#also the architecture... *moans*

[sunnami]

❝we can't be friends (wait for your love.)❞

[credits to @artofpan for the lovely art! title is taken from ariana grande's song, we can't be friends.]

summary. fortune favours the bold, so they say. but you're an awkward ravenclaw in yearning.

pairing/s. poly!marauders x reader (james potter x reader, lily evans x reader, remus lupin x reader, and sirius black x reader.)

word count. 11.4k

tags. childhood friends to ex-friends to lovers, fluff, minor angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like remus and tonks, also a bit of spice ;3

note. asdhjf while im working on the last part of the time traveller au pls enjoy this fluffy piecee ueueue

‘TIS THE SEASON OF raucous jeering and gaudy paraphernalia in the corridors, the unmistakable scent of overly-polished brooms, mud trekking through the cobblestone floors, and jerseys soaked in sweat, rain, and grime after hours of vigorous training. The dreaded second week of school where arrogant fledglings end up in the infirmary on account of broken noses, dislocated shoulders, or sprained wrists.

In other words: Quidditch tryouts. 

You’re just not fond of the havoc wreaked in every corner and alcove of the castle. But to your relief, the library remains untouched through it all. 

Needless to say, you absolutely hate Quidditch. 

It is a fact you simply will not elaborate on. The skies are blue, the grass blades are green; you and the Marauders are as different as night and day. 

On your way to the library, the last bastion of academia, you weave past the crowd in the courtyard corridor, ears ringing from the shouting match earlier in the Great Hall for breakfast—something about the Cannons versus the Magpies. There’s a pile of books shoved inside your leather satchel, painfully bumping into your hip with each step you take. You traverse through the Romanesque architecture, blissfully unaware of the misfortune to come. 

“If I study for Charms now, I can take a nap for the rest of the day,” You say to yourself, pensively tapping at your chin. 

“Watch out!” 

You barely have any time to react before a Quaffle comes crashing straight into your face. 

“Merlin’s hairy arsehole—fuck!” There’s a sicky sound of bones cracking, a dizzying flash of white before your eyes, and something viscous trickling from your nose down to your lips. Your hands fly to your face—instantly flinching when you catch a glimpse of your fingers dipped in blood. Your eyes grow wide in panic, chest rapidly heaving—it’s only now that you realize that you’re sitting on the ground, textbooks laying haphazardly around you, shoulders quivering from the adrenaline. The crowd’s concerned murmurs are lost in the cacophony of hysteria. 

“Move!” 

To your rescue, is Alice Fortescue, a fellow prefect. She cuts through the onlookers of petrified first-years and nosey fifth-years. You have no doubt this incident will grace the school’s gossip column for the next few days. She grabs your arm and wraps it around her shoulder with ease. You’d write poetry of her gallant display, but you were too busy moaning in agony. She utters a few incantations to stop your nosebleed from worsening, though there’s not much she can do to help with the possible concussion. 

“Did you know Bludgers used to be called blooders?” You mumble languidly, nearly crashing into one of the knight statues. 

“I do now,” replies Alice, tightening her hold on your waist, the ghost of a fond smile on her face. (She’s missed you, actually—three and a half years of radio silence. There used to be a time where running into you in the Gryffindor common rooms was an everyday occurrence. Even the Ravenclaw prefects knew where to look first if they wanted to find you.)

After what feels like an eternity of trudging through the castle, you finally reach the infirmary. The matron, Poppy Pomfrey, shrieks in alarm at the sight of your soiled blouse and blood stained lips. She gently ushers you into her hold, guiding you to a vacant bed. Alice hangs back, awkwardly shuffling her feet, gaze worriedly trained on you. 

“You may return to your classes, Miss Fortescue, thank you,” says Madam Pomfrey, tipping your head upwards and grimacing.  “Oh, good heavens, what happened?” 

Your head droops in her palms, blood trickling from the corner of your mouth—you must have bit your tongue earlier. You blubber pathetically, “Got hit by a stray quaffle.” 

Wordlessly, Madam Pomfrey summons a vial from her stash in the cupboards. She hands the small bottle to you, uttering various healing spells under her breath with a deft expertise of someone who’s been doing this for years upon years now. “There,” says Madam Pomfrey, lips firmly pursed. “That should help with the fractured cheekbones.”

With—what?

As your eyes bulge out of your head, Madam Pomfrey looks over you once more, a floating quill at her side hastily scribbling on a parchment. “Concussion, mild blood loss, fracture in the cheekbones, broken nose cartilage.” She illuminates the tip of her wand, and moves it left and right in front of you. “Hmm. Any nausea at all, dear?”

“There’s a six point four chance I’m going to get amnesia,” You whisper solemnly, head hanging low as your voice cracks from the unbearable pain. “I don’t want to get amnesia.”

“There’s no need for you to worry about that while you’re under my care.” Madam Pomfrey gently nudges you to lay on the pillow. She hands you a folded blanket. “Rest now. We’ll keep you here until the morning in case your condition worsens.”

“I can’t.” You groan, sitting upright—Madam Pomfrey pushes you back onto the bed with a stern glare. “I’ve got to study.”

“And I’ve got three other students to tend to. Mister Lockhart has been dealing with food poisoning all week.” Madam Pomfrey places her hands on her hips, sighing sharply. She jerks her thumb behind her back—that’s when you notice that three certain people are staring back at you. Sirius Black and James Potter squeezing together in one chair—and miserably failing—and Remus Lupin, resting cozily on the infirmary bed with bandages around his arms and head. “And don’t even get me started on this one.”

“You love him, Poppy, don’t lie.” Sirius grins wolfishly at the matron. You make out the sunken bags underneath his gray eyes, pale lips and his unkempt heap of dark curls. 

Pomfrey huffs exasperatedly. “It would be easier to wrangle a hoard of Hippogriffs than to keep you three out of the infirmary past visiting hours.” She spares you one last glance, nodding when she deems you safe and healthy—as can be, anyway. Gilderoy Lockhart rolls out of his bed, his cries echoing around the room, threatening to barf up his entire breakfast, and Madam Pomfrey is gone in an instant. 

There is an awkward silence that envelops your side of the room—you roll over on your left, desperately ignoring the three of stares burning intensely into your back. 

THE STORY GOES like this: 

You know their names more than you know your own. Each morning finds them at the Ravenclaw common room’s doorstep—while waiting, Lily, Sirius and Remus try to figure out the password as James attempts to brute force his way in. (He had actually figured out the riddle minutes ago, James would just rather play along with his friends.) The blue-tied prefects watch endearingly as one of their first-years rush out of the tower, squealing deafeningly, and jumps right into the lion cubs’ embrace. (It’s not that Inter-House friendships are rare, it’s more common than one would think; usually, it just takes more time for the eaglets to break out of their shell.) 

“I got a hundred and twelve!” You exclaim merrily, hair in disarray and eyes puffy from having just woken up. Lily grabs your hands; together, the both of you jump up and down, excitedly giggling in celebration of the success of your History of Magic essay. (You had ignored them for a day to focus on your homework—Sirius did not like that at all. It wasn’t as fun to play if one of their friends were missing. Gone off to study, of all things.) 

The tale of your friendship may be an unsolved mystery to some, but to you, it’s like finding jigsaw pieces that perfectly fit together. Magic isn’t only centaurs in forbidden forests, or ceilings bewitched to look like the night sky—sometimes it’s stumbling into a random train compartment and shyly offering your bag of assorted treats. Next thing you know, Lily Evans and Marlene McKinnon are constantly with you in the library, oohing and aahing over pages of the fantasy novels Lily had brought from the muggle world. 

There’s rarely a day where you aren’t spotted in a sea of red and gold. Except when you’ve studied yourself sick—and the Marauders are never fond of that. 

(“I’m sorry, she can’t come down today,” says one of the fifth-year prefects, Lalita Burman, a rather tall girl with intricate curls, brown skin, and eyes that stare into one’s soul. She wakes up to banging on the tower entrance, not even eight o’clock in the morning yet—on a Saturday. It doesn’t come off as a surprise anymore when she opens the door to five red-faced children. “She’s come down with the flu. Most of the firsties have, actually. Madam Pomfrey says they’ll get better by tomorrow but Alex and I have been running ourselves ragged looking after them.” 

James Potter narrows his eyes at her. “Okay. Then we’ll go inside.” 

“Maybe we can help,” says Remus. 

Lalita holds up her hand to stop them from barging in. “That’s really sweet, but we can’t risk any of you getting sick as well.” 

Sirius stands on his toes to spy past Lalita’s shoulder, frowning when he finds nothing of importance—or really, when he can’t find you. He couldn’t wait to call you stupid for getting yourself sick—you just missed out on frog hunting. “That’s alright.” He huffs, shoulders slumping dejectedly. “Our immune system can take it. Will you let us in now?” 

Her eye twitches. “Come back tomorrow.” 

With that, she slams the door in their faces. 

The Marauders then declare you are never, ever allowed to get sick again.) 

Your second year in the castle creeps up on you without you noticing. 

“Remus Lupin, I am going to kill you!” 

No one bats an eyelash when you stalk up to the Gryffindor table, twelve years old and on a mission, fresh from the summer holidays. You slam your hands down onto the table, eyes ablaze as Remus stares at you, head resting on his palms, shaggy blond hair falling over his brows—no thoughts, head empty, just sheer adoration. 

“Hello there, stranger,” Remus says, grinning fiendishly. “You look rather lovely—did you have a good holiday?” 

You scoff, pointing an accusatory finger at him—Peter watches at the scene with wide eyes, slowly chomping on his shepherd’s pie, not an inkling as to what was going on. “Don’t try me, Lupin!” You exclaim sternly. “That book you gave me—you said it would have a happy ending! Tell me why I stayed up until bloody five o’clock in the morning crying me eyes out! You. . . you—!” 

“Wanker, dingbat, berk, git,” Lily supplies helpfully with an innocent smile, pulling you down to sit with her. “And my personal favorite—toerag.” 

You gape at the pretty redhead, jaw falling to the floor. “How do you even know these words?” 

She hums nonchalantly, spreading blueberry jam onto her buttered toast. “A lady must arm herself with the necessary ammunition.” Lily points to a certain pair of boys—James and Sirius are currently engaged in an eating contest, shoveling pancakes after pancakes inside their mouths; so far it looks like Sirius is winning. Lily sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes, “Especially if she wants to survive that kind of company.”  

“Him, even more,” says Lily, gesturing to Remus. “He may be Professor McGonagall’s golden boy but I see right through him.” 

“What can I say?” Remus smirks, helplessly shrugging his shoulders. “I’m a monster.” 

Lily glares at him. 

Then, you turn thirteen—the dreaded age. Suddenly, you’re dealing with oily skin, acne, body odor, hair growing out of places you didn’t even know could grow hair, hormones messing up the way you look at everyone else—something awakens in you the day you see Dorcas Meadowes in the Quidditch pitch wearing a black sleeveless turtleneck—and hormones messing up the way you look at yourself. 

Everything is starting to change. 

You usually never blink twice when James wraps his arms around your waist, laying his head on your shoulder. Except this time, he’s gone from a gangly bean sprout, to a heartthrob with perfectly messy hair, newly defined muscles from his countless hours of Quidditch training, charming smile, eyes that one could get lost into for hours, and a tantalizing scent of mint and bergamot. 

“Are you really not going to our game this Saturday?” James whispers in your ear—the five of you had been hanging out in the library. 

You sigh. “Can‘t. Sorry.” 

“Scared your House is going to lose to us, pet?” Sirius teases from where he’s sitting backwards on the chair next to you, engrossed in twirling locks of your hair around his finger. 

You bristle at the nickname—they have been brazen with the endearments lately, you’ve noticed. “It’s not like we’re going to win anyway,” You mumble, tapping your quill on the empty parchment—there’s never any work done while they’re around. “There’s only a sixteen point seven percent chance of Ravenclaw winning against Gryffindor.”

James wrinkles his nose, now sitting on the edge of the table. “Percent, shmercent. What matters is how everyone plays that day.” 

He kicks his legs against yours, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “So, will you come watch?” 

“We have that History of Magic project, remember,” You say defeatedly. “I need to get started on it this week otherwise I’ll be behind all the electives I signed up for this year.” 

Lily frowns, looking up from her own homework to glance at you in concern. “How many did you even pick?” 

“All of them.” 

“What?” Lily screeches in terror, suddenly rising from her seat to lean over the table. “How is that even possible? How did McGonagall even allow that?” 

“Professor Flitwick,” You correct, wincing when Lily and Sirius glare at you. “It took a lot of convincing, but eventually I wore him down. All I had to do was rework some of my class schedules and promise him over a thousand times that my wellbeing wouldn’t ever be compromised by my studies. Otherwise he’d take back his decision.” 

Remus doesn’t seem all too happy. “No wonder we don’t see you at Transfiguration anymore.” 

“Or in Kettleburn’s class,” Peter pipes in. 

“Are you sure it’s okay for you to be taking that many classes at once?” Remus grimaces, sharing a worried look with James. “The limit is three, and even that is too much to handle.” 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” 

(Peter knows a lie when he hears one.) 

James tenses up, jaw tightening. “So you’re saying you’re going to miss a game because of school? Like all the other times? That’s bullcrap!” 

Remus hisses his name in warning. 

Tears prick your eyes instantly—you’ve heard him speak like this when quarreling with Slytherins, but never to your face. “That bullcrap means a lot to me, Potter. You’d understand that if you took your studies seriously more than just going around and playing silly pranks on everyone!” 

James scoffs. “Like how you take us seriously? Did you know that Lily is the youngest ever to be invited to Slughorn’s club? Yeah, she got the invitation last week. Did you congratulate her for that when she was staying up late with you to revise for your practical test in Herbology?” 

“I—” You stammer, guilt pooling in your stomach. 

“No, you didn’t.” James sneers. “You only see yourself. Do you know what Remus has been going through? Do you even care?” 

“That’s enough, James,” Lily says vehemently. 

“Well, if you think like that, maybe we all should just stop being friends!” You retort.

Before anyone else can reply, Madam Pince comes around the corner, and everyone falls silent—a tense atmosphere that threatens to choke you. With a heavy heart, you gather your belongings and run out of the library. 

The months pass by, and Frank Longbottom wonders why he doesn’t wake up at midnight anymore to find five students having a sleepover in the common room with a certain eagle, each of them trying to contain their giggles and  failing. (One time, the Prewett twins had run down the stairs in panic, only to find you and Peter screaming from Remus’s theatrics in telling his ghost stories during an awful thunderstorm.) You no longer visit the Gryffindor table at breakfast, and they no longer wait for you after your classes. 

“It’s probably just a tiff,” says Alice to Mary Macdonald. “They’ll make up—they always do.”  

Mary nods, though unsure—while Peter is gut-wrenched about it all, the other four in particular seem like heartbroken puppies when you enter the Great Hall and barely acknowledge their presence. 

The snow melts and time catches everyone unaware.

“I can’t believe I’m going to graduate and you idiots haven’t made up yet,” Lalita sighs as she pulls you in for a hug. In a few weeks, she and the other seventh-years are due to leave; you’ve grown real close with her over the past few terms. Her departure is going to be truly difficult for you to handle. “Just talk it out with them, okay?” 

You sniffle, holding onto her robes. “I’m trying, but they’ve been ignoring me, too.” 

Lalita squeezes you tighter. “Don’t worry. These kinds of things have a way of sorting themselves out.” 

At the end of the term, you present your final project to Professor Binns. The ghost nearly returns to life. It was a research study on the Evolutionary Analysis of Magical RNA Manipulation in the Catalonian Fireball. Days after your paper is published, you’re featured on the Daily Prophet; dragon tamers and professors from Spain are owling you letters of praise and congratulations. It goes without saying that such a feat had naturally catapulted Ravenclaw to the top, ultimately winning the House Cup. 

(But what you don’t tell everyone is that you’re so severely burnt out after that—to the point where you didn’t want to ever pick up a textbook again. For the first time in forever, learning had become a chore, not a passion. You’d been puking out of anxiety, hands trembling as you forced yourself to write on the parchment, the sides of your fingers constantly swollen and raw. You’d study until four o’clock in the morning, and wake up an hour later to complete all of your homework. You’ve begun to masquerade as the ghosts of Ravenclaw Tower; lifeless and indifferent. Xenophilius and Pandora fuss over you, but you just lock yourself in your room and say: “I’m tired.”

Perhaps, it is why Professor Flitwick isn’t surprised when you withdraw from most of your electives. 

“The pursuit of knowledge is a rewarding journey,” says Professor Flitwick on the day you visit his classroom—hours away from needing to be on the train platform. He sighs and sets his spectacles on the table. “But it is a perilous one, too. I trust that you have understood the consequences of your actions. As a teacher, I can only offer guidance when it is needed. The other professors may disagree, but I find the best learning method to be, what is it the kids say—fuck around and find out.” 

You snort. 

Professor Flitwick chuckles, quite pleased with himself. “If I may be so bold as to leave you with another piece of homework, I would like to ask you to truly enjoy the holidays. I hear the summer is a time for discovering new things about oneself, for new beginnings and growth. After all, learning does not happen only within the castle grounds.”) 

Later that day, you board the express, purposefully choosing the farthest compartment where you know they’ll be staying in. You share the cabin with two people whose names are Regulus and Narcissa Black—this is the first time you’ve ever met them. Narcissa shares her green tea flavored candy with you.  Afterwards, you spend the rest of the ride back to King’s Cross asleep. 

(Right before the train arrives, Remus is nervously searching for you in the crowd of people. 

“We’ve got to say goodbye, at least.” Lily nibbles on her lower lip uneasily. She once joked that she could find you anywhere—as if you two had a red string tied around both your pinky fingers. Now, it seems you’re too far away for her voice to reach you. 

James drops his head down in shame. “I never got the chance to apologize.” 

“She’ll appear somewhere,” says Sirius unwaveringly with a nod, taking Lily’s heavy suitcase from her as steam whistles are heard in the distance. “She could be in our special compartment, waiting for us right now.” 

“Are you sure?” Peter questions dubiously. 

“Of course I am, she’s my best friend,” Sirius counters resolutely. “She’s there, I can feel it.”)

You’re fourteen when you return back to the castle—you hadn’t touched a single book throughout the summer, but you find yourself well-rested; you learn how to swim from your mother; staying up all night to accompany your family dog as she gives birth to seven beautiful puppies, and scratching yourself on the bark of sycamore trees with your poor attempts at climbing.

You find out that you don’t like Arithmancy at all, strongly preferring Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. You’ve also garnered a curiosity for Ornithomancy, the oracle reading of birds. 

This year, you signed up for the Gobstone club, despite your unfamiliarity with the game. It’s led by a Slytherin girl named Haerin Seong. (It’s properly read as Seong Hae-rin.) She has pin-straight hair, a sharp nose, and the mouth of a drunken sailor.

You also decide that you want to become a professor after Hogwarts. The groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, belly laughs when you declare this to him one afternoon, right in the doorway of his hut. 

“Well, go on then!” Hagrid bellows, patting you on the head. “Anyone who tries ter stop yeh has got ter go through me!” 

On the dawn of your fifth-year, an owl delivers a prefect badge to your doorstep. Your father, born and raised as a Muggle, doesn’t understand the significance of this, but he cries harder than you on that Sunday morning. (“My child is a prefect!” He sobs into the telephone after dialing your aunt’s number.) 

The fresh batch of Ravenclaw firsties aren’t the only new additions to the castle. According to the gossip mill, James and Lily are finally dating, so are Sirius and Remus apparently. (Then, months later, everyone would be shrieking about how they’re all dating. )

You hear of the news as you guide the first-year eaglets to their next class. You’re climbing up the spiral staircase when you see the Quidditch pitch through the window. They look like flying ants from this distance. You can imagine the wind in their hair, the tense muscles as they chase after the Quaffles, the crowd roaring in their ears, victory within their reach if they just fly fast enough. 

You hate the way you envy them—how easily they soar up in the skies while you watch from below, much like a flightless eagle, shackled by your own shortcomings. 

You hate Quidditch.

It’s bound by no rules, unpredictable and barbaric. Most of all, it looks down on the cowardly. 

In your sixth year, you have your first kiss with a boy named Augustine Fenberry. It’s extremely short-lived and awkward. You date for three months until it’s unanimously agreed that you two are better off as friends—until you catch him laughing about you with his mates in an empty corridor, saying that you were clingy, too much, and needed to learn how to shut up. (You wonder if that’s why they grew tired of you, too.) 

You handle him with a quick, “Entomorphis.” 

It’s probably one of the more cruel jinxes; Augustine bawls piercingly as he grows antennas atop his head, the spell forcing him to get on his hands and knees; his friends hover around him in panic, but all Augustine can do is chirp like a grasshopper in the night. You wonder if you’ve gone too far, but Haerin tells you that’s exactly what Augustine is—vermin. 

You also, with great satisfaction, deduct thirty points from his House—which happens to be Ravenclaw. 

(Nobody knows this about Peter, but he’s nimble on his feet, a bit of a wallflower—and he is now the newest editor of Hogwarts’s newspaper column, The Golden Snidget. By the next day, everyone knows what he’s done. Argus Filch, who’s in charge of his month-long detention, should be the last of his worries. Peter sympathizes with the wizard—but only for a fraction of a second. Because it’s not even the werewolf Augustine has to be scared of, not the pureblood heir who could ruin anyone with just a lift of his finger; not the Quidditch prodigy with a sharp mind, knowing a thousand ways to seek revenge. 

It’s Lily Evans. 

“Go near her again and I’ll rip your balls off!” Marlene flips the bird to the group of cowering boys. “Matter of fact, if you treat anyone like that again, I will come for your bloodline.”

“Fucking toerag!” Lily wildly swings the Beater’s bat she had stolen from the Quidditch changing room. “If you even look at her, I’ll hunt you down and shove this up your arse—until you feel it in your throat!” 

Peter shivers in fear. He didn’t ever want to be on the receiving side of Lily’s wrath. 

“This is the same girl who cried for an hour when she saw the ducklings in the Great Lake separated from their mother,” says Remus, horrified. 

“Honestly, I feel so, so conflicted whether to find this terrifying. . . or attractive,” James whispers to Sirius.

“Attractive. Definitely attractive,” Sirius responds breathlessly, all eyes on Lily.)

Gryffindor wins the House Cup that year, to no one’s surprise. You find yourself clapping along with everyone else, but can’t help it when your gaze drifts to the left-side of the Gryffindor table. You watch as Sirius lifts Lily in the air, her giggles somehow louder than the thunderous cheering, pressing a loving kiss to her lips. James stands on the table, encouraging everyone to sing more of his praises—there’s a split second where his eyes find yours, you look away immediately—as Remus covers his face with his palms, flushed from all the attention. After James, Remus had won the most points for their House. 

They seem complete—a puzzle that never really needed another piece. (You miss them, heartachingly so.) Maybe it was for the best that all of you drifted further and further apart. You now forget the way they call your name.  

And so, the story ends just like that. 

YOU HAVE FOUND yourself in a very tricky position. 

It’s past midnight when you wake up—you nearly scream bloody murder when James, Lily and Sirius materialize out of thin air. They stare back at you, frozen in place, unblinking for the last twenty seconds. 

“Oh God, I’m hallucinating.” You cry to yourself, wrapping your arms around your waist. “I hit my head and now I’m seeing things.” 

“No, no, no, no,” James stammers, shaking his head. “It’s an invisibility cloak—see?” He wears the cape, then abruptly takes the cloak off—his body disappearing and reappearing in time with his actions. “Not hallucinating, I promise.” 

“That’s even worse,” You say hoarsely, on the verge of hyperventilating. “Y-You’re out past curfew—visiting hours are over. Someone could catch you. Madam Pomfrey will have your heads.” 

Remus chuckles—he had missed your voice so bloody much. He barely contains his grin when you glare at him. (Finally, after three years, you look his way again.) 

“We snuck in here to see you all the time,” Sirius tells you, the corner of his lips tipping into an overfond smile. “At some point, Poppy just stopped trying to keep us out.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” Your gaze falls to the floor as you mousily toy with your fingers. The infirmary falls painfully silent. Again. You clear your throat. “Anyway, I–I should get going.” 

“Oh.” Lily’s expression turns crestfallen, words cracking from the thick lump wedged in her throat. (This is the first conversation she’s had with you in years—one that isn’t awkwardly bumping into one another with shallow, hesitant greetings, before you scurry off like a timid squirrel.) “R-Right. But why don’t you have dinner first? We brought some from the feast and—” 

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” You rasp, slipping into your shoes and throwing your cardigan over your shoulders. (More than anything, you want to hug Lily and congratulate her for making Head Girl—but you have to wonder if it’s too little, too late; if the distance between you and her is too great to try and  cross.) 

You toss Remus a wary glance. There used to be a time where you could say anything to him, and now it feels like ice-cold hands are stapled over your mouth. “F–Feel better soon.” 

“Thanks.” Remus coughs. 

Sirius’s eyes bounce from you to Remus, mentally ripping his hair out from exasperation—this whole thing is going nowhere. 

You sprint out of the infirmary without a word, hands trembling from the nerve-wracking encounter inside. You take a moment to catch your breath, to shove your heart back inside your ribcage, as you lean sideways on the wall. It’s like running into a pack of wild chimeras in the mountains bare-handed. 

“That was so scary.” You breathe out deeply, clutching the front of your shirt tightly. 

The loud call of your name slices through the hallway and you jump in fright. 

Luckily, it’s just James—but just James sets your heart aflutter and your knees wobbly even after all this time. He bridges the gap between you in quick, long strides; murmuring your name once more like a prayer. “Hey,” James says quietly, as if afraid to spook you off. 

You gnaw on your bottom lip anxiously, tucking your hands inside your pockets. “Hey.”

“Listen, I just wanted to say—back in the library, all those years ago. I’m sorry. Really bloody sorry. Sirius decked me in the face that day, which I definitely deserved.” James nervously scratches the back of his head. “It was stupid of me—and I never should have said any of those things. I know it’s been years since then, you don’t even have to forgive me. But I just wanted you to know—”

“It’s fine, James.” You cut into his rambling, having already forgiven him for that day. “Really. Water under the bridge.” 

In fact, some of what he had said made you realize how much you isolated yourself without even knowing. “And, I—uhm.” You take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, too.” 

James widens his eyes, then instantly shakes his head. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”

A dark red blush spreads from his neck to his prettily carved cheeks.  “So. .  . uh. . . are we okay?” 

“We’re okay,” You say and he exhales deeply in relief. “And James, I. . . I. . .”

“Yeah?” There’s a hopeful lilt in his voice as he takes one more step towards you—achingly patient, but there’s a sense of urgency and desperation. 

“I—” You look away and the words fizzle out in your throat. “Never mind.” 

I just wanted to say I’m sorry for what I said that day. I miss you more than life. Thank you for staying by my side all those years—for being one of my best friends. You make me feel safe, James Potter. You are one of the most intelligent and caring wizards I know. How  anyone can think otherwise is baffling to me. I’m sorry if I don’t let you know that more often. 

“See you around, James.” With that, you turn and leave. 

Perhaps, some things are better left unsaid. 

(So why is your heart shattering into a million pieces?) 

“TODAY, WE ARE GOING TO be interpreting messages from the divine!” 

On a lovely Friday morning, Professor Nasenyana drags the class out to the grounds for a hands-on Divination lecture, the groundskeeper’s hut within sight. He unlocks the barn nearby, where flocks of various bird species take to the skies instantly. He’s a rather eccentric fellow with one of the friendliest smiles you’ve ever seen. Most of the Ravenclaws are also star-struck, hanging onto his every word. As it turns out, Nasenyana is a graduate from Uagadou, the top school for Astronomy and Divination.

“Ornithomancy—!” He proclaims, flashy cloak billowing, startling some of the Gryffindors from their sleep. “It is a form of divination that looks into the behavior of birds—celestial creatures blessed with the ability to traverse through the heavens and the earth. But, you see, it is more than that. It requires utmost concentration and mastery. To pass this class, you will need to—” 

“I told you we didn’t miss anything important!” 

“Pads, shut up.” 

Sirius and Remus come rolling down the hill. Remus’s robes are disheveled, whereas Sirius’s tie is loosely hanging around his shirt, sleeves folded up. They nearly crash into Professor Nasenyana—who doesn’t appear to be pleased with their tardiness. You notice Remus’s flushed cheeks, the sweat running down the sides of his forehead, and the pinkish bruises on the column of Sirius’s neck. 

Lily chortles. 

Oh. 

You blush deeply—that is so none of your business. 

“Mister Black! Mister Lupin! So nice of you to finally join us.” Professor Nasenyana exclaims. “I trust that it won’t take you thirty more minutes to find a place to sit?” He gestures to the assembly of students sitting down on the grass, some shielding the sunlight from their face with the Divination textbook, and others transfiguring their school robes into a picnic mat. “Take your seats, gentlemen.” 

“And that is five points from Gryffindor. Each.” Professor Nasenyana declares just as Remus and Sirius plop down on the closest patch of grass to them. 

Which happens to be right beside you. 

You pour all your attention on the teacher, and not how warm Sirius feels next to you. 

“As I was saying,” Professor Nasenyana continues, hands folded behind his back, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “In order to pass this class, you will form groups of three where your task is to read each other’s fortune based on the information presented to you and document your findings. Everything you need for interpretation is in your textbooks. You will hand this assignment in after the winter holidays. I expect excellence from each and every one of you. Failure to comply will result in a Dreadful.” 

Gilderoy’s arm shoots up in the air. 

“Shall I guess your question, Mister Lockhart?” Nasenyana grins blindingly. “Your groups will be determined by fate—those closest to you will read your fortune, and you theirs.” 

He lowers his arm with a bright blush. 

You, however, are frozen in place, sitting cross-legged on the ground with a robe strewn over your lap—you even hold your breath from the shock. Fate must be mocking you right now. Spending the next few weeks in close proximity with the boys who held your fragile, little heart in their hands.

How fun.

Not.

FOR THE FIRST TIME in forever, you don’t pay attention in Charms.

The thought of working with Remus and Sirius haunts you so much that you burrow your head in your arms for the entirety of Professor Flitwick’s lesson. Your seatmate, Xenophilius, watches in horror as you flub the enunciation for Ascendio. Thankfully, no one is accidentally flung into the air—except for Gilderoy who is unfortunately blown away from his chair.

“Sorry.” You twinge empathetically as he climbs back onto his chair, glaring at you. 

Xenophilius nudges your shoulder, whispering, “Are you alright?” 

“Perfectly fine,” You respond hurriedly, almost choking on your spit. “What ever gave you the idea that I was not fine? I’m bloody fantastic even. The sun is shining, fishes are swimming, and there’s not a single thing out of the ordinary in my life.” 

“It’s cloudy outside,” Xenophilius says impassively. “And Lockhart is looking at you like you’ve just attempted murder.” 

“Lockhart always looks like that.” You brush him off with a wave, busying yourself with flipping the pages of your Charms textbook. 

Xenophilius pokes you in the side. “You are avoiding the subject. Is it because of Lup—”

“Ascendio!” 

This time, it’s too perfect of an incantation that even Merlin weeps from his grave.

At the end of class, you’re greeted with yet another surprise. Just as you leave the classroom, you find Sirius and Remus standing in the corridor, so absorbed in conversation that they don’t notice the sixth-year girls giggling as they walk by—either that, or they have had plenty of practice when it comes to  ignoring attention from the entire student body. It’s not like you can blame everyone else—they’re a duo carved by heaven’s finest. 

Sirius realizes instantly when you walk out of the doors. He smiles blazingly at you, instantly rising to his feet, hands shoved inside the pockets of his trousers. You can’t believe this is the same boy who’d give you piggyback rides down the hallway. Dark layered curls tumble messily past his shoulders, a smidge of dark liner around his eyes, multiple piercings in his left ear. He’s grown taller, certainly more confident, too. 

“Ready to go, pet?” He asks, as if casually inquiring about the weather. 

“Go?” You echo, nonplussed. “Go where?” 

“Birdwatching, obviously.” Sirius grins devilishly before grabbing your hand and leading you to the courtyard, Remus hot on your heels—who, for some reason, now has your bag hanging from his shoulders. 

“D-Do I even get a say in this?” Truthfully, you had thought that you could finish the project without meeting up. Ever. You even think of collaborating with them via owl; staying far, far away from one another. So that none of you get hurt again, and you don’t risk another heartbreak. 

“Not one bit, darling.” Sirius looks back at you and winks—this cheeky bastard!

You’re in a daze by the time the three of you reach the middle courtyard. Sirius happily plonks down under a tree, further unbuttoning his shirt until a hint of a tattoo peeks out—you gape. Remus chuckles before urging you to sit as well, before he settles on your other side. 

“This is nice,” says Sirius as he leans his head against the tree trunk, eyes closed. “Bloody missed this.” 

“Missed what?” You dare to ask, heart hammering in your chest. 

He opens one eye, cheek dimple flashing. “Being by your side.” 

“Oh.” 

One does not respond to that, actually. One just simply passes out and fades away. 

And as you typically do when facing hardships in life, you ramble about homework. Clearing your throat and staring straight at the earthworms crawling out of the mud, you say, “So, about our project. . .” 

“I was thinking we could get started on it next Saturday,” You splutter, fiddling with your fingers. “Or I could start on everyone’s reading and we’d put it on paper sometime next month—but I could do that myself, too. I-If you wanted. Just so that it’s easier for everyone. We really don’t have to rush, honestly.” 

“Procrastinating on schoolwork?” Remus laughs heartily with a slow shake of his head, stretching his long legs on the ground. “Who are you and what have you done to our best fr—” 

The word falters on his tongue, and his smile fades into a somber line. 

To save everyone from the awkward tension, you carry on, ignoring the way Sirius stiffens, “If you want to start early, I can head to the library after lunch to find some books on Ornithomancy. The more references we have—”

“What happened to us?” Sirius interjects gravelly. 

You let out a deep sigh. 

You suppose this conversation has been a long time coming, given lions and their stubbornness. 

“It’s simple,” You say gingerly. “After that. . . that day, the distance kept growing and growing until we went our own separate ways without looking back.” 

A single teardrop slides down your cheek before you can stop it. “You changed. I changed, too. The difference was, you all had each other while I had no one.”

(Though Pandora and Xenophilius were the truest and most honest friends one could ask for, they didn’t hold your soul captive the way they did.) 

Sirius stares at you as if you had just spit acid; a thunderstorm forming within his gray eyes, his jaw locking painfully. 

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Remus asks softly, leaning forward to offer you his handkerchief. His voice sounds strangled—as though your words physically torment him. He pulls away just as your gaze falls on his. 

“That’s what happened, though. But I suppose it doesn’t really even matter anymore.” You flinch away, electrocuted from his touch. 

There’s a stretched silence that blankets the three of you. It carries on for a few minutes, the breeze flowing by, and the slow, clamorous bell chiming in the distance. You’re about to speak up when Sirius breaks the quietude first.

“Be ready,” He says decidedly, looking straight ahead. 

“For what?” You ask in disbelief. 

Sirius drags a hand through his hair with a loud exhale. He rests his elbows on his knees, chin carelessly set on his palm, eyeing you intensely. “We’re going to prove you wrong from now on.” 

“What exactly are you going to prove?” 

Sirius chuckles, coiling a strand of your hair around his finger. “That it’s always been you and us for life, princess.” 

Merlin’s saggy balls. 

THE GRYFFINDOR TABLE descends into a coalescence of wide eyes and rapid, hushed whispers when you arrive sometime during dinner. It’s not out of your own volition, of course, but your own duty and responsibility as prefect to return the handkerchief that Remus had lent you earlier this afternoon. You hoped it would be a quick in-and-out; dishing out more forced smiles, and some half-baked banter until you could finally run away, tail tucked between your legs. Like most things in your life, it does not go the way you want. 

“You could keep it, if you want,” says Remus, hesitantly taking the embroidered cloth from you. 

If the world knew how many trinkets Remus Lupin had gifted you during your friendship, you would be swimming in gold—and cursed letters from his devoted fangirls. 

“That’s alright. Thank you.” You placate him with a crooked grin, the words spilling from your lips like a jumbled mess. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gideon and Fabian Prewett nudging each other’s shoulders whilst pointing at you, keeping their heads low. You have no idea what that’s about. 

“Well. That is all. E-Enjoy your dinner.” You nod, mentally patting yourself on the back for not passing out in the den of lions. “Goodbye.” 

Though the Ravenclaw table is placed next to Gryffindor’s, you have the bright idea of sitting with your backs to them, lest you engage in a round of cloddish staring contests with the Marauders. Just as you pivot on your heels, ready to make it to Pandora’s side, an achingly familiar voice calls for your name. 

“Wait!” Marlene is partially out of her seat, bright blonde hair in a loose, messy braid; hand outstretched, as if reaching out to you. Her pale cheeks blossom with shades of scarlet as she receives miffed glares from the students nearby—such is the curse of a Gryffindor; if this were a fantasy novel, they would be the perfect protagonist. “Why don’t you eat with us? F-For old time’s sake. It’s been so long and I really would like to catch up with you.” 

Your resolve nearly crumbles. This is the same girl who would bring sweet candies in her pocket in case you got hungry during class. But, if this were a fantasy novel, you would only be an extra; fated to walk a path so different from the likes of James Potter and Lily Evans.

“Maybe next time,” You say, unconvincing to even your own ears. 

FROM ACROSS the Great Hall, another conversation is taking place. 

“I am telling you, Minerva, I caught them talking again in the infirmary,” says Poppy Pomfrey to her fellow teacher, a spry grin on her kind face. 

“Poppy, as I’ve told you, I do not make a habit out of discussing my students’ personal lives,” McGonagall replies tiredly, slicing into her dinner plate of steak and kidney pie. She pauses for a few moments, before pushing up her spectacles with a wrinkly smile. “But, perhaps, I’ll let this slide just this once. Tell me all about it. I’ve also heard that—” 

“ACTA NON VERBA.”

Deeds, not words. 

Truly a befitting password for the House of bravery and recklessness. The Fat Lady’s portrait gasps in delight, raising her champagne glass to you. Seconds later, the Gryffindor common room is revealed to you. (Most of the Ravenclaw prefects have the House passwords memorized, in case they encounter a lost student outside the dormitories who has forgotten the passcode. It happens more often than one would like. Although it isn’t just first-years who are often stuck outside. You’ve stumbled upon Frank Longbottom many times before in a heated argument with the Fat Lady.) 

“Oh!” Alice, bundled up in a red scarf and a wooly jumper, is startled to find you at the entrance. She breathily says your name, eyes crinkling as she smiles widely. “What a pleasant surprise! Oh my Gods—it’s so nice to see you again. How’s the head? Last time I saw you, you were bleeding everywhere.”

“I didn’t get amnesia. So that was good.” You head inside the room, instantly enveloped in a familiar warmth, a welcoming hug as if you had never strayed far. “Thank you. For that day, I mean. For bringing me to Madam Pomfrey.”

She waves you off. “Don’t mention it.” 

“But. . .” Alice cocks her head with a conniving smile. “Don’t tell anyone else this, but when James found out it had been the Gryffindor team’s co-captain who hit the Quaffle your way, I heard James put him through some intense training. He must’ve had to run a hundred laps around the pitch for a week straight.  Poor guy even had to wash everyone’s jerseys without magic.” 

“What?” You shriek. “But it was just an accident. Surely, James wouldn’t—”

Alice tweaks your nose with a chuckle. “Oh, for you? He would.”

You have the strangest urge to throw yourself out of the tower. 

You cough into your first, desperate to shift the conversation topic otherwise you’d spontaneously combust. “S-So, where’s Remus? We agreed to work on our Divination project here—if that’s alright with you and the others, of course.” 

“Ha!” Alice exclaims, palming her forehead. “So that’s why the tower stinks of flipping perfume.” She snickers at your bewildered expression, before engulfing you in a bear hug. “It’s so good to see you. You’re welcome here anytime, you know that.”

“Thank you, Alice.” You squeeze her back, giving yourself just this one time because you really did miss her.

Alice takes a step backwards before roaring loud enough to shake the ceiling. “Remus!”

“Get down here! Your girlfriend is waiting!”

You break out in a coughing fit. “I am not his girlfriend.” 

“Not yet.” Alice winks at you, patting your cheek before skipping out the common room. 

You hear the heavy footfalls of someone coming down the stairs. Moments later, you see Remus Lupin beaming at you, casually dressed, hair damp and tousled over his brows, broad shoulders stretching his white top, and fluffy, mismatched socks over his feet. He walks over to you in record speed. 

“You came,” He says huskily. 

“I did.” 

“You look beautiful today.” Remus grins wolfishly, dimples poking out of his cheeks, flecks of light in his hazel eyes. 

You blink owlishly, dumbfounded. You peer at your clothes—nothing fancy or experimental. “This is how I normally dress, though.” 

“I know.” 

Remus smiles, swiftly taking your bookbag from you. (Alice was right. He smells like a basket of green apples, old leather tomes, and sandalwood. Not that you mind.) You follow him to the couches by the fireplace. 

“Where’s Sirius?” You look around the common room as you sink into the red sofa. There’s a pair of third-years playing chess, a young girl feathering her hand across the bookcase; sunlight streaming in from the tall windows. 

But no sign of Sirius Black. 

“Miss me, did you, love?” 

Sirius chuckles into your ear—you jump out of your skin, clutching at your knees in fright. 

“Merlin’s tits—!” 

You gasp for air while Sirius and Remus laugh at your expense. “You fucking wanker!” You grab one of the quilted pillows as Sirius jumps over the back of the couch. “You’re an idiot, Sirius Orion.” 

“There.” Sirius flops right down on the sofa; his hair tied up in a low bun, silver rings around his fingers. “Now you don’t look so bloody scared and nervous around us. We don’t bite, you know.” He pauses, then grins devilishly at you. “Unless you ask.” 

You slap your palms against your lap. “Anyways—!” 

Nostrils flaring as you take a deep breath—this is going to be a long day. You begin setting the parchments, feather quills, and Divination textbooks on the coffee table, along with a notebook where you had written some observations during the week. “When we were out—erm—birdwatching the other day, I noted down the birds that flew by for our readings. For Remus, it was a flock of Firecrests. And—” 

“I’m very sorry, loveliest love, but none of this makes any bloody sense to me.” Sirius goes through the Divination volumes you had checked out from the library, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Tea reading, I can tolerate. But studying bird droppings really isn’t my thing.” 

You glare heatedly at him, oddly defensive about the subject. “We’re not studying bird droppings, you plonker. There’s so much more to Ornithomancy than what meets the eyes. You see, nature connects everything. From the number of birds you encounter, to which direction they fly, their pattern of flight, down to the colors of their wings.” 

You point to the glaring page from Snallygasters and Omens: Vol. 1 where a picture of a Jobberknoll jumps out. “This bird flies to the east because the east governs new beginnings and warm springs after winter. Blue wings symbolize reliability. One day in the future you’ll be tasked with a huge responsibility. A family could entrust their godson to you, who knows? You have to be clear-headed, Sirius. Your emotions can get the best of you if you’re not careful.” 

Without even pausing to breathe, you say, “Remus. The firecrest. Smallest bird in the wizarding world, but will dare to fly higher than any other creature, even the king of birds. The firecrest and its flock were flying to the south that day, Remus. To the place of passion and life. Love. Beauty.” 

“So it’s. . . it’s more than just bird droppings!” 

By the end of it all, your chest is heaving, fingers trembling with adrenaline; Remus and Sirius gazing at you with stars in their eyes, devotion pouring from their growing smiles. (Oh, how their hearts beat for you.) 

Sirius tips your chin with his knuckle, leaning closer until you feel his breath on your nose. “Welcome back, princess.”

NIGHT FALLS WITHOUT anyone’s permission. James, Lily, and Peter make their way back to the Gryffindor tower, patches of sunburn on their nose after spending the entire day outside observing bird flight patterns. Like Sirius, Lily has her mind firmly set against the philosophies of Divination; the mumbo jumbo not really all that comprehensible to her. As they enter the common room, her hand in James’s, they’re greeted by a rare sight—one that Lily didn’t think she would see again. 

Sirius is sitting on the floor by the fireplace, wand tucked behind his ear, a pile of books at his side, his brows contorted in frustration as he drowns in the pages of When Fortunes Turn Fowl. He presses his finger to his lips when his silvery eyes fall on Lily and James, jerking his head to the scene across him. 

Lily fails to bury her smile when she sees you snoring away at Remus’s lap, his fingers absentmindedly knitting through strands of your hair. The space is bedecked in loose pages with scribbled notes on them and ink stains on the carpet. 

“I take it you three got further along than we did,” Lily whispers as she kneels beside Remus, softly nudging his chin as she captures him in a fond kiss. 

Remus smiles into her lips. “A month’s worth of progress, at least. Thanks to this one here. I don’t think I’ll ever look at a bird the same way again.” 

“Who knew our little eagle had a knack for Divination?” Lily chuckles, gaze softening as she delicately drags her knuckle down your cheek. “It’s getting pretty late. Should we wake her up?” 

Remus shakes his head. “No. Let her sleep a bit more.” 

Selfishly, Lily agrees. She traces the tip of your nose, the pillows of your lips, before retracting her hand with a long sigh. “We used to talk about anything and everything until the sun rose. Now, it seems like I can never catch up to her no matter how fast I run.”

“Lily—” 

“Don’t worry,” says Lily. “I am nothing if not stubborn. She’ll know my wrath soon.” 

Sirius snickers. “How charming.” 

The fire crackles and you mumble something, deep in slumber, shifting in Remus’s hold, “Only one percent. . . of the world’s population is . . . is naturally redheaded.” 

“Is that right?” Lily grins from ear to ear. 

Just you wait, Lily is going to sweep you off your feet.

(Something she should have done years ago.) 

“IS THAT A new jumper?”

Pandora simpers knowingly, heterochromatic eyes uncovering your every secret—the beads in her long braids click as she keeps in time with your brisk pace. She teasingly pulls at the oversized sweater. “It looks good on you.” 

You narrow your eyes at her, watchfully twisting your arms around your waist. “It was cold this morning, alright? Remus lent it to me. It’s not a big deal. It’s what friends do, right?” 

“So, you’re friends now?” Pandora muses. “Well, thank the Gods, because it has been excruciating watching you tiptoe around one another. It only took you lot three years, but it’s better than never, eh?” 

“Wilderwood! No magic in the corridors! That’s five points from Slytherin!” You bark at the stubborn fifth-year who grins sheepishly at you, before you reply to Pandora, an ache forming at the back of your head. “It’s complicated. Everything was sort of awkward in the beginning.” 

You think of last night, how Sirius was especially keen on making you laugh every few seconds; Remus would inch closer to you, head nearly on your shoulder as he peeks at the notes you’ve jotted down. You could barely think straight in their presence. Then, you remember waking up earlier this morning, James sprawled all over Sirius and Lily on the couch; Remus’s nose fully buried in his drawing book.

“But. . .” You trail off, remembering Remus’s arms around you as he sent you off, careful not to wake the others. (“I am a selfish bastard, pet,” He whispers into your hair, “I’m sorry, but let me steal this morning from them.”)

“It’s like coming home after a long day.”

“Brilliant!” Pandora exclaims, roughly laying her hands on your shoulders as she ushers you past the cobblestone walkway and into the grassfield, where the Quidditch Pitch rests in the near distance. You hadn’t even realized that you were a little ways from the castle already. “Tell them that!” 

“What?” You squawk. “Are you mad, woman?”

You hear the sound of brooms zipping by at an unimaginable speed. The crowd clamors over the announcer’s intense commentary. Your legs feel like they’ve been jinxed to feel like jelly. You hate Quidditch. 

“GRYFFINDOR SCORES! — That’s one-hundred and twenty in all! — Still no snitch yet! Hurry on, Potter! Mulciber’s got nothing on you– Ow! Professor! — Fawley heads for the goal! — Great deflect by Black! — Bletchley misses! — Another point for Gryffindor! We might as well end the game now!”

“Mr. Prewett!” You hear McGonagall scold into the charmed megaphone. 

“Sorry, Minnie! Anyway! — Mulciber and Potter race for the Snitch! Potter reaches out! — Surprisingly good manoeuvre from Mulciber! — Come on, James! — He’s almost got it! — It’s right there!”

You wait with a bated breath.

The crowd goes absolutely wild.

“Potter’s got it! — GRYFFINDOR HAS WON!” 

“Go on now, treasure. Before the Wrackspurts get inside your head again.” Pandora urges you forward, dusting the invisible creatures off your shoulders. As you take one step into the field, fireworks of gold and scarlet light up the sky, the Gryffindor teams’ cries of victory shake the ground; you hear Fabian screaming into the megaphone. Your fingers go numb. “Don’t let another day go by without expressing your heart,” says Pandora into your ear, almost a gust of wind if you hadn’t been paying attention. “Go to them. They are waiting for you.”

“But what if they aren’t?” You watch as the sun descends on the Gryffindor team lifting James in the air, Golden Snitch in his gloved hand. Sirius catches Lily by the waist, twirling her up high; her smile more dazzling than any other gem you’ve seen. As James is set back down on the ground, he snatches Remus unaware and bends him down for a fervent kiss.

“Dora, what if I’m the only one who feels this way? I can’t do that to them. What are the chances that I’ll ruin everything? That would hurt more than anything.”

Pandora cups your cheeks and lays her forehead on yours. “You won’t ever know unless you go out there.”

With that, she pushes you into the Quidditch pitch. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, ears ringing from the crowd chanting James’s name, and your heart pounding in fear. 

“J-James. . .” You call out weakly as he drowns in the sea of students.

Perhaps it’s a sign.

This really wasn’t a good idea.

Love is a fool’s game.

Don’t you get it? They don’t need you in the picture at all.

“N-No!” You shout, chest heaving. If everything happens for a reason, maybe you were meant to meet in that train compartment all those years ago. You’ve lost three years with them already.

If you don’t go to them right now, you could lose a lifetime. 

If bravery is for the reckless and arrogant, you’re prepared to be the most depraved witch in the castle just to stay by their side. 

“James—!”

“Go, go, Gryffindor!”

You bite your lip in frustration—but you can’t just give up. Not now. 

Once more.

“JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER!”

Please.

Time stops as you stand at the edge of the field; James whips his head around and finds you instantly. The glow of having just won a match doesn’t even compare when his eyes land on you. He pushes past his team members and some of the Gryffindor students, his gaze unwavering, some of them call out his name but he doesn’t bother looking back. Before you even know it, he stands in front of you, breathing heavily—but not from the rush of the game.

“You’re here,” He says, eyes disappearing into his smile. “But you hate Quidditch.”

“I do.” You grin wearily. “But I love you more.”

Without even giving James the chance to speak, you ramble on, hurricanes whirling in your stomach, “You’re a bloody brilliant wizard, James Potter. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you that before. I see you. I see all of you. How could I not? I love you. I think I’ve loved all of you before I knew it was even love. It’s alright if you don’t feel the same w—” 

James grabs the back of your legs and hoists you up, tendrils of hair falling over his glasses as he beams at you. The sun can’t even dream of competing with him. 

“Put me down, James, I am going to hurl—!”

He spins you one more time for good measure before placing you on the ground. James barely gives you a second to gather your bearings as he seizes your lips with his own, hand cradling the back of your neck. 

“You’re here,” He says, unable to believe his very eyes, gently chasing after your lips, breaths mingling until you don’t remember where either begins or ends. “Don’t leave. Please.”

“I won’t. I won’t.” You promise breathlessly as James pecks the tip of your nose, the arch of your eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Beautiful.” He kisses you until you’re gasping for air. “And all ours.” 

There’s not a moment where you don’t feel loved, not even when he lets you go, and it’s Lily who encompasses you in her arms, bright hair filling your vision; you willingly burn in the warmth of her body. The mellow scent of pomegranates and red roses fill your nose. You see a never-ending horizon of kindness in her emerald eyes. (How could you have stayed away for so long?) It’s like finding a missing piece of your soul that you never knew that was lost. 

Lily laughs—it sounds like an orchestral symphony. Her gaze cascades to your lips, the prettiest of smiles on her face; she cradles the curve of your jaw with utmost sincerity, a few drops of tears shimmering against her freckled skin. “May I?”

“Please.” You feel her breath tickling your lips, deftly pulling you in for a kiss until all you can feel is her. She consumes every inch of you, and you are happy to surrender, heart and soul. 

“You must be the thickest Ravenclaw I’ve ever met,” says Lily, giggling as she kisses you once, twice—thrice. 

“And that means?” You scoff lightheartedly. 

She steals another kiss from you. “That means: I hope you know that we have loved you ever since, you daft witch. That I’ve loved you all this time. And now that you’re ours, we are going to make sure you remember that. Every single day for the rest of our lives.” 

You smile, holding onto her hand, dizzy with a hundred emotions. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

(Your Divination project is a point lower than Lily, Peter and James’s, but you find that it’s the luckiest fortune you’ve ever had.) 

EPILOGUE:

“I LOVE QUIDDITCH!” 

You are twenty-two years old, nose bitten from the chilly air, lounging in the best seating area the Quidditch World Cup has to offer; an unobstructed view of the players. The match is between the Brazilian and Japanese National Quidditch teams. Much to Sirius and James’s chagrin, your cheek is painted in yellow and green stripes, the vibrant flag around your shoulders. 

You scream along with the crowd, nearly spilling your Butterbeer popcorn, as the Brazilian players enter the vast stadium. You ardently shake Lily’s shoulders. “That’s him! That’s him! Lily, it’s Brazil’s youngest ever Seeker! Vinícius Silva! I watched a replay of his matches and he’s got a seventy-eight percent win rate!”

“Watch out, love, you’ll fall off the edge if you aren’t careful,” Lily says worriedly.

“His fastest record for catching the Golden Snitch is ten minutes and thirty seconds! He’s won Most Outstanding Player in the Junior Division twice! I’ve got a good feeling about this team—I knew those auguries were a lucky sign.” 

“The only Seeker you should be obsessing over is me.” You hear James grumbling behind your back, stealing a kiss from Lily’s lips before pressing his mouth to your cheek. “And you bloody well know that Japan’s Chaser, Kurosawa, is going to steal the limelight in this match. An average possession time of thirty seconds per play. A beast, that one.” 

You wave him off, more confident in your statistics. “Did you place my bets? I’m telling you, we’re going to be rich.” 

“Yes, darling,” He says, utterly loving his role as the dutiful husband. 

Moments later, Sirius appears at his side, fussing over your scarf, and kissing you just because. “Can we take off your bloody hat now? I think you just blinded Malfoy and his little blonde gremlin.” 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” You simper fiendishly before smacking his arm. “And don’t call your nephew that.” 

Sirius grins.

You pull at one of his curls. “Besides, if you’re good you can take off everything later tonight.”

He pulls you in for a deep kiss, hand at your waist, nose brushing each other’s. “And that is why I love you, dear wife.” 

You pout, albeit seeing right through his white, little jape. “Truly?” 

Sirius lands another kiss to your forehead. “Are you doubting me, loveliest love of my life? The lighthouse in my ocean storms. The apple of my eye. Fire in my loins—”

You slap a hand over his mouth. “I get it, thank you, my love.” 

Sirius beams from ear to ear. “Glad to have eased your doubts, darling.”

Thirty minutes into the match, Remus arrives, dressed in a muted gray suit, light brown hair flopping over his eyes. He greets everyone with a tired kiss. 

You immediately wrap him in a hug, nuzzling your nose into his neck. He had a particularly difficult full moon some nights ago. You press a tender kiss to the scar right below his jaw. “How was work? Did you bring my binder? It has my lesson plan for next week, I don’t want to return to the castle unprepared, and—”

The newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor squeezes your waist. “Work was fine, pet. And no, I didn’t bring the papers because right now we are not working. We are going to watch Brazil win the bloody match and get right home to Harry after.” 

You, the newest Divination teacher of Hogwarts, tug him by his necktie, smiling coyly. “Sounds like a wonderful plan to me.” 

BONUS: 

“REMUS!”

The empty classroom is filled with soft, fervid moans—two professors especially drunk on the taste of each other’s lips. You’re seated on the desk, Remus wedged between your thighs, his hand inching dangerously higher and higher; the other hand slipping under your shirt and thumbing the bare skin underneath. He captures your whispers and mewls with his lips. Jackets and ties are tossed carelessly to the side. 

“So fucking beautiful.” He nips at your lower lip. 

“Rem. . .” You whimper, tugging at the strands of his hair. “Remus—please!” 

The door to the DADA classroom slams open and you two detangle from each other’s embrace in record speed. As you pat down your hair, Remus draping his blazer over your shoulders, you watch Lily and Harry stalk over to you in lengthy strides, reaching the both of you within seconds. You clear your throat, awkwardly averting your gaze from your son’s precious eyes; Lily, a moment away from throwing her head back in laughter. 

Harry, fourteen, and not at all ignorant to what couples do in the castle alcoves, sees the ruffled hair, the lipstick over his father’s cheeks and neck, and his parent’s misbuttoned blouse. 

He grimaces. “You two are disgusting, you know that right?” 

You guffaw, pinching his cheek. “Now, is that any way to greet the person who’s changed your diapers since you were a baby?” 

Lily cackles from Remus’s side, fixing the collar of his shirt. “Harry’s got a bit of a problem. Go on, tell them, my love.” 

Harry immediately throws his hands in the air, groaning frustratedly. “It’s Ron! He thinks I put my name in the bloody Goblet—!” 

“Which, I will still be having a word with Dumbledore about,” You say decisively. You’re not about to endanger your son. The Minister of Magic and the Headmaster be damned. They can also take it up with your husband, James, Head Auror of the Magical Law Enforcement department. 

“And now Ron’s not talking to me, Hermione’s not talking to me because I’m not talking to Ron—Colin’s following me around everywhere I go! I’m going mad, mum!” Harry slumps on one of the empty chairs, huffing. “Stupid bloody tournament.” 

You chuckle as you walk over to him, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu. “Take it from me.” You press a warm kiss to his forehead. “Talk to them, otherwise you’ll lose time that was meant to be spent together. It doesn’t matter who was wrong or who was right. It’s important that you have the courage to reach out. They’re your friends. They will understand your heart soon enough.” 

Harry blinks. “Thanks.” 

He exits the classroom in a daze, heavily pondering on your words. 

The door clicks shut, and Lily wordlessly locks the entrance. She turns to you and Remus, a sultry grin on her ruby red lips. “What are the chances we Floo home, and invite Sirius and James to join us?” 

You take her outstretched hand. “A hundred and twelve.”

a/n. i wasn't satisfied with the angst here.. so expect a hufflepuff!reader and enemies to lovers next time (i promise to do better in the next fic aaakfsh) tell me what u thought of this one EUEUEU HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS FIC!! heart heart

[canofhappy]

going down a rabbit hole of wikipedia articles and other google searches of the saudi arabian city of Jeddah is wild. how many freaking empires has this place been conquered by?? it has so much history, it’s the enterance to Mecca/Makkah and Medina, it’s one of the stops on the Silk Road, it’s got everything!

[sugaimhome]

next door - jjk

pairing: yandere jungkook x female reader

minors dni !!

genre: smut, fluff, fluff, fluff... mostly pwp

warnings: soft yandere, dom jungkook, sub reader, voyeurism, obsession, stalking?, sex against a wall, mentions of sexual harrasment (? its very very brief), reader has a praise kink, masturbation, videos of jungkook's dick, jungkook likes to please reader. 

word count: 4.8k

summary: Jungkook is obsessed with you. All because of some badly designed architecture and house planning, he’d do anything for you, and when he sees you struggling to orgasm, he takes matters into his own hands... or camera. 

a/n: i have more ideas for this couple and i’ll think i’ll end up writing them as a mini collection. also i think about Jungkook's tattoos 24/7.

drabble

not proof read

Jungkook couldn’t help it. He had tried so many times to put a halt to his weird behaviors. But you had made it so difficult. Too difficult. 

He no longer feels guilt, running his hand up and down his dick as he watches you get changed. From his window, he could see everything that happened inside your room. He witnessed everything from you waking up early in the morning, naked, getting ready, sitting in your makeup chair with your tits out, you had to know you were teasing him. But of course, you didn’t know, because there is no way you’d let that happen. In the evenings when you climbed into bed, sometimes lying there for a while so he could get a good view of your body before you shuffled into the sheets. 

The thing was, he always waited until you’d covered yourself before he came, cum flying onto his stomach and chest, it made him feel less… dedicated? Perverted? He wasn’t sure but this obsession of his was getting out of hand. He called in sick to work on the days you did, just to make sure you were okay, he’d even followed you out on his motorbike before, because it was late and he didn’t want you to get hurt. He'd punched someone for you, and would do it again. His obsession would never put you in danger and that was what prompted him to make his bold move. 

It happened two nights ago, when you pulled up porn on your laptop, trying to get off to it. He had counted 15 videos until you’d found the thing you had wanted to watch, it was a man jerking off. That was it. No woman. No excessive screaming. He respected that about you, you knew what you wanted. Anyways, it was watching you for half an hour, all worked up trying to orgasm that made him make his own video for you. It was him, jerking off, nothing special. Apart from, it was, because, him slipping a small USB stick into your letterbox this morning while you were at work, with the only thing on it being his dick and moans did seem a little more than nothing special. At first, he had thought you weren’t going to play it, and he wouldn’t blame you because he certainly wouldn’t plug a possibly virus-infected USB into his computer, but you had.

He had witnessed your eyes go wide as you saw what was on the stick, he assumed you had the courage to very quickly click onto the file as his dick appeared in full glory on the screen. Was it too much? But you didn’t turn it off, in fact, you reached to play with one of your nipples with your fingers. Jungkook had watched his video enough times to know that when you threw your head back, reaching past the band of your knickers to play with yourself, was the part where he moaned your name. Was it possible that the next time he saw you in your garden, you’d recognise his voice? Hopefully. He watches you, absentmindedly stroking his cock as you get off to his body. You were getting off to him. He was bringing you pleasure. It drove him mad, he was so proud.

When you came, your head was thrown back in ecstasy, the Jungkook on the screen did the same. Though you couldn't see his face, he knew he had looked spent out after ending the recording, it was one of the best orgasms he'd ever had, knowing it was for you.

Though he still wished he could fill your cunt with his seed, really make you his with his smell and his taste, no other man would ever touch you again. You'd be his for eternity.

He was patient as he waited for you to open your eyes from your orgasm, to look at the screen, and hopefully write down the number he was displaying. You do, grabbing your phone from your bedside table and typing something in. A few seconds later, Jungkook gets a notification.

you: your dick is huge 

Jungkook mulls it over for a moment, not wanting to say the wrong thing.

jungkook: imagine it stretching your tight cunt. 

you: please…

He doesn't reply, he wants nothing more than to comply with your wishes. But it would be weird, wouldn't it.

you: how do you know me? Who are you? how do you know that's what I like?

Ah, the question Jungkook knew was coming, the one he had prepared for. 

jungkook: I'm close to you.

Of course, he wasn't emotionally close to you, but physically he was, your houses couldn't have been more than 10 feet apart. He sat there, watching you with a smug smile on his face, for he had cheated the system. That night, he slept happily knowing you were satisfied.

---

Would you have played the USB stick, orgasming on your fingers, if you hadn't known that it had belonged to your next-door neighbor? No you wouldn't have. But you're damn glad your mum brought you that ring doorbell as a housewarming present. You didn't know his name, but you knew who he was the second your phone sent you the notification, you watched him take the USB stick out of his pocket and place it gently through your letterbox, standing there for a second as if waiting for it to fly back at him. What you hadn't expected was his dick. Well you assumed it was his dick, unless it wasn't… but that would have been even weirder, especially after the text messages. You'd saved his name in your phone to "neighbor" the few messages on the chat highly concerning.

The best part was, you weren't going to touch yourself to the video, but after your failed attempt at an orgasm a few days you figured it wouldn't hurt. Your neighbor obviously didn't know you knew, and he wouldn't know you touched yourself to this, there was no way he could. 

One question remained. Why had he put this though your door in the first place? Maybe two questions. How had he known you were desperate for exactly that? Okay, third question. How did he know your name?

That was the thing about Porn, why you couldn't get off to it, it was so vague, any girl could get off on that but him moaning your name, it was personal, made for you, and it was so hot. 

For the past few days, you've hung around outside, taking ages to pile up all your bags from the car. Gardening. Loitering. You hadn't seen him once. 

It hadn't left your mind, that was clear. But when your car broke down one morning, and the garage, probably hearing that you were a woman, just told you to check your oil, the neighbor situation had nearly left your mind. Watching YouTube videos on how to check your car's oil had been the peak of embarrassment for you, at the age of 25, surely you should know this by now. But despite the clear instructions on YouTube, you were too scared to actually mess with your car.

You had two options here.

1.  Call your Dad

2.  Call your non - existent boyfriend

So it had to be your Dad. This was not something you were looking forward to, so when you have his number (unsaved) dialed into your phone, your finger fights your brain against pressing the dial button.

"Hey, can I help?" someone asks from behind you. Your phone goes straight into your pocket, and you turn on your heels to see -

"I'm Jungkook, I live next door." He's smiling, completely innocent.

For days, you'd been spending time out here just to see him, but now he was here you felt so embarrassed and awkward. This man, all floppy haired, arm tucked around a bike helmet, had sent you a video that seemed to boarder on some kind of sexual assault or a form of public indecency. A video that you had enjoyed, got off to, and watched two times since.

"Hi" you manage to force out. Trying to ignore the very attractive ripple of his muscles as he placed his helmet onto the floor. "um, yeah, um-"

You curse yourself, why did you have to be so anxious? He tilts his head at you, oblivious to the fact you knew. "Think my oil is low, but I can't pull the stick out, its stuck"

You cringe at the choice of words, but he only smirks. Tongue darting out to play with his lip ring. Fuck me. You'd have found him attractive on a normal day, anyone would, but with the memory of his dick, him moaning your name-

You stop. Thinking wasn't going to help. He's next to you now, you can hear his breathing. "Do you mind if I have a look?"

You stutter, struggling to find the words but move aside anyway. "Pl-please if you don't mind." 

Heat rushes to your core, your cheeks feeling like they're on fire. As he leans over your car, his hips pressed flush against the metal. "So you know it's this little pully thingy, right?"

You nod, trying to act indifferent as he points towards the yellow ring sticking out of your engine. Gripping the side of your car you watch as he hooks one finger around the loop, using his strength to pull the rod from the tank. His finger-  "Geez, you were right, it was proper jammed in there" 

All you can do is nod. He frowns. "Do you have a tissue?" He looks at you, holding the metal stick between the two of you. Of course you had a tissue, you worked with children, it was compulsory in this line of work. Pulling one from your pocket you hand it to him "Hopefully it doesn't have snot on it" you laugh, only realising your mistake once you've finished your sentence. "Not my snot!" you exclaim. "I work in a primary school!"

He chuckles, slowly running the tissue up the stick. The amount of effort he puts into it has your pussy clenching around the air. Damn. This man had given you one orgasm, without knowing, and you were a mess around him. "No worries, I'm probably immune to kid snot by now anyways"

Your mouth drops open, and he smirks again. "I don't have kids, I babysit for my friend, Namjoon."

Something about him sharing his personal life with you had your stomach erupting into butterflies, you were so grateful he didn't have children. Though picturing him with children had you- 

What was wrong with you? He puts the stick back into the engine, he pulls it out and it's clean. His mouth drops to a frown. "Not a drop." 

He points to a line on the stick "The oil should be up to there at all times" 

"Oh-" is all you can say.

It would take you nearly an hour on the bus to get to work and, after checking your phone, you were only 20 minutes away from starting time. "Shit."

Jungkook, as you had learned his name was, looks upset with himself as he says "I don't have any oil that would be compatible with your car but-" he glances at his bike. "I can give you a lift, if you need one."

A lift. A lift with your dick sharing - moaning your name - neighbor, whilst you were apparently in heat. Nothing could go wrong… right?

"If you have nowhere to be, I'd really appreciate it." You manage to tell him, and his eyes seem to light up in response.

"No problem, I'll go grab my spare helmet" and he's running off into his house whilst you organise all the stuff you'll need for classes today. There's not much and you manage to fit it all into a small tote that you will hope will fit into his bike. Of course it would, that thing was huge, it wasn't the only thing that he owned that was huge. You fidget at the thought of it. Damn this. Jungkook appears from his doorway with another helmet under his arm. "Here put this on" he says, taking the tote from you and chucking it into the small compartment in the back. With the helmet on, you fidget with the straps to make it tighter, watching Jungkook climb onto the front of the bike, he was hot. There was certainly no denying that. 

"Just climb on behind me!" he practically shouts through the helmet. As you climb onto the bike, you read the model name "2022 Harley Davidson sportster s" 

You want to mutter "oh my god" as you climb on, trying to get as far away as possible from Jungkook without falling off the back. "I've never ridden-" you begin, but you're cut off when he reaches a hand behind him, pulling you by the waist so your body is flush against his. Your nipples harden at the contact and you're glad he's got a leather jacket on. 

"Obviously, you'll need to hold me around my waist or you'll fall off the back, where's your work?" 

You relay the address to him, then he starts up the engine. It roars to life and you can feel the vibrations of the massive bike against your core. You want to clench your legs but seeing as Jungkook was currently between them you figured it would be a little too obvious. As the bike pulls off, your arms quickly wrap around his waist, you bury your head into his back as well. You spend the rest of your 15 minute ride like this, though this motorbike was made for speed, Jungkook doesn't seem to be using it and you respect that a lot, as if he was trying to keep you safe.

When you pull up to your school, all the kids in your class have their face up to the window, pointing at the motorcycle as you climb off it. You open the small compartment your tote was in before handing the helmet back to Jungkook.

"Thank you," you tell him, smiling. 

"No worries, I'll grab you some oil today and I'll meet you back here at three?"

"You really don't have to, I've been a burden to you already-"

He cuts you off "I want to, I'll see you then."

He flips his visor down, kicks the metal stick that holds the bike up and starts up the engine. He drives off. You clench around the air and turn on your feet to walk towards the entrance of your school. The children pointing and staring wide eyed at you from your window.

You sprint down the corridor, fearful of being late, but also typing something into your phone as you go. Perhaps it was time to live life on the edge.

You change the name of the contact from "Neighbor" to "Jungkook" and type...

You: thanks for the ride this morning. x

You smile as you enter your classroom, the kids bombarding you with questions to which you didn't know any of the answers. 

---

It's lunch before you hear your phone buzz and as you're sitting alone in your classroom it seems like the perfect timing. 

Jungkook: damn, I should have known you were being too fidgety, do I make you nervous?

You: I was thinking about your cock.

Jungkook: Still want me to stretch your cunt?

you: maybe…

Your door opens and your boss pokes his head around the door. 

Great. Here we go. 

"Good afternoon Y/N" he smiles.

"Good afternoon Taehyung." You try to smile back, sometimes his presence was reassuring, especially after a long day when you'd talk about a student or an upcoming school trip, but right now you wanted him to leave you alone. It was blatant to half the staff here, and to you, that this man would hit on you 24/7 but you tended to brush it off, you weren't interested in workplace shenanigans. 

"So… There's this conference tomorrow-" he begins but your phone cuts him off by buzzing. 

He continues. "I was wondering-" 

Your phone buzzes again.

"If you'd-" 

Buzz. 

"Sorry Taehyung but my car broke down and I won't be able to come, plus I have tons of assessments to mark."

You in fact, had none. He didn't need to know that.

"Ah, no worries." 

And this is where you make your mistake, because in the hopes of getting him to leave by seeming uninterested in his conversation, you pick up your phone and open the messages from Jungkook. It's him jerking off, and it starts up instantly, luckily your phone is on silent but there's something so so unprofessional about sitting here, watching your neighbor jerk off in front of your boss. Something so exhilarating. 

You: my boss is right in front of me.

Jungkook: you like that?

You: he asked me out. I said I would be busy tomorrow.

Jungkook: if you intend to spend it around my dick then you will be.

You clench your legs together, wishing you could appreciate the video without Taehyung's presence. When you look up, he's gone. Guilt overwhelmed your body, you didn't mean to be rude. 

---

Jungkook felt nothing but butterflies watching you wave goodbye to your students before catching the helmet he threw to you and putting it onto your head. Your body so flush to his was honestly a dream and all he wanted to do was either fuck you over the back of the bike right now or wrap you in bubble wrapper so nothing could hurt you on the journey home. His dramatic difference in emotions was slightly overwhelming. What had shocked him most, was that you had known, you would have known from the second you saw him this morning, and you still trusted him enough to get on a motorcycle with him. Trusted him enough to bring you home too. He would do everything in his power to maintain that trust you'd gifted him. When he pulls up outside your houses, he jumps off the bike first, helping you off and somewhat shyly, whilst taking the helmet from your hands, asks "Would you like to come in? Get a take out?" He nearly screams when you nod a yes in response. Exposing his house to you felt very personal, even if its layout was the complete same as yours. 

"I wish I could change mine up like you've done with yours" you comment. 

"You rent?" He asks, and you sigh, which he takes to be a begrudging yes. 

He leads you into his living room then runs into his kitchen to grab you a cold can of diet coke. It was what you were always drinking at home. Your eyes widen at the beverage, he reminds himself that although you know he was the one who sent the video you didn't know he'd been watching you since you moved in. He gulps.

"Thanks." You smile, so sweet, so pretty, Jungkook wants to touch you. "Jungkook, I have some questions."

He nods, knowing that this would have been brought up, he's about to slump down onto his seat before he says. "If it's about the video, I have something that might explain it" 

He nods to his upstairs, where you follow his line of sight. You're hesitant, and he can see why.

"I would never lay a finger on you." he tells you, filling his eyes with sincerity. "Unless you wanted me to." 

You must see the intensity in his eyes as you plop the can down on his table before following behind him up the stairs. "This better not be some massive murder plan." You say. 

"You've been watching too much true crime." 

This pulls a laugh from your throat that has Jungkook relaxing. Two minutes later, he's sat on his bed, watching you stare though his window into your bedroom. 

"Oh my god" you exclaim, shocked. "You watch me?" 

He promised himself he wouldn't lie to you. "It started like a year ago. In covid, when I was alone all day and you were working from home. Sometimes I'd just sit here and watch you tutor your kids, almost as something to do, I was so bored."

You turn to look at him, understanding on your features. He blushes as he says the next thing "The next thing I knew I was starting to care about you, a woman who didn't know my name nor that I shared this connection of loneliness with."

He looks you in the eye. "I told myself I'd go wherever you were, I'd follow you late at night when I was worried you'd get hurt. I punched a guy in a bar once, the one that grabbed your breast"

Your eyes go wide, you remembered that. "Then I got sexualy frustrated and I'd jerk off to you getting changed or you lying in bed. It's so weird, I know. I tried to stop."

Looking up at you, he sees that he is not yet expected to stop talking, so he keeps going. "The other night, when you spent hours watching porn, to have the most amateur orgasm of your life, I felt I knew what you needed, I'd watched it all."

He put his head into his hands. Speaking it out loud made it sound so much worse. He was so embarrassed, so perverted.

"I understand," you whisper to him. "You knew what I needed"

"Look, Y/N I'm so sorry, I understand if you need to report me to the pol-"

You cut him off by kissing him. Your lips are so soft against his own he moans into your mouth. His hands are on you instantly, pulling you closer to him so you're between his legs, your legs pressing against his crotch. 

You pull away from him, holding his face in yours and saying something Jungkook would never forget "For some reason, I trust you Jungkook" you sigh, turning away from him with a blush covering your whole upper body. "Want you to do what you said on messages" 

He smirks, pulling his lip ring between two teeth. "Want my cock to stretch your pussy?" He asks. You fidget and he knows that's good. "Wanna go dumb from the pleasure?" He's standing over you now, walking the two of you backwards so your back is against the wall. He kisses your neck, feels your pulse under his lips. "You know I can bring you that orgasm you've been needing" 

The words just keep falling from his mouth, pure filth but it seems to have you turned on as you throw your head back, gripping onto his bicep as he reaches up though your cute little teachers blouse to play with one of your tits, squeezing your nipple between two of his fingers. "What do you want first, Y/N. My cock or my fingers."

"Your cock, please Jungkook"

He nearly nuts then, hearing his name fall from your lips like it was supposed to, it was so clear in that moment you were meant to moan his name. "Gonna make you moan my name so much it's the only one you remember" 

He'd wanted to take this slow. Wanted to savour you and never forget your sounds but you were making that hard. "If you're so desperate for my cock first, where do you want me to fuck you?"

"Here" you sigh as he unbuttons your blouse, pulling it over your head, unstrapping your bra and attaching his lip to one of your nipples. 

"Want it against the wall? What a slut."

You moan. It's so guttural and from so deep in your throat that Jungkook's already hard cock twitches in response to it. 

"Take off your pants" he demands of you, worried he's bossing you about too much but you do as you're told reaching down to unbutton your trousers. He flings his jumper to the other side of the room and pulls his joggers down in record speed. When you turn back to him, you're pressed against the wall again, your body naked between him. You're going to drive him mad. 

Your hands are running up and down his chest, tracing over his muscles. "Really want your cock Jungkook" 

He groans. Looking down between the two of you to watch his cock rest against your lower stomach. It's a good job he'd masturbated earlier or he would have busted at the sight of it. "Are you ready for me?" He asks you. Pushing your legs apart with his thighs and swiping a finger through your folds and applying pressure to your clit to test how wet you were. 

"Been dripping since you sent me that video earlier" you admit to him. 

"I'll go slow, I don't want to hurt you." He grips the base of his cock, using his hand to guide himself through your folds, beginning to push up into you gently. You collapse forward, using Jungkook's body to support you, biting onto his shoulder trying to keep from shouting out. "I'm stretching your cunt so well, told you I would"  

You felt exquisite around his cock, so warm and tight and wet. "Tell me I feel good," Jungkook urges you. Wanting to hear some praise. 

"You fit so well. Feel so good. You're so big" you tell him all at once, he'd fully bottomed out now, his hip bones touching your stomach. 

"Does it hurt?" He asks you and you shake your head. "Let me see your face" you fall back against the wall, detaching your mouth from Jungkook's shoulder and appreciating the mark you'd left there.

"Gonna move now" he warns you, pulling all the way out before pushing back in again, only watching your face contort into pleasure, your eyebrows pulling together. "You're so beautiful, Y/N" he peppers kisses across your face and nose. 

He could hardly believe you were wrapped around his cock right now. This had been everything he had wanted and more. There was one problem, now that Jungkook had you once, he would never know how to let go of you again. He couldn’t see anything beyond you in his future. He’s pulled back to reality with your hand gripping his bicep. You’re moaning his name “My gosh Jungkook please don’t stop” you tell him, he was never going to stop, he’d do whatever you wanted him to do if you just asked. Fuck you forever if you needed him too. 

"Fuck, Jungkook I'm so close" his name falling from your lips was like a promise, his name was meant for your lips.

"Where do you want me?" He asks you, worry in his features, he'd forgotten about a condom. 

"Don't worry" you tell him, caressing his face in your hands. "I'm on the pill and clean"

For a moment, Jungkook was disappointed, he wanted to fill you with his seed, you'd be all his then, if you were full of his child, everyone would know he had planted it there. God, he needed to sort his thoughts out. "I'm clean too" he tells you, his last check up had been years ago but he hadn't had sex since. "I'm close" he groans. "Cum with me Y/N"

"Can't hold it Jungkook" you whine, your hands leaving his face and scratching down his chest, you place your hand over his abs, feeling them twitch under your hands as he thrusts into you. 

"Be a good girl Y/N, hold it." He demands of you. He's so proud when you do as you're told, gripping onto his shoulders as a distraction. "We cum together on one okay?"

You nod, but Jungkook sees your eyes widen in panic. "Five" 

He reaches down, playing with your clit and smiling when you try to squirm away.

"Four"

Jungkook moves a hand away from your waist, using it to pull roughly at one of your tits. Your eyes watering.

"Three"

"Jungkook, please." You beg, he ignores you.

"Two" he smirks. It was so good having you in his control.

"One"

He watches as your eyes roll back, his cock being sucked into your pussy as it twitches and squeezes around him. His cum shooting into you and hitting your cervix makes you shake. You can hardly hold yourself up anymore. Legs shaking, hands gripping onto Jungkook's ass, holding him deep inside of you, you're completely spent out. 

"Shit" you mumble, still twitching. Jungkook uses his thumb against your neck to feel your pulse, he wasn't sure why he needed to feel the pace of it, how it was running, all because of him. 

"I did this" he reminds you, in case you'd already forgotten. "I made you cum"

"Mmh, all you Jungkook" He's holding you up as you slump against him, his cock going soft inside of you. "Never had a vaginal orgasm before" you admit, your cheeks burning, you'd always assumed it was a fault you had, you'd faked so many times.

"I'll always make you cum" he said. "It's my main priority." he runs a thumb over your cheek, smiling softly when he says  "You're my main priority now, i'll make sure you're always comfortable, and cumming"

[suguru-getos]

୨・┈﹕✦﹕ Kinktober Day 28﹕✦﹕┈・୧

-> Event Masterlist

Yakuza Toji Fushiguro x F!Reader -> Dacryphilia

Warnings: Overstimulation, clit-spanking, dacryphilia, soft talk (no degradation), size kink.

Toji Fushiguro— the esteemed mafia head of the Tokyo district, encompassing the entirety of Japan and their drug cartel masked with numerous business, one atop the other. The name and fame of the celebrity CEO who is rumored to hold more power than the government, but stays uncommitted to such false allegations. One more thing about him, he has a wife he dotes on, which people absolutely hate. So much money, so much power, so beautiful & big— who wouldn’t want a husband like him?

You do thank the universe everyday for bestowing you with someone like Toji. At present, you both are vacationing in Greece, Athens. It’s just one of his adoring ways to pave away your boredom/make life more exciting for you. Why would he not? You deserve the whole world after all. The balcony with ancient Greek architecture, white colors and beautiful decors intermingled with the solemn sea waves crashing your booked hotel room. You have marmalade and bread, some coffee & also your husband in front of you. Toji had no interest in the breakfast, his eyes darted on you. “Good morning little one. Slept well?” He asked gently, to which you hummed with a nod. Breathing out in content as the bitter flavor of caffeine hits your lazy nerves just right. “Did you sleep well?” You tilted your head, asking him the same question to which you got a smile-laced nod.

“You know, it’s been a long time since we spent time like this without you being so busy. I… uh, kinda like that.” You smiled, expressing your happiness.

“That makes me so glad, my love. I’d make time for my one and only. That’s a promise.” Toji held your hand in his, kissing your knuckle.

“I’d love that, sir.” You smirked, watching his content expression change to one of excitement. “Really?” He kisses your knuckle again, asking you again if you called him ‘Sir’ because you want things to shift that way.

You nodded, wanting nothing more but to feel Toji's physique taking advantage of its bulk stature and tossing you around. Before you could comprehend more, Toji shoved you down the bed, spreading your legs apart and keeping a pillow down your waist. "Not gonna be nice today pretty girl." Toji hummed, while your wandering eyes watched him eagerly, nodding in approval. You wanted him to have his way with you after all.

His hands ripped the fabric off your shorts, and then your panties, while you could do nothing but watch in awe, gasping at the sound, fluttering into your ears. His eager tongue found its way down your clit, licking and suckling onto it without a care in the world. You mumbled out in a soft moan, feeling yourself giving into the foundation of pleasure Toji has long established, nothing can save you from him. Not that you wanted to be saved.

"That's it, going to make you cum so many times, until I see fit." Toji roared, he wanted to eat you out over and over until you couldn't take it anymore. "Yes, sir, please... all yours." You whimpered as your walls fluttered around nothing, moaning out when the tight cunt felt his thick fingers intervene and curl up.

"Shit, I'm so, so close." You arched your back, shuddering and convulsing for more. "Please, let me cum." You knew better than to tip off the edge without his permission after all. Toji nodded, siren eyes gazing at you as you toppled off, chasing your crashing orgasm with whines and whimpers, your body succumbing into the high and slowly crashing. He was ready to build it again, his fingers not stopping and his mouth wrapped on your puffy clit again, a carnal groan escaping him, indicating he wants more.

"Gonna give me another one, yes?" Toji smirked, watching you nod in affirmation. Oh, how cute you are, wanting to please him and wanting to cum for him again like a good girl in heat. "That's good, being a good girl for me, hmm?" His hand languidly slapped onto your clit once, something deep-rooted within him waking up; when he sees the tears stinging into your eyes. Oh, his little baby was close again.

"Cum for me whenever." Toji cooed, fingers roughly curling up into you, lifting your pelvis up slightly with how rough he's being right now. "God. Can feel you close again." He sighed, eyes drinking up the sight of your furrowed brows, how your lips parted in a silent 'o' when you orgasmed again, bucking your hips and screaming out at the feeling.

"Aw, you're crying, little one?" Toji cooed, watching how his cock strained his pants even more than before. His ever-so-spoiled little baby was now crying because of him. Something about the fact that only he can make you cry and smile did something to him. "Go on, cry for me more.'" He smirked, spanking your clit firmly, watching your body wither down, taking in the painful pleasure and moaning out.

Your soft glossy eyes turned into audible sobs when Toji shoved his thick cock into your fluttery walls, despite fucking him for years, you could never get used to him absolutely ruining you. "Can't take it, little girl? I'm sure you can... come on. Give it to me."

Toji eventually took five orgasms out of you, two on his tongue and three on his cock, switching positions, fucking deep into your cervix, kissing you, muffling your moans, wiping your tears, and kissing you again. "Can't," You sniffled when he eventually halted.

Toji observed you, watching how adorable and utterly cute you looked like this, ruined to the maximum, sobbing cause you've had too much cock. His pretty, little, pathetic baby. "Heh, want another one?" Toji teasingly rubbed your overstimulated and swollen clit, holding your pelvis down when you tried to squirm away in a loud whimper, shaking your head no.

"But you look too cute like this, crying out." He insisted, watching your clenched jaw and your moans turn into screaming.

"Promise, last orgasm." Toji hummed, continuing his torture on your clit. "Cry for me again, pretty girl." He cooed, smirking when you gave up, knowing fully well he would drain another orgasm out of your already tired body.

"Sorry, wifey, can't help it, you know? You look too pretty when you cry."

You don't need to worry because once all this is over, Toji will coup you back in his arms, cradle you for hours, tell you how good you've been, take you to a warm bath, kiss your forehead, call you brave for taking it so well and make you remember how much he loves you all over again.

[vividwritinglove]

One where you are working out with lando and he watches you bend over and gets turned on

Another combination - hope you like it ♥️

____________________________________________

It's his summer break. And you don't want to spend the next weeks with anyone else but Lando. Besides small trips with his friends, you also plan on spending some time together.

This year, it was your turn to plan the summer vacation and you came across this beautiful and secluded house on Paros via AirBnb. Compared to the other accommodations on the Greek island, this one is very modern and stands out with a futuristic architectural style. Just to Lando's taste. He was excited and looking forward to the undisturbed togetherness.

Of course you wanted to relax, but after the vacation it would be time for Lando to get used to his daily trainings again. That's why you decided to rent a house with it’s own gym. For some time now you have been training together with Lando. He motivates you to do more sports and so you can also spend more time with him. This is also noticeable in your figure, not that you needed it, but even you noticed that your muscles are more defined and your butt looks much better in tight yoga pants.

Since then, you've also been posting more stories of yourself in gym clothes on Instagram, earning distinct emojis from Lando every time. You enjoy teasing him. You love playing with him. Just like today. You've already been at the gym for half an hour with a direct view of the ocean, as you get the idea to tease Lando a little. While he's still doing some cardio exercises, you stand in front of the mirror and start stretching. Again you watch him through the mirror. His gaze is still stubbornly directed forward to the sea, while he vigorously pedals the bike and almost rests his upper body on the handlebars.

However, as you stretch and then bend deeply forward, you get his full attention. You continue your stretching exercises and demonstrate to him your flexibility by doing the splits (not that he already knows..). Your execution of the exercises is particularly lascivious and sexy this time. Lando cycles slower and straightens up to have a better view of you. You have reached your goal.

Slightly you look over your shoulder and give him a distinct look with a cheeky grin. Lando also needs to grin and shakes his head. As you get up, he gets off the bike and walks towards you. You're just making your head spin, as he gets right behind you and puts his hands on your stomach. His fingers play with the high waistband of your yoga pants, "Fuck! You look so good.".

You smile at him through the mirror and put your hands on his.

"Can't wait to absolutely ruin you..." he murmurs in your ear and then kisses the crook of your neck. As he does, he continues to look at you with his bedroom gaze, which makes you wet instantly.

"Why wait?" you ask, almost moaning, and make his hand slide under the waistband of your yoga pants.

[mizusnose]

hiiii, i LOVE your writing and i couldn’t resist submitting a request… could i get a drabble or HCs of university students mizu/fem!reader where the reader is an intelligent, well liked and headstrong art student that mizu develops a crush on? i like to think mizu doesn’t get intimidated often but def is by the reader who wasn’t interested in rlshps (more into hookups LOL) until mizu came along… i just want more capable, confident reader characters w rizz 😩 nsfw is okay too!! <3

Architecture Student Reader x Mizu HCs

slightly nsfw

Reader, who is always pulling all-nighters to finish assignments and has steady hands and tons of worn-out pencils.

Despite being constantly busy, always finds ways to go out on the weekend. Loves to go on dates and dress up and (maybe, potentially) hook up afterwards.

Doesn’t do relationships—thinks it’s too much work and time: both of which she doesn’t have

Enter Mizu who is not an architect major or anything art-related, just some chemistry major who was also on a date the same night reader was—she instantly gets caught up in the way reader looks across the bar.

Fortunately for mizu, mutual friends gets you both together and mizu falls harder for reader’s charm, friendliness, and creativity.

Mizu is scared to ask reader out officially despite becoming fast friends. Doesn’t know what to do with all the nerves she has whenever reader and her hang out.

Oh, um, I don’t think— reader says one night as Mizu kisses her against the bedframe of the twin bed. The dorm is so small, but Mizu is tall and insistent above reader, Can we..just this? is that okay?

Mizu who is desperate and in love, agrees and regrets not denying after the fact.

Now they’re stuck in this limbo that has Mizu torn up on the inside, trying to not wake up reader’s roommates as she leaves in the mornings after their hookups.

It doesn’t help that the sex is amazing and Mizu can’t bring herself to stop seeing reader crying, moaning out, and cursing in such a blissed-out state.

Eventually it gets sorted, but only after Mizu confesses during sex, leaving reader to truly reconsider their fwb situation.

Really sappy event. Tears were involved. But Mizu denies it years after they’ve become official.

It’s okay though, since Mizu makes reader cry every night with the help of her bright blue strap-on :)

———

So i actually don’t know anything about architecture students, but hopefully this was okay 😅 thanks for the ask!

[lovertate]

sacrilege

minors dni!!

this oneshot has two versions, this is the nfsw version, here is the sfw version

Simon “Ghost” Riley x gn!reader smut

wc: 1115

cw: kinda angsty, a little fluffy, smut, ghost misses you, male masturbation, this happens in a church, mentions of sex, established relationship, no use of “y/n”, no specific gender mentioned for reader

not beta read.

also posted on ao3

Ghost’s heart thrums in his chest as he carefully makes his way to the Church. His feet leave hardly any noise as he creeps through the Shadows that litter the streets. Killing those who pose a threat, or are in his way, and sneaking past the others. If they see him, they're as good as dead. He heard one of them say that. As his hand reaches for the wooden door leading through the wall surrounding the Church, he checks his surroundings. No one is following him. Good.

He doesn’t know where the sergeant is, after telling him to run, he did too. He should radio for him soon, he thinks. Just to make sure he’s not dead. He thinks he was shot in the arm. Nothing lethal, more than likely just a graze.

The church is silent. Almost eerily so. No Shadows are in sight, or earshot. Still, Ghost sweeps the place. Starting with the foyer and then moving into the main hall. Clear. He lets out a silent sigh, his shoulders sagging for a brief moment before tensing up again. He stares at the ornate architecture of the place. It’s beautiful. Before he can think, he’s taking a seat at the end of a pew. He flicks through the stations on his comm device, hearing the Americans call out towards each other on most of them. He finds a silent one, pausing on it and letting his hand fall to the pocket under his tuner.

The church is silent. He tilts his head down, ripping open the velcroed pocket and carefully plunging his gloved fingers inside. He pulls out a sad, worn piece of paper. The flooded edge has gone soft from use, so fragile Ghost fears it will tear every time he handles it. He gently unfolds the paper anyway, both of his hands gently cradling it. His face contorts under his mask, his eyebrows pinching together. He stares at the face printed on the paper.

“God- fuck,” he mutters out, his right hand coming to cup around his mouth. It drags against the rough fabric of his balaclava.

At this moment, Ghost is not Ghost anymore. He is Simon. Simon Riley. He only feels this when he’s with someone he trusts. The only one he loves. He only feels this when he’s with you. And, although you are not physically with him, the picture of you smiling and laughing as you play with your dog is enough for him.

Simon exhales heavily through his nose, the sound reverberating against the walls. The Church is silent, apart from the sound of your voice. It’s in his head, Simon knows. You’re not actually with him, although he wishes so desperately that you were. Not in the field, no, just… with him.

Simon wishes he could feel you, hold you. Wishes to be held. He wishes he could bury his face into your neck as he quietly sobs after waking up after a nightmare. Wishes to feel your hands running through his hair, fingers lightly scratching at his scalp as you soothe him, make the bad thoughts go away.

Simon wishes he could feel those same hands scratch down his back as he thrusts his dick inside of you. Wishes to hear your moans and pants, his name slipping out of your lips in that pleasure filled tone of yours.

Simon squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t be thinking like this right now. He’s getting himself worked up. Not now, he’s on a mission. Death is staring at him from around the corner at all times. He can not be getting distracted right now. But, that’s what you’re good at. Distracting him. He adores you for it. Being able to take his mind away from his troubles as you wrap your lips around his flushed cock, licking up his precrum slowly while looking into his eyes.

“Fuck,” Simon hisses, the image of you tainting his brain and blocking out any other thoughts.

The Church is silent. Apart from the sound of Simon unzipping his pants, working around the straps of his gear to free his achingly hard cock. He places the picture of you on his thigh, pulling off the glove on his right hand. He fumbles with the hem of his balaclava, pulling it out from under his shirt, just enough to expose his mouth. He spits in his hand, rubbing it around his palm with his fingers before bringing it to his cock.

He shouldn’t be doing this. Not now.

His chin falls towards his chest, eyes fixated on your face as he strokes his cock slowly. Thumb tracing over his tip, smearing the precum leaking from it across his flushed skin. He lets out a pant, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and biting on it.

He thinks of you, on your knees in front of him, sucking and stroking his cock while he’s whispering sweet praises between his breaths. Under him, back arched and whining as he teases you with the head of his cock. Begging for him to fuck you, to please you. To let you cum, to cum in you. Simon grunts softly, his fist speeding up as he can feel his own climax rising.

His head falls back, eyes squinting at the ceiling of the church. His legs twitch. His mouth hangs open, shallow pants leaving his lips. He lets his head lull forward, eyes falling on the picture of you, again. He imagines you looking up at him, eyes half closed and peering up at him, a cock drunk smile on your lips.

“I love you, Simon,” you would whisper out, hand tracing along the back of his neck.

The recounting of this memory is enough to send Simon over the edge. Spilling into his hand as he hunches forward slightly. He whimpers, biting back any louder noises as he twitches and convulses, wishing he was doing this inside of you.

“This is Bravo 7-1, in the blind… how copy?”

The sergeant’s voice pulls Simon away. His mind blanks for a moment, eyes lingering on your face for a few seconds longer before he gently refolds the picture and places it back in the pocket on the left side of his vest. He wipes his hand stickied with his cum on his boxers, gently pulling them over his softening cock, before redoing his pants.

“Ghost, this is 7-1, do you copy?”

Simon takes in a deep breath, his eyes shutting momentarily. His hand tugs on the bottom of his balaclava, resecuring it under the collar of his shirt.

Ghost presses the button on his comm device with his thumb.

“Soap. This is Ghost, how copy?”

do not rewrite, translate, repost, or steal. original work by lovertate on tumblr.

[five-rivers]

School Bus in the Ghost Zone

AO3

@jackdaw-sprite @dekalko-mania

.

Vivid green mists and clouds swirled together in the distance, providing a backdrop for free-floating purple doors and spidery knotworks of impossible architecture.  A few tiny, gleaming lights might have been far-off island-cities, anglers, spectral stars, or other, stranger things.  Nearer by, occasionally obscuring these sights, was a junkyard's worth of derelict cars.

Danny had seen scenery like this before.  On occasion, he had even admired it.  Vistas like this one were stunning, powerful, alien.  They sparked wonder and curiosity.  They sang to his soul that they were home.  Or, at least, his core seemed to think that.  

At the moment, he was feeling none of that.  The principal emotions he was currently experiencing were exasperation, annoyance, and horror.  But, then, he'd never viewed the Ghost Zone through the dingy window of a school bus before, either, so that might have something to do with it.  The panicking students might have also contributed.  

Another person might have been wondering what cosmic entity they had annoyed for something like this to happen to them.  Mr. Lancer certainly was, judging by his hunched posture and the trembling of the hands over his face.  Danny, however, kept a running list of the godlike beings he had angered, and considered himself an expert on the subject.  In his experience, they tended to be more upfront about their intentions.  

This was just bad luck.  

Which meant that Danny was instead mentally asking why his luck was this bad, and, more to the point, if there was a way to fix it. 

"Hey, Danny," said Tucker, nudging Danny's elbow with his own, "are you just about done disassociating?  Because I think Dash is about to go Lord of the Flies on Mikey and Ricky.  Or maybe it's the other way around.  It's kind of hard to tell."

"Yeah," said Danny.  "Is that the one with the cannibalism?" 

Tucker shrugged.  "It wouldn't surprise me."

"Right.  Okay.  This is fine.  I can deal with this."

"I mean," said Sam, leaning over from the other bench with a sort of pinched look on her face, "I think you're the only one who can."

"Gee, thanks, Sam."

Tucker gave him an awkward thumbs up.  "You've got this.  Hopefully soon.  Before there's a murder."

Danny nodded and crawled out over Tucker into the aisle.  The whole Lord of the Flies thing was an exaggeration, but it was getting to be a mess.  

"Hey!" he shouted.  "Hey!" he repeated, putting a little ghostly emphasis into it this time.  "Do you want to keep freaking out, or do you want to go home?"

"There's no going anywhere!" said Dash, waving his hands in a broad gesture that stopped just shy of backhanding both Kwan and Dale.  "The bus is floating in nothing!  There's nowhere to go!  The second we step out, we'll drop!"

"And we're out of fuel!" wailed the bus driver, Mr. Kennedy. 

"Why are we out of–?  Actually, that doesn't matter.  First off, gravity doesn't exist in the Zone unless you think it does.  Or unless someone else is thinking it does for you."

"Which isn't relevant right now!" interjected Sam. 

"Yeah. That gets complicated.  Point is, if you left the bus, you'd float.  Like the bus is."

A soft ohh rose up from the other students.  

"Mr. Fenton," said Mr. Lancer, "are you suggesting we leave the bus and try to travel across the Zone?"

"No, we don't have to leave the bus," said Danny.  He really didn't want to attempt to give his classmates the 'how to fly in the Ghost Zone while human one-oh-one' lecture.  Which he didn't have.  Because he'd never had to do anything like that.  

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there are, like, twenty people here.  If we expect it to go hard enough, it'll go."

"Are you serious?" asked Mr. Lancer. 

"Yeah.  Why wouldn't I be?"

"But there's no gas!" repeated Mr. Kennedy. 

"We were driving just fine half an hour ago!" snapped Star.  "What happened to it?  Don't tell us you've just been putting your foot down all this time!"

Mr. Kennedy moaned.  

"Hey, be nice to him!" said Hannah.  "He only just moved here, so he's probably more used to stuff like aliens."

"Oh, god, are there aliens, too?"

"No," said Danny.  "No, there are not."  Not in Amity Park, anyway.  

"There are psychics, though."

"No," repeated Danny.  He'd thank her very much not to spread the 'psychic bladder' rumor to yet another person. "Sam, can I have one of your spare folders?"

"Sure," said Sam, rummaging in her backpack for a moment before offering up an empty blue paper folder.  "This one okay?"

"Perfect," said Danny.  He walked to the front of the bus, scooting sideways past the people who just felt the need to block the aisle even though they had plenty of room in their seats.  He opened up the folder and placed it down over the dashboard.  “There.  Now the gas doesn’t matter.”

“It kind of does.”

“No, it doesn’t.”  He turned back to the rest of the bus, hands on his hips.  “So, here’s what’s going to happen, we’re going to make the bus go.”  He looked at the driver.  “And you’ll steer us.  And we’ll be able to get wherever we want to go.”

“And,” said the bus driver, “we’ll go where?”

Danny twisted to look out the bus windshield and pointed at a spindly limb of the architecture conglomerate. “There.”

“Why there?” asked Mr. Lancer.  

“Looks like the best place to get directions.”

“What?” exploded Dash.  “You don’t know where we are?  He doesn’t even know where we are?  Why are we letting him tell us where to go?”

“Well, Dash,” said Danny, very much put in mind of a similar conversation he’d had with him the previous year, when Youngblood and Ember had kidnapped every adult in town, “have you been here before?  Has anyone?  Has anyone else even been in the Ghost Zone?  And, no, the time the whole city was transplanted doesn’t count.  No?  No one?  Just me, Sam, and Tucker?”  He was sort of wondering why Valerie wasn’t speaking up during any of this, but that was a problem for later.  “Great.  So.  Despite having been in the Ghost Zone before, I haven’t been in this particular part.  I haven’t even been to every part of the state.  This is an entire dimension.  That shouldn’t be all that surprising.  But, the Fenton Portal is kind of a big thing.  I should be able to get directions to it without any trouble.”

There was silence.  

“What?” said Danny.  “What did I say?”

“What’s the Fenton Portal?” asked Star.  

“It’s, well, you know,” said Danny, rubbing the back of his neck.  “The portal my parents built.  I know, it’s an embarrassing name, but that’s how they name all their stuff.”  And it wasn’t even the most embarrassing name.  

“And when did this happen?”

“Ages ago,” said Danny.  “Summer before freshman year.  Shouldn’t this be, like, common knowledge?  That’s when the ghosts started showing up, after all.”

More silence.  

“Did… did you guys not know about the portal?”

“Are you saying your stupid parents are the reason ghosts started showing up in the first place?” demanded Ricky, leaning over the seat in front of him, fingers gripping the cheap green vinyl like he wanted to tear into someone’s throat, preferably Danny’s.  

“Uh,” said Danny, now understanding the danger he was in.  “I don’t know…?”

“Let’s just focus on getting home for now,” said Sam.  “You can sue the Fentons for reckless endangerment or whatever later.”

Danny glared at her.  Sure, that was helpful for now, but later?  Later, it would be a problem.  

Mr. Lancer cleared his throat.  “Mr. Fenton, how do we expect this bus to move?”

“You just… do it.  I mean, come on, it’s a vehicle.  An automobile.  Whatever.  It’s supposed to move.  That’s it’s whole thing.  It’s not like you’re expecting it to fly or anything.”

“We kind of are, though,” said Hannah.  

“Hush, you.  We’re powering this through vibes.”

“This is just like the Magic School Bus,” said Mikey, excitedly.  

“Yeah, sure, whatever floats your bus.  Just… Close your eyes and expect to move.”

Danny walked back down the rows of seats.  Where had Valerie been sitting?  Ah, there she was, staring out the window, hands clenched in her lap.  Did she have some kind of Zone-related trauma Danny didn’t know about?  It wasn’t like he knew everything she got up to as Red Huntress…  He tried, but he just had too many of his own problems to be constantly on guard for hers.

“Valerie?” he said, not too loudly, not wanting to startle her.  

She turned her head towards him ever so slowly.  At the center of each of her pupils was a tiny, glowing, red triangle.

Valerie, Danny realized, hadn’t been in the Zone since Technus replaced the suit she got from Vlad with something a little more… integrated.  

This was a problem.  

“Uh,” he said, “you okay?”

“I don’t know,” she said, her hand absently tugging on her scarf.  

“Okay,” said Danny.  “Okay, um.  Are you experiencing any weird urges?  Or is it, like, too much sensory input?  Or something else?”

“Sensory.”

“Cool, cool,” said Danny.  “It’s…  Can you…”  He lowered his voice.  “Can you turn, like, the input on your suit down?”

“I don’t– How do you know about that?”

The air was filled with the sizzling tension of Valerie preparing to call her suit.  Or something.  Danny didn’t think she’d attack him while he was Fenton - they might be exes, but Danny suspected she missed him in the more conventional sense, and not the marksmanship sense - but who knew what else she’d do while under the influence of… whatever this was.  

“Cool,” he said, backing away.  “Well, you just work on that.”  The bus lurched underfoot.  

“Just like the Magic School Bus!”

“I’m going to go up front and direct things,” he said.  He looked at Sam and Tucker and tried to make significant eye contact with them.  Shouting out that there was something wrong with Valerie felt like a jerk move, so friendship telepathy it was!

He didn’t think it worked.  

“Mr. Fenton,” said Mr. Lancer, getting Danny’s attention, “I don’t mean to cast doubt on your judgment, but…  Why do you believe we can find directions there?  I don’t see any signs of life.”

“Well, you wouldn’t.  It’s the Ghost Zone.  Get it?”

Mr. Lancer stared blankly at him.  

“Man, tough audience.”  He shrugged.  “I guess I don’t know that anyone is there.  But we can just keep going until we do find someone.  It’s more polite than opening doors.”

“Polite…?”

“Yeah, I mean, each door leads to a lair, but that’s, like, someone’s private, personal space.  Other people aren’t supposed to go in without permission.  Ghosts get really touchy about it.”

“What Danny means is that he almost got his head bitten off by an angry toddler,” said Tucker.  

“They were definitely bigger than a toddler,” said Danny.  “But, yeah, we’re not exactly capable of fighting, so… polite is the way to go.”

“I see,” said Mr. Lancer.  “I don’t suppose you have any of your parents’ weapons with you?”

“Mr. Lancer, we were going to the courthouse.  You told us there was a metal detector and that we shouldn’t even bring pocket knives.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Lancer, and behind his eyes Danny could see every time his parents had disregarded such simple rules.  Loudly.  Repeatedly.  “Well.  I had to ask.”

“I have a pocket knife!” said Dale.  

“Iliad and Odyssey, I’m getting too old for this stuff.”

Danny considered patting Mr. Lancer on the shoulder, but decided against it.  “So,” he said, “I’m just going to go back to my seat until we get there.  Yep.”  He shuffled back and crawled back across Tucker to huddle next to the window.  

“Okay, how screwed are we, do you think?” asked Tucker.  

“I don’t know,” said Danny, quietly, “but I really don’t recognize anything around here.  As long as we can get to somewhere I know in a reasonable amount of time, it should be fine, but…”  He shrugged.  “Infinite Realms.  There are no guarantees.”  He raised his hands.  “I’m not a miracle worker, here.”

“Great,” said Tucker.  “At least we came with food.  We can leave the cannibal episode for later.”

“I still don’t think that book had any actual cannibalism in it.”

“I think that none of the three of us managed to read that stupid book,” said Danny.  

“Mr. Lancer is literally like ten feet away.”

“I think he has bigger problems.”

The bus slowly moved through the floating car graveyard, occasionally bumping into one of them when the bus driver misjudged the distance.  Ever so gradually, it pulled up to the side of the architect’s nightmare.  

“Okay, Fentonio, now what?”

Danny had sort of hoped a ghost might come out to investigate.  They hadn’t.  In fact, the place seemed as deserted as the floating junkyard.  Which meant that Danny now faced an uncomfortable choice.  He could get out and go look for someone, leaving everyone else in the bus without his protection.  He could recommend that everyone get out and they could go look for someone together, which would basically be an open invitation for chaos.  He could just tell the driver to go somewhere else.  

The little lights that could be cities, or stars, or anglers twinkled at him.  

Ugh.  None of these were good decisions.  

“Hey,” said Sam, “beep the horn.”

Or they could do that.

“What?” asked the driver, startled.

“We don’t really want to go out there,” explained Sam.  “Which means we need someone to come here.  If there is anyone.”

“Yeah,” agreed Danny.  “Do that.”

The driver pressed the horn tentatively.  They all watched the structures intently for any sign of movement.

Something knocked on the opposite window.  Everyone startled badly, rushing away from the unexpected noise.  

“Hi, there!” said a ghost in a bathrobe.  A plastic duck rested on their head and they held a loofah on a stick like a scepter.  “Are you fellas lost or something?”

Danny rushed over to the other side and pulled down the window.  “Hi, yeah, we are, a bit.  Do you mind giving us directions?”

“Sure!  I know this place pretty well.  My lair’s just right over there.  Trying for the perfect bath, you know?”

Danny nodded solemnly.  “Baths are important.  But, uh, do you know where the Fenton Portal is from here?  The permanent portal to the material plane?”

“Can’t say I know where that is from here.  Never been all that much interest to me.”

“How about Elysium?  The Far Frozen?  Hunter’s Blind?  The Time Locked Lands?”

“Woah, woah, kiddo, I can only answer so fast.”  The ghost rubbed his chin.  “I got some medicinal soaps from the Far Frozen that one time; it’s not too far away from here.  Gonna take a moment to really remember, but while I’m thinking, can I ask: why are you up against this old bulldozer job if you’re wanting to get to the Far Frozen?”

“Thanks,” said Danny, relieved, “we were hoping someone could help us in there–” he jerked his head back towards the building mass, “--but I guess not, huh?”

“Oh, no one lives there,” said the ghost.  “It’s full of tarantulas.”

“Tarantulas!” shrieked Paulina.  

“Don’t worry about it, they’re probably harmless.”

“These ones’re pretty venomous, actually.  And huge.”

“The directions, please.”

“Alright, alright.  You young whippersnappers, always rushing around like you were still alive.  Alright, then.  First, you want to follow the Star of the Solemnity.”  He pointed at one of the points of light.  “After a while, you should see the Arson’s Arcade.  Big place.  It’s on fire.  Hard to miss, even if it isn't on the direct line to the Star of the Solemnity.  From there, you can follow the Burning Road to Dis–”

“Isn’t that also on fire?”

“Sure is.  Leastwise, it’s hot there.  Dis is within spitting distance to the Brass City.  From there, you drop through the Steam Curtain to the Boiling Sea.  Triple Point is somewhere around there, and that’ll take you to the Lands of Ice, right enough.  Far Frozen is in there, somewhere.”

“You call that close?” asked Hannah.  “That’s like… at least five different places.”

“Yeah,” said Danny, “maybe, but now I know where we are, and I can get there faster.”

“Oh, no, kiddo.  Shortcuts are never worth it.”

“It’s not a shortcut.  Besides, I don’t think that any of us would, like, survive going through the steam curtain.”

“Ah, cold cores then, huh?  I’ve always preferred warm water myself.”

The problem was more that the Steam Curtain was supposed to be scalding, and all of Danny’s classmates were made of flesh.

(No word on Mr. Lancer, who was occasionally rumored to be a literature-loving robot, or perhaps a vampire.)

“Yeah, something like that.  Thank you so much for your directions, they really helped.”  It was doubtful that the word ‘help’ was a trigger for the ghost like it was for Danny, but he hoped he got the meaning across regardless.  

The ghost’s face crinkled.  “No problemo!  I needed some time to plan out my next bath, anyway.  Good luck getting where you want to go!”  The ghost flew away in the general direction of their lair.  

“Well, they were nice,” said Danny.  

“That’s great, kid,” said Mr. Kennedy, his hands gripped around the wheel so tight that all of his knuckles were completely bloodless.  “Now where do we go?”

Danny pointed left, almost ninety degrees from the Star of Solemnity.  The ectoplasmic mists were ever so slightly grayer in that direction.  “That way.”  

“Why, what’s over there?” asked Star.  

“Casper High.  Probably.”  His mental map of the Ghost Zone was very good, at this point.  It wasn’t perfect.  

“You think the school got sucked in, too?” Dash said, mockingly.  “We were miles away.”

“Yeah, I know.  But the school has an ectoplasmic mirror because of all the deaths back in the fifties.”

“It’s true,” said Tucker.  “There were a whole lot of deaths back in the fifties.  Kind of scary.  I think I would have just closed the school.”  He tapped his lower lip.  “In retrospect, though, the way they keep the school open no matter what ghosts throw at it.”

Star frowned.  “What if you’re wrong?”

“Then we’ll probably notice before we get there, and we can try the ‘set ourselves on fire’ route.”

“I think we can do without that,” said Mr. Lancer.  “Mr. Kennedy, would you–”

“I’m going, I’m going,” said Mr. Kennedy.  They began to putter forward.  

For the first hour or so of the journey, things were quiet.  But the nature of the Time Locked Lands meant that even their outer fringes tended to be well-populated.  Ghosts were, after all, the kind of person to whom living in the past appealed the most.  

Even more unfortunately, some of those ghosts were people Danny knew.  

“Oh my gosh,” said Hannah, pointing out the window, “is that Ember?  I love her music!”

“Fans?”  Ember smirked, the expression clear even from this distance.  “I don’t mind if I do.”

She struck a chord and the bus vibrated.  

“Go faster!” shouted Danny, even as half the students started to chant Ember’s name.  “Go faster!”

“I can’t!” sobbed Mr. Kennedy.  

Danny put his hand against the side of the bus and extended his ghostly aura as far as he could without transforming.  He’d done things like this before, with the ecto-skeleton and the thermos, pushing enough of his will into technology to make it do what he wanted.  

The bus sped up.  But not enough.  

“Taking me on a tour?  Alright, cool bus, let’s see about a different tune!” 

A wave of chilled air passed over Danny, and the other students yelped and squeaked as the metal parts of the bus became painfully cold.  The one thing Danny, as an ice core, could counter…  He might have been impervious to it, but the others weren’t.  

“What now?” yelled the bus driver.  “Engines don’t work when it’s this cold!”

Danny thought about yelling at him that the engine didn’t matter, they weren’t even using it, but decided that would probably be counterproductive.  

“Valerie!” said Danny.  He hated throwing her under the bus (hopefully not literally) but one of the two of them literally had secret government organizations trying to kidnap him to dissect him, and it wasn’t her.  If she couldn’t do it, then he’d act.  “Do something!”

For a second, he thought she didn’t hear him, too entranced by whatever her suit was doing with the ectoplasm, but then red and black circuits pulsed into being all over her body and suddenly there were guns.  A lot of guns.  

“Ah,” squeaked Danny, thoroughly intimidated.  

Valerie fired through the bus windshield, shattering it into a thousand tiny pieces and blowing Ember far into the distance.  

That was the plus side.  On the minus side, the bus no longer had a front.  

“This is okay,” said Danny as Valerie sat down heavily.  “This is okay.  Valerie, are you okay?”

“Fine,” she said.  “I’m… fine.  What… Oh my gosh…”

“Miss Gray,” said Mr. Lancer, “I thought no one had any weapons…”

“Well,” said Valerie, recovering some of her usual sharpness.  “It’s not like I advertise that I’m–”

“Red Huntress!” gushed Mikey.  “That’s so cool!”

“That’s not my name,” said Valerie.  

“It’s not?” asked Mikey.  

“It’s not?” asked Danny.  

“I’m not a superhero,” said Valerie.  “I’m a ghost hunter.  I don’t have a code name.  That’s stupid.”

“Code names aren’t stupid,” said Danny and Mikey together. 

From the expression on Valerie’s face, Danny thought she must be wondering why she’d ever dated him.  

But that wasn’t important right now.

“Okay,” he said.  “Okay, we’ve got rid of her.  No more name chanting.”

“But E–”

Sam slapped her hand over Hannah’s mouth.  “No,” she said.  

“So, we can just keep going.”

“The front of the bus is gone.”

“Mr. Kennedy, we’re flying.”

“But it’s gone.”

“We weren’t using the engine anyway!  You were out of gas!”

This, of course, caused a commotion.  

“Listen, do your best to believe we can go,” begged Danny.  “Please.”

With that, they limped forward.  Slowly.  Painfully.  

But even at that speed, Sidney Poindexter’s version of Casper High loomed into view, as black and white as ever.  

The bus creaked to a stop.  And then the wheels fell off.  

“Come on,” said Danny, desperately.  “Just a little bit further.  Please.”

It did not go further.  

“The wheels are gone,” said Paulina.  “It can’t go without wheels.”

“We weren’t using them,” argued Danny, futilely.  “We’re floating.”

It didn’t work.  Which left the next option.  

“We’re going to have to fly there, then,” he said.  

This did not go over well.  Danny ignored the protests like they ignored his logic.  

“So, Sam and Tucker, can you get the lunches and stuff from the storage underneath?  Everyone else, grab your own stuff.  Uh… Val?  Can you use your hoverboard?”

“Huh?” asked Valerie, blankly.  

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Valerie slowly passed a hand over her face.  

“I think…” she trailed off.  

“Can you, I don’t know, shut the suit off or anything?  Or maybe there’s a Ghost Zone mode?”

“No,” said Valerie.  “I just need to… calibrate.”

That sounded like a lie, but Danny wasn’t sure how far he should press.  “Okay, then.  So.  Here’s what’s going to happen…”  He trailed off, not actually sure what would happen.

Making plans was hard.  

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he tried again, “Sam and Tucker and I are going to…”

“We could try pulling the bus,” said Tucker, “or pushing it.”

“We’re already doing that.  We can’t compete with this many Debbie doubters.”

“Isn’t that Debbie downers?”

“I can make it alliterate however I want.”

“You actually used that word correctly,” said Lancer.  “Oh, Elements of Style, we’re really in it now…”

“Can we… ferry them over, maybe?” suggested Sam.  “One by one?”

“Or maybe we can get everyone to hold hands and we can make a human chain,” said Tucker.  “Pull everyone across.”

Star cleared her throat.  “Is no one going to mention the creepy monochrome Casper High?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Danny, “that’s where Poindexter hangs out.  Sidney Poindexter, you know?”

Hannah perked up.  “You mean the school cryptid?”

“He’s a ghost.”

“Evidence suggests–”

“He’s a ghost,” repeated Danny, more forcefully.  “Please.  I think I like the human chain better.”  If they got attacked, Danny could push intangibility through the line in a pinch.  “I’ll go first, since I’m the best flier, Sam, you’ve got the end, Tucker…”

“I’ll stabilize people stepping off,” said Tucker.  

“Great,” said Danny, walking to the ragged front end of the bus and stepping off.  He floated easily, comfortably.  “See?  Easy.  Perfectly safe.  Val, you want to come next?”

“No,” said Val.  “I think I need to just… Sit here, for a little while.”

“Okay, cool,” said Danny.  “Paulina?”

Sam glared at him.  Hard.  

“Ugh.  Fine.  You would make an excuse to hold my hand.”

Danny blushed.  “If you don’t want to… Uh… Mikey?”

Mikey shook his head vigorously.  

“I will go,” said Mr. Lancer.  He stepped up to the edge.  “This is what a teacher does, this is what a teacher does, this is what a teacher does, they go before their students.  This is what a teacher does, they go before their students.  This is fine.  This is what a teacher does–”

Danny grabbed Mr. Lancer’s elbow and pulled him off.  He linked Mr. Lancer’s elbow with his, so neither of them would float off unexpectedly.  

“Okay,” he said, “so… Who’s next?”

Very slowly, and with a lot of cajoling, the rest of them lined up until they were a single line of people stretching into the green.  They didn’t even get halfway to the school.  

“Now what, Fengenius.”

“How do you come up with those amazing nicknames, Dash?” asked Danny.  

“It’s my idea anyway,” said Tucker, who had wound up between Sam and Valerie, who was still looking off.  “Danny’s going to pull us forward.”

“Yep,” said Danny.  “Just think light thoughts, or whatever.”

Again, slowly, because Danny wasn’t sure how hard some of his classmates could hold on, they drifted towards the school.  However, unlike the bus, Danny did get there without his wheels falling off.  He didn’t even misplace his shoes.  

“We made it,” said Mikey, making a show of kissing the ground.  

“Now what?” asked Ricky.  

“Now,” said Danny, “we see if we can get across here.”  He walked up to the doors.  

“Is that safe?” asked Mr. Lancer.  “This isn’t the real Casper High, after all.”

“It’s real enough,” said Danny.  “Just… try not to look like the kind of kid who gets bullied.”

Dash and the other jocks puffed out their chests while Paulina applied a fresh layer of makeup.  Problem was, to the shades that resided here, they were all weak and unfashionable.  Heck, even Sidney could beat Dash into the ground.  Speaking of which…

“Try not to look like bullies, either,” Danny added.  “In fact, try and fly under the radar.”

“Maybe we could wait outside,” said Star.  

“Uh, in the open?” asked Danny.  “Inside, at least we’re in a lair.  Ember won’t attack us there.”

Probably.  He didn’t know how Ember and Sidney got along.  

Sidney’s Casper High looked a lot like the real one.  Obviously.  Same layout, same crappy lockers, same weird paneling on the walls…  It was easier to pick out the differences, like the light fixtures and the handles on the doors.  Even the smell was the same.  Mostly.  It was just a little smokier, a little more citrusy.  

It must have been during classes, because the halls were empty.  Faint murmurs of sound came from behind classroom doors.  

“Hey!  You’re supposed to be in– Oh!  It’s you, Ph–”

“Fenton, yeah, I know,” said Danny, rubbing the back of his neck and desperately hoping that Sidney got the hint.  

Sidney fidgeted with his hall monitor badge for a second before his hands dropped back to his sides. “What are you all doing here?” He asked.  

“We fell through a natural portal and got stranded,” said Danny.  “I was wondering, hoping, really, that you might have something that can take us back to Amity?”

Poindexter shook his head.  “Sorry,” he said, “that mirror was about it, unless you want to try, well…  I don’t think you would.  It’s kind of long.”

“I don’t know,” said Danny, “I think we might try anything, if it was reliable.”

“Eh, I guess it’s up to you, but sometimes you can get across if you stay in my locker for as long as, you know, I was.”

“You mean when you…”

“Crossed over that first time, yeah.”

“Yeah, okay.  We’re not doing that.”

“Didn’t think so.”

“What are you two nerds talking about?” asked Dash.  

“Death, mostly,” said Danny.  “Please put two and two together.  Please.”  He turned back to Sidney.  “Do you know of any way we could get passage either to the Fenton Portal or the Far Frozen, then?”

“Maybe?” said Sidney.  He shrugged.  “I’m not really connected, though.”

“I know,” said Danny, “but I can work out things to pay people with, after.  I keep my promises.”

“Okay,” said Sidney.  “Er, we’re about to have our lunch period, so maybe the rest of you go to the cafeteria, while I show Ph–”

“Fenton.”

“While I show Fenton the dovecote.”

“The what now?”

“The dovecote.  For the carrier pigeons?”

Tucker’s mouth was hanging open.  “What century are you from?  Who uses carrier pigeons?”

“Phones don’t work in the Time Locked Lands!  You have to make do!”

There was a loud, ringing sound, and, yep, even the bells were the same.  

… When was the last time Casper High had been updated?  At all?  Yikes.  

A mass of teenaged shades poured from the classrooms along with harried looking teachers.  

“Just follow them,” said Sidney.  “They’ll steer you right.  Come on, Danny!”

Sidney pulled him away.  

“They will be safe, right?” asked Danny.  

“I think so,” said Sidney.  “Everything here has been a lot more peaceful since, well, you know.  You haven’t been here since then, I guess.”

“Yeah,” said Danny.  Funny thing about trauma is that generally you didn’t want to return to where it had happened.  Danny was bullied.  Sidney had been tormented.  “Didn’t think I’d be welcome, I guess.”

Sidney’s eyebrows went up.  “No welcome?  When you defeated the worst bully of all?  When you sealed away Pariah Dark?  Of course you’re welcome!”

“Thanks,” said Danny.  They came out onto one of the school roofs.  Perched on in a corner was a rectangle of color.  The dovecote.  It was a wooden box a few meters on each side, painted powder blue with gold and green trimmings.  

Danny had suspicions.  

“Did you… Get this from Dora?” he asked.  

Sometimes, with all the weird skin colors, it was hard to tell when a ghost was blushing.  Sidney, though, was definitely blushing.  A lot.  

“Uh,” said Danny, not ready for his guess to return anything but vehement denial.  “Good… for you?  Congratulations?”

“It’s not like that!  She’s just really nice.  And she likes the dances the school puts on now and again.”  He flew over to the dovecote, still blushing furiously.  “But these are from her kingdom, so if I tie one on, it should get to her in just an hour or so.”  He smiled.  “Better than snail mail, right?”

“Yeah,” said Danny, giving Sidney a thumbs up.  “And you’re okay with us just being here?”

“Sure!” said Sidney.  “You’ve got to go to classes and all, though.”

Danny blinked.  “Is that a joke?”

It was not a joke.  Especially not three and a half hours later when they all stumbled out into the courtyard.  

“Well,” said Danny kneeling in preparation for laying down and pretending the world didn’t exist, “to be fair to us, all of these people have had fifty years to refine this stuff.”

“I want revenge,” said Hannah.  “How do you get revenge on a ghost?”

“You don’t,” said Danny, not wanting to give her any ideas.  

Then, something blocked out the meager light from one of the television-static-like strips in the sky.  Overhead was a huge, pumpkin-like carriage pulled by scaly, draconic-looking horses.  The door swung open, and a set of stairs that went from the door to the carriage to the ground - a distance of over two stories - unfolded.  Princess Dora flew out and down the stairs, not touching them even once.  

“Oh, Sam,” she said, throwing out her arms.  “When I heard you were stranded, I just had to come.”  She hugged Sam.  Sam, gingerly, hugged her back.  

“How are you doing, Dora?” asked Sam as Danny forced himself to get back up on his feet.  

“Oh, marvelously.  We’ve finally gotten the plumbing to work again since our last course correction put us back in the Time Locked Lands.”  She shook her head.  “I can’t understand why my brother wanted to stay there, stay in that time.  Oh, I know it was for the sake of his power, but, truly, modern things make everything so much more convenient.  And how are you, Sir Daniel, Sir Tucker?”

“We’re good,” said Danny.  

“Yeah, except for being stranded.”

“There is that.  Can you help?”

Dora surveyed the other teenagers.  “I believe so,” she said.  She looked back up at her carriage, then at the students again, clearly comparing sizes. “I’ll have word sent back for two more carriages, then I can take you to the outskirts of the Far Frozen.”

“Not directly to their village?” asked Danny.  

Dora shook her head sadly.  “No, no.  I’m a hot core.  I wouldn’t do well in the Far Frozen, not any more than you would do well in Dis or the Burning Lands.”

“Sure wouldn’t,” said Danny.  “Would you believe, someone tried to give us directions through there?”

Dora shook her head.  “I’m sure they meant well.  Now, where is Sidney?”

“He said something about chess club?”

“Oh, excellent.  We can finish our game from last time.  It shouldn’t be long until the next carriages come, though, so prepare yourselves.”  She floated back up towards the carriage.  

“Uh,” said Hannah, “who was that?”

“Princess Dora,” said Danny.  “You remember the time we had a beauty pageant at the school?  And the organizers turned out to be ghosts?  Kidnapped Sam?  That whole thing?”

“Vaguely.”

“Well,” said Sam, “Dora’s brother, who we shall not name, was basically forcing her to run that thing.  But while I was kidnapped, we bonded, and talked a little about gender equality and praxis.  That kind of thing.  Then she deposed her brother.”

“Yeah,” said Hannah with a little fist pump.  “Feminism.”

“We helped,” said Tucker.  “We helped a lot.  Did you hear how Danny and I were called sir?  We’re knights.”

“Technically.”

“All knights are technically knights.”

“Our position is more ceremonial,” clarified Danny.  “A lot more ceremonial.”

“Still knighted.  Still knights.”

“So am I,” said Sam.  “What’s your point?”

“I don’t know that he has one.”

“We helped!  That’s my point!”

Danny shrugged.  “It’s okay if she likes Sam better, really.”

“And she’s dating Poindexter?” asked Dash.  “When she’s a princess?”

“Yeah, I guess.  It’s not, like, official as far as I know.  But they like each other.”

After that, well.  They were still experiencing massive mental fatigue from Sidney’s classes.  No one spoke for a long time.  

“Don’t your parents think ghosts are mindless or something?” asked Paulina.  “Why is their math so hard if they’re mindless?”

“They’re not mindless, that’s how,” said Danny.  “Really simple, that.”

“But the ones we get in Amity–”

“Are the people looking for trouble, usually.  You wouldn’t say Phantom is mindless, would you?”

Valerie, who had been lying quietly on the grass, shot straight up.  “You never told me how you knew I was ghost hunting,” she said, accusatorily.  

“Your first suit didn’t disguise your voice,” said Danny.  “Plus, whenever you were after Phantom, you yelled at him about how he ruined your life.  Which was why you started dating Tucker that one time.  Because you thought Phantom ruined your life, I mean.”

“Which I was totally okay with, by the way,” said Tucker, shooting her two thumbs up.  “If you ever change your mind about that breakup, I’m still here and still fine.”

“I’ll pass.”

“So… are you feeling better?”

Valerie shrugged.  “I’m… getting used to it,” she said.  Which wasn’t really an answer.  She laid back down.

If they didn’t get home soon, Danny would have to push it.  But not yet.  

Dora came back out before too long, a faint flush in her cheeks.  “Alright,” she said, clapping her hands together, “I can take you to your portal, now.  If you will follow me.”  She returned to the stairs, and the class followed.  

They were apprehensive about going up them, and Danny didn’t blame them.  They didn’t seem terribly stable.  But they should know by now that the laws of physics here were different than they were at home.  If the flying bus didn’t clue them in and all.  

But Danny, Sam, and Tucker didn’t have any such hesitation, and they started up almost at once.  

Which made it all the more awkward to get down when Valerie tipped over and started convulsing.  

“Stay back, everyone!” said Mr. Lancer, who knelt and turned Valerie on her side.  He pulled her scarf off, revealing angry red and black lines creeping up her neck.  “Mr. Baxter, give me your jacket.”

Dash stripped it off of himself without objection and tossed it over.  Mr. Lancer folded it and put it under her head.

“Does she have fits often?” asked Dora, one hand over her mouth.

“No,” said Mr. Lancer, “she doesn’t.” 

“Sam,” said Danny, “I think Casper High had a nurse back then.  Do you think–”

“I’m on it,” said Sam, who took off running.  

“Um,” said Danny.  “We might have to– Um.  Dora, which is closer, Technus’s lair or the Far Frozen?”

“Mr. Fenton–”

“The Far Frozen have doctors who can treat humans, and Technus is the one who gave her that tech.  One of them will probably be able to help.”

Because he could no longer be sure that just getting back to the real world would fix this.  Also, if anyone saw this, the secret government agencies might decide to dissect Valerie after all.  

Danny was a horrible friend and a horrible hero.  No wonder Valerie broke up with him.  Even if that was sort of unrelated.  

“Danny!” shouted Sam, jumping down the steps two at a time.  An elderly ghost trailed behind her.  

“Oh, dear,” said the ghost, passing Sam.  “Oh, dear.  We can’t really do much for seizures.  How long has this been going on?”

“Only… maybe three minutes,” said Mr. Lancer.  He wiped sweat away from his face.  “Or– Shorter?  I don’t know, I haven’t been keeping track.”

“That’s fine, dear,” said the elderly ghost.  “Like I said, there’s not much to do about seizures… But she should get to a doctor soon, if this is her first one.”

Before too long, Valerie started to still, the shaking slowing, then stopping.  

“Miss Gray?  Valerie?  Can you hear me?”

“Uhghh,” said Valerie.  “Hnmn.”

“Valerie,” said Mr. Lancer, “you just had a seizure.  Please, can you hear me?”

Valerie opened eyes that glowed faintly red.  “I c’n hear you,” she said.  She sat up, slowly, and rubbed her eyes.  

“How do you feel?”

Valerie blinked slowly at the ground and didn’t respond.

“Valerie?”

“Hm?”

“How do you feel?”

“... Bad,” said Valerie after a long moment.  

“Alright, dear,” said the nurse.  “How about you and I get you a change of clothes and your friends and teacher talk about how to get to a doctor.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Sam.  

“Me, too,” said Star.

“Dora,” said Danny, “do you know where they are, compared to here?”

“I– Yes.  Yes.  I do.  Technus is closer, I believe, although I’ve only seen his lair once and he’s often away…  We can go there, first, and then the Far Frozen.  I can even send a messenger to alert them.  One moment.”  She flew away, to where the carriage’s drivers rested.  

“Okay,” said Danny.  “We’ll have to help Valerie get in the carriage, but–”

“Mr. Fenton, forgive me, but shouldn’t we return to Amity Park?  The doctors there might not know much about ghostly diseases, but they are human doctors.  Wouldn’t it be better?”

“You remember the ghost bug?” asked Danny.  “Remember what happened then, what happened after.  Except it’s just one person who can be disappeared and there’s no cure in sight.  You know what I mean?”

Mr. Lancer covered his face with his hands.  

“She has to be better before we go back.”

“Alright,” said Mr. Lancer.  “We’ll go see this Technus and these Far Frozen people, but… we can’t stay long.”

“Right,” said Danny.  There was, after all, everyone else to think of.  And ectoplasm wasn’t exactly nutritious for humans.  “Of course.”

“I’ve sent the message,” said Dora as she returned.  “Hopefully, they will meet us at Technus’s lair, or when we are on our way.”

Valerie and the others came back out.  Valerie was walking slowly, dressed in a gray blouse and greyer skirt.  They helped her up the stairs into the carriage, and she promptly fell asleep.  

Danny worried.  

Danny worried as they flew through the green to Technus’s lair.  He worried as they parked in front of it.  He worried as Technus, frowning and wearing a bathrobe - what was it with ghosts and baths today? - opened his door and came out.  

Then he acted.  

“Hey!” he shouted, leaning out of the carriage door.  “Your stupid suit is making my friend sick!  You’d better be able to fix it!”

“Your friend?  The shouty girl?”

“Valerie!”

“Yes, yes,” said Technus.  “Valerie Gray!  Shouldn’t you two be dating?  I put a lot of work into that!”

“We broke up,” said Danny.  “Fix.  It.  Or.  Else.”

Technus cackled.  “Oh, you crack me up, ghost child.  Your threats are so tiny and cute.”

“I will end you!”

Technus continued to chortle.  “I’ll look at your little friend.  Just a friend, hm?  Maybe you’ll get back together?”  His bathrobe liquified and turned into his usual long white coat.  “Move aside, move aside.  Hm.  That’s interesting.”

“What is?” asked Danny.  He gazed at Valerie nervously.  She was awake, now… but she hadn’t responded to anything.  Not even Technus picking up her arm and dropping it.  

“Programming I didn’t put there!  I did decide to make it adaptive, but this is really extraordinary.”

“Can you fix it?” asked Danny.

“The technology?  Of course!  Am I not Technus, master of all things electronic and beeping!  And this is electronic!  And beeping!  But you should bring the girl to your icy friends afterward anyway.  I’m not great at bodies.”

“Great,” said Danny, relaxing for the first time since Valerie collapsed.  “You fix it, then.”  He collapsed into the nearest seat.

“Uh, Danny?” asked Mikey.

“Yeah?”

“Isn’t this one of the guys Phantom fights all the time?”

“Yeah?  So what?”

“You were threatening him?”

“So?”

“Hush, children!  You’re harshing my vibrations!”

“Don’t question it,” said Danny.  

“Yeah, Danny obviously works for the CIA,” said Hannah.  “Get with the program.”

“Never insult me like that again,” said Danny.  

“CHILDREN, I AM WORKING!”

They fell quiet.  

“There,” said Technus after another several minutes passed.  “That should do it.  It had adjusted to a lower ectoplasm setting, and when you moved to the Zone, one of the filter breaks was overloaded and burned out.”

“Is that it?”

“There were a few other things, but they were no match for I, Technus!”

“Why isn’t she waking up, then?” asked Lancer.  

Technus shrugged.  “Beats me.  That part isn’t electronic.  Or beeping.  I don’t do chemical reactions.”

That was, Danny knew, a blatant lie.  What Technus didn’t do was biology, which was fair enough, honestly.

“Well, thanks,” said Danny.  “But we should go, now.”

“Does this mean you won’t chase me down when–”

“Goodbye, Technus.”

Technus slunk out.

“Mr. Fenton,” said Mr. Lancer, “dare I ask why you would chase down a ghost.”

“No,” said Danny.  

“No?”

“No.”  He got up and sat down between Sam and Tucker.  They both gave him incredulous looks.  He shrugged at them.  He’d panicked.  ‘No’ was the best he could come up with.  Sue him.  This was stressful.  

Dora rapped on the wall between the carriage interior and the drivers, and they were off again.  

“How long is it to this ‘Far Frozen?’” asked Mr. Lancer.  

“A few hours from here, I believe,” said Dora, “but distances can be treacherous here.”

“Is it cold there?” asked Mikey.  

“Oh, yes.  It’s the coldest place I’ve ever been to.  But don’t worry.  They have an outpost on one of their satellite islands.  It’s quite comfortable there.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Danny.  

“Yes, well, it’s my understanding that you and your friends generally fly directly to Iceheart.”

Although everyone’s attention had already been focused on him and Dora, it now sharpened greatly.  He sunk down in his seat and focused on not turning invisible.  

“You three,” said Mr. Lancer, “how often have you been here.”

“Again,” mumbled Danny, “the portal is in the basement.  And there was the time I was kidnapped…”

“The multiple times you were kidnapped,” corrected Sam, hurriedly.  

“And the time Sam was kidnapped,” added Tucker.  “I avoided being kidnapped.”

“No, you didn’t,” said Danny.  

“I thought we agreed that time didn’t count.”

“No, we didn’t.”

“We did.”

Before they could get into a sufficiently distracting ‘yes we did’ versus ‘no we didn’t’ argument, Mr. Lancer intervened.  

“Do your parents know about this?”

“We’re teenagers, Mr. Lancer,” said Sam.  “We don’t tell our parents anything.”

“Besides, my parents think all ghosts are evil.”  Danny shrugged.  “I don’t want them to try and hunt down my kidnappers and shoot people like Dora instead.”

“But Dora… Kidnapped Miss Manson.”

“We’re friends, now,” said Sam.  “We got over it ages ago.”

“Sam is my very best and very first friend,” said Dora.  “We correspond frequently.”

“Ah,” said Mr. Lancer.  

“And even Technus isn’t that bad.  The catfishing aside.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.  He plays Doomed, too, you know.”

“Hello the carriage!” called a voice from outside.  

“That must be the Far Frozen, coming to meet us,” said Dora.  

“Great,” said Danny, opening the door.  Sure enough, one of the Far Frozen’s high-tech skimmers was pulling up alongside the carriage as they slowed down.  The skimmer pulled a large trailer with a red cross, a rod of Asclepius and other symbols of healthcare emblazoned on its side.  “Thank goodness.”

“Are those… yetis?” asked Mr. Lancer faintly.  

“Yes!” said Hannah.  “I knew bigfoot was real!”

… Danny decided to let her have that one.  

“They’re some of the best doctors in the Zone,” said Danny.  “They helped me before, too, when I was hurt.”

“Mr. Fenton, I’m becoming more and more concerned about what you get up to outside of school.”

“Sorry,” said Danny.  “But it’s Amity Park.  I’m sure everyone has some scary stories to tell.”

“Not like that, we don’t,” said Ricky.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have the hell-portal in your basement,” said Tucker.  “That changes things!”

There was various muttering, mostly on the theme that the portal shouldn’t exist and Danny’s parents were crazy.  They weren’t exactly wrong.  

The two Far Frozen doctors approached the carriage, and Danny saw, happily, that Frostbite was one of them.  He waved.  

“It is good to see you, young one,” said Frostbite. “I understand you have a patient?”  He stooped down to peer in through the door.  “Can you send them out?”

It took more maneuvering than it probably should have to get Valerie to the door, but they eventually did, and Frostbite had her lie down on a floating stretcher, which they pushed over to the ambulance-cart.  

Danny followed, hopping over and hoping none of his classmates would do the same.  He was close enough, here, to help if something went wrong, but he’d probably be able to talk to Frostbite a little more freely if it was just him and Valerie.  

“This is not something we see very often,” said Frostbite as he scanned Valerie with a wand-like object.  

“You know what it is, then?”

“Yes,” said Frostbite, gravely.  “It is an affliction of warlocks, sorcerers, and other similar sorts.  Too much ectoplasm all at once.”

“What about everyone else?” asked Danny.  “They’re all here, and it’s hard to get more ectoplasm than this.”  He waved his hands at the Zone.  

“As long as they are not consuming it, they should be fine.  If your friend here acclimated herself to the amount of ectoplasm more gradually, she, too, would be unharmed.  But it appears that the ‘suit’ as Princess Dorathea called it in her dispatch to us, was somewhat designed to absorb ectoplasm to power itself.”

“That… sounds like it should be right.  Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Not at the moment.  We have a solution to the issue, although it may take some time for it to take effect.  In the meantime, we can keep heading towards the Far Frozen.”

“Okay,” said Danny.  “Should I stay here, or…?”

“Either would be fine, great one.”

“Right,” said Danny.  He glanced down at Valerie’s blank face and then away.  “Maybe I’ll sit on the skimmer.”  That sounded like a good compromise.  

Sam and Tucker joined him a minute later, followed shortly thereafter by Dora.  

“Lancer keeps muttering to himself about whether or not to call the police when we get back,” said Sam.  

“Well,” said Danny, “I guess they do need to do something about the bus.  You don’t think Mr. Kennedy will get into trouble for it, do you?”

“No,” said Sam, “I’m more worried about you.  And the portal.”

“I can always use Vlad’s if ours gets shut down,” said Danny.  “If it can be shut down.”  He shrugged.  “It… probably should have been shut down right away.  It’s not exactly safe, and… maybe fewer ghosts will come through.”

“I don’t know,” said Tucker.  “It’s mostly natural portals, these days.”

“Yeah, but maybe they’ll think twice about getting stranded if our portal isn’t there as a backup plan.  Right, Dora?”

“It’s possible,” said Dora, “but in my experience, beings like the ones you must often deal with rarely care about consequences.”  She shrugged daintily.  “My brother, for example.”

“Valerie will be okay, right?” asked Sam.  

“Yeah,” said Danny.  “That’s what Frostbite said.  She just ate too much ectoplasm.”

“What, does her suit absorb it or something?” 

“Apparently.”

They watched the zone-scape go by.  It grew colder.  

“I wonder if they have any extra coats,” said Tucker, shivering.  

“I’m sure they do,” said Dora.  “Let’s see.  On my last visit…”  She started to poke around the hatches on the skimmer’s deck.  “Ah!  Here!”  She handed Tucker a garment.  

“Is this okay to take?” asked Tucker.  

“It’s in your size,” pointed out Dora.  

“Good point,” said Tucker.  No one in the Far Frozen was Tucker’s size, after all.

“Is there enough for everyone?” asked Danny, going over to help Dora.  

“If there isn’t, I do have a few sets of cold gear stored under each carriage, just in case.  The Far Frozen’s work is much superior, however.”

Shortly after they distributed the coats, the Far Frozen started to come into view.  First, as a pale lavender smear against the green backdrop, and then as a stunning sculpture of sweeping curls of ice, all natural… or imitation natural.  There were a few, Danny knew, that had been hollowed out or made larger to serve as watchtowers and other defenses.  

After all, for ghosts, the war against Pariah Dark had not been that long ago.  

But they did not go directly to the large, glacial island, but to a smaller, rockier one with a stone tower built on it.  The skimmer docked at the very top, and more yetis poured out of the inside, carrying various supplies.  

“It shouldn’t be much longer until your friend is awake and mobile,” said Frostbite.  “I would like to keep her for observation, but we have little in the way of human food at the moment, and I would not like to afflict your other companions with malnutrition.”  He paused.  “I believe we do have hot chocolate, however.  Would you like some?”

“I would like some, if they do not,” said Dora, shivering.  

Frostbite looked at her with some concern.  “We can start a fire downstairs.”

“No, that’s quite alright,” said Dora.  “After all, you and your people are working to preserve a life.  I will not sacrifice your comfort for my own.”

“Speaking of comfort, I should probably let the others know we aren’t getting eaten or anything.”

He did.  It went about as well as could be expected, which meant that people either didn’t believe him, cast doubt on his experience, and subtly implied that his parents should be in jail.  Or not so subtly.  

Okay, it wasn’t that bad, but he was tired.  He was allowed to exaggerate.  

“So, anyway,” said Danny, “all we have to do now is wait.  Frostbite said Valerie should be good to go, soon, and then Dora will take us back.  No more detours.”

“You seem awfully sure of that.”

“Dora can turn into a dragon. There aren’t a lot of people who would attack her.”

Of course, everyone wanted to know about that.  

“Mr. Fenton,” said Mr. Lancer, a few minutes later, “distractions are all very well and good, but you can’t run from reasonable questions forever.”

“I’m not trying to,” said Danny, who was very much trying to.  

He was full of lies today!  Who would have thought?

“Yeah, you’re just trying to make excuses for your stupid crazy parents who brought all the ghosts to Amity!”

“Hey!  They didn’t bring all the ghosts!  Spectra was already around!”

“That’s… that’s true,” said Mr. Lancer, “her application had been in for a while…”

“So, there.  Y’all’d’ve been killed by Spectra if it weren’t for my parents.  So, there.”

“What– What was that word you just used?” asked Mr. Lancer. 

“There?”

Mr. Lancer gazed at him with despair.  

“What?” asked Danny, looking at Sam and Tucker.  “What’d I say?”

“I think it was the southernism that got through.  From your aunt, you know.”  Tucker shrugged.  “Y’all’d’ve.”

“Arkansas isn’t in the south.”

“It totally is.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Is.”

“It’s in the south,” said Mr. Lancer.  “I’m going to lie down for a while, I think.”

Mr. Lancer did, in fact, lie down.  

“He reminds me of one of my tutors,” said Dora, pleasantly.  “He had to retire.  UIcers.”

“Cool,” said Danny.  

It was only a couple hours later that Frostbite stuck his head in the carriage door.  

“Young one,” he said.  

They were working hard not to slip and call Danny Phantom or great one.  He appreciated that.  

“Your young friend, Miss Gray, is awake and aware.  If you would help her over, I think that would be for the best.  She’s mentioned a hoverboard, but I think that using any of her enhancements would be detrimental at this point in time.”

Danny jumped up and followed Frostbite out of the carriage, crossing the gap between the carriage and the skimmer in a single bound.  Which might have been showing off just a little.  But he was allowed.  He then hopped off the skimmer into the ambulance trailer.  

“Hi, Valerie,” he said.  “You’re feeling better?”

She was, at least, sitting up, although her shoulders were hunched and she looked very much like she wanted to fight off Frostbite and the other doctor.  

“I guess,” she said.  Then she turned a truly toxic glare on him.  “You.  You’re Phantom.”

“Uh, nooooooo?” said Danny.  

“Oh my gosh, you are.  You suck at lying.”

“No I don’t!”

Valerie stared at him with the same sort of despair as Mr. Lancer.  

“Anyway,” said Danny, “I’m here to bring you back to the carriage.”

“I can’t believe you outed me when you could have fought off Ember at any time.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want to be dissected.”

“I don’t want to be dissected either.”

“You probably would have passed out anyway,” said Danny.  “That seizure was going to happen, Ember or not.”

“You don’t know that.”

Frostbite cleared his throat.  “It probably was.  But it is my understanding that the two of you want to return home?”

“Yeah,” said Danny.  “Come on, Val, I’ll carry you across, back to the carriage.  It’ll be like that time Skulker kidnapped us.”

“You mean, when you overshadowed me.”

“Uh,” said Danny, sweating.  “Before that.  I carried you before that, right?”

“If you drop me,” said Valerie, “I will shoot you.”

“Noted.”

Danny did not drop Valerie.  On the other hand, he did get a lot of weird looks when they came back in.  Especially from the jocks.  

… Was there something on Danny’s arms?  No?

“Thanks, Frostbite,” said Danny.  “I really owe you one.”  He kind of owed the yetis five thousand or so, but who was counting?  Not him.  

“It’s nothing, young one.  After all, you have helped us in ways we cannot repay so easily.”

There was some muttering among Danny’s classmates that he would probably have to address at some point, but that was a problem for future him.  Hopefully, far future him.  Because screw that guy.  Danny had met him, and he was a real jerk.  

“I think we all feel that way,” said Dora.  “Will I be seeing you at the regional meeting, Chief Frostbite?”

“Most likely, Princess Dorathea.  Good day, to all of you.”

“Regional meeting?” asked Sam.  

“There was a great deal of argument about what to call it,” said Dora, “but it is the regular meeting of the various heads of state of this region.  It’s something new we’re trying.”

“That sounds great,” said Sam.  “Is it like the UN, or…?”

Danny tuned them out as he sat down and leaned his head back against the carriage wall.  Finally.  They were going home for real.  This had been a long day.  

The next thing Danny knew, Tucker was shaking him awake.  “Huh?” said Danny, eloquently.  

“This’s our stop,” said Tucker.  “Come on, let’s get out.”

Danny looked around.  “No one else is getting out.”

“They want you to jump into the spinny vortex of death first.”

“Oh.  Joy,” said Danny.  He got up, stretched, cracked his spine really well, and walked to the door.  “Dora, I really can’t thank you enough for this.”

“Silly,” said Dora.  “Sir Daniel, I meant what I said when you were talking to Chief Frostbite.  The three of you have done a lot for us.”

More muttering from the class.  Then Paulina stepped forward.  

“What did you even do that all of these ghosts like you?”

“It was the feminism!” said Hannah.  “Didn’t you listen?”

“I don’t think he brought feminism to the giant ice monsters.  Why is it that you suddenly stop being suspicious about things as soon as they aren’t– aren’t crazy conspiracy theories?”  She stomped her foot a little.  

Danny cleared his throat.  “Actually, the feminism thing was Sam.  Not me.”

“So why do they like you?”

“My sparkling personality,” said Danny.  

“No, that’s actually me,” said Tucker.  “And as wonderful as this has been, I kind of want to have my feet on solid ground again.  See you, Dora!”  Tucker leaped out the door and through the portal.  

“Yeah, that’s a plan,” said Danny, also jumping through.  

“You know,” said Tucker, as Danny hopped a little, trying to keep his feet underneath him, “I’m kind of surprised that, after everything, your parents still don’t have a reliable door on this thing.”

“Shut up and don’t give anyone any more ideas.”

One by one, the rest of Danny’s classmates came through the portal, until they were all standing in the lab, staring at the mess dazedly.  

“Oh, good,” said Mr. Lancer, the last one through.  “We’re back.  Frankenstein, Mr. Fenton, is this really your basement?”

“The one and only!” lied Danny cheerfully.  He was not up to explaining the Fenton Stockades.  

“It looks like a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Waiting?” asked Danny, right before cursing his inability to let a quip lie.  He was tired.  Sue him.  

Mr. Lancer stared at him.  Danny stared back.  

“I’m calling an ambulance for Miss Gray,” he said, “and then CPS for Mr. Fenton.”

[walkerofclouds]

A Blizzard of Smoke and Gold

@rubbarbandnsfw

Ororo sighs slightly as she opens her eyes, and glances out of her window. "Well.. This is gonna be a long day.." She mutters to herself as she gets up from the couch in her room and stretches. She moans and whimpers as her body cracks. She hums softly before leaving her room and going downstairs.

Ororo Monroe aka Storm was on a mission. Her mission? Is to relax.. at least for the time being. Her friends realized that she was burnt out from heroing and basically put her on leave until she can come back refreshed and relaxed. Where did they send her? To the mountains, in a lovely two story cabin with enough food, water, and wood to last about five years.

The cabin itself is absolutely gorgeous, it may have a rustic exterior but the interior is modern. There's central heating and a large fire place in the downstairs living room. African and Mediterranean influences are everywhere in the architecture. There are also several large bedrooms both upstairs and downstairs, a nice size kitchen and huge bathrooms.

However there are a couple of problems: One, Ro wasn't expecting a roommate on this trip and two: the thief faction that she founded with Gambit are saying that they are dealing with a rival group that being a pain in the ass. Stealing things from them, taunting them and overall being a nuisance.

Ro will have to deal with the second when she goes back home, but the roommate is her main concern now. The Guy is a Cocky little shit! When she had found out that she wasn't going be alone, she was slightly relieved but after spending a couple nights with the guy, she's ready to throw his ass out the cabin.

[diana-bookfairchild]

The first time Harry Potter broke Ginny’s heart, she was six-years-old.

It had been during his first visit to their manor house, fondly christened The Burrow due to its quaint architecture and its inhabitants.

Ron – her most irritating brother, but sadly the one closest to her age – had suggested that he and his new best friend go off to the woods to look for dragons to fight. Ginny the older would have scoffed and let them go, but Ginny at that age begged wildly to be included.

“Don’t make eye contact,” she’d heard Ron warn Harry. “Acknowledgement just encourages her.”

Undaunted, she’d followed them across the yard, watching them purposefully walking with their heads together. “Ron!” She yelled. “Ron! Ron! Ron! Ronald!” It went from yelling to full on shrieking.

She’d seen her brother’s shoulders tighten at the call of his full name, and had smiled, knowing she was close.

Unfortunately, it seemed that having met him, he could focus more on Harry than on her whining. Unacceptable. “Ro--!” She paused, changing tracks. “Harry!” She’d called, making her voice as pathetic as possible.

He'd turned, because he was a decent person. Also probably because he wasn’t used to being called but no matter. “No!” Ron had moaned.

“Harry!” She’d said happily, skipping forward. “Can’t you let me be a knight too? I like playing!”

“So do I,” Ron had snapped. “Without you.”

She let her face screw up, sniffing loudly. “Don’t cry,” Harry had said hurriedly. He hated hurting or disappointing people, Ginny had learned quickly enough.

“She’s faking.” Ron had been unimpressed.

“Whatever – just don’t cry.”

“I won’t if you let me go with you,” Ginny had pounced on that quickly.

“No way!” Ron screamed indignantly. But Harry hadn’t said anything, looking uncertain, and Ginny doubled down on that.

“Please?” She whispered.

“Alright, just this once,” Harry had capitulated.

Ginny had screamed, ignoring Ron’s groan of “I told you not to look her in the eye” in favour of dancing around in joy. “Thank you! Thank you! You’re the best! Unlike you,” she’d sniffed at her brother.

“I take pride in being the worst,” Ron had said, then sighed. “Come on.”

That had also been her first experience with the fact that Ron and Harry would do basically anything for each other.

By the time she’d tripped for the third time and hadn’t stopped going on about how it was sunnier elsewhere and how their games were all unoriginal and Mum would like this flower and they should bring dolls out next time and did they think fish would be served for dinner, both boys had been absolutely fed up with her.

“I told you,” Ron had hissed at Harry. “We’re never letting her play with us again.”

Harry had nodded. Ginny had huffed, putting her hands on her hips the way she’d seen Mum do. “Let’s go and play by ourselves, Harry,” she’d said brightly. “I have dolls and tea cups and trains.” Of course, she hadn’t known then no boy alive would like to play with dolls and tea cups.

Harry’s eyes had gone wide. “Er—” He’d looked panicked at the idea of refusing her, but clearly dreaded the idea of playing with her even more. “I can’t.”

“Why?!”

“I’m busy,” he’d said lamely. “Sorry.”

Ginny had turned on her brother, outraged. “You made him say that!”

“No I didn’t,” Ron had said, very satisfied with himself. “You’re just a pest.”

“I hate you,” she’d said, trembling. “I hate you both! Especially you, Harry!”

Then she’d turned and run back up to the house, crying for real this time to her mother about how Ron’s new friend had been just as bad as him and she’d thought he would be nice.

Years later, she would be told that Ron had turned to his friend then and said to him, “She said she hates you! You’re really part of the family now.”

And Harry, whose sorry excuse for a family had made it clear the only part of him they cared for was his estate, had blinked and smiled widely, feeling home for the first time in his life.

This would soften Ginny towards that episode. After all, he’d been a young boy – no one could blame him for not wanting to play with a girl.

The heartbreaks after that, though? They were all absolutely his fault.

-- Part of the prologue of one of my three Hinny regency AUs (five if you count the royalty ones!) Anyone know which book's premise and prologue it's taken from. Because I think the dynamic and premise, if not the entirety of the characters or the book, is very Hinny coded. Hint: it's not Bridgerton.

[tenderlyrenjun]

When It Comes To Us

⟿ college!au, friends to academic rivals to lovers, competition, mutual pining, study buddies.

summary: although he laughed at you the first time you met, you were instantly friends, but that five year law program brings out competition, brings out the worst in you. thankfully it takes maybe one or two study sessions to get back into a grove, and maybe one of those study sessions is less about studying.

includes … unprotected sex/pulling out, oral sex (f / m receiving), facial, fingering, hickeys/marking, penetration, missionary sex, dom/sub undertones (re: some slight begging); it’s pretty vanilla sex, sorry. 

author’s note ... this is the old fic that I mentioned when I said that the debate episode renjun reminded me of a specific old fic. I also edited to be slightly longer and more cohesive. the formatting was bad on the last one, so i reuploaded it a third time. DO NOT come into my inbox to criticize my fic or tell me that it is written badly.

anger management problems renjun enthusiasts, dni.

network tag: @neohub

word count: 15,8k (sorry)

do not reblog without comments

bots + minors do not interact

You wander around just outside the student experience center, nose buried beneath a campus map, eyes glued to a poorly drawn sharpie trail that one of the “orientation leaders” (air quotes because he seemed as equally lost and inexperienced as you) traced. The library has to be here somewhere, you wonder before glancing up.

But the moment your vision changed scenery, you walk right into a cement column, forehead colliding first with the inconveniently placed architecture, making you stumble ass forward to the ground. As you rub the new, hot mark above your brow, praying to God that no one saw anything, a sirenic laugh calls your ear, soft and throaty – something to make you fall in love at first listen. You peak around the empty space, gaze coming into a playful glare then pout when you spot someone laughing at your misfortune.

He walks over to you with nothing helpful, like an ice pack or magic band aid, except a hand to help you up, but his smile looks like it could heal the deepest wounds, and you immediately assume he came from the science department.

“Hey,” he greets, a small smile tugging his lips and even smaller bow dipping him right below your eyeline. “I’m Renjun. Are you also lost?”

The pain recedes quickly, quicker than you anticipated, letting your stomach fill the silence with little pokes through your abdomen to chest. Hopefully, walking into cement did not leave weird texture along your hairline for this really cute boy to spot; otherwise, God, you might as well perish on the spot.

His half-circle eyes crescent upward with the apples of his cheeks, and future you will swear that you met at night, despite (future) his better recount of this meet-cute taking place during the bright, autumn day – either way, Renjun’s happy features ground you, making focus on everything he has to say, to offer.

“Wait a minute.” You pull your hand out of his, holding up your palm, and you miss the way his eyes briefly follow your motions. “Too?” Your eyebrows come together; head tilted slightly to the right, searching his eyes. “Why? You’re also lost?”

“Yeah,” he nods, biting his lip. You nod back at him, still searching; you don’t feel your smile lose its curve until Renjun pushes his bottom lip through his teeth with his tongue, licking the seam open. “I, um, I was looking for the financial aid office but my RA [resident assistant] directed me toward the library.”

“Oh, thank God,” you nearly moan, reattaching yourself to his thin bicep, like he touched you with The Hand of God. Confusion takes its turn on Renjun’s face, his head flexed to the side again like deepening a kiss with Eris, neat brows coming together over his pretty eyes, so you snap your hands away. “Sorry, I just meant that I’m looking for the library,” you clarify. “One of the orientation leaders handed me a map, then set me off to the second star on the right without further instruction. I’ve been lost for, like, -“ You push your sleeve up your arm, reading your bare wrist, again missing Renjun’s smile. “– 10 minutes, maybe.”

“Well, it’s just around the corner in that direction.” He points behind his shoulder. “Go straight until you see the gymnasium, take a left by the counselling offices, then a right at the education building, and it should be in front of the pharmacy department.” Renjun tries directing you physically, pointing his index finger this way and that, as if touching the map still in your hand. Once he turns back to you, an accomplished smile finishing his thought, you are in the middle of nodding again, mouth falling open, only to inhale. “Or,” he drags out, internally debating for a second as your body perks up, “I could show you where it is.”

You beam at him. “Please? Will you? That would be … amazing, and really helpful.” You sigh, teeth fighting their way to the front. “To be honest, I’m not the best with directions and stuff.”

“It’s not a problem,” he tells you, honestly, his voice partially going up. He gestures out to the path, asking if you are ready.

You surprise him by taking his arm again, curling your hand to his wrist. “Lead the way, Peter Pan.”

“Peter Pan?”

Renjun tilts his head again, not moving despite initiating the journey. He bites his lip again, and he would shrink into his narrow shoulders, but you keep him propped up. Then, you mimic him, subconsciously taking a step back when he makes eye contact.

“Um,” you stutter, swallowing the thousands of thoughts on the tip of your tongue, not knowing where to start, so you pick the middle: “Second star to the right, and all; you did say right … right?” You cringe a little at the syllable repetition, but it makes him throw his head back and laugh, so the warm tinge across your face subsides until completely disappearing when he leads the way. “So …” you say, a little too loudly, abruptly changing the topic.

“So?” he parrots, guiding you onto the inner sidewalk, closer to the buildings, farther from the street.

“So,” you repeat, equal in cadence, bobbing in tune as you drag out the conjunction, not looking at him in fear that your brain might bombard you with a thousand thoughts again – either this can lead to a wonderful friendship or blossom into something more … which makes you kind of nervous, if you were being honest, except you don’t want to be presumptuous. You just met the guy two minutes ago. “How, um, how long have you been going here?”

“Ah,” he responds, open mouthed. His free arm flies behind his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s my first semester. I’m a freshman.”

“Oh … but you seem to know, at least part of, the school really well.” You bite inside the corner of your cheek.

“Yeah, my parents moved me into the dorms last weekend, so I had a lot of time to, like, roam around and find out where my classes are going to be on Wednesday, but I’ve literally been looking all over half the campus for the financial aid office today.”

“Huh,” you mumble, a slow eureka. “Maybe, after this, if you’re able to wait, I can show you where the financial aid office is. It’s like right next to my dorm building on the other side of campus. I just have to check out a textbook for property law.”

Renjun beams at you now. “I’d like that a lot.” And he’d like to spend more time with you.

Haechan calls your full name – Funny, since you’ve only heard him referred to by his real name a handful of times, but now, with the alcoholic flush heating your face under the wintery night sky, you cannot, for the life of you, remember his government name. Renjun mentioned it to you once or twice, between ranting about something Haechan did, before he brought you into his friend group a couple weeks ago. He had been meaning to merge you with them, ever since Jeno got a small break from his military service for Chuseok weekend, but things piled up, no one actually free until the second half of autumn term. Jaemin barely got a break from his o chem lab reports; Haechan is taking a small breather between pre-trial motion write ups; Renjun left the library for the first time in, essentially, a week; Chaewon just finished her art project this morning and woke up literally fifteen minutes before arriving at the restaurant; you only finished creating flash cards for property law (those vocab words are going to get you one of these days); and the military doesn’t really let Jeno out on holiday, as it would defeat the purpose of compulsory military service (on the bright side, he won’t have to take a break from school or work like the others; although, Jaemin plans to use his [future] medical degree to his advantage).

You whip your hair around, the inches that have grown since summer almost hitting Jeno in the face, so you lean a bit more into Renjun, who has a slightly buff arm strewn along the back of your chair as you change conversations from one end of the table to the next, the two of you sitting in the middle like Jesus at The Last Supper – which might as well predict your relationship status, almost as if Renjun wants to test you, but you push the thought away. If he wanted to be something more, he would have done something by now; you have known him for, like, two months now, nearly approaching finals. You swear that you picked up on a few close calls, confiding in your roommate, a psych major Dahyun; except, she might be more excited to study your brain like a bug than really listen to the problem. But she did say that this – the two of you going out with his friends (Jeno, Haechan, Jaemin, and Chaewon) could mean something.

And maybe it does.

When all five of you moved from the bar inside the restaurant to a longer table outside (Jeno kept complaining about the lack of leg room because people kept pushing against his chair on their ways to the bathroom; something no none, except maybe Jaemin related to, but eventually, everyone relented), Renjun walked through the door last, having led you, a hand on your mid-back, through the other patrons and busboys. He stopped you from accidentally catching the jacket around your arm on fire; you took it off because Jaemin started grilling one of the side dishes and the bottle of soju you started nursing with Renjun got to your face. It left some skin exposed, skin that he touched. You didn’t have time to analyze him really, a waiter dropping off a complimentary alcohol mix for the discomfort, not like now when Haechan gives you an excuse to check him out.

“Really,” Haechan begs, “why’d you stick to him?” He points a thumb at Renjun, and Renjun takes immediate offense but does nothing other than verbally object, his chest sighing weakly. Haechan flops his wrist, wanting your answer more than to argue – a rare event, considering that half the table is enrolled in the law programme.

“I don’t know,” you answer immediately, mostly as a filler word while you size him up. Over the semester, Renjun started training with Jeno and Jaemin (and Xiaojun from the poli sci department), gradually replacing his daily water intake with whey protein powder. His body has gotten … bigger, noticeably bigger; his shoulders filling out the grey, cashmere sweater, muscles faintly contouring down in bulges to the thin watch on his left wrist. You eventually reach his face again, briefly pausing at his clear jawline, and he raises an eyebrow before knocking back another shot, daring you to say the thought so clearly reflected in your eyes. “I mean,” you start, shifting back to Haechan, who starts pouring your fourth round, as if seducing you into saying something provocative, “he was nice; he is nice. He picked me off the ground, literally, and –“ You throw back the shot. “– you know, we had – have a lot in common: similar taste in movies, same major, he even sang a line from this one OST I used to hear whenever my grandmother watched dramas.”

Haechan, hums, dispensing yours and Renjun’s fifth round and a fourth to everyone else.

“What about you?” Jeno garbles to Renjun, slowly laying his head on the table, Jaemin rubbing his back. “If I were – were you –” He hiccups and points at you. “– I would’ve left as soon as I even heard him laughing at me.”

“I guess I’m just nicer than you,” Renjun laughs, sitting slightly more forward. “Remember when we first met. I thought you were cold as ice.

Jeno pouts.

“And now,” Renjun clarifies, pushing the shots further down the table and grabbing a napkin. His free arm slides down your back for the second time tonight, heat radiating off his hand to your hip; his fingers twitch in the air, inches from your skin, and your breath stops in your chest. You shift a little closer to his belt, rocking left and right until you meet him, and he helps you, too, hand rising above your high-waisted skirt, pulling you closer. Then, he leaves his arm dangling there, elbow caught in the chair’s spine, fingers caging your hip. “Now, we’re best friends.”

You admire Renjun’s side profile as he talks behind your back with Jeno, reclining on the bench, you perched over the table to give him enough space. He smirks at something in the middle of the conversation, head nodding off center, falling even more into your body and continuing to stay there after, sans objection. All eyes eventually lead to Jaemin, when he starts pouring the sixth round, except yours. Yeah, you instinctively moved with the crowd, but Renjun’s lips caught your gaze, licking his mouth open wider for another laugh, shoulders following suit. Halfway through another weak objection (he is already pushing his shot glass to the end of the table before his sentence finishes), Renjun glances your way, lingering back and forth between you and Jaemin, who tends to overpour after two shots, until he stops, staying on your face. He reaches out the same hand that gave a glass to Jaemin, grabbing yours too, then mouths come here, finger curling close enough to make your skin tingle. Still, you comply, and he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, matting down all the baby hairs floating away from how hot your face burns, knowing that, as a side effect of the law major, appearance is everything. Or maybe he just thinks you’re pretty.

“Oh, leave them alone,” Chaewon complains between drinks, groaning through her fifth and sixth shots. “I think they’re cute.” She wipes her mouth with her sleeve, and you are tempted to do the same, except to Renjun, a little like returning the favor, even though he wiped the pretzel crumbs from the corner of his mouth already. “Besides, their meet-cute is better than spilling that disgusting demon coffee on a stranger at eight o’clock in the morning.” She narrows her eye sat Haechan.

“That was for him!” He points at Jaemin, nearly banging on the table, much to Jeno’s annoyance. “And it will be the last time I ever buy coffee for you!”

“How are you going to repay me for the kimbap I bring you after literature on Thursdays?!”

“You get it from the dining hall!”

“Yeah, on my meal plan!”

“Please, okay! It’s literally ₩3,000!”

“Should we get kimbap?” you hum, leaning into Renjun’s hand, further from the three-person argument.

He trails his fingers under your chin, tickling you until he laughs when you slap him away; he drops his hand on his jeans, rubbing his thigh wider into his seat. You tilt your head to the door into the restaurant, eyes fluttering at your suggestion, pouting. Renjun copies, lips tightened into a contemplative melody. He sighs, stomach growling in agreement. The last time either of you ate was after your 10AMs, barely catching a quick snack from the café in the biochem building, because you had been promised the alleged best samgyeopsal marinated in red wine.

“If our food doesn’t arrive in –“ Renjun pushes his long sleeve far up his forearm, shaking his watch into view. Your tongue salivates. “– 10 minutes, I’ll buy you dinner at Gen.”

It comes by in four.

[Renjun, 3:23 PM]

Renjun time!

[Renjun, 3:23 PM]

Study session at mine tonight?

[You, 3:24 PM]

Yeah, I’m going to finish scanning this civics passage in the library, then head to Starbucks for coffee, but I should be free the rest of the day. Civil procedure got cancelled. Want anything?

[Renjun, 3:25 PM]

Grande mango black tea, light ice, please and thank you. Do you need help studying? Prof Choi will probably give a pop quiz in your next meeting.

[Renjun, 3:26 PM]

Oh, and a double bacon if there are any left. I have constitutional law in 5 btw.

[Renjun, 3:27 PM]

I’ll buy you dinner at Gen on Monday.

[You, 3:27 PM]

Please.

[You, 3:28 PM]

You keep saying that, but we have yet to actually go.

[You, 3:30 PM]

Sit in the back. I’ll sneak in.

Sneaking into Professor Moon’s constitutional law class, which has over a hundred students, is as easy as slipping into a routine with Renjun, if not easier, even after summer break. And this year, you actually have a class with him (!), not constitutional law, obviously, because you took it last year, but legal writing. Ironically, your classes overlap with his – e.g. you took constitutional law spring term, he takes it now; he took civic practices winter term, you take it now. Basic classes, the ones that only go over the law, not how to interpret it, don’t really function like maths classes; they don’t build off each other, just accumulate knowledge, so you and Renjun (and Haechan and Chaewon) will spend the first two years learning the general idea, figure out what specialty you eventually want to pursue, then argue during the last three – which means that, in the long run, you essentially invest in having more time with Renjun … not that he isn’t already attached to your hip. Plus, you can cheat off each other’s notes.

Ice shaking alerts Renjun to your presence before a syllable from your greeting can reach his ear. You slowly drag the chair beside him on the carpet, no loud sounds alerting the professor to your existence (thank God), and set everything down next to him.

“Thanks,” he whispers, sipping the iced tea like every other student in the room does with coffee.

You lean over his arm, simultaneously giving him the sandwich and stealing a pale-yellow highlighter. “No problem.”

Renjun trails your hand, watching you set up to study civic practices on your iPad, completely missing his professor’s plan for today’s class. His smile twitches on the corners of his cheeks. He remembers doing that last year: studying activists who used pamphlets to declare independence from some distant sovereign, and admiring your side profile. The way you ignore him, too focused on Common Sense, let him stare a bit longer, without you making a face to stop him. Some rose-pink color outlines your lips today, a few patches missing in the middle. He asked you, this morning, while catching an early morning bibimbap, why you actually dressed up for civic practices, because no one took Prof Kwon’s dress code seriously. You said something about wanting to get an internship with him for your practicum in two years, and he wasn’t aware that you had started planning that far ahead.

“Pay attention to this next part. It will be an essay question on the next exam.”

Renjun glances at the projector. Justiciability. He has no idea what it means (well, he has some; he vaguely recognizes the abstract concept), so he starts paying attention. But throughout the lecture, he slips his elbow onto the table, resting his cheek over his hand, preoccupied by your distracting pen taps, as Professor Moon sets up clicker questions after each section. He tries to stay focused, adding any random thought to the corner of his OneNote … until he ends up doodling your name; it began as writing something you mentioned in passing last year and didn’t stop … you look so cute right now … if you use all my yellow highlighter, we’re going to the pen shop later … you, you, you. He erases all the evidence though, seconds after he makes it, not wanting to incriminate himself, even outside the law, before he becomes a lawyer.

After the lecture wraps up, you and Renjun walk to the library, partway through campus, iced drinks in hand, catching up on your lives despite having seen each other every day. Surprisingly, you always have a new thing to say, new opinion about whatever you saw, and Renjun always has a rebuttal.

“Oh!” You pull off your straw once he finishes recounting his point of view on Moon’s theoretical federal case. Renjun flutters his eyes up, ducking down to slurp the last of his tea. “Did you hear? Jeno is starting the architecture programme spring term after he discharges.”

“Yeah,” Renjun hums, breaking off his empty drink. Jeno called him about it last night. “I think Haechan is going to see if the housing department will let them room together since there’s an empty bed in his suite.” You nod slowly, contemplative, and Renjun opens his mouth again, to ask you the question he has been pondering since Jeno even brought up living on campus.

Speaking of the devil (well, one of them), Haechan accidentally happens on the two of you, rounding a corner from the psych department. He launches his arms around your shoulders, swinging his legs between you and Renjun, making you both dip down and yelp.

“God, I share more classes with Renjun than you, yet I don’t see him nearly as much.” Haechan lands in front of you, bouncing backwards a few steps to balance himself.

Renjun verbally objects; he saw Haechan yesterday for dinner, so this makes the fifth day in a row, plus they have a grocery store date tomorrow morning; he ran out of satay hotpot soup base after you helped him complete his first draft for legal writing. He flitters a grateful eye when you massage his shoulder. You squeeze his bicep three times, returning the blood flow to his face, and he mumbles a small thank you, with an even smaller smile, before glaring at the intruder.

“It’s almost like you live together,” Haechan shrugs, tucking in his elbows and wriggling between you two.

You giggle when Renjun sighs, his shoulders dropping as his chin tilts to the sky.

“I mean, I was considering it.”

“You were what!?”

Renjun raises an eyebrow, walking slightly ahead of Haechan to see you, and you return it, frowning deeply.

“You never told me that,” you grumble, falling behind Haechan, who copies the both of you, frowning like he did something wrong.

“I mean,” Renjun starts, “Yeah, of course, I’ve thought about it. We’re practically together all the time, like he –“ Renjun points a thumb at Haechan, pausing to glare, then softens back at you. “– mentioned. You have enough stuff in my dorm to live there for a month, anyways, and we’ve had sleepovers before, so –“ He shrugs. “– why not?”

Renjun may not have started planning his fourth-year practicum like you, but he has been thinking about the future, about asking you to move into an apartment with him before the school year ends.

It takes just slightly over two weeks (16 days) to finalize a pros and cons list for living with Renjun. You don’t say a word to anyone about, nearly neglecting your actual studies and opinion papers to really determine if you could do it. Halfway through the pros column, you considered asking your current roommate, a psych major named Dahyun, for help – to see whether you ignore the red flags, or to diagnose with the first thing that snaps you out of this boy craze, but you shook your head and continued writing. So far, the list has more pros than cons, as you expected; Renjun is basically perfect – decent cook (or take-out order…er); clean, physically and environmentally; quiet when important; cooperative; gets along with you; etc. The only con is … is … well, you get along with him too well, so you keep the list to yourself, not wanting that information, specifically, to be leaked. You even cross out the one con with a sharpie and expo marker, ripping it into the shredder before anyone could interpret it.

But Chaewon inevitably heads to your dorm for an extra shirt when Haechan spills yet another demon coffee on her (before 8 AM this time).

She walks out of your private bathroom, wearing an oversized sweater, dabbing a Tide pen into her pale pink shirt, trying to revive it before criminal law.

“Oh, I hate them,” she enunciates about Haechan and Jaemin for the fifth time this week alone (and it’s Thursday). She puts the pen back in your desk draw and blows on the wet patch, trying to get it ready for class, but you saw the black water stain her shirt irrevocably, even from the closet, where you pull out a blazer to go over the plain white pyjama shirt you stole from Renjun. “Oh? What’s this?”

“What’s what?” you ask while sliding your arms through the sleeves. You yank your hair from the back, fluffing it before walking up to her, tiptoeing above her shoulder as she pulls a colorful, small spiral notebook from your drawer.

“Reasons to live with Renjun,” she reads.

Your eyes widen, and you snatch it from her, holding it close to your chest.

“Reasons not to live with Renjun?” She reads the back.

You push her out of the way and shove it back in your drawer, slamming it shut rather loudly.

“You’re going to  … move in … with him?” she asks slowly, lowering her head gradually, her voice unusually soft.

You hug your arms around your waist, hands gripping the waistband on your trousers, and study her expression, your own eyebrows furrowing deeply. She brings her hands together, thumbnail clawing at the cuticles on her opposite fingers.

“Yes,” you nod, equally quiet and long. You stand up straighter, tucking your hair behind both ears a few times before opening your desk drawer to organize it; no use in hiding the list now that Chaewon knows and wants to address it. “I was just thinking about it.”

“Are you … Are you sure it’s a good idea?” She puts a hand on your upper arm, and your muscles tighten, everything temporarily paused until the single highlighter you hold starts shaking; you start shaking. Once you inhale twice more, no air expelling until your lungs finally reach max capacity, you turn towards Chaewon. Her hand drops into yours, squeezing it gently. You want to assuage her misplaced guilt, possibly about finding your notebook and involuntarily demanding to know the reason you might move in with Renjun – because the roommate agreement has yet to be written into stone.

But you shrug, rattling her off of you. “Yeah, we’re practically together all the time, and we have stuff at each other’s places.” You pause, recoiling, physically cringing at reusing Renjun’s reasoning.

“What are you going to do when he goes on a date?”

You frown. “Renjun doesn’t date.”

Chaewon raises an eyebrow, her palms weakly slapping her thighs, the sound resonating too loudly in the silence. Your ears ring, like the aftermath of a bomb, and you go back to studying her face, maybe also too long. You tilt your head to the side, something in your chest piling on an extra ton that leans your body to the left.

“I mean, I’ve never seen him go on a date, and I’ve known him for more than two years now.”

Chaewon bites her lip and moves her hands behind her back.

Your shoulders hunch forward. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, mostly to the floor. “I thought you knew.”

“No,” you reject, a little forcefully, and she winces. “No, it’s …” you repeat gentler, matching her expression, “It’s my fault for assuming.” You throw your hands low in the air, hands slapping against your thighs, but not as strong since her implications weigh your body down. “Of course, he dates. I just … I just thought …”

Chaewon reaches an arm out again, grabbing your forearm first for your attention, then your hand, squeezing it again, in the same capacity, although now you know what she knows. She evidently knew what you thought, but her breath had to spell out what she knew. You try slinking into yourself, elbows tucking backwards, until she hugs you, accidentally tripping over her feet. It doesn’t make you laugh.

“I just … thought he was too busy, you know,” you lie, obviously too, by the way your nose starts to itch, “like me,” you whisper, finally accepting her embrace, adding your arms around her waist and your chin into her shoulder.

Chaewon pats your hair. “I know.”

But does he?

“Are you even listening to me?”

“I told you already that I didn’t have the time to study with you today. I’m still behind on my second draft for legal writing, and I can’t afford to drop below in the rankings again.”

“Then why did you even come!?”

You purse your lips. Renjun should know, at this point, why you hang out in his single person dorm, oscillating between listening to his overactive imagination about the different animal combinations his brain dreams up and walking to the convenience store near the physics building 160 meters away. He should know why you help each other with the classes you’ve already taken, help him compete against Seungmin in his constitutional law, help him technically get a better grade than you ever did (despite academic standing relying on your literal standing in class among more than 50 people). Regardless, he still looks at you as if meeting you for the first time; or, not meeting you because, when he actually did, he had a smile on his face and laughter on his shoulders; now, he just gives you an uncharacteristic head shake, questions spilling from his tight lips. You grip the page of your notebook that you had been writing on, it standing partway up, then turn it; you accidentally use too much strength and rip the perforations, which makes a hot, deep sigh leave your diaphragm.

It has been almost three weeks (three weeks and two days), since you told Renjun that you cannot move in with him. You initially avoided him, like the plague, lying that you cannot be on top of everything. Well, partially lying. Your classes got harder – more pop quizzes, more mini-essays and discussion posts, more commitment; how he manages to retain information so easily, you will be forever jealous, but it also means that you have to sacrifice your 10 PM philosophical talks to get work done. You l… you lo… You enjoy his company, you really do, but being with him takes an extra 0.5x the effort, slowing down your typed average words per minute until you just stop writing, because he needs you to explain a concept. And you don’t mean to nag; it goes vice versa – it takes him an extra 90 minutes to complete his flashcards when you ask about Enlightenment ideas or to translate his annotations to something you understand. You just … don’t know how to accommodate for his follow up questions, for actually being with him, for all your lies falling through, and it makes your heart drop; if you can’t even improvise with Renjun, how will you be a lawyer?

By telling the truth?

You sigh. “Renjun …” He looks at you expectantly, on the tips of his toes, despite sitting half a table away, on the opposite side of his desk, creating the distance you only speak. “I …” you start, heart never having recovered from that meeting with Chaewon, “I’ve just been busy with school.” His entire chest deflates. “You have too,” you reinforce – partially because it’s true, and a half-truth is better than a lie; it is an omission of the whole picture, which is something arguable in court.

And something he regurgitates to you the next weekend.

You follow up the same thing the next day.

Another month passes, the end of fall term, and saw Renjun maybe three times, at least one of them being in class when he sat next to you, backpack sliding between his legs like a kicked puppy, his eyes, also, somehow mimicking a baby. You nearly cave, turn to him with an open mouth, but he packs his bag and leaves before the professor announces the assignment. It is written in the syllabus anyways.

Spring term comes faster than winter term ends, and you have literally no idea what happened.

Everything stays the same: the grass still retains dew outside the agriculture building; the biochem café still wakes up at dawn; hell, even Haechan manages to spill coffee on Chaewon again, not that you see them so often anymore. She stopped spontaneously dropping by your dorm (you live off campus now, still with Dahyun though), choosing her side like the other three – two if you count Jeno not being informed until three weeks into winter term. But you and Renjun no longer bear the conjoined rumors, whispers about your breakup swirling among the nosy grad students who assign your group projects. And the further you delve into the five-year law program, the smaller the class sizes get, meaning that you eventually circle back to Renjun’s side, just adding the distance he created in his dorm two terms ago. Again, everything stays the same.

Dahyun, your psych major roommate, argued that the competitive school system sets you up to hate each other, and you fell into its scheme (you asked what her major’s scheme was, and she said depression; you refrained from asking anymore questions), inevitably hating Renjun. However, her social psych class did not account for all the sparing matches, during Socratic debates, during the extraneous study sessions set up by the TA Qian Kun, during … every student event really. It never ends because neither of you allow each other to have the last word, to give a final argument, as if holding an arsenal back, waiting to drop the atomic bomb at the perfect moment. It feels like holding the weight of the world, weight of a secret, on your shoulders, and you confessed this, drunk, to Dahyun every night through the end of the year. She tried to offer you more advice, more perspective, adding a shrug here or there to lessen the hostility while still telling you the truth, but you continued to dive further into defensive mode, even when she pointed out that it could be your professors’ faults, posing public rankings rather than private grades, forcing you and Renjun into survival mode to come out on top, if not top three (Seungmin, too, eventually revealed himself as your uncovered nemesis).

All those study dates spent getting to know each other for naught, escalating into passive aggressive battles through your individual essays. If the TAs put your assignment next to Renjun’s, it would read “re:fuck this guy” back and forth despite arguing the same position, just using different reasons. Then, wars break out in the form of debates, the both of you misplacing your anger onto each other (from the rankings, and innocent bystander Seungmin who really wants to work for the international diplomacy office). He would lose his spot at number one in torts, a class you took freshman year; you often did minor corrections, like spelling for him; and you would receive your research papers drowned in red ink, distorting your muddled point without Renjun to move around the sentences for cohesion; he is … was the only one who followed your rapid thought process, almost on the exact same wavelength. Eventually, you two grew better without each other, forcing yourselves to use the student resources like the writing center or your actual professors, and you were happy, elated, that he improved on legal literacy, as he was happy, elated, that you understood social policy on your own, but fuck, it hurt like hell to see each other’s names drop, losing first place when you tried so hard to make it work, even more when one of your friends’s stupidly endearing smile attempted to console you, saying that “rankings do not matter”, even though they clearly do.

Oh, you two saw each other as frequently as freshman year, nothing changing drastically except what kind of feelings you had for each other, occasionally bumping into one another on the street – you caught Renjun slipping on a puddle once and helped him up after laughing at him, only to receive a glare; he also caught you tripping up the stairs in the language department, dropping your tea a flight below. Everything stayed the same, and it felt the same, in those briefest moments, but no longer did the flirting mask the tutoring; no longer did the glances feel heart-stricken, just rallying frustration back and forth, when you think the other isn’t looking, like a trick shot; no longer can you “accidentally” bump elbows in his dorm to look at a textbook that you rented together to save on money.

Unfortunately, you find yourself in Renjun’s legal ethics class winter term of your third year, and truthfully, it functions more like a psychotherapy group meeting than anything else. You swear, every class, that your old professor can read your mind, can see your tiny glimpses at Renjun from the back of the lecture hall, and purposefully relates each module to your lives.

“You cannot equate legal ethics with business ethics!” Renjun argues, voice echoing off the amphitheater, surround-sound encasing all 19 people to accommodate for the 150-max capacity. “Business ethics are not always a matter of law,” he furthers, seeing your ears burn steam, all openness flying out the window. He does not miss the irony, something about the passion for you manifesting in different forms, maybe, if he let himself sit with the thought for long, but he distracts himself with the lecture, using all of his brain, and half of his fragile glass heart, to make a plausible argument that you cannot refute easily. “Yes,” he seethes, “legal ethics might determine what is acceptable, like a morality blueprint, but business ethics do not always have to adhere to the law!”

“Pertain,” you hastily correct, nearly spitting across the fishbowl setting that your professor had everyone arrange from the desks. You almost stand up, to nitpick at his argument, at his choice of words, but restrain yourself; you have some decorum. “Business ethics always have to adhere to the law.” Your voice hitches for a moment, an insult (dummy, idiot, clotpole) scratching its heels on your lips before it can fully pass into audio.

Renjun, though, unfortunately, sees the taunting term of endearment (of irritation). His smirk begs you say it, his tongue licking the seam of his lips open to prod you more, but Socratic seminars have a direct impact on his grade and ranking. He cannot afford to be thrown out of class again for getting too heated in debate.

“If we cannot equate business ethics and law ethics, then do out laws not reflect morality, the moral compass? Do our laws lack in some sense that alleviates business workers from punishment, puts them above the law?” you further, chest rising instead of your legs, asking him impossibly ambiguous questions to which you know that he does not have the answer. He could ask the theoretical judge (your professor) for an objection, but there is no witness testimony, so he would remain invalid unless he can bring a valid philosophical response. “Business ethics have arbitrary rules that would otherwise not hold in a court of law, so how can we determine the validity of their rules?”

You nearly forget about everyone else in the class, spotlight effect enhancing only Renjun Huang; you swear that you see the cogs turning, at rapid pace, behind his exposed forehead, as you pile question after question, trying to undermine and tear apart his dispute on the basis of morals and ethics, as is the name of your fucking class.

His clench fists tell you exactly where you can shove those intangible questions, also succumbing into tunnel vision with only you at the end, as if you were the sole answer to your own insufferable questions, to the universe, to this god-awful class section that you decided to sign up for, simultaneously with him. According to Haechan, there has to be at least two other sections, although it would coincide with the comparative law class you also share with him and his technology and science law class. He and you are not the only ones in this programme, in this class, despite the numerous times neither of you have focused on anyone else; other than Seungmin, who has ethics Tuesday, Thursday, Friday at 11 AM. Perhaps Renjun should have skipped the breather altogether, he thinks, then, you would still be talking to him … well, talking at him, given your disposition … not that he minds … he does somewhat agree with you, simply following the polar opposite because you do too.

Once Professor Jeong dismisses the lecture (after Renjun’s closing argument; you gave the opening argument), determining that both sides presented “enough” evidence for final ments, everyone begins cleaning up, putting the classroom back to the way it started. Only a few of you stay, out of the already few, including Renjun.

You turn to the front of the classroom, pushing the desks into a neat line. Seeing him, even after he essentially became your moral enemy, brings something forward, in you. The best or worst, you honestly cannot determine. Your grades, debates, fleeting relationships. All paled in comparison to what you had with Renjun, your nostalgia glasses tinted rose-gold. You cringe, physically, lips holding back vomit; you hope that your external shudder, too, only reflects the classroom’s 30-degree weather, not your melodramatic young adult life … or its absence. Maybe you have enough relationship experience, or maybe you need to get out more; maybe you need to think about what you actually had with Renjun, because – you look at him now, his thumbs typing fast enough on his phone to get carpal tunnel syndrome – this certainly did not end up being one.

Oppositely, Renjun, himself, cannot place the exact moment your relationship went downhill. Of course, he knows about you being overworked sophomore year and about the quote-unquote natural competition brought upon by the five-year law program, but he never really thought it would be enough to rip you two apart. Sometimes, he even catches himself reminiscing about your rom-com-esque meet-cute during the warm autumn day after new student orientations – the day shined brightly, as he used to correct you, and his heart thumped so loud in his brain that he didn’t register his own laughter until you mentioned it. He ruminates on the moments with you – fixing your hair as an excuse to look into your eyes before you drop eye contact; reviewing concepts he already knows just to hear you talk, uninterrupted; only touching elbows in the library, to verify that the other stays, because students took the longer desks, forcing him to chose the singles with immovable dividers. He ruminates, not because he wants to, but because it plagues him; it makes him overanalyze all your interactions thereafter. And maybe he did overcompensate for his misplaced frustrations … even though some miniscule part of you irritated him, burned this flame inside his chest, like heartburn.

He can make a list too:

He hates the way you talk, so short and easily annoyed with him;

He hates the way you walk into class, wearing those tennis shoes, like you try to mute your steps, even though people will stare at you coming in 1, 3, or 5 minutes late;

He hates the way you spar with him during Socratic seminars, treating the classroom exercise like an actual courtroom or debate, leaving him hot and breathless, feeling as if no one else can match his wit, even though half the class probably shares the same IQ;

He hates the way you are always right, especially in class when he gets the most minute fact wrong and you dismantle his entire case;

He hates it when you lie, when you claim to love the cold so you grab the seat under the vent during every class study session with the TA, so no one else gets sick;

He hates the way you breathe through your mouth when your nose ultimately gets stuffy after the library turns on the aircon;

He hates it so, so much when you stay later than everyone else, and he sees the way you shiver, too stubborn to move seats, to move closer to him.

He hates the way you make him want to wrap you in his obviously warmer jacket, make him hyperfocus on nursing you back to health instead of the lesson at hand.

He hates the way you never look at him, even after all the others have left, and he mumbles the occasional bless you or are you okay?, which scarcely get a response.

Renjun hates the way he has to steal glances at you or ask you for the source material to get you to look his way. And he hates that he currently does it, waiting, like a coward, for even the TA to leave the room last.

“Do you have a copy of Article 6?”

You bury your nose further into the library’s copy of the Constitution. “Yeah, I just read it.” He hates the way he sees something stop in your throat, masked by a cough; you almost said more to him. Silently, you pass him the book. “Here. You can –“ Cough. “– You can have it.” You bring your hand to your mouth, covered by your sleeve, coughs bubbling into it.

He hates the sympathetic look in his eyes, that he can feel, that he can see in the glass reflection, that you do not acknowledge. Renjun hates the way he purposefully brushes his hands against yours despite you having sneezed on it earlier. He threw a disgusted bless you at you, almost standing from his comfortable position to give you a tissue. But you would never accept it, on the basis of mortal enemies.

“Thank you.”

He hates the way you say nothing back, the way you ignore him again. He hates the way that, at this point, he has to wonder if he really does hate you, hate the idea of you, or hate himself for letting your relationship, now lack thereof, get to this.

And so do you.

Another week passes until your TA schedules another study session; this time before the midterm, one that you need to attend because the vocabulary continuously becomes too complicated to understand. Like, academia is already an unnecessarily convoluted foreign language, and you do not want to hear how it is pronounced, especially when it comes from Renjun’s stupidly pretty voice that always has a perfect cadence. Even now, as he answers the TA’s pointless pop quiz, you are compelled to listen, somehow retaining the information better when he says it, too consumed by his tone … that you miss half the class exiting, until you are left alone with him again, and the reserve textbook that the TA checked out for an extra two hours after the session, knowing exactly which two students would probably study near each other before getting kicked  out (again) at midnight.

The click of an AirPod case opening snaps your attention, forcing you toward the tangible Renjun five seats away, furthest from the room’s only exit, other than the window you contemplate jumping from.

“What are you looking at?” Renjun snips, micro-jutting his chin toward you like a meaningless threat. He would never spar you … in a library, that is – he really does not enjoy getting kicked out of places. But he goes back to tuning out the world when you fail to respond, so you do the same, with your favorite band’s newest album.

Unfortunately, for Renjun, this meant enduring your off-key, sporadic humming, broken by cracks in your voice as if it were hoarse, vaguely resembling instrumental, much less the actual lyrics. He lets you get a bit louder, equally turning up his volume, until your humming elongates into one dissonant note, and he pulls out your earbud, pausing your music, your singing, and your studying. You un-click your pen, the corner of your eye flittering toward him, sparkling a glare because the angle will not allow you to narrow your eyes at him.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused,” he mocks, placing the AirPod on the table by your phone. Renjun returns to his seat just as easily and silent, the sound of his chair scraping the carpet replacing both your playlists. He is halfway through pulling his seat closer to the table when he continues, seeing you oscillate between him and your phone (not even the textbook; wow). “I meant it.” He glares. “If you’re just going to daydream, you can leave. I’ll even encourage you; you can be hung up on that Timothée Chalamet wannabe.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, head turning away. “I’m not hung up on him.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he mutters back, popping open an orange midliner. He doesn’t use yellow anymore. Variations of the color, yes, from orange to orange-yellow, then yellow-green to green. His favorite color is still yellow; perhaps why he holds it in such high esteem, like dedicating little emojis across his Instagram captions to it or detailing small embellishments around his apartment, but not something he carefully looks at every day, like his notebooks.

Equally petty and bitter, you say something under your breath, trying to be unintelligible. Renjun, though, knows about your mother’s speak clearlys, and it comes out crystal: “Sounds like you’re hung up on him more than I am.” And neither of you understand why – why he would think you are hung up on some asshole in your philosophy class who probably thinks Thanos was a genius; why this is a conversation topic; why he even cares.

“I’m not the one who went on a date with him,” Renjun almost bites, in the form of a growl. He remembers almost literally running into your classmate just outside the boba place off-campus behind the math department, like you did with the cement pillar a couple years ago. You also walked out the door, in the same manner he did to go inside the shop (or, really, stop outside it), distracted by complimenting the matcha blend; you also shrugged him off and sauntered the path with Chalamet.

But what does Huang Renjun even know about your taste in men?

A lot, actually, considering that encompasses so much, if not everything, that you want from a significant other: passionate, honorable, empathetic. You would rather die (or shut him up) before you said anything like that to him. Except … you already did. Freshman year, prior to meeting his friends, when you both were still in that weird getting to know each other phase, not the talking stage just yet, you had been in his dorm, sitting on a bean bag he stole from the floor lobby, and he asked you, out of the blue (because he was finishing up a social psych paper), about the things that make someone attractive romantically. You told him the basics – funny, verbally appreciative, trustworthy, etc., then he watched your eyes sparkle outside his window and your hands wrap around your knees, gently rocking as you described the really specific details. He wondered, at that time, whether he could be all that, your fantasized ideal type.

“I don’t know where you get your information, Huang, but Xiaojun and I aren’t dating, nor did we ever go on a date. I don’t know which event you’re probably misconstruing in your mind, but you’re wrong, and I don’t –“

“Sounds like you don’t know a lot,” he interrupts, starting a new argument, running away from the last topic he started. “Maybe you should actually focus on getting back into the top three in this class, or do you want Seungmin to keep taking out spots?”

You purse your lips. “Bold words for someone who can barely spell.”

“Yeah?” Renjun perks his head, shaking it just the one time. “What’s your excuse?” His question is met with silence, and since your eyes downcast again, brows furrowed with harsh lines in the middle, you fail to notice him return to work. “Thought so,” he mutters, in the tone your mother would disapprove.

You wish it was different.

Ethics would be so much easier, just to comprehend, with his help – bouncing ideas and theories off each other, cowriting drafts and outlines, simultaneously shouting eureka after everything comes together. Except, you wish this was also different – the irritation, the discomfort, the … the resentment. You both know why you resent each other, though only internally; he doesn’t know why you resent him, nor vice versa, and it bubbles into these micro-arguments, passive aggressiveness; the both of you too awkward, maybe even timid, to reconcile without your hearts on the line.

Another sigh leaves your lips, hidden under your breath, and no matter how hard he tries to ignore it, Renjun’s ears attune to it, to your every move. He puts his midliner down, contemplating the benefits of talking to you again like … like a friend; he even opens his mouth to say something, anything, but really, what is there to say? What can he say? One of you will have to be more vulnerable, praying on the other’s empathetic, or sympathetic, side. You did it last, telling him that you couldn’t move in with him, something of a sad expression on your face that he made him immediately go to your defence. He tells himself that he forgave you as soon as your lips moved, but you were not so sure … And neither was he.

“H … he … hey,” he calls out slowly, voice growing audibly to coherency as his confidence settles on vulnerability, a harsh 180 from his previous spite. “Hey,” he repeats, even louder. You finally turn to him, lowering your music just enough to hear him but not taking it away completely, in case he just wants to insult you again. He doesn’t. And he hopes his face shows that.

You scrutinize him, staring down from his eyes to his lips, pausing there, maybe hesitating, before trailing up again. “What?”

“Do you understand the implied contract prompt?”

“Mm … hmm …”

Renjun exhales through his nose, slowly rolling his eyes, trying to expel the budding frustration with each rotation. “Can … Will you go over it with me?” He knows that he has to ask a yes-no question, to ask for help in a format that will not have you nitpicking each word to dismantle his entire request like an argumentative statement. And he does not start it with an apology, like he should. He rarely reveals his emotions so easily without a special occasion, though his every feeling writes itself across his face, chokes his throat.

Not that you indicate any consideration – which is probably his fault. Who could even give a warm response to his resting bitch face, or that scolding tone? Who would even want to?

“I can,” you overenunciate, possibly pondering the implications of his question, taking an eternity to say the simple words. You lower your head, again, to your notebook; pen scratching the air above the half-filled page, twitching. He dips his eye to your smallest movements, but when he catches nothing, he returns to your face, still contemplative. You partially inhale, keeping your breath at the base of your esophagus until you make your decision. He waits and waits, falling onto his toes with each millisecond. You lick your lips and exhale, shakily; you take another moment, giving him a bit of hope that you change your mind at last second in his favor. And you do: “… Ye-yeah, I think I will.” You point a finger at him. “As long as you confine your arguments to the texts.”

“Thanks,” Renjun sighs. He breathes again, hand sliding down his chest. “Maybe we can bounce ideas off each other too.”

The corners of your lips twitch upward. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You and Renjun spend another two hours in the library until a student worker’s voice echoes through the speakers, essentially kicking you both out. You helped each other pack your belongings, then walked down to the first floor together, in silence. He told you that he had to return a book at the front desk, and, despite your better judgements, you waited for him.

“So …” you say outside the library, grabbing both straps of your backpack. You stop first, in front of him, and he skids down, mirroring your posture on his tote bag.

“So …” he copies.

What does this mean? What happens now? What are we? Do we just go back to … You cannot call it ‘normal’, because what is normal? Even before everything, he blurred the line between friends and l… and more, which gave you a false hope that was shattered by Chaewon in just one minute, not that you speak to her so often anymore. You two get together occasionally, every 1-2 months subject to projects and midterms, working on different subspecialty electives – honestly, that itself is nice, not being forced to compete for the same internships, the same classes, the same fields. The same cannot be said with Renjun. Although, he gets it. Despite the way you two collaborate on similar theses, whether you agree or disagree with the hypothetical plaintiff, he validates your stances and vice versa, bringing up evidence to really strengthen each other’s arguments. He just … You just … debate whose evidence is better, which opening statement would be received by the judge (your professors) more positively.

A hundred questions linger on the tip of your tongue, nearly begging you to cross-examine him on the spot without preparation. Maybe lawyers are like this, kind of intense in all areas of their lives, needing the black and white extremes because they deal with the grey areas for days, if not weeks or months. Though, you still have yet to pass the bar exam. You and Renjun, who drops his arms to his sides like the iPhone emoji, his lips sucked inside his mouth.

“I …” You inhale, pursing your lips. “I …” You inhale again and bite your lip to keep the vacuum sealed. “I …” You start again and again, inhaling once more at the start of each sentence, reconsidering where to take this momentum. And Renjun follows your words, heels coming off the ground, leaning into you until he trips. “So …” you settle lamely, eyes drifting away from him, to one of the flickering lampposts in the midnight sky.

Renjun releases his lips into a tiny upward curve, sliding his feet individually into your personal bubble. “We can study at my apartment,” he suggests, “if you want.” And you bite your lip, pushing it out via tongue in the same second. Maybe he feels the same way, doesn’t want this good thing to end. These moments have happened before, after the massive fight move-in dispute, like when he offers you a pen or charger in class, seeing yours dead, or when he shows you that he listens, classroom or not, just like now, reading your body language, probably, and changing the trajectory of the night.

“… Can we?” you ask in a small voice. “I … I still have trouble with philanthropic and ethical responsibilities, and …” You drill your ankle into the ground. “And I think you know Carroll’s corporate social responsibility pyramid better than I do.”

“Right.”

You pick your head up, and he ducks his down.

“I … just … I mean,” he stutters, “If … If you think about it, we have different strengths, so we can … we should rely on each other a bit.” He inhales again, so you study his readable face, looking for all the signs that lead you to his fragile heart. His hands clasp in front of his chest, palms too sticky and perspiring to make the familiar rubbing sound. You try to find his eye, find his gaze, but he finds yours first, boring his widening pupils into you, making you take a small step back, slightly noticeable, given the way his fingers twitch forward, ghosting the outline of your palm. “An … And I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “For the last year.”

You brush your hair back through the middle. “It’s fine,” you breathe, pressing your palm into your stomach. “I mean, it’s … it’s not fine, because, you know … I … I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he whispers, so quietly that you almost don’t hear it. Renjun clears his throat and looks over your head at the empty quad, lampposts dimmer than the second star on the right. “So, um, my place then?”

You bite your bottom lip again, trying not to show how wide your smile can get, because although this doesn’t cure the past 12 or 14 months of verbal rallying at every glance, it is a start. He still agrees with you on the important things, on the morals and values; he still, like, keeps the corner of his eye on you, in public, in private, in the classroom, everywhere; he still spends time with you, stays in your proximity, your eyeline, your conversation. And you know that the separation is your fault. Renjun talks about communication all the time, as the basis for any relationship, yet you couldn’t give him that. But maybe you can now.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

The next day saw another study session in his apartment again, like every rom com movie’s college students – sitting on the floor, a takeout box housing rice in your hands while he balanced a bulgogi platter in his, chopsticks replacing the pen that you really should be holding instead. Occasionally, you had to cover your mouth, when he said something witty, else little grains fly into his face, not that his smile would be mad, too consumed by how own laughter.

Then, later, deep into the night, after the styrofoam piles on the garbage bin, Renjun crouches next to you, laying his head above the couch cushions while you yawned toward the open living room plan. He admired your dedication (really your side profile) and asked if you wanted to wrap up for the night, or to take a break, or to nap even, but you shook your head, reclining in his same position, restarting the explanation for your essay question to tell him why your practice exam deserves at least 85%, not 70. You kept talking, between yawns, eyes drooping, chest slowing, until your words broke completely from their last train of thought. Somewhere, you stopped listening too. He was not sure where, because he stopped also, eyes closing after yours, falling onto the floor.

Oh, it happened again, that same week. And the next, and the next, happening every other night for months.

Jeno and Haechan, his roommates this year – the two who replaced you, or made room, spontaneously, for Renjun when you abandoned him – were surprised to see you, that initial night. They enjoyed your company freshman and sophomore year, sporadically, while you had been with Renjun (not with him, just by his side) and the even rarer occasion they saw you separated. Of course you bonded as friends – all six – you, Renjun, Jeno, Haechan, Chaewon, Jaemin, but law school is competitive and, worse, time consuming, restraining your already limited time from people you do not see regularly (e.g. not Dahyun, Jimin, Renjun, Chaeyoung, or Yeoreum) So, as you and Renjun fought more, recoiled from each other, he retreated to his childhood friends, inadvertently distancing you from them too. And slowly, you rebuilt your relationships with them, too.

You rebuilt your friendships enough to walk from the maths department to Renjun’s apartment with Jeno at 7pm on a Thursday after studying alone in the library a couple hours, laughing at the story he told you about the time Jaemin lost his shoe in the fountain by the engineering department, only for you to return it with a senseless debate: how many holes are on a straw?

“You’re insane!” you shout as he opens the door, dropping your bag on the couch to follow him into the kitchen, completely missing Renjun’s small wave from the dining room behind you two; he brings his hand to his chest and stares at his palm while you follow Jeno around the apartment. “The math says it’s one.”

Jeno cracks open a soda, leaning against the counter. He smacks his lips, pondering the debate. You know he took calculus and geometry, and currently he has that topography class he just got out of, so he should be on your side! “It’s like this.” He puts up his finger. “There is one passage, –” He sticks up a second finger. “ – with two holes. There are two places you can enter. If we define a hole as an opening to which you can enter only or leave only, then –“

“What are you two talking abou –“

“– there are two holes in a straw.”

You smack Jeno’s hand down. “This isn’t a philosophical question. A straw is real and tangible in a torus shape, so it has just the one.”

“Can I give my opinion?” Renjun walks to the counter, poking his head above it.

“No!” you and Jeno shout together.

“Okay, then let me ask you this: do you consider your mouth and asshole to be separate openings or just the one hole?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Technically,” you sigh, “Yes.”

“So you just admitted you’re talking shit!”

You deadpan. “Do you want to die?”

Jeno surrenders his hands, giggling to himself. “There’s a reason I’m not trying to be lawyer like the rest of you.” He puts his can upside down in the sink to drain the soda that wouldn’t fall out and claps his hands. “Anyways, I’m going to bed. I’ve gotten, like, 4 hours in the last three days, and I swear that I started hallucinating concert halls in the middle of architecture, so good night.”

“Yeah, yeah, good night, whatever,” you wave him off.

“Good night?” Renjun half-sings, staring Jeno down the hall.

“Oh!” you shout again, making him whip his head around as you rush to grab something from your backpack. You pull out a paper, small bag, tossing it to him in the same movement. “I got you some gummies from the library café. They were restocking, and I don’t know if you bought any since last night, so … yeah, there you go.”

Renjun pulls out the candies one at a time, sprawling them across the arm of the couch while you take a seat on the opposite, pulling a pillow into your crisscrossed applesauce position. Coca-Cola Haribo, Trolli Sour Brite Crawlers, Vilac peach yogurt jellies – Renjun doesn’t remember telling you about his favorite gummies; though, you might have just been … paying attention. He is not too subtle, he hopes, about it, about anything really. His emotions, he has been told, are written all over his face, involuntarily reacting before he can even think to process them. And with you in such close proximity, with the both of you fixing this relationship, his brain goes fuzzy, rewiring again, slowly coming down from disappointment to hope, but prevents him from slinking to your side again, unsure how near you will allow him to be. Renjun pops a candy bag open, just like Jeno did a soda, then points it at you first. You take two, one for yourself and place the other in his hand, coaxing him closer. The both of you rearrange on the couch until your shoulders are a magazine-width apart, necks reclined on the pillows, legs thrown toward the ground.

Renjun only lets the lull in conversation last a few seconds, maybe less, until his head starts drifting to the side. “Have you eaten yet?”

“I –” Your stomach growls before you can answer, metabolism having been ignited by the gelatin. “I guess I am …” You sink into the couch, pressing your lips tight, trying to hide between the cracks without bumping into him. He gives you space, inching away. “Sorry …”

“It’s fine.” Renjun tucks his pretty hair behind his ears, eyes cast between his legs on the cushion. “We can order food before we start studying.” He pauses, giving you time to think about from which delivery service to order, phone in his front pocket suddenly feeling heavy on his thigh, dropping a little too close to center; he rearranges his phone. And you rearrange your body to look up at the ceiling. Renjun copies you, after a second, after appreciating the glow across your cheeks, no matter how tired you seem. His eyes follow the outline around the apples of your cheeks, walking the same path to his ceiling, head tilting closely to yours. “Is hotpot okay?” he whispers near your ear.

Your shoulders shudder, almost hitting him in the chin, and you turn to him. “Again?” you ask, ending through a sigh. You hug your waist and snuggle deeper on the couch. He almost replaces the cushion with his narrow shoulder; albeit, he has been consistently going to the gym. It might be more comfortable now than freshman year, but he does wonder if you would have that playful smile on your lips again. It appears in your eyes. “Will you actually pour the soup into the bowls correctly, or are we going to have to drop meat into the broth again?”

Renjun smiles for you. “I can’t promise anything, other than it will taste good.”

“It’s hotpot,” you say as if the reasoning were obvious. “It’s hotpot, and more importantly, it’s your taste in hotpot.”

Reminiscing with you only goes as far back as when he apologized in the library this term, but he recalls everything before then too. You never really went to get hotpot with him before now; occasionally, yes, if you were available and nearby when he planned it. Actually, Junhui, one of the PhD students from the biology department, invited you sometime during sophomore year, when you and Renjun were walking around campus for fresh air, sipping melted bubble tea. That was every once in a while, maybe every couple months, but now, you go with him or order out with him every couple days. Your late night study snacks (dinner, really) does not always have to be hotpot, or boba; you also buy gimbap from the convenience store and pineapple juices, when neither of you have the time to dedicate 30-minutes, or an hour, to a full meal. Those moments remind him about freshman and sophomore year, in which school did not consume your waking hours like a ticket counter at an arcade.

“Are you ready for the exam?” you ask, once he sends the order, curling up on the couch.

Renjun flops next to you again, brushing his bangs away from his eyes to see you better. “Partially. There are still a few concepts I’m uncertain about, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to complete the writing portion in time, if Jeong really is going to reduce our time limit to an hour, instead of 90 minutes.”

You drop one leg on the ground again, extending your back on the cushions too. “Should we start going over the last lecture then?”

Renjun nods and reached over the arm of the couch for his backpack, pulling out a fat stack of cardstock. “Yeah, I started making flashcards on Tuesday after the finance PowerPoint. Too many vocab words.” He turns the index cards around his fingers, then looks up at you. Your eyes droop a bit down, wrists waddling on the side of your thigh. He tilts his head to the side. “Or we can eat first.” He would offer to walk you to your apartment, but you can stay over; you have, in the recent past and further. Plus, you usually protest him. Renjun thuds his head on the cushion, pulling a pillow into his lap, flittering his eyes up your face until he meets your gaze. “Do …” he swallows. Your pupils dart around him, but he feels as though you never leave his eye, so he restarts, “Do you … remember … when we first tried to get hotpot?”

“Yeah,” you yawn, slinking onto your shoulder. “I don’t think I trusted your suggestions completely back then, but after Jeong’s brutal pop quiz, –”

“No, um,” Renjun clears his throat. “Back-back then.” Before we broke up.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat passes.

Then another one, both of you just staring at each other, unmoving, unblinking.

You open your mouth, but his chest rises, and you close it again.

He almost takes it back, mentally drawing all the what-ifs, even though he lives in a reality where all of this happened already – his breathing, his question, the fight. Even if he wanted to withdraw everything, he couldn’t.

“Yeah,” you surprise him, fingers pinching the couch. He mistakes the movement for another what-if, another hesitation, and reaches out, slowly threading his fingers under your palm. “I … I …” you stutter, corners of your lips twitching wide. “That was the first time I met your friends.”

“They’re your friends too,” he whispers, sliding his knuckles to meet yours. Renjun tugs your wrist weakly, and you comply. “They like you too.”

You search his eyes, small frown on your face. “… They do?”

Renjun swallows. “Yes, they do.”

Almost 48-hours pass before you see Renjun again, not seeing him during the intermediate day between business ethics. Your other shared class gets cancelled, too, giving you another excuse to avoid him.

You know why you avoid him, and you know when you avoid him – any time your friendship blurs the unspoken lines: talking through dawn, the smallest touches, always finding each other in the crowd. Even after your ‘break’, both of you found each other in your classes, unintentional at first. Everything was by chance this third year of college. Then, you talked to him, and he talked to you. Well, really, you argued back and forth, rallied at each other in class, encouraged by your fellow classmates and occasional professor. But you kept finding each other, preemptively refuting each other’s theses; it was a guess, of course, and it was always right.

Now, too, Renjun finds you outside the building, holding your backpack straps in both hands, twisting the fabric in circles.

“Hey,” he greets softly, jogging over to meet you faster. He catches your elbow, turning you to face him when you, still focused on the law building, bite your lip, dismissing his presence. You release the tension in your body, slinking into his singular hand, as if he were the only thing supporting you. “Nervous?” Renjun raises an eyebrow.

You swallow, then give him a weak smile, your mouth dropping the instant it formed. “That obvious?” You flicker your gaze across his eyes and frown. “Are you not nervous?”

Renjun relinquishes your arm. “No, I am. I just …” He pulls you to the side, away from the door, when other students start walking inside the building. His thumb rubs over your jacket, not that you feel it; you hear it though, like a scratching sound, before he stops, dropping his hand again, one last squeeze on your arm. “I just wanted to check on you first.” He gives you a weak smile, but this time, it does not go away as yours did, staying through the conversation. “Final exam,” he nods to the door. “Last one.”

“Of the term,” you mumble, then cringe, elbows tucking in your sides and lips pursing. If this is his attempt at comforting you, you aren’t being very welcoming to it. “Sorry.”

“How about,” he starts, and your glassy eyes peer into him, “Um,” his voice stutters, like caught between a rock and a hard place, unable to crawl out until you put a hand on his upper arm, resting there, circling around his small bicep like a funerary armband. “H-how about one more competition?”

You tilt your head to the side, frowning, hand slipping away too.

But Renjun catches you, compressing your knuckles in his swift move, then relaxing, slightly, not letting you go again. “If you’re ranked higher, –“ He pauses, briefly losing his train of thought, when you lick your lips open, leaning into his hold almost to the point of you both falling; but he stands solid. “– I’ll buy you dinner at Gen.”

“Gen?”

He brought it up a few times in the past, in the far past, asked you to go with him even more rarely, after a drink or two. And everyone knows the restaurant – a popular (and common) date night barbecue house, given by the candlelit atmosphere and the high frequency of two-person booths. Conversely, you brought it up once, that time you met his friends, dying for a reprieve, or a switching the night into something more intimate, you cannot remember. Although, depending on the day, your definition of intimacy differs; currently, you remember it as wanting to just be with him, wanting to slowly retire from the large crowd, wanting to hide your feelings a bit more, again, when he does not confirm his. Now, too, you counter him with follow-up questions, trying not to get your hopes up again, only for them to be dashed.

But Renjun nods and confirms his decision, his word. “Yeah,” he smiles, “Gen.”

“And …” you hum, tipping onto your toes, getting closer to his face, to his lips. You glance at his heart-shaped philtrum, so filled with love that his body expels it in the smallest details. He traces your eyeline, falling a little behind, just staring at your eyelids until you look back up at him. “… And what happens if you rank higher?”

“Mmmmm,” he ponders, voice a couple octaves higher, as if he had not yet considered winning, at all. “If I win,” he continues speaking slowly, dragging out the hypothetical. “If … if I win,” he restarts, darting through your face for an objection; you give none, instead breaking his personal space, coming just a biology textbook-thickness in front of his chest – far enough to take it all back in a second but close enough to give him more, should he ask. And he does. “If I win, you’ll owe me a kiss.”

[Renjun, 4:51 PM]

Have you checked the rankings yet?

[You, 4:55 PM]

I went this morning. They’re not up yet.

[Renjun, 4:57 PM]

:(

[Renjun, 4:58 PM]

They were supposed to be up yesterday.

[You, 4:59 PM]

I know :( but I can check again tomorrow.

[Renjun, 5:01 PM]

No, it’s fine. I’m heading in that direction anyway. I’ll check right now, and if it’s not up, we can go together tomorrow.

Renjun stands outside your apartment, late into the night, teetering on both his feet, hand rising and dropping over and over again … until you open the door.

“Oh,” you weakly blurt, stopping one foot ahead of the doorframe, almost through the small opening between his legs. You rub your eyes with your cotton long sleeves, the hair loose from your ponytail flopping around your face, framing the yawn escaping your tongue. “What …” You drop your hands to your sides, blinking rapidly at him. “What are you do –”

Renjun wastes no time, letting his body answer for him. He grabs your cheeks, linking his clean-cut fingernails behind your ears, thumbs rolling up the apples of your cheeks. You grab onto him, onto his waist and wrist, bunching your fingers around every surface you can reach. Renjun smacks his wet lips together, having obsessively bit and licked them just seconds earlier. His eyes close halfway, mid-prayer; you copy him, standing on your toes, too. He comes just a hair away, lips nearly brushing yours. “Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” you whimper, so faintly that he almost misses it. Almost. You never leave his attention.

He waits another millisecond, inhaling some extra courage, telling himself that you are more permanent than he thinks, before, finally, bending down. You push your mouth higher, involuntarily tightening your grip on him. Renjun slips his tongue between your lips, quickly, elongating the single kiss so he doesn’t have to ask again. You adjust, easily, even more when he simultaneously moves one hand into your hair, supporting your head, and the other under your chin, thumb lifting your face upward. His tongue tentatively slithers past your teeth, prodding your tongue awake, flicking it unfolded, and your knees buckle, walking him inside your apartment. He presses you against the closest wall, closing the door behind him.

“Does,” you swallow, digging your fingers into his flexible hips, pushing him into a pause, “this mean you ranked higher?”

Renjun steals a chaste peck, head rushing in, then pulling out slower, admiring all the minute details in your face until you open your eyes widely, peering into him. He shakes his head, “No,” breathing the word onto your mouth, lips puckering across the word. “It wasn’t up.” He cautiously steps forward, only by his toes. And when he sees your lack of restraint, he adds another. “I just … I didn’t want you to think that I had any other intentions.”

“Than?”

“Than to date you.”

You yank him even closer, his palm banging into the wall, his heartbeat beating on yours. You tilt your head to the side, too, nose brushing his cheek. “Can I … Can you kiss me again?”

Renjun combs your hair away from your ears, pushing it behind your head. He grazes his lips on the last layer of your vermillion, all the little nerve endings sensing him but not entirely feeling him. “Can I do more?”

“Anything.” You arrest his wrist, contracting like a festival bracelet that will not loosen, also needed for entrance the next day. “Please.” You walk him toward your room, almost like a waltz, leading him first this time. “Please.”

Renjun accepts, taking off his bag and jacket in the same action, dropping them outside your bedroom door – an accident; he aimed for inside, but kissing you takes priority, any day, and he returns his chest, his lips, his hands to you, standing only in his t-shirt and slacks, you mirrored on him with your own oversized long-sleeve and lounge shorts. He spins you around, your back against his torso, you gasping at the suddenness, and nips into your neck, tongue dragging along your skin to mollify it and prevent a mark. For now. One hand holds your jaw, letting him find your perfect pulse point; then travels between your clothed boobs, cupping and squeezing, harder, provoked by your winded whispers. His fingers flick your waistband, tapping into your skin. He moves his lips down your shoulder, peppering gentle kisses coolly.

“Renjun, please.” You sigh into his embrace, his hug, then take off your shirt, giving him more skin to touch.

He kisses your bare shoulder, hands diving into your underwear now, and you grab his bicep even tighter, making him grunt lowly. Your nails dig through his thin t-shirt, dragging him another step forward, his cock nudging your ass cheeks separate. But it’s not enough. The material prevents him from feeling you, from you feeling him, entirely, so he pushes apart your vulva, slipping his fingers over your pussy to your clit, getting you wetter while he single-handedly unbuttons his trousers. They fall to the ground, and he steps out of them. When he stands taller again, he leans forward, fingers slipping entirely, knuckle-deep, inside your wet pussy. You, reflexively, bend over, face sloping toward the mattress, catching yourself on his arm.

“Ah, Renjun.”

“Too much?” he mumbles, nose brushing low behind your neck. He drags his nimble fingers on the crevice between your pussy and leg, drying them as he pulls out to put his hands on your shorts and spin you around, bare chest to bare chest. Renjun stares into your eyes, stooping a bit lower to give you the upper hand. His gaze dips down your face, just briefly, when your lips part, an exhale escaping.

“No,” you shake your head, returning his eyes to yours. You touch the waistband of his underwear, running your thumb along the seam. “I – I want more.”

Renjun nods, just once, letting the sentence seep into his brain, then he nods again, more fervently, his lips running back to you, after he understands/it fully hits him. His palms slide across your body: on the crown of your head, fingers spreading downward to support your neck, and on your lower back, guiding you over the bed. You don’t go down pliantly though, sticking to him, swiftly moving to anchor on his sturdy shoulders, keeping him locked in until he kisses down your face, down the column of your neck, sucking at the base and leaving budding hickeys to decorate your collarbone. He licks between your boobs, tongue covering his bottom teeth as he takes your nipple in his mouth, hands holding your hips down kneading the neglected teat, rubbing his tight fingers along the hard bud like a washboard.

You inhale sharply, picking your head off the mattress to see him better, then drop back down again, back arching, moaning, “Renjun, yes, oh my God.” You pick your hips up, planting your feet on the duvet, humping the air to feel him, feel the outline of his abandoned dick. “Mmm,” you thrash about, knocking him down your body.

Renjun lands above your appendix, adding another mark low on your stomach, before saying, “I’m getting to it.” He picks up his head, smirking. “Or, are you going to argue with me now?” He kisses above your shorts. “Again?”

He sneaks his way into your shorts, under your panties, jerking them down your smooth legs, and diving into your pussy, cold breath igniting the bundle of nerves. You accidentally twitch your thighs, squeezing his face; you hold him there a moment longer, raising your clit to his waiting tongue. When he licks around your vulva, your legs slacken, allowing him to do what he initially wanted. His tongue trails along your inner thighs, gently nipping and sucking. He holds your knees apart, giving himself the space to work, focusing on the outer part of your cunt, tenderizing the area until your legs start shaking, collapsing on the bed – that is when he pokes his tongue through your orifice, resting his cheek on your inner thigh, his wet sloppy kiss returning to him. His nose circles over your clit, scraping it side-to-side as his tongue flutily cleans your walls. He inserts a finger beside his tongue, wriggling it deep inside your cunt, met with your spongey, little spot, then another one, pulling back and forth, sliding his lips onto your clit again.

“Fuck, Renjun,” you whine, twisting and turning, knocking him about. He pushes his free plan just outside your pussy, keeping you down flat, sucking your entire clit between his lips, tongue ruffling the hard nub. “You’re going to make me cum.”

“Mmhmm,” he nods, briefly disconnecting to spit on his fingers. He slowly slides the tip of his palm under your clitoral hood, winding his arm in a half circle, preparing to drive his fingers in you at a faster pace. “That is my intention. Do you want me to stop?”

You shake your head.

Renjun climbs on top of you again, lunging into your face, his head sloped to the side, barely supported on the one hand at your side, repeatedly milling his boxers between your legs. Occasionally, he breaks the kiss, to check on his fingers buried inside your cunt, only to restart his grinding. Your lips split, releasing a moan inside his mouth. Renjun grits his teeth, the tip of his dick getting flicked by your heavy blanket, then smashes his lips on yours, coiling and toiling, exhaling heavily through his nose, onto your cheek. He shoves a third finger in your cunt, so far that your body arches off the bed; he grabs the front of your pussy, roughly wriggling his entire hand and, essentially, pawing at your pussy, your hamstring muscles contracting, toes curling. You clutch his bicep, eyes shutting, knees turning outward.

He repeats long pecks behind your ear, gently nibbling the lobe where you periodically wear earrings. “Can I give you more?” he whimpers, begging, hips knocking a little bit closer, biting his lip.

Your nails dig into his skin, chin jutting to the side, neck allowing him extra access. “Please, Renjun, I’m so close. You’re going to make me cum, you’re going to make me cum. Deeper, oh my God, please.”

Renjun slips off his underwear, using the edge of your bed and his legs. He lines the tip of his dick behind his knuckles, gently prodding his hand forward to give you a deeper sensation like you ask. You peek open your eyes slowly, then stare at him, feeling him kneel high between your thighs; you glance down to his cock in hand, damp head leaking pre-cum like lubricant, and nod, catching his drift. Renjun pushes his thumb onto your clit, rocking it side to side, and slips his fingers out, replacing it with his cock. He groans with you, interlacing his dry (yet soft and moisturized) hand, jaw hanging low, heavy breaths flattening his lungs.

Your free hand snakes into the bedsheets, crawling under a pillow, arm raising to the ceiling. Renjun kisses you again, strangled moans from both of you shaken, not stirred, by your tongues. And the moment his cock buries fully inside your cunt, you gasp, opening your mouth wide enough for him to slip his tongue inside too, swirling yours to the front of your mouth, into his, where he can suck on it. Your body rises in temperature rapidly, chests abrading simultaneously, fervently trying to fuse your bodies together, exploring each other’s mouths. His hand falls close to your cheek, almost slipping and falling completely as the pressure in his abdomen builds.

“Tell me you’re close,” he whispers shakily, legs, abs, biceps trembling. Renjun feels your walls gradually tighten, coaxing the pre-cum from his cock; he can feel that, too, trickling down his shaft, mingling with your wetness. He picks up the pace, hips turning obviously, left, right, left, right, then pelvis snapping up, up, up, joining your pussy whenever he bangs you into the headboard. “Angel, does that feel good?”

You bite your lip, nodding, then let go. “I’m … I’m …” He keeps the pattern: left, right, left, right, left and right, up, up, up. His pelvis drives you through the bedframe, but his hips bring you back down, and you roll your eyes into your head, moaning loudly. You hold onto his wrist, ground yourself through the building orgasm. “So, so good, Renjun. Oh, my God, I’m cumming. Keep going, keep going.” He continues rolling his hips, cock floundering inside your pussy, tip thumping rhythmically on your sweet spot, until your wall spasms slow down, the compressions loosening enough for him to slip through. Your pussy quickly returns to its original tightness in the downtime, and you mewl when he pulls out, tip catching on the stretch.

Renjun clenches the base of his cock, fingers replacing your pussy as he pulls out, mumbling, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” the syllables of your name also spilling from his tongue.

You sluggishly pull yourself back up, but when you stand on your knees, similar to him, you fall forward. It gives you the perfect position to suck his dick though, and your hands join his single one, tugging on his shaft, twisting your wrists in different directions, at different speeds, spreading your cum all over his length. Tentatively, you stick out your tongue, his cock barely scraping it as he fucks the tiny hole created by your hands and you jerk him off. You cautiously look up at him and find him, eyes closed, pointed toward the ceiling, jaw dropped smally as he controls his breath. His hands comb into your hair, sketching around your ears, gently pulling you further up his cock, making one of your hands disappear.

"Oh, just like that, angel," he moans, "I'm gonna cum. Can I cum in your throat?"

You give him a strangled whine, bobbing your head up and down largely. Yes. You pump him a couple more times, slurp his cock loudly a couple more times, and he cums into your mouth. Renjun pulls his cock out, white cum stringing from his to your lips, overflowing on the corner, onto your cheek and chin, your tongue curving down like a bowl to catch every drop. He cups the beads falling down your face and swipes it into your mouth, persuading you to swallow, which you do, around his thumb.

Silence envelopes the two of you for a second, you and Renjun locked in that final position, breathing heavily, chests still heaving. You lay down first, then gesture for him to join you. He shakes his bangs in front of his face, smiling, and complies.

"Don't you need to use the bathroom?"

"In a minute," you wave him off, nudging yourself onto his shoulder. He lets you rest there, his eyes closing, breathing evenly, also spent, yielding to that end-of-the-term exhaustion. "Can I ... give you something too?"

Renjun opens an eye, then the other, seeing you stare at him. He analyzes your features, darting through the exhaustion, finding your wide eyes and fidgeting hands. "You've already given me everything." He mattes down your hair, brushing the shorter layers behind your ear to see your pretty face better. "Do you want to go again?" he smiles, dropping his arm on your shoulder, clinging closer to you. "I might need a minute,” he laughs.

You kiss him quiet, lips closed, staying on his for a long moment before you pull away, snaking a leg between his. "It's not necessarily the same ... as what we just did," you explain, whispering, "I want you to know that ... that my intentions, too, are to date you."

Renjun beams. "So, how about we get that dinner at Gen then?" You search his eyes, shoulders rising faster. His hand slips onto your upper arm, squeezing and rubbing the naked skin. "No competition," he clarifies, "No winners or losers, just you and me."

"Yeah, okay," you smile back, feeling him scoot even closer. “I’d like that a lot.”

[bitbybitwrites]

For the au + trope + prompt game maybe:

12. babysitter!au + 4. meet messy + 27. “that was a very bad idea. 0/10 would not recommend.”

But no pressure!

OK, in true fashion, this one totally got away from me. I can't even try to pass it off as a super long drabble. It's mutated into a full blown ficlet. Ooooops.

But I guess the combination got me inspired. I kind of went literal for the meet messy trope - maybe it works? 😂

Anyway, here's 1,366 words for you, @annepi-blog

******

The last thing Blaine Anderson expected that night while delivering pizzas was to meet the love of his life. 

He wasn’t expecting too much, to be honest.  Most of his shift had gone as usual.  But his final job for the evening found Blaine with his arms filled with a rather impressive food order when he knocked on the door to a swanky Upper West Side apartment building.  

“B Side Pizza,” he announced loudly, though the apartment owner should have been aware of who he was.  The imposing doorman in the lobby had called up to warn them.

The muffled sound of high-pitched shrieking, which then quickly changed to an ear-splitting loud high-pitched shrieking, assailed Blaine once the door was opened.  Behind the other side of the door was a very exhausted-looking but ridiculously handsome man.  His chestnut hair fell heavily over one eyebrow, apparently fallen out of some formerly impressive style that Blaine could kind of see the echos of.  His clothes seemed on trend but were very rumpled, and Blaine thought he could spy a small handprint in neon green paint that grazed the right hip of some extremely tight skinny jeans.  A smudge of the same paint was also on his chin.  He doubted the man was even aware.

Blaine was in trouble.  

One look at this man and Blaine was positive that he was in love.

“Thank god,” the disheveled angel said when he saw Blaine.  “Pizza is here!” he yelled over his shoulder.

“Pizza!”  A group of younger voices screamed in excitement.  Apparently, the prospect of food was enough to stop the rest of the caterwauling.

The man ushered Blaine into a lavish apartment, directing  Blaine towards a kitchen that could have been plucked right out of Architectural Digest.  It was gorgeous to look at (not unlike the homeowner), but Blaine doubted it ever had any use.

“You can put everything out here.” The man waved his hand at a long marble-covered counter. Blaine nodded and began unpacking his delivery tote as he watched the man dash out into another part of the apartment and shout: 

“Barbra!”

“Joan!”

“Streisand!”

“Yes, Uncle Kurt?” A trio of childish voices replied in a sing-song fashion.

Kurt sighed loudly. “Can you please clean up your mess, wash your hands, and come sit down to dinner. . .please?” the desperation in Kurt’s voice was so very clear.

“That’s two pleases, Uncle Kurt.” 

“That’s me asking really, really, really nicely, Streisand.“ Kurt said back, a forced smile on his face, his voice sounding strained.  “I ordered dinner from your favorite place, just like your parents told me to.  Let’s get going, ok?”

Kurt returned to the room, where he promptly collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs surrounding the table and dropped his head into his folded arms.  “I am never doing this again.” Blaine could sort of make out.  Kurt’s voice was very muffled.  “Or at least not without reinforcements.”

Blaine’s eyes softened.  “Babysitting duties?” he asked.

Kurt raised his head and sighed.  “This is seriously giving me doubts about my capability to be a father in the future.

Blaine laughed at Kurt’s forlorn expression.  “I’m sorry.  I felt the same way once I started watching my brother’s kids.  Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it. I promise it gets loads better.”

“Triplets.  My best friend had triplets, and I am nothing if not a pushover.” Kurt moaned.

A heartbreaking wail - or maybe it was another screech, Blaine wasn’t exactly sure, came from one of the other rooms.  Kurt’s face dropped into an expression of utter horror and disbelief as three young children came barreling into the kitchen, covered head to toe in smears of neon pink, green, and yellow paint.  One of the little girls had her hair covered in the paint, and she apparently was the one wailing the loudest.  Her eyes were screwed shut as she blindly flailed her arms, sobbing, and crashed face-first into Blaine.

“Uncle Kurt!  Streisand put paint in my hair!” The little girl continued to wail as she wrapped her arms around Blaine’s waist and buried her face into his stomach, subsequently smearing more paint all over him.

“Streisand!” Kurt cried out, whipping around to look at a not-so-apologetic 6-year-old boy who was still gripping a tube of neon pink paint.  Streisand looked almost ready to squeeze the remainder of the tube onto his other sister’s hair but second-guessed himself once he caught Kurt’s stern glare.  He dropped the tube like a hot potato and at least decided to look chagrined.

“Um, sorry, Uncle Kurt?”

Kurt continued giving the child a death glare.”That shouldn’t be a question, Streisand.  And I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.”

“Sorry, Barbra,” Streisand said. “Really, really sorry.  But you do look pretty with pink hair. You said you wanted pink hair.”

Barbra hiccuped loudly as she wiped her face onto Blaine’s shirt. “I like pink, but I wanted to do it myself.” Barbra then pulled back, surprised: “Wait, you’re not Uncle Kurt.”

The other little girl looked at Blaine suspiciously.  “Who are you?  Are you Uncle Kurt’s boyfriend?”

“Uncle Kurt, you’re not supposed to bring boyfriends over. Mommy said so.” Streisand said.

Kurt turned beet red, and Blaine had to smile again at the absurdity of the whole situation.  “My name is Blaine.  I’m not Uncle Kurt’s boyfriend . . .”

“Do you want to be?  Do you like Uncle Kurt?” 

‘He’s cute.  I think he should be your boyfriend, Uncle Kurt.”

“He’s ok, Uncle Kurt. But if you like him, you should make him your boyfriend.”

Kurt groaned.  “OK.  No more talking about boyfriends or my lack thereof.  This was supposed to be a nice, calm, quiet evening. ‘Why don’t we do some finger painting?’ I said.  ‘It will be fun,’ I said.  Who was I kidding?“ Kurt parroted himself from earlier in the evening and then rolled his eyes as he looked back to Blaine.  “That was a very bad idea on my part.  0/10 would not recommend.”

Blaine chuckled.  “Well, the paint is very . . it is bright and festive and fun . . and um, if you had a black light - it would glow in the dark.”

“What?!” screeched Kurt.  “Where did you get that paint, Streisand?”

“Mommy and Daddy’s room. In the table by the bed.”

“Oh god,” Kurt mumbled.  “I don’t want to think about why they have that in their bedroom.”

Blaine snickered.  “Why don’t you get the kids cleaned up? I’ll keep the food warm in the oven for you.” he tossed Kurt a charming smile.  “Consider it an extra perk of the delivery process.”

“Thank you so, so much. “ Kurt gasped as he began dragging Streisand and Joan out of the kitchen by their arms.  “Barbra, come on.  Leave Mr. Blaine alone, and let’s get this paint out of your hair.”

Barbra followed reluctantly.  “Will you still be here when we come back?” she asked Blaine.

Blaine knew what he wanted to say, but he hated to intrude on their little evening.

“I don’t know.  I think it depends on your Uncle Kurt.” Blaine confessed.

“Uncle Kurt, pleeeeeeeeease can Mr. Blaine stay?” Barbra whined.

“Yeah, can he? Uncle Kurt, can he?” Joan chimed in.

“Stay. Stay. Stay. Stay.” Streisand began to chant loudly.

Kurt rolled his eyes.  “Yes, Mr. Blaine can stay.  We have to get him out of his clothes too.”

Blaine coughed and tried to suppress another laugh.  “Well, I usually get a first date before that. . .”

 Kurt sputtered and blushed again.  Blaine was beginning to find it totally adorable.   “I meant to change clothes,” Kurt tried to explain.  “Because paint . . and . . there’s a washer and dryer in the apartment . . oh and fuck  … I’m just going to go now before I say something else stupid.”

As Kurt pulled the two kids he had in hand down the hallway towards the bathroom, he could hear: “Ooooooh … you said a bad word, Uncle Kurt.”

A ton of giggling.

And then a small pink-haired covered face popped back into the kitchen doorway.

“So you’ll stay?” Barbra asked excitedly.

“I’ll stay. I promise.” Blaine told her.

Barbra squealed in joy and ran back down the hallway.

Oh yeah, Blaine was in so much trouble now.

*****

NOTE: If you haven't figured out yet, yes, these are Rachel's triplets😂

If anyone else wants to play - AU+Trope+Prompt Game.

[livelaughlovesubs]

How could I forget the babygirl himself, Kaveh.

This man is so fucking hjggfgg he's so sweet and a little bit pathetic and I want him carnally 😤

Wanna be his sugar momma (I mean this in the most gender neutral way possible) but at the same time I wanna gently Dom him because unlike Alhaitham you can't be mean or tease him too much. He's sensitive and that's ok.

If you want him as a sugar baby given what we know from canon (this man deserves peace ffs), you'll have to gradually get him stuff. Like a new up to hold all of his pens and pencils for his architecture work, gradually replacing stuff that's inconsequential. Bring him homemade lunches when working on architecture commissions, have him sit down and take a break and eat 😤 he can't say no to you. Plus you can let him crash at your place when Alhaitham takes his key or locks him out of their place, he's gonna be pampered.

I just know that he'd moan so pretty, Nini, I feel it!

Better hope you have a soundproof room or live outside of the city because pretty boy can absolutely get loud, he can keep it down but why would you want that?

Since he wears clothes that cover a lot you have more places to leave hickies and love bites on him than say Cyno (truly a travesty).

He's a service top and eager but he also isn't against bottoming if he doesn't have to go anywhere the next day in terms of work.

Another one with a sensitive waist, his thighs, chest (right where his shirt's chest window is hehe 😈), back. Look with the right stimulation you can make him needy touching anywhere.

Also y'all are going to give me an inflated ego jgdjhd got me out here giggling and kicking my feet

-🐇

No but Kaveh is such a pretty boy. I accidentally got baizhu and his c1 just for Kaveh. (Pulled him during his release) anyway~

He is so pretty, so adorable. If I were his sugar mommy I’d buy him whatever he wants but only if he asks for it. Pleading so gently with tears ridden eyes, rubbing his cheek against your hand… ughhhhh

Hold him with all the care in the world, caress every inch of his body and watch him squirm in your embrace. Mark his skin with bruises, teeth bites and hickeys, until he’s foaming at the mouth.

[kirah69]

Touch Starved

The Sandman

Dreamling

Explicit

[Part 1]

There was a family of ducks enjoying the nice morning by the side of the river. Hob was just sitting on the grass, a couple of meters from them. He was sure he was in London, the way you just know some things in dreams, but when he looked at the other side of the river, he could see the Tour Eiffel over the low houses and a skyscraper that looked American. The architecture of the houses was a mix of different places, too. But he was sure he was in London.

Something at his right moved. Hob looked over and smiled instantly. His Stranger was coming closer. He was dressed in a black cloak that reached the ground disappearing in a mist. He seemed to float instead of walk. Hob thought about the Ghost of the Future, but he didn’t fear Death.

“My friend, I just saw you and now I’m dreaming with you. Some things don’t change,” he said fondly, getting up from the grass. Dream looked taller now. Maybe he was floating.

“I am real, Hob Gadling,” Dream said, sounding almost tired, like he had repeated the same a hundred times. “I am Dream of the Endless, Lord Morpheus, Oneiros, The Sandman, King of Dreams and Nightmares, Prince of Stories, The Shaper of Form. I have been known by many names through History and Worlds. The Dreaming is my Realm, I just had to step into your dream when you fell asleep.”

Hob looked at him open-mouthed. This was just a dream, wasn’t it? It couldn’t be real. It was something made up by his mind. It felt too real, though. A lucid dream, maybe?

Looking into those black, star-filled eyes, Hob couldn’t help but believe him.

“Okay. So… You’re a god or something?” he asked, going through his names in his mind. Of course he knew about Morpheus and Oneiros and The Sandman, all of them personifications of dreams. Dream, however, scoffed at his question.

“I’m more than a god. I don’t need humans’ belief to exist. I’m the anthropomorphic personification of dreams, I was here before this universe existed, and I’ll remain here until the end,” he said with pride, his head held tall. He certainly looked bigger.

“Uh-huh, okay, anthropomorphic personification of dreams, do you want more cuddles?” Hob asked, holding his arms open for him.

“You haven’t heard anything I said.” Dream looked a little affronted, but also confused by his mild reaction.

“I did, but it doesn’t change anything. You needed rest and a hug. I’m still offering that.”

Dream opened his mouth, but closed it again. His shoulders dropped, and he shrank to his usual size.

“You are an unbelievable creature, Hob Gadling,” Dream said with a soft voice.

He then held Hob’s face with both hands and leaned in. Hob couldn’t react before Dream’s lips were over his. Even then, it took him several seconds to react, but when he did, he surged forward and answered Dream’s kiss with all his soul. His Stranger’s plush lips were so soft, just as he had imagined (and he feared it was still his imagination; if that was the case, it would break his heart). Hob held onto him with both arms, hugging him tightly. Dream’s tongue touched his lips questioningly, and Hob opened his mouth for him. There was a low moan when their tongues touched, but he didn’t know from whom.

Hob startled when something fell on his head, and he looked up without pulling away.

“What.”

There were petals falling from the sky. Red petals, like those from a rose, and smaller light-pink ones. He gasped when he realized the sky was covered now in auroras the color of the rainbow.

“Is… is that me?” he asked, confused. He had never imagined something like that.

“It’s me,” Dream said, looking away a little embarrassed.

When Hob realized what it meant, he grinned from ear to ear.

“I’m honored to inspire that reaction in you.” He pulled Dream closer with the arm around his waist. “Truly beautiful.”

Dream’s expression relaxed, eyes half-lidded, and rested some of his weight against Hob. The mysterious cloak was so much thinner than the coat, and Hob could feel his slender body through it, all bones and sharp angles.

“Let’s see what other things I can inspire,” he said with a wink.

Dream’s eyes darkened, although that shouldn’t be possible, being black as they were. He stepped forward, sliding a leg between Hob’s, and Hob stumbled backward. They both fell, but not on the grass. They were on a plush, canopy bed with satin sheets and four wooden posts, something he remembered from long centuries ago. Dream looked at him with an arched eyebrow, and Hob only shrugged.

“I want to have you on a decent bed,” he said with a charming smile.

Dream sighed, and suddenly his cloak disappeared. Under it, he was dressed in a black, long-sleeved t-shirt and black trousers – both looked painted on his skin. Hob felt heat starting to pool in his belly. He switched their positions, hearing a little ‘huff’ from Dream, but he didn’t fight back. Hob knelt with one knee between his thighs, and leaned over him. Dream’s lips were parted, slightly pinker, waiting for him. Hob almost groaned when they kissed. The King (Lord, Endless, Prince) moaned into his mouth and threw his arms over his shoulders and a leg over his hip. Hob might be on top, but Dream had him trapped like a monkey, and he loved it. He didn’t stop kissing Dream – he didn’t dare, it felt so desperate, as if they were going to suffocate if they stopped kissing. Unconsciously, he started to move his body too. Hob pressed his hips against Dream, eliciting another moan from him. They were both hard already, but still trapped in their trousers, so they could only grind against each other. It was so hot and frustrating at the same time.

Dream yanked at his shirt, desperate to get his hands on skin, then it just disappeared – as if the arousal hadn’t allowed him to remember his powers for a moment. Hob smiled against his mouth as Dream’s hands cared his muscled back, passing over the knobs of his backbone, mapping every scar they encountered. It made him shiver, those long, thin fingers running over his body with such want.

He was going to cum in his pants like a teenager if they kept going like that. Hob slid a hand between their bodies and undid their trousers. There was nothing underneath, and Hob briefly thought if that was the magic of the Dreaming. But he didn’t have time to dwell on those things. He took their cocks in one hand, pressing the heads against each other, and twisted his hand over them, lubing it with their precum. They moaned in unison, and Dream arched his back and threw his head back. Hob buried his face in Dream’s neck and, despite being almost out of breath from their kissing, he started kissing, licking and sucking the taut tendons of his neck. He stroked their cock together, slowly but firmly. Everything felt so warm, the heat ran over their bodies, feeding their need, their desperation. Hob wanted so much more – he wouldn’t do anything Dream wasn’t ready for – he wanted to be inside him, to open him up on his cock and bury himself deep inside, fuck him until Dream came only with his cock.

“Yes, yes, please,” Dream begged, tightening his limbs around him.

“Shit. You heard that?” Of course he had, Dream was literally in his head.

“Hob!” Dream almost whined, and it was an order.

“Yes, love.”

He tried to pull down Dream’s trousers, but they just disappeared in his hands. Hob looked down at Dream’s pale, slender legs and noticed his own trousers had disappeared too, letting him completely naked. He didn’t mind even if Dream still had his shirt. He knelt between his legs, pulling them over his thighs, and summoned some lube over his fingers. Because why not, it was a dream. He was starting to assume everything was possible. He touched Dream’s hole, and the King shuddered, but didn’t pull away. For a moment it was so tight Hob thought they couldn’t do it, but then it opened for him, letting two fingers slide inside without any resistance.

“The Dreaming is wonderful,” he whispered and was too distracted to see the stars in Dream’s eyes flash with lust.

Hob scissored his fingers, making sure he was open enough, and pulled them out. He didn’t ask if Dream was sure, if he was ready, his legs were insistently trying to pull him closer with both legs around his hips. Hob pressed the head of his cock against his hole, and it slid inside slowly. Dream closed his eyes, his face slightly scrunched up as if in concentration. Hob was hypnotized looking at Dream, his slim body twitching against the dark sheets, his hair in disarray (more than usual), his long, slim cock, pink as a peach, dripping over his t-shirt. He had never had such a beautiful dream.

Hob only reacted when he finally bottomed out. The tight, warm walls hugged his cock, pulsing around it. He had to breathe deeply for a moment, trying to control himself or he would cum in the blink of an eye. His hands tightened around Dream’s hips with tension.

“Hob…” Dream breathed, reaching out to him.

Hob leaned in, hugging his King. Dream hugged him back, hiding his face into his messy hair. He was almost trembling, his breath a little ragged.

“Shh… It’s okay, love. Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said, stroking his back. He wasn’t in a hurry to move, it felt glorious just staying buried inside him.

“Don’t you dare,” Dream threatened with a trembling voice.

Hob hid a chuckle against his collar bone. He held himself on his forearms without pulling away from his chest and moved his legs to get some leverage. Like that, still laying over Dream, he started to move. He pulled out very slowly, feeling Dream’s cock rub against his belly with the movement. When he was half out, he thrust back inside, not as slowly but still with self-control. Dream sighed and encouraged him to keep going with a nudge of his legs. Hob fucked him in that sweet rhythm (so close to make love, but he didn’t dare to think about that), their bodies rubbing against each other. He was surprised when the t-shirt, the only thing separating them, disappeared. He didn’t comment on it, but it felt so much better. The contact of that warming, unblemished, pale skin was wonderful, just as the contrast with his tanned, hairy skin. Dream was so beautiful, so ethereal, otherworldly, and yet, at that very moment, he felt so human under him. His body was trembling and tensing in his arms, trying to move to answer Hob’s thrusts. His breath was heavy, just as Hob’s, little moans coming out of his mouth with every drag of his cock against his sweet spot.

The slow burn was maddening, the pleasure was pooling into his belly, begging to be released, but he wanted to drag it a little longer. He couldn’t stand the thought of ending this. Dream’s fingers ran up his back, nails scratching his skin. Hob shuddered and cursed under his breath. That almost made him lose his control, and he had to slow down for a second.

“Hob…” Dream whispered in his ear with a so sweet, lustful voice. His fingers scratched his scalp, and Hob’s eyes rolled back.

“Fuck, Dream, I’m-” he moaned, his hips faltering.

“Cum for me, Hob. Cum inside me, fill me with your seed,” Dream ordered, and Hob couldn’t not obey.

He thrust harder, pressing his forehead against Dream’s chest, and was mindful enough to grab Dream’s cock with a hand. He pumped his King with the same rhythm as his thrusts. His precum oozed over his hand as Dream held tightly onto his shoulders, letting himself be used by this unbelievable human. Seconds later, Dream felt hot cum flood his insides, Hob’s hold tightening around his hard cock, and he came too, painting both their chests with his cum.

—

Hob woke up with a gasp. He was confused for a moment. Yes, this was his bedroom and he was alone on his bed. Dream had disappeared at some point (had he even been there at all, had everything been a dream?). He sat up and winced at the feeling of his jizz inside his pants. Well, a small price to pay for the hottest dream he’d ever had.

He got up from bed and went to the bathroom to undress. It wasn’t the first time he dreamed of his Stranger, not even the first wet dream he had of him, but this one had felt so real he had serious doubts about it being just a dream. But it had to be, didn’t it?

He took his shirt off and smelt it to check if it needed a wash. Instead, he was hit by Dream’s wintery smell mixed with his own. He decided it was good enough to wear again, at least at home. He then pulled his trousers down and with the movement he caught something in the mirror. Hob turned, trying to look at his back in the mirror. There were eight red scratches separated in two different sets going from the middle of his back to his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he breathed, incredulous.

Hob huffed and started to laugh a little hysterically.

“Fuck, Dream. I get it, not just a dream.” He ran his hands over his face and looked at himself in the mirror. He was smiling like an idiot. “Hope it doesn’t take you one hundred years to come back, then.”

His heart was pounding elated in his chest.

Hope you liked it. I'll update it to AO3 soon.

There may be a continuation but I'm not sure about it.

[ktficworld]

May The Best Man Win

Pairing: Steve Rogers x f! Reader

Bruce Wayne x f! Reader

Summary: They say that the queen is the most powerful piece in chess, but what if there are two kings, fighting for the queen?

A/n: On the prosperous occasion of my birthday, here is my self-indulgent treat to you... Idk who's gonna read this but if you do and reblog it, just know I love you❤

Also a huge thanks to @urlocalavenderhazestan for helping me when I was stuck.

Warning: little make out in the beginning, grey! Bruce and Steve, confident! Battinson(it's a warning trust me!), open ending (choose your bae 😘)

And yes! It's an au so no superheroes here.

Music:

You let out a huff of frustration as you tried, for the umpteenth time to try to zip up your dress but failed again, as it was stuck.

You needed to go to the gala for fuck sake and he was waiting for you, ever the patient man and would never mind being late but you didn't like even being fashionably late. You were wearing a black silk dress, with heart neckline, it was off the shoulder, enhancing your features.

You let out a groan of exasperation and was about to break the fucking zip, but then a big hand engulfed yours. You head whipped forward to the mirror and your lips parted in admiration as you gazed at him, the black suit clinging to his body, highlighting his swoon worthy muscles, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

Under his domineering presence, the stubborn zipper had no choice but to comply as he slowly, painstakingly zipped up your dress, not breaking eye contact for once.

After he finished the job, his long fingers grazed your collarbone and then he attached his lips on your neck. You screwed your eyes shut as his soft but cold lips pressed against your warm skin.

However, he did not stop there. His lips slowly travelled up to your cheeks and then stopped at your lips as he sucked you into a searing kiss.

You moaned in the kiss and your hand snaked around his neck and dived into his smooth and thick locks. He was dominant as he entered in your mouth and kissed you with an intensity that made your body tingle and your mind become hazy.

But since reality is a bitch and you were already going to be late. You begrudgingly parted from his lips, making him growl in warning, he tried to kiss you again but you promptly covered his mouth with your hand.

"We'll be late, Steve. " You whispered as you gazed into his cerulean eyes.

He sighed deeply and wrapped his arms around your waist and said in his deep voice. "When you look this ravishing, how can you expect me to focus on anything else? " He lightly bit your earlobes and you shot him a glare.

You turned around in his embrace and said. "I'll change into sweats then. "

He made a face, making you burst into a fit of giggles. "We need to go now Steve, you can have me later. "

He huffed in defeat and finally agreed. "Okay let's go. "

❤️‍🔥

The venue, it was eloquent and enormous, vintage chandeliers hanging from the ceilings, the architecture was inspired by roman empire. Soft music filtering in your ears and making you sigh in delight.

You rested your head into Steve's muscular chest, one draped over his shoulder and his around your waist as you both swayed to the music. Steve was not much of a dancer but you were always content in his arms.

Leaning down he whispered in you ear. "Am I improving? "

You chuckled quietly and replied. "No, not really."

"Hey, you are supposed to console me, not give me the truth. " Steve said in a hushed tone. His voice was offended but you knew he was kidding.

You looked with soft eyes and shook your head. "I like how safe I feel in your arms, even if you can't dance. " You whispered and threw a jab in the end.

"Thanks sweetheart. " He said half jokingly, half sincerely. He pecked your forehead sweetly and spun you around, your back hitting his chest.

You let out a gasp of surprise but then slowly melted into him as he peppered kisses on your neck and face. Your body heated up as your mind wandered South, imagining the night ahead.

However, your mind came to a screeching halt and you pinched your brows  together in unsettledness. Someone was staring at you. It was nothing new, the side-eye glare of envy from women and the desire dancing in the eyes of men. You were accustomed to it all. After all, dating someone like Steve comes with side-effects, and that was okay.

But, this. This was like someone was scrutinizing your every move, not due to envy but something else. Like they were trying to get to your soul. The gaze was so intense, you felt like you would burn under it. Your heart thumped in your chest, and you didn’t know if it was because of fear or interest. Because it felt both dangerous and inviting, like a devil corrupting an innocent soul. Bad but tempting.

You shifted in Steve's hold, the heated gaze burning a hole in your being. Turning your head slightly, you looked around the hall, searching for the stare. Some eyes were exploring you, but you drowned them out. Because they were nothing compared to that one scorching stare. However, you came out empty handed as you could not locate a suspect.

“Honey?” Steve’s deep voice broke through your trance and you snapped your head to look at him.

You mustered up a smile, even though you were still a little bothered. “Huh? Yes?" You asked Steve, trying your best not to sound distracted.

"I'm starving, let's go eat, no? " Steve asked softly and who were you to refuse him. Plus, you would finally be able to escape that stare.

“Yeah, you are right, let’s go now.” You said, he smiled and then let you away all that while you were still feeling the stare.

❤️‍🔥

The room was dark, only Illuminating the stage above as the Chinese dancers elegantly twirled on the stage, their traditional dresses flowing like water, dressed in soft hues of various colors they swayed to the rhythm of the folk instruments. The humming of flute was pleasant and the violin was like a cold breeze on a blazing summer day.

You waited patiently for Steve’s arrival. After eating you both bumped into Thor and as always, he had to chat with Thor for obvious reasons, but you feet throbbed from the torture bespoked by your heels and so Steve let you leave for the auditorium.

And so here you were sitting in the front row with two vacant seats on your left and right respectively, enjoying the performance of the dancers. Tony was really good at throwing parties. But you would have enjoyed it even more with your head leaning on Steve’s shoulders, enveloped in his embrace.

You sighed wishfully. Sometimes you wished he wasn’t so busy. You were lost in your musing when all of a sudden the seat at your left dipped. You smiled to yourself and whirled to your left with extreme giddiness.

“You are finally he...” You trailed off when your eyes eventually landed on the person. It wasn’t Steve.

The eyes were a familiar blue matching with his blue suit, but the hair was black and long not blonde and thick, a few strands falling over his forehead. The face was sharper and more elongated rather than square.

Instead of the calm and domineering aura emitted by Steve, an alluring and mysterious ambience draped over you as man the bedside you smirked down at you with enticement glinting in his eyes.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Wayne. " You murmured after composing yourself. You gave him a sweet smile. Steve had told you before that they were business partners, so you did not want to offend him.

The smirk on Bruce's face only broaden as he shank further in his seat. "Waiting for someone, Mrs. Rogers? " His low and throaty voice sent shivers down your spine and swallowed, hard.

Clearing your throat you said. "Umm, for Steve, he's busy with Thor Odinson, " Then you paused as your mind processed the name by which he addressed you. "And no, I'm not Mrs. Rogers"

His glance become a stare and you instantly recognized it. It was him. You did not have the chance to mull over it further as Bruce asked. "So he hasn't married you yet? "

You sake your head in denial.

"And you're waiting for him? "

You nodded your head in confirmation at that.

Bruce tutted and shook his head in disbelief. "What a shame! " He lamented. He then turned towards you so that you could see his entire face.

He leaned closer to you, his musky cologne highjacking your senses and making you dizzy, all the while never breaking eye-contact he spoke. "He should have never left you alone, " He inched forward and you backwards. "Here on your own, "

You gasped lightly when your head hit the back of your chair, his face mere an inch away from your face. You should stop him. Push him away but you were paralyzed by his hypnotic eyes as he whispered. "For someone else to take you home. "

"Whose taking who home? " The deep voice of Steve made you flinch in your seat as your head snapped to look at him. Thankfully, you turned away before you jerked as the side of your head bumped into Bruce's face. If you would have been facing him then... You don't wanna think about that.

Your heart was racing as you looked at Steve's narrowed eyes, furrowed brows and his jaw clenched in a painful hold. His eyes were glaring fire at Bruce but he remained calm as he slowly leaned back.

"Steve you are finally here, I have been waiting for you for so long! " You called out to him and whatever trance he was in, your words pulled him out of it as his features softened and he sat beside you.

"I'm sorry darling, Thor just wouldn't shut up about his new project. " Steve said and sighed exasperatedly. He then grabbed the back of your neck and kissed you with hunger.

After you pulled away, heaving. You immediately wrapped a hand around his muscular arm and shook your head. "It's alright. " You said and Steve smiled at you with affection before he enveloped his hand around your waist.

“Oh! Hello Steve.” Bruce’s smooth voice cut through your moment. You glanced towards Steve whose face darkened but a balanced smile stayed on his lips.

“Hello Bruce! How are you doing?” Steve asked and even though it was said through a smile, you could hear the accusation in his voice.

But Bruce was unbothered as the devilish smirk never left his lips. “Keeping your girlfriend company, since you were so busy mingling around.” He replied coolly. 

Now that both Steve and Bruce were present, the difference and similarities were so evident. Both had blue eyes, but Steve’s were a deeper shade of blue, while they were both big, Steve was broader and Bruce was taller. Both had sharp features but they were also really different.

Steve looked strong, but he had a boyish charm, with that lopsided grin and those doe eyes, he looked like an angel. But Bruce, there was nothing boyish about Bruce, he was regal, with a jaw that could cut diamonds and eyes like eagle, sharp and intense.

Steve’s hand went rigid underneath your grip and you turned to look at him. His jaw was clenched again and his orbs were ablaze. You were scared after looking at him so you tightened your hold around his arm. Steve glanced at you and took a few calming breaths.

“You know it’s important Wayne.” Steve said through gritted teethes.

Bruce hummed. “You are right, but I would caution you against leaving her alone like that.” Bruce drawled out and you screwed your eyes shut as the tension became unbearable.

Steve humored with. “And may I ask why?” He said with a sneer.

Bruce shifted and then his knee was brushing your thigh. You exhaled a shaky breath and ignored the two sets of eyes boring into your spirit. Instead you glued your eyes onto the stage.

“What if someone stole her away?” Bruce mused.

Steve scoffed loudly and said in mockery. “What? Is she a porcelain doll?” 

“Well no,” Bruce disagreed. “But isn’t she precious?” Bruce’s breath ghosted over your neck, making goosebumps appear on your skin. “And people like precious things.” The last sentence was almost a whisper, as if it was directed to you, not Steve and maybe, it was.

Steve’s grip tightened around your waist and before he could reply to Bruce, the hall erupted into an applause. You gaped but begin clapping nonetheless. It was over already? 

People were filing out of the auditorium so you looked at Steve and with a nod you both stood up to go back home.

You almost collided with Bruce’s chest as he stood as well but Steve caught you in time. Bruce looked over at Steve, his smirk was now replaced with a smile as he asked. “Been long since we hung out Rogers. Do you mind if I join?” 

You did not see Steve as you were too fidgety, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible. But you did however heard his response. “Sure, let me drop off my girlfriend to her home first.”

❤️‍🔥

Bruce swirled the Amber-colored liquid as it danced in the crystal glass. The room was dark like ink as they sat around a large slick table. It was silent except the shuffling of cards reverberating throughout the space. He tasted the bitterness of the alcohol as it burned down his throat. The surroundings smelled like cleaning supplies mixed with their cologne and something very mild, very feminine.

Guess she also did live here, huh? The slapping of cards made him put down his glass with a thud and glance towards Steve.

"I won. " Steve declared with a smug smile as he folded his arms over the table.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, glancing between his and Steve's cards, Bruce concluded that Steve did in fact win. "Looks like you got lucky. " He said nonchalantly and picked up the queen card.

Steve let out a snort and shook his head. " Lucky my ass, you know what? This is too boring without any consequence, let's make it real. " Steve suggested.

Bruce stopped rolling the card between his fingers and looked at Steve with a questioning expression. "How? " He lowly voiced his opinion.

Steve shrugged his shoulders and said. "If I win you give me half of Wayne enterprise. "

Bruce gawked at Steve when those words left his mouth. His relationship with Steve was more like frenemies then enemies or friends, so he wasn't surprised when Steve pulled this stunt. He was surprised however, that he did not ask for his entire company.

He huffed out a chuckle. "Are you not confident in your business, Rogers? " Bruce mocked as he observed Steve.

Uncharacteristically Steve did not lash out or do that intimidating stare, he just smirked and said. "Tsk, tsk Wayne, what's the fun in that? That's too difficult and you know that. " He grinned sardonically.

Bruce smirked and leaned his hands on the table. "Don't you think you are taking yourself too seriously? I'm called a genius for a reason. "

Now Steve laughed, he full-on cackled while clutching his chest and almost falling down of his chair. "Says the man who lost three times consequently! " Steve said after his laughter died down.

Bruce's smirk widened and he leisurely leaned back in his chair. "Poker is a game of luck as much as it's of skill. But anyways, since you have asked for your price, it's my turn now. "

"Go ahead. " Steve encouraged with a nod of his head.

Bruce drummed his fingers on the table as he feigned contemplation. The rhythm echoing in the silent place, after awhile he stopped and glanced at Steve, with a smooth and steady voice he began. "If you win, you get half of my company, but if I win, " He paused and stared into Steve's eyes, his voice decreasing into a whisper. "I get your girl. "

Before Bruce could even blink, he was pinned against the nearest wall with hard a push. Steve held his collars in choking grip, his brows were drawn together and his eyes were ablaze. He looked ready to kill him.

"I knew you were on to something since I met you at the auditorium! But this is beyond daring." Steve spat, pressing Bruce harder into the wall.

Bruce winced a little at the impact but in one swift motion, he yanked Steve's hands from his neck and clutched them tight in his hold. "Now, now, now. Don't be a hypocrite Rogers. " Bruce called Steve out as he tutted in mockery.

Steve tried to free his hands but Bruce shoved him back, effectively making Steve hit the table with a bang. He lazily fixed his collars. "I also sensed you were up to something Rogers. But I let you voice it, didn't I? Now, it's my turn. " Bruce said with nonchalance as he shrugged his shoulder.

"You know Rogers, I have heard many rumors in my life and most of them were false, but the rumors about your girlfriend? "

He stopped speaking and took a step closer to Steve, he clenched his and his hands twitched but he did not lunge at Bruce this time. "Oh! They are all true, so true, " He drawled and stared at Steve, his signature smirk tugging on his lips. "She is a sight for sore eyes. " He whispered wistfully in the end.

"She is her own person not my property! I can't bet her like that! " Steve hissed in anger.

"I know she's a person and at the end of the day it's her decision, " Bruce said slowly and sat down on an adjacent chair. "But if she doesn't agree to it, you could always give me SSJ industries. " He finished and waited for his trick to work.

And it did. Steve fell silent behind him, it was like he was alone in this room. Then he came in his peripheral, walked up to the chair his shoes thumping on the marble floor and sat opposite to Bruce and glared at him with determination.

Bruce smiled in satisfaction and offered his hand to Steve. "May the best man win. " He announced.

Steve stared at his hand and then shook it. "May the best man win. " He whispered darkly and the game began.

❤️‍🔥

Sooo... Who won? 😏

[elocinnicole]

Mistletoe

Pairing: Daveed Diggs x Black!Reader [Lauren Taylor] (College AU) Rating: 18+ MINORS DNI smut (phone sex, mutual masturbation, fingering, oral f receiving, unprotected sex, overstimulation) Summary: Daveed offers his girlfriend some relief as she prepares for finals. AN: Hey! How y’all doing, ya girl is back! I had so much fun writing this I hope everyone enjoys! This is for DJ’sAllIWant4KChristmas22. So why not return with a Daveed Diggs smut? I hope everyone had a great Holiday and Happy New Year to Everyone!!!

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Word Count: 2.4K Prompt used: 13 "You didn’t think I’d let you spend Christmas alone, did you?”

December 2003

Lauren sat in her dorm, Erykah Badu playing on her iHome speaker, studying at her desk. She has Fall Semester finals approaching, and she feels like she’s at her breaking point. She’s in her senior year as an Architectural Studies Major and counting down the days until graduation. Her concentration was broken by her phone ringing. She quickly ignored the call as she diligently continued her sketch for the first part of her final project. Lauren was determined to finish her sketch despite the busy day she had. Not only did she do her work study, but she also had gymnastics practice today, to say she was tired would be an understatement. Her phone rang again, and she instantly hit decline. Whoever was calling her would have to wait.

When she was about to put the finishing touches on her sketch, her phone rang again. Frustrated she slammed her pencil down and answered the phone.

“Hello?” She greeted her voice laced with venom.

“Damn, you ain't check your caller ID?” Lauren tried to hold back the smile that was trying to form but she couldn’t help herself.

“You know you wanna smile, Lo.” Lauren’s boyfriend Daveed said through the phone.

“Hey, babe. I’m sorry I’m just trying to get this to work.” She responded not taking her eyes off the blueprint she was working on. She placed her phone on speaker and returned to working on the blueprint.

“You working on that blueprint still?”

“Yeah, I want it to be perfect.”

“Don’t stress yourself out, you already sent me a picture. It looks amazing.” Daveed insisted, his voice heavy and low

“What you doin’ you sound tired?”

“I’m good, are you alone?” Lauren raised her eyebrow at the question.

“Um, yeah, Jamila and Kaitlyn are at the library and Alyssa left Monday. Fucking English major.” She lamented

“So that means you by yourself?”

“Yeah, you already asked me that. What’s going on?”

“I want you to stop working on your blueprint.”

“What? Babe, no I told you before I need to get this done I have gymnastics practice tomorrow.”

“Lauren.”

The tone of his voice made her stop, she rubbed her thighs together in anticipation and arousal.

“Yeah,” she breathed

“Get on the bed for me.” Lauren quickly grabbed her phone and climbed onto her bed. “You in bed?” Lauren nodded forgetting for a split second that he couldn’t see her, she heard him chuckle and mentally slapped her forehead

“Can you use your words, babe?”

“Yeah,”

“Where’s your vibrator?” Lauren rolled her eyes at her boyfriend’s question

“It’s not a vibrator, it’s a massager.” She stressed

“Then why you keep it under your pillow?”

“For when my leg cramps up at night.”

“Oh aight” Daveed replied unconvinced “What you wearin’ right now?”

“My blue shorts, the ones you like, and your Track shirt. Do you want me to take it off?”

“No, leave it on. I’ve been missing you, Lo.” Daveed breathed into the phone

“I miss you too D,” Lauren moaned into the phone, while she caressed her breasts

“Whatchu doin Lo?” Daveed asked her but they fell on deaf ears as she started to pinch and pull on her nipples “I didn’t say you could touch yourself, Lo.” Lauren sighed before reluctantly removing her hands from her breast.

“D,”

“I got you, Lo, take off your shirt for me. Play with your nipples Lo.” Daveed chuckled at the shuffling he heard over the phone. Lauren groaned as she did what she was told, she heard Daveed curse into the hone. “Fuck, babe I wish I could see you right now. Tell me how you feel?”

“It feels good…but fuck, I wish it was you.”

“I know Lauren me too,”

“Shit, Daveed.”

“Go head and see who wet you are,” Daveed said huskily

Lauren didn’t hesitate and immediately began to rub her clit, her hips began to move on their own, whimpering at how good it made her feel. She pressed two fingers inside moaning and gasping aloud.

“Daveed, I want you so bad right now.” She could hear his breath becoming heavier it was clear he was touching himself as well. Just then the door to the dorm swung open. In record time, Lauren pulled her blanket over her body to shield her bare chest.

“Lauren! Guess what the fuck happened—” one of Lauren’s other roommates Jamila called out

“You good?” She questioned eyeing Lauren,

“Uh, yeah I’m just talking to Daveed.”

“Oh, hey Daveed!” She greeted, seemingly clueless as to what was happening before she walked into the room.

“Hey Jamila,” Lauren took Daveed off speaker and held the phone to her ear.

“I’ll talk to you later,”

“Okay, when do you come home?”

“I’m staying through break, I’m taking a winter class and I have practice so I’ll be spending Christmas here.” Lauren deadpanned

“Damn, Lo. I thought we could spend some time together.”

“Me too, but we have Olympic trials coming up and I’m on the shortlist.”

“I understand, stop working on your project and get some rest.”

“Since when do you tell me what to do?” Lauren teased

“Do I need to remind you who’s in charge?”

“Maybe, I think I forgot,” She flirted back causing Jamaica to gag dramatically, Lauren rolled her eyes at her roommate

“Bye Daveed, love you.”

“Love you too.”

“Alright, guys I have to go soon. I’ll be home after New Year,” Lauren said to her parents over the phone

“Okay, sweetie. Merry Christmas!” Overlapping Holiday greetings rang over the phone from various family members.

“Merry Christmas Mom and Dad, I love you!” Lauren ended the phone call, tears threatening to fall. This is her favorite time of the year and not spending it with her family or Daveed, was hitting her hard this year. She disliked the one person who could make her feel better, hoping to get rid of his feeling.

Lauren frowned when she was sent to voicemail after one ring. She dialed his number again and the same thing, straight to voicemail. He’s never ignored her call unless he’s texted her that he was doing work or at practice. Wanting to shrug off the feeling she went back to working on her final project for class. Maybe she’ll call him later.

She was about to call him back again when there was a knock at her door. Lauren glanced at the cooktop that was still plugged in from breakfast, she cursed under her breath. Someone must’ve snitched to the RA.

“Hold on!” she called out, she haphazardly put stored the cooktop elsewhere before walking over to her door she swung it open only to be surprised by the person standing on the other side of the door.

“You didn’t think I’d let you spend Christmas alone, did you?” Lauren jumped into Daveed’s arms, wrapping her arms and legs around him. Lauren finally unwrapped here self from her boyfriend so that he could come into her room.

“What about your family?” Daveed shrugged his shoulders

“I wanted to be with you more,” Daveed grabbed her chin and tilted her head until their lips met in a kiss.

“I have some things for you,” He said against her lips before kissing her once more.

“Oh really?”

“But first,” Daveed smirked before picking up his girlfriend and effortlessly carrying her to her bed. He leaned down to kiss her when Lauren put up her hand to stop him

“I’m still working on my project, give me like five minutes,” Daveed sighed dramatically

“You can get yourself settled then I promise you’ll have my attention.” Lauren kissed his nose before hopping off her bed and going to her work.

Daveed told Lauren he had to step out for a bit to get something he left behind and to pick them up something to eat. She didn’t realize how long he was gone until she saw the time on her phone. Just as she was about to text him, her door opened and Daveed walked in with some Target bags and takeout food.

“Sorry I took so long, I was looking for something.”

“What were you trying to find, Lauren Sid not taking her eyes off the laptop in front of her.”

“This,” Lauren turned around and chuckled when she saw Daveed holding a mistletoe

“You’re so adorable,” Daveed frowned slightly

“Adorable?” Lauren playfully rolled her eyes a she walked up to Daveed

“How does sexy sound?”

“Much better, I think you owe me a kiss.” Daveed cradled the back of Lauren's head and brought their lips together in a kiss. Tier lips still attached, Daveed forgot the mistletoe toe and picked up Lauren, not that it was hard picking her up. He walked them to her bed until they fell back. Lauren was the first to pull back.

Lauren looked up at Daveed, she shuddered at the feel of his hands gliding up the back of her legs until his hands were just below her ass. He pulled her so that she was properly straddling him

“No one’s here right”? He asked

“Yeah,” Lauren breathed suddenly feeling hot

“Good, because I want to hear you.” Lauren put both of her hands on his face and pulled him towards her. She whimpered not the kiss before seeping it. Daveed moaned into the kiss, gently biting her lip before sweeping it with his tongue. His hands moved from caressing her back to expertly undoing her bra and tossing it aside. Daveed moved from her mouth and continued down until he reached her neck and found the spot that made her pull his hair.

“Daveed” Lauren whined. In a flash, Daveed flipped them over so that he was on top. He pulled off his shirt before taking off Lauren’s. His large hand roughly palmed her breast while he sucked and nibbled the other purposely avoiding her nipple making Lauren groan

“What do you want Lo?” He asked smugly before going back to mouthing at her chest.

“Daveed please?” She wrapped her leg around him, wanting to feel him even closer

“This what you want?” Daveed put his whole mouth on her breast, sucking and biting on her nipple

“Fuck, Daveed! Ahh!” She wailed

“You sound so pretty baby,” Daveed whispered before giving her other breast the same treatment. Just as Lauren was about to find out if one could actually cum just from nipple play, Daveed stopped and pulled away.

“Fuck, you look so beautiful,” Daveed said huskily before he started kissing down her body until they reached her shorts, she lifted up so that Daveed could take them off and raised an eyebrow

“No panties, were expecting someone?” He teased

“I don’t know, maybe I was.” She teased back, Daveed smiled darkly before parting her lips and diving in using his tongue to lick up and down.

“Mmm Daveed,” Lauren eyes rolled to the back of her head when his tongue flicked over that small bundle of nerves, not that it took him long to find it. He pushed her legs so that her knees were pressing into her chest, keeping her open for him. His lips still attached to her clit, he pressed two fingers deep into her

Lauren chanting his name was much to his ears, her pussy clenched down on his fingers. He looked up at Lauren and he could’ve um right there, the way her face contorted in pleasure, the way her hands were gripping onto his hair. He finally pulled away from her clit to reach up and sloppily kiss her. Lauren moaned, tasting herself on Daveed’s lips

“You close Lo?”

“Yes, D, baby I’m so close. I wanna come,” Just as she was about one, Daveed stopped his ministrations.

“I want you to come around my dick,” Daveed sat up so that he could take off his pants and boxers. He reached over to his bag and quickly searched it before letting out a sigh

“Damn it,”

“What?”

“I can’t find the condom,”

“I’m on the pill," Lauren said quickly

“Since when?”

“Last month. Merry Christmas,” Daveed grabbed Lauren’s neck and pulled in for another kiss, Lauren pulled him back down to her, she reached down grabbing Daveed’s flick to rub hit against her, Daveed started to slowly ease in, and he pushed until he was all the way in, he waited for Lauren to nod before he pulled out and pushed back in. Lauren cried into his neck, wrapping her arms around him tightly, every thrust making her whimper for more.

“D, harder,” Daveed happily obliged, putting more force behind each thrust. He reached down and hooked his arms under her knees, and with renewed vigor, he slammed into Lauren “Ahh, fuck!”

“Babe, you taking me so well, fuck I missed you.” He grunted

“Daveed, I’m coming, I’m coming!” Lauren hit her climax, shuddering as Daveed continued to fuck her, starting to feel sensitive, she tried to back away but Daveed held her closer

“Un uh, this my pussy, take this dick,” Daveed said chasing his orgasm and wanting to push Lauren over the edge.

“I can’t Daveed,”

“Give me one more, Lo,” Daveed’s rhythm faltered before he stilled as his own climax overtook him, Lauren climaxing shortly after. They laud there shaking and trembling in the arms of each other. Daveed slowly pulled out and lay next to Lauren pulling her close to him. They sat there in silence for a while, just holding each other. The food is long forgotten sitting on Lauren’s desk. “Thank you for spending Christmas with me, it was really sweet of you to drive here.”

“I know how much you love the holidays and I didn’t want you to spend it alone. I love you, Lo, like it or not you’re stuck with me,” he joked

“I guess you’re alright.” Lauren teased

“Alright, I wasn’t alright this minutes ago, ‘Daveed, don’t stop! Daveed,” Daveed mocked with his best imitation

“Keep it up, that’ll be the last time you hear it.”

“You know I’m just playing,”

“Mhmm, you got jokes huh.”

“How can I make it up to you?”

“Hmmm, we can watch my favorite movie while we eat.”

“Lethal Weapon?”

“It’s a Christmas Movie,”

“There’s like two scenes that reference Christmas time, it’s not the premise of the movie.”

“And?”

“Fine, I can straighten up in here while you heat up the food?”

“Deal.” Their lips met in a haste kiss. As much as Lauren missed her family this year for the Holidays, there’s no one else she’d rather be with at this moment than Daveed.

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