#Still thinking about taking my friend's fake eyelashes off (that I had glued on that morning) and cleaning her face v beautiful

[peppermintmochafem]

would love to hear more about what aftercare looks like for you

see the thing I love about aftercare is that really at the end of the day I just want to take care of someone. I want them to be able to feel like a good useful thing and in exchange they get to be my kept thing and I have to take care of my things. I want them to be my obedient pet that doesn't have to think for themself so of course I will care for them the way you care for a pet. I think the most beautiful thing about aftercare is knowing what someone needs and being able to provide them.

So that's a long way of saying it depends because at it's core it's just about taking care of them and that's what I love about it. I love getting them something to eat if they are hungry and water to drink if they need it. I love tending to their sore spots and gently reminding them how well they took me as I teasingly press on their developing bruises when putting neospirin or cbd lotion on them. I loveee cuddling and reassurance and telling them how good they are.

[heavenwithgyu]

you should probably leave

pairing: mingyu x gn!reader (i think? i am gn myself so i just see it as gn, tell me if it isnt please)

a/n: written based off the song you should probably leave by chris stapleton (such a good song) also this was written in my notes app and was a story for just me that i edited for tumblr (on mobile) so if you see a few I’s, I’m sorry, reader is implied short at one point but other than that its fine BTW PART 2 HERE

proofread: kinda? there might be a few mistakes

genre: fluff and angst

warnings: none i think? pls tell me if i need to put a warning

You sat at Gyu’s dinner table, takeout and cheap wine sat in front of you both. His recent fling had broken things off because their ex texted them asking to get back together and they were weak.

They were stupid.

They had Gyu wrapped around their little finger for a good couple weeks, how they hell they managed to not want to be with him was insane to you.

So, to cheer him up, you told him you two should have a little friend date together, have dinner and talk about how stupid relationships were. How could he say no to seeing you?

“You haven’t been in one in a while.” Gyu suddenly said and your eyes looked up to meet his, taking a sip. He was right, you hadn’t been in one for at least a year now because you had fallen for the boy that sat across from you.

Such a cliche, you’re aware of it, but the feelings he gave you were otherworldly, he was otherworldly. He also gave his heart out to any girl that simply bats her stupid fucking eyelashes at him and calls him pretty.

You hummed, fake realization settling into your features, you had been rejecting boys for the one day Gyu realized he had feelings for you. That day would never come but you still hoped, “Haven’t found the right one yet, I guess.” You muses in response, taking another sip, you could feel it staining you lips.

His had been stained already and you had to fight the urge to stare at them. They were so pretty when pink, you could barely keep my cool, the glass you had before the one in your hand was creeping in.

“It’s already past 9?” He asked, you checked your phone, your wallpaper of him and you in a goofy pose greeted you. 9:27 PM. “You should probably get home soon, I’m sure Hao is worried.” He told me, his eyes meeting yours once again, it wasn’t even that late but you didn’t say anything about that, just shrugged again.

“I told him I was coming over, he expects me home late.” You replied, your finger tracing the rim of your glass out of anxiety, did he want you out because he had a girl coming over? A rebound to get over his fling? “I’ll leave when I finish my wine.” You set a goal, looking up at him and he nodded, finishing his first glass.

He tilted his head back to do so, exposing his neck to you and your face flushed, your eyes going to my plate. He was so attractive, how did she not want him? He was also sweet, funny, loving— perfect. He was simply perfect.

Another sip was taken by you to distract yourself while he poured himself another glass. The two of you started up another conversation, this one was on autopilot because you were mainly focused on why he wanted you out so early, he was normally teasingly begging you to stay the night knowing you wouldn’t.

You would always go home around 11 because you couldn’t sleep in any bed other than your own, it was a safety thing. Your finger kept tracing the rim, your cheek leaned against your other hand while your eyes glued were to your finger so they didn’t wander over to gawk at him.

His hair was messy from his hands running through it multiple times tonight, he had rolled his sleeves up sometime during dinner, a couple buttons at the top unbuttoned to help him cool off because he was feeling hot. He was hot.

A call of your name and you were blinking a couple times, getting yourself out of your head and your eyes looked at him through your eyelashes because of your position. A hum of a questioning tone, showing you hadn’t heard what he said before him saying your nickname.

“I asked if you were alright, you seem spacey tonight.” He said, his eyes holding care in them. Somehow you had forgotten how attentive he was. A quick mutter that you were fine, just that I hadn’t drank wine in a minute and he was humming as well.

“You haven’t drank any since you said you would leave.” He pointed out and you gulped softly, picking up the glass and taking a swig of it.

“I’m getting to it, I’m sorry.” You muttered, your eyes back to your hand that was now laying on the table, “I’ll leave soon enough, I’m sorry.” You repeated, not wanting to leave, thriving off his company like you always did.

He sighed softly after your apologize, a glance up to see him leaning back in his chair, him nibbling on his lip, “No.. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be trying to push you away so much, you’re just being helpful.” He told me, you just hummed, knowing he was saying that to be nice, so you gulped the rest of your wine down.

He most definitely had a girl coming over with how much he was pushing you to leave. “It’s fine, I’ll get out of your hair.” You said, standing up and grabbing your coat off the chair that was next to yours, your words more pointed them normal due to the glasses of wine. “I should’ve left when you told me to, I’m overstaying my welcome.” You said, grabbing your purse off the table.

You turned around, walking towards his front door and heard him curse under his breath. His footsteps quickly caught up to you, his hand snagging your arm to pull you to a stop, “You’re always welcome here, you know that. I’m just sad over what happened, it has nothing to do with you.” He softly explained, you pulled your arm out of his grip, his touch nearly burning you.

You choked on the words you was going to say, them filling your throat but not spilling out of your mouth. You looked up at him, knowing you should leave before you ruined your friendship, your years of friendship you reminded yourself, the tone he had used and what he said felt too domestic to you. This moment felt too domestic, it was almost too much.

Your eyes fleeted to his lips, a soft smile tugging on your own, “Pink.” You muttered, your index finger grazing where the wine had stained, his hand tightly grabbed your wrist, holding it a few inches away from him while his eyes were wide.

You two stared at each other like that for a few seconds, you didn’t apologize for what you did and he didn’t say anything about it either. Your eyes continued to stare at his lips, “Kiss me and I’ll leave.” A bold streak ran through you and quickly dissipated, seemingly going in through your head and out through your feet like lightning.

“Just one.” He quickly said out loud, seemingly telling himself and not you, his lips pressing against yours. You stood there shocked for a second, surprised he had actually kissed you and that it had took such little convincing.

You kissed back, your wrist moving from his grip to the back of his neck. You had been waiting for this moment for so long that it seemed so surreal that it was happening.

Your body buzzed at the feeling, all your nerves were lit on fire, his arm snaked around your waist to pull you closer, his hand holding your waist carefully, as if you would break in his grip.

The one turned into two, three, four— too many to count. You stayed rooted at that spot the entire time, his tongue tasted of wine and faintly chinese food.

“Fuck, you should probably leave.” He muttered against you and you whined softly, pulling back, both your arms sat over his shoulders, keeping him close.

“You don’t want me to do leave, do you, Gyu?” You asked, pouting up at him knowing he was weak to it and he cursed again, his gaze going to the ceiling as if he was communicating with God Himself.

Tell me to stay.

He looked back down at you, licking his lips, “Of course not. I just.. we’ve both been drinking and that’s the right thing to do.” He told me, his hands contradicting himself because he was pulling you closer by your waist.

You smiled up at him, giggling softly, “Tell me to leave and I will.” You offered, him nibbling on his lip, “We can just cuddle and go to sleep.” You furthered when he didn’t respond and he just huffed, smiling at you.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” He mumbled, pressing another kiss to your lips and you were smiling into it, your hand shifting to be on the back of his head to deepen the kiss.

His feet began walking backwards, dragging you with him without breaking the kiss, easily getting you to his bedroom. He held you in his open doorway, his tongue tangling with yours for a minute or two.

When you broke apart, he smiling at you goofily, “So I’m little spoon, right?” He asked, a laugh echoed out of your chest while you hit his arm softly.

“Gyu, I don’t think I could spoon you if I wanted to, you big baby.” You teased, him chuckling while he kissed your forehead. He mumbled it was worth a shot, stepping out of your grip and you looked down at your clothing, knowing you couldn’t sleep in something like it, “You have a shirt I could borrow to sleep in?” You asked him quietly.

He was instantly at his closet, rummaging through it to find a good shirt for you, he got weak over the thought of you in his clothing, not that he would say it. Once he did, he held it out to you making you walk over to grab it, once you had a grip on it, he was pulling it back so you would be closer to him.

His lips grazed yours, his eyes pouring into your own, “Payment is a kiss.” He teased, puckering his lips slightly and you just rolled your eyes, tugging it out of his grip. You jokingly called him greedy, heading off towards the bathroom that was connected to the room to change. He knew he was being greedy but he couldn’t get enough of your kisses, he was reeling from finally getting the courage to kiss you.

When you got out, he was laying in bed, fixing his pillows to allow two people in his bed and your eyebrows furrowed softly, did he not sleep with her? He held his arms out to me the moment he saw you, his hair in his eyes.

You smiled while you walked over to him, his hands grabbing your waist the second you were close enough to tug you onto him, his lips peppering kisses on your head.

When you finally settled into the bed, you were on your own separate pillows, holding hands since it was the ‘right thing to do’ he repeated. While you knew it was killing him to not hold you close, he said it was fine, that he wanted to not have anything weigh on his conscious by taking it too far or doing something wrong.

You fell asleep not soon after, a lot faster than you did in your own bed. He stayed up to see how ethereal you looked while asleep, he didn’t think he could get enough of it, not that he would tell you.

He woke up before you, his eyes gravitating to the clock on the bedside table near you since he didn’t want to move in case he woke you. 6:03 AM. He looked at you, smiling softly as you still looked as good as you did the night before.

The sun was against your skin, making you seem like you were glowing, to him you looked like an angel. He never fell back asleep, only watching you so he could imprint this memory into his brain.

When your eyes opened, a ray on sun was shining directly in them and you squinted, moving your head slightly to back out of it. You recounted last night in your head, your mind not fully believing it happened.

“Morning.” You heard Gyu mutter with a smile, you looked up at him, your heart in your throat with how good he looked. You muttered it back, your voice croaking while you ran a hand through your hair to fix your bedhead. He silently wished you hadn’t for it made you look even perfect in that moment, he found everything about you perfect.

Your eyes closed once again, basking in his presence and how warm his bed was and how you were melting into it— Your thoughts were cut off as you felt his fingers graze you face, pushing stray hairs out of you face that had fallen and you smiled at him even if you couldn’t see him.

Realization began to settle into your skin though, his little thing had just ended everything the day before he kissed you. Had it really been because of his feelings? He had never outright said he had feelings for you.

Your mind began to get the best of you, a sigh coming from you as you sat up, feeling him sit up as well. “I should probably leave.” You muttered, glancing around for the clothes you had on last night get dressed again.

He didn’t reply at first which prompted you to look at him, his eyes were wide while his adam’s apple bobbed, seemingly searching for words that weren’t there.

After a few seconds, he seemed to slouch, a quiet ‘Yeah’ escaped him while his eyes went to the blanket instead. He wanted nothing more than to have you stay with him— forever. He had gotten that little fling to get over you. He didn’t know your feelings towards him though, he was completely oblivious, which didn’t let him say anything about it.

He watched you collect your things, rooted to the bed. He wanted to help you, do something more than just sit there quietly, but he didn’t, his hands gripped the sheets below the blanket so you couldn’t see.

He figured you would block him the second you got home, knowing your friendship wouldn’t recover from this. He didn’t want a friendship anymore but he didn’t dare let those words slip out of him though.

So he let you slip out, hearing his front door shut and then he was sighing, laying back against his pillow once again. His head turned to where you had just been sleeping 10 minutes ago and he felt tears welt in his eyes.

“I love you.” He choked out quietly, knowing you should’ve probably left last night when he told you to. This wouldn’t have happened then, but he wanted you to stay.

[odetojeons]

Will You Punish Me If I Don’t? — Jeon Wonwoo

request:  a lil drunk reader × possessive wonu angry sex pls

tags: fem and brat!reader, dom!wonwoo, edging, semi-public sex, angry sex, rough sex, oral sex (f receiving), a tiiiiiny bit of light degradation and spit kink, unprotected sex (stay safe), wall sex (oh yes you read that right), a whole lot of dirty talk, JEON WONWOO IN A CROP TOP BYE, established jeon wonwoo x reader

a/n: this took me a whole fucking day to write it 💀 i think my soul left my body on the meantime and now i’m just a spirit,, but i love this so much, pls, possessive wonu is one of the biggest moods ever 🥵 also i’m sure i made a lot of stupid grammar mistakes that i didn’t realize even after proof reading it, so you’re just gonna,, pretend you don’t see those :)) i hope you enjoy, i made this with all my heart JDJSJDJS

word count:  6244

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You know very well you’re being annoying and petty today.

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You both have been on this damn party for a while and you tried to get Wonwoo to leave and fuck you for at least five times now. You tried dirty dancing on the dance floor; nope. You tried sitting on his lap when he was talking to his friends; nope. You even tried to make out with him; but it only had lasted for a few minutes.

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It had you even more horny and angry. And that is never a good combination when it comes to you.

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But can people really blame you when Wonwoo is looking that good? You have been making a great amount of effort not to stare too much at Wonwoo’s abs peeking from his black cropped shirt, the sharpness of his V-line more visible than it should be legally allowed — it’s bad for your poor heart after all. But you do a poor job of hiding how the whole outfit affects you, because Wonwoo was looking and he had this known glint swimming inside his eyes and it’s got you licking your lips. 

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But still, he didn’t do anything.

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Well, not until you used your last resort.

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Your mind threw back to the memory of Wonwoo’s big hand resting on your inner thigh earlier when you were sitting in his lap, the veins in the back of his palm tracing a dirty path up to his forearms. And there’s always a strength, even a possessiveness in the way he holds you, his other hand squeezing a little hard against your waist, grip tightening every time someone stares at you for a second too long. There’s something so raw in the way he acts, like it’s almost unconscious, and it turns you on without a doubt.

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No matter how you looked at other people and tried to rile him up, Wonwoo still remained in his stupid composed behavior, this little acts being the only proof of his jealousy. 

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But not tonight. Tonight you were going to make him snap, no matter what. You were gonna make him fuck you rough and fast and give you as many orgasms as you wanted.

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Oh, but you were so wrong. Things totally backfired at you.

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You started by going into the dance floor again, after a few shots of some liquid courage. Swaying your hips at the beat, you tried your best to throw sultry looks at where he was sitting — manspreading, your brain unfortunately added, because he looked so hot doing that — in one of the sofas, eyes set on you like you’re the only thing that he could ever look at.

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You smirked, pleased with his reaction, before proceeding with your plan. Hands reaching forward, you touched the shoulder of the first guy you saw in front of you. It doesn’t take long for him to turn around and smile. He seemed genuinely nice, so you felt a little bad for using him to make your boyfriend jealous, but when you looked at him the guilt disappeared in two seconds.

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His head was hung low, eyebrows frown and fists clenched in where he supported his arms on the sofa. You winked at him and clearly saw how he seemed to almost visibly snarl at your teasing, knowing very well what was your intent with all of that; Wonwoo looked at you like he was about to consume you whole in front of everyone just to prove who you belonged to — and you felt your legs tremble at the idea of that.

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It was a game to see who would give in first; you to your frustration and horniness or Wonwoo to his possessives and jealousy. You couldn’t stop staring at him, the both of you shooting daggers into each other, especially when you turned your back to the guy and swayed your hips obscenely for him. 

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But it was when he put his hand on your waist and glued his lips to your ear that things started taking a turn of events; in the next second, Wonwoo was standing right beside you. The air grew thicker quickly, and your breath was knocked out of you at the sight of your — very pissed off and very hot — boyfriend looking down at you. 

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“What do you think you’re doing?” Wonwoo’s voice had rang through your ears, loud enough to make you mewl softly even through all the music going on in the background.

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“Dancing?” you asked with fake innocence, batting your eyelashes at him. Wonwoo groaned, grabbing your wrist.

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“Um,” the guy from before started. “I think I should be going now?”

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He waited for an answer, but you and Wonwoo were too busy looking at each other intensively to even care, so he cleared his throat and left.

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“Let’s go,” he stated simply, pulling at you through the crowd so you both could go outside. You giggle a little when you trip on your foot, a bit tipsy with the shots you took.

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And that’s how you find yourself currently being guided until you were both right in front of his car. Your mouth opens, ready to make a clever comment that would surely rile him up and give in to what you want, before he turns around and gets all over your personal space, so suddenly that the words get stuck in your throat. The scent of his cedarwood cologne invades your lungs, sending your mind into a little haze.

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“What were you thinking, letting another man touch you?” Wonwoo says, voice rough and firm, lips pressed into a thin line like he was still holding something back.

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And you don’t want him to.

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“You took too long, and I have needs,” you retort, stepping up into his space too, not wanting to back down even when the sight of Wonwoo’s dark, dark eyes bleeding with lust made a very noticeable shiver run down your spine.

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“What kind of need would even make you want to rub yourself all over someone else that—” he stops himself, closing his mouth before groaning, annoyed. You smirk at him, knowing what he was going to say.

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All over someone else that isn’t me.

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“Hmm, let me see,” you giggle, face centimeters apart from his, your breaths mingling with each other. “A need to get fucked hard, for starters.”

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The intensity of his gaze growing exponentially dark wipes the smile off your face in seconds. You try not to gulp when he scoffs, taking one messy step back when he takes one further.

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“So that’s what this is about?” Wonwoo questions, tone suddenly mean and sarcastic, and there’s heat licking and pooling at your lower belly faster than you expected. His deep voice never fails to leave you trembling. “You’re so desperate to get railed that you couldn’t even wait to get home before throwing yourself at some random dude.”

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Your cheeks tint red in shame and arousal, realizing this wasn’t a question. It was an affirmation, like he knows exactly how horny you are, and you try to remain composed. You are not going to give up until he loses it.

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“Maybe,” you say, a single finger trailing through his torso distractingly, and you don’t even try to hide your hunger when you look at his abs peeking from behind his cropped. Wonwoo’s face hardens at that, and you smile internally in victory. “Why? Are you jealous, baby?”

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He laughs, throwing his head back, but it only serves to make you even more satisfied. That’s exactly the reaction you expected him to have.

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“You’re drunk,” Wonwoo answers instead, and you think it’s endearing how he denies so hard that he’s not possessive.

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“Nope,” you press your finger in his chest again, but he doesn’t even buge from the place. Fuck, that’s hot, you think, licking your lips and watching Wonwoo’s eyes zeroing in the action. “A little bit tipsy? Yes. But drunk? Not at all.”

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Suddenly, you back away, trying to ignore the way your body protests against the lack of warmth, the lack of Wonwoo.

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“So if you’re not jealous, then you wouldn’t mind me getting off with someone else, right?” you trail off, feeling proud of yourself when he looks at you like you just made something emerge from the ground with psychic powers.

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“What?” he asks, tone furious, and you jump a little in place with the intensity of it, but soon recovers with a pout.

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“I mean,” you start, acting like you’re not saying the biggest stupid thing you could ever think of saying, shrugging at him. Of course it was all a lie, there’s no way you’ll ever want someone else other than Wonwoo. “You’re always telling me to wait and wait and wait, so if you’re not that jealous, then maybe I should get someone else to fuck me when you can’t.”

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Wonwoo moves so fast your brain takes a time to understand what he just did; in a second you were standing with your glorious bratty attitude, the next you were pushed against the car, one hand squeezing your jaw tight in place and the other holding your wrists behind your back. His bigger and broader body pins yours against the door, and you have a hard time breathing now.

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Now that’s a way to sober up.

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“No,” he grits out, sounding more like a growl than an actual word. Your heart is hammering like crazy against your chest, and you gasp softly when he pushes your jaw backwards until the back of your head hits the car, neck exposed for him. “No one should be allowed to touch you like this. No one but me. No one.”

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Then Wonwoo bites the juncture of your neck and shoulder, so hard you think the mark is gonna be there for days. You moan at that, hips kicking and shocking with Wonwoo’s.

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“You know nobody could fuck you like I do,” he says, sounding smug but also dead serious, and this cocky side of his during such moments never fails to make you wet.

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You inhale, reuniting the fight there’s still in you. To be honest the only thing that makes you still retort back is the alcohol. It gives you a special ability of not being able to shut up.

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“I guess someone else will have to fuck me so I can believe you.”

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You watch his demeanor change instantly at that; shoulders tensing, jaw clenching and predatory eyes — Wonwoo kisses the breath out of you. He sucks at your body lip, licking at the seam of your mouth, and you gasp, mouth parting and his tongue slides against yours. There’s a hot flash rushing all over you as your body pulses with want; Wonwoo has always been a great kisser, capable of surrendering you putty in his hands.

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He kisses you again and again and again, as if someone might take you away. He kisses you like he wants to carve his identity in your soul. He kisses you so messy and hungry that your teeth actually clack and the sounds of your lips dragging roughly and tongues rubbing against each other fills the air around you.

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Wonwoo can probably taste the alcohol, if the way he moans is anything to go by.

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It is dirty, lewd and so fucking hot you feel the fight leaving your body momentarily along with your breath, lungs burning with the lack of oxygen. There are a few tears gathering in the corner of your eyes, and you don’t even realize their presence, but then, and only then, Wonwoo pulls away. He bites at your lower lip one more time, a lewd string of saliva connecting your mouths for a short while before it breaks.

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“Seems like you suddenly forgot who’s name you scream when you’re getting railed,” Wonwoo tells you, voice poisonous and labored breath caressing the skin of your neck. “Should I remind you?”

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“Y-yes,” you moan out, enjoying the proposal, but it only serves to make Wonwoo scoff.

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“I think you need to learn how to respect me first,” he says instead, and there’s butterflies swarming together in your belly, chest still heaving for air.

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“Will you punish me if I don’t?” you retort, staring him right back in the eyes.

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Wonwoo growls.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“You better shut the fuck up before I make you regret,” he says, and you feel a shiver rocking so bad on your body that your hips collide into Wonwoo’s, his half hard cock pressing against your stomach. The feeling makes you moan.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Why would I?” you ask, trembling voice giving away how much this all affects you. “I want this.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

There’s a bit of silence before you continue.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Make me regret.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Fuck,” Wonwoo groans, biting on your neck again, this time so far up that you won’t be able to hide it that easily. “So needy you can’t even think about anything else other than having a cock drilling into you.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Wonwoo kisses your moan away, sucks at your bottom lip until it’s swollen. Then, he puts three fingers in your mouth, like he’s telling you to shut up.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Wonwoo turns his head to look down at your shuddering frame trapped between the side of the car and him. You don’t look up, too focused on sucking at his long fingers, but when Wonwoo starts to move his arm that was occupied by your mouth, you stir, and look up to meet his eyes.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

They’re dark, with a glint in them you could only recognize as devious and wicked and so so so mean. It’s the same glint he gets when he’s about to deal out a punishment, or tease you enough that you believe it’s a punishment. It makes the hair on the back of your neck stand, and a bead of sweat drips from your eyebrow. You wonder what you’ve got yourself in for the night when you both get home.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

As if on cue, answering your arousal hazed thoughts, the hand that was slowly doing a dangerous path down your body settles itself on the front of your pants. It’s heavy on your clit, and you can feel Wonwoo digging his fingers into your entrance. You barely have the sense to react, and even if you could, you reminded yourself you weren’t home yet. Wonwoo now has his hand groping your pussy in public.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Your face flushes a dark red at the realization, feeling humiliated and embarrassed under Wonwoo’s grip. If someone were to see, they’d get arrested for sure. Wonwoo’s hand has a strong grip on your clit, fingers quickly slipping past the thick fabric of your denim jeans and lace panties so he could press the pad of it against your naked and wet folds.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You whine quietly, and now that the hold on your jaw has been set loose, you nestle your face further into the crook of Wonwoo’s neck. With a grip on Wonwoo’s jacket, you feel him angling his head so it rests against the top of your head.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Wait, f-fuck, someone might see us!” you whisper-yell at him, but Wonwoo only hums and steps in closer. Your chests are flush together and he towers over your frame easily enough to hide you between him and the car. “Wonwoo—”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Your sentence gets interrupted by your own moan when he presses a finger inside of you. You quiver, legs trembling, and you let the realization that Wonwoo is about to finger you publicly sink into your stomach. You know that the streets are deserted and there’s not one single soul around there since it’s so late, but the thought of it still has you gasping.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Wait? But weren’t you the one complaining about me making you wait all the time?” Wonwoo bites back, tone mean and unforgiving when he fucks his finger inside of you. He sounds almost angry and it’s making you so damn horny. “Earlier you were looking at me with such a hunger. I bet you were thinking about me fucking you in front of everyone, weren’t you, baby?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You moan because yes, that was exactly what you were thinking. His hand lets go of your wrists when he adds another finger inside of you. It burns a little, you think, but enjoys the pain as your arms fly up to circle around his neck and pull him closer. Wonwoo goes easily, mouth finding yours and fingers fucking inside you in a way that has you squirming.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

He soon gives attention to your neck, kissing all over it before sucking a wet blotch against the skin right underneath your jaw. Wonwoo pulls away, looking at it for a while like it gives him some sort of feral satisfaction to see you bearing one of his marks.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Wonwoo, I’m n-not—” your words break off into a whine, struggling to form sentences. “Not— g-gonna be able to hide the, ah, hickey i-if you suck it that far up.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Good,” Wonwoo says, and his mouth finds your neck. You scratch his scalp when he sucks again, this time harder, his arm coming to help you up when your legs give in. “Want everyone to know you’re mine. Only mine to fuck, to breed, to love, to cherish, to make you my little slut.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You throw your head, back arching off of the car and mouth opening to let a high pitched moan scape you. Wonwoo then adds another finger, the third one, and gyrates them so hard inside you you actually feel like you’re seeing stars, figuratively and realistically — the night sky above you is adorned with a few of them.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Acting like a brat and riling me up like that, this is what you wanted, isn’t that right, princess?” Wonwoo spits out, lips pressed into a thin line as if he’s getting more and more angry at his own words. “If I didn’t stop you right there, would you have continued dancing with that dude, huh? Would you maybe have made out with him?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You try to answer, maybe tease him back again, but you can’t even form a coercive sentence. The only thing you can do is hold onto Wonwoo like your life depends on it as he fucks you furiously with his fingers, and take whatever he’s willing to give it to you. 

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Do you think he could finger you like this?” Wonwoo says poisonously, hand squeezing at your ass hard enough that you think it’s gonna leave the print of his fingers. “Think he would have a bigger cock than mine?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

He ruts against you as if to prove his point, hard and so fucking big it has you breathless. You know how your boyfriend is well-endowed, know he could make you feel him for days after a good fuck and your mouth salivates. Wonwoo presses the pad of his fingers in your sweet spot, jamming against it without pulling out with quick movements, and you feel like you’re going insane.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Since you put a lot of effort into being a fucking brat today, I will give you what you want, sweetheart,” Wonwoo laughs a little, almost as if he’s mocking you, and your whole face burns in pleasurable humiliation. “I’m gonna be rough. I’m gonna fuck you hard and fast against every surface of our house, gonna make you scream my name so everyone knows you belong to me, gonna use you, make you my little ragdoll and dump you full of my cum until you’re all heavy and swollen with it.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Wonwoo— your f-fuck, fucking dirty mouth, ah—” you thrash in his grip, nestling your face further into his neck and he knew, he knew all along what was your intention with the way you were acting, and you hold tight on his hair, hearing him growl when you pull at it. “I’m gonna come. Gonna cum s-so fucking hard, fuck—”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“I’ll make it hurt,” Wonwoo warns, his lips ghosting at the shell of your ear and hot breath tickling your sensitive skin, brings goosebumps all over it. “But I’ll make it feel good.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

The pleasure builds quickly and you throw your head back with a loud moan, orgasm almost hitting you like a train.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

But then, everything stops. Wonwoo pulls away, fingers slipping out of you and he wipes them in his jeans. He then goes through his pocket and grabs the car keys, the familiar beep sound echoing through the empty streets when he clicks a button on the key chain, and it’s got you completely dumbfounded.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Come on, get in the car, baby,” Wonwoo states simply, like he didn’t just make the best orgasm of your life ebb away. Frustration sinks deep within your bones and you groan, turning to look at him like he just committed a war crime.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Why did you— why did you stop?” you question, heart almost jumping out of your chest and you feel like you’re going to actually die if you don’t get to come soon. “I was just there!”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Oh, sweetheart,” Wonwoo coos at you like he finds what you just said endearing. Face flushing dark red, you get completely embarrassed with how quick he makes you feel small. “You thought I was going to make you cum?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Wonwoo comes closer, holds your chin softly, a total contrast to what he says then.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Poor baby, I’m actually going to do the exact opposite.” he pecks your lips once. “Gonna edge you until you cry.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

He goes around the car and opens the door for you.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Now get in, baby. Don’t make me repeat myself,” Wonwoo says, tone leaving no room for arguments, and you gulp before obeying.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Wonwoo closes the door for you when you finish settling yourself inside, and goes to the driver’s seat. You watch him turn the car on as you put your seatbelt, whining when your cunt throbs in need. When he starts driving you try your best to move as quietly as you can, squirming a little until you can smooth your fingers through your clit. You gyrate them once, pleasure swarming all over your body, before Wonwoo’s voice wakes you up from your short haze.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“No touching yourself,” he admonishes with a tsk and you groan, frustrated. He’s still looking at the road and you don’t even know how he managed to figure it out that you were touching yourself.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Staring out of the window, your thighs rub together every time the car shakes a little. Your mind supplies unnecessary images of your boyfriend fucking you, and you curse a little. Even trying to imagine disgusting things wouldn’t delete Wonwoo’s words from earlier out of your head, and you’re getting more and more excited by the second.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Wonwon…” you sigh, almost a whisper, hips moving in the air and hands coming to grab at one of your breasts. You smirk, content when you hear him growl.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“I said not to touch yourself,” Wonwoo’s knuckles turn white with how hard he grips the steering wheel. “Should I tie you up in our bed and leave you untouched or are you going to start obeying me?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“But you’re not doing anything,” you whine, wanting nothing else then to come.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” Wonwoo says, voice low and dead serious.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“I don’t think you know either.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

The car comes to a complete stop right after you say that. You gulp, realizing Wonwoo has already parked in your private garage. He gets out of the car and goes to your side, opening the door, still in complete silence.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Turn this way,” he orders, voice one octave lower, and you gasp at the roughness of it. “Now.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You spring into action, take your seatbelt off, doing as you’re told, and as soon as you finish turning to him with your legs outside of the car, he gets on his knees.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“W-Wonwoo,” it’s the only thing you manage to say as you watch him work with your pants after taking your shoes off. He ends up popping the button off but you don’t have it in you to complain, not when he’s looking like that. 

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Wonwoo finishes taking your jeans off, throwing somewhere in the garage, and then he grabs at both sides of the collar of your shirt. You frown, confused with the action, but then his hands are pulling, and he rips it in half.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Wonwoo,” you moan, beyond turned on as he does the same to your penties. Your clothes are torn apart but you can’t think of anything else other than fuck me fuck me fuck me. “I—”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Wonwoo kisses you shut, lips dragging hard against yours, and you feel his hands at your thighs before he pulls at them enough so that you slip on your seat. He uses the grip to open your legs for him, not even giving you a break to understand what’s going on before sucking on your clit hard.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Your back arches, hands scrambling to hold on something — one of them finds the steering wheel and the other finds the wadding of the seat, body thrashing everywhere before Wonwoo pins your hips down in place — knows better than to shove his face in your cunt as you originally wanted to do.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

He licks between your folds one, two, three times; the tip of his tongue prods inside your already loose entrance, and fuck if you didn’t moan, high pitched and greedy for more. Wonwoo inserts more of it until his nose is pressed against your clit, doing a sound in the back of his throat that sends just right. The wetness of his tongue feels so good pressing against your cores and kicking at your soft folds.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“W-Wonwoo, fuck— f-feels so good—” Wonwoo thrusts his tongue inside you, and you feel like you’re seeing stars, especially when he presses just right. “Ah! Shit, your f-fucking tongue—”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Wonwoo has to hold you down tighter, your body unable to stay put as you thrash around. You feel tempted to think how your neighbors could probably hear you, but your boyfriend is sucking the life out of you through your pussy and you can’t concentrate well enough to elaborate the thought.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

It’s when Wonwoo curls his tongue just right that has you thinking you would ascend to heaven soon. 

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Fuck! I, ah— Wanna cum, Wonwon, I’m coming, please— let me cum this time,” you manage to get out, writhing and legs kicking everywhere. “Please!”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

But, of course Wonwoo, being the little shit he is, pulls away. Tears gather in your eyes as you groan out of frustration, and Wonwoo is just so mean.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Shit—” you cry out, watching his shit eating grin. You hate but love at the same time the way he’s absolutely enjoying seeing you so desperate for a release. “Y-you’re so mean.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Are you gonna stop being a brat now?” Wonwoo raises a brow at you, licking his lips. You shiver, knowing that he’s tasting you by the pleased hum he makes after.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Fuck you,” you spit it out, too horny and angry to care.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Is that so?” he hums, looking at you as if you’re his prey, to which you’re starting to believe you actually are. “Maybe I should put a gag in this dirty little mouth of yours.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Wonwoo traces a thumb in your lower lip like he’s considering the thought.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“But I think I’m just gonna fuck that attitude out of you.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You can’t even bring yourself to enjoy the comment before he pulls on your wrist so hard you get up from the seat, body colliding into his. Wonwoo’s mouth finds yours, the kiss messy and hungry and angry, to the point it makes your legs weak. Your hands scramble to take his shirt off right after you manage to throw his belt somewhere, and you stop for a moment to admire the hard planes of his abs.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Wonwoo must be the hottest person alive. How can someone have such a handsome face and have a body that looks like it’s sculpted by the gods? He’s getting stronger with his gym practices and it's making you weak.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“You might actually drool if you keep staring like that,” Wonwoo says, half joking and half serious, but you blush anyways.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Just—” you try, breath labored and chest heaving. “J-just rail me. Use me.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Yeah? Want me to treat you like the slut you are?” his lewd question makes you tremble and nod your head. “Speak.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Y-yes, please—” you beg, revolve slowly breaking in.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Of course you do,” he answers, voice a few octave lowers again, and he grabs a fistful of your hair. Wonwoo pulls at it until your head is thrown back, his face right above yours. “Open your mouth.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You’re quick to obey, mouth parting as he hovers over you, the only thing keeping you up is one of his arms around your waist.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

And oh god, you’re certainly not expecting when he fucking spits into your mouth, a hand coming to press against your jaw and make you close your lips, but you sure as hell want him to do it again.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Swallow.” Wonwoo orders, and you moan, doing as you’re told. He looks at you with a feral satisfaction, eyes dark and so full of hunger it stunts you into silence. It’s like there’s this lustful wish of him to break you in until you don’t belong to anyone else but him, and that’s so fucking hot.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

He kisses you for what feels like the hundredth time — not that you’re complaining, he could kiss you for one hundred more and you’d still beg for it. But this time there’s something different, something urgent, and he grasps the back of your thighs when he finishes taking his clothes off and fish something from the pocket of his pants, hefting you up in the air, your legs circling around his waist automatically.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Wonwoo doesn’t break the messy kiss as he walks through the garage, opening the door that leads to the inside of the house. He doesn’t waste time before slamming you into it as soon as he closes it, your back hitting the wooden frame with a loud thud as the two of you make out like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

There’s too much tongue and too much spit and too much teeth, but the dirtiness of it all is what makes it even more hot.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Want you,” you whine out, realizing that what Wonwoo took out of his pants earlier was a package of lube.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

He rips at the top and pours at his hands, reaching behind you to stroke his hard cock, groaning at the feeling as he lines up with your entrance. The wet head nudges your rim softly, but it slips through your folds. You look at Wonwoo only to realize he’s already staring at you, devious glint in his eyes.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You’re about to tell him to hurry up when a moan is punched out of you, high pitched and needy, because Wonwoo fucked his cock inside you in one go, nearly knocking the breath right out of your lungs. Your nails scratch all over his back and he groans at the feeling, hips kicking into you.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“You like that?” he questions, rhetorically of course, and grinds his hips until they are flushed against your ass. You gasp for air, feeling full to the brim, and the burn in your cunt is just so good. “Think I don’t know about your little plans to rile me up?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Wonwoo even has the audacity to laugh, jamming inside you with slow but deep thrusts.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“How you get more handsy with your friends when I’m around,” he grits out, anger bleeding through his thoughts and thrusts like he just hates the idea of you touching more intimately other people. “And you look at me with those eyes. Like you’re begging me to claim you.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Holy fuck, Jeon Wonwoo is fucking you standing up and you’re not dreaming.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Wonwoo is full on mercilessly ramming you now, sending you body into the door with every plunge of his cock, the sound of your back hitting the wood obscenely loud. It leaves you putty, can just take what he’s giving you, hands holding him for dear life.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Should’ve put you on your knees right in front of that guy,” Wonwoo continues, breath ragged from effort. “Make you choke on my cock so he knows who you belong to.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Wonwoo grabs your ass with his hands, palms sinking into the flash as he propels you back every time he fucks up. It makes the drag of his thickness press right through all the good spots.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Should’ve bent you over the bar counter and fucked you hard until you scream my fucking name,” he growls out, the veins on his neck and arms bulging. You tighten around him in answer to the sinful view. “Fuck, your pussy is so greedy. Always so tight—”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Wonwoo angles his hips just right and hits against your sweet spot so suddenly that your climax — which was already at bay — escalates quickly to the point it sends your mind into a frenzy.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

And, for the third time, Wonwoo slows down, hips flush against your ass he can nudge his cockhead right above your sweet spot, missing it on purpose. Your eyes prickle with tears, and it doesn’t take long for them to run down your face; the first one goes reluctantly, but after that they start cascading down your cheeks uncontrollably.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“So beautiful,” Wonwoo groans at the sight of you crying for him, pecking one of your tears strained cheek. “I’ve broken you in, haven’t I?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“P-please, Wonwon— Please, please, please let me c-come,” you sob, all the want to be a brat gone from your body. The overwhelming need grows so exponentially big inside of you you feel like you’re going to explode if you don’t orgasm.  “W-wanna cum on your cock, please, ah—”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Wonwoo is moaning, louder than he has all day, and the satisfaction of seeing you give up on your fight and beg for him makes his hips pick up a brutal pace. You gasp, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck and biting at the untouched skin.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“So pretty when you beg,” he compliments, and you actually find surprising your ability to blush even when you’re being dicked down this good. “Does it feel good, sweetheart?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Y-yes— Ah! Hmmm, shit—” you mumble, struggling to get words out. It’s difficult to keep your voice steady enough to say anything with the way you’re bouncing like a ragdoll on Wonwoo’s hold. “Love this— L-love you, ruin me, Wonwoo, Wonwon—”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Wonwoo pulls your head backward with a fistful of your hair, baring your neck so that he could attack it with bites and hickeys all over. You’re sure that, by the end of this night, you’re going to be looking like some type of sexual Christmas tree, but the thought of baring your boyfriend’s marks after sex only turns you on. And he seems pretty intent on that, wanting to claim you in all ways possible.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Say it,” Wonwoo commands, but you don’t understand, can’t understand with your mind being in such a pleasurable haze. He fucks up right in the time he pulls you back down by your waist, downright impaling you on his cock. “Say you’re mine.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Y-yours,” you answer, fingers intertwining through Wonwoo’s dark strands of hair. “I’m yours.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Again,” Wonwoo growls out, basking in your pleads and moans and screams of pleasure.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Yours,” you repeat, and he bites on your lower lip. You have enough of a mind presence to admire his bulging biceps contorting with your weight, and his huge test firm and sweaty from the effort.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Again,” his possessive side gets the best of him, admiring all the marks he has left in your neck. “Say it again.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Yours, ah!” a moan breaks at the end of the word, Wonwoo’s thrusts getting rougher, faster and there’s heat pooling down on your lower stomach. “I’m y-yours, all yours, only yours.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Yes, mine,” Wonwoo agrees, holding your smaller frame tightly against his. “Mine,” he echoes again, muscles trembling from fucking you standing up.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Wonwoo kisses you, the best he can with the harsh movement of your body going up and down on his cock.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“I love you so much,” he tells you, voice soft and rough at the same time. “I have always been only yours.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“I’m gonna come, I’m g-going to— going to come,” you state after his words, the pull on your lower stomach growing impossibly higher, and it’s almost unbearable. “Please, fuck, please l-let— cum— let m-me cum! I have been g-good, please, Wonwon—”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

”Such a good girl for me. The best girl,” Wonwoo praises, angling his hips a little so he can press his cockhead against your sweet spot every time he fucks inside. “Come on, you can cum, sweetheart.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Your eyes roll so far back in your head you’re momentarily afraid they are never coming back. White hot pleasure surges in your body, the sheer intensity of your high sends your mind into a mess. The feeling of your walls clenching like a vice around Wonwoo’s cock sends him over the edge too, and the sensation of his cum shooting inside your walls only serves to add up to what you think it’s the best orgasm of your life, mind going completely blank.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

This might have been totally different from what you’ve originally planned but you know what? You’re definitely going to use this plan more often now.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

[tommybaholland]

helping their sleepy s/o remove their makeup

featuring: 4/5 bakusquad (aka bakugo, kirishima, kaminari, and ashido) 

1.5k special writing event poll is still accepting responses. it’ll be up until haikyuu night on thursday so there’s plenty of time to get everyone’s votes in! enjoy <3

bakugo 

he notices that you’re practically falling asleep while you two are having a meal together 

your head is drooping so low that he has to catch you from falling face-first into the food 

“hey, watch it, idiot! your hair’s getting in it.”

declares that you’re too tired to eat and wraps up your food for you so you can eat it later 

if it seems like you’re so tired that he has to drag you to bed, he’ll just go right ahead and pick you up to carry you the rest of the way there

but don’t think that he won’t still put a stop to your mumbling protests 

“it’s obvious that your dumbass is too tired to walk so shut up and let me help you.”

he places you down in bed and begins to tuck you in before he notices that you still have makeup on

he looks around the room briefly for whatever you use to remove it

“hey, don’t get too comfortable yet. how do you take that stuff off your face?”

after deciphering your vague pointing and mumbled directions, he finally locates the bottle of micellar water and the little reusable pads 

you giggle as he begins to clean your face off and tickles your skin

“hey, hold still for a minute, you idiot. i thought you were tired.”

peeling off your fake lashes is probably his least favorite part

they’re so annoying because he always finds them stuck to him or in a place they shouldn’t be and he’ll mistake it for a spider

“i’m going to put these stupid things in your desk drawer where they WON’T get STUCK to ME.”

tries to be gentle when rubbing off your eye makeup but he wants to make sure he gets everything off so he finds himself scrubbing a little harder

but he makes sure he doesn’t get anything in your eyes

his favorite part, though, is cleaning off your neck 

he’s got this weird hyper fixation about it...he just thinks you have a nice neck okay

once he’s done, he takes a clean pad and does one more pass over your whole face and eyes to make sure he got everything 

“okay, there. now you won’t get that shit everywhere in the bed.”

puts the remover stuff away and gets into bed with you

finds his favorite spot, resting his head on your shoulder with his face hiding in your neck

“i love you. now get some rest, dumbass.” 

kirishima

he returns from class or training and unexpectedly finds you in the same spot as he left you

“oh, hey, pebble! didn’t expect to find you still here.”

class was canceled so you were just trying to catch up on some work 

he observes your slumped figure and droopy expression

this was seemingly not the cute and smiley s/o that he knew 

he always thinks you’re cute but you just looked especially fatigued, that’s all

once he watched you sigh, yawn, and rub over your face and eyes all within a few seconds 

that’s when he sees that you seemed to forget that you were wearing makeup and smeared it a little around your eyes

he couldn’t continue to hesitate from saying something 

“babe, i think you need to sleep. why don’t you take a little nap and i’ll get us some food and you can eat when you wake up?”

but first, he’s gonna clean your face off so you can relax

you’re barely conscious at this point, luckily he knows where you keep your makeup wipes 

after a few swipes across your face, he’s amazed as he sees all the product coming off onto the wipe

“whoa, babe, i think it’s working!”

he’s acting like he just discovered gold or something

“that’s so cool. isn’t it crazy that it’s taking off all the dirt and stuff-- i mean, your face isn’t dirty but, like, it’s getting rid of the stuff that could make it dirty. gotta make sure my pebble has clean pores!”

unlike his exploding friend, he’s more gentle around your eye area

lets you know when he’s going to put more pressure and tell him if he’s rubbing too hard 

but now he understands why you rub your eyes raw to get all your mascara off

he does the best he can without causing you any discomfort 

when he thinks he’s cleaned it all off, he lets you know he’s done by kissing your cheek many times which makes you giggle 

“all clean! are you ready to get some sleep?”

insists on carrying you or at least helping you to bed

he isn’t someone who likes to take naps but he’ll lay there with you and rub your back until you’re fast asleep 

kaminari 

the day had been long and hard, one that left you exhausted both physically and emotionally 

your muscles ached and your eyes felt strained from being awake and alert all-day

but if you want to take a nap, your boyfriend would love nothing more than to be lazy and chill with you 

and once denki gets into a cuddly, sleepy mood, he’s glued to your side 

literally follows you everywhere until you’re relaxed in bed or somewhere comfy with him

he goes to the bathroom with you so you can remove your makeup beforehand 

he likes to stand behind you, hugging you from behind but his close presence is only making it harder to stay awake

he sees that your movements are becoming more sluggish and you’re beginning to lean back into him more

“do you need some help, gorgeous? here, sit down for me.”

he’s kinda nervous about using the putty balm stuff that you use to remove it because he’s never seen anything like it 

he’s seen you take off your makeup a few times but he checks in with you to be sure

“okay, so i can just put this right on your face, right?”

once he starts, he gets into it and enjoys rubbing the stuff onto your cheeks 

“haha this is so fun! you have such cute cheeks, babe.”

even though it’s kinda messy, the balm actually does a great job at taking off your makeup easily 

but he’s kinda hesitant about using it on your eyes and doesn’t want it to get in them 

luckily there’s not much left on your eyes, having been worn away from the day’s events 

“whoa, your eyelashes feel weird with mascara on. very pointy.” 

his observations never fail to amuse 

when he’s done putting it all over your face, he realizes that he doesn’t have anything to wipe it off

has you keep your eyes closed as he washes his hands off and locates a towel

“sorry, babe. hang on one second. okay, here we go. now you’re getting clean!”

he’s amazed that, despite being a thick balm, it wipes off your face real easy

“huh, i guess that’s why they call it a ‘makeup melter--’ okay, all done!”

rinses out the towel and hangs it to dry then holds you from behind again, steering you out of the bathroom and into bed

places a small kiss on the corner of your mouth before spooning you 

ashido

you love learning new dance moves from mina but there are days when you feel like you don’t even have the energy to watch her dance 

which is sad because you love watching her more than anything 

but she’s the greatest girlfriend and understands as she promises she’ll show it to you later 

(next, she’ll have to show you how to keep up sheesh)

for her, being tired is not an excuse to skip skincare before bed

or at least taking your makeup off before bed

“babeeee, you know that’s, like, so bad for your skin. not to mention that it’ll get your pillows dirty!” 

she grabs the micellar water and methodically swipes over your face, not pulling or pressing too hard

this is the time when she likes to pay you the most compliments, even if you’re half-asleep 

“oh my god, you have to tell me what lashes these are. they’re so fluffy and pretty!”

“your skin is so smooth and glowy, sweetheart.”

“i love this shade of lipstick on you. makes your lips look so kissable.”

takes every chance that she can to kiss you

in fact, every spot she cleans off, she’ll kiss

it’s like a secret code that it’s clean 

and that’s every spot because she doesn’t want to miss any 

she’ll even clean off your lashes by picking off the glue and letting them soak in micellar water for a few minutes 

“i like doing your makeup but this is so much more satisfying.”

like bakugo, she’ll do one more pass all over your face, placing final kisses in some spots as well

but even when she’s done, she’s not done 

first, she’ll get you comfy into bed, lying down on your back 

she’ll grab that stone she uses to massage her face, the gua sha

she absolutely swears by it and credits it to her killer jawline 

and she’ll lightly massage your face with it while you fall asleep

it’s the epitome of relaxation, especially when she rubs it over your jaw and does little circle motions at the end  

she’ll lay down with you when she’s done and you’ll usually turn over to spoon her, pressing your face to rest between her shoulders 

behold, it’s bnha night! inbox is ready for requests..

[tellmenauineo]

colored by you

pairing: mingyu x reader, vernon x reader

genre: soulmate!au, angst, fluff, smut, comedy (at some points)

warnings: mentions of alcholol and weed, language, unprotected sex   

summary: eventually, we fall in love with people who the universe destined us to. but there are complications sometimes. 

word count: 11k (i refuse to comment) 

a/n: tell me what you think even if you found it bad 🤧🤧 i’m in NEED of feedback,, stay safe during the pandemic and feel free to talk to me!! i’m sorta back 🤠🤠

“I'd prefer if you showed more enthusiasm about it. Success is never an accident,” your mother reads you a lesson, a reproach can be heard in her voice. Your sigh, wishing this conversation to be over so you’ll finally be able to hang up your phone. 

“Some people aren't built happy, or cheerful, or forever excited, you know,” you mumble. “I'm satisfied with my academical success – but maybe it isn't a thing I want to achieve now. I don't know.”

“Of course, people aren't built happy – that’s why the Universe made a soulmate for each of us. To make us happy. That's how it works.”

“Uh-huh.”

“One day you’ll understand,” your mother continues. “And you will be happier, happier than ever. Your time will come.”

You won't understand.

The Universe made a soulmate for each of us. The Universe made sure we’ll be aware who is the one, the one, as your mother says, who’ll make you happier and complete, too. It's pretty simple. First words addressing you that you would hear from your soulmate get imprinted on the skin of your ribcage. Close to your heart.

The mechanism of The Universe is perfect. But, sometimes, even perfect-made things get broken.

You won't understand because you already have words tattooed on your skin.

“I guess, we can say love is an accident, isn't it?” you say. “Anyway, I gotta go, mom. I'll call you tomorrow?”

“Sure. Take care of yourself. And don't stay up late.”

“We both know I'm gonna stay up late,” you smile. “Bye!”

It happened in cold January, four months ago.

“Shrimp Pad Thai?” Chan asks you.

“Mm, yes,” you say, fluttering your eyelashes innocently. Chan gasps and raises his eyebrows in a fake disbelief, but you don't let him open his mouth to say something very sarcastic about you and your habits in eating. “I'm your customer, where are your manners? What if I leave?”

“Then you'll leave and won't have our Shrimp Pad Thai which you order five days a week,” he shrugs.

“I'm older than you – pay me respect!”

“I do? Always? Our very important customer who always eats the same,” he playfully sing-songs and you roll your eyes, trying your best not to give him a smile.

“Go and get us food already,” Momo says. “Both of you better not play on my nerves when I'm hungry.”

When the orders are made and Chan leaves to the kitchen, you get up from your seat.

“I'm going to wash my hands,” you announce, and your friend nods at it.

On your way to the restrooms you recognize a bunch of boys sitting at the window booth. Kim Mingyu, Wen Junhui and Jeon Wonwoo – all of them are in Soonyoung’s group of friends. Wonwoo smiles and waves his hand and you return the gesture. You nod at Junhui and Mingyu – who looks incredibly soft and cute in his light-gray hoodie with his rose cheeks – seems that the ramen he is eating is too spicy for him. He gives you a little “hey”, smiling at you, and you immediately feel how your own cheeks turn blushy. To prevent your embarrassment in front of them, you try to speed up, but, suddenly, collide with someone.

“Uh, I can feel my chilli sauce dripping.”

You look up at the source of the voice, Chwe Hansol, the new Soonyoung’s roommate you heard a lot about (and you’re aware that Soonyoung not just can’t stop telling embarrassing stories about you to his roommate, but also shows him your pictures, because yes, in Soonyoung’s words, it’s a crime if you don’t put on display your best friend and your wonderful, a movie-worthy, friendship) and, apparently, there is no bottle of chilli sauce in his hands. A smug smile is playing on his lips and his chocolate eyes are glistening with a mischief.

“Nice try,” you don't hide a hint of a wipe in your voice as you start moving towards the restrooms – you swear a trip to them never took that long.

You catch Hansol's gaze on you on the way back to your and Momo’s booth and you have nothing to do but narrow your eyes at him, making him smile even wider.

“He's cute, though. The Hansol guy I mean,” Momo concludes after you finished your dinner. “But no shit they're loud.”

You cast an eye at their boost. Mingyu is the loudest and the most talkative among them – but, somehow, looking at him telling something, wildly gesticulating, makes your heart melt a little.

Stupid, you think, it's almost close to feeling happy. 

You spot the tattoo when you go to take a shower that night.

Your heart sinks at the sight of the words.

“Uh, I can feel my chilli sauce dripping.”

You don't tell anyone.

“I can take it as an offend, you know,” Soonyoung whines. “You've been turning down my home party offers for more than a month!”

“Um, you haven’t had any,” you say.

It’s true – you try your best to avoid Hansol, and it works even despite the fact he lives with your best friend (sometimes you’re wondering how Soonyoung and Hansol, the pair of complete opposites, rub along okay together, but maybe opposites indeed attract?). You’re not fond of the idea you reduced all your social interactions, but at least you do your huge amount of homework in time – that’s why Soonyoung once called you a homework-doing machine.

Yes, that’s lame.

“It’s because you didn’t come!”

You’re clearly under pressure. You can crack under it a little bit.

Just a little bit.

“Because I-” you forget what you want to say to explain yourself. Or, rather, to fudge up an excuse to trick Soonyoung and keep staying from Hansol as long as possible. “It’s complicated. Besides, your roommate sticks at home for days on end, and if I want to spend time with you I want us to be alone,” you point at him with your pen.

His eyes are getting wider and wider with each millisecond and finally he gasps,

“Are you in love with me?!”

Well.

“What if I am?” you challenge. At the end of the day, that’s the words of the woman who has nothing to lose.

“I-” it’s Soonyoung, who is under pressure right now. “I love you, you know it-”

“But, there’s always a but,” you sigh in a fake manner. “I understand. Maybe I haven’t yearned it yet,” you place your hand over his, and his eyes are glued to your hands. “But, Soonyoung, I want to hear ‘horanghae’ from you someday. Will my dream come true?”

He lifts up his eyes to you. Soonyoung’s known you for over a decade and he clearly can say you’re on the verge of bursting into a hearty laugh despite your dying attempts to keep your face straight. He snaps his hand away and stands up.

“Yah! You betrayed me!” he points a finger at you. “Yah!” he continues in a voice that is a few octaves higher than his usual. “You are gonna pay for your betrayal!”

“Sure thing,” you manage to say through your laugh. You’re well aware that almost all eyes in the campus cafeteria are on you, but it was quite common when the two of you were together. “I’ll see you in court, horangi.” 

You wish you were in court.

Instead, you’re in Soonyoung and Hansol’s kitchen, mixing the sickest possible cocktail ever – and you’re not proud of yourself.

“Why it looks like wiper fluid but tastes like lab alcohol?” Seungkwan asks, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Your mirror his expression.

“Um, the creator would like to take to his own grave the secret receipt of this… shit,” you say.

By the creator you mean Soonyoung. You’re on duty tonight – it’s Hansol and Seokmin’s double birthday party and you’re in charge of everything – your best friend had no mercy for the cafeteria joke.

“Don’t tell me the upcoming birthday cakes have the same creator,” the boy says, patting his blond locks back into place. You assume he was dancing, or, more likely, slamming in the living room, while you hide in the kitchen, still avoiding Seokmin co-star of this night, Hansol.

“Nah, I ordered them in the bakery. Customized ones!”

“You should’ve asked me to bake the cakes,” the third person enters the room, and your heart skips a bit. Mingyu walks towards you and Seungkwan and leans on the counter, still having his eyes on you. “I need to improve my baking skills.”

You feel how your cheeks flushing up. Shit, you curse in your head, he just made an appearance and you’re already turning into mush.

“Next time maybe?” you ask, your voice is much more gentle than usual. “Whose birthday is next?”

“Mine,” smiles Mingyu. “But I don’t want to hold a party this year – wanna share a dinner tete-a-tete with someone.”

“Such a great plan! Except for one thing – you don’t have ‘someone’,” Seungkwan rolls his eyes.

“I’ll find one,” Mingyu’s words are steady but his movements are not. His right elbow slips off the counter, and the boy hisses. “I’m already working on this.”

“Sure thing, tiger,” you smile despite feeling that something is scratching your guts in your belly – disappointment? jealousy? sadness? Maybe all of them and maybe none.

You have a soulmate for fuck’s sake and it’s not Mingyu.

“Whatever,” Seungkwan mutters. “I’m going back to the party and I strongly recommend you to stop hiding here,” he says, looking you right in the eyes. “He won’t bite you, you know?”

“What are you talking about?!” you exclaim, but Seungkwan only shrugs.

“Have no idea.”

You want to follow him, take him by the shoulders and ask about everything he knows about – did Hansol tell him about you? Seems so. Has he, Seungkwan, launched the making of the two of you a couple campaign? If yes, you’re doomed.

Mingyu stops you from storming out of the kitchen – you’re back to the reality with his warm hand wrapped around your wrist and you turn to him in surprise, your cheeks already flushed.

“Yes?” you manage to mumble.

“Who are you hiding from?” he asks, and you almost hear concern in his voice. Or maybe you imagine it all.

“Um- no one? He’s being delusional like always, you know?”

“You sure?’ his hand is getting lower, and unexpectedly you find your fingers intertwining with his. Mingyu’s hand is much larger and warmer than yours, his hold isn’t tight, but it magically makes you forget about the whole the soulmate and his wingman thing.

It makes you forget about everything except for this particular moment – Mingyu’s dark eyes on you, your hand in his and the echo of the music playing in the living room. His bronze skin’s glowing in the dim kitchen light (one of the bulbs is dead and neither Soonyoung or Hansol wants to do something about it), his face is innocent and the only thing you can think about – your uncontrollable desire to kiss off two worry lines between his perfect eyebrows.

You don’t even notice that you’re holding your breath, too afraid to interrupt the moment.

“I’m sure,” you whisper and he nods. Mingyu probably can hear the beating of your racing heart, and you don’t mind at all – you would eagerly tell him how he makes you feel if he wants to know.

He leans closer to you, his breath is tickling the soft skin of your cheek and you hear him ask,

“May I?”

But before you can nod, Seokmin’s piercing voice, like a bolt out of the blue, is calling your name,

“Soonyoung’s trying to kiss me!”

He is louder than any bomb, you think, and that’s enough to take you out of the trance. You slowly turn to him, letting go of Mingyu’s hold on your wrist.

“It’s his way to wish you a happy birthday,” you negotiate, but Seokmin’s gaze is wandering between your and Mingyu’s bodies. His hand follows his eyes, gesturing at the two of you.

“Are you-”

“No, no, no,” you cut him off.

“Man, you need me to get the thing squared away?” Mingyu sounds irritated. You turn your head to steal a look of him. You never saw him like that – at least, not with his friends. Even when his team was defeated at the bowling a month or so ago he seemed worn out, but no hint of irritation on his face – just an exhausted smile combined with a self-mockery behavior. That night you almost regretted saying your wrist was injured so you spent the whole game sipping bubble teas instead of helping your team from sinking to the bottom.

(Jeonghan didn’t buy that spectacular performance, by the way)

“I came to complain?” he looks at you, the eyes so innocent, calling for help, so you smile in response – it’s always like this with Seokmin – the boy can melt even stone hearts.

“Let me check on him,” you say to Seokmin, and he eagerly nods. You pat on Mingyu’s right forearm, your fingers stay on his hard bicep for a little too long, and it makes you lick your lips. “And if he needs to get into bed, I expect some help from you, Mingyu.”

His face softens, and he chuckles, closing his eyes for a second.

“Let’s get it then.”

“I ain’t leaving till I help you with this,” Mingyu says, referring to the apartment that looks like a battlefield (of beer pong). “You already look tired.”

“I’m tired,” you admit. “But you have classes like in…” you check your watch. “…four hours.”

“I’ll sit in the back of the classroom,” seeing the question in your eyes, he adds. “I’ll catch some sleep, don’t worry.”

“Sounds stupid, but I guess nothing would change your mind,” you give up, and a proud smile appears on his face. “The living room is yours then,” you give him an evil smile, your hand lands on his firm chest, patting it twice. “Have fun!”

When you step into the kitchen, a sigh of disappointment leaves your lips, despite your vain attempt to suppress it.

Hansol sits in the white plastic chair, mindlessly scrolling through whichever app is it’s feed. He looks up at you, but he next second his eyes are back on the screen.

Your body feels stiff, like you’re made of wood, but you force yourself to approach the counter. The desire to disappear is so strong that you find yourself not breathing at all – like if you make less noises, the more Hansol is unaware you’re in the same room with him.

You grab a handful of orange peels to throw in the trash can under the sink when you hear Hansol voice, “Why didn’t you throw out all of them?” You turn to the boy, cheeks already red, and anger is bubbling in your stomach. It doesn’t go unnoticed by him, and he lets a hoarse laugh.

“I’m joking, jeez. No need to sulk.”

You don’t return his smile, instead turning away from him to take the leftovers, and say,

“It couldn’t fit in my hand.”

He coos at your words, and you feel stupid.

“Soonyoung was right. You’re an absolute doll.”

“Not impressed,” you roll your eyes, but you feel no confidence in your voice. You face Hansol again, a mischievous glint in his big eyes can be spotted even from across the kitchen. “Your eyes are red,” you notice. “Are you stoned?”

“Maybe so,” he yawns, stretching out in the chair that is about to crack under his weight at any minute. “I don’t mind you tucking me in, though. You seem to be a pro.”

“Well, don’t overdo it,” you say. “The scientists say weed makes people stupid.”

“And affects their memory,” he adds. “But it makes me copy.”

“With what?”

Hansol shrugs and his gaze falls to his knees. He radiates hesitation, and you gulp the pulse in your throat, afraid to hear the truth.

“With me being avoided by my own soulmate like I’m sorta of a plague? Sorta.”

A wave of pure heat that feels like a fever, a bad fever, runs through your body. The whole soulmate thing was supposed to be a blessing, but it feels like a curse. Without thinking, you pathetically mumble,

“I thought you don’t care.”

You really did. For the last few weeks you’ve been living in the bubble made of your own sorrows, disappointments, and self-pity, and the thought of what Hansol feels and thinks about it never crossed your mind.

“Whatever,” he says. “I got your point.”

Hansol doesn’t wait for the unspoken words that are stuck in the back of your throat, ringing in your ears over and over as you watch him leaving the kitchen. He stops at the doorframe with his hand in his dark locks – it’s so odd to see him not wearing a beanie – and slowly turns to you.

“Leave this shit to Soonyoung,” he says.

“Okay,” you mutter.

He calls your name, shooting the arrow of guilt right into your heart.

“Goodnight.”

“Night.”

When Mingyu returns to ask where he can find another bag for trash, you cling to the boy’s chest, and skipping all the questions on the tip of his tongue, Mingyu clasps his arms around you. His chin is snuggling upon your head and you feel pressure inside of the bubble reducing a little.

But a tremendous guilt envelops you with each minute.

Momo stares at your figure as you sit across her – your hair cascading down onto your hunched shoulders, your face is covered with your hands, and the girl only huffs.

“Should I expect some fake sobs?”

You spare a fiery glance at her, but she just waves you off in dismisal. Momo doesn’t even trying to hide her irritation with you – the first thing she asked you after you finally had decided to spill the whole situation to her was ‘Could you have taken any longer to tell me?” and you can’t blame her.

“Yah, leave these tricks for your future sweetheart Sollie. I’m not buying it.”

“He is not my future sweetheart,” you argue. “It doesn’t work!”

“Because you never gave it a chance,” she isn’t convinced, and her stern tone makes you consider the words more carefully.

“He hates me now!”

“First, you deserved it. No offense. Second, he seems like a crackhead, such people don’t hate other people, they just don’t care about them.”

“Don’t talk about him like that!” you exclaim, and her face breaks into a triumphant smile. “What?”

“Look at you, already defending your soulmate,” she says in a saccharine voice. “Ask him out and fall in love. Choose life. Choose a loveseat coach.”

“Isn’t it from Trainspotting movie?” you question, narrowing your eyes.

“And what about it?” she huffs once again. “It doesn’t make me wrong. It always starts with a crush. Just let it happen.”

A crush, huh? A crush that makes your heart beats harder; that sends you floating in your daydreams; that makes you the happiest person in the whole universe, but at the same time has the power to make you sadder than the most distant and loneliest star from the Sun?

Just like the one you have on Mingyu?

Momo still doesn’t know how you feel about the tall, black-haired boy, and you aren’t ready to tell her the truth. Partly because you want to protect this thing from the outer world, make it special, make it a secret that can be kept by the two only, and, partly because you’ll face the wall of misunderstanding. You could fool around with the boys before, but now you’re certain with the one who is destined for you. And you can’t – you shouldn’t – seek for another lover. It’s wrong.

The ability to make all your problems yourself will never fail to amaze you.

“Fine,” you say through gritted teeth. “If you’re so smart.”

“I could’ve been your mother, though. You should follow my every word.”

“Momo, we literally were born in the same decade,” you sigh, but the girl has no intention to follow any of your words.

[mingyyuu 17:13] it’s so cold today!! stay inside  🖤

[you 17:14] too late :// plans!!

[mingyyuu 17:16] any plans for tomorrow?

[you 17:16] not yet

[mingyyuu 17:17] now you have some!

 The boy continues to type, but you have to put the phone in the back pocket of your jeans – you’re awkwardly shifting your weight from one foot to the other at the doorstep, not able to say anything – even a small ‘hello’.

“Soonyoung’s at the dance practice,” Hansol breaks the silence.

“I know his schedule better than he does,” you can’t help but roll your eyes. “I came for your soul.”

Hansol raises his brows, his eyes never leave yours as he steps aside to let you in. The boy helps you with your jacket, and you mutter a small ‘thank you’, hoping he’ll take the initiative, even despite the fact it’s you who came to talk.

“How are you doin’?” maybe it’s a soulmate thing to read each other’s mind? You look at Hansol and you have a feeling that you’ll never be able to go through the guard around him and straight to his head. His expression is neutral, and you admit that he doesn’t even need to try look beautiful.

“Nothing much,” you response. “What ‘bout you?”

“Okay. Wanna drink something?”

“A pepsi please?”

“We only have a few cans of coke, do you wanna?”

You already feel strange of that crazy amount of questions for the beginning – the situation becomes more and more awkward that you’re able to feel the pressure of the air in the room. Your temples pulse a little, threating a headache.

“Nah, I’m fine then,” you say, taking a deep breath. “I came here to say I’m sorry and-”

“And?”

“Do you think we should be together?”

“It how it works,” he lets out a dry laugh. Hansol looks down to your face, his hand reaches out to stroke your shoulder. “Hey, you okay?”

The grip on your temples is too tight to bear, and you let out a heavy pant.

“My head hurts,” you explain, squeezing your eyes shut – the light is too bright.

“You need to lie down,” Hansol says. “It’s probably because the temperature difference between inside and outside. I’ll bring painkillers to Soonyoung’s bedroom.”

You nod, heading off to the bedroom. What a great wat to talk - show up at someone’s doorstep just to say you have a headache. Great. Not bothering yourself with discarding your clothes, you collapse stomach-down onto the bed without removing the cover, your face is buried in the soft material.

“Shit, you’ll suffocate if you stay like this,” Hansol’s deep voice wafts on your ears. You slowly lean on your elbows to steal a glance at him. After placing the glass of water and the blister of painkillers at the night stand, he gets down on his haunches, his eyes at the same level as yours. You stay like this for some time, not saying a word, mesmerized by his face.

“What did you do before I came?” you ask out of sudden. Hansol seems to be taken aback with your question.

“Tried to make some music,” he gawks, blinking at you.

“Really?” you ask in a low voice.

“Mostly checked the mic with some ‘yeah’s’ and ‘yo’s’”, he admits, an amusing laugh escapes his mouth. “I’ll try to do something while you’re resting, good?”

You nod you head and smile at him. He gently squeezes your shoulder and stands up. Before he disappears out of the bedroom, you say,

“Do you have any siblings?”

He turns to you, leaning back against the wall.

“Yeah. I have a little sister. You?”

You shake your head no and he nods.

“But it was easy to guess you’re not the only child, though,” it’s difficult to see his face in the darkness, but your eyes never leave him.

“How so?”

“You offer a compromise when it's unnecessarily,” you sniggle. “A man of settled habits.”

You see his wide smile in the dark.

 You force your eyes open and sit up in the bed, your hair disheveled and slightly damp at the back of your neck. Headache has gone, at least for now, but your throat feels dry. When you come to the kitchen, you see the note in Hansol’s infamous unsteady handwriting left on the counter:

you can find pepsi in the fridge!

You smile at the gesture and inside you sense warmth.

 You knock at Hansol’s bedroom door twice and after the boy calls out for your entry, you slip through the door.

Hansol sits at the table, bobbing his head in time with the song that hums from the speakers. His eyes are glued to his laptop, the headphones rest above his ears.

“Does the work go smoothly?” you ask, sitting at the corner of his bed. He turns to face you; a soft smile is playing on his lips.

“Yeah, it’s okay. There are many things that I think I’m lacking in, but I work on them,” he says in a serious tone. “But I’ve finally finished the song that had been haunting me for weeks.”

“Oh, that’s great!” you beam at him.

“Your snoring from the next room inspired me,” he places his hand over his heart. “I’ll be forever grateful for that.”

You lightly kick his calf, and the boy laughs. Rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes, he draws his attention back to you.

“Feel better?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you answer. Nodding, Hansol notices your gaze focusing on the screen of his laptop. There’re the unknown for you tools placed on his table, except for the microphone, of course, and you’re wondering what kind of music he’s into.

“Wanna hear it?” he asks, once again showing his amazing ability to read your mind.

“Yes!” you hearty nod. “Want my headache to be back.”

Hansol rolls his eyes, muttering a small ‘sure’ under his breath, and places the mouse cursor over the play button. The speakers are small, but even despite it you sense the music vibrate through your body. The beat is harsh, his voice is piercing, and it feels like the most Hansol’s thing he could’ve ever done, but at the same time you’ve got an inkling that the tune and the lyrics were created by his mysterious twin.

“You really made this?” your eyes are wide and your hand clutches hold of his wrist.

“Yeah,” he hums nervously, bringing his free hand to rub at the back of his head.

“It’s good! I can’t believe you haven’t signed a ten-million dollars contract yet!”

“You heard just one song,” he smiles in a protest. “Thanks anyway.”

“I’m right, though,” you say, your hand leaving his as you smile at him. “You should be a star! I can’t say what I liked about it ‘cause I don’t know anything about music, but the whole thing is perfect!”

He looks up to you, your cheeks flushed with passion and your eyes glisten as candles burn bright, and it brings a proud smile on his lips.

“You’re beautiful,” he blurts.

“You’re beautiful too,” your words are sincere, filled with pure appreciation you have for this melted chocolate eyed boy. The idea of you frightened of meeting him a few hours ago seems like a pure absurd right now – when the two of you sit that close to each other, you having a string of questions to ask him about his life, interests, hopes and dreams, and on your tongue the whole story of your life is tingling to be uttered at the same time.

“It was unexpected,” he chuckles. “Thanks again.”

“Thanks for the pepsi,” you return. “I thought you had only coke?”

“Um, I went to the convenience store across the street while you were asleep,” he says, his eyes are wandering on the wall. You can hardly take a breath.

“You shouldn’t have,” you say.

“It’s not a big deal,” he shrugs. Nodding, you slip off his bed and go toward the window. Leaning your forehead against the cool glass, you take a deep breath.

“Is Soonyoung still at the practice?” you ask, your voice is low.

“I guess,” Hansol perches at the windowsill. “I kinda lost track of time.”

You feel the heat his body radiates. Theoretically, you think, you find him somewhat sexy, really manly. His long scraggy neck, broad shoulders, a spectacular torso you can notice even under his oversized t-shirts, and athletic thighs. A month ago, your informant told you that Hansol barely shows up in the gym, and you wonder if the boy was gifted with capability of being perfect without even trying.

And still, he isn’t Mingyu, who makes you feel being in love.

You want to tell Mingyu the truth about your wrong destiny, your aching heart that can be healed with his smile only, and the feeling of your stomach filled with butterflies. You want him to hold your hand, pushing all the doubts and fears away, and make you his. His, despite the cruel joke The Universe played on you.

You think, you have a feeling, he would understand it, because he believes in strength of choice. Mingyu is in a constant state of moving forward, overcoming all obstacles he might face.

Would it be the first time when he stops?

 You and Hansol both stay silent till the whole apartment echoes with Soonyoung’s ringing voice.

“Woah, I like the pictures!” Mingyu approves with a hum, adjusting something on his camera. “They’re perfect.”

“Because they’re pictures of me or because it’s you who took them?” you smile, a playful glint in your eyes as you nudge him.

“Let me think,” the boy stops in his tracks, his brows furrow in a fake manner, indicating he is absorbed in his thoughts. “Both.”

“Wow,” you play along, shaking your head and pressing your lips together. “Groundbreaking.”

He giggles and slides his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“Wish I could tickle you right now, bit your jacket doesn’t give a chance.”

You shove off his hand and see a small pout forming on his plush lips.

“It’s my protection from pervs like you, Mingyu,” you smile innocently, casting sheeps eyes on him.

“Pervs don’t ask for a permission,” he opposes matter-of-factly. You raise your brows at him in question, and it doesn’t take long for him to explain. “Let me kiss you.”

You raise your head at Mingyu to see him smiling down at you with shining eyes, his cheeks are glowing from the frosty air.

“Go ahead,” you smile, and he leans down and kiss you. His lips are warm and sweet, and you never expect to feel care through a kiss as his mouth is covering yours. His hand cups your cheek while the other is placed tightly at the base of your neck. You trace your tongue against his lower lip, his tongue is eager to meet yours. You tease the inside of his mouth, and Mingyu lets out a small groan, which is enough to bring you to senses, and you break the kiss.

“We’re outside, Guy,” you softly remind him, your grip at his forearms is loosen.

“And so?” he whines, tugging at your sleeves to keep you body close to him.

“And we’re late,” you try to reason, but frankly speaking, you better would have stayed in the previous position you shared with Mingyu than going anywhere. “Let’s go. The sooner we start, the sooner we leave.”

The idea of karaoke night seemed promising, to say at least, but with Seungkwan occupying the microphone and Seokmin taking the guise of being his bodyguard, preventing any attempt of borrowing the tool out of his hands, ebullience faded into despair.

Jun is scrolling through his phone, and you find it okay; Soonyoung is busying himself with fourth bowl of ramen in a row, and it begins to worry you; Jihoon is yawning in thirsty eight second intervals, and the fact of you really counting begins to worry you; Mingyu’s playing with your hands, his head rests against your shoulder, you find it normal too.

You toy with his dark hair and lower yourself to whisper in his ear.

“Take me out.”

“Your wish is my command,” Mingyu smiles with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He straightens up off the sofa and extends his hand to you. You stretch out your own hand and place it in Mingyu’s warm palm.  

After wrapping everyone, except for Seungkwan who is too absorbed in the singing and waves the two of you off in dismissal, for a goodbye hug, you go downstairs to put the clothes on.

“Stop staring,” you say to Mingyu, catching his gaze in the mirror, a smile parts your lips. You pull up the hood of your jacket and turn to the boy.

“Can’t help it,” he admits, reaching out and tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His thumb is stroking your cheek gently, and he leans to steal a kiss from your lips.

“Oh, shit,” Seungkwan says, puckering his face into a frown. “Came to say my goodbye, but this,” he gestures at the two of you.

“Grow up,” Mingyu shrugs his shoulders. Seungkwan’s glare bores a hole right through your head, and you can only silently pray for him to not allow his anger  upstage his reason.

“Seungkwan, please,” you say. “Let’s talk about it later.”

“Sure,” the younger boy rolls his eyes. “It’s not me who you should talk to, though.”

“What’s the problem?” Mingyu groans in frustration.

“I don’t know. What’s your problem?” Seungkwan scoffs, shifting his gaze from Mingyu to you and back to Mingyu again.

“It’s none of your business,” you snap. “I’m not in the mood for one of your soap operas.”

You storm out of the building, your blood is boiling with the mixture of anger, fear, and realization of all things you used to have fell to pieces in a matter of seconds.

“Hey, wait,” Mingyu grabs your hand, and you stop, too afraid to look at him. “What’s the matter?”

You’re struck by an incredible sense of fear, of confusion, of vulnerability, but you finally have to face the reality.

“The problem is,” you sigh. “Hansol is my soulmate.”

“Don’t cry,” Soonyoung tries to conciliate you, his hand is rubbing against your back, and he tightens the embrace. “I’m here for you.”

At this point, you even hate yourself for the damp spot on his sweatshirt made with your tears. You want to concentrate on Soonyoung’s words uttered in a small voice, almost whispering, but as you think about Mingyu, about how on his face thoughts and feelings seemed connate – his pained stare said everything, – standing in front of you, you feel a sharp pain in your heart.  

“Do you despise me?” your voice sounds desperate.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t ask such a shitty question to my best friend,” he says. “You’re the best.”

You laugh bitterly. Soonyoung treats you too nicely – without asking why you’d been keeping so many secrets from him till this night, rebuking Seungkwan for standing guard over Hansol’s feelings, promising Mingyu will pay dearly in the nearest future for his superior sense of morality or whatever.

“What about Hansol?” you ask him, your eyes still are full of tears and pain, but you force a small smile.

“Will kick him out,” his voice is firm, and you sink your face into the soft material of his cloth, suppressing a bigger smile that threats to appear on your lips.

“Soonyoung, I’ve made four enemies this year, and it’s only the end of February,” your voice is muffled as you keep pressing your face onto the boy’s chest. “Momo, Mingyu, Hansol, Seungkwan – all of them hate me for being stupid, for not telling the truth, for being a bitch, for-”

“Shh. It’s their problem, not yours. It’s them who won’t survive ‘cause they made enemies of us. Listen to me,” he calls your name, making a passionate appeal. “We’re undefeatable, you and me.”

You lift your head at him, finding him keeping his eyes on the ceiling in a dramatic way, and you snicker. His lips twist into a broad smile, and he looks at you.

“They don’t hate you,” he says. “Life is complicating, so are we. They know about it.”

You meet Mingyu at the library. There are dark circles beneath his eyes, and he’s surprisingly quiet.

“Seungkwan said Hansol fell for you only after Soonyoung’s countless ramblings about you. He indeed stared at your pics, I suppose.”

He’s in pain.

You feel empty inside; a terrible anguish seizes your heart.

“Do you feel the same about him?” an involuntary question slips off his tongue.

You want to say it’s him, it’s only him who made you fall, who made you feel at ease, who made you want to give and not just to take, but you can’t.

He waits for a response you’ll never be able to come up with.

This night you cry yourself to sleep.

Weeks go by.

The three of you – you, Hansol, and Soonyoung – glue your eyes to the television set placed at the wall of the boys’ living-room. Watching different tv series with them somehow has turned into therapy sessions – despite experiencing triggers at almost everything that is shown, you feel you’re not alone. The two of them act like nothing happened, and all of you are ready to meet your soulmates someday.

But, if nothing happened, why Mingyu’s name is forbidden from saying out loud because it would fill you with pain?

“You have popcorn crumbs on your shirt,” you notice, pointing at Soonyoung with the remote in your hand.

“I preferred watching tv to reading books when i was younger,” the boy says, dusting the crumbs off his torso and lap.

“And it shows,” you tease. Soonyoung gives you a light pinch on the side and straightens up with a huff.

“I’m going to bed,” he announces. “The bathroom is occupied for the next thirty minutes.”

Hansol nods and bids Soonyoung goodnight as you blow him a kiss – his laughter never fails to boost your mood.

“Resuming?” you ask Hansol. “I’m not sleepy.”

“Neither am I.”

It’s completely dark apart from the television’s dim yellow glow. Somehow, you find yourself being distracted by almost everything – the pattern of the wooden floor, the material of the couch, the streetlamp right outside the window, the plant that is going to die soon due to Soonyoung and Hansol’s lack of care.

Hansol.

His eyes flicker in your direction, catching you staring at him. You don’t look away.

“Am I more interesting than the show?” he asks, not expecting you reply with a quiet ‘yes’. A blush coloring his cheeks can be spotted even in the poorly illuminated room.

“You’re so shy sometimes,” you remark in a low voice. “You didn’t seem so when I first met you.”

“I felt some courage out of nothing,” he shakes his head, his long and slender fingers tapping his knees. “When I saw you.”

You sigh. How the Universe can be broken? Maybe you’re broken?

“I read that if you’re dealing with schizophrenia your emotions are mixed up – you feel something you shouldn’t have felt and express something you don’t feel.”

“Scientific facts again, huh? You’re referring to me?” he grins.

“To myself, I guess,” there is no smile at your features as you sigh. “Or maybe it’s – I don’t know, to be honest.”

“Hey, I know its not gonna work but I’ll say it anyway,” he reaches out his hand to yours and gently squeezes it. “Don’t think shit about yourself. Don’t say shit,” he pauses. “When the words appeared I was surprised, no shit. But as I find out more and more things about you, all of it start to make sense. I don’t want anyone’s words but yours on me. That’s it. That’s the thing I feel.”

He’s beautiful, you think, very beautiful.

Your eyes wander over his face and finally stop at his lips. The contour of his mouth is perfect – Hansol’s lips aren’t plump, but neither are thin – just perfect – and the little bruise on his lower lip makes you unable to brush your overwhelming desire to have a lick over this exact spot. You hesitate – and even now the image of Mingyu settles on you.

But when you feel Hansol’s lips on yours, you let him in. He claims your mouth passionately, and you slide your hands into his hair, pulling on his locks, and he groans in your mouth. When you pull back for a moment, your eyes flooded with haze, Hansol traces his thumb over your slick with his spit lips, sending a shiver down your spine. He leans onto you again, his lips ghosting over yours, the redolent scent of his musky cologne makes your head even more dizzy.

“I want you,” he whispers into your lips, his voice is cracking.

“You can have me,” you breathe out, closing your eyes as his lips decorate your neck in sloppy kisses.

You can have me, but can you have my heart?

The question finds lodgment in your mind.

You might lose the thing you love the most, but life goes on… and here we stand.

You’ve discovered you’re an excellent pretender.

Pretend you think nothing of going without sleep for several nights and then attend your classes. Pretend you’re not tired. Pretend you like the tasteless dish in the restaurant Momo brought you to. Pretend it’s not painful to be in the same room with Mingyu. Pretend you love Hansol back.

“My legs are killing me,” Seungkwan whines. “I just don’t know how much more of it I can take.”

Same, you think, fucking same.

“Wait a little more and I’ll buy you a hotdog,” Mingyu promises, looking over his shoulder to see you wearily stagger behind them. The combination of the three of you is weird, you find, but life goes on, isn’t it?

It’s May, and the three is you are stuck in Ikea’s mazes – Mingyu needs to buy some new furniture – this is what brings him to the mall, but also Mingyu needs someone to keep him company – and this is what brings you and Seungkwan to the same place. Mingyu calls your name, and you lift your head, furrowing your eyebrows in a question.

“You good? How ‘bout a few hotdogs after?”

“And milkshakes,” Seungkwan adds.

“Just an ice cream please,” you mumble, and he nods. Sometimes it’s so awkward – to be around him. Sometimes it’s natural. But mostly it’s painful.

 Standing in the parking lot, waiting for Mingyu and Seungkwan while they’re stuffing the things Mingyu bought into the trunk of his car, you dumbly watch the ice cream steadily dripping down your hand.

Damn.

No ice cream can help you feel good even a bit. 

You enter Hansol’s bedroom and find him at the wooden floor, lying on his back, eyes closed. With his arms and legs splayed out, he reminds you a giant starfish.

“Are you even breathing?” you chuckle, bending over him.

“I am,” Hansol smiles, his eyes stay closed, and he taps slightly on his chest. “C’mere.”

You oblige, your head nestle against his chest, and you hear his steady heartbeat. He wraps his left arm around you and inhales deeply.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes out of sudden, and you turn your head to look at him. “The first words were stupid, and you’ll have them for forever.”

“Suit us very well,” you poke, and he sniffs, reaching out to slightly pinch your cheek. “Hey! Stop!”

Hansol laughs, squeezing you tighter, and the sound of his slow and steady breathing lulls you to sleep. Your gaze is directed at the ceiling as you try to fight against sleep. “You’re so composed, but also so goofy, but also so delicate,” you sigh, thinking out loud as your fingertips trace up and down the soft skin of his wrist. Hansol’s warm. “But the first words were wacky,” you chuckle. “What’ve done to deserve them?”

“It was Russian roulette, baby,” he hums, and you can hear him smiling.

You fall asleep like that. You dream about buying the beige sofa you saw in Ikea and Mingyu’s endless attempts to change your mind – the green one is a way better, he insists. The green one would suit the interior perfectly, you agree with him, but the beige one is so classy, and maybe even a little obligatory? Every apartment should have one, but Mingyu only shakes his head in frustration.

“I'm not sure you’re one hundred percent positive about what you’re convincing me of,” he purses his lips.

Dreams that are hardly can be distinguish from reality are exhausting. You wish there was a way to put this worry to bed once and for all.

“Okay, so the concept of your birthday party is dubstep,” you verify. “And the main dish excepted for a barbeque duck is an ice cream cake?”

“I scream, you scream, gimme that ice cream,” Soonyoung’s enjoyment is evidenced by his wide smile. You playfully roll your eyes, not really hiding the excitement you share with him.

“Why do I feel that we’re constantly hanging out at birthday parties?” Hansol asks, peering at his phone screen, not bothering to straighten his head from its bending position.

“Because our friend group is too huge for people our age,” you make a point.

“It’s so expensive to have a lot of friends,” Soonyoung complains, but when he meets your questionable gaze, he adds. “But for you, my bestie, money’s no object.”

“Good to know,” you laugh, your fingers leisurely run above the rim of the empty cup of matcha latte. “I’m more upset about my dear boyfriend didn’t show any interest in volunteering at preps for the party.”

Hansol smiles, tapping on his phone, his eyes are anchored on the screen, and you narrow your expression at him, shaking your head in a scolding manner.

“And now he pretends he doesn’t hear me,” you say. “Wonderful, isn’t it?”

Hansol’s face brightens and broadens out into a beaming smile, and the sound of Soonyoung’s giggles fills the air.

“I’ll ask Seokmin to help you,” the older boy suggests, and you raise your eyebrow at him.

“I know you’re saying it for the best of reasons, but Seokmin rather is a distraction than a help,” you debate, and Soonyoung raises his small hands in surrender, his eyes becoming crescent-shaped due to his laugh.

“Okay, I’ll send backup,” he promises. “At the end of the day, Mingyu’s good at cooking and cleaning.”

It would’ve been hard for him not to realize he put his foot in his mouth mentioning Mingyu as the mood tensely shifts. You freeze, alike Hansol, his thumb is hovering over the phone screen for seconds. Soonyoung offers you an apologetic smile, and you smile at the boy back, reassuring him it’s okay – he really did nothing wrong. Hansol’s avoiding your questioning gaze, hiding his eyes behind his curly bangs, and you gently brush a section of his hair from his face, wanting to see him clearly.

“Are you jealous, Sollie?” you try to joke, a soft smile playing on your lips, your hand placed on his cheek. As he raises his eyes at you, nerves are evident in them, your heart sinks, and you feel breathless. He won’t ask you if he should be, he won’t make any scenes – but he may shut himself off, locking his feelings deep inside, and you fear it the most. You don’t mean to hurt him, but you’re still providing him a good amount of pain – he isn’t an idiot who can’t figure out that Mingyu’s never really left your heart.

“No,” he simply says. “I’ll help you with everything.”

“You’re a bigger distraction than Seokmin for me, but how can I say no to my sweet boyfriend?” you take his offer, your thumb is stroking his cheek, and the action soothes away the tension he has. Hansol smiles gently at you, and for a second, you’re wondering if he is as good at pretending as you are.

“How did you manage to rent this beach house?” Soonyoung asks in a pure awe. “Such places are always booked!”

“Nothing’s impossible when you love your friend,” you muse. “Besides, thank Hansol – he used his “music industry contacts” to make you happy.”

“Hey, you insult me using air quotes around ‘music industry contacts’,” Hansol slides his arm around your waist, tugging you closer to him, and places a quick peck on the tip of your nose. You stab him in the chest with your index finger, and he fakes a gasp.

“Eavesdropping?” you ask.

“Learning a lot about me,” he grins and draws his attention to the birthday boy. “Like the party?”

“No shit,” Soonyoung laughs. “I’ll like it better if you dance with me,” he says your name, his eyes sparkle brighter than colorful lights blasting through the house.

“Anything for a five stars rate.”

You’re out of breath, the clothes stick to your covered in sweat body, and you wince.

“I’m done,” you announce to Soonyoung, his batteries fully charged as he continues his active dance.

“Get some fresh air and come back!” he yells over the music, and you nod. Crossing the room to the back porch, you spot Hansol in the corner, talking to Joshua and showing the older boy something on his phone screen. Unnoticed, you go directly to the shore until the music of the party drowns in the sound waves, and inhale warm salty air. The water seems so tempting, calling you to step into the waves, their rhythm is hypnotizing you, and you kick your shoes off, perfectly understand the night water is too cold for swimming.

A familiar voice stops you, calling your name. You turn around, greeted with Mingyu’s tall figure, shining like a bronze statue, his tanned skin sheens magical when graced by the evening sun.

“Why do you always tend to sneak out?” he asks, once he made it up to you, a warm smile already crept onto his mouth as he saw you.

“I don’t know, maybe I just like being in crowds,” you shrug your shoulders – it’s true. You really don’t know the answer. He moves closer to you, and you finally spot a small bouquet in his hand. His eyes follow yours, and he chuckles.

“It’s for you,” he shyly passes you the flowers, his teeth press into his bottom lips. “I passed by those wildflowers on my way here and picked them for you.”

“It’s not my birthday,” you laugh. “But thank you, I love it,” you say, nuzzling your nose against the tender petals. You look up at the boy and lock your eyes with his, a tickling feeling spreading in your chest. The waves are lapping on the peaceful and quiet shore, but you feel electricity surging through your body. You stand on your tiptoes and place a delicate kiss on his soft cheek, the action is innocent, but for Mingyu it’s like hearing a starting whistle.

“You’re still in my thoughts,” he breathes. “Still here,” he reaches over to grab your hand and place it over his chest, and through your fingertips you’re able to feel his rapid heart. Tears are starting to form at the rim of your eyes, and your vision becomes blurred. Your fingers crawl into the flowers he gave you, pressing against the vulnerable stems. “It’s egoistic, I know, you’re dating my friend, your soulmate, but why does it feel like you’re mine?”

“I don’t know,” you sob. The next second you find yourself against his firm chest and you inhale his scent that feels like home. Not a place where you live, but home. He plants a kiss to the crown of your head and puts his hands on your shoulders.

“Look at me,” the golden boy suddenly says. “Please.”

You look up at him and see his eyes briefly dropping to your lips, and despite yourself you feel that familiar tingling in your gut, wanting him to kiss you. He reads you like an open book and he is kissing you, his lips softly press against yours, a tender flavor on your tongue.

“Mingyu,” you whisper in a small voice, pulling out from him. “I can’t. I can’t do this to Hansol.”

The boy looks at you with a pained expression, and in his eyes you can see that he wishes he didn’t have a heart at all.

“I’m sorry, angel,” he mutters, and you nod your head, your heart is swelling at the nickname.

“I know. I’m sorry too.”

You lock yourself up in the bathroom, hoping no one saw your state while you were hurrying upstairs. Suddenly, someone tries the handle, but it jingles with no success.

“It’s occupied!” you try your best to sound calm, but your voice is trembling.

“It’s me,” Hansol’s muffled voice leaks through the door. “Let me in.”

You turn the lock and face Hansol, your eyes are all red and watery from crying. The boy locks the door behind him and turns to face you, his piercing eyes burn right into your soul.

“You love him,” he says, too delicate to torture you with questions, and you feel even worse – if it’s possible – paralyzed with fear and regrets, guilt eating you inside out, and you swallow the lump in your throat. You let out a wet sob, not being able to look into his sad eyes.

You broke his heart.  

“I’m sorry, Sol,” you say, feeling powerless, loss for words to say to him, to explain yourself, to apologize. “I don’t know what should I do. I don’t know what should we do.”

“If he makes you happier than I could,” he looks above your head. “I’ll accept it someday.”

“You don’t deserve this,” you say, feeling so stupid, only wishing that the floor would open up and swallow you.

“Maybe soulmates aren’t bond only by romantic shit,” his deep voice comes to you through the mist. You don’t ask him to give you a chance, don’t change his mind – maybe this painful reveal of the truth will make your heart feel a little bit lighter one day, even if right now you’re sure this is never going to happen.

You don’t complain and do not want pity from anyone – you’re sick and tired of Soonyoung tiptoeing around you, trying to keep you from collapsing; of the silent treatment Seungkwan gives you, scornful looks he spares you every single time you see him get you to another level of anger; of a constant scratching sense of guilt you’ve been racked with since your break-up with Hansol, but somehow he never blames you even if he should; of Momo dragging you to the shop malls and making you keep shopping until you cheer up.

Of you can’t getting up the nerve to answer any of Mingyu’s calls, too afraid of something you can’t even describe.

Momo’s straight face catches you off guard, and you only gasp,

“He what?! No, no, no,” you shake your head in disbelief. “You’re making this up.”

“What for?” the girl rolls her eyes back deep into their sockets. “Mingyu invited you to his picnic party or whatever through me cause you’re too deaf to pick up your phone, nothing special.”

“Will you come with me?” your eyes meet hers in the bathroom mirror, your expression makes Momo give you her infamous crinkly-eyed smile.

“He didn’t ask me to come – only you,” she purrs, taking her lip gloss out of the small bag. “He’s so fucking in love with you, you little witch.”

“I-” you stutter, the crimson red blush spreads across your cheeks, and Momo laughs and gives you a playful shove.

“Don’t you dare to say no,” she warns. “You’ll deal with me.”

“What would I do without you, Momo?” you smile at her. Even if you asked playfully, you really mean it – and the warmth in your chest proves it.

Mingyu seems nervous as he clumsy steps into your apartment, his chest is tensed with the breath he holds. The boy is dressed in a loose white t-shirt and high-wasted velvety pants, and you sigh in relief – the picnic party - as Momo called it - obviously wasn’t planned as something fancy.

“Thanks for picking me up,” you smile.

“Thanks for coming. Means a world,” he says, poking his cheek with his tongue, a shy smile follows his words. You missed him. Missed everything about him – the small giggles he lets while talking with that slight lisp to you, the shake of his head when he can’t understand something, the pout appearing on his plump lips when he realizes the item he wanted to buy is out of stock, the bright smile beaming on his face while he spills out his ideas for photography, the warmth of his palm holding yours in the pocket of his woolen coat.

“Who else is gonna be there?” you ask during your drive to the beach – Mingyu found the place perfect for a picnic, especially in the hot summer.

“Um,” he hesitates for a moment, taking his eyes off the road for a moment to look at you. “It’s just the two of us.”

“Oh,” you breath. “I see. Momo didn’t tell me.”

“Blame yourself for leaving me on read,” he grins obnoxiously and you roll your eyes defensively. “Now you’re stuck with me. I forgot to mention one thing, though.”

“Which one?” you rake your eyes over him, admiring how the sun’s rays paint his skin in a golden glitter. “It’s a date.”

You dig your toes into the cool sand, glancing into the evening sky. Mingyu follows your eyeline.

“You can’t see the stars for reflected light from the city,” you notice. “But here we have a chance.”

“No way,” Mingyu protests. “And you know why?”

“Why so?” you turn your face to him, a big smile spread on his lips.

“All Seoul’s stars are in your eyes,” he is smiling so wide that his cheeks must have hurt and he pulls you closer, wrapping both arms around you, tugging you into his lap.

“Shut up,” you laugh, smacking him on the chest, your fingers touching the soft fabric of his shirt. Mingyu’s lips are ghosting over your cheek for a moment before he speaks again,

“But I have lots of things to say,” Mingyu murmurs, biting softly at your earlobe, and a very familiar feeling creeps up into the pit of your stomach.

“Like what?”

“Like, let’s swim,” he takes you aback with the suggestion and you blink at him dumbly. “I didn’t bring my swimsuit with me,” you say.

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugs. “We’re alone here. No one’ll see.”

You push up from his body and meet his eyes glossy with playfulness and challenge, and you nod at his words. Mingyu grinning at you mischievously, while he removes his clothes – his shirt and pants find their place at the sand – as you see each piece of his skin revealing itself. You inhale deeply, and he leans his head closer to yours, the warm palms rubbing up and down your arms.

“Don’t be nervous,” he whispers, and you’re surprised he can tell this just from your body language, and it makes your heart flutter, pounding even faster against your ribcage. His words encourage you, and he silently watches you removing your dress, the only pieces of clothing on your skin are your bra and panties. Mingyu gently squeezes your hand, his thumb softly strokes back and forth over your knuckles. “Catch me.”  

And within a couple of seconds, he is already pushing into the water, everything below his waist out of sight.  You slowly step onto the sparkling waves, a lazy smile playing on your lips, as you see Mingyu splashing over to you with a childish pout on his face.

“You’re supposed to catch me, but you don’t even try,” he whines and steps closer to you, pressing his hands to either sides of your neck, his thumb rubbing the hollow of your throat. He looks dreamlike with his skin stick from the water, making him glisten in the soft evening light.

“It’s not the only thing I didn’t do what I was supposed to do. I was born to live without you, remember?” you whisper against his wet lips as he leans over you.

“It doesn’t matter,” he hums, letting his fingers brush against the words inked on your side. “I don’t need to be told who I love.”

You’d been feeling like you were drowning for too long, drowning in the cool water of sorrows, doubts, and self-destruction for too long, but only now you can breathe -

“You love me?” you say in a quiet voice, almost as if it was a secret, and the soft look on his face makes your heart skip a beat, overflowing with love and affection.

“I do. So I ask you to stay with me,” he pleads. Not just for tonight, not for tomorrow morning, but-

“Take me home.”

Rattling keys, the sound of giggles stopped with the kisses, Mingyu’s hot mouth on your pulse point, your hands tugging at his black silk locks, and the heavy weight of the wall meets your back.

“Right in the corridor?” you hum, panting into his ear. “Where is your decency, Kim Mingyu? Not bringing your lady to the bedroom is-” Mingyu doesn’t let you finish, forcing his leg between yours. He is grinning at you with his bottom lip between his teeth as he guides your hips into motion against his thigh, satisfied with the garbled moan ripped from your throat. Bringing his lips to the side of your neck again, Mingyu plants wet kisses on the soft skin. He licks your ear, gently tugging the lobe between his teeth. When the boy releases the tender flesh, he hisses,

“This… you made me forget about my good manners,” Mingyu drawls and attaches his lips to your throat. His voice is sweet, but the material of his pants is rough and the combination drives you crazy, whimpering into the air between you, your clit aching.

“Please,” you whine, grinding yourself harder against him.

Suddenly, Mingyu smiles, brightly and happy, before his lips press into yours, his tongue mapping your mouth. The boy lifts you up and it gives you an opportunity to kiss his neck in return, biting red marks into his tanned skin. Then, ever so carefully, Mingyu places you on the soft surface of the bed, kissing you passionately, but slower, trying to find out what you like the most.

“Can I take your clothes off, please?” he whispers in your mouth and you moan, your hands gripping into his biceps.

“Good manners are back,” you coo. “Go ahead.”

Mingyu helps you to sit up, undoing the upper buttons of your summer dress, kissing the skin it exposes, and finally pulling it over your head.

“Don’t forget to take the rest off too,” you breathe, and his lips stretch into a smile. His arms twist behind your back and then he is sliding the fabric down your arms and tossing it away.  

“Do you want me to touch you, princess?” Mingyu murmurs, the tip of his nose traces the side of your neck as his fingers are ghosting over the wetness of your panties.

“Like you don’t know the answer already,” you hiss and he chuckles, his hands move to palm your breasts. You bite your lower lip when he rolls your nipple between his fingers before slowly circling it, a blush slowly creeps down your neck. His mouth finally covers your nipple as his warm palms are parting your thighs, his fingers firmly pressed against the skin. Without being told, you rise your hips to help him remove your soaked panties.

Mingyu sits back on his haunches and marvel at your spread thighs and the pretty wet curves, and your legs separate to make room for him beyond your control.

“You’re so pretty,” he admires, his eyes – glassy with desire and adoration – don’t leave your face. His palm slides up from your hip over your stomach and further still, gently cupping your breast.

“Gyu,” you plea, but before you can even think about the words, Mingyu tosses his shirt somewhere behind his back, already yanked his slightly ruined with your wetness pants and the underwear to the floor.

Then, he is putting his fore and middle fingers into his mouth, coating them in saliva before slowly bringing them to your pussy, the pads of his fingers ghosting over your slit. You moan and he takes it as an invitation, drawing a circle around the hood of your clit. Craving for more, you shamelessly grind your hips into his palm, your fingers grasping at the sheets.

“Baby, I want to taste you so bad,” Mingyu purrs, thrusting his fingers into your pussy down to the knuckles. You moan at the sensation of his fingertips dragging against your pulsing walls, and he increases the pace of his digits inside of you. “You smell so good.”

His words only sending you near delirious. But his tongue feels even better.

Mingyu runs the flat of his tongue up to your clit, humming happily at the moan escaped through your red and swollen lips, your fingers tangled in his hair. His grip on your thighs is firm, screaming lust in big neon letters. He sucks on your clit, focusing his hot mouth on the swollen bundle of nerves, as he is pulling and pushing his fingers through your entrance. 

The boy groans deeply, nuzzling his pretty face deeper into your core. The delightful pleasure clings to your stomach, swells at you abdomen. Your eyes screw shut and your chest heaves, the back arching off the bed with a high-pitched cry. Mingyu is leaning over your, adjusting his body on his elbows supporting him either side of your body. His breath is tickling the skin of your neck and you giggle, your hand lazily draws some patterns onto his back. The boy silently observes your features while you reach down to his cock, lubricating it with his pre-cum. Mingyu groans, but you swallow the sound with your mouth, your tongue catching on flesh of his mouth that tastes like you. He is desperately grinding against your stomach, the tip of his dick leaving a wet trail over your skin.

“I love you,” he says against your lips and, slowly and carefully, positions the reddened head to your entrance. You wrap your legs around him, heels pressing into the ample swells of his ass as Mingyu buries himself deep inside you. He presses his teeth on your collarbone as he hitting your sweet spot with every single one of his delicious thrusts.

Mingyu is here – his arms caging your face, his mouth never leaves yours, and his chest is pressed tight against yours – Mingyu is here and you love each other.

He rolls his hips against you, sinking his cock into your heat, his fingers toying with your sensitive clit. Suddenly, he speeds up, pulling an extremely loud moan from you. Feeling you clench around him, Mingyu groans and lowers himself to suck on your nipple, muffling the sounds he makes against your skin.

“Let it go,” he pants out and you oblige, a gasp tumbles from your lips as your fingers curling in his hair. Your walls spasm around his cock, enveloping it with your release. He thrusts in you, his cock twitching inside of you before he lets out a drawn moan. He stills in you as his cock milking your pussy, panting loudly. He opens his dark eyes and his face softens for you as he places a gentle kiss on the side of your jaw.

“We weren’t meant for each other,” you whisper, your hand playing with his damp locks. “But I love you more than anything.”

“We are meant for each other,” Mingyu is persistent. “Since our first meeting.”

“Okay,” you give in.

“I win,” his smile is radiant in the night, and his eyes hold the whole universe in them.

You never thought of you as a rule breaker. No one did.

With each day Mingyu helps you realize you shape the universe you live in.

And you ask him to make your nose look smaller at the portrait of you he have been painting for two weeks already. 

[wwitbeyondmeasure]

Summer at the Burrow : r.w. fan fiction

Previous Chapters

Introduction / Author’s Note / Chapter 1: The Journey to the Burrow / Chapter 2: Hidden Letters / Chapter 3: Ron’s Return / Chapter 4: Nighttime Conversations / Chapter 5: A Morning Surprise / Chapter 6: The Quidditch Match / Chapter 7: Girl Talk / Chapter 8: Aphrodite’s Push  

Chapter 9: Mistakes and Love Potions

You barely got a wink of sleep that night. Every time you closed your eyes, you could see Ron's eyes filled with regret. What had been the hottest moment in your entire life was punctuated by Ron wishing it hadn't had happened. Maybe it shouldn't have. Maybe you got carried away and he didn't actually feel any attraction to you. His mind was probably cloudy from it being so late and you just throwing yourself at him in the middle of the night.

A bright light switched on which jostled you out of your thoughts. 

"Rise and shine," Hermione sang, seeming very excited for so early in the morning.

"What time is it?" Ginny asked, her voice groggy and her hair a bird's nest.

"About 8am," Hermione replied, already folding her blankets and putting them away neatly. She always liked to wake up early. Maybe that's why she always did so well in school. 

Ginny angrily threw a pillow at her as you buried your head back into your blankets with a groan. You didn't want it to be morning. You didn't want to have to walk downstairs and face Ron in the light of day. Again, his face flashed in your mind. Regret. 

Hermione threw the pillow back at Ginny, hitting her in the back of the head with surprising accuracy. "Get up, lazybones!"

After 20 minutes of bickering, Hermione had finally coaxed Ginny out of bed. Ginny's room was a whirl of clothes as all three of you got dressed for the day. Your movements were delibertly slow, the thought of having to see Ron making you dread the journey downstairs. But soon enough, you couldn't delay your inevitable fate anymore and the three of you headed downstairs for breakfast.

Usually the smell of Mrs Weasley's famous bacon and eggs was a wonderful greeting in the morning, but this time your joy was dampened when you saw the back of Ron's head sitting at the breakfast table. Pretty much everyone was awake and sitting around the long wooden table, except for Percy and Mr Weasley who were both working. 

"Good morning dears!" Mrs Weasley said, plopping a large egg with hash browns onto a plate before handing it to you. Thanking her, you took the plate and turned towards the table. Without making eye contact with anyone, you took the furthest seat from Ron, which happened to be right next to Bill.

"Morning y/n," he said, giving you a closed lip smile as he chewed his breakfast.

Looking up at him, you smiled back politely. He was wearing a black button up shirt with the top three buttons undone. His pale chest contrasted greatly with the dark material, but he made it look good. His dark clothes, long hair, and dragon tooth earring made him look like a sexy vampire. No wonder you had such a big crush on him when you were younger.

"Morning," you replied.

"I heard about your fall during Quidditch yesterday," he said, trying to make casual breakfast conversation. Although you were usually chatty with the Weasleys, your heart was hurting too much to put much effort into talking today.

"Yeah, I did" was all you said.

"Reckon it was Fred or George's fault, huh?" Bill asked with a wink. You laughed lightly but kept your eyes glued to your breakfast. Looking up at the others would only make you want to look at Ron. And if you looked at Ron, and if he looked back with the same eyes from last night....your heart sank at the very thought.

A breakfast roll sailed overhead but Bill caught it in one hand before taking a large bite out of it.

"Good throw," he said to the twins, before turning his attention back to you. "Your cut looks like it's healed up nicely," he commented.

You nodded, "Yeah, Ron helped patch me up."

Just saying his name sent an ache throughout you but you still avoided looking towards his end of the table.

But then you felt someone leaning closer to you, the smell of pine needles filling your nose. It was a pleasant smell, but not as nice as apples and cinnamon.

From under your lashes you looked up to see Bill closing the distant between you rather quickly. Your heart skipped a beat as he raised a hand to brush your hair away from your face.

"Yeah, looks like he did an alright job," Bill said, lifting your hair to observe the healed bump on your forehead.

Second year y/n would have fainted in this moment. Bill Weasley, your first real crush, was leaning across a table to touch you? He was looking at you intently while brushing your hair away from your face? You should have been ecstatic. You should have been sweating from head to toe. But you weren't. Instead, all you could think about is how you wished you were smelling apples and cinnamon instead of pine needles.

"Oi, mate, stop flirting with her or I'll throw up my breakfast," George replied. Laughs erupted from the table and your face burned red.

You couldn't help yourself, your eyes glanced up and you immediately made eye contact with Ron. He was looking between you and Bill, an angry sort of look on his face. You knew he had problems with jealousy, being The Chosen One's best friend came with those kinds of setbacks, but why was he jealous about this? He was the one who regretted everything from last night, not you. An anger boiled up in your stomach, the image of Ron's regretful eyes playing on a loop in your head. Suddenly, you wanted to make him just as hurt as he had made you.

Turning back towards Bill, you put on your most charming smile. "I mean, you can flirt with me if you want to. Not that I'd mind," you said, batting your eyelashes. You were half joking, but half wanting to piss off Ron.

Ginny chuckled as Bill's cheeks took on a slightly warmer color. Fred and George faked puking into their cereal bowls. You looked at Ron and were pleased to see he looked absolutely furious. His knuckles were white from how hard he was gripping his fork.

"Maybe y/n took our missing Amortentia from last night," Fred joked.

Your heart stopped as you turned to face the twins.

"Huh?" You asked.

Fred smiled before he launched into explanation.

"We had a couple boxes of chocolates with Amortentia drops in them in our room. We were planning on putting a few in Percy's morning tea, but when we tried to find them they were gone. Based on your flirting this morning, maybe you had eaten a couple," he said.

You shook your head, a feeling of dread starting to fill you stomach.

"I didn't take them," you responded. But you think you knew who did.

Ron cleared his throat uncomfortably before asking, "Were they in a blue box? With a little pink ribbon around it?"

Fred and George nodded their heads, every head at the table swerving to look at Ron.

Ron swallowed nervously. "Uh, I might've eaten them. Not on purpose though!" He promised, his face looking guiltier by the minute. "I was hungry when I was in your room the other night, so I took a couple of boxes. I didn't know they had Amortentia in them."

"Did you feel any different? Do anything different?" George asked, looking at Ron skeptically. Ron shook his head, and you knew he was trying his very best not to look at you.

Fred swore, which earned a disapproving glare from Mrs Weasley. "That means they're defective. We'll have to make a whole new batch before we can sell them at the shop."

"Or maybe," Hermione interjected, "You shouldn't be selling love potions at all! They are one of the most dangerous potions, and it is clearly wrong to be selling them in the first place. Honestly, didn't either of you pay attention in Potions class?" She looked distressed, obviously very upset that the twins didn't recall the negative side effects of Amortentia that Professor Snape had taught.

"Psh," Fred said, brushing her off with a wave of his hand as the conversation at the table changed. Everyone was talking about their plans for the day, full of ideas of playing Quidditch or Gobstones or maybe even taking a trip to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch. Usually you would join the conversation, but your heart felt like it was cracking in half. The only reason Ron acted the way he did last night was because he was high off of love potion, he didn't actually feel anything for you. He didn't feel the same way you did, and you started to doubt if he ever will. Before tears could form in the corner of your eyes, Mrs Weasley made a statement that drew everyone's attention.

"You will be doing nothing of the sort today. Today you're all going to finish your summer Hogwarts homework," she held her hand up sternly to stop Harry and Ron from protesting, "no if's, and's, or's, or but's!" Her tone let everyone know that her word was final.

Everyone around the table groaned, except for those who had already graduated and Hermione who clapped happily at the mention of school work.

For the rest of the day, you and Hermione sat at the dining table working hard while everyone else half-assed their homework. Ginny and Harry sat on the couch, distracting each other and joking, while occasionally picking up a quill to write. Ron sat alone leaning against a tree outside with his books open but a blank expression on his face. You sighed unhappily as your gaze wandered over to him for the millionth time that hour.

"Okay, what's up," Hermione said, surprising you by setting down her quill and closing her Transfiguration book.

"Nothing," you lied, pretending to write an answer to your Divination homework. But your brain was too scrambled and your heart too heavy to get any real work done at the moment.

Hermione yanked your parchment out from under you to read your work.

"Hey!" You protested, but she started reading your answer aloud anyway.

"What does the moons transit into Venus this month mean for your love life?"  Hermione scoffed. "What a load of crap."

You nodded. Usually your grades were pretty good, not as good as Hermione's, but you were better at Divination. For some reason Professor Trelawney liked you and said you had an "inherently observant third eye." But today, your third eye must have been squinting because most of your homework answers were a little ridiculous.

"You answered with, 'Venus is just a big ball in the sky, therefore it knows nothing of love,' " Hermione gave you a wary look. "I hate Divination and even I know that's not the correct answer."

Shrugging, you grabbed the paper back from her and continued writing bullshit answers. The moon's transit into Venus was supposed to bring abundant love and joy, but right now that felt like the worst prediction in the world. The only boy you cared about couldn't even kiss you, even when he had taken love potion. What does that say about his feelings towards you?

"Y/n, tell me what's wrong," Hermione said, her voice almost as stern as Mrs Weasley's. Something happened with Ron, didn't it?,"

You had been holding in how you felt all day, and it was going to drive you mad. But just at the mention of his name, your emotional dam broke open. Before you could stop yourself, you gushed out everything that had happened last night to Hermione, your voice hitching towards the end when you recalled Ron looking at you with such regret in his eyes.

"Oh, honey," Hermione said, wrapping her hands around yours. "That's hard, but I think the best thing you could do is just talk to him about it." At the moment, you didn't really want to hear Hermione's advice. She was always right, and right now you just wanted to wallow in your self-pity.

She patted your hand, and inclined her chin towards the window, where you could see Ron sitting outside with a puzzled expression on his face.

"He hasn't written anything for the past 20 minutes, he's probably just as confused and upset as you are. Either that or he just started his Potions homework. Either way, just go tell him how you feel, you'll feel better," she promised.

You nodded, thanking her for always giving you the most wise advice. Before you could lose your nerve to do so, you packed up your books and parchment and walked outside. Ron heard you approaching and set his quill in his book before shutting it and setting it beside him. The trunk of the large oak tree he leaned against was thick enough that he didn't even have to move over as you plopped down next to him. The hard bark of the tree pressed into your back but it was comforting to feel something to keep you grounded as you started this tricky conversation.

"Hi," you said, refusing to look at him. His face was turned towards you but you couldn't bring yourself to turn towards him. If you did, you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from kissing him.

"Hi," he replied.

A long silence stretched out into the summer air before you both started talking at the same time.

"I wanted to talk to y-"

"We should probably t-"

Blushing, both of you stopped.

"You go first," you said.

Ron nodded, his hands fiddling with the grass in front of him. He kept pulling at the roots, rolling the grass between his fingertips, and then pulling at the roots again. It was like he couldn't keep his hands still, like he had to be doing something with them. You desperately wanted to reach over and grab his hands in yours, but before you could muster up the courage to do so, he began to speak.

"I wanted to apologize for last night," he said. Your heart dropped. You came out here to tell him you had an amazing time and the only bad part was that you hadn't had the courage to go further, to kiss him. Yet here he was, apologizing. Apologizing as if last night had been a mistake.

"I didn't know I ate Fred and George's Amortentia, so that's probably why I was acting so...funny," he said, trying to find the right word. His voice was low and he was talking fast, like he always did when he was nervous. "So, anyway, I just wanted to say I'm sorry, and it won't happen again."

Your breath caught in your throat.

"It won't happen again?" You asked, desperately hoping that wasn't true. You turned to look Ron in the eyes, and as soon as you did he looked away.

"It was a mistake," he said, his adams apple bobbing up and down as he spoke.

"Oh," was all you managed to say.

And then Ron was standing up. He was standing up, gathering his school things, and walking away. Before you could even register what had happened, he was gone. You watched his retreating figure enter the house as you felt a hot tear slip down your cheek.

A mistake.

The word repeated in your brain and you choked on a sob. All you wanted, all you ever wanted from him was full honesty. And he had given it to you. He didn't want you, not in the same way you wanted him. You had to accept that. You had to.

So you gave yourself 15 minutes. 15 minutes to sit outside, cry, and let yourself be sad about how the boy you loved didn't love you back. After those 15 minutes, you promised yourself, you would walk back into the Burrow and pretend nothing happened. You would pretend Ron hadn't almost kissed you in the bathroom upstairs. You would pretend he hadn't cuddled with you the night he first came back to the Burrow, and you would pretend he hadn't touched you with such passion the night before. You would pretend you weren't deeply, madly in love with him.

You would go back to being best friends, just best friends. And you had to be okay with that, or else you would lose him.

[lastluvbug]

Your Trick Me Once and Trick Me Twice was amazing! My poor heart ached as I read it. May I request for a situation where Kalim was depressed after the events of Chapter 4;Jamil says something along the lines of "If only you hadn't exist" and Kalim decides to take drastic actions like attempting suicide? You can choose if his attempt is a success or a fail but I do want to see Jamil's reaction to the attempt though. Of course this is only if you are willing to write this. Thank you very much! :)

Toxins

Haha, you guys sure are enjoying the angsty Kalim fics! Oh well, truth be told, I am too! So let’s continue the sadness train!

Warnings: Extreme suicidal tendencies, toxic behavior, and language.

Please do not read if you are sensitive to these topics.

Vermillion skies bled to dark midnight as a little twinkle on the horizon grew into a thousand stars that created shapes and pictures Kalim loved to trace with his fingers.

Twilight, the death of the day, and the birth of the night. A long time ago, it was the part he dreaded with a passion unmatched by any other. After all, when the sun set, that meant today was over, and all those precious times he’d savored were now nothing more than lightly remembered memories soon to be rewritten, or forgotten. But now... well, now that he had no one to fall back on, no one to reach out to, twilight was now the sweetest kiss he could await for, the kiss that he’d wished to feel, but for now could only see.

Caressed by the wisps of wind that held the slightest hint of spice, he leaned back onto his hands, swathed in the moonlight that seemed to spotlight only on him, on the tears that freely dripped down his cheeks like crystals, a sad smile tugging at his lips. Feet dangling over the edge of the too tall balcony, he drank the taste of night, the bittersweet flavor of the dry desert air.

Sleep had long since been a hazy concept, often coming in sporadic periods that sometimes stretched for hours, and sometimes lasted no longer than five minutes. No longer did he carefreely fall into blissful dreamland, no longer did he find comfort in the silk finery of his sheets, or the clothing that had once fit so snuggly over his already lithe body.

Stomach shrunken, fingers bony, cheeks ever so slightly caved in, Kalim had gone from so heathily full, to a frail petal on the edge of falling from its flower of life. He didn’t need to show anyone the way his ribs had replaced the muscle that used to line the bones, didn’t need to explain why he’d suddenly found nitpicking every food that was placed before him as a new hobby. Probably the worst of all, he refused to allow anyone to see the secrets he was hiding, masked with a terrifying expertise he surely shouldn’t be capable of creating.

Riddled with jagged lines that cut over his shoulders, his hips, his thighs, Kalim hid those so well, walking without a single limp, waving without a flinch, acting as if he didn’t feel the sting of reopening wounds whenever he stretched his limbs a little too far, or the dripping of crimson as sparkly as gems down tanned skin. Laughing soundlessly at the tranquil sky, he sniffled, betraying his actions as the glittery sea of bottled sadness spilled from his eyes.

What was perhaps the scariest feeling of all, was that he simply felt... nothing.

All those smiles to his friends, all those sympathetic hugs he offered to classmates in need, he didn’t feel anything through it. It was as if a switch had been turned off; the dark smothered his light, shutting out the emotions that had so clearly made Kalim, Kalim. He could laugh and cry as much as he wished, but that didn’t cover the fact that it was all... fake? Forced? Imitated?

He knew why. He wrote about it every night, in the journal he kept beneath his pillow. He dreamt about it, whenever he could manage even a glimpse of an image past the realm of sleep. He remembered it, he remembered him. His words. The ones that stabbed him in the back, in the heart he thought he could so foolishly bear to someone who’d once been so trusted.

He knew this was all because of Jamil. But he rejected any thought that came within a hundred feet of blaming him. How could he? How could he even begin to blame Jamil, after everything he’d done?

“Hey, Mr. Oblivious. Won’t you pull your head out of your ass for one goddamn second and pay attention?”

Kalim should’ve been listening better, then Jamil wouldn’t have had to tutor him on basic classes.

“Why won’t you just get out of my life? I’ve told you a million times, and I’m done repeating myself. I’m not your friend. I never have been and never will be. Now leave me alone.”

Was he being too pushy? Maybe... maybe he just needed some space.

“Kalim, get the hell out! Good for nothing leech, just get away from me!”

...How much longer can he do this?

Slow, encumbered, Kalim turned his head to the door of his room, waiting, hoping, praying that the handle would turn, and welcome in the one person he wanted to love again, despite the late, late hour. Staring at the wood, he felt numb, expecting something he knew would never happen.

Falling rather ungracefully from the balcony ledge, he dropped onto his wide bed, onto the plush mattress that was deceivingly firm underneath his back, cradling all the wrong places as his covers practically strangled him in the heat. The tears that came this time weren’t born of fear, or anger, but grief and guilt.

Maybe if he’d been more perceptive, maybe if he’d loved just a little harder, things would be different. But... didn’t it amount to anything that he’d tried? That once, Jamil had been treasured like a brother? Didn’t he care at all that Kalim was suffering?

Cuddling into the overwhelming confusion between suppressing heat and empty cold made Kalim’s head spin, and cradled by the hand of the night that so desperately urged its dimming sunshine into sleep, he felt his eyes slip shut, sinking into a slumber that was neither welcoming, nor satisfying.

<————>

Heavy and cold, shivering in warmth, dimmed in light.

Kalim curled in on himself, sleep clothing askew as he gritted his teeth, chest sinking with a fractured stabbing as he hugged his knees to his chest. Just as the nights before, sleep had brought nothing but a dreamless black that he wished he could stay trapped inside, only to awake yet again in a body that only ever seemed to work against him.

Sitting up, he grunted as his wounds burned, flames traveling through his veins as if salt had been rubbed into his cuts. Tears speckled across his eyelashes as he bit back his cry, every breath he took watering the knot that grew in his throat.

He knew then, with the sensation of cracking glass prodding at his chest, with the cloud that dampened his head, with the glaze that formed over his eyes consisting of dammed tears and bottled fear, he couldn’t do it today. He couldn’t go out and act as if everything was alright. He couldn’t smile and laugh like he’d taught himself to. Because every time, it would come out too broken, it would show the feelings he’d worked so hard to conceal.

He needed to make a trip.

Dressing himself was an especially difficult task, as any small movement made his arms scream in protest, his hips cry in red as mended injuries were pried open, his thighs burn like boiling water had been splashed over them. But, biting his cheek and gritting through it, Kalim disregarded his bodily urges to stop, pulling on his school uniform and sloppily tying his turban, slipping on his pointed shoes to complete the look.

He didn’t even note the time as he headed out, feeling unbearably heavy as he glued his gaze to the floor, wandering through the halls of Scarabia. Along the way, he caught the eye of a few students, who waved energetically. He didn’t have the strength to summon even a hint of a smile back, trudging past them as he blinked, shoving down the water that longed to rush down and cool his warm face.

Pinned with the helplessness of being alone, Kalim hesitantly made his way to the mirror portal that led back to Night Raven’s main building, freezing as he noticed who stood against the wall, cleaning the dirt from his nails. Jamil barely acknowledged Kalim until he was within reaching distance, scowling as he met the crimson eyes of the other.

Though he was tugging dangerously hard on a taut string, Kalim inhaled as he brought forth a shimmering smile, betraying the unspoken words in his eyes. “G-G—“ Kalim cleared his throat, swallowing the knot, “Good morning, Jamil! Are you on your way out? I could come with you, if you’d—“

“You’re a damn idiot if you think I want to spend even a second with you. Not that it’s any of your business, but I was waiting for someone.” Jamil clipped, crossing his arms.

“A... Ah, of course! Well, I could still stay with you as you wait for—“

“No. It’s clear they’re not coming. I should get out of here, before I waste anymore brain cells on a useless, incompetent child like you.” Jamil didn’t make eye contact as be pushed off the wall, pushing by Kalim without another word and wandering off into the labyrinth known as Scarabia.

Fists clenched tightly at his sides, Kalim stared blankly into the mirror, watching it swirl and sparkle with ethereal light as he resisted the urge to break down right then and there. He could feel as his legs quivered, on the edge of giving out as his breathing hitched, shallow and shaking.

Still, he followed the path set aside in his mind, almost missing a step as he practically fell into the portal, whisking away to the Mirror Hall.

Emerging on the otherside, he almost breathed a sigh of relief when no one was there to greet him but the dead silence of morning. Instead of bouncing off to class like he would’ve had he the stability to paint on a pretty smile like any other day, he made a sharp detour to a certain portal he never saw himself going into.

Stepping into it, he squared his shoulders, prepping himself with failing encouragements for the conversation that needed to succeed.

<————>

“Dorm head Vil. Pardon the intrusion, but you have a visitor.”

The blonde looked up from his vanity, pausing mid stroke and setting his mascara down. “Oh? Let them in, I’m not busy.” He shrugged, standing to his full height, enhanced by his heeled shoes.

“Of course,” the underclassman nodded, stepping out of the room to allow in said visitor.

Kalim felt weirdly out of place in the proper Pomefiore, despite having been raised in sumptuous royalty since birth, and setting foot into Vil’s positively sparkling room made him wince inaudibly with guilt. His bone slim fingers twitched with anxiety, a dark shade over his eyes as he stepped before the taller boy, only scarcely making visionary contact. “Good day to you, Vil,” he blandly greeted, grinding his teeth together in a smile that looked more like a grimace.

“...And to you, as well Kalim. Is there something you needed?” The white haired dorm leader shuddered, offering no explanation before pouring out the dialogue he’d rehearsed a hundred times in his head.

“Well, you see... I’d like to ask you if you could make me a poison. Something fast acting, and easily hidden, that doesn’t smell too horrible.”

Vil flinched, pupils dilated and mouth agape as the request spilled from Kalim’s lips. He... wanted a what? For who? Why? “E-Excuse me? Kalim, what are you thinking?” Vil near yelled, balling his fists at his sides.

“O-Oh uh...” Kalim scratched the back of his head, feigning an awkward look as he chuckled. “It’s for educational purposes. I’ve been cooking for myself lately, and knowing me, I’m likely to accidentally poison myself!” He laughed boisterously, perceived differently by both listeners. “So I figured you’d be the one to go to, right? Unless... maybe I should’ve tried doing it on my own...” His voice trailed off, Vil’s hand on his chin, debating within himself.

Kalim popped a sad smile that didn’t appear so outwardly as Vil returned the act, a smirk falling to his painted lips as he extended a hand towards the prince. “Very well. Of course, coming to me is obviously the smartest idea someone like you could’ve come up with, but sit down first. You look absolutely atrocious.” Vil scoffed, gesturing to the seat before his vanity.

Reluctantly taking a seat, Kalim felt the insult dig deeper beneath his skin than it should’ve, crushing his hands under his thighs as he obediently followed Vil’s instructions, lips pulled into a thin line.

With momentary strokes and too gentle touches, Kalim couldn’t help but think of Jamil, seeing his gold speckled coal black hair and stony grey eyes instead of Vil’s blonde and amethyst. He used to do this too, every morning, dragging a brush dipped in black over Kalim’s thick lashes, dabbing red onto the corners of his eyes, thumb and first finger gripping his chin and tilting his head when need be.

A cold stab to his heart snapped Kalim from his short lived memories, reminding him of his purpose for coming to Pomefiore. “All done. Now that you look presentable, please, follow me.” Vil clapped, stepping away from the fellow leader and clicking off. Scrambling after him, Kalim gripped the fabric of his sweater tightly, biting his lip.

They didn’t travel too far, Kalim following closely behind Vil as he unlocked his bathroom door. Arriving in the room, Kalim toed the polished white tile, the lights fixed into the ceiling seeming to spotlight him as opposed to the beauty guru who swooped low to open the cabinets under the sink.

Inside were a number of brightly colored liquids, some transparent as water, others dotted with plant shavings or objects Kalim didn’t want to recognize. “Fast acting... sweet smelling, easily hideable, is that correct?” Vil quizzed, the twinkling of glass clacking against glass filling Kalim’s ears.

“Exactly,” he nodded into the mirror, averting his gaze quickly.

Vil didn’t reply, merely smiling devilishly before bringing out a small cauldron and three different bottles. Apprehension pulled Kalim taut as he watched the taller begin to explain his process, acetic irony making him soundlessly sneer. From poisoned to poisoner.

“On most occasions, a poison of this sort wouldn’t be possible to make, seeing as you want it to be not only quick to show results, but also pleasant-smelling. But, since you are working with the best, I believe we can make it work.” Vil boasted, uncapping and pouring the first vial into the cauldron. “This one is for the rapid dissemination,” the second, “this one for scent,” the third, “and this one for dilution, to water down the color, though still deadly.”

Kalim watched in wonder as Vil stirred the liquid, eyes wide and trained on the poison. Though at the beginning, an arrant black that made him scrunch his nose in disgust, the more Vil continued to churn, the color began bubbling with splashes of transparency. By the end, it was water-clear, and almost overpoweringly reeked of florals.

“Ah, there we are,” Vil smiled, laying a delicate hand on his cheek. Once again swooping low, he retrieved an empty bottle, ever so carefully filling it with the solution and capping it. “I haven’t made any antidote for this particular poison, so it may be in your best interest for me to hold onto it presently.” Vil cautioned, placing the ewer just out of reach while Kalim’s eyes shadowed.

“A-Are you sure? You can trust me, I’ll be careful with it!” Kalim argued, smiling wide to prove his point.

“Hm, I’m not a fool. I feel it would be for your safety if it was in my care until I create an antidote.” Vil refuted, sternly said, toying with the intricately designed cap.

Kalim chewed his tongue, clenching and unclenching his fists as he formulated a plan. Beaming a smile to Vil that seemed so outwardly innocent, he bowed slightly, showing his appreciation. “I see. Thank you for your time anyways, Vil.” He lied through his teeth, rising from his bow and bouncing off.

He didn’t risk a glance behind him as he stepped out of the senior’s room, shutting the door gingerly behind him. Scanning the gorgeously decorated hallway, he identified objects that could be used to his advantage, closing his eyes as he snapped the steps of his newly formed plan together.

Tiptoeing over to a vase that rose slightly above his head on a marble pedestal, he yanked the flowers that sprouted from the top out, tossing them on the floor as regret rooted itself into his heart. He internally apologized for what he was about to do, knowing full well that no one would hear him.

Winding his arms around the pot, his knees buckled as he dropped the weight of it in his arms, the arms that could barely lift his body mass. The water inside sloshed around, jumping onto his face as he regained his footing, tilting the porcelain prize and leading a trail of water around the corner of the hall. Repositioning himself in the indigo drapery of the curtain closest to Vil’s room, he swallowed a deep breath, hurling the expensive decoration as far as he could, cringing as the sound of shattering filled the hallway.

He hid himself in the curtain just in time, as Vil’s door burst open, slamming against the wall as he stormed out, empty handed. “What in the— Rook! Rook, go chase down Epel! That little scamp destroyed another vase, and made some pretty little prank out of it too.” Vil barked, Kalim cowering behind the curtain as the older stomped off.

“Sorry, Epel-kun,” he whispered, before creeping out from the curtain and darting back into Vil’s room.

Snatching the vial from Vil’s bathroom countertop was surprisingly easy, Kalim tucking it into his pocket as he scampered out once again, heartbeat amuck. Sneaking along the walls, he beelined away from the mess he’d created, turning a blind eye to it as he pushed open a random door in the hope that it was some sort of exit.

Instead, he welcomed himself to the Pomefiore lounge, where a handful of boys were lined up before Vil and Rook, Epel amongst them, who all twisted to stare at the invader. “Kalim? What are you still doing here?” Vil badgered, arms crossed.

“U-Uh... you see...” Kalim ducked his head in fabricated humiliation. “...I got lost... I couldn’t find the exit.” He whined, a few of the students laughing as Vil sighed.

“Rook, please escort Kalim out. I need to have a word with you lot.” The leader threateningly smiled, the laughter immediately ceasing.

“Of course, Roi de Poison! Come now, Kalim, we shall leave these heathens to their due punishments!” Rook singsonged, spinning over to the white door where he stood.

Kalim looked over to Epel, who had his face scrunched in confusion and fear, an apology spelled in his gaze that the purple haired boy only caught at the last minute, Kalim vanishing behind the door as Rook pulled it shut.

“Oh, what a tragedy! The rowdy boys of our dorm destroyed a simply magnifique vase crafted of the finest quality! On top of that, they made a mess of the hall too...” Vil’s overly extra vice leader boohooed, the flowy feather of his hat bouncing in an imaginary wind.

“Really...? Why would they do that?” Kalim asked, as if he didn’t already know they answer.

“I wish I could say. I often wonder what goes on in those spoiled little brains of theirs.” Rook replied, falling into a solemn silence Kalim relished.

The early blue sky hadn’t before been such a treat to the Scarabia dorm head, the boy thanking Rook briefly for the guidance. “Of course! Do come again!” He laughed, waving briskly and waltzing back inside the rather stuffy building.

Sneaking a victoriously pitiful smile, Kalim pulled out the stolen toxin, only holding it to the sun as he stood before the mirror portal.

It wasn’t supposed to be so easy.

A tiny part of him had wished it hadn’t been.

<————>

The school day came and went in a blur of colors, voices, and assignments that flew right past Kalim’s head.

He wasn’t fully there when he agreed to walk with Azul, the Leech twins joining not to long after. Happy conversation tied between the threads of three complementary personalities weaved around Kalim, who remained uncharacteristically silent throughout the exchange. He was too busy twirling the stolen poison in his pocket, and had been for the whole day, debating his very existence instead of interacting with his peers as he normally would.

The quiet wasn’t overlooked by the three, though Floyd was the one to finally put voice to the thought the Octavinelle trio shared. “Hey, Sea Otter~ is something wrong? What’s with the face?” He cooed, downturned eyes for once actually bearing a dollop of sadness.

“Hm...? Oh, um—“ Kalim shook his head, pulling a smile to his face that looked more dismal than welcoming, “—of course! I’m a little tired, is all! Y’know, Trein’s lessons can put anyone to sleep, even me!” Kalim laughed, mutual discomfort shared between the Leeches as Azul fixed his glasses.

“Kalim, would you like to accompany us back to Mostro Lounge?” Azul offered, having picked up on Kalim’s abnormal behavior. “We could always use someone like you to brighten up the atmosphere.”

“Yes, Azul is right. You know how to play the drums, correct? Why don’t you pair up with Floyd? You’ll put on a show that’ll attract dozens to the Lounge.” Jade smiled, eyes shut out of joy.

For a moment, Kalim thought about it, giving them the false hope that maybe, he’d agree. He felt remorse sink its claws into his brain, making him shake his head as the three strolled by the open courtyard, a flash of red, gold, and black making Kalim freeze as he identified the person behind the Scarabian shades. “A-Actually, I had plans already,” he fibbed, stepping back to put distance between himself and the trio, “I was going to meet Jamil in the courtyard. Sorry guys.” He bowed, shoving his hand back into his pocket to fiddle with the bottle.

Azul perked an eyebrow. “Jamil wanted to meet up? With you?”

“Uh, yep! Told me this morning!” Kalim smiled, trying to wave off the suspicion that the fellow second years exuded.

“Oh? I thought that you and Sea Snake had—“ Floyd began, but Kalim was already dancing away before he could continue.

“Sorry, don’t want to keep him waiting!” He shouted, coughing after he stepped outside. It wasn’t often he had the voice to be so loud anymore.

“Should we pursue this, Azul?” Jade asked calmly, Floyd’d signature careless grin upside down in a glower.

“...No. It’s Kalim, he’ll figure it out himself. It’s about time he learned how to do so.” He coldly decided, pushing his glasses up. “Come, we have business elsewhere.”

“Of course,” both Leeches replied, though Floyd couldn’t hide the somewhat concerned look he sent over his shoulder, before disappearing with his fellow Octavinelle members.

In the courtyard, Kalim looked around confused, having been so sure that he saw Jamil walking around from the hallway. “Surely, he didn’t leave... wouldn’t I have seen it if he did?” He puzzled, approaching the stone well located in the middle of the wide yard space. He briefly caught a glimpse of his striated reflection in the impossibly dark water at the bottom, hastily breaking the contact to look up.

Through the strings attached to the wood bucket, Kalim’s maroon irises set themselves beneath the apple tree, to the person who sat so daintily upon the black-rimmed bench. With his hair brushed over his shoulder, Jamil crossed his legs, immersed in a thick book that Kalim couldn’t quite make out thanks to the gap. Sprinkled in the choppy afternoon sunlight, he looked more like an ethereal angel than the traitorous student he was to Kalim, so deceivingly beautiful.

Exhilaration, and dare he say, a spark of hope, flared in him, a genuine smile splitting his face as he sashayed closer. Believing that he had the courage to mend the bridge that had been severed from both directions, he stopped a meter from the bench, attracting Jamil’s attention, who shot him a dirty look, tearing himself from his readings.

“What is it you want now, Kalim?” He spat, holding the book up.

“I... I saw you from the hallway and I...” It was as if he’d forgotten how to speak, words working against him.

“Congratulations for using your eyes, dimwit. If you’ve come to be nothing but a stuttering fool, see to it that you leave me alone.”

Kalim squeezed his lips shut, heeding Jamil’s advice as he awkwardly looked up, to the apples that grew plentifully from the strong tree overhead.

Courage slowly being whittled down to an embarrassing pit, Kalim forced himself to smile once more, pulling his hand from his pocket. Taking a seat beside Jamil, he gripped the edge of the bench, leaning over the side to peer at the cover, and, riskily enough, Jamil’s tranquil features.

They didn’t stay tranquil for long, as grey orbs met Kalim’s enchanted red ones, scowling as he noisily slammed his book shut. “What?” He seethed.

“Nothing, I just—“ he cut himself off, unwilling to live the lie any longer, “I miss you, alright? I miss—“

“No, don’t start. Screw this, I’m leaving.” Jamil growled, tucking his book under his arm and stomping away.

“Jamil! Jamil, wait...!” Kalim called. Panicked as the vice refused to listen, he hopped up, rushing over to him and pulling on his arm, book falling to ground in a flurry of aged pages. A thunderous boom exploded in the courtyard as it collided with the ground, Jamil whipping around, arm still locked in Kalim’s grip.

“Jamil, please! I’ve tried so hard to take care of myself, but I need you!” He confessed, tears brimming. “I need your—“

“Shut up!” Jamil yelled, making Kalim flinch as he tore his arm away. Turning the tables, he spun, shoving a finger into Kalim’s chest as he grew red from anger. “What you need is to grow up! Do you understand how much you’ve hindered my life, because you just “need me so much”?” He kept shoving his first finger into Kalim’s chest, making him stumble backwards. “I wasn’t able to have a normal childhood because of you! I had to hide who I was, because of you! And now you need me? You must be a goddamn idiot, even after all this time!” Jamil accused, Kalim staggering as he tripped over himself trying to back away.

He refused to let his tears fall, Jamil continuing with his rant as his back hit the apple tree, both of them speckled in the magical light, despite the argument. “It would’ve been better if no one came to save you whenever you were kidnapped!” Kalim choked a sob, meeting Jamil’s murky eyes as the taller seized the collar of his shirt, slamming him back into the trunk of the tree.

Kalim gasped as his head thwacked against the wood, Jamil so close he could feel his uneven breathing. “If only you’d never existed.” He whispered, shoving a hatred dipped dagger into Kalim’s heart as he dropped the boy, Kalim’s legs giving out as he fell to the ground, eyes glazed and distant.

Stomping away, Jamil grabbed his book and left the courtyard, steam practically pouring from his ears as red hot anger guided his feet as far from Kalim as possible.

Dropped unceremoniously on the grass, the silvery haired dorm leader slumped over, bleak and broken as he stared to nowhere at all, shoved over the dam that had both blocked his sugary tears, and kept him from drowning in the ocean of self hatred and doubt that now had full access to Kalim’s entirety.

Numbly, Kalim picked himself up, ambling towards the school corridors once more as his eyes dried, hand reaching back into his pocket and this time, pulling out the vial within.

The clear liquid swished around, seeming so harmless in its elegant bottle.

Kalim hoped with everything he had left in him that it would be quick.

<————>

The beat of his heart had never been so loud before.

Erratic and off timed, electric volts shot throughout his hands, every pulse of blood throbbing in the tips of his toes, the center of his chest, the thin muscles of his legs. A formless noose of cold anticipation wound itself tighter around his throat, strangling the words that longed to be said from a voice that wouldn’t again speak. Tears pooled in his deep red eyes, though Kalim couldn’t fathom why, since he waited all this time just for the moment of peace that wouldn’t remain so peaceful.

Lying with his back against the end of his bed, Kalim rested his head on the firm wood, clenching the small bottle of poison Vil had specially created that morning in one fist, his journal in the other. Tilting his head to look at the moon, always a perfect circle, and always smiling down at him despite the action he was so close to making. He was tempted to smile back, but uncapping the bottle and smelling the rosy scent that wafted from it, he was reminded why it was he couldn’t.

Dropping the book inked with the thoughts he’d neither shared nor broke free from, he watched as it fell, slamming on the floor loudly and torn between pale light and shadows. Inside, a letter was tucked in the smudged pages, the last note that would be written in his swirly handwriting. He prayed that Jamil would take the time to read it, but he didn’t want to hold his breath.

Lifting the graceful vial to his lips, he felt his tears drip down his supple cheeks, for what seemed like the first time, fear dripped into his soul.

He was scared. What would be waiting for him after...? Would this really fix his wrongs? Would it... make up for what he did to Jamil?

“No,” he thought gently, pressing the glass to the plush flesh of his lips, “it’s not for you. It’s for everyone else.”

Hungry for a distraction, he looked to his door, locked for safe measures, keeping any prying intruders away. He didn’t want anyone to stop him. He needed to this, needed to make up for the years of pain he’d brought to those around him. Though, he did regret not getting a second chance to apologize to Jamil, the scuffle from before helping him realize that Jamil truly didn’t want anything to do with him. He deserved this. He earned it.

Finally, setting his dulled gaze on the moon once more, he leaned the glass up, pouring the liquid into his mouth and swallowing it in a single gulp.

It was excruciatingly bitter, burning trails down his throat as he gagged, dropping the vial as his hands squeezed his neck. The feeling didn’t stop no matter how tightly he wound his fingers around the skin, the bubbly fire spreading throughout his chest and dripping into his stomach, iron-tasting blood seeping out through his parted lips.

His vision swam with black, his body betraying him as he lost the fight in him, leaning back on the end of his bed, sitting with his legs stretched out on the floor and hands numbly dropped into his lap. It no longer felt painful as he struggled to keep his eyes open, the midnight-dark blood dribbling over his chin to settle on his clothes.

He had time for only one last thought, jumbled and lost to the winds of his mind, never to be voiced.

“I... I’m sorry... for every breath I took. I’m envious Jamil, that you had the strength to carry on for so long... Me? I couldn’t last half a year in your shoes... I’m not a fighter... I’m not even strong enough to look you in the eye. I hope—I hope this did something for you... I hope this... brings an end to your suffering.”

For a moment, he saw his life flash before his eyes. The games he used the play when he was little, the laughter he used to share with his siblings, the friends he made, the fight that cost him his best friend... they all seemed to burn away as he stared at the moon, ever the lively spirit.

But, just like a candle whose fire was blown out, he snapped, going limp in the paleness of his room.

Sat on the floor, leaning against his bed, Kalim Al-Asim took his last breath, light finally snuffed out for good.

<————>

Clomping down the corridors of Scarabia, Jamil pulled his hood over his silky braided hair, something indescribable cracking in his chest.

He hadn’t seen Kalim at dinner that evening, off putting Jamil’s behavior as he pondered over the reason behind the change. Ever since Kalim announced them as “equals,” Jamil had been rather lax with his servant duties, cooking only for himself instead of for the prince, refusing to wake him in the morning, and so on. But tonight... tonight was the first night he noticed Kalim’s absence in the mess hall.

Asking around had revealed that the white haired dorm leader had been skipping the meal for quite some time, furthering Jamil’s confusion as he followed his planned track to Kalim’s room. How long hadn’t he been eating? Was he really that afraid to ask someone else for help? The idiot.

Jamil gritted his teeth. The absence hadn’t been the only reason he was so adamant on checking Kalim.

He wanted to—and damn him for saying it— he wanted to apologize. Ever since that afternoon, when he laid hands on Kalim, he felt strange, almost guilty. Maybe it was true that Kalim was overly clingly and immature, but it wasn’t his place to hurt him the way he did. Not only that, but...

Jamil furrowed his eyebrows, glaring at nothing in particular as he tried to assemble a puzzle that was missing far too many pieces. The gnawing in his stomach continued as he trudged down the hall, bringing a fist to his cheek as he nibbled on his lower lip.

Kalim had been so... thin. Like all the muscle on his body had just melted off, leaving skin and bones as replacement. Before the overblot, Kalim had been almost neck-and-neck with Jamil when it came to physique, always healthily svelte, while the dark haired servant became more toned thanks to the dirty work he often found himself in. But now—now Jamil could only describe Kalim as frail, dangerously near skeletal.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jamil tried and failed to remember how easy it had been to slam Kalim into the wall, to pin him using barely an ounce of his strength. The usually cheery boy’s helpless face flashed in the darkness, stained with tear tracks and shock as Jamil walked off, not even a glance over his shoulder to accompany him.

How long had it been since Kalim properly took care of himself?

“Doesn’t matter,” Jamil clucked quietly, reopening his eyes to see that the end of the hall, and the door leading to the grand bedroom, was closely approaching, “I’ll just get him to tell me. He’ll be back to the old Kalim in no time. Idiots never change, after all.” He quipped, though the tremor in his voice sounded more like a timid reassurance than a witty remark.

Stopping a few inches from the door, Jamil bit his tongue, debating what he was trying to say as he pulled his hood down. Cautiously bringing his hand to the door, he faltered for a split second, as if in fear the wood would reach out and bite him. Three quick short knocks bounced off the hall walls, magnified in Jamil’s ears as he was met with silence. “Kalim, it’s Jamil. Can I—I come in?” He stuttured, surprising himself.

When, yet again, late night quiet was his response, he felt the need to double over, uneasiness eating his gut. Knocking again, Jamil placed his ear on the door, listening for the rustle of clothing, or the scuff of shoes on stone. “Kalim?” He tried, hand slithering down to the brass knob. “Kalim, answer me or I’m coming in.”

Still nothing.

Dread coiling in his core, his arms stiffened as he turned the handle, finding it firmly held in place. Frantically jiggling it, he used a shoulder to push at the wood, feeling it give way ever so slightly. “Last warning, or I’m busting in, Kalim. Open the door.” He deadpanned, taking a step back.

The third round of the silent treatment sent Jamil over the edge, the vice shaking out his hands before balling them, running shoulder first into the door. It swelled, before dropping back in the same place, Jamil repeating the process over and over until his shoulder was decorated in a blossoming bruise and there was a hole just big enough for him to weasel his hands through.

Wincing at the sting in his skin, Jamil pushed his hand through the cracked wooden hole, maneuvering his arm so that he could reach the lock from the handle. Twisting it, a satisfying click rendered the door openable, Jamil yanking his scratched arm from the door panel.

“Alright, Kalim, was that necessary? I understand that I—!” Jamil froze as he swung the door open, letting a swath of light from the hall slip into the dorm leader’s exquisite room.

His heart skipped a beat as his blood chilled, eyes stretching impossibly wide while the air fueling his lungs seemed to be syphoned out of him.

There, just barely discernible from the dark, Kalim sat motionlessly. His eyes were sealed with his thick lashes, mouth parted as blood dribbled down to the neck of his clothes. He lie still, propped up by the bedside, a transparent purple vial close by, glinting in the light.

One moment... two moments... three, until Jamil shrieked out Kalim’s name, throwing the door completely open and rushing inside.

Sliding and dropping to his knees before the body, Jamil softly lifting him into his embrace as he called for anyone to come help, to come save what had clearly been lost.

“Kalim... Kalim, wake up...! I know you’re stronger than this! Get up, move, do something! Please, please wake up...!” Jamil cried, brushing the hair away from his forehead. “I-I’m sorry I pushed you earlier... I’m sorry I l-left you alone for so long. I... I didn’t mean what I said, you know I didn’t! I’m sorry, I’m sorry but please, just open your eyes... laugh one more time. Smile...? Anything... just... wake up...”

Nothing. Kalim was cold, and not a single breath heaved from his bony chest.

“Somebody help me!” The plea was cracked, echoeing about as Jamil suppressed tears, tears that shouldn’t even exist.

He asked for this. Every damn night, he asked for this. He wished with every part of what he was for Kalim to be kidnapped, for him to shunned, for him to rot in a ditch. He hated Kalim—no, he despised him.

So why the hell did it hurt so much?

Why did every look at his pale face stab his heart in a way watching an abused puppy limp did? Why did he care that Kalim was feather light, that it felt as if he was holding a pile of bones rather than a person? Why were there tears dripping from his hatred powered eyes?

Trembling with the force of fear, disbelief, and stigma, Jamil’s ears didn’t recognize the orchestra of shouts and gasps that rang out behind him as Scarabia students acted upon his words, calling for teachers and help alike. He didn’t realize just how many tears slid from his face to Kalim’s bloodied clothes, soaking the fabric. He could only stare numbly at Kalim’s once so buoyant features, at the eyes that would never again light up with joy whenever Jamil entered the room. At the cheeks that would never again heat up in a blush that was the product of his profuse smiling. At the lips that would never, ever utter a single syllable, or pull into a grin that made even the sun look like a busted light bulb.

Moreso than that... Jamil heaved breathy sobs at the discoveries he made hidden all over Kalim’s body. His arms, mutilated with self inflicted wounds that never properly healed. His torso, tenuous and more bone than skin. He wouldn’t let himself go any further, already shaken to the core by the sick scavenger hunt.

The tears felt hollow and empty, painfully slow in their race to his jaw, grip crushing on Kalim’s shoulders.

He fought with a vigor that put three boys in the infirmary when help finally arrived, Kalim being wrestled away from his protective grasp and off to who knows where. He didn’t settle down until Kalim was carried off somewhere, far outside of Jamil’s view, and was left with the worthless consolation from people he didn’t care to see.

The only thing that ran through his head was the fact that he’d been the cause of this. That he was the one who pushed Kalim too far. That it should’ve been him to die instead.

Hours later, Jamil slept in Kalim’s now unoccupied room, stumbling upon a certain bound journal that just begged to be explored.

<————>

Why was it that the saddest moments always happened on sunny days? Was it the sun laughing at the earth’s struggles? Was it nature’s way of trying to ease the pain?

Jamil had no response for his questions, dressed in his formal wear as he stared somberly down at the glass casket, the temporary bed for Kalim’s lifeless body. Today would be the last day he ever saw him, as in less than an hour, Kalim’s family would be arriving to take their brother, their cousin, their son, home.

“Hey Kalim...” Jamil muttered, kneeling before the casket. “I, uh... I wanted to say goodbye, one last time. You’ll be with your family now, they’re taking you back to the Land of Hot Sands, where you’ll get a proper burial.” He said, studying Kalim’s blissfully expressionless face.

It was so strange, seeing him so calm. It looked like he was sleeping, like he could wake at any moment and pull Jamil into a hug that he would reciprocate with all of his strength, had he the opportunity.

“It’s not fair...” He whispered as a ray of light painted over Kalim, making his white tuxedo almost blinding. “Even in the afterlife, everything about you is so... so happy. Not a cloud in the sky, the sun shining on the horizon, it seems fitting. You were always... the sun to my moon.” Jamil admitted, a realization striking him like a lightning bolt.

“Oh, I um... I read this last night,” Jamil held up the black journal he’d found in Kalim’s room, “Kalim, why did you keep yourself hidden like that? You didn’t have to—you know you didn’t have to! You shouldn’t have done this to yourself, because of me. You should’ve... should’ve...”

Should’ve what? It wasn’t Kalim’s fault he felt that way... it was his. Jamil knew that.

“I know it’s a little—no, very, very late, but I... I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Those words don’t mean anything now that you can’t even hear me, but I need to say them. I need you to know that I’m sorry...!” He felt his eyes damped, and using the back of his hand, he wiped away the water that hadn’t even spilled yet. “Kalim, you were right, okay?! You were right! You may have needed me, but I needed you more! You gave me my freedom, even after I threw you to your death! I had so much pent up anger, I didn’t... didn’t know what to do with it!”

The dawning of the truth set Jamil’s waterworks into action, a pretty blush darkening his cheeks as his shattered weeping rose into the air. This was it. Kalim would never smile, laugh, speak again. Never. He wouldn’t ride a magic carpet, or sit on the balcony of the lounge, or even take another breath.

He was gone.

Undeniably, irrevocably, gone.

Sniffling, Jamil placed the journal in Kalim’s hands, having written his own letter inside. “I figured, your family deserved to see your last words. And my apology. There’s not much left for me to say... but thank you. You were never in the wrong, it was me. Thank you, for being so forgiving, even in my darkest hours. Thank you, for staying by my side. Thank you, Kalim, for being the brother I didn’t realize I needed.”

Standing, Jamil leaned over Kalim, the one he took for granted. Sliding his hand over his eyelids, he bent down, pressing a kiss to his forehead, the way he did when they were little. “Goodbye.” He breathed, before parting ways, beads of saltwater still trickling down as he trekked off, fists balled tightly at his sides.

<————>

Dear Kalim,

I’ve had little time to ponder over your passing. Over the very certitude that you’re not here anymore. But in that little time, I’ve arrived at a single conclusion, that can’t begin to express my emotions.

I said I hated you. I said I wished you’d never existed. I said I wanted you out of my life. And, I used to mean those words. I used to believe that if you one day disappeared, everything wrong with me would suddenly right itself, that you were the source of my suffering.

But... only now, when you’ve really departed, do I see that I was so incurably mistaken.

I was the cause of your pain, as once upon a time, I thought you to be mine. I’m the fool, for having ignored you for so long. I’m the fool, for pushing you beyond your limits. I’m the fool, for pretending to hate you, even as I myself, was at the mercy of your charms.

When we were young, I treasured you like family. We fought like siblings do, we laughed as brothers, we grew as a pair. It’s impossible to set a specific date, but somewhere along the way, something changed. Suddenly, you were no longer my brother. Suddenly, you were my rival, my enemy that I could never escape.

I know the penmanship of my woes could never bring you back, I am painfully aware of that. I am beside myself that it took your death for me to grasp that the reason I never left your side was because I didn’t hate you.

I never left you, because I was afraid.

I was afraid that you’d lose the need for me. I was afraid that you’d leave me behind. Moreover, I was terrified of losing you, like I have now.

That smile of yours, the one that never ends, and never fails to bring laughter to even the coldest of hearts, that was what I wanted to preserve. That was what I wanted you to keep, if nothing else.

I’m truly sorry, sorry beyond what words can say.

I pray that one day, you’ll smile again. It’s far too late for me now, but I want you to know that you were my best friend, Kalim Al-Asim.

You were what I strived to be.

I just wished I had the gall to admit it sooner.

Written truthfully,

Jamil Viper

Yet another request finished! Thank you @etervenislucifen for the ask!

I hope you enjoyed, and thanks for reading!

Stay lovely!!

[starkerforlife6969]

Starker - Accidentally Perfect

It all started with a bet.

And Tony hates how much of a cliche even that is. A bet. He's let himself get dragged into a bet by a fresh-faced eighteen year old who has a walkman ironically and brings a dictaphone into every lecture.

Goddamn, he hates Peter Parker. He seethes furiously at him from across the quad, the hot summer sun beating down on his shoulders. His blank tank top is helping keep the heat off, but it's still almost unbearably warm. Sticky with the promise of the summer holidays only a few weeks away.

"Do you actually think you can stare him out of existence?" Rhodey asks, a cool, amused voice from back in the shade of their stand. Tony turns and glowers, pulling his sunglasses off.

"He's such a little shit."

"He's eighteen, Tony. All eighteen year olds are little shits. We were, remember?"

Tony doesn't remember them ever being as unbearable as Peter. His face must say as much, because Rhodey sighs.

"We're twenty-seven." He says gently. "We're getting a little too old to keep blaming college wars on the freshman."

He barely resists the urge to stomp his foot. "He started it!"

It's true, Tony thinks. He can't really remember how it all started. He remembers the beginning of the semester, deciding to take a break from the all-consuming robotics thesis of his doctorate and go and drop in on a lecture. He remembers a bright-eyed boy with fluffy hair stumbling through a presentation in front of his peers. He very vaguely remembers calling out one or two inconsistencies with Peter's presentation. He remembers the bright red flush that had spread across Peter's cheeks, and the way he'd stumbled quietly over his words, and- okay- in Tony's defence, he was sleep deprived- trying to think up his proposal, still trying to get his second phD started and-

It had turned into all out war pretty quickly.

Turns out, Peter didn't respond well to being picked on.

Not that Tony had picked on him, just-

"Gluing all my furniture to the ceiling? Selling my text books? Hiring someone to fire a paintball at me every hour for four days?!" Tony runs his hands through his hair, shaking his head. "He's evil!"

Rhodey barely blinks, eyes on his phone. "But..."

Tony's shoulders droop. "...But I started it." He mumbles under his breath.

"What? I didn't quite catch that."

"I started it, alright? Jeez," he winces, "I said sorry."

"No. You didn't."

Okay fine, he's not big on apologies.

Whatever. It doesn't matter anyway. They're where they are now. The bet. Whoever raises the most money for the oil spill just off of Mexico's coast wins. Their two stands sit opposite each other on the quad, six hours to raise money, loser has to get down on their knees in front of the entire student body and declare the other their superior in every single way.

That's why Tony's here. In a tight black tank top, muscles on display, sunglasses on, hair messy, grinning at everyone who passes.

"How much have we got, Rhode-aroo?"

There's a gentle clatter as Rhodey checks the basket. "Uh, $12?"

Tony winces. That's not great. "Whatever. It's gotta be more than Parker has anyway."

Rhodey hums.

***

As the third hour ticks by, Tony slinks back into the shade of their stall and dozes off a little. It can't be more than fifteen minutes, but when he opens his eyes, there's a trickle of students leaving their classes and walking through the quad.

For some bewildering reason, they're all walking to Peter's stand.

Tony frowns, tiptoeing over to enemy lines.

The first thing he sees is that Peter's money basket is full. Not just one money basket, but four money baskets. At least $100 in change, loose bills and Starbucks vouchers.

What the fuck?

And then- then he sees why.

MJ, the equally annoying friend, is manning the booth. She's concise and thoughtful and armed with scary statistics as she neatly collects money and scares more into baskets.

But Peter, Peter is all cream silk shirt and tight blue shorts, and big eyes and enthusiasm.

"I just keep thinking of the baby seals," Peter whines, rocking on the heels of his feet, pink converse scraping against the grass. "Those poor animals, all covered in oil..." he bites his lip, bats those eyelashes, and the tall jock who's leaning over him, nods, already fumbling for his wallet.

"Yeah totally, the-the seals."

"Right? Oh, thank you," Peter sighs, voice a little wanton moan, touching the guy's elbow, leaning in. "You're a hero."

The guy tosses in another twenty.

Jesus Christ. Tony can't help his grin of disbelief, even as irritated as he is that he didn't come up with it first.

Devious little shit.

***

When the crowd has dispersed a little bit, and the dynamic duo have bled most everyone dry, Tony makes himself known, crossing his arms and shaking his head.

"Wow, Parker. We're more alike than I thought."

Peter turns, looking up at him, eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Oh yeah? How's that? Did you actually start caring about the oil spill?"

Tony hums, feigning nonchalance. "I just mean, I thought your standards were a little higher."

The boy frowns, little face scrunched up in confusion. It's annoyingly endearing. "Huh?"

"C'mon, no need to hide now. Playing dumb and pretty to get donations? Way to care about the animals."

The outrage that flits across that expressive face is way too believable. "Pretty anddumb? Screw you, Tony. You're just jealous I'm winning." Peter humphs, crossing his arms. "Is surly know-it-all not enticing the crowds the way you thought it would?"

Tony shrugs. "Maybe. Because I won't reduce myself."

"What are you talking about?!"

"Come on, Peter. You know what you're doing to people." Here, Tony raises his voice. Hopefully, he'll be able to steer people away from here and over to his own stand. Though, Rhodey's death glare from across the quad is making him think maybe that's not an excellent idea- why, he's not sure. He barrels on, attention on him. "You're doing that thing- with the big sparkly brown Disney eyes and the scandalously short shorts and the elbow-touching. You're fake laughing at bad jokes and fluttering your eyelashes and selling your torturous mix of princess and bombshell that none of us can resist to trick people into giving you their money, admit it!"

Peter gapes, mouth in a delicious 'o'. "I am not!" He shrieks: scandalised.

Tony scoffs. "You expect me to believe that you're thisfucking irresistible on purpose?"

The boy doesn't seem to know what to do with that. He scrambles, blushing under the stare of the passers-by. "I'm...I don't...um...thank you?"

Tony stares. No way. No fucking way is this not an act, it can't be or-

"Yeah." MJ sighs, the sigh of the long-wearied, as she unfolds another dollar bill into the pile. "Join the club."

***

Tony's pacing back stage, still trying to understand everything in his head.

The entire student body is waiting on the other side of that curtain, mostly drunk, hopefully too drunk to remember this in the morning- to see his apology act.

"Big sparkly Disney eyes," Rhodes hums, re-watching the video on twitter. "I'm surprised you went with that one, you're always going on about his Bambi eyes. What's the difference?"

"I swear to god, if you keep talking-"

"I think my favourite bit is where you basically announced to the world that your kink is sexy princess."

"Oh my god-"

"Uh- T-Tony?"

Tony whirls around to see Peter standing at the curtain, and Tony can't help the groan of embarrassment.

"Look, Pete, I'll do it, alright? Just give me a second to shed the last of my dignity."

"No, it's not..." Peter blushes, and Rhodey lifts his hands, shuffling away to give them some privacy. Peter edges closer, stupidly gorgeous with all of his freckles, a fucking dandelion crown perched on his chestnut curls, like he's just trying to press all of Tony's buttons and- "Look, Tony," Peter murmurs, all sweetness and loveliness, "I was thinking, you don't need to- you don't need to go out there and say anything." He wrings his lily-white hands, silvery bracelets hanging at the wrist, "Really. I feel like- the fact that video from the quad went viral was- that's more than enough."

Tony doesn't know what to say, but it doesn't stop him from trying. "Pete, about what I said..."

"I really wasn't doing any of that stuff- I-, I wasn't trying to play dumb, or- I mean, maybe I was? I didn't- I didn't mean to, I just wanted to help the seals, and I've already bought my ticket to volunteer for seal cleaning over summer break and-"

Tony laughs, shaking his head. Because he knows. He sighs, meeting those lovely brown eyes. "I know you weren't. You're not- I was just- I'm sorry, Pete. For all of it. For the day we met."

Peter looks shy, but pleased. "You were an ass." He agrees amiably.

"I was. Am. Trying not to be."

Peter chews on his bottom lip, accidentally embodying Tony's every wet dream. "You could buy a ticket for the summer seal cleaning task." Peter shrugs, eyes darting away. "If you like."

"With you?" Tony wonders aloud, "with you being so...unintentionally you? Not sure I could cope."

"True," Peter whispers coyly, "imagine if I was actively trying to seduce you. You wouldn't last a minute."

At that, Tony laughs again. Loud and delighted. Head tipped back, unaware to how Peter drinks in the sight. "Is that a bet, kid?"

Peter beams.

[lancermylove]

My One and Only (Part 2/2)

Fandom: MLQC

Pairing: Kiro x Fem!MC (Reader)

Warning: Contains a little angst

A/N:  Part 1 can be found here. This didn’t quite turn out the way I wanted but hopefully, it’s okay. 

Word Count: 1616

———————————————

Kiro was starting to feel suffocated with so many people surrounding him, so he made his way out to the balcony. 

'What a quiet and peaceful night.' As Kiro gazed at the shimmering gems in the sky, he heard footsteps approaching him. 

"Hi, Kiro," a pair of frail arm encircled him from behind, "it has been a while since we have spoken to each other." 

He recognized the voice right away. "Hollow, what do you want? Don't touch me." The singer spoke in an annoyed voice as he pushed her arms away.

"Ouch. Kiro, why are you always so mean to me?" She said in a fake, cute voice while batting her long eyelashes. "Oh, but I know a way you will be nice."

"I will never be nice to you, no matter what." Kiro replied, trying hard to hold back his anger. He started to walk towards the tinted French doors that led into the party room, but Hollow blocked his path. 

"You should learn to listen to others when they're talking to you, especially when the most beautiful woman in the world is talking to you," cooed Hollow as she played with Kiro's shirt sleeve. "As I was saying, you should go out with me and leave MC."

"Don't take her name from your foul mouth, and I have no reason to leave her." Kiro's anger was slowly starting to get the better of him. This was not the first time Hollow had attempted to win Kiro's heart, and frankly, he was getting tired of it. 

"You need a reason? Well then, I must say your girlfriend's song is very commendable. I was very impressed when I read it." 

"How - How do you know about the song? What do you mean you read it?" Kiro snarled as he curled his fists into a tight ball. 

"Now that caught your attention, didn't it?" She snickered. 

Kiro grabbed her shoulder and shook her, "Where is that song? What did you do with it?" 

"Oh, the song is with one of my close friends, and he is so tempted to shred it to tiny pieces-" Hollow was cut off by an angered Kiro. 

"Don't you dare!" His grip on her shoulder was getting tighter and tighter. 

"Relax, Kiro. I will not do anything to the song as long as you agree to date me and leave MC," she spoke while freeing herself from Kiro's grip, "let me know your final decision by the end of tonight." 

Hollow pecked Kiro's cheek and walked away triumphantly. Kiro remained paralyzed, and all he could hear was the clicking of her heels as she vanished into the party hall. 

'This can't be.' 

'Where did Kiro disappear to?' MC had been searching for a while. She let out a deep sigh and walked out to the balcony to get some fresh air. To her surprise, Kiro was standing in the middle of the gallery, completely frozen.

"Kiro, I have been looking for you everywhere." MC marched up to him with a pout, "Why are you standing like a statue? Kiro? I am talking to you."

MC poked his cheek, but Kiro ignored her and walked to the edge of the balcony.

"Hey...what's wrong? Did something happened?" MC whispered as she approached him and hugged his arm.

"Don't touch me," Kiro said, pulling his arm from her hug. For a second, MC was shocked as she gawked at her boyfriend.

"D-Don't touch me? My dear boyfriend, are you drunk?" She furrowed her eyebrows and placed her hand on her hips, "How many times do I have to remind you to go easy on the drinks?"

"I am not your boyfriend, and I am not drunk." He replied in a sharp voice, causing MC to wince a little.

"You are not my boyfriend? You're definitely drunk." MC took hold of his arm and tugged on it, "Come on, let's get you home."

"I said, don't touch me!" Kiro yanked his arms with force, causing MC to lose her balance and fall onto the marble floor.

"Listen carefully, I am not your boyfriend, and don't dare to come close to me, ever again." Kiro's actions and words were out of character, and MC was at a complete loss of words as she could only stare at him with tears in her eyes.

"You and I are over." With those harsh words, Kiro stormed towards the party hall.

MC jumped to her feet and ran after him, grabbing hold of his shirt. "You are b-breaking up with me? Did I do something to hurt you?"

While MC was pleading for him to answer her question, Kiro was holding back the tears that were threatening to fall. He swallowed a lump in his throat and spoke in a drained voice, "You haven't done anything wrong. I am just tired of you."

Kiro freed his shirt from MC's grip and sluggishly walked into the party hall. He made his way to a quiet hallway and rested his forehead against the nearby wall.

'I am sorry, MC. I can't let Hollow destroy your prized possession. I love you very much and...I am sorry.' Kiro balled his fist and punched the wall, trying once again to hold back his tears.

"So, you abandoned her?" Hollow's taunting voice rang through Kiro's ears. "Good, now it's just you and me."

"Where is the song?" He asked in a low voice, controlling the rage pent up inside him.

"It's safely returned to her house." She said playfully, "Now let's go!"

Kiro let Hollow drag her away from the party, but little did he know that MC was watching them from the balcony.

~~~x~~~x~~~x~~~x~~~

(Narration change: MC’s POV)

Two long years had passed since my breakup with Kiro. I had tried hard to fix everything between us, but he refused to talk to me, and at one point, he even ended up blocking me. It was hard getting him out of my mind and heart, so I eventually gave in to my heart and quietly admired him from afar.

I sat in the cafe that Kiro and I often visited. 'This coffee was his favorite. Kiro...I miss you.' 

The TV was playing in the background, but for the most part, I was ignoring it until the reporter's words caught my undivided attention. 

"Now for the latest breaking news," the lady reporter blared in an excited voice, "the story about Kiro and the solo artist MC." 

'A story about me and Kiro?' I glanced at the TV screen. 'How did they even find out about that? Kiro's fans are not going to be happy.' 

"We have found out that superstar Kiro and MC had been dating two years ago. According to their close friends, they loved each other, but one day they suddenly broke up. No one knows the reason behind their breakup, but our leading investigation team has gotten their hands on valuable information. Suzuki san, please tell us what you have learned." 

I waited patiently for the reporter to finish the story while taking a sip of my hot coffee. 'They know the reason for our breakup?'

For a brief second, my mind went back to the moment on the balcony. 'You haven't done anything wrong. I am just tired of you.' 

"Our trusted source informed us that the reason behind the breakup was Hollow, the famous online celebrity." 

'Hollow? W-What is she talking about?’ My mind was rushing like crazy, making me feel dizzy. 

The field reporter continued, "Hollow was responsible for taking one of MC's composition and threatening Kiro with it. To prevent the song from getting stolen, Kiro dumped MC and began dating Hollow.”

After hearing those words, I had no idea how to react. 'Kiro wanted to save my song? How did Hollow even know about my song? What is going on?'

As I sat still, drowned in my thoughts, my eyes moved about the cafe and caught sight of a familiar figure. I arose from my seat and made my way to his table. 

His eyes were glued to the coffee cup he held tightly in his quivering hands. I quietly took a seat next to him and studied his face. Though he looked just as handsome as before, his usually bright eyes were dull, and his skin had grown pale. 

"What the reporter said - is it true?" I tried to sound serious, but my voice cracked as soon as the words left my lips. 

He didn't reply. 

"Ki-" I stopped midway, realizing that we were in a public place, "Mr. Chips, is that the real reason you left me?" 

I tenderly touched his hand, and though Kiro didn't reply, his downcast eyes told me everything I needed to know. 

"Your reason for leaving me was the song? I could have written another one. Why didn't you tell me?" I couldn't believe that he would sacrifice our relationship for my song. 

"Y-You said the song meant a lot of you. It was your first song and-" Kiro mumbled, letting his words trail off. 

My heart was in turmoil, and without thinking once, I embraced Kiro. "You meant more to me than anything." 

"Meant?" He sniffled. 

"No, Mr.Chips. Nothing is more important than you. You are my one and only love." I pecked his cheek and squeezed him tighter. 

"I am sorry, MC. Please forgive me." Kiro cooed and returned my embrace. 

"How could I not forgive you? After all, a wise man once told me that if a woman truly loves a man, then she would forgive him for the mistakes he makes."

“That man sounds smart.” Kiro chuckled before pulling me into a deep kiss. 

------------------------------------

➣ MLQC Masterlist ➣ Buy me a Ko-fi or Commission?

[strcwberryfields]

❤ - dylan and madison

miss...vanjie...

1. Madison and Alex sat facing the Pacific with a bag of empanadas wrapped in foil between them. Though he liked L.A. in its own right, having his older brother here was something that drove him to move there for school at all—having family around in such an unfamiliar place made it a lot easier to bear. 

And having Alex around made it a lot easier to ask to grab lunch when he needed advice. Which he desperately needed after asking Dylan out at his party the other night. 

“Wow,” Alex said with a mouthful of empanada when Madison scrolled through photos of Dylan from her instagram. 

“I know,” he chuckled, idly scratching at the back of his neck and his eyes glued to the photo of Dylan they were looking at. “Ow?” Madison flinched when Alex gave him a hard flick to the side of the head. 

“Try not to fall in love with girls so obviously out of your league,” Alex laughed.

“I’m not in—you know what fuck you,” Madison huffed, smiling and shaking his head. “Last time I try to ask you for help.”

2. “She likes shit like this?” Danica asked, cocking an eyebrow as she picked up a stuffed bear holding a heart between her thumb and index finger like it was the most disgusting thing she’d ever beheld.

“Well not that. That’s tacky,” Madison said with an eye roll as he pulled the largest box of chocolates from the shelf to purchase as an extra gift for Dylan. 

“I really hope you got her something more exciting than a box of chocolates considering you’re completely in love with her,” Danica retorted with a smug expression. 

“I got her a necklace, too. And besides,” Madison turned away from Danica and back to the shelves because he felt his cheeks warm, “we only just started dating. I don’t want to freak her out or anything by going overboard. Not that she’s given be that impression but you know, I just—ugh,” he huffed. 

“Easy there loverboy. I’m sure she’ll love the chocolate.” Danica laughed, giving Madison a hard pat on the shoulder. 

3. There were not words to describe how Madison felt after finding out the secret Dylan had been keeping from him. It’d been weeks and he hardly did anything other than schoolwork and the gym, and he knew that none of it was serving him well, but he couldn’t seem to shake the thought of her. How could he? 

But Sim had gotten him out and into a bar with two pints of beer sitting in front of them. Madison did his best to pay attention to the game on the TV and tried to let the bar chatter crowd his mind instead of the ever-present thoughts of Dylan, but it felt impossible. 

He knew he had to try, though, if he was ever going to get over this breakup. Which he very much wanted to do so he could stop feeling like this. He was mindlessly talking with Sim about the recent play in the game when two girls walked right next to them to order drinks with the bartender. One very obviously batted her eyelashes at Madison when she bumped into him and he turned to look at her. All he could muster was a sad sort of smile before he turned his attention back to Sim, who was shaking his head. 

“She just threw you a softball, dude,” Sim tutted. 

“Whatever,” Madison grumbled, swallowing down a large mouthful of beer as the girl and her friend walked away. From the corner of his eye she watched her head turn to him from her table. 

“I just think it’d be a good idea if you want to get over—“

“I am over her,” he lied, cocking an eyebrow at Sim and taking another large swig of his beer. Sim then quickly ordered them another round, and it couldn’t come fast enough. 

4. “I really don’t think—I don’t think we should be having this conversation right now,” Madison said, exhaling a long breath and running a hand through his hair before giving it a tug. Of course he answered Dylan’s call when his phone lit up at two in the morning with her face on his caller ID. Even if it was a reflex to answer her call, the late hour immediately made him worry, made him think she was in trouble. 

But really, he guessed, she was sitting across the hall in her apartment with a bottle of wine. Her voice was slow and lazy, her speech slurred and honeyed in the way that Madison missed so much. That voice talked him to sleep for nights on end, and hearing it again almost made him feel nauseous. 

“But I miss you,” Dylan slurred. 

“I know,” Madison grumbled. “Are you safe?”

“‘Sure, ‘m at Aurora’s place. You’re lucky ‘cause if I were home I’d have been knockin’ on your door.” 

“Goodnight Dylan,” Madison said, and he wished he hung up with that, but her voice kept him on the line. 

“Wait—! Sweet dreams and...” He couldn’t tell what Dylan had paused to do. “I still love you.” 

Madison felt the wind knock right out of him. He gripped his phone tight and grit his teeth. Every part of him wanted to say I love you too. She was absolutely hammered, he could tell, otherwise she wouldn’t have called just to tell him that. “Goodnight Dylan,” he repeated, then ended the call with his shaking fingers, and prayed that he’d be able to fall back asleep. 

5. Madison knew how fucking stupid this was. Perhaps the stupidest thing he’d done in his life. But there he was, in Elise’s apartment where he swore he wouldn’t return, twisting his hands in his lap while he sat on her couch. It was so hard to have a conversation with her like this when she rested her hand on his knee and his mind was reeling, thoughts of Dylan ricocheting around his brain like a pinball machine. 

“—so I’m really glad you wanted to come over. I hate when Jill stays over her boyfriend’s for the weekend, I get so lonely,” Elise said. He recognized this well—the lilt in her voice and her wide eyes raking over him. Surely this was what he wanted. He came to her after all. But now that he was sitting alone with her Madison couldn’t think about anyone else but Dylan, and he wanted to bang his head against the wall for giving in to his first impulse. 

And now he couldn’t immediately leave after driving the way to see her, and he was thinking of ways he could leave without her clocking him for it. “Oh, sure. I was in the area anyway,” Madison lied. He was at home and feeling particularly lonely and upset when he answered her text earlier that night. “I have to go to the bathroom,” he said as casually as he could manage. He texted Danica to call him and fake a violent sickness in about twenty minutes that would need his immediate attention.  He flushed the toilet even though he didn’t use it and re-entered the living room to find Elise lying on the couch in her underwear and waving him over to her. 

“Elise—“ Madison began, and he guessed she sniffed out his panic right away since he was instantly cut off. 

“I knew it,” she said, sitting herself up and wrapping her robe around herself. “You aren’t over that girl, that—“ 

“I am, I don’t—“

“Please. You think I’m stupid. You come over here at, what is it? Like midnight now? And you couldn’t be less interested in me.” She crossed her arms over her chest and Madison felt very caught. 

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” Madison mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets. This is exactly how he didn’t want his night to go. But he found himself red-faced and at a loss for words, because Elise was absolutely right. 

“Just go. And when you can call me when you finally get your fucking head out of your ass.” Madison wanted to argue with her again, to plead his case, but nothing was more important to him than getting the hell out of her place and back to his own to wallow in his stupidity and heartache. 

+1. Carefully, Madison taped a single rose to the front of Dylan’s door across the hall from his own. He made sure to add enough so that he would hold up until whenever she would return home next. He then pulled the card from his pocket and read the note he’d written in it once more to quadruple-check for any mistakes. And to make sure he didn’t sound too pathetic: 

Dylan, 

I hope you had a nice day today, and that something made you smile. And if nothing did, I hope this does. I picked this rose from a bush on campus, because it was blooming for the first time this season and it made me think of you. 

I know maybe I should be calling you, or telling you this in person. But I’m so nervous. Well you know that. My fingers are shaking even right now as I try to write this, so I think we both know how much of a wreck I’d be trying to talk to you over the phone. Or while looking at your face. 

So when you get home, whatever time it is, give me a knock on the door. Because I want to see you. I’ve been trying really hard to convince myself that I don’t, that I need to get over you, but it’s not going well. It’s going horribly in fact. And I’m still not sure what I’m going to say when I see you (if I see you…if you want to of course) but before you do see me, I should tell you that I still love you. 

And that’s the first time I’ve allowed myself to say that (even in writing) since we broke up. No one but you should get to know that first. Talk to you soon. 

-Madison. 

With that, he enclosed the card back into the envelope and taped it beneath the rose on her door, and pretended that his whole body wasn’t shaking as he backed into his apartment. 

[ronnieandrews2020]

97

A Cuba libre appears out of nowhere in front of her, dainty manicured fingers wrapped around the glass. Lazily, Veronica looks up to see the person who's seemingly offering her the drink. "Refill is on me," grins the woman. Long brown locks, olive skin, and heavy mascara on her long eyelashes, the girl is undoubtedly pretty. And certainly a couple of years younger than her based on the girlish flock of bracelets adorning her wrist and her candid smile. Veronica eyes the glass, then the pretty girl that's grinning widely at her and decides not to go against it. Tonight is one of those nights she'd happily drown the tiredness of a long day at her firm in a glass of rum, savoring exquisite music before falling asleep in her lover's arms. But, the girl is still here, looking cute and a little hopeful. She may be a fan. "Gracias" breathes out Veronica as she takes the first sip of the drink that is burning her throat. The girl's smile gets wider as if satisfied that Veronica didn't refuse the glass.

"This one is a total hunk," She says, waving to the stage with her own drink, a hot-pink cocktail, sugar-rimmed, something Veronica would never order. She's very glad the stranger paid attention to the empty glass she abandoned on the counter. Veronica follows the girl's gaze and it lands on the handsome vocalist of the band playing tonight at Toni's luxurious bar. Guitar hanging on his hip, "the total hunk" is singing his heart out to a cover of "My Heart is always yours" by Arkells. "He is a tall glass of water I wouldn't mind drinking from..." continues the girl in a deep sensuous voice before she takes a long sip of her vibrant drink as if to back up her comment. "Or I could lick the rim of his..." she trails off and Veronica catches the girl's gaze lingering on the man's torso, the tight blue shirt truly doing wonders to his muscular frame. "Wouldn't you?" asks the girl when she's done ogling voraciously the handsome singer. "Hn." simply replies Veronica before dipping her lips in the drink. Her disdainful pout doesn't seem to perturb the girl who, on the contrary, turns on her stale to completely face her, stretching out an arm with her undefeated smile always in place. "I am Carla" After a moment of stalling, Veronica finally shakes the hand offered by the stranger with her fingertips and murmurs: "Veronica." "A pleasure, Veronica" answers the girl, lowering her voice and keeping her hand in hers a little longer than necessary. "I can easily understand that wannabe heartthrobs aren't everybody's type..." hums mockingly aforesaid Carla before leaning forward to tuck one of Veronica's raven curls behind her ear. She's definitely not a fan. Veronica doesn't move, quirking an eyebrow and smirking to herself when she understands what it was all about. "I never said he wasn't my type" points out Veronica, putting down the glass a little abruptly as she watches the girl's reaction. "You didn't say he was either" She is quick to answer, pointing her finger at her. Veronica can't help but smile, mi-amused, mi-annoyed by the girl's juvenile reaction. Does Toni allow underage girls in her bar? "So you're saying you're only into boys?" "I didn't say that either, Clara." "Carla" corrects the girl but Veronica dismisses it with a loose wave of her hand that she knows makes her haughty. "You jump way too quickly into conclusions and labels" Veronica points out before gesturing to the bartender to remove the glasses from the counter. She doesn't get to relish in Carla's confused expression that the bartender is already serving them two glasses of water. " Drink up. I am gonna save us some time" Veronica almost shoves the glass in the girl's hand. "I don't think you're allowed to drink alcohol" "I am 21!" retorts Carla with a scandalous pout that doesn't help her cause. Considering Veronica's unimpressed expression, she starts fumbling in her little sequined bag to retrieve a driver's license that effectively reads that the girl is 21. Veronica has seen enough fake identity cards in her life to know that this one is real. "You might be 21 but you're acting like a crazy hormone-driven teen. And you're being disrespectful," states Veronica, tiredness, and annoyance drawing out her sentence. "The singer you just labeled as a "wannabe heartthrob" had his face plastered on the front page of Rolling Stones this morning. Besides, it took Toni, the owner of this place and one of my very good friends, months to fit this charity gig in his schedule" Veronica pauses to takes a sip of her water while the girl's face is decomposing in front of her. "So, I don't know how you got in but if you don't appreciate good live music when you have the chance to come across it, feel free to leave" Her words hang in the air and based on the look on the girl's face, Veronica thinks she's either going to actually leave or tear up (which admittedly makes her feel a little guilty). But, against all odds, Carla burst out laughing. "Wow. Are you a lawyer or what?" she asks jokingly and Veronica can't help but smirk. "Oh my god! You're really a lawyer!" realizes the girl, still chuckling like it was the funniest twist. " On a more serious note, ' starts Carla when she's done giggling foolishly "I am sorry if I came across as disrespectful of the band or the efforts of your friend to have them here tonight," and the girl seems truly sincere, making Veronica regain some sympathy points for her. After all, she's just a young woman trying to sympathize. " You're spicy and badass. I like that" continues Carla soberly, with a little earnest smile. "Are you trying to flirt? Because you’re embarrassing yourself" teases Veronica with a playful smile ghosting her berry-painted lips and it makes the girl chuckle again. "Seriously Carla, you're cute and funny but I am married and very much in love" She reveals, waving her diamond ringed finger as Carla's eyes widen in surprise. "Oh." "But I am sure you'll find a very attractive "hunk" or "spicy girl" to drink from... or whatever it was.." trails off Veronica, gesturing to the crowd in front of them that's singing along the last verse. "Not a chance" dramatically sighs Carla, "Every woman here wants to jump his bones," she says, waving back at the fiery gorgeous singer. "Where's your hubby anyways?" asks distractedly Carla, her eyes back devouring the singer. "Working..." murmurs Veronica behind grinding teeth. Carla doesn't pick up on her tone and pursues, eyes still glued on the stage. "He's really a dreamboat..." then, she turns back to face her, a glimmer of hope in her eyes "Do you think your friend Toni can get me backstage?" Veronica scoffs in disdain as she jumps out of her stale at the same time the singer hits the last note. "Don't judge me! Everybody's not as lucky as you to be in a happy marriage and all..." Carla's words are drawn out by the stream of applause and screams that Veronica joins excitedly. Suddenly, it feels like the tiredness and laziness leave her body as the gorgeous lead singer starts speaking. "Thank you, everybody! This one was for the gorgeous girl at the counter. My beautiful wife who's always here to support me!" Mic pointed to the back of the room where a spotlight is enlightening her, Archie shouts: "My heart's always yours Veronica Andrews!"

Her heart starts beating stupidly fast when she meets his loving gaze. All fiery hair, strong jaw, and warm golden eyes. He's really a heartthrob. Her heartthrob.

She doesn't bother turning back to see the bewildered expression that she can easily picture on the girl's face and only murmurs back, so low that she could be speaking to herself.

"I am a lucky girl. I'll admit that. "

[starforsharon]

Sexy Little Me

This is how Hollywood turns a pretty Texas girl into Sharon Tate, the star.

By John Bowers for "The Saturday Evening Post"

1. Two of Sharon Tate's three pictures have been produced in Europe. Although Texas-born, Sharon spent her adolescence abroad, and much prefers London to Hollywood.

2. Sharon will be shown off to American audiences for the first time in DON’T MAKE WAVES. On the set, she reacts prettily to a compliment from co-star Tony Curtis.

3. At 6 months Sharon won Dallas’ “Miss Tiny Tot” award.

4. Portraying a Las Vegas showgirl who becomes a superstar in VALLEY OF THE DOLLS, Sharon had to wear a 10-pound jeweled headdress which “gave her a headache.”

5. This picture of Sharon and her father, Maj. Paul Tate, at a 1965 Fort MacArthur party is from a large “family events” scrapbook that Sharon dutifully keeps.

6. Relaxing on the set of YOUR TEETH IN MY NECK, Sharon listens attentively as the Polish-born Polanski explains how she can improve her performance in the next scene.

May 6, 1967 – Sharon Tate had finished her last scenes for The Vampire Killers (later to be called Your Teeth in My Neck), and had no film work for the moment. At 95 Eaton Mews West, London, she moved about in the late afternoon looking for something to do. She sat Buddah-style on the living room floor and put on fake eyelashes, one eyelash at a time. She worried that a sunlamp treatment, taken a few hours before, was going to make red cracks in her face. “Doesn’t it seem to be getting all red on the cheeks? Look close now.”

She wore a gray sweat suit and furry boots, having been to her daily gym class that afternoon. She didn’t like the gym class, but Roman Polanski, her director, had told her she must go. She frowned into a hand mirror, thinking she saw a red streak. She started to bite a fingernail, but stopped. Roman had forbidden any more fingernail biting; she had a tendency to bite them down to the nub. She went to the refrigerator, and amidst Wyborowa vodka and Carlsberg beer, brought out the makings for a salami sandwich. She would not drink a beer because it might bloat her, and Roman was taking her out for dinner.

There was no place in the apartment for her to settle back and relax now. Everything inside had a transient look, as if the tenants would only be there a short season. A complicated stereo set sat on crates; Bach on top of a stack of records, Cannonball Adderly on the bottom. There were no pictures, no pets, no cozy heat. Upstairs on the wall was a framed citation stating that Knife In The Water under the direction of Roman Polanski had been nominated for an Academy Award. As Sharon reached for a folder of still photographs from The Vampire Killers to show a male visitor, she stuck up her bottom in a way she has; as she went through the photos, she pooched out her bosom. But she did it by reflex. Her thoughts were totally on her director, who was not there. She had been in three unreleased films – 13, Don’t Make Waves and The Vampire Killers, all with different directors.

If she caught the public’s fancy in any of these pictures, she would become a movie star. And she was pleased with her work in The Vampire Killers. She was in a nude bathtub scene in it, and in a brief sequence in which she got spanked.

The phone rang; it was a strange female voice with a French accent. “Is Roman there?”

“No, I’m sorry he isn’t,” Sharon said, in her accent of the moment, which was English. “Who shall I say is calling, please?”

“Oh – I just wondered if he were in. Tell him Barbara. Thank you very much..”

The dull London afternoon turned dark, and still no Polanski. He could be cutting The Vampire Killers, or he could be tied up in London traffic or he could be sitting in a café. She took off her furry boots and put her feet into his house slippers, which rested at odd angels by a mammoth bed that cost over $600. The slippers were far too big for her. She wondered if tonight she would be thrown with people who would overwhelm her with their wit, their awesome knowledge, their self-confidence. When she was out in public with Roman, she never felt adequate enough to open her mouth. She could only talk to him alone. Her problem was that she had always been beautiful, and people were forever losing themselves in fantasy over her – electing her a beauty queen, imagining her as a wife, dreaming of a caress. Most people had fantasies. But a few people, like Polanski, took charge.

At the age of six months Sharon Tate was elected Miss Tiny Tot of Dallas, Tex. Her mother had sent in photos of the beautiful baby to contest officials. Sharon’s father was (and is) in the Regular Army, and was then stationed in Dallas. (Both her parents are natives of Houston.) As Sharon grew up, the family moved around in Army style, her father frequently absent from home. She remembers that when her father would return from an overseas tour, and she had reached a nubile age, her mother’s first command would be, “Now you, Sharon Marie, button up that night gown when you come out of your bedroom. Daddy’s home.” Her father was very strict with her as she budded through adolescence, turning thumbs down on potential boyfriends and making her stay in nights. He was very strong and knew how to take charge.

But most people continued to do things for Sharon without her lifting a finger. At 16 she was elected Miss Richland, Washington, and a short time later named Miss Autorama. At the age of 17 she was in Verona, Italy, where her father was stationed, and the prizes mounted. At Vicenza American High she was a cheerleader and baton twirler, and was chosen Homecoming Queen and Queen of the Senior Prom. The Vicenza yearbook for 1961 shows her as a very pretty, large-eyed girl, with hair somewhat darker and hips a little broader than now. She daydreamed at this time about becoming a psychiatrist and a ballerina, and had little to do with her classmates. Yet if any far-out stunts or fads were proposed, this terribly quiet girl was ready to lead the way. “If miniskirts had come in then, ” she says, “I’d have worn the shortest one.”

Today the fad among young girls in cosmopolitan circles is to use the old Anglo-Saxon words in everyday conversation, and Sharon Tate leads the way. But back in Italy at 17, she was just starting her worldly knowledge. She watched the on-location shooting of Barabbas, a film about ancient Rome, and the family scrapbook now includes still pictures of Jack Palance and Anthony Quinn in the movie costumers they wore in Italy. As she walked in Venice one day, she was spotted by the choreographer for the Pat Boone Show, which was being filmed in Italy. She next appeared very briefly in one of Boone’s TV shows, and his glossy smiling face now rests in the album with a fond inscription for Sharon.

When the Tate family moved from Italy to Southern California, Sharon decided it was time to live on her own. She was 18, and she paid a visit to Harold Gefsky, then agent for Richard Beymer, a young actor she met in Rome. “She was so young and beautiful,” Gefsky, a softly-spoken man, said in his Sunset Boulevard office, “that I didn’t know what to do with her. I think the first thing I did was take her to a puppet show.”

He also got her work because her father, in Calvinistic style, had only given her a few dollars to sink or swim. One of her first jobs was dressing up in an Irish costume and handing out Kelly-Kalani wine in Los Angeles restaurants at $25 a day. She also appeared in TV commercials for Chevy cars and Santa Fe cigars. People who knew her during this period agree on one thing. She was the most beautiful girl in the world. “Everywhere I took her she caused a sensation,” Gefsky said. “I would take her into a restaurant and the owner would pay for her meal. Photographers kept stopping her on the street. I’ve lived in Hollywood since the mid-Forties, but I’ve never seen anything like it before or since.”

But at this point no one, except perhaps Sharon, knew if she wanted to be an actress. Then one day Gefsky took her by to meet his friend Herbert Browar, who was connected with TV’s Petticoat Junction. He thought possibly Browar could fix her up with a minor role, something to tide her over. Browar took one look at her and rushed her in to see Martin Ransohoff, head of Filmways, Inc.

Ransohoff has a strand of hair combed over his bald dome. He wears loose sweaters, torn windbreakers and breeches that are baggy in the seat. He first started producing TV commercials in New York when food particles were glued onto Brand X’s plate to show the differences in detergents. He branched out into TV programs with such commercial winners as Mr. Ed, The Beverly Hillbillies and Petticoat Junction. He then tackled movies on the order of The Americanization of Emily and The Loved One, which got mixed reviews but generally made money. He founded the company in 1952 on $200, and today it operates on a budget of over $35 million. He will talk about Oswald Spengler or H. L. Mencken and then croon into his ever-present phone, “Helloooo, Bertie, baby. Where’s the action, kid?” He chews gum till his head rings, smokes two packs a day and sends everyone to the wall with his adrenaline. He can be gratuitously cruel in speaking of others – “She’s got a lunch pail for a mouth,” he said of an aging actress, “and if we take out insurance on her, it’ll have to be that she’ll die.” Then he can take his twin sons to a football game, clean up a dog’s mess in his Bel Air living room, and talk to anyone in the world who has guts enough to call him. A rich man’s son, he sold pots and pans from door to door while going to Colgate and claims the experience taught him what the public will or will not buy. He had little interest in films before he became involved in them, and his favorite actress in the old days was Deanna Durbin – who, coincidentally, was also Polanski’s favorite. Both vividly remember her pedaling a bicycle down a shady street and singing through a dimpled smile. Not everyone has had pleasant dealings with Ransohoff in Hollywood, but all agree he is a super salesman.

When he first saw Sharon Tate, he squinted his right eye and did something that was very impulsive, even for him. “Draw up a contract,” he shouted. “Get her mother. Get my lawyer. This is the girl I want!”

He had not seen a screen test, not even a still photograph. She had hardly opened her mouth. But Marty Ransohoff, like the rest of us, has his fantasies – and Sharon Tate walked into one of his fondest ones. “I have this dream,” Ransohoff said, “where I’ll discover a beautiful girl who’s a nobody and turn her into a star that everybody wants. I’ll do it like L. B. Mayer used to, only better. But once she’s successful, then I’ll loose interest. That’s how my dream goes. I don’t give two cents now for Tuesday Weld or Ann-Margret..”

“I think he’s just trying to pull one over on the public,” Gefsky said.

Sharon signed a seven-year contract, and Ransohoff took charge. Gefsky, a nice man, bowed out. At first she lived in complete fear of Ransohoff, and did as she was told. “She wouldn’t even eat a hamburger if he told her not to,” a friend from that period said. If Ransohoff said she was to appear on The Beverly Hillbillies disguised in a black wig, she appeared. If he told her to go on a moments notice to Big Sur, New York, London, she went. Off and on she studied acting.

Jeff Corey, one acting coach, said, “An incredibly beautiful girl, but a fragmented personality. I tried to get reactions out of her, though. Once I even gave her a stick, and said, ‘Hit me, do something, show emotion’ ..If you can’t tap who you are, you can never act.”

Charles Conrad, another acting teacher, said, “Such a beautiful girl, you would have thought she would have all the confidence in the world. But she had none.” Among her friends, however, she began to refer to herself as “sexy little me.”

Ransohoff tried to place Sharon in The Cincinnati Kid – his own movie – but failed when the director demanded Tuesday Weld. He packed her off to New York to study under the personal direction of Lee Strasberg at the Actors Studio. “She was only with me a few weeks,” Strasberg said, “but I remember her. She was a beautiful girl.” In New York Sharon had a romance with a young French star, who offered her relief from her Texas style, Puritan upbringing. The actor was tall, dark and very nice. When they broke up, the actor bungled a suicide attempt.

Sharon continued to fear Ransohoff. Once, while driving at a high speed near Big Sur, she turned her car over four and a half times, but somehow managed to crawl out with only minor injuries. Her first thought was that Marty would be mad. The first picture he finally placed her in was his French made 13, in which she plays a chillingly beautiful, expressionless girl who goes about putting the hex on people. Completed many months ago, ’13’ still rests in the can waiting for a 1967 release date. Ransohoff flew Sharon back to Hollywood for her second film, Don’t Make Waves, in which she plays a beautiful, deadpan skydiver. Sharon’s first two directors were older men. Britishers – very polite, very nice and understanding with a novice actress.

And then Ransohoff began dickering with Roman Polanski, the Polish director living in London, to make a picture. Polanski, a tiny, baby-faced man whose explosive manner and Beatle-like appearance belie his much-admired skill as a maker of art films, wanted to do something with Ransohoff called The Vampire Killers, a spoof of horror movies. He wanted to play in it himself, and, as in all his movies, he wanted a beautiful girl in a supporting role.

“How about Sharon Tate?” Ransohoff said. “I was thinking more in terms of Jill St. John,” Polanski said.

At Ransohoff’s instigation, Sharon and Polanski had dinner together. He looked at her from time to time, but said nothing. On a second dinner date he was painfully silent once more. Real weirdo, she thought. What’s he waiting on? She found out shortly. Walking in London’s Eaton Square, he suddenly put a bear hug on her and they fell to the ground, Polanski on the bottom. Sharon clouted him and stormed off. “That’s the craziest nut I ever saw,” she said. “I’ll never work for him.”

But Polanski apologized, and they saw each other again. One night he took her to his apartment which had even less furniture than it has now and no electricity. He lit a candle and excused himself, flying upstairs to don a Frankenstein mask. He crept up behind her, raised his arms, and whinnied like a madman. Sharon turned and emitted a terrible scream. It took over an hour for her hysterical weeping to subside. Not long afterward Polanski informed Ransohoff that Sharon would do fine for The Vampire Killers. On the set he treated her as if they never saw each other at night. He cajoled, flattered, got angry – which ever worked – and never had lunch with her. During the nude bathtub scene, he snapped still pictures of her. Still enthusiastic, he had her pose all over the set in the altogether, and then sent the results to Playboy. She plays a gorgeous redhead in The Vampire Killers – and she shows

Roman Polanski walked into his apartment in a sharp blue blazer and high-gloss shoes, carrying a briefcase. He had a good-sized nose and searching, deep-set eyes, and he nodded briskly to Sharon. “A Barbara called,” she let out daintily. “Do you know who that could be?”

“A Barbara?” he called from the kitchen, out of sight. A pause. “You didn’t get any last name? Always get last names. I don’t know any Barbara that would be calling. Sharon, Sharon. There’s no liquor here. Always see to it that we have enough whisky. Can’t you do that?”

Sharon went on the phone to order some, worrying about which brands to specify. She didn’t want to be embarrassed by asking Roman – although he would certainly tell her. He knew the correct whiskey brands in London, the good pastrami places in Manhattan, and the right topless spots in Hollywood. He learned a country’s customs and its language in a couple of weeks. He took a bath now upstairs, calling down for Sharon to fetch him some tea. Later he descended the stairs in a cowboy outfit and boots, ready for dinner. Some movie friends had shown up, and he led the party on foot toward Alvaro’s restaurant.

At the restaurant Sharon basked in the eyes that roved over her. She listened big-eyed to Polanski explain the difference between the sun’s heat and that on earth, apropos of Truffaut’s Fahrenheit 451. The only trouble was that it was difficult to digest pasta in such a giddy atmosphere, and she complained of her stomach. After Polanski figured out how to work the waiter’s ballpoint pen, he signed the check.

In a dreamlike state, Sharon began slipping into her fox fur coat in the foyer. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a tall Englishman with a prep-school tie and large teeth popped up and put his arm around her. “Ummm, you have a sexy feel, love. Don’t we all love to touch you now..” She squirmed away.

Out on the street, she said, “Roman, a complete stranger began hugging me in there.”

“Yeah? Really?” A short distance away he suddenly spied a blond in fox fur who had the same duck walk that Sharon has. “Hey, there goes Sharon,” he said. “Let’s get her and put the two of them together!”

“Don’t you dare,” she said, her anger flashing. Another day, away from Sharon, Polanski said, “I’m trying to get her to be a little meaner, She’s too nice, and she doesn’t believe in her beauty. Once when I was very poor in Poland I had got some beautiful shoes, and I immediately became very ashamed of them. All my friends had plain, ordinary shoes, and I was embarrassed to walk in front of them. That’s how Sharon feels about her beauty. She’s embarrassed by it.”

Sharon has a quarter-inch scar under her left eye and one beside the eye, the result of accidents which she keeps having. As Polanski drove with her one night in London, meticulously keeping on the left in the custom of the land, an Englishman with a couple of pints under his belt hit him from the right. The only one hurt was Sharon, whose head bounced off the dashboard, spraying blood on slacks, boots and fur. An angry red wound appeared at the start of her scalp, and it will leave another whitish scar on her head. With blond hair combed down over her forehead to hide it, she skied at St. Moritz. And then she caught a jet for Hollywood because Ransohoff had called. She must redo a few scenes for Don’t Make Waves. She grumbled a little. She found she could grumble to Ransohoff now. She hated Hollywood, and she didn’t want to leave Polanski. Also, she hated to fly. She had to be drugged to endure it.

And then she appeared beside Ransohoff at La Scala restaurant in Beverly Hills. She had a black costume that looked more like a slip than a dress, and her blond head caught glints of movie-star light as she turned this way and that. “Oh, there’s David! David Hemmings. David, David!”

David Hemmings, who had been featured with her in 13 and had gone on to star in Antonioni’s Blow-Up waved. Other celebrities flicked glances her way, at each other, to the door to see what majesty might enter next. Occasionally they looked down at food or drink. The place was as crowded as Alvaro’s in London, the customers practically the same. Ransohoff wore an open-neck sport shirt and shapeless coat, and he talked business. “Listen, sweetie, I’m going to have to cut some stuff out of The Vampire Killers. Your spanking scene has got to go.”

“Oh, don’t do that. Why would you do that?” “Because it doesn’t move the story. The story has got to move. Bang, bang, bang. No American audience is going to sit still while Polanski indulges himself.”

“But Europeans make movies differently than Americans, ” she explained to the producer she once feared. “Blow-Up moved slowly. But wasn’t it a great film!”

“I’ll tell you something, baby. I didn’t like it. If I’d have seen it before the reviews, I’d have said it’d never make it. It’s not my kind of picture. I want to be told a story without all that hocus-pocus symbolism going on.”

“But that one scene, Marty. When the girl show’s her, ah –” (only Sharon said the Anglo-Saxon word). In Hollywood, New York and London they all talked now about Blow-Up, dwelling on that scene.

“Yeah, I got to hand it to the guy for that one.” Ransohoff said, chuckling. “He pulled a good one off there.”

“Oh, I want to do a complete nude scene,” she said. “Say you’ll let me!”

“OK, OK,” Ransohoff said, bored, looking toward the door. “Yes, yes.”

“Do it now. Don’t just say it.” Then Sharon got bored.

Early in the morning Sharon appeared before the camera at Malibu Beach, redoing a scene for Don’t Make Waves. The sun had a hard time getting through the wisps of fog, and strong klieg lights helped out. In a sequence with an undraped David Draper, “Mr. Universe”, Sharon stuck out her backside and shot out her front. Magically, a button or two came undone on her polka-dot blouse, and after close examination of camera angle, director Sandy Mackendrick decided to leave it that way. He gave Sharon guidance in rubbing mineral oil over Draper’s bare back, as the scene called for. “Treat him like a horse,” he said. “Pat him just as you would an animal. That’s the way..”

She lovingly went over Draper’s muscled back, and then went “ugh” when the camera ceased to roll. The scene was done over and over. In her tiny trailer dressing room, she took a break and smoked daintily. “I’m happier when I’m working,” she said. “I don’t have time to think to much that way.”

One thing to think about was a visit to her parent’s home in Palos Verdes Estates, an hour’s drive away. (Her father was stationed in Korea, her mother and two younger sisters were at home.) Driving to the house one night in a heavy seaside fog, she became quieter and quieter, her words less Anglo-Saxon. A passenger beside her remarked, as the car neared its destination, that the fog reminded him of snow. “You know what it looks like to me?” she said. “Vomit.”

Her mother – a pleasant, plump, dark-haired woman – turned Sharon’s face this way and that. “Have you had your blood count recently, honey? You look so pale to me.” What did she think of Sharon’s becoming a movie star? What did she think of Roman Polanski? “You know,” she said, in the voice of every middle-class American mother, “I don’t care – just as long as she’s happy.”

Back in Hollywood Sharon moved from hotel to hotel, from one friend’s home to another. She talked to Polanski by phone. (It embarrassed him to try to write letters in English because of his mistakes.) So many things were unresolved, shadowy. Ransohoff was sore at Polanski because Polanski had gone way over the budget on The Vampire Killers (“Very un-Hollywood of him,” a Filmways executive said; another only referred to him as “the little–.”); Polanski was mad at Ransohoff because Ransohoff was cutting away at his film and postponing its release in the States. (Ransohoff had also had difficulties with Tony Richardson, the English director, over the budget and the cutting of The Loved One.) “The thing is,” said Sharon, “that Roman is an artist.”

At night Sharon went to The Daisy, a private discotheque in Beverly Hills. She wore an aviator’s leather jacket, slacks, and tinted Ben Franklin glasses. Seated near the dance floor, she silently watched young actresses her age go through their gyrations. Suzanne Pleshette and Patty Duke did subdued turns; Linda Ann Evans, in a miniskirt, did a much more spirited fling. Carolyn Jones, who only yesterday had played the ingénue, now looked like a chaperone. Sharon gave Linda Ann Evans the once over and said, “I’ve worn a much shorter mini in London. That’s nothing.”

From another table a slim, bronzed young man with a pampered black hair ambled confidently past Tina Sinatra, Patty Duke, Suzanne Pleshette – and hovered over this strange blond beauty in an aviator’s leather jacket. He had the air of a football star in a small town high school, who was used to having his pick. He showed his beautiful white teeth and said, “Let’s dance.”

“No,” she said, “let’s not.”

He kept the smile on his face as he backed away. He was now another who had tried to bring Sharon Tate into a private fantasy – but he didn’t know that she had passed his type long ago.

She was going to fly to London and get engaged to Roman Polanski. Then she was going to fly back to star in Valley of the Dolls. Ransohoff was lending her to 20th Century-Fox to play a sexy bombshell who goes to Europe to star in nudie movies and who bewitches the world with her improbable lushness.

[taerseok]

— differences | j.j.k [hogwarts!au] (pt. 1)

pairing:. Ravenclaw!Jungkook × Slytherin!Reader

synopsis:. the girl who has never fallen seriously for a guy, now falls for the wicked, witty Jeon Jungkook. But it only happens to be that you, now believe, that you have given your heart to someone who may not take care of it as well as you thought he would.

word count:. 6.4k

genre(s):. romance, angst

warning(s):. mentions of sex, kissing, swearing

song rec(s):. renegade - Aaryan Shah, crazy in love - Sofia Karlberg (cover), promise - Joytastic Sarah (cover)

Differences: points or ways in which people or things are dissimilar.

"A great relationship isn't when a perfect couple comes together, but when an imperfect couple learns to enjoy their differences."

You were never one to bend to the rules. You'd never let yourself lose. Not only because that hurt your pride. But that would also show people your weak spot; the one thing you hated to admit or reveal. But to disrespect authority, to bully others, to taunt them because of their weaknesses… is that really compulsory?

Stop it, Y/n, you're questioning too much.

You shut your thoughts behind a mocking grin, as you continued to check the board and put in the last of the ingredients. You were sitting near your cauldron in your Potions class, with Jimin on one side of you, and Yoongi on the other.

Your fellow Pureblood Slytherins were laughing and making jokes like usual, which made you burst with laughter.

"Okay, are we here to make jokes?" the Potions professor eyed the three of you sharply, his gaze literally poisonous. You were tempted to scream 'yes,' but Yoongi replied for you, knowing your nasty comebacks would, no doubt, leave you in detention. You opened your mouth to speak, but were cut off by Yoongi, "we're sorry, we won't do it again."

Though his tone was surprisingly apologetic, the wide, mischievous grin on his face proved your already doubting suspicions true.

The Potions professor, though already very familiar with his N.E.W.T.s students - you, amongst many others - and already knowing you three especially well, because he was the house head for Slytherin, still could not tell why students as bright as you three were wasting your precious time on jokes such as the ones you made, instead of focusing on your last year at Hogwarts.

You could not think more differently, however, as you snorted under your breath and made other jokes, continuing the banter between you, Jimin and Yoongi.

Subconsciously, you turned your head around, only to lock eyes with a boy you were familiar with; Jeon Jungkook. He was a Ravenclaw student, exceptionally smart and talented at magic. Though a muggle-born, which did not make sense. How exactly did a boy with no magical heritage exceed at magic so much?

So much, that he got Os in almost all his O.W.L.s, which had truly came as a surprise to your group, considering how much you made fun of him, calling him a nerd and, at times, a knucklehead. He was truly an all-rounder, though, and you had to admit it once in a while, even though you hated admitting how good he was.

And you hated him.

His sarcastic, witty comebacks made you grit your teeth and infuriated you in the worst ways, even though he wouldn't speak often. It had you glued to him. You were drop-dead gorgeous, with all the boys trying to hump you all the time, forgetting there even was a school to begin with, but something about Jungkook was so intoxicating, it had you hooked.

Jungkook must have been lost in thought just as much as you, because the moment you were snapped back into reality, he was too. He went back to his Potions book, and tried to continue making his potion correctly, but it was evident with the way he frowned that he was clearly failing at the job.

You excused yourself from Jimin and Yoongi, and walked over sneakily to Jungkook, making sure the professor didn't see you. He was sitting on an empty table, all alone. It seemed his Hufflepuff friends weren't with him. Well, they couldn't be, anyway. Only Slytherins and Ravenclaws shared Potions.

"Sweetheart, are you facing some problems?" you frowned mockingly at him, batting your eyelashes in an innocent manner. Without even flinching, he sighed and turned to you. "What do you want, L/n?" he raised an impatient brow at you, to which you simply clicked at your tongue. Oh, how you loved getting under his skin.

"Why, I saw you frowning here, all to yourself and decided to offer some help," you shrugged, "but since you don't want it," you got up, and sighed dejectedly, slowly trying to make an attempt to escape. To your great astonishment, he didn't hold your hand and pull you to him, which made you groan with utter displeasure.

"For once, Jeon Jungkook, use your fucking brain. This was the part you were supposed to pull me back by my hand!" you whined, stomping as you walked back and sat back down, next to him. The black-haired, bunny-like boy did not say anything, which made you even more annoyed. "Can't you just play along?" you pouted, shifting your head between the gap of his gaze and the Potions book.

Your faces were so close, the world could believe it was a romantic kiss or something. Your lips were inches apart, and for a moment you felt like kissing them, but in that moment, Jungkook turned his head away, turning his body to the cauldron, which left you just gazing at his back, in shock, speechless.

You were so close. So close. What if your lips accidently touched his? You couldn't stop yourself from imagining what it'd feel like, his red, soft lips on yours. For a second, silence remained. But you reached your hand out to put it on his shoulder. "Hey, why can't you just play along?" you repeated, but your voice was faint, a husky whisper because of what just happened - what almost happened.

"L/n-" you interuppted him before he could speak any more, "Y/n is just fine, you know. I may tease you and get under your skin a lot, but we should not be on such formal terms," you rolled your eyes. "Besides, it's not like I'm asking you to call me 'baby', am I?" the statement left your lips before you could cover it up, and that resulted in more silence.

From the corner of your eye, you could see his lips twitch up into a grin, which made you bite your lower lip seductively. "That was just an example. Get your mind out of the gutter, Jeon Jungkook," you rolled your eyes, once again, and to your relief, Jungkook turned around to face you again. You smirked slightly.

He sighed out of annoyance, though it was clearly fake. He was bad at pretending something that wasn't there. Or maybe you just knew him too well. "Y/n, I don't have time for your games. You know, I need to make this potion work… besides, who's doing yours-?" he raised a brow, to which you simply giggled. "I'm already done with mine."

You shrugged, his face froze a little, but it wasn't long before it returned to its normal composure. "Right. So you were offering to help?" Jungkook turned to you and then the cauldron simultaneously. "Yes, dumbo! And, you just wait and see. It'll be the best potion you've made yet," you smirked, letting Jungkook take your seat and sitting on his.

You guided him through everything before you acted upon the instructions, and for a second, you felt yourself more as a Ravenclaw than a Slytherin.

The thought made you snort.

After the Potions class, you had Defense Against the Dark Arts, a long name for what you simply called, 'D.A.D.A'. This class, however, you did not share with Jungkook, which made you slightly bored, but you liked it anyway, because you were good at it.

You took your seat next to Jimin, Yoongi sitting behind you two with another Slytherin guy. You were studying theories currently. The whole topic made you groan and frown in every way possible. You hated this one. Thankfully, though, you had Seokjin. He was the real MVP in your, otherwise, boring life.

A Gryffindor, who had a nerve for flirting with every girl his eye caught. You were one of those.

While the D.A.D.A professor looked down at the book, a flying bird was sent your way. Not exceptional, seeing as you all were seventh years, but nonetheless, romantic. It made you grin. You caught the bird, unnoticed, and it stopped moving to let you open it.

'Hey there, little bird. ;)'

Iconic, wasn't it? You showed the note to Jimin, who snickered on the seat beside you. "I swear to Merlin, he's drooling over you. How can it be any more obvious?" he rolled his eyes, to which you giggled. "Jiminie, good things take time. I'm not going to give myself away just like that," you grinned at Seokjin's way, who looked at you with a glow on his face, "if he wants me," you winked at him, "he'll need to work for it," and you turned your head away sharply.

That afternoon, at lunch, nerdy Jungkook was reading his book once again, during eating. It made you frown with displeasure, as you watched him at his table from your own. "Does he do anything but read?" you asked your two friends, tilting your head. "Seems like the answer is 'no'," Yoongi shrugged, eyeing the male. "I'm going to go annoy him. You sit and watch," you smirked at the two boys and left for the lonely boy.

"Hoseok and Taehyung didn't join you today, hm?" you raised a brow, taking a seat next to Jungkook. You had realised his Hufflepuff friends were not accompanying him. He did not look up from his book. "Yeah... They wanted to research about some creatures in the library." Your chin falls down to the table. You tilted your head, your cheek on the cold surface. "That's okay. I'll give you some good time," you grinned.

"Oh really?" he smiled, finally looking up from his book. "Atlas'! He is interested, at last!" You exclaimed with exaggeration. "I can just look down and disappear into the book again, you know?" he said blatantly, and you groaned. "I know, sweetheart! But you have to realise there's more to the world than the books you read!"

"Right," he stretched the word, rolling his eyes. "You're so annoying, Y/n," he continued, shaking his head. "In a good way or a bad way?" you raised a brow, your eyes widened in shock as he got up from his seat, likely to escape. He smirked mischieviously.

"Very good."

With one wink, he was gone.

That was one reason why you hated him so much.

He always found a way to make your heart skip a beat.

It was rare for anyone to do that. But you couldn't help but let your heart race when he was in your vicinity.

It was evening when you finally finished with dinner and left to your dormitory, with the two boys, Jimin and Yoongi, tagging alongside. You reached the portrait, it opened as your lips uttered the password and you went inside. The Slytherins sitting in the common room eyed you cautiously. It pleased you. As soon as you reached the couch, the students sitting on it got off to go into their rooms, and you smiled as you sank down on the comfortable seat.

The smile lingered on your face. It made you excited to be seen as uncontrollable, as a threat. It pumped the adrenaline in your veins - it got you going, it was what you liked. You were hooked on the feeling of being feared, it was something you enjoyed a little too much. Even Jimin and Yoongi would tell you that at times, but you simply dismissed it as it was a part of who you were, your personality.

You looked over to the boys, on either side of you, they eyed you, raising their brows. Your mind zoomed into something else, your thoughts fluttered over to someone else.

Jeon Jungkook.

Why was he always reappearing? Why did you suddenly start to care too much? You put your feet on the couch. No one would mind it anyway, and even if they did, they wouldn't ever try to say it to your face. You were simply too intimidating. You hugged your knees. His mischievous smile, his wink - it all intoxicated you. You wanted more. Dare you say, you wanted him.

God, wasn't he just perfect? His poison was seeping into your bones, and you couldn't help but be addicted. Did you wish it'd end? Never. Did you wish you hadn't met him? Not once. You were hooked. But then you reminded yourself, as a fish in a vast sea, you were not the only one. He was the fisher and he'd catch every single fish he could, you knew he was smarter than to be pleased with only you. Just you.

You hated him, yes, but that made it so much more exciting. You wanted passion, you wanted his lips on yours, you wanted to feel his hands on your waist. Was it too much to ask for? A one night stand. That was all you wanted. You had heard the muggles did those things, and for once, you couldn't help but wonder how it'd feel. How he'd feel.

"Y/n?" Yoongi asked, his brows knitting together as he eyed you suspiciously. You were snapped into reality abruptly, it shocked you but you composed yourself. Or you tried to. But you had been with Yoongi and Jimin for more than seven years, you doubted they didn't catch on to it. And you weren't surprised to find your 'guess' more than correct.

"Y/n, what are you thinking about?" Jimin asked, worry lining his handsome features. It made you sigh. You were putting them through so much trouble over Jungkook. That made you even more regretful. But you wanted them to know. You had promised you'd keep no secrets from eachother - that you'd help eachother and share your feelings with one another.

"I…" you said softly, unable to find the right words. What would you tell them?

That you liked Jungkook?

That you were hooked on his bait and you wanted him? You were afraid of how they'd take it. Of how your little words could change their perception of you. You didn't want to be judged by your closest friends. They were like family. It scared you. It made you so scared. You couldn't find the words, no matter how much you wanted to tell them.

"I… I-I… it's Jungkook," you managed to say, afraid of what they would make of the statement. "Jungkook? Did he do something? Say something that hurt you?" Jimin frowned, still concerned for you and your unusual behaviour. You had never felt this way. It felt like it was eating you.

"If he did, you know, we can take care of him for you. You needn't worry," Yoongi said coldly, though you knew him well enough to realise the concern in his tone of voice. "N-No," you shook your head, then sighed again. Why was it so hard to explain it? "Can I get a hug?" you asked in a low whisper, but the two boys quickly caught on, and hugged you in unison. It felt good.

It felt like support and warmth. You felt better instantly. You knew they wouldn't judge you, they knew you too well for that. You smiled instantaneously at their touch. The two boys eventually pulled away, looking at you, hopeful.

"Right… so…" you took a deep breath, "I… I don't know this feeling," you bit your lower lip, mentally beating yourself up for the bad beginning, "but… like… I want him?" you cringed and hid your face with your hands, not brave enough to see your friends' reactions. "I'm sorry," you weren't sure what you were apologising for, but it was all you could mutter in the heat of the moment.

Silence remained, and you were choking yourself in your thoughts for being too blunt, for not sugar-coating it so they'd take it in an 'okay' manner. You wished you could dig yourself a hole, jump in it and stay there forever and ever, for you didn't wish to have the two friends, you cared for most, see your face.

But a cold hand ran down your back, almost making you yelp. You looked up, your face not hidden by your hands anymore, to see that it was Yoongi. "It's okay, Y/n, don't beat yourself up for it," he muttered, nodding slightly to, what seemed like, the rhythm of an unheard melody. "Mhm, don't worry. I'll help, okay? It's just infatuation. You don't need the dude, anyway. I'll help you move on?" Jimin tilted his head softly to the side, his blond bangs falling on his face in the most handsome manner.

But the truth was, you didn't want to move on. Not until, you could taste the drug you were addicted to. Not until, you had him wrapped around your finger.

"But, Jimin… I... I don't want to move on?" you spoke whatever came to your mind, always remaining truthful with your dearest friends. "I know. That's just because… you are infatuated. You'll want to move on, as soon as possible, trust me," he smiled reassuringly at you, but you were sad to see that you couldn't return it.

You simply turned your head away, getting lost in thoughts again.

What if you could just tell him? Then again, you didn't want him to think funnily of you. What if he had a girlfriend? Why didn't that come to your mind? But then again, who'd ever like the nerd? Right?

Atleast, that's what convinced yourself with.

Getting up, you said your farewells to the two boys and left for the girls' dormitory, but you could barely sleep. You kept rolling around in your bed, your mind zoomed back to Jungkook. How he'd feel on your lips, how he'd kiss you with such passion, plant pecks down your body, mark you his. Maybe, you were infatuated as Jimin told you. Maybe, it was addiction.

But, when were you ever sure?

The next morning, you weren't surprised to find yourself the last person in the dormitory. It was only fair, you thought. You hadn't slept at all, it felt, but you must have dozed off at some point. Your head hurt, but you got up anyway and decided to leave for your classes.

The day was spent around Jungkook, entirely. But it wasn't until the evening, when you reached the last class you had. Astronomy - another class shared by Slytherins and Ravenclaws.

Climbing the Astronomy tower to its highest level, was hard work in itself, but the Astronomy professor had something else in mind.

"For today, I want to share with you all, information about your upcoming project. I think it'd be suitable if we worked in groups of five. I want you all to create a working model of the Solar System, and submit it by the next week. Are my instructions clear?" her eyes particularly fixated on your trio, which consisted of you, Jimin and Yoongi. You nodded, furiously.

You had great interest in Astronomy, whether you had admitted it or not, and you liked the subject too. It was fun, in your opinion.

The professor proceeded by making groups. You watched her, aimlessly trying to hope that you weren't in a group with Jungkook. If the situation ended up that way, you'd have to spend more time with him. Which, you liked by the sound of it, but the thought made you nervous too. Your eyes kept finding their way over to the dark-haired boy, the act hurt you, but you couldn't stop.

The students made their way to their respective groups, making clusters of several bodies in the classroom.

"Y/n, Lee Ara, Jimin, Yoongi, and…" you held your breath, "Jungkook," of course. You knew it too well. It had to end this way. And surprisingly enough, another Korean girl, specifically a Slytherin you had some bad blood with, ended up with you too. Ara - God, how you hated the egoistic, cruel bitch. You sighed, as Jungkook and Ara joined your trio.

"Discuss your plans and divide your works. Remember, this group work will affect your N.E.W.T.s. grades."

You groaned, which didn't go pass Jimin and Yoongi. Atleast, you had your friends. "You 'kay?" Yoongi asked, whispering into your ear, so you didn't disturb the obvious flirting between Jungkook and Ara. You frowned. "I'm not. But I guess, you can already see that, so why question it, huh?" you hissed, then crossed your arms.

"You know, this is work. Work is work, and don't you think it'd be better if we don't bring the dude up in it?" he asked back, not taken aback by you tone at all. He knew you all too well to think that you meant it.

"I know!" you whined, glaring daggers at Ara, and then pulling Jimin closer to you two. "Look, the girl is really getting on my nerves. Let's start discussing plans, okay? Keep an eye on her, always," you whispered like poison, and the two boys nodded sternly before turning to face the two outsiders.

Jimin faced you, signalling you to start. You looked down for a second, to see your slightly trembling hands. Goodness, what was wrong with you? Was it really just infatuation? You sighed unevenly, then cleared your throat to get their attention. Too much into the conversation, they didn't pay much of their conscious to it at all.

You cleared your throat, yet again. "Ahem, if you two are done, can we start discussing?" you said, rather harshly. Impatience lined your voice. Jungkook and Ara stopped talking, turning to your trio.

"Right," the brunette said sharply, you could see her frown to herself. "How about me and Jungkook take over the Sun and the first two planets from it?" Ara spoke again, and you really wanted to groan, but you dismissed the way your heart ached, or the way your hands started to shake a little more, or the way your palms started to sting as you digged your nails into them, or the way your knuckles turned ghost white, or the way you were turning red from fury.

"I don't think that's possible. Two people working on only three space bodies? It doesn't seem fair," Yoongi said, shrugging. Though you could see, the corners of his lips turning upwards as Jungkook moved in to agree. "True. I'll take the Earth, and I can make the moons for all the planets," he said reasonably. Your lips curled into a wicked smile.

"I'll take Mars and Jupiter, then," Yoongi said coldly, trying to seem as if he didn't like this game. But you knew him too well for that. "And I'll take Saturn and Uranus," Jimin said, enthusiastically, and you guessed it was your turn to speak next, "then, I am left with Neptune and Pluto. Ara will be able to handle the first two planets and the Sun, I'm guessing, all alone?" you asked, raising your brows as a sadistic smile, that no one but the brunette could sense, found its way to your gorgeous face.

"I will be able to, perfectly well," she huffed, rolling her eyes. You were thoroughly pleased.

"Good then, let's meet this Friday at the Slytherin common room, after classes."

The week could hardly await the project, because you found yourself in a fast-paced world, moving at the speed of muggle a sports car. Time just passed, as if nothing interesting took place. Life, sometimes, was never understood by you. Or perhaps, you didn't want to understand it.

But, something had changed in you. Jungkook made you so much more… happier. Looking at him dilated your eyes, it provided you warmth, it made you smile. You had been noticing those things a lot more often.

You had been seeing how your eyes always found their way to his, how you overanalysed his every word and action, how you would flush immediately when he came to you with a witty comeback, how you'd try to get his attention more often, how you'd just do unexplainable things around him, how your heart would love the feeling of being drunk on his poison, and how you'd try to find the best witty comeback to hit him back with.

You were falling for him. Deeper, and deeper, further and further, losing yourself in his spell, that he had cast over you. The world shone brighter when he was near. You began to admire his looks even more. You began to admire his personality. You began to see how much he effected your life, how he made you happier than anyone else.

You could gaze into his dark eyes forever, and still not mind it. You could talk with him for an eternity, and you would not be bothered. You could do anything and everything when he was around, when he was with you. He made you feel giddy, light-hearted and youthful. Like there was nothing stopping you. It made you euphoric. It made you excited and you loved every moment of it.

You even shared all of this with Jimin and Yoongi. But their advices remained the same as ever.

Time just seemed to slip away, just like that.

Either way, you found yourself sitting in the common room, waiting for Jungkook to show up so you could let him in. Ara hadn't arrived as of yet either, despite being a Slytherin. You chatted usually with your two bestfriends as you always did, but you couldn't suppress the feeling that something wrong was bound to happen.

And to your surprise, the portrait opened. The brunette, Ara, jumped in, giggling alongside Jungkook. Your heart paced faster than ever. Had the end of the world came, at last? Did it just dawn over you, how Jungkook smiled with her?

It was irrational, some would say. But you had come to realise, the whole concept of love was irrational. Giving your heart to someone, trusting them to hold onto it - it was all a matter of believing in someone. And you could never do that with someone - someone as clumsy as Jeon Jungkook - who wouldn't hesitate to drop it to the ground, step over it.

Your limbs felt numb. You felt numb. Tears just came to your eyes. You didn't know why - or how. But, you wanted to leave the common room that second. What had came into you? The girl who'd barely pay attention to the boys who were dying over her, was now falling?

Falling for someone who could never be yours.

Falling for someone who didn't care.

You wanted to shut the thoughts so bad, but you couldn't, not in this situation. You gripped onto Yoongi's sleeve, he could very well see what was happening, and so did Jimin. Your head hurt. You wanted it to stop.

"Hey, Y/n," Jungkook smiled mischeviously, sitting down infront of you alongside Ara. You felt so much hatred for the male, the male that you were on the verge of tears for. "H-Hi," you stammered, plastering a fake smile on your face. "Is something wrong?" Jungkook asked, raising a brow. You could see his expression of concern. It hurt you even more. Static sounds covered your brain.

"I-I… I'm just a little sick. And…" you bit your lip, "it's nothing. Let's start working."

The evening went as quiet as you wanted. You worked next to Jungkook. You tried to calm your racing heart. You had to pretend like everything was normal, like it was fine. "How're you doing?" you asked, self-conscious of your tone, which could give everything away.

"I'm surprised you didn't call me 'sweetheart' this time, hm?" he smirked, raising a brow, as his eyes wandered over into your direction. Ara could be doing whatever right now, but you didn't care. You were so glad Yoongi and Jimin were keeping her occupied by asking her for help.

You stayed silent, however, in response to Jungkook's question. "Cat got your tongue?" he grinned wider, turning to you completely now. You rolled you eyes. "Don't tell me you want me to call you 'sweetheart'. It's just a nickname, I don't have to use it all the time," you smiled mischeviously.

"But, I want you to call me by my nickname," he said, the smirk on his lips everlasting. "Oh, really?" you turned to him at last, your confidence back to you. It felt good to back. To be able to hold your head up high.

You could see the look in his eyes - filled with mischief. It made you grin alongside him. "I never knew you were this needy," you rolled your eyes, sarcastically, shaking your head.

"Let guys be guys, for goodness' sake," he said, making you laugh out. "I know, sweetheart. You needn't tell me," you smirked at him playfully, and through his dark bangs, you could see him grinning back at you. "What's with you and Ara, anyway? She's always bashing you for something whenever we talk," he shrugged, his expression one of disgust.

You rolled your eyes at the mention of her name. "A filthy, rich brat. Used to bully me back in the days," you replied shortly. "Really?" Jungkook turned back to you, raising a brow. You could see the affection in his face. He really worried for you. The thought made you smile.

"Yeah. No worries, though. I got my revenge," you smirked, which made him only more curious. "How so?" he grinned as he questioned.

"Stole her boyfriend, is all."

The statement made his eyes widen. His mouth basically dropped. "Stole?" he asked, his voice barely audible but you could hear it perfectly fine.

"Yup. Stole - it was not cheating, I promise!" you laughed, putting your hands infront of your chest defensively. "I told him about the way she treated me, and he agreed to act along for fun. She broke up with him, furiously," you grinned.

"Who was it?" Jungkook asked.

"Kim Seokjin."

"The Gryffindor boy?"

"The Gryffindor boy. Though, I think he fancies me now," you smirked.

"Oh."

You looked at the dark-haired male, amused. "Jealous?"

"Super," he grinned at you, lust filling his eyes. "Deal with it," you rolled your eyes, turning away and continuing to make Pluto since you were already done with Neptune. "When it comes to you, I can't deal with it," he said slowly, his voice breathy. You snickered. "Woah, there, that's a little too fast, don't you think?" you rolled you eyes.

"Since I told you about that, tell me about your relationships."

"I don't seek serious ones."

You looked up at him, suddenly a little too interested. "That's a surprise, coming from you," you said abruptly. "Yeah… I have some serious problems," he rolled his eyes, smiling to himself. "But, don't we all, hm?" you shrugged, and the two of you burst out laughing.

"No, but really. I'm serious," he said, after the laughter died down. "Tell me what it is, then," you said back, looking at him, your gaze fixated on his, locking your eyes with his.

"I'm…" he sighed. "Well, a commitment phobe." You raised a brow. "That's fine, you know," you smiled. "You're too good for your own good."

The statement made your heart skip a beat. Your cheeks flushed red. "What do you-?" you tried to ask, but he cut you off. "Don't play with me, please," he said, making you widen your eyes. What had came over him? "But, what do you mean?" you asked, your project completely forgotten. "I'm not playing with you! I-" and you almost said it. You almost said that you liked him.

Maybe you loved him.

But then again, when were you ever sure?

But, you couldn't said anything more as he abruptly took your wrist harshly, pulling you up and away. Jimin and Yoongi must have noticed, because they looked at the two of you wide-eyed, and so did Ara, as Jungkook led you to the girls' dormitory, which was surprisingly empty, and shut the door behind you.

You could only look at him, for once, in your life, you felt so helpless. Even, your confidence had vanished.

Your body shook violently, as he pushed you against the wall of the dormitory, and your hands turned cold, your body white. "J-Jungkook," you stammered, your voice a whisper. What was he doing? Your heart was beating fast, about to jump out of your chest.

You feared he could hear it, as your bodies crashed against eachother. You shook your head under his gaze. He was taller than you. His facial expression was affectionate - but conflicted. You bit your lip. "What are you doing?" you asked him, huskily, feeling vulnerable.

Yes. You had imagined this erotica, you had wanted it, but you weren't sure anymore. His dark locks fell over his face, blocking your vision of the room, your only view his handsome face. His red lips, his soft gaze, his freakishly intoxicating features - it all poisoned you to the core. And you liked it.

But you were never this vulnerable with anyone before.

"Y/n," his equally cold hand caressed your cheek, making you yelp. "I-I-I'm so sorry, what are you doing?" you asked, your eyes filled with tears. Goodness, why did it hurt?

"Tell me, you're not playing with me," he asked back, his expression somehow hurt. "I'm not! I-" you stopped. Biting your lip, you debated on whether you'd be this close with him ever again. "I'm not playing with you. I…" you said softly, "I am not playing."

You couldn't say it, you couldn't tell him, but before you said anything else, the gap between your faces closed. Your mind ran wild, it was everything you had imagined and more. Cold but passionate, it drove you crazy. But you were confused as to what was happening, as to why it was happening.

It stayed like that for several seconds. But you wished it stayed that way for a millennia. That it never ended. Eventually, he did pull away, caressing your face in a gentle manner. You looked at him, tilting your head at his touch. Now was the moment. He liked you too, didn't he? You wouldn't be this close if he didn't, right?

"I really…" you said in a whisper, "like you."

His hand stopped moving. The world froze in that second. You opened an eye to see his handsome face. It was lined with worry. He shook his head, his hand dropped down and he stepped away, leaving your breath caught up in your throat.

What had you done? The tears in your eyes came back. Your mind went crazy with presumptions. So, he didn't love you? It was a one night stand? Or maybe just some sort of sensual pleasure? But why? Most importantly, how? How could he do this?

"We can't," his reply was simple. It made you slip down to the ground. You should've listened to your two bestfriends when they told you that it was for the best if you moved on.

Why in the fucking world did you fall?

Why did you love this man?

"But… why?" you didn't look up as your hair fell down with you, covering your face. He bent down at your level, pulling you closer to him.

"We just can't..." his reply confused you. You were conflicted. It broke your mind. You pushed him away from your being, not able to bear his touch.

"Y/n," he said, trying to come closer but you wouldn't let him.

Damn it, Jeon Jungkook.

Damn you.

"I loved you! I was ready to take everything as long as you loved me back, but you clearly didn't." His eyes widened, but he stood up quickly, looking down at you. "And-! And I… I didn't listen to Jimin when he said it was better to move on! That… That… maybe it was infatuation."

He hated seeing you like this, he wouldn't lie, but he was no good for you. And he knew that all too well. "I'll just break your heart, you know that," he said quietly, it hurt him to see you so broken.

"Well, you broke my heart, so you achieved your goal, you heartless motherfucker!"

You got up, wiping the tears that had been falling rapidly down your cheeks and facing him. His eyes widened when he caught your eyes. You moved the strands of hair away from your face. "Good job, Jeon Jungkook. Shooting another heart in the dark. Feels so good, doesn't it?" you sniffed, biting your lower lip to stop yourself from crying more, but you couldn't help yourself at this point.

"Y/n… I…" he tried to say, but you were quick to interrupt. "I don't need your explanations. Moreover, I don't need you. I think you understand the statement well enough, hm? Or do I dumb it down even further?" you hissed at him, moving closer till your faces were inches apart. Your eyes softened.

"You disgust me, sweetheart."

And you turned away, leaving the dormitory.

You left, and you did not look back. Anywhere was better than where he was. You ignored the blank stares of Jimin, Yoongi or Ara as you stomped away, sternly, through the portrait and out into the corridors.

How could he? The situation angered you. How could he do all of that, how could he just use you like a piece of shit, like you were garbage being treated like you deserved, when in reality, you didn't deserve the mistreatment you were given.

You walked forever, thinking of it all, bumping into no one, to your slight surprise. You had feelings, you wanted closure, but you didn't want it right now. Right now, all you could bear to think of was how broken you were.

How he broke you.

He had no rights to do that. He couldn't have. He didn't even give you a straight reason. Maybe he didn't like you, maybe he knew it wouldn't work. Maybe he had someone else on his mind even if he was trying to hump you.

But would that make sense?

You shook your head. Guys were guys, and you wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. He wasn't seeking serious relationships anyway, and you hadn't seen him with some girl, but even if he was with someone, it didn't matter to him. And the thought hurt you.

So, if you were with him, if you were to be with Jeon Jungkook, you'd expect him to come to you with hickies you hadn't given him, with pleasure you hadn't provide, with kisses that weren't planted by your lips?

Maybe it was better, maybe it was for the best that you didn't get together.

That he didn't like you.

A/N:. so that marks the end of this part! Tumblr hates me :) so I had to split it into two parts, but whatevs. Hoped you enjoyed, loves. <33

[fredsweaslies]

the gardens that grow between us | chapter six

● word count: 1707

● new fic index

AS THE PAIR OF GIRLS BEGAN TO GET COMFORTABLE WITH THEIR NEW LIFE AT SCHOOL,  the first Hogsmeade weekend quickly approached. Just before the term started, Paloma and Dolores could barely contain their excitement when their parents signed the permission slips to allow the girls to leave school grounds. That morning, the girls couldn't wait to wear something other than their robes and busted out their best casual attire. They headed out with Draco, shivering at the sight of the dementors that stood guard in front of the castle.

"Where do you want to go first?" Dolores asked Draco, "I am not going around Hogsmede with you two." He said disgustingly.

"Scared we'll embarrass you, Malfoy?" Paloma said in a British accent, mocking him.

"I would rather be skinned alive than find out what you two find fun in Hogsmede." He scoffed, the two girls putting on a fake expression of shock.

"That is no way to talk to your future wife!" Dolores joked, gasping and clutching her heart.

When they entered the crowded village, they couldn't keep their eyes off of the cute novelty shops that never seemed to end. In this, Draco disappeared. The girls decided to start their trip off with an ice cream shop near the entrance of the village.

As they stood in line at the kitsch ice cream parlor, they bantered about all the different flavors on the menu.

"Do you think it's any different from ice cream in America?" Dolores asked, their eyes still glued at the menu. "For these prices, I sure hope so." The two giggled. Just then, the boy in front of them turned around. It was Oliver Wood. Paloma straightened up.

"I thought I recognized that voice." He cooed, flashing Paloma a smile.

"Hey, Oliver." As confident as Paloma was in every other aspect of her life when it came to boys she became as shy as any other girl.

"I recommend the strawberry and peanut flavor, it's what I always get." He recommended kindly. Paloma couldn't stop herself from meeting his gaze.

"Sounds great." She said meekly. As he placed his order, Dolores quietly teased Paloma by fluttering her eyelashes and mouthing "Oh Oliver!"

When he reached the register, he told the cashier that he would be paying for Paloma and Dolores' orders as well.

"Oh - Oliver you don't have to." Paloma intercepted, but he was already handing over his coins to the cashier.

"No, I insist." He said confidently, "Thanks, Oliver." Dolores commented sweetly, "I like him." She mouthed.

"Hey - Paloma..." Oliver called, who was now in the middle of the shop, stopping as he was about to leave. Paloma started attentively.

"I was wondering, if you're not busy next weekend, would you like to go on a date?"

Paloma swore she was going to faint.

"Of - of course. Yes, I would love to." She nodded eagerly and clutched her ice cream cup tightly.

"Perfect, I'll see you then." He smiled before heading out the door and meeting his friends that were waiting outside the shop.

"No fucking way." Dolores exclaimed. Paloma sighed and couldn't stop smiling.

The two sat down at the table that was right in front of the shop window.

"I can't believe that you already have a date with one of the hottest guys at Hogwarts," Dolores said amazedly, "A guy can't even look my way in the halls."

"Are you kidding? What's that red-heads name again? The one who's friends with Hermione?" Paloma pondered, shoveling a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth.

"Ron? What about him?" Dolores started to turn pink.

"Oh, you know what, he's totally in puppy-love with you."

"I haven't even spoken a word to him."

"Yeah, but guys are dumb, that won't stop them from having a crush on you. I see the way he stares at you," Paloma continued, "The other day when we were at breakfast and when we walked past their table he spilled his pumpkin juice all over his sweater when he saw you."

"You're crazy."

"Hey, just some food for thought. Not my fault you're oblivious," with ice cream still in her mouth, she added "don't you think he's cute?"

Dolores stayed quiet, "I knew it." Paloma laughed.

"I'm too nervous to talk to him, and from the looks of it he is too."

"Aren't you study buddies with Hermione now? Just ask her to set you guys up."

"No, she's not like that. I'm better off starting things off organically."

"Up to you," Paloma continued, "does he have any brothers?"

"Yeah, Hermione mentioned that he has these twin brothers on the Quidditch team, and I think another one who's a prefect for Gryffindor, why?"

"While at practice the other day there were these cute red-head twins on Gryffindor, I just figured."

"No way, you're trying to get with the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team." Dolores laughed.

"Hey, we just got here, a girl can't have options?" The two snickered and finished their ice cream. When they opened the door of the parlor to leave, Paloma bumped harshly into Pansy Perkins.

"Watch it." Pansy taunted. Behind her were two Slytherin girls who towered over Paloma and Dolores.

"What is your deal?" Dolores demanded, crossing her arms, "Jealous because of Draco?"

This sent Pansy to grow bright red from anger, "You better pipe down, Lola." The two Slytherin girls behind her laughed at her remark.

"Move." Paloma demanded. Pansy and her cronies were blocking the girls from leaving.

"Make me."

"Don't say I didn't warn you." Paloma sniggered, pulling out her wand and throwing it up against Pansy's throat. Pansy retreated into the arms of her friends behind her.

"Excuse me!" Interrupted a voice, Professor McGonagall marched up to the group of girls.

"Detention, Miss Martinez," Paloma's face turned pink as Pansy and her friends giggled quietly behind McGonagall. "Off to the castle, all of you." She ordered, all the girls groaned and were sent on the walk of shame back to Hogwarts.

★

Even with the excitement during their first Halloween feast, that was no match to Paloma's disappointment in herself over her first detention. She stopped every step of the way that night after leaving her things in their room. She was sent to the great hall and dreaded finding out what she would have to do as a punishment.

When she entered the hall, only one person was sitting at a table in the empty space. One of the red-headed twins from Gryffindor. His head whipped up at her, his stunned expression greeting her. She smiled shyly and sat across from him at what would be the Gryffindor table.

"Hi." She greeted.

"Hello." He was still shocked to see her. Before Paloma could say anything else, she heard incoming footsteps.

"You two," Sprang Professor McGonagall, who was dressed in what seemed to be a black nightgown, "Your task tonight is to clean the silverware from today's meals, without magic." They both groaned as she waved her wand and sent the silverware from a nearby table to the table they were sat at.

"I will be back in an hour." She alerted. She quietly walked away and shut the huge wooden doors behind her.

The red-headed boy let out a sigh and began to pick up the silverware and scrubber.

"So, I take you're Paloma?" He said, she was shocked he knew her name.

"Yeah, how do you know?" She asked.

"You American students are all anyone has been talking about." He laughed, scrubbing a spoon, "I'm Fred." Paloma nodded.

"You have a twin? Or am I going insane?" This made him chuckle, "Yeah, that's George." Paloma nodded again and started to focus on wiping the cups with a damp towel.

"What brings you here?" He asked.

"Put a wand up to Pansy Parkinson's throat." Fred roared with laughter and slammed his palm down on the table, causing the silverware to rattle. "What about you?" She asked.

"Put firecrackers in the Ravenclaw toilets, a poor first year is officially scarred for life." The two tried to stifle laughs from the horrible prank, "You know, you're not as cruel and demeaning as others in your house."

"So I've heard." She giggled, passing a fork to him to scrub.

"I hear you've gotten mighty cozy to Wood." He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Oh god." She laughed.

"How do I know you're not just interested in him so you can gain all our secrets?" Fred prodded.

"Don't worry, I'll still go hard on him during our matches." She shot a smile up at Fred who was staring attentively up at her.

The two spent the hour laughing and giggling as Fred recounted his many pranks with George, and Paloma told him all about the embarrassing things she had caught Draco doing during their youth. Whenever there was a lull in the conversation from their focus on scrubbing and polishing the utensils, Paloma would look up and Fred and catch him staring at her. He would immediately shoot his eyes down to the cup he was cleaning to avoid being noticed. But Paloma surely took notice and simpered to herself while she wiped down the silverware. Suddenly, Professor McGonagall burst through the doors.

"Weasley, Martinez." She called, sounding slightly frantic. The two students looked up at her concerned, "There's been an incident up in the Gryffindor common room. You two can stop for now, we're sending students to sleep in here tonight."

Paloma got chills as she stood up from the table, standing arm to arm with Fred who towered over her.

"What do you think happened?" Paloma asked innocently, watching students from all four houses pile into the great hall. Everyone was still in their nightgowns and pajamas. Fred shrugged. As the Slytherins made their way in, Dolores hurried over to Paloma.

"Sirius Black tore up the painting in front of Gryffindor's common room!" Dolores exclaimed, panicked. "What?" Paloma and Fred said at the same time.

"I'll catch you later, Paloma." Fred said, rushing over to his brothers George and Ron as soon as they made it inside.

The two girls found Draco, who was chuckling to himself over the frenzy that was happening in the great hall.

◀︎ chapter five ☆ chapter seven ▶︎

[hermannsthumb]

ok trying this again lol hopefully tumblr doesn't eat my message but i saw where you reblogged that halloween prompts last night and wanted to request "strangers who hooked up at a party while in costume but tbh i might be in love with you so i’m gonna walk this earth looking for the right woodland nymph" for newmann. the thought of hermann dressed as a woodland nymph is CUTE!! thank you, maria

from list of halloween prompts here

HEHE this one took me a while bc i’ve been slammed with a cold the past few days thats made me want to do nothing but like. lie in bed. HERE YOU GO ENJOY

———————————————

“Sexy fairy, huh?” Newt says.

The dude leaning against the wall lowers his drink and frowns. “Pardon?”

“Shit,” Newt says. “Hang on. Sorry.” He pulls out his plastic fangs and works his jaw a few times, then settles right back into his most charming smile. ���I said sexy fairy, huh?”

“Oh,” the dude says. He looks down at himself–the illfitting white tunic, the tacky fake vines glued to it, his sandals (socks with sandals, actually, wow)–and gives a self-conscious tug at the equally tacky flower crown atop his head. He’s a real hottie. Big brown eyes, dark eyelashes, cheekbones–definitely Newt’s type. He’s surprised that no one else dove in to chat him up first. “I think it’s meant to be a nymph, actually. I bought it at the costume shop on the way here.”

He’s all posh and English. Newt wasn’t expecting that, but he thinks he can dig it. He leers. “So the sexy is all you, then?”

The nymph’s frown only deepens. “What do you mean?”

“I mean–” Newt sighs. “I was calling you sexy.”

“Oh,” the nymph says again. “Er. Thank you.”

They slip into uncomfortable silence. (Way to go, Newt. Struck out already.) “Are you here alone?” Newt tries again.

It’s the wrong thing to ask: the nymph makes a face and takes a long sip of his drink. (Purple, with weird foam on top, probably whatever’s sitting in the punchbowl marked Witch’s Brew.) “Yes,” he says. “I came with my date, but he–ah–”

His eyes drift to a guy in a semi-matching costume on the dance floor, who’s currently bumping up against some hunk dressed as a sexy pirate.“Ditched you?” Newt says.

The nymph makes a non-committed sound. His hand tightens around the head of his cane (which he’s also wound fake vines around–Newt appreciates the creativity). “I didn’t want to dance,” he says, and then it’s his turn to sigh. “We only met a week ago, on some moronic–dating app my sister insisted I try. I should’ve known he’d…”

That won’t do; Newt was trying to get the guy’s number, not send him spiraling into moodiness. “Hey, I’m here alone, too,” Newt says. “All alone.” He doesn’t even know the host–it’s one of Tendo’s exes, he thinks, who he may or may not have gotten sushi with one time years ago but never bothered unfriending on Facebook.

“Mm,” the nymph says. He gives Newt a long once-over. Newt wishes that he’d planned better, and worn something a little sexier than just standard vampire. (Like sexy pirate; the guy the nymph’s date latched onto instead had the right idea.) As is, he’s probably only passably sexy: his pants are tight enough, and his shirt is open enough, and he has enough glitter in his hair (because it’s fun) to light up like a fucking disco ball in the light. “I suppose you’re going to ask me for my mobile number now. Or offer to get me a drink, despite the fact that I clearly already have one.”

Newt grins goofily. “That was the plan.”

He get another long, considering stare. Then the nymph sets his drink down and clasps his free hand around Newt’s wrist. “Follow me,” he says.

“Cool,” Newt says. “Uh, are we going to the kitchen? I think it’s–”

They’re not going to the kitchen: they’re going to an empty broom closet. Newt can appreciate a forward-thinking man who knows what he wants.

“You ought to know,” the nymph gasps, tangling his fingers in Newt’s hair, “I don’t really do these sorts of things.”

“Really?” Newt says. He grins up at him, face inches from the guy’s stupid tighty-whiteys. “’Cause I do. You want me to put my fangs back in?”

“No. Ah–!”

***************************

Newt wakes up with a hangover (predictable), his phone buzzing off the side table with his alarm (annoying), and the strangest sensation that he met the love of his life last night (unexpected). The sensation is only amplified when he picks up his phone and sees that he’s, apparently, sent no less than five texts to his dad about it (his fucking dad, of all people, Newt needs some friends), but it quickly turns to dread when he sees the mess that is his poor forearm.

(“I’ve got a spot right here,” Newt slurred. After mutually-reciprocated hijinks in the closet, he and the nymph–who had told him his name at one point, Newt was sure, he just totally forgot–proceeded to get totally smashed off whatever the fuck Witch’s Brew was and then make out in the corner until Newt finally reminded him that he still wanted his phone number. The nymph was game. He was less game when Newt showed him where to write it in bold black Magic Marker one he rucked up his sleeve: his right forearm, between his jellyfish tattoo and his Godzilla tattoo, on a small patch of empty, freckled skin.

“Cute,” the nymph said, wryly.

He said it in a way that made it clear he didn’t think Newt’s tats were actually very cute. “I like them,” Newt said.

“Can’t I just–” the nymph was struggling with the marker, “–put it right in your, ah, phone?”

“This is more fun,” Newt said.”)

The number is nothing more than a smeary mess now–probably casualty to the massive rainstorm raging outside that, if Newt’s soaked pile of clothing on the floor means anything, has been raging since he stumbled home last night. 

He can’t even remember the guy’s name.

SOS, he ends up texting Tendo after a healthy amount of coffee and Tylenol. hooked up with super hot guy at a party last night and have no fucking clue how to see him again and i think i might be in love. help

you’re almost forty, Tendo replies, which is no help and isn’t at all the sick burn Tendo probably thought it was.

Newt resorts to stalking Tendo’s ex’s Facebook page instead. For anything, really. There are only a few photos up from the party last night (so far, anyway), and most of them are focused on the dance floor and the guy’s friends. Newt clicks through obsessively anyway. The ornate Jack-O-Lanterns that’d been on the front porch, Tendo’s ex and some chick in zombie makeup, the punchbowl of foaming purple Witch’s Brew, and–finally, in the very back corner of a shot–Newt standing with his mystery man. Tacky crown and all. He exists, at least, not some extremely specific hallucination on Newt’s part, even though a reverse image search turns up with absolutely nothing but links to buy his costume. 

He has better luck with a blurry photo of his mystery guy’s (deadbeat) date laughing in the kitchen under the bright orange string lights: Tendo’s ex actually tagged him. Probably because he wasn’t totally crashing the party after seeing a post about it like Newt was. Newt’s luck pretty much stops there; not only does the guy make no mention of the nymph Newt spent the night with when Newt stalks his page, but he hasn’t updated his status in literally six months, and none of his friends (because Newt combs through his friends list, too) look remotely like Newt’s mystery man.

So. Newt sends him a friend request.

He accepts it in the amount of time it takes Newt to take to feed his fish, heat up a tiny bowl of spaghetti-o’s, and regret sending it in the first place; he almost spills the bowl over his laptop in his hurry to send a message. Hey, weird question, but who’d you bring to that party last night?

lol why?

“I’m in love with him” is definitely a little forward, so Newt makes up a fast, and hopefully at least mildly believable, lie. He has my umbrella.

Typing for a while. tbh idrk him, we met online. his name was hermann

Then: i think hes a teacher or something

who are you anyway? comes a second later.

Hermann. Newt likes it. It also rings a very, very vague bell. cool thanks! Newt sends back, and then quickly unfriends the guy. Anyone who could possibly ditch a guy as hot and funny and, overall, perfect as Hermann (as Newt remembers him, anyway) is not worth Newt’s time.

exciting update, he texts Tendo. his name is Hermann!

Newt has a lecture to teach at six, three hours from now, so in lieu of actually preparing for it, he decides to be a creepy stalker instead. Hermann’s date said he was a teacher: none of the local public schools have a Hermann (or a Herman, for that matter) on any of their staff pages, K all the way up to Twelve, nor do the private schools. He has better luck when he pokes through staff directories for nearby universities instead: this gives him two Hermans and one Hermann, but neither of their provided pictures look remotely like Newt’s Hermann. Not even when Newt squints.

He spares another miserable glance at the smeary ink on his arm before shutting his laptop. Maybe it’s just not meant to be.

He’s walking to campus from his bus stop the following week–the day before Halloween–when the most fucking unbelievable thing in the world happens.

He sees Hermann.

Just sitting outside the campus coffee shop at a little table, sipping a paper travel mug dotted with little orange pumpkins. Reading over some notes. Newt’s sure it’s Hermann: it’s Hermann’s big brown eyes, Hermann’s long eyelashes, Hermann’s sharp cheekbones, Hermann’s cane propped against the brick wall next to him. Newt’d recognize him even with the stupid nymph costume swapped for more sensible sweatervest and tweed. “Hermann!” he shouts excitedly, waving both arms. “Dude!”

Hermann looks up. He drops his coffee.

He’s completely speechless when Newt finally manages to book it across the street (dodging traffic, including the bus he came in on) and collapse, panting, into the empty seat across from him. “I can’t believe it’s you!” Newt says. “Holy shit, dude! I’ve been trying like crazy to track you down. I lost your number, so I had to message your shitty boyfriend–”

“Not my boyfriend,” Hermann says, faintly.

“Right, your shitty date,” Newt corrects. “You look so good. I almost didn’t recognize you without all the leaves. I’m so glad I found you. What are you doing here, anyway?”

Hermann blinks a few times. Registering it all. “I work–” He says, and gestures to the stairs that lead up to the main part of campus. “Er, here. Physics. I teach physics.”

That explains why Newt couldn’t find him on any faculty pages–he just assumed that Hermann couldn’t possibly be working at the same university as him and didn’t bother checking. He though he would’ve remembered seeing a face like that around. Physics, though, makes sense–it’s not like they’d be in the same building. “I do too!” Newt says. He leans in, beaming away. “Well, not physics, biology. I can’t remember if I told you my name or not. It’s Newt. Dr. Geiszler, if you wanna be serious, but I’m pretty sure we’re way beyond that at this point.”

“Ah,” Hermann says. “No, you didn’t say your name.” He blinks a few more times before finally seeming to get over his shock, and it’s replaced with mild amusement instead. A small smile. “You’re a doctor?”

“Are you that shocked?”

“You’re not very–” Hermann does a very bad job of disguising his laugh as a cough. “Professional. You know–at the, ah, party, you really should’ve just let me–”

“I know,” Newt says, and Hermann’s smile grows.

“Writing it on your arm was a terrible idea,” Hermann says. “I was horribly offended, you know, when you didn’t call the next day.”

Newt fishes his phone out of his pocket, unlocks it, and offers it out to Hermann with a grin. “Looks like I won’t be making the same mistake twice, then.”

[thinkaboutdobrik]

Not Clickbait → David Dobrik

a/n: this wasn’t requested. i just felt like writing this and once i started i just couldn’t stop lol

based on vlog #531 «we had to call the paramedics!! (bad idea)» where david shows a mode on his tesla 😏

warning: a tad bit steamy 🤤

-

another long day of filming with your friend group was finally over. everybody had gotten their content and were good to go. as per usual some people would crash at david's seeing as how it had already passed midnight.

the rest of the group either had their own rides home or was riding with david, taking advantage of him and his handy dandy tesla.

jonah was in the back with trisha and jason whilst you got the pleasure of watching the streets from the front through his big windows. after dropping trisha and jason off at trisha's house you eventually made it over to the antonyan’s to drop jonah off.

«see ya,» david waved his hand loosely in the air as jonah stepped out of the car.

he turned in his seat to face you. «still down to crash at my place? there's really no problem in driving you home.» david shrugged with a smile on his face before turning around again to back up his car out of the driveway.

sleeping over at david's house only felt natural at this point. you were very close with both him and nathalie so they never minded. countless of nights had been spent on either the love sack or the couch, mostly because david loved having you by his side when he was up late editing, but also because you'd always spend most of your time there considering the drive home was too far to bother.

a part of you wanted to get home to your bed, but a bigger part of you wanted to spend the night with david again.

«no, i'll crash on the couch if you don't mind.» you smiled and fluttered your eyelashes. he let out a small chuckle in return and a smile before driving down the street.

you cherished every moment spent around david. it was like he brought out the best in you. you were never shy around him, and he felt kind of like a safe place. he enjoyed spending his time with you as well, and it showed on the way he behaved. yes, he was the goofy, funny, sweet guy everybody knew him by, but with you he was different. a good different. he had a certain look in his eyes whenever he’d gaze into yours. he’d do the smallest kind gestures, like pull out the chair for you, or smile wider at you than the other guys, and it was very clear he cared about you.

the drive home was just as any other drive home with david. you belted all sorts of songs, laughter filling the car, and shot a few bits for his vlogs. he loved the camera on you and the way you rolled with it whenever it was pointed at you.

as you approached his house, you made it through his gate and he smoothly parked the car. «think they’re asleep by now?» david asked, trying to catch a glimpse of any movement coming from the house through the big glass windows.

«probably not,» you chuckled, looking in the same direction as him. you furrowed your eyebrows and squinted your eyes, focusing on the little gap between the curtains and the wall. «i’m sure they found something to entertain themselves with» you laughed.

david reached for his camera resting between the two of you and placed it on top of the dashboard, hitting record. you didn’t pay it too much attention, as you had gotten used to the camera recording everything the majority of the time.

«speaking of entertaining...» david smiled to the camera and bit his lip before looking in your direction. you looked at him, slightly confused, as he reached over to the camera to hold it.

«tell me if this turns you on,» he started, a big smile forming on his face, as he adjusted himself in the seat. «let’s say i’m in the car with you, just chillin’, and things are going right.» he said, talking with his hands and looking at you. you nodded and smiled, patiently waiting for the peak of whatever bit this was.

he panned the camera from you to the touch screen of his car. «i go to my tesla, hit that button, and the heat turns on.» he explained and showed both you and the camera as he pressed a few buttons on the big screen. the screen turned black for a split second before turning into a loading screen and revealing a fake fireplace.

«that’s sick!» you gasped, taking in the technology that was in front of you.

«yeah? and then it starts playing music.» he smirked and looked at you as slow r&b music filled the car.

you licked your lips as a smile snuck up on your face. «so this is how you get laid?» you flirted, fluttering your eyelashes for comedy purposes, remembering the camera was still on you.

david let out a small chuckle at your question before placing the camera back down on the dashboard. his eyes gazing into yours as the calming music and the electronic fireplace relaxed your nerves.

leaning to your side you propped up, supporting yourself on the armrest console, looking at him with a small smirk forming on the corners of your mouth.

«is this the part where we kiss?» you whispered, glancing down at his lips before landing them back up at his eyes, feeding the camera some good footage and possibly clickbait.

he leaned in closer to you, resting his arm next to yours, nodding and biting his lips. «yeah.» he whispered as he looked down on your lips.

you swallowed hard as you felt your heart racing at his response. unsure of what to do, let alone how to act, your eyes left david’s and landed on the camera.

«haha, that’s a funny bit.» you laughed.

david had his eyes glued to yours. he shook his head as a small smile appeared on his lips and let out a chuckle. «it’s not a bit.» he smirked.

you pulled back a little to look at him, confusion hitting you as your eyes darted from the camera to him. «what?» you asked, tilting your head and scrunching your eyebrows.

he turned his head to the dashboard before looking back at you, leaning even closer to you now. «the camera is off.» he replied as he smiled softly at you, his minty breath lightly hitting your lips. «kiss me.»

your eyes widened at his words as you felt your heart beating a little faster, cheeks starting to become more flushed than they already were from just being around him.

«i really can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.» you nervously laughed.

your faces were mere inches away from eachother now, basking in eachothers presence.

«i am.» he whispered in a low voice, glancing down at your lips as he bit his bottom lip.

you felt instant butterflies in your stomach at his presence before he reached his hand forward to place it on your thigh, lightly grabbing the inside of it sending shivers down your spine, making the butterflies in your stomach turn into lions stampeding.

«yeah?» you asked quitely.

«yeah.» he assured, nodding his head slowly. «just tell me if you want me to stop.» he said as his nose brushed against yours, gently placing his palm on your jaw.

his warm breath brushed over your lips before his soft lips gently met yours. hesitant to kiss him back you slid your hands over his shoulders and wrapped your arms around his neck, finally pulling him closer towards you to deepen the kiss. you closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of his soft, plump lips against yours, smiling into the kiss.

you pulled away, lightly biting your lip as he smiled at you, his cheeks blushing just as much as yours.

never had you thought you’d be kissing david. you had always imagined and wondered what it would be like, what it would feel like, and now you knew.

«we should get inside.» you giggled and leaned back in the seat, trying your best not to grin from ear to ear.

«good idea.» he chuckled and fixed his black cap before the two of you unbluckled your seat belts and walked to the house.