness of his torso against your body “... I can promise I want nothing from you, if not what you are willing to give. I… I had never felt like this before; I need you, Ereinion, I just need you to take me…”

He sighs, as if overwhelmed by what he feels. “Then I will.” he murmurs, before cupping your face in his hands once again “You have my word.”

You keep kissing as he guides you to his bedroom, where a huge bed, its dark-coloured sheets soft to the touch, is waiting for you. You start taking each other’s clothes off, and once both of your jackets have been abandoned on a chair, you hear Ereinion groan as he unbuttons your waistcoat. “I just wish I could tear this off you…”

You pout. “I think you liked my suit.”

“I love your suit; it’s very elegant and you look amazing in it. I just wish it was easier to take it off…”

In the end you manage, and within a few minutes your clothes are scattered around the room, and you’re both in your underwear. Ereinion guides you to the bed, kneeling on the floor between your legs as you kiss senselessly; his hand moves up and down your thigh, but a moment later you have unclasped your bra, and he is pulling you close by the hips to kiss your chest, whispering words into your skin that make you thank God the room is bathed by the pale moonlight, because you don’t want him to see you are blushing. 

You murmur his name as you arch your back, waves of pleasure running through you as he kisses and licks and sucks as if your breast were the last glass of water in a deserted world, hungry and reverent, almost worshipful, and your fingers play with his dark locks as you murmur how handsome he is, how good he’s making you feel, and how you can’t wait to feel him inside you. 

When he stops, you can see he’s grinning. “Up.” he orders, and you lift your legs and then your hips to let him take your panties off.

You are naked, naked on the bed of a man you have known for four hours, and you’ve never felt so happy in your life. Ereinion kisses your legs as he opens them, and then he’s standing, taking off his black pants to expose his strong, sensual body, which is even more handsome than you thought, so perfect you struggle to breathe as you admire him.

“You’re beautiful.” you murmur, and Ereinion smiles at you as he reaches you on the bed, looming over you. 

“I’m going to make you feel good.” he murmurs before kissing you once more “Just tell me if I hurt you or you want to stop.”

You appreciate the thought, but you know already nothing he’ll decide to do will make you want to stop. You sigh as you feel his body pressing against yours; your heart is pounding, desire tensing your muscles as every fiber of your being screams begging to be fucked, but at the same time you’re relaxed, at ease and safe as if you were in your own home, with a person you had known all your life, and with whom you shared something deep and real and destined to last.

It might be a sign; and it might be not. You don’t care about the future, just like you don’t care about the past, and the differences between your lifestyles. All that counts is the present, and what you’re living together, and oh God he’s started pushing and it feels so good he’s so big…!

“You’re so wet for me.” Ereinion groans; he smiles at you, eyes full of desire, and a moment later he is fully inside you.

Your lovemaking is slow, soft and intense, Ereinion hiding his face in the grove of your neck as he relentlessly pushes himself in, and in your delirium part of you fears he’s going to split you open, but you don’t care, because it feels so good, he’s so warm and strong and hard, and you’re moaning and crying and digging your nails in the flesh of his back -painful, theoretically, but Ereinion seems to appreciate- and begging him not to stop, because you love this and you love him too… 

World dissolves in ecstasy; you stop thinking, hold on to him, and let your body join his in the dance. 

*****

You really thought you had found something beautiful.

It’s the sound of water falling that wakes you the next morning, coming not from outside -the sky is clear, with no sign of rain- but from the room adjacent to the one you are in, a large, pristine bedroom with elegant modern furniture and a beautiful view of the city out of the windows. You have only a few minutes to observe it, since you were too busy for it last night, and to enjoy the quiet happiness bubbling in your heart, before the water in the en-suite bathroom is turned off, and a minute later Ereinion, wearing only a pair of dress pants, his hair still wet after the shower, enters, immediately walking to you.

“Good morning.” he greets you softly as he bends on the bed to kiss you; he is happy, and does nothing to hide it “Sorry I woke you up.”

“It’s no problem.” you answer happily; you are now sitting on the bed, not bothering to use the soft blankets to cover yourself as you savour the honey on his lips, and the warmth of his body still enveloping your skin. It has been the most amazing night of your life, and while you have no intention of saying it out loud, you know it’s the same for him “Can’t you stay a little longer? Please?”

“I really wish I could; but I have to meet someone soon.”

“A woman?”

“Yes; but it’s not like you think. It’s for work.” he hurries to explain; he cups your face in his hands, clearly anxious to convince you “I told you I wasn’t seeing anyone, and I’d never lie about something like this.”

“I believe you.” you assure him; you have no right to be jealous of him -nor he of you, clearly- but you can’t deny, at least in your heart, that knowing he is single is an enormous source of relief. Only a few hours, albeit very intense, after your first meeting you already feel Ereinion is a drug you could easily become addicted to, but at the moment you are too happy, and sated, to worry about it “I’m sorry, I don’t want to sound possessive.”

Ereinion assures you he is pleased to know you still desire his company, and you’re free to remain in bed as long as you want - and as long as you don’t take Aiglos with you when you leave.

“No, it’s fine; I have things to do as well.”

And you really do; according to your phone you have little more than two hours to go home, shower, change, and then go to the Arda in time to meet your mentor for the internship. Had things -specifically, your evening- gone differently, you would be trembling with anxiety; instead, you feel perfectly calm, excited but in control of yourself, ready to make a good impression on the famous designer you’ll be working under for six months. And after that, and after your diploma… well, you’ll have time to worry about the future in time, you decide; doing it in advance is pointless.

You take a quick shower -the bathroom is, just as the rest of the house, enormous, but it’s the sort of luxury that evokes cosiness, rather than unease- and by the time you are wearing your suit once again and have joined him in the living room, Ereinion has put an elegant white shirt on, filled Aiglos’ bowl with food, and prepared two cups of coffee, one of which he offers you with a smile.

“Just a talent I was born with.”

“Something tells me you’re a black coffee sort of woman.”

“I actually am!” you confess, impressed “How do you know?”

Ereinion grins; he places his cup on the counter to kiss you once more, hard, loving, intense enough to make your head spin as you enthusiastically kiss him back. You’ve had sex three times already, but you’re not sated yet; part of you has already begun thinking you might never be, a thought that is both terrifying and exhilarating. 

“Tell me I can see you for dinner.”

“I can see you for dinner.”

He moans, even though not in the particular way you have already come to appreciate. “(name), please…”

“Sorry, sorry.” you murmur, raising your hand to touch his soft hair; you have spent the whole night making love but God, that simple contact is enough to make you tremble “I’d really love to. Believe me, if what I need to do today weren’t extremely important, I’d remain here waiting for you to come back.”

Another of those beautiful smiles, and then Aiglos comes in to reclaim both of his food and a bit of cuddles from you, both of which are readily offered to him. 

“He likes you.” Ereinion points out as he observes you playing with his dog; then, softly: “And I do too.”

“I like you too.” you readily admit, standing to look at him; again, you share a smile.

“It’s fine. I’ll see you tonight, then.”

You leave the house together twenty minutes later. “The metro is that way, only five minutes away.” Ereinion informs you, pointing the direction with his finger “I can drive you home if you want, I need to take the car in any case, but I guess you wouldn’t accept, would you?”

“I appreciate the offer, but I wouldn’t.” you say; he doesn’t seem the sort of man who stalks a woman after she broke up with him, but one can never be too sure. 

You assure him he will, and that you really can’t wait for your date; you share a last, long kiss, and then Ereinion is looking at you as you move a few steps away, turn, and wave your hand good-bye before setting out.

*****

And now…

You walk through the Arda’s main door -there are no classes today, since it’s Saturday, but a few students come to take advantage of the well-equipped atelier to work on their creations, which means the building is technically open in the week-end as well- ten minutes before the appointed time for your meeting with your mentor at a quick but unhurried pace, wearing your best suit, which you have paired with a blouse of your creation. 

You should feel tired, since sleep was the last thing on your mind last night, but you aren’t: you feel lucid, excited but in control, ready to make a good impression without letting the fear for the future get you down. 

And tonight you are seeing Ereinion again. Thinking back to last night, part of you still can’t believe what happened was real and not the plot of a cheesy rom-com; but it was real, it happened, to you, and while you have never believed in love at first sight, you are determined not to let this chance go to waste. He is so handsome, and he seemed to be genuinely interested in what you had to say, and he took care of your pleasure as well as his, which is more than you can say for some of your past partners. There is so much you still don’t know about each other, and the thought of dating a wealthy, already self-sufficient person while you’re still a student relying on her family’s help should probably make you hesitate, but it does not. You don’t plan on becoming Ereinion’s kept woman, nor to let your relationship, should the two of you actually begin one, divert you from your studies, and you actually don’t care for his economic status either way. 

It’s less than twelve hours to your first date; you can’t wait, and you’ll need to think about what to wear… even though, you remind yourself as you quickly cross the main corridor, now you have to put aside your new fling, and focus on what could be your big chance to start building a career as a fashion designer.   

You meet Mirdania and Elrond in the tiny break-room on the first floor. Your friend, looking very smart as usual in a blouse and frilled skirt she bought expressly to improve it according to her personal style, smiles knowingly at you as he sees you approach. “Well, look who seems in a markedly better mood than last night.”

“I had a wonderful evening.” you admit “And, I’m meeting him for dinner.”

“Good for you. I do admit your new friend looks very handsome.” 

“I agree. What about you? Did you have fun?”

Your friend, blushing a bit, admits that Malendol did ask her out last night, which she accepted. You are discussing the possibility of organising a double date -at the Moria, obviously- when one of your lecturers enters the room. 

“Your mentors have arrived, and are ready to meet you.” they say, before explaining which room each of the designers is waiting in “You have one hour to make their acquaintance and discuss your internship, then you are all to come to the administration office to sign a few forms. Good luck to you all.”

You and Mirdania share an excited smile, and whisper good luck to each other before following Elrond out of the break-room. 

The class where Gil-Galad is waiting for you is at the end of the corridor; you reach it, take a deep breath as you square your shoulder, knock on the door, and open it.

“Good morning, sir. I am your new intern, (full name), and I am very happy for…”

“(name).” a soft voice interrupts you, and you blink, stopping dead as the door closes behind you. Then you see the person waiting for you, their hands and back resting on the edge of the professor’s podium, and you stop breathing.

The anguish on Ereinion’s expression is so intense it borders on panic; he starts walking towards you, slowly, like a hunter trying not to spook a doe… before he has time to shoot her.

“(name), I’m so sorry.” he says, his tone pleading “Let me explain… I swear I didn’t know…” 

May I say I really like your suit? It’s very smart, I like the embroidery on the lapels. This is what Ereinion said upon meeting you, an apparently sincere compliment that immediately charmed you. Not many men would have noticed a detail like that, let alone thought of complimenting it, but a person who knows much about fashion, who works in the field and loves it as much as you do, would have.

You can’t stop staring at him -him. HIM!- as the enormity of the truth comes crashing down on you, burying you alive. It’s not possible, you desperately tell yourself, suddenly feeling dizzy, there must be an explanation, it can’t be true…

But it is, the reality too clear and evident to be denied, and it is now standing in front of you, close enough you could touch him.

Ereinion is Gil-Galad. Gil-Galad is Ereinion. The famous fashion designer you couldn’t wait to work for and learn from, and the charming man who seduced you and gave you the best night of your life. They are one and the same, the two sides of the same coin, and they both made a fool of you. 

“I am sorry, truly.” he murmurs, kind and anguished as he takes your hands in his, but you have quickly stepped back, putting as much space between you as you can.

“No… no…” you stammer, barely aware of the words you are uttering; your head is spinning, and your legs a moment away from giving way, as you realise the enormity of the mess you have gotten yourself in “I can’t… it’s not possible…”

“(name), please… we can find a way to make things work, if you just let me explain…”

You don’t; you have no interest in whatever this man, whoever he is, may have to say, and you don’t want to remain in his presence a moment more, not to mention your eyes have already filled with tears and you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how shattered you feel. So you swat his hand away, like you would do with an insect, and

“You… you bastard!” you scream in his face “You ruined everything!”

before turning and running out of the room, deaf to his pleads to stop. 

*****

You really thought you had made it. You really thought you had nothing to worry about. You really thought you had found something beautiful. And now… all of it has disappeared like snow at the coming of spring, leaving behind nothing but shame and rejection.

There is no alcohol in the apartment, since you usually prefer to drink socially rather than when alone, and this is at the same time a very good thing and the worst possible outcome. You spend two hours lying on your bed, crying inconsolably as you hide your face in your pillow; your phone hasn’t stopped ringing ever since you ran out of the Arda, but you didn’t even bother taking it out of your bag. You can’t be fully sure all those calls and texts are his, and not of Mirdania, who might have heard what you did and be consequently worried about you, or someone else, but you don’t care; you feel so humiliated, so completely annihilated, you don’t even bear the thought of talking to your friend or your family.

You still can’t believe it. You were so excited, and nervous, of meeting Gil-Galad, a famous fashion designer whose work you had long admired, and then you end up in bed with him, making love with an intensity you had never experienced before, without even realising.

Is Ereinion his real name, and the one all fashion fans in the country know a pseudonym? Or is it the opposite? Did he realise the woman in front of him was his future intern when you exchanged names at the club, and decided to have sex with you simply because he found you desirable, and to hell with the work relationship you were due to begin only a few hours later, or he seduced you with the precise intent of making you his lover as well as his intern? Did he plan on spending his days teaching you the finer points of the art of fashion, and his nights with you in his bed?

Well, if that’s the truth, you’ll have to disappoint him. A relationship, whether romantic or sexual, between a mentor and a mentee would be absolutely inappropriate, it might get you in trouble should the Arda learn about it, and the power imbalance alone is something you are determined to avoid, because how could you care, and trust, and deal as equals with a man who could make it impossible for you to be hired in any fashion house in the country after a simple fight?

You’ve known him for less than twenty-four hours, and he clearly does not deserve your affection given how he deceived you, but the thought of losing Ereinion, that you’ll never see him again and never get to feel the emotions he filled your heart with in the few, precious hours you have spent together, breaks your heart. And that’s not all: you’ll also have to give up on your internship, because since the simple thought of seeing Ereinion again feels unbearable, how can you hope to work closely with him for six months? Despite his undeniable talent as a designer you are not even sure you want to work for him; what if he actually asks for sexual favours in exchange for his teachings…?

A small part of you is aware you are being too harsh in judging him, and that his heartbroken expression when you met at the Arda clearly suggests Ereinion was as unaware of your future working relationship as you were when you met, but you are too heartbroken to reason. The internship was all you aspired to and worked for for almost a year, you had invested so much on it, hoping it could help you start building a career as a fashion designer, like you had dreamt of doing since you were little, and now all of it was in vain. And last night… you really don’t believe in love at first sight, but you had never felt so intensely attracted to someone; you sincerely enjoyed the time you spent talking and dancing, and your lovemaking was sweet, intense, even loving; Ereinion had been everything you had ever looked for in a partner and then more: handsome, passionate, generous, able to share his pleasure with you and to take care of yours.

You really thought you could build something together; at the very least you wanted to, desperately, and the loss of that potential future makes you feel more lonely than ever. 

Only a few hours ago you felt amazing, about to begin a prestigious work experience and pursue a relationship with a partner who had stolen your heart; and now you have neither, you have lost everything, and while there will -might- be other job opportunities, and other men, you can’t help but think this was your chance, he was, as a lover or as a mentor if not both things together, and you have wasted it all away…

Deep in your sadness as you are, it actually takes you a while to realise the doorbell is ringing, more and more insistently. You ignore it, since you have never felt so unsociable and really don’t want to see anyone, but after a while the shrill sound hurting your eardrums is replaced by a voice, one you have heard for the first time only twelve hours ago but that you can’t help but recognise…

“(name), it’s me!” Ereinion calls for you from outside the door “Please, it’s not like you think! Let me explain!”

He came to your apartment! You never told him where you live, which means he must have found it on your curriculum, which the Arda has provided him with. Anger mounts inside you; how dares he? Had you wanted to talk to him you would have answered his calls, or called him yourself, since you exchanged numbers; what gives him the right of coming to bother you at home?

You rise from your bed and walk to the door. “Go away!” you cry, forcing yourself to make those words sound like an order rather than a plea.

“Not unless you let me talk to you.” he promptly answers from outside.

“Listen, Ereinion or whatever your name is…”

“Ereinion is my name. Gil-Galad is my second name, that I use for…”

“... you have until the count of five to leave, otherwise I’ll call the police to say you are threatening me. One!”

“Are you really sure?” you ask in your most cruel tone “If you get arrested the papers might come to know about it; is this the sort of publicity you want for your brand? Two!”

“You won’t do it. You’re not that cruel.”

He is not wrong, and the fact he’s still able to see right through you pains and angers you both; you ball your fists, wishing he could see how furious you are.

“(name)...”

“Stop saying my name, it won’t help you. Three!”

“(name), I swear I didn’t know!”

You stop counting, hesitating despite yourself. “It changes nothing.” you whisper softly, resting your forehead against the door “What is done is done. I can’t work for you after what we shared last night, and I don’t feel comfortable dating you either, since you are everything I wish to be and will never get to become. I am very sorry, but we should both forget we ever met.”

You hear him grunt. “Don’t I get a saying in this? It concerns me as well.” he points out unhappily “It’s also my relationship, and my job.”

“You don’t. I’m very sorry, but this is the only thing I feel comfortable with doing. Ereinion, please, if you care for me just go.”

Silence.

“I know you’re still there. Please…”

“I like the way you say my name.” you hear him murmur; his voice is hoarse, deep, and damn, you wish it didn’t make you shiver “I like it very much, you know? I wanted to make you scream nothing more all night long, and I almost did…”

You strife a sob as the unbidden memories of your night together fill your mind; your self-control has reached its limit, and you don’t know how much longer you can resist before opening the door and throwing yourself into his arms to beg him to make it all go away. 

“Please. Please just go…”

“I will; you have my word. But let me speak to you face to face, please. I swear the next time you say leave, I’ll walk out of this door and you’ll never see me again.”

The thought is terrifying; a moment later you have opened the door, and moved silently aside to let Ereinion, who looks as tormented as you feel, walk inside.

The door closes, and the two of you can do nothing but stare at each other. You must look horrible -half dressed, puffy eyes, make-up smudged- but there is nothing but tenderness in Ereinion’s eyes as he looks at you; tenderness and heartbreak.

“I swear I did not know.” he starts after a minute “I know the matter is more complicated than that, but I want you to know. When I met you last night, I had no idea you were my trainee. Remember you never told me you attend the Arda, or even just that you study fashion; there are so many universities and schools in this city, how was I supposed to know?”

Once again, he’s not wrong. “But had the school not given you my curriculum? (name) is a pretty uncommon name, didn’t you remember reading it? There’s even my picture on it!”

Openly embarrassed, Ereinion admits he didn’t - not properly. “I received an email from the school yesterday morning, with the data of the student I was going to mentor. I was actually excited about it, but I was busy with something else at the time and, err, I just read the text real quick, without opening the attachment. Your name did sound familiar, but I didn’t make the connection. I only realised what was happening fifteen minutes before you arrived, when I finally opened that blasted -I’m sorry- email.”

“I see.” you murmur, and while you are relieved he did not try to deceive you, as he said, the problem at your hands is much bigger than a simple lack of goodwill. 

“The suit I wore yesterday… I made it myself, you know?” you murmur as you hug yourself; it’s pointless to mention it, but you want him to know “It’s the piece that won me the internship.”

Ereinion smiles; you have no way of knowing, since you’ve only met yesterday, but his closest associates would marvel at how often he’s doing it while he’s with you. “I should have known; it is lovely. And I went to the school’s atelier, I saw your creations; you really are talented, (name). I would be proud to work with you… and I would have thought the same had I not met you last night at the club.”

It is a beautiful thing to say, beautiful enough to fill your eyes with tears. “Thank you; I would have been happy to work with you too.”

“Then let’s do it. I have a new collection coming out next year, I want your input, there are so many things I want to discuss with you, people I want to introduce…”

“But we can’t. Ereinion, I…” you sigh, because nothing is harder than making a case while at the same time desiring the opposite “It’s always been important for me to keep my private and work life separate, which is why I would never date one of my lecturers, and it’s the same, if not more, for a mentorship.”

You both reflect on the matter for a minute; Ereinion folds his arms to his chest, as if he had to physically stop himself from reaching out and embracing you. “And I guess you would not want me as a partner, since you can’t have me as a mentor.”

“Because you think I could fire you if you refuse to sleep with me?”

“I don’t think you would; but it wouldn’t be fair for you either. What if I make a mistake you would dismiss someone else over, or I am up for some promotion someone else deserves more? I would never ask for any special treatment, but I don’t want you to have to choose between making me happy and treating me fairly. Becoming a fashion designer has been my dream since I was ten, but I don’t want people to say I have built my success because I slept with someone.”

“I wish it was that easy. I do want you; I want you desperately. But knowing how successful you are, and the fact I haven’t even started my career, and this whole mess with the internship… I don’t think it would work; I need to be in a relationship where there is no power imbalance, and I’m afraid this is not our case.

“So you’re throwing away everything we have? Everything we could have?”

“It’s not like I want to!” you cry out, frustrated; why can he not see how much you’re hurting? “What I feel for you, what I have shared with you… I had never felt it before; but I am not going to sacrifice my principles, and my self-respect, for a lover. Not even you, Ereinion; and if you can’t understand it, and accept it, you’re not the sort of man I want to be around.”

He grins, and a moment later he’s holding you in his arms. “There might be a way for you not to have to give up on your internship.” he murmurs “You could do it with someone else.”

Silence falls; your heart has the time to pound five times before the tall, handsome man in front of you sighs, takes a step forward, and cautiously reaches out with his hand. “May I touch you?”

“I am not radioactive.”

“... what?”

“I could swap interns with another of the designers. Celebrimbor is set on working with his mentee, who I have realised is your friend Mirdania, but Cirdan is an old friend, and when I spoke to him he said he doesn’t mind taking you and letting me take his new intern, Elrond. You would love working with him, I’m sure; Cirdan is a gentleman, and knows more about the business than any person I know. You would have much to learn from him.”

Working for a successful designer like Cirdan is an opportunity anyone in your situation would give an arm and a leg to get; and you must admit it, the prospect is exciting. 

You consider the matter for a minute, safely held in his embrace. “You told him why you can’t work with me?”

“I told him we are family friends, and therefore it wouldn’t have been proper for us to work together. It’s not exactly the truth, but I think it was a more appropriate explanation; and he promised he’ll keep the truth for himself.”

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure. I don’t want you to lose this internship, (name); you deserve it, and it would be a great opportunity for your future.” Ereinion murmurs; he kisses your hair, sweet and chaste “I don’t want you to have to give up on your dreams… but, if I may be selfish just for a minute, I also wish you wouldn’t give up on us simply because we’re working in the same field.”

“I don’t work; I’m still a student.” you mumble; you rest your cheek against his shoulder, and suddenly you feel as if you hadn’t rested in a year.

“You know what I mean. (name), do you really think I care about that? Because I don’t, and the last thing I want is you to feel you have something to prove, or some standard to reach, in order to be somehow… worthy of me. And you shouldn’t either.”

He’s right, and you know it; you never thought Erenion could lose interest in you, or not consider you a partner on equal terms, simply because he’s more successful than you - which is an unfair comparison to begin with, since your career hasn’t even started yet. The problem is you, and your insecurities, which maybe you’ll never get rid of completely, but as he said, you shouldn’t allow them to stop you from pursuing a relationship with a person you sincerely care about. 

You can become a successful fashion designer relying on your own strength; and you can keep your private and professional life separate, like you’ve always done.

You feel him smile as you circle his shoulders with your arms, and now you’re holding each other, the intimacy different from what you shared last night, but equally precious. “I should probably go back to the school.” you murmur “To talk to mister Cirdan, and the administration office.”

“Sounds fair; as long as you remember you have a date tonight.”

You assure him you do; you share a smile. “Can I drive you there?”

“I’d like that. Come, I need a minute to prepare.”

You share a new kiss, and Ereinion smiles as you take his hand to guide him inside.

[valleyof-goldenlilies]

The Winter Formal - Modern! Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: Forced to be your annoying, arrogant academic rival’s date for your university’s Christmas Formal was already a nightmare in itself. Getting drunk? Now that was just a recipe for disaster.

Pairing: Modern! Aemond Targaryen x AFAB! Reader

Warnings: profanity, angst, some talks of drunk violence, academic dumb idiot rivals to lovers, lovesick Aemond, p in v sex, degradation, face sitting (f!receiving), tiddy play, use of 'atta girl' (pls let me know if i missed anything)

Word Count: 6.92k words

A/N: hoe hoe hoe! a very merry late Christmas and Happy New Year in advance from me to you :) MAY THE AEMOND NATION PLS ARISE, bcuz this is for you guys ;)

lovely dividers credited to @firefly-graphics !

For as long as you could remember, you had always hated Aemond Targaryen’s guts. 

Maybe it was a hatred programmed in you since birth, but it made little sense, since your mother and Aemond’s mother, Alicent Targaryen, had been inseparable companions since high school. It was your mother who supported Alicent throughout her marriage, acting as a close, trusted confidant during her clashes with their old friend and Alicent’s new stepdaughter, Rhaenyra, and throughout her miserable marriage. They had even gotten pregnant at around the same time, your mother with you, and Alicent with Aemond, and they were sure that their children would share the same strong bond as they had. 

So, it had been quite unfortunate, and ironic, when you and Aemond ended up being each other’s number 1 enemies. 

You disliked plenty of things about him: how he always thought he was the best in the room, and actually had something to show for it - always coming in at the top of the classes you shared. History, geography, mathematics, english…bloody hell. It hurt worse when he always flaunted the results in your face. 

Got a 98 for English? Aemond would get a 99, shoot you a taunting sympathetic grin and said: “Better luck next time.” He knew you were always actively seeking a chance to beat him, and he found a certain sort of thrill in it, in taunting you. 

That little fuckhead. 

It was a nigging thorn in your side, since you always strove to be the best that you could at everything. And you were always so, so, close. 

Yet not close enough. As you were made to watch Aemond on stage every year at your school’s academic awards ceremony, a smirk on his face, looking like an overly self-righteous pufferfish as he lifted his first place trophy in the air. Like he had just won some fucking world championship. Meanwhile, you had to stand backstage, gritting your teeth and fisting the fabric of your uniform in your hands as you waited to be called on stage to receive your award as second place in your whole cohort. Not close enough as you were forced to be designated as salutatorian at the end of your senior year in high school, while Aemond shot you the most self-satisfied grin ever as he deliberately brushed past you to give his valedictorian speech. 

You swore, if your diploma was not at stake that day, you would’ve pummelled him right in his smug, grinning face. 

That year before you were due to start at King’s Landing University, however, Aemond had suffered a horrible accident in a brawl at a bar during Christmas along with his younger nephews, Jacaerys Velaryon and Lucerys Velaryon. He had come out of it with one eye permanently scarred from the glass shard of a broken beer bottle, and a colder, more sullen attitude. Despite the offer of a prosthetic eye by his step sister, Rhaenyra, Aemond had refused, instead putting on an eyepatch to hide his scarred right eye. 

When your mother had recounted to you the incident with much solemnity, you had felt a strange sense of turmoil in you. You didn’t want to feel sorry for Aemond Targaryen, of all people, but it was a tragic incident that no one deserves to have befallen on them. So you could only shift uncomfortably in your seat, as your mother made meaningful eyes at you, trying to elicit some sympathy and concern from you. 

Because of that incident, Aemond’s admission to university had to be put on hold, as the professors at the university were unsure if Aemond’s plans to double major in law and history would be impeded by the loss of his eye, and he had to take additional exams to prove that his studies would not be affected in any way. 

So you were surprised when on the first day of classes, during your first class of the day - Constitutional Law - you caught sight of a familiar figure seated at the front of the class. Dressed in an expensive black cashmere sweater and tailored trousers, his long white hair neatly bunched up at the top of his head in a bun, eyepatch slung over his right eye, Aemond Targaryen sat there with an impassive look on his face, browsing through his lecture notes. Like some dark shadow the Seven sought to inflict upon you. You wanted to groan in frustration when the only seats left at the front were both next to him - clearly no one had summed up enough courage to sit next to the imposing Targaryen. Gripping the strap of your backpack a little tighter, you stalked up to the front, taking a seat at the right of him. 

He barely looked up as you slid into your seat - a surprising change. Usually back when you were in high school, he would always greet you with that infuriating smirk on his face, one that screamed superiority at every turn. Gods, how much you had hated that. Yet, you felt a strange sense of emptiness at not being greeted. 

Ignoring that, you pulled out your own textbooks and self-made notes, tying your hair up into a neat ponytail as you began reviewing your notes. From the front, you could hear very clearly what the rest of the class were gossiping about, and the whisperings about Aemond were unpleasant. You paused as you listened to them, gripping your highlighter a little tighter as you shot side glances at Aemond - still studying, not letting anything give. Was he truly not bothered by them? When he was younger, he always had something to prove whenever someone gossiped about him, having been bullied in the past. Why was he so silent? Who was this phantom? 

“Are you going to keep staring?” Aemond’s cool voice broke through your thoughts, and you felt your cheeks heat up as you realise you’ve been caught. You sniffed haughtily, turning away. “Who said I was staring?” Aemond scoffed, not turning to look at you still, for whatever reason. “You were. Don’t try to deny it.” He paused for a while, eye fixed on a passage. 

“I don’t want your pity, you know.” You bristled, startled. “As if I ever would.” You waited for Aemond to retort with a snarky remark, but you were surprised when he kept silent, and responded coldly. “Good. keep it that way.” 

You shot him a discerning look, but before you could say anything else, the professor arrived, and all thoughts of Aemond Targaryen’s new unapproachability had vanished into thin air. 

You soon came to learn that while Aemond had ceased the taunting of your youthhood, it was like losing an eye had made him even more driven somehow. You found you and him falling into old patterns, restarting your fierce rivalry. Only this time, you managed to succeed in getting the best of him in certain modules, such as for Civil Law modules, much to your delight. It only served to make Aemond more steely, however, and the both of you often found yourself partaking in the same student committees, always competing for the top spots in planning school events. 

Like now, in the meeting called to discuss the planning of the school’s Winter Formal. 

“I think that that’s a shit idea,” Aemond’s blunt words took everyone aback, but few dared to oppose him, too intimidated by the tall man. 

And the few who dared were mostly you, anyway. 

You raised your eyebrow, tapping your pen on the planning document in front of you. “It’s a winter formal, Targaryen. And white and gold is the traditional theme used for most formals. Isn’t it nice to spruce things up a bit?” 

“You’re proposing to reinvent a winter formal that has been steeped in centuries of tradition,” Aemond remarked sarcastically, glaring at you. “Do you know how many distinguished alumni and guests are on the guest list? I doubt they would find your ‘Christmas Wonderland’ theme proposal charming in any way. Most likely, they’ll think it gaudy and it’ll reflect badly on the school.” 

You snorted, wanting to toss the pen in his fucking infuriating face. Him and his know-it-all voice. “Yes, but you forget, Targaryen, that I am the head of this project. Not you.” You turned to the other members of the planning committee, who all look like they would rather be anywhere other than here, in the midst of you and Aemond’s bickering. “All of those in favour of revamping the winter formal theme, please raise your hands.” 

Your reputation as a tenacious leader clearly had an effect, as most of the members tentatively raised their hands. Shooting a triumphant grin at Aemond, you smugly noted it down and began drafting up the students in charge of decorations. 

One for you, and zero for Aemond. At long last. 

Aemond had reluctantly gone along with the Christmas Wonderland theme, and even he had to admit, a little bit of colour certainly didn’t hurt. White and gold were such dreadfully boring colours, and many of the school’s faculty had expressed their praise for the changed theme this year, much to your delight. 

However, so busy were you with the planning of the winter formal, that you had neglected to do a few important things for yourself. 

Buying a dress and getting a date. 

You paced back and forth in your dorm in panic, two days before the night of the Winter Formal, as your roommate, Rosina, looked at you with increasing frustration. “How could I be so stupid to have forgotten about those things?” You groaned, slumping down on an armchair and putting your head in your hands. 

“The dress problem can be easily solved,” Rosina said bluntly, leaning back against her pillows. “I’ll just lend you one of mine. And who gives a flying fuck about not having a date? A lot of people don’t.” 

“Yes, but I’m the head of the planning committee for this event!” you griped, as Rosina rolled her eyes. “I still don’t see the problem, apart from your stupid fucking dignity getting in the way as usual.” Usually, you loved Rosina’s deadpan, take-no-bullshit nature, but it wasn’t really helpful now. 

“Anyway, from what I've heard, Targaryen doesn’t have a date either, so you don’t need to stress. He’s second-in-charge after you, anyway, so if he doesn’t have a date, you should be fine. It won't be that humiliating.” You slowly lifted your face up, looking at Rosina urgently. “Targaryen doesn’t have a date?” 

“Yeah,” Rosina wrinkled her nose. “He’s hot, sure. But literally everyone who had the courage to ask got rejec- where the fuck are you going?” You were putting on your bra, and brushing through the tangles of your hair. “This is so fucking stupid, but I’m going to ask him.” 

“Are you crazy?” Rosina came to stand next to you, hands on her hips as you roughly used a hairbrush to comb out a tangle. “You know you both hate each other right?” 

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” you bit out. “Wish me luck!” You blew a kiss to Rosina as you left the dorm. “Good luck, you crazy bitch!” You could hear Rosina holler as the dorm room closed behind you. 

You took a deep breath, eyes resting on the dorm door before you. Right. You didn’t know what exactly had possessed you to come here. Maybe it was sheer panic, or stupidity, or both. You knocked lightly, but it seemed no one was in, which made you come to your senses a little bit. “This was a stupid idea,” you muttered, retracting your hand, wanting to just scurry back to your dorm. 

Turning around, however, you knocked into a hard chest. “Oof! I’m so sorry!” You gasped out, before your eyes met a familiar lilac one, an indifferent expression etched on his face. Fucking hell. 

“And what are you doing at my dorm this late, little bookworm?” His voice was raspy, and you couldn’t help but shift your weight from one leg to the other. Was it too late to run? 

You were never a quitter though. And like you said, desperate times called for desperate measures. 

“The winter formal,” you reluctantly gritted out. “I wanted…to ask you to be my date.” Aemond raised an eyebrow, and for a split second, you could see that self-satisfied boy from your youthood again. “You know, you’re supposed to say please, little bookworm.” 

You bit your tongue, wanting to snark him and be done with it. ‘Calm down, calm down, you really do need him. Play nice, Y/N.’ you told yourself sternly, sighing. “Please, will you go to the winter formal with me as my date?” Aemond smirked, looking down at you. Your head was bowed, and he could hear you grinding your teeth a little. You were just too cute sometimes. 

“You should look up at someone when making a request of them, you know,” Aemond said blandly, putting his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. Your mouth dropped open, was he serious right now? This dickhead- 

“You know what, fuck it,” you sniffed, beginning to walk away. “If you’re going to be a dick about it as usual, then there’s no point in continuing this conversation. Good fucking night, Targaryen.” 

Aemond watched you walk away, the smirk never leaving his face. You went back to your dorm, immediately burying your face in the pillow, ignoring Rosina’s exasperated sighs of ‘I told you so’. All night, you tossed and turned in frustration, but when morning broke, Rosina shook you awake, ignoring your grumbles. 

You got out of bed grumpily to see what the fuss was about, only to find a note sitting on the table, in a familiar scrawl. 

“Go to the address written below and pick out a dress for tomorrow. Knowing you, you definitely didn’t have time to find one. I’ve already made payment arrangements, so just find one that you like. See you tomorrow. 

Your date, 

Aemond Targaryen.” 

Rosina snorted, bumping your shoulder as you scanned the note for the third time, trying to make sure he wasn’t pulling your leg. “He so likes you.” You looked askance at her. “That’s bullshit.” Rosina chuckled, “Yeah. it’s not, and you know it too.” The conversation abruptly ended when you snatched up a stray cushion and began hitting her with it, ignoring her squeals as she tried to escape. It was impossible. 

And yet? 

A warm feeling burrowed into your stomach, and stayed there for the rest of the day. 

On the night of the Winter Formal, you were frantically scrabbling around your dorm, affixing the final pins to your hair, putting on your final touches of makeup. Rosina was still in classes, but as the winter formal started at 7:30, you, being your endlessly worrying, perfectionist self, had to go at 6 to make sure everything was in order before the guests poured in. 

A knock at the door sounded, and you yelled in response, putting on your lipstick. “Give me a second!” As you swung open the door, your breath momentarily stuttered in your throat. 

Oh dear. 

Aemond stood outside the door, looking like he had just stepped out of the fucking Met Gala or something. He was dressed in a three-piece suit, black with red lapels, with a few shimmers of silver scattered here and there, like he was coated in a layer of stardust. His suit jacket wasn’t really a normal jacket, but a sharply cut cape coat, which made him look a little imposing, but handsome all the same. It was embroidered with small dragon insignias, and you remembered Aemond’s family’s crest was a dragon or something. Of course he would find a way to incorporate that into his outfit. His family were one of the biggest donors of the university, after all. 

You gave him an appraising look, one hand on your hip as you surveyed him. “You…look nice.” Aemond smirked, tossing some of his white-blonde locks over his shoulder haughtily. “I can dress myself, you know. Don’t need to act surprised now.” You rolled your eyes, and Aemond took the chance to scan you from head to toe as well. Dressed in a gorgeous strapless gown of midnight blue, your bodice was streaked with silver as well, shining like starlight among the deep blue of your dress. The skirt flared into elaborate ruffles of tulle and black lace that were almost invisible against the backdrop of the dress, and small silver sparkles twinkled among the ruffles of your gown.

You narrowed your eyes as you realised the both of you were matching, did he do this on purpose? From the way Aemond’s eye was shining in mischief, you were most certain that he did. 

“You look…breathtaking,” his next words took you aback, and you regarded him with a look of unease, unsure of how to respond. Was this truly the Aemond Targaryen you knew? The one whose only language was taunting or disagreeing with you? You somehow managed to recover some semblance of sanity, nodding stiffly. “Thanks…I guess.” 

A self-satisfied smirk appeared on his lips again, as he offered you his arm. “Shall we get going, then? I’m sure you will want to inspect the venue and get your nose into every single little crook and cranny to make sure that it’s perfect.” 

You rolled your eyes, your arm, which were clad in silver silk gloves, slipping into his gingerly. “Spoken like someone who wouldn’t do the same.” 

The formal had been progressing smoothly so far, apart from the few drunken incidents here and there, which you discreetly handled and made a note to provide less alcohol at these events. Much to your delight, your professors had introduced you to some attorneys whom you deeply admired, commending you as one of their finest students in the year. You had taken the chance to network and mingle with them, eagerly seeking out internship and shadowing opportunities for your upcoming holidays, particularly in the field of civil litigation, and many of them had given you their contact details for you to contact them should you wish to work with them.

Aemond stood by you like a silent shadow, watching but not saying much, but your professors also praised him, introducing him to many esteemed alumnus. And once they had learnt that Aemond was from the prestigious Targaryen family, many of them immediately took to flocking Aemond, asking him many questions about his family, his plans for studies, and so on. A slight burning sensation of envy rose in your heart as you watched Aemond disinterestedly converse with them. Why wasn’t he taking it seriously? Had it been you, you would be seizing the opportunity to network with them. 

‘He's a Targaryen,’ you sighed internally. ‘Of course he wouldn’t. It’s been pretty much handed to him on a silver platter his own life anyway.’ 

Sullenly, you slipped away, making rounds around the party to ensure that everything was progressing smoothly. Still, it couldn’t curb the irritableness you were feeling, so you snatched up a bottle of whiskey from the drinks table, pouring yourself a glass. Then two. Then three. Then four turned to seven and seven turned to thirteen glasses. Your surroundings blurred as time seemed to slow, and you sighed, feeling a heady pounding in your head. 

“Are you serious?” A gruff voice interrupted you in your fifteenth? Twentieth? Glass of whiskey, and you looked up from where you had sunk into a plush armchair, a glazed over, slightly cantankerous expression on your face. 

“Well, well,” you hiccuped, lifting the glass to your lips. “If it isn’t Mr Bigshot Targaryen.” Aemond sighed in annoyance, knowing you were picking a fight again. He made a quick assessment of your surroundings, noting two empty whiskey bottles and a third one that was almost drained. Seven fucking Hells, you were drunk. 

You let out an indignant yelp as a hand plucked away your whiskey tumbler, setting it down with a definitive clink. “Hey, I was drinking that!” 

“You’re fucking drunk out of your mind, little bookworm,” he said quietly, crossing his arms. “I’m taking you back to your dorm.” You hiccuped again. “You’re not my dad, Targaryen. So why don’t you just run along and socialise with those schmoozy lawyer friends of yours, hmm? They were all eager to have a piece of you. Or have you grown tired already?” 

Aemond wanted to smack you in the forehead. Oh, this godsforsaken woman. “I may not be your dad, yes,” he rumbled, snatching away the whiskey bottle that you were reaching for and making you curse at him. “But I would be damned if I let you get drunk on your first Christmas Eve spent away from your family.” 

You gave him a confused look. “Is it Christmas Eve?” Aemond frowned. He put a hand on your forehead, to check for a fever, which you promptly batted away. “Have you lost all your senses? The winter formal was scheduled on Christmas Eve, remember?” 

“Oh.” was all you could say, lamely. “I…I was so busy. I didn’t remember.” 

Aemond sighed, taking a seat in the armchair next to you. It was good that it was late and most of the guests had already left, so the both of you had some privacy. The vast hall was empty now, save for a few cleaners. “You know, you have got to take more time for yourself. You take on too many commitments.” 

You hiccuped, snorting softly. Perhaps it was the liquid courage, but you felt a strong inclination to vent out all your previous frustrations on Aemond right now. Who the hell did he think he was, criticising you for your decisions? 

“Yeah, and it’s all your fucking fault.” Aemond’s eye widened incredulously, his mouth dropping open. “My fault? Pray tell, did I ever tell you to overwork yourself that you forget to keep track of when Christmas was?” 

“It’s because of you that I have to overwork myself!” you blustered out, a tidal wave of emotions overtaking you. “Because you’re always so fucking perfect, and smart, and good at every single goddamn thing under the sun. Meanwhile, compared to you, I’ve always had to work twice as hard. And yet, I never come close to beating you. Despite how many fucking extracurriculars I have, how many A’s I get, how much praise I get for being ‘one of the best students in the grade’, it’s never fucking enough! Because you’re always the best! And I’m so sick of it!” 

After your tirade, you deflated like a balloon sucked clean of its air, collapsing back against the armchair. You felt hot wet streaks cascading down your face, but you didn’t care anymore. You were just so tired…it wasn’t fair. Why did he have to be so perfect? 

The touch of a hand on your shoulder startled you, and the next thing you knew, Aemond Targaryen embraced you, gently stroking your hair as if you were a lost child, and he was consoling you. Despite your mind screaming at him to let go, it didn’t translate to your physical actions. You just…stayed there, sobbing in his arms. “I hate you so much, you know. You’ve always had everything handed to you on a silver platter, and it’s like you don’t even care. You always treat things for granted,” you continued rambling on, the dizzy sensation in your head gradually increasing. 

Aemond was silent for a long time. He never anticipated you to feel this way, and the shock from your revelations sent his head reeling. He sighed, how could he ever tell you that he had a stupid crush on you since you were little kids? That his attempts at teasing you, riling you up, were all so you could just look at him for a second longer, even if it was with a scowl? How could he tell you that none of his A’s or first place trophies could make him feel the same fuzzy way he felt whenever you looked at him? He opened his mouth to speak, debating on whether to comfort you, or tell you all his feelings. “Y/N-” 

With a start, he realised you were asleep in his arms as you let out a snore, body slack in his arms. He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. Wonderful. This was just the Christmas Eve he wanted. 

The sound of an alarm jolted you from a deep slumber. You flung off the blankets covering you, sitting up in bed and rubbing your eyes. “Ugh…” the pounding in your head was overwhelming, it was like there were a party of elephants having a fiesta in your brain right now. “What time is it…” you reached for the alarm clock to turn it off, only to freeze when a hand reached for it before you did. 

You and Aemond Targaryen stared at each other, wide-eyed, in the dim light of the dorm, while the red digits on the clock read, “6a.m.” 

You were the first to react, frantically struggling as you scooted to the far end of the bed. “Aaaahhhh!” you screamed, clutching the duvet closer to you for protection. “What the fuck are you doing in my dorm?” 

“Wait, we didn’t-” you looked down at yourself, noting with palpable relief that you were still in your winter formal attire, though you stank of alcohol. Thank the Seven. 

Aemond rolled his eyes, grumbling as he switched off his alarm clock. “No, we didn’t sleep together. And this isn’t your dorm. It’s mine.” 

“Then what in the name of the Seven and all that is holy am I doing here?” You hollered at him, the confusion coupled with the pounding in your head making your surroundings spin. “Ow…my head.” 

“Yeah, it’s called a hangover,” Aemond snided, taking a seat on the bedspread. “You know, for drinking nearly three bottles of whiskey last night.” 

Your eyes went wide in horror. “Last night…” You weren’t the type to forget what you did while drunk, so your memory quickly raced through last night’s events, where you got drunk, and…fucking shit. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, muttering curses under your breath as you remembered what had happened last night. Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. An awkward silence had lapsed in the room, as you struggled to find words to acquit you of this predicament. ‘Me and my big mouth while I’m drunk.’ 

“I’m sorry,” you both blurted out at the same time, before breaking off, staring at each other awkwardly. “Wait, why are you sorry?” you questioned him, looking dumbfounded. Aemond sighed, smiling wistfully. “Isn’t it obvious? For making you feel that way. I…I had no idea you did.” 

“It’s fine,” you cut him off brusquely, awkwardly fiddling with your fingers as the duvet slowly slid back down. “It’s all just fucking stupid, anyway. Let’s just let it go-” 

Suddenly Aemond seized your hands, holding onto them with some sort of restrained anger. Startled, you stared up at him, as his one eye glazed over with pain and sorrow. “Of course it’s not fine. Don’t brush aside your feelings like that.” you stared at him, stupefied. What had gotten into him? 

Aemond inhaled deeply, looking down at your hands. “You know…how I lost my eye over the break last year right?” You nodded warily, not sure where this was headed. Aemond’s voice shook a little as he recounted that incident. “It was because Luke was drunk, really. He wanted to pick a fight with this guy because he had stolen his girlfriend. And then next thing we knew, his goons surrounded us. Then, I think maybe it was the heat of the moment, or adrenaline…but Luke had a glass shard in his hand, and he accidentally attacked me.” You felt your heart plummet to your stomach. “What?” 

Aemond smiled, a contortion of pain and feigned impassivity. “He was drunk out of his mind, he probably thought I was one of the goons by accident. By the time Jace pulled him off, it was a little too late.” He sighed. “You know, the drunk part I can forgive, but the worst part was that my father didn’t even care to hear my side of the story. He just said that we should’ve been more careful.” His voice hardened, “I was angry, because he just chose to brush this under the rug, pretend like we were still one big happy family, like Luke didn’t slash out my eye in a drunken rage. He didn’t try to comfort me, or understand my situation. And I just…” he shrugged helplessly. 

You bit your bottom lip, looking at his scarred eye. “I’m sorry…that must have hurt. A lot. Your dad is a dick.” 

The ghost of a smirk lingered on Aemond’s lips. “Yeah…he is. I’ve made my peace with it though, and Luke has never stopped apologising since that day. So it is what it is.” He hesitated, before reaching up tentatively, taking off his eyepatch. A gasp sounded from you as you took in the sapphire crammed into where his right eye should’ve been. “...does it look scary?” Aemond asked you, his voice small. You shook your head, unable to tear your gaze away. “It’s not. It’s…quite beautiful, actually. Even though it’s a bit macabre.” 

Aemond chuckled, gently brushing aside a strand of your messed up hair. “My point is, don’t try to just brush things under the rug, okay? It never did anyone any good, and it won’t for you as well.” You shifted, a faint sense of discomfort prickling your skin. “But why…are you telling me all this?” ‘Why are you being so nice? I hated you.’ 

Aemond barked out a rough laugh. “Isn’t it obvious? I have a crush on you, little bookworm.” 

You blinked. Once. twice. Thrice. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“I have a crush on you. Since we were kids." Aemond repeated himself, his voice light with amusement, but tender. “Did you know why I always teased you? Why I always wanted to make you frustrated? It was because I wanted your attention. I didn’t care if it was negative or positive, which in hindsight, didn’t seem like a good choice.” 

You stared at him, mouth agape. He-he can’t be serious, can he? 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Aemond said quickly, releasing your hands. “I just wanted you to know how I felt. No brushing things under the rug, you know.” Still, Aemond could feel his heart breaking a little at your silence. He had shot his shot, even though you made it clear that you disliked him. He shouldn’t expect much. “Little bookworm?” he asked carefully, observing your expression. 

“For someone so smart., you’re a real idiot, you know that?” Aemond opened his mouth to answer, but before he knew it, your lips were on his, as you launched yourself at him. Aemond’s eye widened, but then you mumbled, “You’re supposed to kiss me back, you know.” 

Then, with a choked laugh, Aemond did, reaching up to cup your cheeks and stroke them with his thumb as he returned the kiss from the girl of his dreams. Your lips moved in perfect tandem to one another, filled with tender, sweet desperation. “I’ll be an idiot, an annoying pest, anything you want.” Aemond murmured, his lips breaking away for a moment. “As long as you keep tormenting me, as long as you’re still here. I would be your anything.” 

You laughed, feeling slight tears prickle at the corner of your eyes. “You’re such a doofus, you know that?” Aemond flipped you over, making you land on your back with a yelp, as he hovered over you, smirking. “I know. But I’m your doofus.” 

Aemond continued kissing you, his hands roaming across your body sweetly, carefully. “This is probably the best Christmas of my life,” Aemond muttered softly against your lips. Your eyes widened, “Shoot, I completely forgot again.” Aemond laughed, sitting up and looking down at you with a naughty grin on his face. “Well, I actually have a present for you, you know.” 

You raised your eyebrows, looking up at him. Even in nothing but an old, faded sweatshirt and some sweatpants, he looked like a vision sculpted by the Seven. “Oh? And what might that be?” 

“Me, of course,” he said smugly, leaning down to kiss you again. You let out a few whimpers as you felt his hands slowly sliding up your dress, creeping up your thighs…into your panties. 

“Oh!’ you gasped out, as Aemond found the spot between your wet folds. He grinned devilishly, “Already wet for me, hmm?” You rolled your eyes at him, groaning as he teased your wet slit with the pad of his finger. “Just shut up already.’ 

Aemond wiggled his eyebrows mischievously, “Why don’t you make me?’ You blinked, not quite comprehending his point. “I want you to sit on my face while I eat your wet little cunt,” he delineated bluntly, looking at you hungrily. “It’s a victory for you, no? You get your pussy eaten out, and shut me up at the same time. Hell, if I wasn’t so eager for a taste of your pussy, I would’ve grumbled at the unfairness of it.” 

You stared at him incredulously, but you felt the slow rise of arousal in your abdomen as he continued looking at you challengingly whilst teasing your folds, and you decided, why the hell not? “Game on, Targaryen.” 

He grinned, putting his finger in his mouth and groaning as he tasted your essence. You clamped your legs a little tighter at the sight. “You taste so fucking good already. I can’t wait to feel your cunt on my mouth.” Deft fingers helped you out of your gown, and you tossed it away carelessly, moving to take off your underwear. Aemond’s eye trailed over your naked form shamelessly, and he planted a soft kiss on your neck. “Beautiful.” he murmured. You felt your cheeks heat up, but decided to sass him a little. “Well, are we going to wait here all day, or?” Aemond grinned, a handsome, wicked expression that made your stomach do flips. “Definitely not. I need to taste you now.” 

He laid back on his pillows, gesturing at you. “Come here. Now.” You swallowed, crawling towards him, angling your cunt to his face. “Don’t suffocate or anything, okay?” You quipped as a joke, but Aemond only smirked. “No promises, sweetheart.” 

He pulled your hips down towards him, and you let out a pleasured gasp as his tongue flicked across your clit. Moaning, you dug your nails into the wooden headboard of his bed, writhing and shaking slightly as Aemond devoured your pussy. When he pressed the tip of his nose up your slit, you let out a mewl, eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

You rode Aemond’s face eagerly, as he pleasured you without much regard for his own safety. A few times, you were so concerned that Aemond had not come up for air in so long that you tried to move your hips off his face, only for him to firmly grip you by the hips and pull you back down again. With Aemond’s insistent licking and sucking, you felt a coil beginning to form in your stomach. “Oh, god, I’m cumming, Aemond-” you moaned, but your moan was cut off when Aemond lifted you off his face, smirking at you smugly with his face coated in your juices. “Why’d you stop?” you whined, pouting. 

Aemond chuckled. Oh, you were just so adorable sometimes. “Because I want your first time cumming with me to be on my cock,” Aemond explained, looking eerily calm, like he hadn’t just nearly drove you to climax with his tongue. “On your hands and knees.” 

You gave him a scolding look, but Aemond only repeated himself, sterner this time. “Now, princess.” The nickname earned a shiver from you, and you found yourself obeying, shifting on your hands and knees. You heard Aemond dispose of his own clothing, and your legs quivered in anticipation as he came up behind you. 

He chuckled darkly, landing a few gentle spanks on your ass. “Gods, this ass is magnificent. I’m going to have to spank it someday.” You had to bite back a moan as he leaned over you, whispering sweetly into your ear. His other hand wandered to your chest, pinching and then rubbing your sensitive, hardened buds, releasing a shaky, shuddering moan from you. “You would like that, wouldn’t you? Having my hands all over this perfect ass of yours? Leaving red handprints over it? Hmm?” 

You nearly choked on your saliva as you fought to answer, “Yes, daddy.” He groaned, smacking your ass lightly for a few more times. “Good fucking girl,” he punctuated each word with such raw intensity it made your cunt ache for him. Oh, how you craved him.

As if he could read your mind, Aemond began to enter you, groaning as he did. Inch by inch, he sunk in, watching his cock disappear inside your warm, wet folds. “Gods, you are so fucking tight,” he swore, his hands gently going around to pinch your nipples. You yipped, which brought a smile to his face. How could someone be so perfect? 

Your legs were quivering at this point, and you were barely hanging on by a thread as Aemond sunk into you slowly, reaching places so deep and so pleasurable. You moaned, just how big was he? 

“All in, princess,” he whispered affectionately, stroking your hair gently. “You okay?” “Yeah…” your voice was slightly raspy from the pleasure. “Good.” Aemond kissed down your spine gently, making goosebumps rise up on your skin. “Do you want it hard and fast, or slow and gentle?” 

Biting your lip, you managed to stutter out, “Slow, please. Need to get used to you.” Aemond smiled, hands trailing down your abdomen. “Anything you want, princess.” 

Then, Aemond began to move, and the world dissolved into a fuzzy nothingness as he did. He was so careful, taking his time with you, thrusting so deep inside you it elicited the most delicious, deep sighs and moans from you. “Oh…that’s the spot,” you murmured as Aemond’s cock hit your g-spot, making you see stars. Aemond chuckled darkly, one hand moving to play with your hardened nipples, watching as you arched your back into him. “I’m going to go faster now, alright, princess?” he murmured, the other hand soothingly trailing down your spine. You barely managed to gasp out the words “yes” before Aemond began to thrust harder and faster in you, hips ramming into yours as his cock stroked the most sensitive spots inside of you. 

You moaned, panting needily as he did, feeling your ruined orgasm beginning to creep up again. “Aemond, am gonna come-” A guttural moan torn from Aemond’s throat as he heard that, his hands moving to flip you over as his movements slowed. “No.” He nearly snarled, turning you around to face him. “You come looking at my face, princess. Understood?” 

You nodded, too desperate for your orgasm to object, as Aemond wrung moan after moan out of your pliant body, mouth kissing and biting everywhere on your neck and shoulders, leaving his marks all over you. He groaned as he began laving his attention on your perky tits again, mouth sucking at them harshly, teeth grazing over the nub. You shut your eyes, too lost in the pleasure as Aemond continued pounding into you, gripping your hips tightly. 

“Eyes open, darling, or I won’t let you come,” Aemond’s rough sounding command made your eyes snap open, and he grinned roguishly as he saw your eyes fixed on his face. “Atta girl. Are you close?” 

You nodded, pleading, “Please let me come, Aemond. Can’t last much longer…” 

“I know, darling. I know,” Aemond groaned, leaning in to kiss you again. “You’re just a needy little slut for me, aren’t you?” You nodded frantically, anything to make him let you cum. He chuckled, “Thought so. It’s alright though, daddy likes needy little sluts like you, so long as they’re obedient. You’re a good girl, aren’t you, princess?” 

“Yes, yes, I am,” you cried out, hands moving to grip at the sheets tightly. “Oh god, I’m going to come, I’m coming-” 

Aemond’s fingers moved downwards, and his thumb rubbed over your clit, coaxing you towards your orgasm. With a loud cry, you came all over Aemond, eyes squeezing shut in unadulterated pleasure. Aemond’s thrusts didn’t slow a bit, as he chased his own high, groaning. “Do you want me to come inside, or…” 

“I’m on the pill, don’t worry,” you reassured him, looking up at him, smoothing his white-blonde locks back from his forehead. He looked like an angel, all sweaty, his expression filled with pleasure and hunger and affection as he looked down at you. An angel of lust. 

Aemond moaned at that, feeling his dick twitch before he spilled inside of you, hands going to grip at the headboard tightly, as he rode out his orgasm. 

Aemond collapsed onto the bed next to you, taking you into his arms. “I should probably get you cleaned up,” he murmured softly, “But I just want to be selfish for a while, and cuddle with you a bit. That okay?” You nodded, leaning your head onto his chest. A content sigh burst from your lips. “More than okay. We can just shower together later, anyway.” 

Aemond hummed in approval at your proposal, kissing your forehead gently. The both of you stayed in each other’s arms for a while, basking in the afterglow of sex and in each other’s company. 

“Hey, princess?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas, Aemond.”

Aemond General Taglist: @aiyaiy @sylas-the-grim @darylandbethfanforever9 @hc-geralt-23 @hb8301 @omgsuperstarg​ @justrybca

those usernames who are bolded means you could not be tagged! let me know if you wish to be added to the general taglist for Aemond related works or just my works in general in the comments below or through this form! :)

thank you for reading! if you liked it, likes, comments and reblogs are always highly appreciated! merry late xmas guys 😘🎄

[somewhere-south-of-neutral]

Senior year of high school, a classmate and I both received the STAR award, which is given to the student or students who get the highest SAT scores in their graduating class each year. The award ceremony was held at the clubhouse of an old wealthy social club, the kind that, in Atlanta at least, probably doesn't want you digging into its past. I am Jewish, and the other recipient from my school was Black. Most of the honorees, students from high schools all over the city, were members of one minority or another. A large number (though I don't remember if it was more, less, or equal to half) were also women. I remember thinking that there was a good chance that almost none of us would have been allowed into that room before the 1980s. And then I remember thinking, as one student after another who didn't fit the white, Christian, male mold these clubs were built to cater to went on stage to accept their award, that our presence in that room was a victory in more ways than one.

I have been to Masada, from which you can still see the outlines of the Roman warcamps that besieged a doomed band of Jewish rebels and where, nearly two thousand years later, an Orthodox rabbi tearfully looked up from the ruin he was investigating to inform the watching archaeologists that the ancient mikveh they had found, the oldest we know of, was kosher.

I have stood in the ruined Jewish quarters in Lisbon and Madrid, where there are very few Jews anymore. But I was there, and I did not need to hide. I have been to the former headquarters of the Spanish Inquisition, where, in buildings made of bricks hewn from the graves of my forebears, they orchestrated my nonexistence. But I was there, and I existed, and the inquisition did not.

I have been to Savannah, GA, where the descendants of those who fled the inquisition founded a synagogue. The Inquisition headquarters were in ruin, but that synagogue still stands strong, and people still pray there. It is beautiful.

I have been to Berlin, where less than a century ago a plot to ensure that I could never exist, along with the descendants of many other minorities, was hatched and came frighteningly close to succeeding. But I was there, and I walked the streets visibly Jewish, made so not by a badge of shame but by my kippah, which I wore, and still wear, proudly wherever I go.

I have been to Prague, where centuries ago, according to myth, the rabbis created the golem, a magical protector built out of necessity to shield the community from harm. The golem is not there, but the community still stands. The Great Synagogue is one of the most beautiful and ornate buildings I have ever been to.

In every generation they have tried to destroy us, but we are still here and they are not. These next four years, and likely many after, will be hard. They will be steered by those who want us dead, and when I say us I mean all of us, any who do not fit their very narrow mold, but we will survive. And, one day, our (literal or figurative) descendants will stand in the places where they plotted to destroy us, and they will be free, and they will work to undo the damage, and their presence in those places will be a victory in more ways than one.

Good luck. Stay safe. We will get through this together. I love you.

[ateez-himari]

J-HOPE DISCHARGE CEREMONY

Jin brought an unexpected guest to celebrate his bandmate's military discharge

October 17, 2024 (8:41PM)

J-Hope enlisted in mandatory military service on April 18th last year and was finally discharged today after completing his eighteen months of duty holding not only the rank of Corporal, but the title of Special Class (Elite) Warrior as well. Unfortunately the only member present at the site, as announced by BigHit days prior, was the group's eldest, Jin, who completed his own service earlier this year, along with Suga's younger sister, ATEEZ lead vocalist Himari.

While people have just now begun uncovering the closeness between these artists, what happened during the ceremony solidified any findings circulating through social media platforms as the seniors beckoned the young woman to celebrate with them. When the rapper stepped out with a large bouquet in hand, those present at the scene believed the flowers to have been offered as a congratulatory gift by those stationed alongside him until he handed them to her.

Widely known to be rather soft hearted it was no surprise when the maknae was caught tearing up when sharing a tight embrace with him, and those watching what little clips were uploaded from the live stream reportedly got sentimental alongside them. J-Hope himself was seemingly attempting to hold back the wave of emotions that came with seeing her after so long, and although he did not touch on their reunion much during the Weverse live, the reason behind the flowers was finally revealed.

"I couldn't properly celebrate her debut as a fashion designer, or her surpassing 200 KOMCA credits...I missed a few milestones for her career so I wanted to let her know that I was watching and that I'm proud of everything she's done."

Himari was clearly overjoyed at the mere fact that her senior had returned and posted some heartwarming pictures to her personal Instagram account's story, showing what the two got up to prior to her attendance at the Elle Style Awards that evening;

Photo Source; @/min.himeeee on Instagram

Translation; 'Thank you oppa' - 'I missed you'

Even amongst so much happiness some keen eyed netizens noticed the vocalist hopefully searching the military base's grounds in hopes of seeing her older brother - which the rapper confirmed later that evening saying she did not get the notice posted by the company and thought they would get a chance to reunite shortly. Atiny were able to find some sense of relief for their maknae as he closed off this personal topic by promising that until they could be with one another again, the two discharged members would make sure to support and care for her like he would and would not fail to continue afterwards.

On this note; Welcome back J-Hope! 💜

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[apomaro-mellow]

Built for Loving 1/? Read on AO3

Another one from the steddie fic adopt community:

Eddie lands his dream job at a robotics facility that's best known for its pleasure bots. He doesn't mean to make a bot of his old high school crush but the design gets approved all the same. Problems begin to arise when the customer lodges complaints about the android.

Eddie had always messed with whatever he could get his hands on. When he lived with his parents, it caused trouble and he quickly learned that whatever he took apart, he should know how to put back together. It wasn't until he started living his his uncle as he reached adolescence that this particular quirk was encouraged. The first couple of weeks were awkward.

They loved each other and Eddie trusted his uncle. But a weekend visit was different from "both of my parents went to prison and I have nowhere else to go". But all it took was his Uncle Wayne walking in on him disassembling an amp and then everything fell into place.

Eddie knew his uncle worked with his hands too, but not the specifics. It turned out he was an actual robotics engineer. Wayne downplayed it, saying he just did repairs on defective bots, that he wasn't anyone special, but that sounded like Eddie's dream job. And it was for a while. Eddie was on his best behavior, he went to school and got good grades because he knew these places only hired people with degrees.

College was no picnic, both the classes and paying for it was a test of endurance for Eddie. But he struck gold when he graduated. He never thought he'd be the kind of guy to say he had connections, but Wayne was able to get him an interview. And thanks to the awards from the robotics competitions and glowing recommendation letters from some of his professors, Eddie got the job.

He was about to start living his dream. Although his dream had changed since he was a kid. Eddie had forged a new passion during his late nights, drawing up blueprints and designs. He no longer wanted to simply repair robots. He wanted to design and build his own.

And there was no more prestigious position than that of Android Art Director. Especially for the company at the top of the android business, Brenner Ventures. Everybody wanted a Brenner Bot. They made all kinds, med-droids, nannybots, and tutor trons, but the most popular and most expensive were the entertainment automatons. That was their official moniker from the company. Most people called them pleasure bots.

A plethora of skills could be programmed into them but no one was using their human-like throats for singing. Eddie had never owned one. He'd only seen them from behind the glass of window displays. Even in college, he'd only gotten to see them a handful of times in the lab. Pleasure bots busted beyond repair but broken down to be used as a teaching model. Unlike other kinds of robots, people didn't readily parade them around. They'd be ordered discretely and then kept in the home of the buyer to be used however the customer pleased.

Eddie was no prude, he didn't care what people used to get their rocks off. It was the idea of creating something almost human. As close as they could possibly get. And after about a year on the bottom rung (customer service, repair, automaton editing) he had finally arrived. He got the email inviting him to a Research and Development meeting. He attended, noting how he was the youngest in the room. And then at the end of it, he was given his first real job as an art director.

He was going to design and build his first pleasure bot.

The client had filled out the request form and it was quite simple. White, male, 20s, no taller than 5'10 but no shorter than 5', brown eyes and hair. Eddie could see why he'd been given this task. On paper, it looked rather plain. Fleischer was giddily drawing a bot with an impossible waist while Bird had to figure out how to give one Rapunzel length hair that didn't tangle or mat.

Senior Art Directors got the first pick of client requests and they always went for the challenges. Eddie, as the new meat, got what they considered boring. But Eddie knew it wasn't all about what was on the form. It was what you made of it. He sat at his desk, monitor on and started with the basic build. The face was the most important part to these people, so that's what he started with.

No notes had been given on personality besides "agreeable, submissive" which wasn't much to work on, so Eddie got to imagining. He thought about the type of guy he'd want, which felt like an easy place to start. It took a couple of hours into drawing the face, erasing what didn't feel right just to draw a very similar line anyway, to realize he was drawing Steve Harrington.

Steve hadn't said two words to Eddie in high school and yet he'd been obsessed. A guy who ran through girls like toilet paper and so everyone pegged him as the playboy. But Eddie had spent long enough watching him from afar to read the yearning on his face. Imagine that, someone so beautiful who longed for love and yet never found it? Eddie hadn't seen him in years, made he'd found love by now. Found a nice girl to settle down with perhaps. But who was to know?

Once the thought was in his mind, Eddie couldn't let it go. If he did nothing else in this world, he had to let Steve be loved. Which meant he had to build this bot right. He did what he could at the office but ended up bringing his work home with him. Because it was only there that he had the material he needed.

He had to rifle through some boxes to find it, but there it was - an old notebook from his senior year. The year when his obsession with Steve reached its peak. Inside of it were dozens of sketches of Steve. Not just his face too. Eddie had drawn his profile, his hands holding objects, his legs in those stupid basketball shorts, his torso when they played shirts vs skins.

"God, someone should lock me away for this", he said before getting up from the box and taking the notebook to his computer.

He spent the better part of the night, finishing his design, using his sketches as references. One thing about the usual clientele for pleasure bots was that they were loyal. Once they bought one they liked, they held onto it, insuring it, getting regular repairs, sometimes even traveling with them if they were to be gone for a while.

Eddie would never get to tell the real Steve how he felt. But in his own strange way, he'd be making sure Steve felt that love somehow. Obviously overtime didn't exist in the Brenner Bot employee manual, but Eddie didn't care. This is what his whole life had been leading up to.

"You look like shit Munson. The bland bot givin' you that much trouble?", Fleischer said when he came in the next morning.

"I finished his design last night, actually", Eddie beamed, reveling in how his co-worker's face dropped.

Fleischer quickly picked it up. "Still gotta have it approved. And then the build. You sure you're up for it?"

Eddie shrugged. "If I can't handle a bland bot, then I wasn't meant for this job."

His design was anything but bland. Steve was anything but bland. He was beautiful, gorgeous even. The feelings that had cooled thanks to the separation had burned as bright as ever last night. Eddie sent his design to be checked. He'd played it off in front of others but he didn't know what he'd do if any part of it was critiqued or turned down.

It was checked in house first to make sure it met company standards, then sent off to the client to make sure it was what they wanted. Eddie waited for an excruciating 48 hours before the email came in.

Company Approved: Yes

Client Approved: Yes

Part 2

[andre-and-cal]

PLEASE PLEASE PLSEA ANGSTY ZERO DAY HEADCANONS JUST THE WORST YOUVE GOT I WANT TO HAVE MY ORGANS RIPPED OUT 😭😭

HEHE your wish is my command !! 😌🫶 Another Anon asked for angsty headcanons so hope you like! :]

Zero Day + Caldre Angst HCs

When there are temporary strains affecting Cal and Andre’s relationship, they automatically assume that their previous argument ruined everything they have together. The first time they fought physically, immediately post-brawl, Andre was worried that Calvin would never want to talk to him again as he may have hit him too hard… but Calvin was worried that Andre would loathe him for shoving him down against the floor, which is such a hard surface in his bedroom. Yet, both boys can’t reciprocate a feeling of hatred for one another. They crave each other like two cannibals; they’re drawn to the idea of consuming the other physically, mentally, and emotionally. They’re a pack of dogs who thrive off of eating up the good parts within each other, and thus, they’re left as the soulless beings they’d proved themselves to be during Zero Day. They’re half the men they formerly portrayed themselves as, and with nearly identical viewpoints, they see their peers— especially Brad— as threats, as targets. Specifically those who hurt them in some way.

Andre had received a scholarship for scoring above average on state tests and maintaining his high GPA. Because of this, he had 75% of his tuition covered. Previously apart of the Class of 2001, it likely should have sparked some concern that Andre had little interest in participating in some school activities. He never cared for the senior pranks, special lunches, or field trips. Yet it was only natural that most people let their guard down. Additionally, his parents were ready to see their son grow wings and soar high, to watch him become a successful young man. In the end, he developed these “wings”— but in a wholly different sense.

Calvin used to take his siblings to the community park nearby. He’d watch them play and would monitor their behavior. When they’d start fighting with other children, he wouldn’t engage. Instead, he’d calmly walk up and pull them away, even as they both whined about how, “He started it!”. Cal had never been an instigator when it came to his siblings— he only wanted what was best for them. He believed that they were going to be okay without him without actually telling them this; he had his own “prophecy” that he was going to fulfill. He had his own fate, essentially, which included going down with Andre after carrying out such a harrowing crime.

Andre’s track trophies and science fair awards were tossed into a cardboard box, only to be deposited in a storage unit within the New Stratford area and never to be touched by anyone again. Before its departure, though, Mel kept on sniffing the box, meowing for her brother. Where had her Andre gone, after all?

Before they split, Mr. Gabriel ended up throwing out some of Cal’s band and music performance assessment awards. Mrs. Gabriel wanted to keep some of them, but Mr. Gabriel asked her what she was even going to do with them. She didn’t know.

After Zero Day, after the suicide of both her son and a boy who she practically treated as her own, Calvin’s mother now cannot stand seeing pictures of Calvin— she starts tearing up, breaking down in tears as she remembers what he did. But as Calvin’s little brother and sister grew older, they began to understand the weight of what their deceased big brother did. They no longer ask about him anymore, no longer ask why he died, no longer ask their mother and father about why they were crying; they don’t particularly enjoy watching the color drain from their parents’ faces at the mention of their firstborn. Mr. and Mrs. Gabriel didn’t explain the “Cal situation” willingly; they never do anymore. Calvin Kenneth Gabriel has become an unspeakable topic. He existed at one point, though. He sure did.

Mr. Gabriel suggested getting rid of most photos containing Cal and only keeping the ones of him when he was young, but Mrs. Gabriel refused. Instead, while she took down the several wall-framed photos of him, she keeps each photo of him in a separate box. Later on, the Gabriel parents ended up splitting due to their contrasting views of their late oldest son. Once he got past his anguish, Mr. Gabriel now holds resentment toward Calvin for what he did. He feels like he was a disgrace and truly only sees him as a killer. Following the anger and bewilderment she experienced, however, Ms. Gabriel now feels profuse amounts of sorrow and even accountability. Deep down, she wishes she could’ve done something to help Cal. Anything that would’ve knocked some sense into him. Anything that would’ve prompted him to second think what he was going to do. She also wishes that he and Andre had never been friends. She wishes they’d never even met in the first place. She wishes Cal had never been born, either, as if that could’ve prevented the future teenage murderer from acting on his desires with his “comrade”. But she feels a bit disgusted with herself over these dehumanizing thoughts and feelings.

Andre’s father cannot listen to certain songs or engage in different activities without painfully recalling various memories revolving around himself and Andre. He and Andre sometimes used to go fishing, used to go hunting together. But now, when he goes to try and confront his thoughts by occupying himself in these hobbies, albeit alone, he feels like he’s attempting to reenact special moments that remain lost yet dearly missed. Like he’s trying to fill in the emotional gaps he finds himself containing, as if he wants to act like Andre is still here. Like he never went and did what he did. As a result, he fell into a bit of a depression following Andre’s death. Because now he’s lost 2 sons. Both of his children died in the worst scenarios possible, and it feels as if both of his little boys just slipped through his fingertips.

Occasionally, Mrs. Kriegman visits Andre and Cal’s crosses and leaves flowers and small gifts near them, such as necklaces and other Jewish jewelry. She doesn’t try to talk to their crosses, though, knowing that she’d become hysterical if she even gave herself the chance to speak with both boys in their places of rest. She doesn’t like to picture where they might be now, though. Also, she still talks to Ms. Gabriel. From a mother to a mother, they understand each other and what they’re going through, in a way. But Mrs. Kriegman could not sit through the released footage of the Zero Day tapes, and she wanted to faint when she was shown the photographs of Calvin and Andre’s corpses in court. In the media, Mrs. Kriegman is primarily labeled by a mother who failed, and she mostly believes what news articles discuss about her, villainizing her following the charges she and her husband previously sustained. She thinks they’re in the right for criticizing her, because if it hadn’t been for her and her husband, the Iroquois High School massacre wouldn’t have occurred, right? Yet, she has a difficult time comprehending that Cal and Andre were indeed lost causes. Truly, not much could have torn them away from what they’d planned for months. And nothing… nothing could have certainly prepared the Kriegman and Gabriel families to discover what their children were capable of.

[bueckersbitch]

Grace and Grit - character guide

Blaire Briar - seventeen / eighteen

A girl whose life is centered around dance, growing up in california, she moved with her dad to minnesota, her dad seeking a new life after the split with her mom. Blaire is hardworking, stern, and determined to make her dreams of attending The Juilliard School come true. Awaiting a perfect senior season ahead of her, she has no doubt she’ll get an offer from them. However, what happens when there’s a blonde distraction, stalling her from exercising her full potential?

Paige Bueckers - seventeen / eighteen

A basketball prodigy, a stacked amount of awards from team usa, past travel teams, and recognition awards from nike and gatorade. Minnesota native, Paige Bueckers has all eyes on her, being the projected #1 of her class, with an exciting senior season ahead, Paige has it on lock. That’s what she thinks. Will past exes interfere with her mindset about someone new? What happens when she meets someone who’s as hard headed as she is?

Together

A beautiful mix of personalities, Blaire being introverted, while Paige is THE extrovert. Will Blaire’s practiced mindset of shielding herself from the unknown realm of love push Paige away, or will it only make their bond stronger? Paige’s extroverted self has it’s perks, whether good or bad, Paige is insistent on making Blaire have a memorable senior year, on the flip side, her ex lingers in her mind, and it definitely doesn’t help that they see each other so often.

[bballlvr8]

this is kind of long sorry lol.

Azzi Media Day Availability 

Feeling Really Good and Strong.  Close to being back at full practices. 

Doing most at practice, still on “load management”. Doing most stuff. 

Learned that Sarah is really good. 

Feeling great about the squad, very young, so many new pieces, working on chemistry. Every week is looking better than the last. Kaitlyn is smart, adjusting getting use to the program. Makes the right reads and decisions 

Having Allie on the team: Great Shooter, Great scorer, reads the floor really well, will help open up the floor. 

How is Paige different or better this year? Taking her leadership role very very seriously, because she does not have the other seniors (Nika and Aaliyah to rely on). Try to fill in that void. being a strong voval leader. Doing really good she’s been able to see that shift in Paige. More aggressive (offensively and defensively) said that she’s really been taking charge which she loves to see

The team is working on nipping the bad habits now and not letting them linger. Having discipline and holding eachother accountable is going to help them go a long way. 

Seeing KK and Ashlynn more comfortable, KK trying to be more vocal, Ashlynn being more confident, says its nice to see them settling in a little more. 

Her Goals on being back: Hasn’t really had that conversation, but they are taking it step by step. She’s feeling good on where shes at in practice and adding more makaing sure her knee responds well. 

Asked if she could see the light at the end of the tunnel on her rehab: She said “oh forsure” shes never been so happy to practice in her life, its a great feeling. 

Thoughts on Champion Classic and game against USC: Thinks its going to be incredible you see the energy that barclays can have, and being one of the first groups that get to play there is going to be special. 

Says that she was surprised to be back at Media Day (if you are selceted for a preseason award you get to come). Says that shes been here every year and that she has not made it through a year yet to get an award lol. Nice to see but you still have to prove it. 

Still in the phase of getting her feet back under her, getting use to the pace, playing with other people!!, spacing and the flow of offense. said her shot is alright right now lol.. she has her days, working on giving herself grace because she knows she is not going to come back  and be 100% right away after being out for 10 months. 

Said giving herself grace has been very important because she does have high standards for herself and she does want to see that ball go in everytime she shoots it lol.

She’s doing 5x5 with contact, and say yeah its been fun lol. 

Her time away has forced her to see the game from a different prespective, slows it down for you. Thinks it going to help her going into this year. 

Questioned on whether paige gave her any advice on coming back from an acl injury at the collegiate level: She said not really lmao. Said she’s a great hype woman, and if she needs anything she knows paige is there for her as is all her teammates. 

Excited for any game she gets to play. 

Talked about being sidelined and watching how the game has taken off (viewership wise) said that she felt it was really special because they weren’t just fans of basketball but were fans of them as well, said getting see the little kids that come up is so heartwarming. Said its crazy to think that they are role models to them. 

Said that Paige was crazy; they asked if she could go to a football game and be in class the next morning, she said not for football but for another sporting event most definitely 

Talked about Paiges World and Work Tour 

Talked about being an upperclassman and understanding what the coaches want, and how everything works.. feels that will be able to help her coming back to the game. 

Talked about books and listening to Rod Wave. Said she hasn’t really read recently because shes been reading so much for class. 

[inmyheaddd]

gold rush - grayson hawthorne x reader

warnings: academic rivals not really to lovers/ friends to lovers, kissing, very fluffy wc: 1.7k masterlist

grayson hawthorne sat across from you in your biology class in your senior year. you’d known him—or of him—all the way through high school.

you two were practically the two top scorers in everything. 

you two would always cross paths; in class, award ceremonies, extracurriculars, anything academic-related, honestly.

but you two never really spoke though, up until now.

you always sort of hoped you’d be partnered up with him for something: an excuse to talk because you knew neither of you would speak to the other first. 

the opportunity finally arose when your biology teacher put you together for your end of semester project. 

you can’t lie, the first time you met in the library to do work was awkward. 

something about him always intrigued you, so you bit the bullet and tried to start a conversation.

his “strictly work” mode was boring, but once you two got into a flowing conversation, he quickly warmed up, and his eyes looked much more inviting than they did 20 minutes ago.

“sometimes i geniuenly can’t understand what he’s saying with that accent of his, i think we need a scottish translator in the class,” you said with a soft laugh. 

you two had been sitting in the library for around 30 minutes now, with no work done. 

you didn’t have to worry about disturbing anyone by talking, it was just you two in the whole place.

he chuckled at what you said and you felt your stomach do a backflip when you saw dimples flash for a split second. 

he had dimples. god, could he get any cuter? 

“i much preferred our teacher last year, miss hawkins”

a smile found your face, “oh my god, yes, she was the sweetest!” you put a hand on your chest, almost in awe, thinking one of the best teachers you had. 

“she’d always round up my scores and talk about students and teachers with me when i’d finish my work.” you couldn’t help but laugh at the memory of gossiping with your 30-year-old biology teacher at her desk.

“so that's what you two were always doing.” a smile stretched across his face, then he continued, tilting his head to the side slightly and furrowing his brows, “isn’t that… somewhat illegal?” 

“hey, it gave me motivation to finish early. let me live.” 

he shrugged, “i’m not telling.” he made that sound like a challenge.

“so you won’t let any underlying jealousy from me being biology student of the year get in the way?” you teased him right back.

“oh i’m not jealous, believe me.” you raised your eyebrows at that, and he spoke again with a grin. “you just told me half of it was because miss hawkins would round your grades.” 

your mouth fell open. “okay, yeah by like one percent!” you crossed your arms over your chest. “there’s no need to be rude here.” you leaned back in your chair, like you were truly appalled. 

grayson saw right through you, and after 2 seconds of staring at each other in silence with your lips twitching upwards, you two fell into a fit of laughter. 

when you two recovered, he spoke again, “you did deserve it, though. you’d be the only one answering questions in class half the time.” he said, looking in your eyes deeply, reminiscing on times that seemed so far away now. 

“don’t count yourself out, hawthorne. you were like the only person who took that class seriously.” 

“apart from you?” he finished your unsaid thought with a tiny grin on his face.

“yeah,” a smile formed on your face, “apart from me.” 

an hour later, still, with no work done, you were talking about books.

he was a nonfiction and classics reader. and you, well, you were definitely not. 

“okay, why don’t you read little women then? it’s also a classic, but it's not boring.” 

“actually, now that you mention it, i have had my eye on it for a while.” 

he said that so calmly, if only he knew how much his rating just went up in your head.

“well if you want, i could lend it to you, i have an extra copy.” you both knew he was very capable of getting his own copy, but this way, it felt like you were actually building some sort of relationship together.

“that would be nice, thankyou.” he smiled once again, and it was like your face mirrored everything he did.

you glanced down from your notebook to him and, then back to your empty notebook and laptop that was now turned off in realization.

you two hadn’t written a single word down.

he was watching you, and you tilted your head back up. “oh my god, we haven’t done a single thing.” 

it was honestly kind of funny, or maybe, everything seemed to be funny right now with grayson. you had that, airy, light, and giddy feeling. 

you were surprised you weren’t giggling at every word he said like a mad woman. 

he shrugged, humming slightly in disagreement before speaking. “i’ve gotten to know you, that’s more important to me.” 

oh. 

okay. just act normal. be chill about it.

“oh, yeah, it’s nice to get to know you too.” 

you were 99% sure your face was the colour of your red school tie.

he smiled at you, and his dimples you saw flash earlier were on full display now.

“we should get some work done, then?” he suggested, after a beat of silence and ever so slightly awkward eye contact, putting you out of your misery. 

“yeah, we probably should.” you let out a nervous chuckle.

grayson thought he made you uncomfortable with that. he’s actually known you for less than a day; how did he even let that thought slip out? he was never like this.

the next time you met in the same library, you brought your little women copy. you honestly forgot about it because you fell into conversation so quickly, but soon enough it was pinging in the back of your mind, and you told grayson.

“you really didn’t have to, thankyou.” you heard the smile in his voice as you looked through your bag to get the book. “i wanted to,” you replied, as you handed him the book. 

his gaze caught yours with a smile, and then he was flicking through the book. 

‘you annotate?” his eyes sparked with interest, and he was hoping the way he was so totally enamored with you wasn’t so obvious on the outside.

“oh,” how did you forget that you wrote inside of that copy? “yeah, nothing really special, just thoughts or whatever.” 

“that’s good, it’ll be like you’re there reading with me.” 

“yeah,” your cheeks were heating up, and then he looked down at the book in his hand before looking up and asking another question. “would you mind if i wrote in it as well?” 

oh my god. 

“no, no, of course not!” good thing you didn’t sound too eager… 

“i mean, i’d love to see what you think about it.” and if it was possible, he smiled deeper, flashing his dimples that you’ve quickly grown to love. 

once you both handed in your project, he decided to ask you out on a “celebration” date. just two friends hanging out. nothing special!

you arrived at the coffee shop 15 minutes early, only to find grayson already sitting there. 

your heart fluttered as he looked up and caught your eyes. he did a small wave, and smiled at you.

“hey,” you said as you sat down, scooting in your chair closer to the table.

“hi,” he did a once-over on you, and he realized this was the first time he was really seeing you outside of anything school related. “you look lovely,” he spoke his thoughts out loud.

“thank you,” you added, “you don’t look too bad yourself.”

he chuckled, “thank you.” 

you fell into comfortable conversation, and 20 minutes later, you were both done with your drinks. iced coffee for you, black coffee for grayson. the weather was perfect, and he suggested a little walk, you couldn’t think of a better idea. 

a waiter came to your table for the tab, and you reached in your bag. “please, let me,” grayson interjected, and gave you a look that left no room for argument.

you thanked him and smiled, leaning back into your seat as he paid, knowing damn well the only things you brought with you were your phone, gum, and lipgloss. 

as you both stepped outside, the warm sunlight bathed the streets in a golden hue. you and grayson strolled down the sidewalk, making light conversation and sharing stories. you found yourself leaning into his side, subconsciously wanting to be closer to him.

“i have to admit, i’m really enjoying little women,” he said, glancing at you with a smile. “your annotations make it even better.”

“i’m glad you like it, it’s one of my favorites.” you replied, feeling your cheeks warm again.

after a few moments of comfortable silence, grayson turned to you, looking thoughtful. “you know, i’ve really enjoyed getting to know you these past few weeks. i wish we had done this sooner.”

“yeah, me too, i've been having a lot of fun." you said softly, meeting his gaze.

grayson smiled, and his hand brushed against yours. “i’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he began, coming off as hesitant for the first time in his life. “would you like to go out on a proper date sometime?”

you heart skipped a beat, and a smile spread across your face. “i’d love that.”

relief washed over his features, and his dimples were starting to make an appearance again. “are you available this saturday?”

you felt as if your words would fail you with the excitement you felt bubbling up in your stomach, so you simply nodded, mutters a small, “yeah, i am.” with a nod.

grayson was already thinking about all the places he’d take you and what you’d enjoy; he was going to make the most out of it. 

as you continued your walk, he reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. the simple gesture alone made your heart soar.

“you know,” grayson said with a playful glint in his eye, “i never got to tell you my favorite part of the book.”

“oh?” you asked, slightly curious.

“it’s the little hearts you draw next to your favorite quotes,” he confessed, a hint of a blush on his cheeks. “i think it’s endearing.”

you laughed softly. “i didn’t realize you’d notice that.”

grayson slowed down his walking, coming to a stop and looking at you. “ i notice a lot of things about you.”

you felt your heart drop, like there was a whole zoo in your stomach. you felt yourself lean in, but you barely even registered it. you hesitated, unsure of how to respond, and he gently closed the distance and kissed you, his touch soft and unexpected. it was a brief, sweet kiss that made you feel like you were floating. 

when he pulled away, you both were smiling. 

you’d never get tired of those goddamn dimples.

[elliotly]

the 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂thon prize is a highly competitive award, given to a single senior in each graduating class who can match the ardess administration’s 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴