#but obviously there's angst lmfao

[lunapwrites]

Hey so remember that time that I made that post about the sudden plot bunny about Lyall and Andromeda bonding over the corpses of their children and wouldn't that be a fun meet-cute like a complete sociopath?

Well anyway I might have written it.

Third row, fifteen down. Lyall moved through the Great Hall, woodenly scanning the bodies laid out along the floor. Children, mostly — boys and girls just sighting the light at the end of their teens. Adults scattered in between, too few to be an effective shield against their attackers, against — Christ — the Giants he'd seen collapsed on the grounds. Fires still smoldering. Third row, fifteen down. He spotted the shoes first — how many times had he heard those boots scuffing on the rug at his door? How long had it been? Not since his son had burst into the house a year before, digging through boxes like a madman. "Need a hand?" "No, I just can't remember where I — ah! There you are—" "What are you up to, lad?" "Something monumentally stupid, probably — I'll explain later, I promise." He'd run out the door then, jamming something into his pocket as he went. It was the last Lyall had seen Remus alive. He'd thought himself moderately prepared for this, having buried his wife years ago. Thought he knew grief. Remus had always been a bit pale, a bit quiet. Self-contained. But there was always a sense of movement underneath his skin, an energy about him that could burst out at any moment — for good or ill. The body at his feet lay unnaturally still, unnaturally silent, eyes mercifully closed. Not just pale, but grey-faced. Slightly blue. He felt the air leave his lungs, felt his soul wither and die, his heart crumbling to ash in his breast. That was his son. That was his son. "You must be Lyall," a quiet voice ventured. He wrenched his eyes away from what was left of his son — his son! — to see a dark-haired woman standing beside him, arms full of a tiny baby, eyes hollow as he felt. "Remus spoke of you often." He frowned. "I…" "Andromeda Tonks," she offered. "Your son married my daughter." Lyall blinked slowly. He looked down at his son's body, spotting the ring glinting on his finger. There was blood on it. And to Remus' left was a young woman with mousey brown hair and a lip ring, fingers brushing against his even in death. She was wearing Hope's ring. "Something monumentally stupid, probably." He didn't even know her name. "I had no idea," he rasped. Andromeda let out a little sigh, adjusting the baby in her arms. "No, I suppose you wouldn't have."

She offered nothing further, and Lyall didn't have it in himself to ask. They stood shoulder to shoulder for a time, staring silently down at the faces of their dead children, each drowning in their own private sea of grief until the baby in her arms began fussing. He waved his tiny little fists as he screwed his face up, turning towards Andromeda's breast as if to latch. She pulled him away slightly, frowning. "I haven't anything to feed you with," she said, and Lyall wasn't so gone that he didn't hear the double meaning in her statement. "Don't know where I'll find you a nurse on such short notice, but we'll manage." "Does he not handle formula?" "What?" Her confusion was so genuine, she could have only been from an old pureblood line. His confusion over just who his son had (apparently) married only grew. “Something monumentally stupid—” "Baby formula,” Lyall clarified. “The Muggles use it to feed babies if they can't use milk for whatever reason. We had to use it for— well. He was allergic, so…" Andromeda nodded absently. “I suppose I could try to find some. Although, Merlin knows where at this hour…” She trailed off fretfully, a tiny furrow appearing between her finely curved brows, and Lyall let out a sigh. “There ought to be a Tesco open by now; it’s near six,” he assured her, earning a blank stare in response. Oh dear. “The supermarket?” Andromeda’s cheeks finally tinged a bit pink. “Oh, I… my husband—” a ripple of pain shot across her face, and oh, he recognised that one — “he normally does the— did the shopping. He was better at that sort of thing. And then Remus took over, after…” Recent, then; poor woman. It warmed him, slightly, to know that Remus had stepped in to fill the void the other man had left. That they’d let him. “Well. I’m glad he was there, at least.” Her expression hardened almost imperceptibly. “In the end, yes.” (There was a story there; Lyall was certain he’d hear about it soon enough.) (He only wished his son was alive to tell it himself.) “Suppose I ought to figure out where to bury him now,” Lyall murmured. “Only… you know. Never thought I’d have to.” (His son!) “Them,” Andromeda corrected, meeting his gaze as she drew herself up imperiously. “Your son swore to me that he’d never leave her side again, and I mean to see he keeps his word.” She paused, her eyes drifting to her daughter’s face, and Lyall could see her walls cracking. “She kept hers, after all. Swore she’d never let him if he tried, and here we are.” Lyall nodded thoughtfully, sidestepping the landmine for now. “Alright. Suppose we can discuss that while we hit the shops, then.” Andromeda stared at him, wide-eyed. “What? I couldn’t possibly leave—”

“They’re not going anywhere, and we haven’t anywhere better to be,” Lyall reminded her. “And more importantly, we need to get this one fed. Might as well grab a bite ourselves while we’re at it and discuss details as we go.”

She hesitated, and for a moment he thought she might tell him to go hang — he certainly wouldn’t have blamed her, especially under the circumstances. And yet Andromeda seemed to gather herself, adjusting the still fussing baby in her arms whose hair was, to his surprise, slowly shifting from brown to red. She conjured up a tiny hat and popped it on his head with the expert precision of a woman who had not only expected such an occurrence, but had experience managing it.

“Right then,” she said briskly. “Lead on.”

The more Lyall was learning, the more confusion was beginning to give way to intrigue: just who was this woman his son had married? And who exactly was her mother?

“Something monumentally stupid, probably —”

But Remus wasn’t around to explain anymore, so all he had — all he could do — was this:

Show his son’s mother-in-law around the Tesco, formula in hand. Show her how to prepare it. Ask her how she takes her tea. Ask her about herself, her daughter, and his son, and the little hill where he’d buried his wife in ‘82.

“She’d like that, I think.”

Marvel a bit at the fact this poor girl survived her teens with a name like Nymphadora, sweet Circe. Keep that bit to himself.

Hold the baby — Teddy, a mercifully bog standard name, that — so she can sip and cry at the same time.

Tell her about his son — not the cagey, wand-shy man she knew, but the kind and quiet, if impulsive one he’d raised. The one she laughed and said her daughter must have known.

And then— “Would you like to stay for supper?” A wince. “I appreciate the offer—” Ah, hell. He waved her off. “Next time, then.” There wouldn’t be a next time, he thought. And then… there was. Tea after the quiet funeral turned into tea every Sunday, turned into "I was heading out to the shops for a bit, would you mind taking Teddy?" turned into bringing Teddy along as he helped her carry the bags home — "I suppose I could have Featherlighted them, but there were so many Muggles around, you know?" "Oh, of course." The grief never left — not really. Only faded to a dull roar in the back of his mind that Lyall could tuck away when he needed most days. Andie understood; she felt it too. He stepped in on the days when Harry was working and Andie couldn't get herself out of bed, and she stepped in on the days when the grief seemed to stretch out so long and deep that he couldn't climb out. Tucked a baby — a toddler — a boy into his arms, just to remind him they're still here, at least a little. Teddy was growing into something not-Remus and not-Nymphadora but something entirely, brilliantly his own, and most days Lyall could have burst with the joy of it. The sorrow. She understood that too. Held his hand as they visited the graves on the hill, beneath the alder tree he'd once carved his and Hope's initials into. Four headstones for three bodies, watching the sun rise over the valley. Watching Teddy try to do cartwheels that looked more like a pisshead falling over a bin. Watching him recover, hair brilliantly blue, and try again.

"Gran! Bampi, watch!" Merlin, they would have loved him. Merlin, but he could bleed with it most days. (Andie wrapped her arms around his waist, chin perched on his shoulder as she laughed quietly against his back. Holding them both together.)

Lyall reckoned that, most days at least, they were alright.

[shalomniscient]

woke up having mavu thoughts....................... i hate this fucking game (aq spoilers utc)

she sacrificed herself 500 years ago to power the sacred flame and got resurrected like AT LEAST under 20ish years ago……….. god what must it have been like waking up so many years into the future? did she immediately start searching for scraps of her family? records, accounts, fuck; maybe even descendants? imagine finding nothing, no proof the people you loved most in this world beyond anything even existed. i'd end it all. there was barely any info on her sister which is why whenever she talks about her it's always "i think" or "with reasonable confidence".......... IM SO………………… I HATE THIS STUPID BAKA GAME ACTUALLY ??? doesn't help the fact that she had to BURN that picture like what if i sobbed. like what if i tore my hair out lay on the floor and sobbed

[aroacettorney]

au where bretus kindom took marias selmore as hostage to blackmail casey and have her track down heathcliff van bretus for them

[snixx]

who's gonna take one for the team and write the beth pov angsty estranged faberry future reunion fic the world desperately needs

[katrinawritesthings]

Drugs with the dots over the u??? I read that like the vine of the owl offering those white people drugs

Buddy that's the way I've been pronouncing it the whole time too

But that one is. I guess technically a fic of a fic that I read once like over a decade ago that was really angsty and because I am the way I am I was like what if they worked on their problems and fixed their shit. But now I can't even find the fic anymore to reread it which I'm bummed about and also enough is changed that it's not even really the same au anymore lol but anygay

tw for self-harm and addiction and abuse talk

I just think. What if jongtae but like kind of genuinely awful for each other but also unhealthily co-dependent on and devoted to and in love with each other :3c the inherent Romance of getting better for someone else. the inherent Romance of wanting someone else to get better for themself. The inherent Romance of both of those together. The fun and drama of both of you kicking and screaming the entire way

And also the fun and drama of addiction problems and anger problems and manipulation problems and Jonghyun struggling so hard because he externalizes so he has to keep himself on such a short leash and doesn't trust himself for like anything and he's treating Taemin like he's made out of glass

and Taemin struggling so hard because he internalizes and now he can't manipulate Jonghyun into externalizing on him anymore so when he winds up hurting himself he has no one to shift the blame onto except himself and also he can't even admit yet that maybe he had a drug problem in the first place

But they love each other and they're helping each other and they're learning how to have adult constructive conversations about their feelings and doing their damnedest to at least be good to each other because they know the other deserves it and they're trying so hard to believe that they themselves deserve it too

he's smiling. Jonghyun was half up, pushing off of the cold tile floor so fast it made him dizzy, rage pounding behind his eyes, caught in his throat, buzzing under his skin, until he caught sight of Taemin’s face. of his smile. little, mischievous, smug, almost hopeful. the light switches back off. he breathes hard through his nose, glaring at Taemin, and shakes his head. calm, he tells himself, calm.  "that almost got me," he says. and somehow, he chuckles. somehow in the span of a few seconds he goes from blinding rage to unsurprised amusement. he lies back down, throwing his arm over his eyes. "that almost fucking got me," he repeats. "try talking shit like that again and see what it gets you." it's a threat, but not one that he means seriously and not one that Taemin takes seriously if his little snort means anything. "yeah right,” he mutters. “it won't work now because now you'll be looking out for it." he blows an exasperated raspberry, his hands slapping onto the floor. "what's the point of being self-aware enough to sabotage our healing if you're self-aware enough to realize i'm doing it?" he demands. "fucked up. and i don't even want to fucking try it again. i feel bad about it. i never used to feel bad about it. god, you've made me soft too, haven't you? you're so difficult. it was so much easier when we were both assholes." Jonghyun doesn't need to see him to imagine his little pout. it's a new thing that Taemin has been doing these past couple of months; now that there's less things to be genuinely angry about and Jonghyun is getting better at figuring out when he's just making shit up to cause problems, he settles a lot for disgruntled and pouty. "you're cute when you're grumpy," Jonghyun says.  which, of course, makes Taemin even grumpier. he presses his legs down, squishing Jonghyun to the floor with the lightest pressure, and grumbles, "you're cute when you're." he hesitates, mumbles nonsense words under his breath as he tries to search for something to say, and concludes with just, "here.” and, well. if that's not a good enough reason to stick around, then Jonghyun doesn't know what is. a lot of things suck, but at least his boyfriend has a crush on him.

[dwaekkicidal]

𝖪𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗋: 'Intense Desire' ༄࿔ L.F.

⤷ Sex Pills | Overstimulation | Squirting

♱ word count: 2.9k

♱ warnings: fem!reader, sex pills usage (felix accidentally taking them), mention of a handjob in a car, he gets “mean” for like a split second, unprotected p in v, rough sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampies, squirting, if u quint theres 1 sentence of angst at the end, i might be forgetting something

♱ notes: sorry this was delayed! I made it a little longer than the others in hopes that it would make up for the tardiness <3 also 1 the beginning might feel rushed (it was) and 2 sex pills dont completely work like this?? But its fiction so.. pls bare with me im so stressed out LMFAO

Kinktober Schedule

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

The pounding in Felix’s head was just enough to distract him from the colorful clothes around the two of you. The initially exciting shopping trip to the mall with your boyfriend had quickly slowed down thanks to the headache he developed out of the blue. Your comforting words and warm hands on his face only helped so much, and he felt horrible for his body refusing to let him enjoy your date.

It wasn’t until you reminded him of the medicines he had packed away in his bag that he let up on his pouting Then, with the familiar feeling of the plastic of a pill bottle on his fingers and a gentle reminder from you that this should be fun for the both of you, Felix finds himself leading you to the food court. He quickly buys a bottle of water and chugs down 3 pills. It’s over the dosage of 2 he normally would take, but he’s desperate to have a good time with you.

Not long after, he’s back to his normal self and the thumping pain in his head is long gone. Wide smiles and crescent eyes watch you pick out interesting clothes, some even meant to match with him. Everything is back to normal!

That is until 30 minutes after the fact when he’s patiently sitting outside of your changing room waiting for you to try on the next outfit. He starts to feel a new, less painful ache. One between his legs that he’s all too familiar with.

Literal lines of sweat are dripping down his forehead and his neck when you open the curtain to present the outfit you picked out. He forces a smile and has to tear his eyes away from the tight pants to give his opinion. A curt, breathy, “Beautiful.”

The sweat immediately catches your attention and obviously raises concerns from the way your eyebrows furrow. He notices right away and tries not to let it worry you, shooing you away and encouraging you to try on the last pieces of fabric that await you in the changing room.

The second the curtains close behind you he racks his brain for possible reasons as to why a sudden, strong feeling of horniness took over his body. It’s even to the point where his whole body tingles from the ceiling fans above him. The slow gusts of wind make his cock ache in his jeans and goosebumps litter his arms.

He doesn’t think he’s ever gotten this horny in his life. Even the time when you managed to rile him up to the point where he almost came in his jeans when you brushed past him he had never felt this way. He swore he could feel his veins burning as he looked through his bag for his phone, praying that Google would explain everything.

But he doesn’t get far enough to grab his phone, because the realization hits him like a tsunami wave. The pills. He realizes too late that he never checked which medicine he took. And sure enough, when he checked his bag, the tiny plastic bottle he had a hold on earlier wasn’t his Ibuprofen.

Instead, it was a blue pill bottle that he kept for special medicines that he would occasionally get prescribed. This time around, it was the brand new, not prescribed pills he had put to the side for… intimacy reasons.

It was embarrassing at first for him. A young, attractive man in his 20s struggling with his sex life. All thanks to the wear and tear from work stress: the unforgiving cycle of working too much and being overwhelmed, then taking a break and working too little just to fall behind.

You understood! It’s understandable to not be able to get hard when there’s a never ending dread that has made home in the back of your mind. And it was clearly obvious that he is attracted to you, every other time the two of you were intimate is enough evidence for that.

So you offered him an idea that might help! That idea being “horny” pills. It took some convincing and consistent reassurance for him to cave and agree. Which led to that little blue bottle of little red pills that made his not-so-little friend crave your attention.

“Lixie?” Your voice snaps him out of his daydreaming and his head snaps up to see your head poking out of the curtain. Your giggle goes straight to his dick and he has to force a smile to get through the ache. “I need your help with this dress. I can’t get the zipper up.”

You don’t need to ask twice, especially when the promise of getting to see your bare skin is on the table. He’s joining you in the blink of an eye, using his clammy, shaky hands to zip up the dress the rest of the way. Your body flushes at the way he licks his lips as he looks you up and down multiple times.

“Do you like it?” His eyes snap up to yours in the mirror and he nods. It’s pretty obvious to you what’s going on in his head at this point, minus the reason for it, so you rip the dress off and rush to the cashier as fast as you can.

Felix is on your tail the whole time. A hand on your hip and his chest pressed to your back as he shoves his credit card into the card reader. Then again when the two of you get to the car, this time both of his hands on your hips and his face shoved into your neck.

“Need you so fucking bad.” His hard-on is even more obvious now as he grinds it against your thigh, groaning and whining into your neck about how good it feels. You struggle to get the car keys out of his pocket when his hands are all over you, making you feel good when they aren’t even doing much.

“Felix… Not here.” The two of you drabbled in public sex before so it wasn’t a new experience for either of you. But it had been a while since the two of you were intimate so you really didn’t want it to be in the dirty car garage of a mall. In the middle of the day, mind you.

“I need something. Baby, please. I-I can’t do this.” The desperation in his voice is enough to make your neck whip around, almost knocking into his as you look back at him with confusion. He knows you all too well and the answer to your unspoken question is already on the tip of his tongue.

“I accidentally took those sex pills instead of pain meds.” He doesn’t bother explaining further; he doesn’t care anymore. The only thing that’s on his mind is getting you into the car so he can get some sort of stimulation on his poor, achy cock.

You're lucky to even have gotten his hands off of you after that, let alone getting him in the passenger seat and buckled in without him launching at you. However you’re even less lucky as you drive him home, one hand on the wheel and the other- well, on his dick.

You could hear the wetness of him jerking himself off before you saw it. He was keen to get your help though. His eyes were teary and his voice came out a distressed whine as he pleaded for you to help, complaining that his hand wasn’t comparable to how good your hand would feel.

The windows on your shared car are as tinted as legally possible, so you quickly cave and slide your hand toward him. Now 5 minutes away from the house, you quicken your hands in hopes that he’ll cum this soon. But luck isn’t on either of your sides today and the car’s already in park before he’s even close to cumming.

You don’t make it past the entryway before Felix is shoving you forward, pinning you to the wall, and pulling your bottoms to your knees. The sight of your panties all messy and your pussy lips equally as messy from your excitement is enough to make him feral.

“You’re so good to me, Honey. Always so obedient and keeping my pussy ready for me when I most need it. I’m going to give you the world and more.” He doesn’t wait for you to make a comment before he’s pushing your underwear to join your bottoms.

One hand rests on the wall by your face and the other pushes against your lower back, arching your back at the same time that he pushes his cock in. Your walls are warm and wet as they take every last inch of him in, almost as if two puzzle pieces were finally placed together.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head and he sucks on your neck, whispering incoherent mumbles until he’s bottomed out. He only stops then to take deep breaths and calm his own body down. Now that he’s finally inside of you, the effects of the pills feel a million times stronger.

He genuinely feels like a dog in heat, hips still rutting into yours even as his mind tells his body to relax. It doesn’t listen in the slightest and after a short pause his hips are finding a rigorous rhythm. 

Felix is a man possessed behind you; nails digging into your skin leaving bruises to come and hips moving with more force than you thought he could give. It’s hard to think he’s not possessed with his filthy mouth, something he’s always been good at but it hits differently when he’s rock hard inside of you and eager to feel every inch of your body all at once.

You start to feel like the pills are affecting you. Your own body reacts to his fervent movements with warm clenches and moans that spur him on. You feel so sensitive and your orgasm sneaks up on you, causing you to wiggle in his hold. The shuffle of your limbs makes him lose his angle and you both whine.

“No, no, no, no, no, no. Stop. You gotta stay arched, baby. Yeah, just like that. Ffuck…” The hand on your back pushes you forward, completely squishing you against the wall as he tries to arch you back to how you previously were. He knows that he did it right when you start to flutter around him again and your moans ascend a few pitches.

With the other hand using all of his fingers to rub your clit back and forth, he pushes you over the edge. You clench around him as you moan into the wall, your arms shaking as you try to hold yourself up against it. He growls against your ear and bites down on it as he continues fucking you through your high.

He doesn’t stop after you’re done. If anything it only encourages him, the ache in his veins telling him that he needs to keep going and make you feel even better. And so he does, with one hand still furiously rubbing your clit back and forth while the other now moves to your waist and holds up your slouching form.

It just squeezes you appreciatively, almost even possessively as he holds you in place when you start to flail. It doesn’t become mean until in the midst of your thrashing, you move yourself just slightly to the point where he loses his angle again. He pushes his hand roughly against you and arches your back himself again, this time with a disgruntled snap. 

“Stop fucking doing that.” He’s huffing into your ear as his hips pick up pace, going even faster than he was before. “Be good or else I’ll bend you over with nothing to lean on.” But it’s hard to control your body when painful pleasure is swimming through your body. Even more so when you feel another orgasm lurking.

“B-Baby, fuck! Give me a sec, you’re-” You cut yourself off with a shriek as the hand on your waist moves to tangle itself in your hair. It uses the grip to pull you back up to rest your back flat against his chest. His other hand finally falters at this point, instead of rubbing your clit it sinks into your thigh.

“I’m what, Honey. Tearing up your guts?” He laughs out a sound of agreement that turns into a guttural groan as his blinding thrusts finally let up. A few sharp thrusts and a series of moans fall from his lips as he empties himself out inside of you. It feels like gallons of his seed are filling your stomach, and the feeling of it leaking out onto your inner thighs is enough to make you believe that’s the case.

If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. He just stands there with his forehead against your shoulder and his arms wrapped around your torso, mind reeling as he comes down from such an intense high.

“Baby. You didn’t cum with me at the end, did you?” He’s more upset that he faltered that badly, but the twitch of his cock lets you both know that he’s not close to being done regardless. The question is a real testament to your faith. Lie to him and maybe bribe him to let you take a break, or tell the truth and deal with the consequences. Though, it doesn’t seem like he was asking.

He pulls out and moves his hand to the small of your back. Neither of you even spared a glance at your bottoms as you’re dragged to the living room and shoved into the couch. It knocks the breath from your lungs momentarily, and it’s all the time he needs to bend you to his will. Your shoulders sink into the bottom cushions and your legs are hovering just above you as he shoves his cock inside of you again. 

The breath is almost knocked from you again as he finds a new, rougher pace to follow. This one isn’t nearly as fast but the new angle, thanks to your ankles being by his ears, sends him right where he wants to be. His previous load froths along his length as he fucks into you like your lives are on the line. 

Your hands find home on his biceps and your nails leave deep crescent shapes along his skin as you desperately try to find something to ground yourself with. The new vigor he fucks you with makes it so that your next orgasm builds up within a minute or two. The feral stare from his lidded eyes only makes your stomach squeeze as you realize that he really has no plans to stop, even if he really wants to. 

“Felix, baby, s-slow down. It feels w-weird.” You push against his stomach in hopes that it will slow him down, but it doesn’t. He stays quiet and only responds by grabbing your wrist and shoving it into the cushion by your head; a wordless command for ‘Hands off.’ You look up just in time to see his gaze grow more intense.

He even leans forward, both of his hands moving to your thighs to fold them into your chest. His hips pick up speed once he has you folded to his liking and you find that strange feeling growing stronger. You get a glimpse of him licking his pink lips that then perk up into a menacing smile and then the feeling grows too strong, forcing your eyes closed and your legs to combat his hold.

Your body can only shake as you gush around him and he curses under his breath at the sight. Your cunt spams around him and you squirt through his merciless fucking. The wet, squelching noises combat the volume of your cries to the point where he periodically goes out of his way to thrust into you even rougher just to hear it more.

“You hear her talking to me? Fucking shit- She really liked that, huh baby?” He laughs in disbelief and slams into you repeatedly, chasing his own sudden orgasm from watching you cum so intensely.

“That was so fucking hot, Baby.” The whine in his voice doesn’t match the cocky look on his face, but you can’t be bothered to comment about it as he finishes inside of you all of a sudden. Your sensitive walls constrict around him yet again and he cums deep inside, riding his own orgasm out to the sound of your overwhelmed sobs.

His chest heaves as he catches his breath and he takes the moment to glance at a clock on the wall. It’s been a few hours since he took the pills so they should be going down soon. He can already feel his brain going back to normal, and his thoughts are clearing up as the two of you sit there unmoving.

“You… Are you ok, Honey?” Your sniffles are enough to make his heart drop into his ass, but when you look up at him the anxiety leaves his body. You smile at him through the tears and laugh as best as you can while still breathless.

“Holy shit, Felix.” He matches your chuckle and leans forward, slotting your legs on either side of his waist as he repeatedly pushes his lips against your cheek. “I’m… great. But you owe me for fucking me within an inch of my life like that with no warning.”

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@felixsangelicfreckles

[sunnami]

❝watch me, don't touch me, love me, don't hurt me.❞

[title is from ive's accendio. gif not mine.] summary. you are the fop of the wizarding society, known for your shallowness and careless display of wealth, but as hogwarts faces another threat, the marauders and lily, find themselves drawn to you and the secrets hidden under your facade. (harry just wants to know what is going on.)

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

wc. 24.1k.

tags. enemies to lovers, angst, hurt but the comfort is later, fluff(ish), i try slow burn for the first time (it hurts.), this is highly self-indulgent idgaf, set during goblet of fire but i decide what goes, voldemort isn't the only character who can revive from the dead, BITCH. OH, LMAO I FORGOT, THIS IS FOR THE DILF AND MILF LOVERS SDKJFHSF they're married, but remus and sirius keep their name for legal and plot reasons. adult marauders and adult reader! and i was careful this time to not use any specific pronouns or gendered terms so everyone can enjoy the pain!! every1 is hurting 2nite. proofread kind of, so we die like. . . harry potter?

cws. here we go... canon-typical violence, vivid description of injuries, pain, and blood, emotional abuse, trauma, self-destructive tendencies, minor character death (non-canon), pureblood society practices, voldemort is his own warning, brief mention of war, brief scene with abducted children, panic attacks, depictions of mental illness, suic!dal thoughts, bellatrix lestrange is also her own warning, morally-grey reader.

a/n: this is inspired by my most favorite finnick odair fic EVER! obviously, i won't ever reach that level of greatness, but i've had this idea in my head ever since i read that story. sometimes, i just want to cry at night to feel something, LMFAO. halfway through writing this story, i got insecure, so thank you to this eye-opening comment on reddit that i found that will forever change how i look at reader inserts: ���for me, a reader should be faceless, but not soulless.”

to my dearest friends and readers, i hope you enjoy this world that i've written for you ueueue. (the next and final part is fluffier, i promise.) will upload to ao3 soon!

act i. dear god, please save the little man.

“RITA, DARLING, do get your wretched little quill for this one. I heard from a wee birdie that Vittoria Zabini was spotted in Rome, and not just wearing last season’s designer collection, but on her honeymoon, of all things! Can you believe it, dearest? If I remember correctly, this must be husband number five now.”

Like a wingless canary in a gilded cage, you are forced once again to sing for red-lipped witches and their grating laughter, and for wizards with their fat bellies, graying hair, and leering eyes. How kind of Narcissa Malfoy to host these decrepit creatures in her manor garden—and thrust the role of main attraction onto you. There you are, lonesome badger, dressed in the finest tulle for everyone to ogle at. A ballerina in a music box, turning, and turning, and turning.

(When will your cursed lullaby finally end?)

Isadora Bulstrode cackles. “Gold-digging wench must be at it again.”

As predicted, Rita Skeeter greedily whips out her Quick-Quotes Quill. The bloodthirsty journalist preys hungrily at your every word—and you’re more than willing to satiate the irritable, little pest. “Riveting.” She pushes her glasses upwards with a quirk of her lips. “We may have tomorrow’s front page in our hands.” 

Lavinia Nott brings the teacup to her mouth, her gaze slicing towards you. “Do tell us more. Where ever do you get your information from?”

You hide a coy smile behind the fine porcelain. “Why, Lavinia dearest, if I reveal my secret now, I might have to kill you!” The drove of ladies giggle amongst themselves as Lavinia sips her tea impassively. You play these people like a fiddle, and they’re none the wiser. But even vile women have to play their parts in the cruel world forged by mad men. Yours happens to be the most ill-fated of them all. 

“A shame you decided not to pursue the same path as your mother, but that is alright—not every one is fit to work.” The Selwyn matron raises her brow, offering you a tight-lipped smirk.

“Oh, Elinor, my love, I’m surprised you’d even suggest such a horrible thing!” Your grin grows wicked and wider. You know perfectly what the wizarding society thinks of you: the orphaned heir, the shallow socialite who only cares for gallivanting about in pureblooded extravaganzas. A status you’ve so carefully fashioned; utterly beloved and adored by these people, flowers falling at your feet with so much as a whisper from your lips. 

Your gaze drifts to a familiar crowd of people to the side. It’s the pack of lions and The-Boy-Who-Lived. There they are, the marauding bunch and their displays of loyalty and whatnot; hideously coordinated outfits, but capturing the world’s attention constantly and effortlessly. 

How repulsive.

In spite of that, you are intrigued. They are the section that plays out of tune in the orchestra you have been conducting for years.

And so you bid your goodbyes to the witches; they fawn and beg for you to stay for an hour more. You pout your lips and say with faux sympathy, hand flying to your chest.  “Oh, don’t worry, my dears! I’ll be back soon enough after greeting some of the other guests. You lovely ladies might tire of me if I stay for too long.”

Melina Traverse brushes you off. “We could never! You know you’re like family to us, pet!”

With a delighted gasp, you say, “Don’t tell Narcissa, but you’ve always been my favorite Slytherin.” The venom flows endlessly from your lips. You owe your life to only a handful of people. Narcissa Malfoy, who raised you when your mother no longer could, is one of them. Finally, you’re able to sneak away from their freshly manicured talons as they tittle-tattle amongst themselves.

Once your back is turned to the rest of them, you roll your eyes until your head begins hurting. 

What a bunch of insufferable fools. 

Still, the show curtains are wide open and the sun is yet to set. You have another audience that is awaiting your next number. 

“Oh, my, my, my! Is it truly the Chosen One in our midst?” You approach the horrid family of Gryffindors—nearly doubling over in laughter at the speed with which their faces fall at the sight of you. How refreshing, you think to yourself. It’s been so long since you’ve seen people who wore their hearts on their sleeves. “Cissa and I didn’t think you’d even respond to our invitation—but this is just brilliant! Lily, darling! How long has it been? That dress looks utterly divine! Is that Charmeuse silk? The purple simply brings out the color in your eyes! And your skin, my love! Just glowing! Tell me—have you been trying those snail facials? I hear they’re all the rage nowadays.”

Sirius grimaces, cheeks turning ashen. “Bloody hell, I’m going to need a drink for this. A strong one, too.” 

“You’re at a garden party, Sirius darling,” you remind in jest, flamboyantly motioning to the grazing table. “The elves are serving Darjeeling, jasmine, chamomile, berry blends, spiced orange, silver needle, and my personal favorite, chocolate mint!” There are strings of lights wrapped around the tree branches; floating lanterns and the hydrangeas creeping on the stone walls. You put a hand over your heart, smiling knavishly. “From the Malfoy family, to yours, we sincerely hope you enjoy your brunch.” 

Lily deeply inhales as she intertwines her fingers with James’s, a polite smile on her face—an odd pang in your heart at the show of solidarity. (She questions how sincere can a Malfoy really be.) “Y-Yes, well, it’s so good to see you, too. We’re grateful for the invitation, especially since it’s for a rather honorable cause.” 

Ah, pure-hearted creatures really do get on your nerves. Lion hearts; words dripping in honey, limitless bravado. You’ve changed your mind, you’re sick of it all. A flash of vindictive glee crosses your face as you abruptly grab her hand, wrenching it away from her husband’s. “We just knew you’d see it that way! You probably see yourself in those Muggle children, eh?”

Lily recoils, as if struck by hot iron, shoulders tensing; slowly, she peels away her hand from yours, long lashes blinking away her shock.  “You and Narcissa must be raising a lot of money, then.” She eyes the marble fountain adorned in white roses, the harmonizing gnomes nearby, self-playing harps, and the scrutinizing stares from afar. “I never knew you cared so much about Muggle children.”

“Well, I suppose it must be done for all the pudgy-cheeked brats in the world,” You callously wave away her words with a sigh. Unbeknownst to most, all the charity proceeds come from your own Gringotts account. That is the one real thing left in your miserable life.  “As staff at Hogwarts, the children must come first, wouldn’t you agree, Lily flower?”

“Quite,” replies Lily, lips firmly pursed.

James enters the fray, hand snaking around Lily’s waist; jaw taut, seeming to regret ever entering the snake den. “Have you met our son, Harry, already?” He turns to the fourteen-year-old at his left side, gently patting Harry’s back with a crooked smile. “Haz, this is an old classmate of ours.” James gestures to you, and you offer the Potter spawn an amused smile as he blinks owlishly at you. The poor thing has gone frigid from the wintry cold, despite the summer sun overhead and blooming coneflowers; and you wonder if he must have run into Draco and Lucius before coming to the garden.

So this is the child the Dark Lord failed to kill, you muse. You only wish that you could have seen that monster fall to the ground lifelessly, defeated by an infant and his courageous parents. How fitting for men like Lucius Malfoy to follow in his footsteps; the blind leading the blind. Your grin stretches from ear to ear as you take his hand in yours. Clearly, he’s never held a girl’s hand before, as he limply shakes your hand, awkwardly spluttering his greetings. “What an honor it is to finally meet the savior of the wizarding world.” 

“Why, you look just like James when he was younger, always strutting around the corridors.” Your eyes drift to the lightning scar on his forehead, a testament to his and Lily’s survival against the killing curse. “And such clear-cut emerald eyes; truly your mother’s son. Tell me, Harry dearest, you must be quite the heartbreaker at Hogwarts.”

His doe-eyes harden, and your brow quirks in curiosity. (So the littlest lion can growl, after all.) “Oh. . . not really.” His hand hangs back at his side, fists coiling. The robins chirp merrily as they fly by, his parents carefully watching the scene unfold; water endlessly splashing in the fountain. Harry’s voice deepens as he continues, “I couldn’t be. My friends and I barely have time for anything else. There always seems to be something going on at the castle, apparently.”  

“How interesting—Elsie!” You bark at the quivering house elf as Harry stumbles on his words. “Get Mister Potter and his company a plate of macarons—serve them our finest tea, as well.” 

Harry winces as the elf apparates at once. “There’s r-really no need for—”

Your gaze, sharp as a knife, slices to him, as the corners of your painted lips bend contemptuously. “Have you heard the news, dearheart?”

Harry looks to his father before shrugging. “I don’t think so.”

“If Mister Lupin here has so graciously informed you,” you begin tantalizingly, eyes cutting to the rugged werewolf at Lily’s side; his back stiffening at the mention of his name, “Otherwise, keep this between you and me, Harry darling. Hogwarts will be hosting a rather important event this year—and I do love a good party—so you must have noticed the rise in appearances from the Ministry.” You gesture to the top Aurors at the DMLE towering over Harry, Sirius and James. “More than that,” you continue with a sly cant to your voice. “There will be a few new additions to Hogwarts’ staff. Among them, of course—is yours truly!”

“And to do what, exactly?” Sirius blurts out incredulously.

“Be a teacher, of course!” you feign ignorance, bashfully furrowing your brows. “Why else?”

“Brilliant!” Sirius chuckles scornfully. “So, the children will be learning about French designers and frilly dresses then, I presume?

“Is that truly all you think of me?” you ask, gasping melodramatically as you circle the rim of your empty teacup. 

“You want to know what I think? Or what everyone thought behind your back at Hogwarts?” Sirius scoffs with a cock of his head. “You’ve always been the belle of the ball, no bloody doubt about that. But I’ve always wondered if there was anything more to your head than just air.” 

He runs a hand through his dark curls, lips twisting into a sneer. “But I reckon nothing has changed since then. You’re just the same insufferable, vapid wench as you’ve always been.”

“Sirius. . .” Remus quietly calls. “That’s enough.” 

Your expression falters—but your mask cannot afford even a moment of rest. A jarring note in the lullaby plays as the ceramic ballerina stops turning. You let the minutes pass by fleetingly; it seems the self-playing chordophones have changed their tune, as well. You watch as the canary diamonds in your bracelet glint against the sunlight. (You are growing tired of the blinding show lights, unrelenting crowd, and never-ending play. Where is the reprieve, you wonder, for the tormented primadonna and her aching soul?)

The strings are now dipped in blood as your tears polish the stage. Your joints have twisted, bent, and danced. You wonder, how long must it be until you are rid of the starring role?

You muster a coy smile, fluttering your lashes at the heir of the most noble and ancient House. “Such crude language, Mister Black,” you say, albeit your voice has gone mellow; nails drumming against the table surface as the guests mingle with one another. The unbearably dull conversations buzz in your ear. You notice Draco and Astoria Greengrass heading for the glasshouse. You consider stealing her lace parasol and whacking Sirius with it, and the thought fills you with immense joy. 

Unfortunately, they are your guests, and you are nothing if not the most polite host. “Perhaps, I am not the only one who hasn’t grown out of their immature habits,” you say, eyeing his shoulder-length hair, spiky ear piercings, and leather jacket. That damned leather jacket of his. It irks you that he and his kind can show insolence freely without bearing any repercussions. (But you’d die before you ever feel envy for a man like Sirius Black.) The sun fades behind the clouds, and your mask slips perfectly into place once more.

“What is it that happened again? Between you and Severus Snape in sixth-year?” You tap your chin pensively, taking cruel satisfaction in the stutter in Sirius’s breath and Remus’s parted lips, ever stupefied. You gaze fiendishly at Remus. “Oh, silly me, I’ve gone off topic. Well, anyhow, I just wanted to say, I believe the students are in rather good hands this year. I just hope Dumbledore doesn’t accidentally let an infected beast roam the halls of Hogwarts.” 

Your eyes flash impishly. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mister Lupin?”

Lily curls her lip viciously. “Just what exactly—?”

“Elsie has returned, master.” The house elf bows her head just as the antique bistro table is circled with macarons, cucumber sandwiches, miniature cocktail buns, and slices of pound cake. Lily retracts her hand, grinding her jaw as she swallows the words in her throat.

“You may go, Elsie, thank you.” With a guileful smirk, you levitate the teapot towards James and Harry, dutifully filling their cups; steam soon arising from the Chinese porcelain. You nod at the group. “It’s jasmine pearl,” you explain haughtily. “Carefully handcrafted tea from harvested leaves and flowers. Such exquisiteness that you won’t be able to find anywhere else.”

“Do enjoy your tea; Cissa and I made sure to spare no expense for our guests.” The teapot carefully lands back on the table. The sinfonietta ends, and so does your time with this particular audience. What misfortune, that you won’t receive your flowers for today’s performance. You pivot on your heels, flinging them a lukewarm goodbye. “Do excuse me, for I must tend to the new arrivals. I believe I see Missus Parkinson over there by the koi pond. Cissa might have my head if I neglect my responsibilities.”

You turn your head, tossing a wink at Lily. “Today, after all, is for the children.”

Alas, it is not Persephone Parkinson you head towards. 

You briefly exchange tepid pleasantries with Lavinia Greengrass before walking past the koi pond to the edges of the garden, far beyond prying eyes and ears. There, like a brooding Dementor drifting through a frozen lake, waits your true target. Sadly, it is only a dour-faced professor, a long time confrère of yours, to be precise. There are only a handful of people to whom you are indebted. Severus Tobias Snape is one of those few. 

With a flick of your wand, you covertly cast the silencing charm upon the elusive spot Severus had chosen. There is no need for these edacious vultures to prey on your conversation. They are better off with their tête-à-têtes and syrupy pikelets. You drown out the chamber orchestra’s symphony, the clinking of champagne glasses, the rustling leaves and ringing wind chimes. “Severus darling,” you say liltingly, feet shuffling to his side as you playfully ghost your palm against his nape. He barely spares you a glance as a breeze courses through the rippling lake water. “You’re missing out on the festivities, you know.”

“Have you finally finished tormenting Narcissa’s visitors?” he drawls, at long last acknowledging your presence and sharply raising a brow at your saccharine-sweet smile.

“Why, I’d never dare to do such a thing,” you reply with a theatrical sway of your head. “I simply conversed with the ladies and had a delightful run-in with your old flame, Lily. Do you remember her, my sweet? Ghastly red hair, pale skin, and, oh, those green eyes. It must be infuriating to look like that,” you rattle away to the only entity willing to listen to you in his company: the wind.

“Spare me,” he drones, lips curved impatiently.

You moue. “Ever the bore, you are, Severus. Shall I fetch you a platter of brandy snaps?”

“Shall I sit around while I wait?” Snape’s lips contort into a sour grimace, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “The Dark Lord himself might even find time to rise from his grave.”

“Severus dear, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to tell me something.” You eye him slyly, mouth tipping into a smirk as a dragonfly hovers by the waterline, avidly stalked by the dwarf frog on a lily pad. “So,” you pry, “did you have something important to tell me? I promised Mister Goyle I’d have a drink with him.”

The frog splashes into the lake, and the dragonfly flutters away without a care. Severus clandestinely slips a piece of paper into your palm as he swivels around, dark cloak billowing. “Ensure that nothing traces back to you,” he snarls. “Clearly I do know better, Severus.” You toy with the paper between your fingers, a sense of exhilaration running up your spine. “Not to worry,” you say with a clipped smile, a serpentine glare in your eyes, “I always do as I am told.”

(Severus, not for the first time in his life, wonders if the Sorting Hat made a mistake when it sorted you into Hufflepuff.) 

act ii. tonight, let’s start the masquerade.

THE NIGHT GROWS weary, and so do the alleys of Knockturn; neglected as your hooded figure navigates through the brick road, only the caged owls and flickering stars to notice your presence. You fainly traipse amongst the shadows, a moment of surrender from the spotlight and malignant eyes; a brief interlude in the performance. Past the hanging doll heads in the windows of Borgin & Burkes, you find a lonely shop. Inside the locket of your ring, lies a slip of paper that had been given to you earlier this afternoon. Well, Severus, you think to yourself, idly twisting the ring on your finger, let’s see where you sent me to this time.

And so, the stage actor calls for a costume change. “Alohomora.”

With one last glance at the dimly-lit passage, you enter the boutique. The brass shop bell accompanies your entrance, but no owner appears to greet you—and if there was, well, you have quite a unique way of saying hello. Your fingers feather across the dusty bookshelves, eyes raking through the broken staircase, the faint scent of ginger, rosemary, and mugwort pervades the room; a shattered crystal ball sits in the center of the shop desk, ripped paintings on the wall. A grimace pulls at your lips as you come across a familiar ivory mask. A Death Eater mask—it’s warm to touch; recently worn, perchance. You bury the strong urge to set it on fire. 

There’s a shift in the air, a creak in the floorboards��in an instant, you whip your wand out from its leather holster. 

“Reveal yourself,” you whisper curtly.

To the naked eye, there is only one intruder in the dingy parlor. To you, however, there is an obscure silhouette of a stranger covered by a glimmering veil. You hold onto your wand resolutely. If it was an enemy, you’d be blown into the walls by now. “This isn’t an ensemble stage, you know,” you chuff impatiently, “I’m not fond of sharing the spotlight with lineless extras.” 

The disillusionment charm slowly unveils, and you wait unblinking, until you see a familiar face standing before you. Mid-length curly hair that falls over gray, dagger-like eyes, the irksome scent of tobacco, and a frightening similarity to his elder brother. 

There are exactly five people you’d risk your life for, and right now, you’re digging the tip of your wand into their neck.

“Mister Regulus Black,” you greet with a playful edge to your voice, eyes narrowing. “Severus didn’t mention we’d be running into each other tonight.” 

“That’s because I didn’t tell Sev I’d be here,” says Regulus, dimples poking out as he swats your wand away from his throat. “I might go mad if I have to stay inside for another bloody week, there’s only so many times I can re-read Good Omens—and by the way, did anyone ever tell you how dramatic you are? Lineless extras, really?” 

You hide a fond smile with a roll of your eyes, whirling around to browse the glass cabinets and leather journals on the table, returning to the task at hand. “And so you thought going outside and risking someone seeing you in the open was a good idea? Reggie darling, I often think about the possibility of Walburga dropping you on the head as an infant.” 

Regulus shoves his hands inside his trouser pockets as he hovers over your shoulders like a lost, overgrown duckling. “Wasn’t it Cissa’s soirée today? Did you jinx the statues like I told you to?” 

“Who do you think I am?” you say haughtily, pausing in your search to half-heartedly glare at him. And after a moment’s pause, you jerk your shoulder and coyly respond with a side-smirk, “Of course I did. The young Mister Flint nearly screamed his head off.” You hum reminiscently, “truthfully, it’s been quite a while since I heard Draco laugh like that these days. For breakfast, I hear about the Granger girl, and then for lunch, I hear about the Weasley children, and for dinner, it’s an hour-long spiel on the famed Harry Potter.” 

Regulus chortles in amusement as he hops onto the shop counter, kicking back his chunky boots. “And, then? Did you see my brother?” 

“Oh, darling, I did more than that,” you mutter offhandedly, leafing through the paraphernalias and foul-smelling potion flasks. 

“How was he? Is he doing well? Merlin, I think it’s been so long since I saw his face.” There’s a lapse of silence between you and Regulus. A lizard scurries across the room, chasing after a line of ants. The younger wizard taints the quietude with a long, frustrated sigh. “Sorry, I just. . .” He slumps his shoulders in resignation. “I wouldn’t have to ask so many questions if. . . if I could just. . .”

“I don’t understand why I have to hide from my own family.” With a jagged whisper, he says, “I feel like I’m losing my mind. Like I can’t believe that I’m really here, I don’t even know if I exist sometimes.” 

You grimace as you turn to look at him, hand flinching as if wanting to reach out to him. Instead, you avert your gaze and continue scouring the room. “It’s for—”

“My own good, I know,” Regulus blows a strand of hair away from his forehead. He jumps off the counter with a hardened stare. You glance at his back as he bends to pick at the marks on the floor. At times like this, you remember how small and young Regulus had been when you found him moribund from lake inferis. What a cruel price to pay in exchange for his survival, you think. 

For Regulus Black has to remain dead to the wizarding world, stuck in an interminable masquerade, waiting until the hour is up for his performance. 

All the world’s a stage, and for the best of the actors and actresses, it seems the production never ends. 

“How long do you think it’s going to stay like this? For you, me, Sev? For Cissa?” As he stands on his toes to inspect the top of a dusty cupboard, Regulus veers his head to peek at your expression, frowning when he finds none. (You’ve no answers for him, after all; the entirety of your life was spent wondering that exact same question. All you know is that the show must go on until the audience tires of the starving artist.) “Never mind, let’s just focus on finding whatever you were trying to find here.” He walks past his reflection in the vintage carved mirror. “What are we looking for, anyway?” 

You wish to offer solace to a cherished friend, but duties are meant to be fulfilled. For now, to do what is right must come first. Your fingers slither up the side of a bookcase, a wooden ladder resting against the shelves. The mahogany is freshly varnished, the stench of glue is prominent, and deep scratches indent the floor. It’s an empty treasure cove, barely anything displayed on the racks. You grit your teeth as you realize it’s been well-maintained compared to the obsolete state of the room. “Here,” you rasp, abruptly snapping your head to look back at him.

He furrows his brow. “What?” 

You beckon him to the corner of the room from where you stand, wooden planks creaking as you push at the bookcase. “Help me with this, Regulus. There could be something behind it.” You clench your jaw as you lean your weight onto the cabinet frame.

“Why don’t we just, I don’t know,” Regulus cocks his head as he waves his wand in the air. “Use magic?” he offers discreetly, as though divulging a century-old secret. “I suggest Bombarda for maximum efficiency.” 

You stare at him vacantly. “Regulus dearheart, I hold a stupendous amount of tolerance for you, but there is absolutely no way we are drawing attention to ourselves via explosion spells in the dead of the night.” 

He grins boyishly before ushering you away. “Alright, alright, I was only taking the mickey out of you.” Soon after, Regulus deftly mutters a levitation charm, his wand steadfast as the bookcase slowly detaches from the floor. You take a couple of steps backward, lips pursed as you observe Regulus concentrate on his work. 

You note to yourself to have a conversation about Regulus’s restlessness with Severus. It could pose a liability and pull the curtains on the entire pasquinade. “Careful,” you keep a tight watch on Regulus’s pinched brows, his hovering wand, and the steadily moving bookshelf. 

“Like taking jelly slugs from a first-year,” he says flippantly, beaming at you as his dark curls sweep over his eyes. 

You give him an exasperated scowl before side-stepping his quip as you descry a faint outline of a door in the plastered wall. You feel a rumble in the ground, muffled noises behind the shrouded entrance.  “Ready your wand, Regulus,” you say grimly, hand reaching for the doorknob, looking back in time to catch his smirk fade into a distant expression, “I believe what awaits won’t be as simple as that.” 

A grave tenor disquiets the room, your free hand already grasping for your wand. Regulus stands at your side, nodding as you take a sharp breath. He offers his back to you, in spite of the looming danger. (A sadistic part of you finds comfort in his presence tonight, but neither of you can truly share the burdens of your harrowing façades. Tomorrow, you play the lone star once more; and he, the dead brother and son. But today, you must simply share the stage.) 

You twist the knob until a click pierces the heavy silence.

You wait with a bated breath, expecting creatures and spells to come hurling in your direction. The room ahead is enshrouded with darkness. You share a terse nod with Regulus as a ball of light appears at the tip of your wands. Regulus moves to take a step forward, but you block him with your arm. “I’ll go first,” you say breathily, curtly glancing at the Death Eater Mask. “It could be cursed the moment we step inside.” Regulus presses his lips into a white line, clearly unhappy with your decision, but relents nonetheless. 

Rough, travertine flooring begins where the woodwork ends; a gust of wind howls into the dark chamber. Wordlessly, you call for your patronus to investigate inside; thin, silvery wisps floating in the air, its light hauntingly beautiful against the unilluminated dungeon. You hear heavy chains dragging across the ground and the harmony of timid footfalls. A drop of water falls onto the cracked stone. Regulus grinds down on his jaw as he readies his wand. 

After an eternity of waiting, you snap your wand to set the torches alight. 

A pronounced chill runs up your spine; a stutter in your breath. You nearly stagger at the sight unveiled before you. If you had been a weaker wizard, you’d have dropped your wand already. “This. . .” you say hoarsely, eyes wide, blood simmering in your veins. 

Children.

Little ones as young as ten-years-old, barely coming up to your stomach, staring up at you with bloodshot eyes. Their skinny arms are covered in grime and wear pathetic rags for clothes. Moss grows in every corner of the room. Emaciated mattresses on metal beds. “Bloody hell,” Regulus growls, chest heaving. “What the fuck?” 

“It’s a prison,” you whisper, horrified. There must be more than twelve children standing before you. Bile rises to your throat. You worry about your wand breaking in half, but the overwhelming sense of dread traps you in position. 

“Are. . . are you with the bad men?” A brave, young girl with owlish eyes protectively steps forward in front of her companions. “No,” you answer gently, bending down on one knee to meet her eyes. You were neither good, or bad, but there is no magic on earth that would make you harm these children. 

Regulus calls your name. “They’re Muggles,” he hisses angrily. “I don’t sense any magic from any of them.” He exhales in frustration. “What the hell are they doing with Muggle children?” 

You grind down on your teeth, nearly dizzy with anger. You forgo a response to Regulus in favor of clasping your cloak around the trembling child. Soon after, you blanket the room in a warming charm. “Tend to their wounds,” you say sharply. “I’ll see what I can do about the chains.” And you will do something about those shackles, if it’s the last thing you do. “We’re going to get you out of here, I promise,” you tell the girl, stolid as you pat her head.

Except, the brass bell rings once more and everyone stiffens in alert. The children begin whimpering amongst themselves. Slow, deliberate footsteps reverberate from the shop into the icy-cold room. The hairs on the back of your neck rise.

“Move out of the way!” you yell, veins straining against your neck, just as you’re blown into the stone walls. 

Regulus screams out your name, but you barely hear anything over the ringing in your ears; through blurring vision, you see the children and Regulus unharmed. Relief floods through you as you sluggishly rise from the floor. There’s a large crater in the wall from the impact; luckily, the tethers to the chains were demolished, as well. “Get them to the safehouse,” you order, blood trickling from your lips. You hardly feel your arms and legs; there’s an ache in the back of your head, your spine feels as though it’s been snapped in half. You’re definitely going to feel this tomorrow. Regulus hesitates to leave, hands laid on the shoulders of the children as he glowers at the newcomer. “Now!” you bellow gutturally. 

A muscle ticks in Regulus’s jaw, but as he finally apparates with as many children as he can, you finally stop holding your breath. “It’s okay,” you reassure the wee boys clinging onto each other for comfort, limping to their side. “I’m rather strong, you know. Stronger than any of the bad men.”

In every duel, you allow yourself to be hit only once—driven by your inhuman desire to feel something other than the  emptiness of your unbroken charade. 

(And for years, you have waited for anyone to say these two specific words: Avada Kedavra.) 

“Go,” you instruct gently, brushing away the tendrils of hair from the little boy’s forehead. “Hide and wait until my companion comes for you.”

“And as for the ill-mannered invader,” you crane your head towards the entrance of the chamber, eyes raking over the tall figure’s bloodthirsty stance and flittering cloak. There’s a lack of silver mask, but you know well the stench of foreboding decay and malignity. At the speed of light, you aim your wand, “Confringo!”

You watch with a spiteful grin as the stranger is blasted across the room. The walls and ceilings threaten to crumble, and you can only hope that Severus won’t be too cross with you in the morning. You point your wand at the uninvited guest’s heart. Nothing will trace back to you, that much you are certain of.

After all, no one would suspect a vapid, insufferable boulevardier to be the greatest spy of the wizarding world.

A firebird caws in the distance.

And, scene.

act iii. where’s your soul? where’s your dream? do you think you’re alive?

“APPEARANCES ARE OF utmost importance.” You stand in the front of the Great Hall, sun rays streaming through the large, stained windows, wooden tables pushed to the walls; accoutered in a black velvet capelet with gold trimmings and vintage dragonhide boots.  The sleeves of your blouse are lined with handwoven, gothic lace; trousers made of the finest yellow satin. It is a testament to your House—the cete of badgers. (You seize everyone’s attention—whether the two Aurors in the corner like it or not.)

After a descanting introduction, you are given center stage before the students of Gryffindor and Slytherin. With a swing in your step and a wrest in your voice, you continue, “That is why the Headmaster, Dumbledore himself, invited me to personally facilitate this year’s Tri-Wizard Tournament. As hosts of the event, excellence is expected of us. Professor McGonagall has graciously allowed me to take charge of your lessons, particularly in the art of dancing.” Your eyes gleam as you offer the young fourth-years a graceful reverence. “And our first lesson begins straight away.”

The crowd of students transfigure into a sea of curious eyes and flabbergasted whispers. You derisively watch the chaos unfold with an amused grin. Yet, you’re not the least bit worried. You’ve charmed even a flock of Dementors before, the creatures having been drawn to your voice, ostentatious stature, and the dark depths of your soul; like a bee to a field of flowers. A class full of awkward teenagers should be more than easy for you. 

“Now, now, children,” you clap your hands as you make your way to the heart of the room, leaving a trail of softening murmurs. “The Yule Ball is a revered tradition, an exhibit of togetherness that has lasted for hundreds years.” You lift your nose up in the air as the girls look at one another, barely able to hide their giddy smiles and discreet glances across the hall. “As such, it is my venerable duty to oversee your etiquette in and out of the ballroom.”

(Sirius rolls his eyes from where he sits besides James.)

“Mister Filch, if you please.” With a flutter of your lashes and a poised smile, you beckon for the school caretaker who flounders to the gramophone. You wink at the young miss Pansy Parkinson who stares up at you in awe. Soon thereafter, you hear the soft melody of Léo Delibes’s Valse. Coppélia, you simper to yourself—a story close to your heart. (You’ve always found a winsome irony in a marionette like you dancing to the enamel-eyed girl’s song.)

“A dance, while enjoyable by one’s lonesome, is best savored with a partner,” you begin vivaciously, eyeing the gentlemen in particular. “Your date for the night must be aware that you’ve chosen them out of your own volition and undue necessity.” Your stare drifts to the coterie of young Gryffindors, tittering mischievously. “Shall we have a demonstration from the House of courage and splendor?”

“No one?” You raise a brow curiously when you’re met with silence and averted gazes. You then utter the scariest phrase a professor could say to their students: “I’ll choose the lucky student myself.” 

You survey the pack of lion cubs, drifting through the tuffs of flashing red hair; gangly boys raucously kicking and pushing at each other to volunteer for your teach-in on ballroom dancing. You flash the students a vexatious grin. “Mister Harry Potter?” you call out to the ashen-faced boy with your hand outstretched. “Why don’t we let the Chosen One set an example to his peers?” 

Hollers and cheers break out across the hall; not withholding the mirthful giggles of the doves on the other side of the room, wonderstruck by his green eyes and lightning scar. You motion for Harry to join you on the pseudo dance floor. The Weasley twins take delight in clapping and wisecracking into his ears until Harry reluctantly rises to his feet, a blooming shade of red on his neck and cheeks. 

“As you approach your partner with the grace of a majestic stag,” you acclaim to the class whilst Harry approaches you with a wry grin and hands shoved inside his robe pockets, “And not a newborn foal.” You place your hand in his, “You may now invite your lady to dance.”

“Or your beau,” you add spiritedly, eyes gleaming as Harry chokes on his saliva.

You pat his back as the music comes to a sweet-sounding crescendo. “Dancing is about connection,” you turn to the students with a stern gaze. “If your posture crumbles, there goes your confidence, as well. At all times, you must maintain eye contact,” you say sharply as you tilt Harry’s chin and correct the arch of his arms. “Remember, it’s not ballroom if there’s no trust. Lean onto one another, and then. . .” You lay your palm onto his shoulder. “The feet should follow the music.”

Unfortunately, Harry runs on two left feet and both persistently evade the music. On the umpteenth time he stumbles on your shoes, he’s appraised by snickers and low whistles from either side of the  hall. The Weasley twins in particular seem thrilled by Harry’s flailing arms and bewildered expression. Along with the two Aurors who’ve skipped their aurorly duties to patrol the castle in favor of heckling their ward. “You’re doing it wrong, James!” shouts Sirius through cupped hands, shoulders shaking in laughter. 

“Why don’t you try it, Padfoot?” Harry retorts back to him; thick hair flopping over his eyes as he grates his teeth. You’re given no warning as Harry extracts himself from your grip and stalks over to where Sirius and James sit comfortably. 

You blink, dumbfounded. “Harry dearest, I don’t believe that is necessary��!”

“Go on then,” says Harry, jerking his head. “Show us all how to do it.” 

To the side, Ron guffaws into his fist, brought nearly to tears. (Earlier he was apprehensive about the class. “We’ve got a whole new professor just for twirling around and all that girlish stuff?” he had asked in disbelief before entering the Great Hall.

“Shut your mouth, Weasley,” growls Draco Malfoy as he shoves past Harry and Hermione to head inside the hall.)

Sirius grins roguishly, having the gall to bat his eyes in confusion. “Who? Me?” He chuckles before forcibly slapping James’s back with the flat of his palm. “No, no. The honor should go to the debonair of his time.” Trenchant eyes flicker with mischief. “Have at it, James. How will the children ever learn without a proper demonstration?” 

“Go on, Sir Prongs!” exclaims one of the red-headed twins. “Show us how it’s done!” 

Alarmingly, the bespectacled man resigns to his fate, a deafening ovation as he shrugs his robes off, generously revealing his broad shoulders in a tight, black turtleneck; a leather wand holster across his chest; long legs framed by pleated trousers. You bite down on your tongue as James draws closer to you, a hint of a smirk on his lips. With an unerring arch of his back, he holds out his hand for you to take, “May I have this dance?” 

Your breath stutters—if only for a moment. One cannot deny that James Potter is deviously more appealing to the eye than the dance partners you’ve had during Narcissa’s galas. Perfectly-carved cheekbones and golden hoops dangling from his ears; bright, hazel eyes girdled by rectangular glasses. “Well,” you say, pursing your lips as you slip your palm into his. “If you must.” 

In contrast to his son, James needs little-to-no guidance from you. You’d have assumed that much, considering that both James and Sirius grew up in pure-blood customs. The warmth of his hand on your back is scalding. He spins you along to the song’s aria; the two of you gliding effortlessly through the soapstone floors. Any more closer to him and you’d be able to hear his heartbeat. “There will be lifts, turns, and dips during a waltz,” you inform the class as you demonstrate a twirl vine. “You will rise and you will fall together with your partner. Understand?” 

James chuckles at the wistful sighs and horrified groans that erupt through the Great Hall. “You’re good with the children, you know,” he remarks cheekily as he gently lowers you to the ground, hand steadfast on your waist. You hear his unsaid words clearly: Sirius thought you’d be downright rubbish at it. 

“Well, Mister Potter,” you say breathlessly, clasping your arms around his neck once more. “To some of the students here, frilly dresses and French designers are their entire world.” Your chin all but perched atop James’s shoulders; the scent of his famed Sleekeazy potion and vetiver—dew on fresh grass on a warm sunny day—fills your senses. You cast a sniffy glare in Sirius’s way, to which he responds with a raised brow. 

“Bit shallow, isn’t it?” he murmurs, chest rumbling and his breath hot on your ear. 

You scoff. “One could argue the same for a young Seeker who’s been given their first ever broom.” 

James Potter has the nerve to smile at you. And as you move to extricate yourself from his hold, James mindlessly lets his hand fall from your waist to your hip—incidentally, where you’ve been nursing a heavy fracture. Sore bruises from chasing vampires the night prior as you were out hunting allies of the Dark Lord from the first wizarding war. Although you had drowned yourself in pain relief elixirs, it seems you’re more sensitive and hurt than you thought. 

Even statues of white gold chip and fade over time—you’re reminded of this fact quite painfully. You roughly push James away from you, hissing in pain as you cradle the left side of your hip. Memories of crimson-stained teeth and rotten, pale skin flash before your eyes. You remember the stench of blood, and the feel of their nails slashing into your thighs. But most of all, you remember their ear-piercing shrieks just before you drive the stake into their chests, one by one, until you have left a graveyard of vampires in the outskirts of an abandoned mansion. 

James furrows his brow immediately as you cave in on yourself. (Even Sirius surges to his feet.) “What’s wrong?”

Occlude! Occlude—you must occlude immediately! 

With a sharp inhale, you close off your emotions for anyone else to see. “It is nothing of your concern, Mister Potter,” you respond blankly, as though your soul is locked far away. “I do believe we’re done here.” You step further away from him. Your attention shifts to the students as you fold your hands behind your back, lips curling into a virulent smile. The weight of your mask is comforting; you’ve forgotten how to breathe without it. “Now, let’s have the students pair up and practice what they’ve learned so far. I’ll have no patience for dilly-dallying and nescience on my watch. You’ll dance until I tell you to stop. You’ll practice until the soles of your feet are sore and raw.”

That, after all, is how you learned.

The class goes by accordingly; you maintain a distance from Sirius and James, turning a blind eye to their burdensome sympathy. (Gryffindors and their bleeding hearts—it always unnerves you how easily the avowed Marauders get deep under your skin.) You nip at the students’ heels, righting their poor footwork; looping the music until you are certain they’d hear it in their nightmares. To your surprise, the round-cheeked Neville Longbottom takes all your instructions in stride. From the moment that you allow Filch to lift the tonearm, the students practically fall to the floor, heaving; some forsaking their long robes and tying their hair in flimsy ponytails. 

As the students retreat from the Great Hall, you slink away into the crowd of Slytherins, desperate to avoid a particular duo of Aurors—no doubt ready to probe you with questions. A numbing panic claws at your chest; black spots swallowing your vision. Emotions—how putrid. The students’ discordant chatter overwhelms your hearing, more than the ringing in your ears. The unyielding, outré stone walls feel like they’re closing in on you. Still, you keep your head above the water, enduring every staggered breath. You must. 

What’s wrong? 

The question echoes in your head. 

Ha! 

You scream inwardly, if they only knew! 

While you had been expecting either James or Sirius to ambush you, you do not expect to see Draco Malfoy shouting your name as you flee down an empty corridor. 

The miniature Lucius Malfoy stands before you, grimacing as he clenches his fists tightly. “Are. . .” Draco’s expression contorts morosely. “Are you alright? Theo and I were worried that the blood traitor upset you.” he spits his concern as if it were acid. Little snakes and their keen eyes. 

“Mind your language, Draco,” you reply cuttingly, eyes flashing as you lift your chin. And for his question, one that you’ve been asked numerous times over the years, you have only ever had one answer. Despite the scars on your back, the tremors in your hands, the aching of your heart, and the endless bruises on your limbs, you tell him: “And do not ask what is not needed to be.” 

“You’re hurt, aren’t you?” he presses further, mouth pinched. “Don’t treat me like a dim-witted child because I’m not!” 

A hand lays on his shoulder, and to your chagrin, Severus makes his appearance, lips downturned and his gaze filled with subdued apathy. Your day is about to get worse. “Perhaps, it is best if you leave this discussion to the adults, Draco.” Snape drones, leaving no room for debate. He tightens his grip on the younger wizard. “I will not be inconvenienced to explain to Minerva as to why you were dawdling in the corridors.” 

In true Malfoy fashion, Draco sneers in disdain. He rips himself out of Snape’s grasp with a scoff. As he storms past you, you sigh and pat his side. 

When Draco disappears into the corner, you release a deep breath as you prepare for the onslaught to come. “Just get it over with, Severus,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, the pounding in your head growing more unbearable by the second. 

You see his nostrils flare as Severus turns to glare at you. “I wonder,” he says through gritted teeth. “If you are actually capable of following direct orders—of using that near-empty brain of yours!” His upper lip curls back into a snarl, as he scours the empty hallway for any prowling ears. “Your stunt made it to the Daily Prophet. You were asked to proceed tactfully, were you not?” 

You lean against the wall, rubbing at the temples of your head. “And I’ve done my part. Every last one of them—dead by my hands. A problem you failed to deal with for the last two months. That I settled last night. Remind me why you’re still chittering into my ear, Severus darling?”

“Do not play coy with me,” he replies brusquely. “I’ve heard the students tattling about it as though it were the most interesting event in their pathetic, insolent lives. The Embris Mansion burnt down to the ground. There are talks of a vigilante, a good-for-nothing do-gooder. You got sloppy!”

“And if I did—so what?” You retaliate, chest heaving as you step into his face. Truthfully, this isn’t the first time you’ve had this conversation with him. Over the years you have left some sort of mark on your work. Not a phoenix, but a firecrest. Wings outstretched in flames. All eyes are on the ungovernable hero, the Firebird—and never on you, the foppy socialite. “Would it be so perverse to want even a slither of recognition, Severus?” 

“Do not forget your duty,” he taunts venomously, the cords in his neck going rigid. “To the greater good you so earnestly fight for. Your duty to your mother.” 

“Do not talk about her!” you all but shout, magic sizzling in the air around you. 

“Then see to it that there are no more mistakes going forward!” Severus juts his chin, baring his teeth in contempt. 

After a few long moments, he continues with a resigned exhale, dragging his palm down his face—as though you are the perplexing one. “This. . . Moody has developed a habit of emptying my cupboards.” 

“And why, pray tell,” you retort gruffly, “should I care for this oh-so special cupboard of yours?” 

“It contains ingredients for Polyjuice potions!” he proclaims angrily. “Get to the bottom of this. I’ll not have a blithering fool like Pettigrew get to the students again. Do what you must, I have no interest in understanding the workings of your mind—as long as you do not draw unnecessary attention to yourself.” 

The sound of footfalls break you apart as Severus nimbly lifts the Notice-Me-Not charm he had cast earlier. Within seconds, you find Remus Lupin rounding the corner. He’s dressed in his usual baggy, gray jumper; jaw clean-shaved, and pinkish scars against his skin. A well-loved quilted coat over his shoulders—handmade by Lily, you presume. You notice the mismatched otter socks peeking from his loafers. Remus saunters down the hallway with tired eyes and a feeble smile as he stops right in front of you and Severus. He has a rather tall frame, slender even, despite his hunched shoulders. 

“Snape,” Remus nods to him, gaze flickering back and forth as he attempts to discern what had transpired—well, you’re certainly in no rush to tattle and cry into his arms. 

“Professor,” he says to you, an ever curious smile on his face. “You’re looking quite peaky. Is something the matter?”

“I am most certainly sound and fine, Mister Lupin,” you respond, irritated, as you wobble on your feet. You are at your wit’s end—how bothersome of it all. “Should you not be on your way to your next class, Professor?” you bite tiredly. 

Remus shrugs, hazel-eyes crinkling in amusement. “Mad-Eye is taking over my next class. I thought it would be good for the students to learn from a veteran Auror. I’m sure he has much more experience to offer than me.” 

You scowl, his humility smothering you painfully. “Well, I’ve no interest in dragging my feet around. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a prior engagement with my cat and I’m afraid I’ve left her alone for too long.” 

And as fate would have it, when you make haste for your quarters, you falter in your steps; lurching as your vision goes blurry. Your breath snags in your throat as Remus catches you by the waist. “Perhaps, we should get you to Lily,” offers Remus as he sets you upright, brows pinched worriedly, ignoring Snape’s eye roll in the background. 

“I said I was fine!” You blurt out, cradling the front of your head as you sway backwards; now seeing two Lupins and two Snapes. “Merlin, are all Gryffindors this bloody meddlesome? Must I repeat myself? I am fine—!” 

Turns out, you are not fine. 

The last thing you see before losing consciousness is a pair of brown eyes with flecks of gold, more beautiful than any full moon you’ve ever seen. 

 —

You wake up to a dry, sore throat; the bitter scent of infirmary disinfectant—a Muggle’s touch, no doubt—and concoctions of various healing potions. Your head is still pounding, but somewhat bearable. The room is small, privy to only teachers, you conclude—although, it is the very first time you have ended up in the infirmary. Remus Lupin would feel your wrath, you’d make sure of it. Your back stings as though it were doused in Dittany recently. As you nearly break the flower vase in an attempt to reach for the empty glass, the door creaks open—and in comes Lily Potter with her husbands.

“Am I in hell?” you eye them bitterly. 

“No,” says the youngest matron, dressed in her own version of the nurse’s uniform. Red vest over her white blouse, and a long, plaid skirt with pockets. Soft red hair tied back with a pink ribbon. Albeit, her expression is anything but sweet and delicate. “But you’re in my office, which means you are now under my care—therefore I’d like you to explain why you have vampire toxins in your blood.” 

“And I would like to return to my quarters now, please,” you respond haughtily, referring to the private bedroom professors were offered in the castle. “I’ve nothing to explain to someone who administers the diagnostic charm on my person without explicit permission to do so!” you exclaim, releasing a shuddery breath as your head throbs agonizingly. 

“You will listen to me—seven hours ago you were this close to paralysis!” Lily shouts right back, eyes glaring defiantly—she may have adhered to you in Malfoy’s territory, but no power holds more authority than an acclaimed healer over a patient. “If you had been a Muggle, you’d be dead ten times over.”

“Well, now that we’ve established that I’m alive and well, I suppose we have no more pleasantries to exchange, Lily darling.” You tear the flimsy blanket from your legs, grimacing at the bandages covering your skin. 

“Not before you tell us where those bruises came from,” Sirius demands, voice low and knife-like eyes on you. 

“Must have been the Nargles,” you reply sarcastically. No one would care for a bonny doll ripping apart at the seams and gathering dust on a child’s shelf. “They’re quite frisky this time of the year, didn’t you know? My good friend Xenophilius wrote about those creatures a long time ago. Good read, I’d say.” 

“Are you capable of taking anything seriously?” cuts Sirius with a snarl, tendrils of hair curling around his face; hints of tattoos peeking out from his leather jacket. Vermillion satin shirt clashing against his pale skin. The lingering smell of lit cigars only reminds you of Regulus, and so you tear your gaze away from Sirius. 

“Sirius, let’s not scare her off now, love,” Remus admonishes, softly resting his palm at the back of Sirius’s neck, before he stares at you with honey-dripping eyes. You have a desperate need to run away. They’re an uncharted danger that you aren’t familiar with navigating—and you figure young Harry wouldn’t appreciate you treating his parents like a rabid vampire. “We just want to know what happened, you looked worse for wear when we brought you to Lily and Madam Pomfrey,” Remus placates, treating you like a crow with its wing snapped in half. 

You sneer. “If I am not dead, then these wounds hardly matter to me.” 

Lily gasps, a sound so soft only the wind could have possibly heard it. “How could you say that?” she asks, hand flying to her lips. “Of course it matters, you had lost so much blood while we tried to get the toxins flushed from your system.” She stares at the puncture mark on your arm, before peering over at Sirius. “We nearly couldn’t find a match to your blood type. Sirius. . . Well, he’s a universal donor and he didn’t even hesitate in giving you his—”

“Giving me what?” you echo lowly. “What did Sirius give me, Lily?”

“Blood,” Lily says firmly. “He gave you his blood so you could live.”

“How dare you?” you seethe, chest rapidly rising; digging your nails firmly into your palms as you stare furiously at Lily. “You had no right!” You scream until your throat is sore; your magic overflowing until it shatters the nearby vase of butterfly weeds. 

Rage tunnels your vision; heart hammering against your ribcage as you move to carelessly rip at the bandages over your wounds. “You had no right! You had no fucking right! I would have never done the same for you! Get out! Get out!” 

“Get out!” You hurl the glass at the wall across from you, narrowly avoiding Sirius’s head; anguish tears itself from your voice and you barely notice James flinch from the intensely flickering lights. 

“You think I’d be grateful?” you scoff, a burning heat spreading across your chest. “You think I’d be indebted to any of you after this? Is that what you wanted? What a fucking joke!” You laugh irately as you gasp for air. “I’d rather die!” 

When you run out of items to throw at them—pillows, shards of glass, and crumpled flower stems—you sit on the bed, shoulders violently shaking as you cough yourself sick. 

“I. . .” Lily begins, swallowing the lump wedged in her throat. “I understand. . . But I am the castle’s nurse, as long as you are under Hogwarts’ protection, I am keeping you alive no matter what.” 

“I don’t bloody care,” you snide.

Her eyes flash to James. “We’ll leave you to rest, then.” 

You stay silent, vacantly staring at the reddened welts on your hands. It’s not until you feel James’s arms around you and his chin hovering above your head that you realize you’ve stopped shivering. “I’m sorry,” is all that James whispers into your ear as he lays you to sleep with an inaudible charm. The chill of his magic is the last thing you feel before your eyes flutter to a close. 

—

You wake up in the infirmary once more. This time, you lay stiff on the mattress, absentmindedly gazing at the plain ceiling; your chest falling and rising ever-so slowly. The stink of a Calming Draught is painstakingly familiar. A low humming sound tells you that you aren’t alone—but you barely flinch from their presence, too tired to do anything but close your eyes. “Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me. . . . something. . . they’re okay,” murmurs one Sirius Black, tapping on his thigh as he rests his back on the rustic chair. 

If Sirius wants an encore, he’d have to drag the fight out of you. You’re utterly drained from your emotional palaver earlier. “Didn’t know you were into Muggle songs, Black,” you chortle bemusedly.  

Sirius halts in his singing as a forceful silence falls over the room—you distinctly hear the moment Sirius’s hand drops to his thigh, most likely taken aback by the sound of your hoarse voice. You feel the weight of his eyes on your bandaged arms and legs. A few seconds pass before he responds, his words but a faint breath. “After today, I believe that there is much to be uncovered for the both of us.” 

You don’t bother replying—you’d have Obliviated them instantly if it wasn’t illegal to use on Aurors. 

“We know it was you,” says Sirius out of the blue—your blood turns icy-cold on command, wondering if he’s figured out about the wizard behind the Firebird. “On the first day of term, someone had left a basket of freshly-brewed Wolfsbane potions enough to last him for the entire year,” he explains further, leaning his elbows on his knees as he stares at you unwaveringly. “I almost didn’t believe it, but a Marauder has his ways.” 

(His son with an invisibility cloak and a handy, enchanted parchment.) 

“Thank you,” he says, guttural with emotions. “It means more to Remus than you think.”

“Your gratitude is misplaced, unfortunately,” you rasp, coiling your fists tightly, stubbornly intent on avoiding his eyes—not wanting to get caught in the storm within. You exhale with a ragged sigh. Severus was right, you had been sloppy. And this is what carelessness leads to. “Don’t delude yourself, Mister Black, I couldn’t care less what happens to you or your family.”

Sirius chuckles, like he’d expected such a response from you. “Well, do what you’d like with my gratitude, I don’t care, just know that you have it,” he says, rising from his seat. “It’s past midnight, by the way. Lily’s left you some dinner in case you woke up hungry.” 

Your eyes drift to the nightstand. There’s a steaming bowl of spinach rice with mushrooms, and a plate of honey cinnamon bars. But your gaze lingers on the bouquet of snapdragons and orchids placed in a ceramic vase. 

“She believes home-cooked meals help the patients heal faster,” Sirius tells you, carefully observing your reaction—but there’s none to be found. He purses his lips into a thin, white line.

As he makes his way to leave, Sirius pauses, hand resting on the doorframe. “You know,” he begins quietly. “The thing about magic—it can fool the best of us into thinking we’re indestructible. But, you’re not as inhumane as you’d like us to think.” Sirius veers his head to look back at you. “Take that mask of yours off sometimes, yeah? You’d see the rest of the world clearly if you did.” 

That is all you hear from him before the door clicks shut, and you’re left alone with your thoughts.

How arrogant.

How very Gryffindor of him. 

You push the flower vase closer to the edge of the bedside table, indignantly eyeing the watercolor art. The room reeks of Lily’s kindness. Lions and their constant need to see the goodness in everyone. Take off your mask? You’d give your entire Gringotts account to wear the kind of rose-colored lenses they have—they’re more pestilent than you realized. No matter, it’s high-time you reintroduced yourself to the Marauders, anyway. 

If you take off your mask, they would find nothing but a barren soul.

—

It seems your newfound parasites have forgotten who you truly are—but you have no qualms in reminding them why exactly you’re called the pureblood society’s darling. 

For the week or so, the Daily Prophet features you out in luxurious restaurants, a new partner each night hanging off your arm. International Quidditch players, foreign models, esteemed opera singers, and even Muggle celebrities. Men and women are captured in moving photographs, avidly fawning over you. 

You’ve missed three classes in favor of shopping in France; Flooing back to Hogwarts, stinking of bordeaux and rosa centifolia. Painite gems nestled around your neck, glittery sapphires lining your wrists. On more than one occasion, you’ve seen McGonagall lift her chin in distaste at your behavior. 

“Well, that’s certainly a speedy recovery,” says Lily one afternoon as the owls take the Great Hall by storm. Rita Skeeter’s new article about you is plastered on the front page, apparently you’ve gotten into a catfight with an Italian seamstress. She risks a glimpse of you from the other side of the long table, laughing away with Professor Sinistra. The sound is scraping against her ears, yet Lily can’t help but feel disappointed.

Your desk is littered with mails from admirers, invitations to galas and fundraisers. The students can’t help but notice this fact as they’re brought to the dance floor each morning. (Each day, you rewind Coppélia’s song—her wishes, and her pain—but you plan to ignore the ballad until blood trickles from your ears.)

“Mumma’s just about ready to send her a Howler,” you hear Ginevra Weasley saying in passing after class. The young red-haired girl nearly bumps into Hermione’s shoulder as Ginny dips her head low, prattling excitedly, “Called the Professor a tart, even.”

Hermione stops walking, scrunching her nose. “Really?”

“Yes, yes,” Ginny nods. “But enough about all that—have you seen the news this morning?” 

Hermione looks up, lips wrinkled in thought. “The one about the Professor being seen in Muggle London? I thought that was rather stale for a headline.”

“Not that one,” Ginny says exasperatedly, rolling her eyes. “The article about the Firebird. Remember what happened during the World Cup? When You-Know-Who’s followers came and raided the entire campsite?”

“That would be pretty hard to forget, Gin,” Hermione replies softly. 

“Well, the Firebird’s gone and hunted a few of them,” Ginny tells her, eyes brimming with awe. “Found their hideout and left them half-dead for the Ministry to find. No Malfoy, though, which is a bloody shame.”

At your desk, you sip your jasmine pearl tea with a knowing smirk.

On the first of October, your previous Head of House invites you to the greenhouse for an overdue get-together. Naturally, you greet Pomona Sprout with gift baskets overflowing with glacé treats, packets of tea, scented candles, and dried berries. She huffs in fond exasperation before instructing you to grab a pair of cotton earmuffs and gardening gloves. And, well, you don’t mind playing the part of a slap happy third-year under her gentle care. It’s a role you enjoy more so than others. 

“You’ve been worrying me these days, dear,” Professor Sprout tells you earnestly as she wrestles with the Flitterblooms. Hoo-hoo chicks flutter around in their cage while the uprooted baby Mandragoras screech nearby. You feel the weight of her gaze, much like a knitted blanket draped over your shoulders on a cold, autumn noon. “The other staff have been expressing their. . . concern,  as well.” 

You busy yourself with planting the Wiggentree in its pot, allowing only a moment to raise your walls of Occlumency. You know that she couldn’t possibly be a threat, but you would not allow someone else to expose you bare for others to see. (You loathe the thought of Sirius’s blood flowing through your veins.)

You know that concern is shallow at best, forged from fear of the students being influenced by your frivolous escapades. 

At your silence, Sprout continues on, “We always tell the children that their Houses will be like their second family during their time at Hogwarts.” You hear her draw in a long breath, gingerly placing the flitter tentacles on the ground. “I hope you understand that the same is true for the professors. We take care of each other, substitute teacher or not.” Pomona’s hand is leaden on your shoulder. “After all, you were our student before anything else. The Sorting Hat gave you to me, and what a darling blessing you have been, even until today. When I look at you now, I see the same young first-year student who was afraid of everything and afraid to come out of their shell—but do not forget, I will always be on my children’s side no matter what.”

How poignant that the first person who truly welcomed you to Hogwarts, is one of the only people who can see through you despite your protective barriers.

And so, the puppet show begins—like a lifeless ragdoll, you peel the deer-leather gloves off your hands, blinking away any hints of emotion. You stand tall before Pomona, dusting flecks of soil off your dovetail skirt. “No one has been on my side. Not then, not now,” you say as you snobbishly arrange the brim of your sunhat. “But do not be mistaken, Pomona. I have been fine on my own and a change still remains to be seen.” 

In another life, you would have happily embraced her comfort and affection—but the fate of a lonely starlet is cruel. You’ve made your bed of thorns and wilted roses, and there you shall lay when there is no one left but yourself. 

“Today was lovely, Pomona, thank you.” It is one truth you’ve permitted yourself to offer—a shred of humanity in exchange for her kindness. The dirt beneath your nail beds is real; so is the ache in your back and the sweat dripping from the side of your head to your chin. But you cannot feel any more than that—you forbid yourself. The Mandrakes fall silent, and you bid your goodbyes to the professor.

The sunlight on your skin is real as you step outside, and so is the sound of clamoring students heading for the greenhouse. Sixth-year students from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw hurry down the hill. Their unrestrained laughter and carefree smiles are real. And so is the unwashed blood on your hands; the killing curses that have fallen so easily from your lips, and the ghosts that haunt you as the moon arises. Perhaps, you could withstand it all if it means the children would live through a real future without the sins of people like you. 

(But why is it that every time you distance yourself. . . there always seems to be someone calling out to you?) 

Cedric Diggory, your godson, yells for you with a grin that stretches from ear-to-ear. You watch as his yellow scarf swings with each hasty step he takes. Cedric crosses the gap between you in under a minute, strands of wavy, brown hair sweeping over his glimmering eyes. It’s an unsolved mystery as to how you and him were sorted in the same House. 

“Your shirt is wrinkled, Cedric,” you tut, straightening his tie. “Do you go riding Hippogriffs in your spare time?” 

Cedric chuckles wholeheartedly. “Father told me to tell you that you’ve been invited this weekend for a dinner at Hogsmeade,” he says, cocking his head as a cheeky simper erupts across his face. “That is, if you aren’t busy.” 

You raise a brow—sly little badger, he was. Harrumphing uppishly, you swivel to turn your back to him and say, “Tell your father that I’m choosing the venue, lest he chooses some primitive pub in the village.” You draw out the distance between you and Cedric, tossing your parting words into the chilly breeze, “Tell him I’m paying for everything, too.” 

His hearty laughter cuts through the hillside as you make your way back to the castle. Thinking you have the last word, you don’t expect him to yell once more: 

“I’m going to enter the tournament this year!” 

You’re certainly taken by surprise, but you don’t slow your pace. An imperious smirk tugs at your lips—well, at least you know where you’re placing your bets. 

A day before the esteemed guests are set to arrive, you run into Sirius and James—much to your annoyance. It’s just your luck that the evening prior you were hunting down a known member of Greyback’s pack. You played a little cat-and-wolf deep in the depths of a forest, hungrily isolating him from the rest of its family. Though this lycan was unturned, you walk away with claw marks on your back. Still, you hope that Greyback licks his wounds and feels the burden of this particular loss. However, you feel that dealing with James and Sirius will be much more difficult than bringing a werewolf to its knees.

After all, this is the first time you come face-to-face with them, nearly a month after your incident in the infirmary. 

“Auror Black, Auror Potter,” you say liltingly, the rhinestone tassel clinking in your hair as you swirl to face them with a devious leer. “What can I do for you today?” 

Sirius scoffs in disbelief. “So it’s like that, then? Like nothing ever happened?” 

“Partying around, missing your bloody classes, parading all over the castle like you’re better than everyone else. We thought you changed. You know, I actually thought there could be something real to you under all that,” he punctuates his words with a harsh laugh, sneering at your blinding jewelry. “Guess we were the fools, eh?” 

James stares at Sirius, a grim expression flashing across his face, before he shakes his head. “It just doesn’t make sense. What we saw at the infirmary—that’s not something anyone forgets.” He gazes at you with grief in his eyes. “It’s like you’re two different people.” 

“It’s disappointing, really,” Sirius bites, his lips curling into a snarl.

They’ve made it all too easy for you. 

“What are you so frustrated for, darlings?” you say in faux sympathy, stalking towards them as you tap at your chin; a sickly-sweet pout on your lips. “What were you hoping for? For all of us to become friends? We’re not children anymore, my loves!” you exclaim histrionically. “Did you actually fall for my little trick at the infirmary? The care parcel I left your husband? Didn’t you know my mother drafted the anti-werewolf bill?”

Sirius staggers.

“The real me?” you giggle incredulously. “What you see is what you get, dearest—don’t go searching for what doesn’t exist. It’s not my fault you fall so easily for a pretty face.” You tilt your head, fluttering your eyes as you drag your nail up James’s chin. “Not every damsel is in distress, you know.”

Your eyes slice towards Sirius with a coy smile. “Maybe if you had followed your head more often than your naive, little lion hearts—you wouldn’t have driven Regulus to his death.” 

James recoils away from your touch just as Sirius flinches, eyes flashing with anger—Sirius digs his nails into his palms, chest heaving as he stares at you in disgust. You expect another stab in the chest from him, and so you lift your head up high, daring him to say another word. (You hope they stopped trying after this—that they would leave you alone to rot in your stage of lies and dutiful sacrifice.) But you don’t plan for James to step forward, shielding Sirius away from your gaze.

“You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen,” says James, words dripping in sincere revulsion. “Can’t believe I thought anything less than that.” 

You smile widely, despite the tightening sensation in your chest. “Are we done here now, gentlemen?”

They would learn—this is who you are beneath your masks and pretenses. 

The thirtieth of October brings about a cold you’ve never felt before. As you await the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, the outside corridors are teeming with students, eyes hungry with anticipation. You lean against the wall, exhausted physically and mentally, hugging your worn-out shawl closer to your shoulders. 

The skies are exceptionally gray today—you’ve had to drag yourself out of bed earlier this morning, limbs heavy as lead. The teacup in your grasp is scalding to the touch—you find that nothing hurts more than the ache in your heart. The children are particularly rowdy at the moment—each time you close your eyes, you see the hatred in James and Sirius’s eyes. 

Has loneliness ever felt so suffocating before? 

When winged horses make their way from the heavens, the clamoring grows louder—yet all you hear are their words. 

‘You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen.’

‘I actually thought there could be something real to you under all that.’

You would not weep—not for yourself, and not certainly for them. 

Sometimes, you wondered if you were hurting too much to even be considered alive. Did your marked flesh even count as skin anymore? Worthy to be cherished with gentle touches and tender lips? How much more did you have to do until the guillotine finally fell? 

When does duty end? And when does life begin? 

Madame Maxine and her drove of Veelas descend from their carriage; awestruck gasps and intrigued murmurs echoing along the corridor. When the Beauxbatons Headmaster comes to stand before you, you instinctively sink into the role of a diplomatic host—that is, after all, why Dumbledore hired you. With a nod of your head and a pleasing smile, you greet the first of your guests to arrive. 

“What a relief that you made it safely to Hogwarts, Madame Maxime,” you tell her in a saccharine-sweet tone. “If you please, Mister Filch here will guide you to the dormitories where you’ll be staying while Hagrid will take care of your horses.” 

You want to go to sleep already. 

Finally, as a large ship emerges from the Great Lake—a sense of relief floods through you. Only one more person to greet and you’ll finally be able to return to your quarters, welcoming feast be damned—you’ve done your part for today. Igor Karkaroff and his students make their presence known; imposing statures and foreboding glares. The castle nearly crumbles from Viktor Krum’s entrance, Hogwarts’ Quidditch players eager to catch a glimpse of the prodigal Seeker—well, you could care less about such a barbaric sport. 

Karkaroff presents you a slimy leer as he presses a kiss to the back of your palm—the dig of his long nails into your skin is a pleasant feeling, to your surprise. “Dumbledore did not inform me we would be greeted by such beauty. We would have arrived earlier, otherwise.” 

You miss your cat. 

(Sirius’s eyes roll all the way to the back of his head when you giggle and melt in Karkaroff’s wretched compliments.) 

You want to die.

—

Chaos erupts the next day. The Goblet of Fire has chosen a fourth champion—Harry Potter himself. No one is more enraged than his mother, Lily. The Aurors on duty, James and Sirius, struggle to contain the students’ horror and verbal lashings. Some have taken to accusing James himself of putting Harry’s name in the goblet in the name of family prestige—predictably, it’s Draco and Pansy who lead that revolt. But you don’t expect for Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan to be swayed by the baseless gossip. So there’s a crack in the pride’s loyalty to one another, you surmise to yourself. 

Like a Niffler drawn to shiny objects, you follow the Headmasters and professors into a room, away from all the ruckus. 

“Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?” the wise Professor Dumbledore asks calmly.

The atmosphere is beyond wintry—you note the biting criticisms in their eyes, particular between Fleur and Madame Maxime. Lily hides Harry from their scrutiny, proud and unyielding despite being shorter than the Beauxbaton champion. Across the room, you find Severus and Remus engaged in a muted, albeit wound up argument. 

Everyone looks to the morose Bartemius Crouch Sr., awaiting his decision with a bated breath. You sympathize with the man—for a fleeting moment—for if looks could kill, Sirius’s tempestuous glare would have dragged him six feet under. 

“We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.”

Your blood runs cold.

Ludo Bagman appears to be pleased with his colleague’s decision—you see no reason why he shouldn’t be, he’s only ever put his odds in the thrill of the game. “Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front!” 

Dimwitted fool.

You scoff. “In a room full of Headmasters and Ministry leaders, surely one of you can find a way to unbind young Potter’s name from the tournament.”

“Err. . .” Ludo’s gaze flickers from Dumbledore to Crouch Sr. Madame Maxime and Karkaroff nod emphatically in agreement, forcing him into a corner with a ragged chuckle. “There’s nothing to be done, the Goblet of Fire has gone out.”

“Do you or do you not have a wand, Mister Bagman?” you reply, piqued; crossing your arms over your chest. “If the rules were written by a wizard, surely it can be unwritten by a wizard. Teaching an Unforgivable to a first-year would be more difficult than that.” “It is not as simple as that, Professor!” Bagman cries. “But you are welcome to try a hand at it.”

“So we just let a child run to his death, then?” you seethe, nostrils flaring. “I never knew the Ministry was teeming with incompetent men. Shall I steal your job from under your nose, Ludo dear?”

(Harry’s brows pinch in confusion. He does not expect for you to care so much.)

“He’s got to compete. They’ve all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?” says Alastor Moody as he limps across the room, flask in his hand. You fall silent, an unnerving chill slithering down your spine. Something about this man did not sit right with you. You pull the sleeves of your blouse further down your arms. 

“Maybe someone’s hoping Potter is going to die for it,” Moody growls in response to Fleur. “Over my dead body!” James snarls, veins rigid against the column of his throat, eyes simmering in anger. 

“Yes, yes, Potter, we all know you’d die for your son,” Moody remarks offhandedly, taking a large gulp of the liquor in his flask. 

“It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it,” Dumbledore counters in an attempt to placate the tense atmosphere. Lily’s sharp sob engulfs the outraged clamors of the two other Headmasters. “Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do. . . .”

The glass sculpture of a long-haired mermaid shatters into fragmented pieces as you bump into the table; just about ready to flee before you do anything rash like point your wand at Crouch Sr. himself. Before you exit the room, you catch sight of Cedric’s eyes—worry and uncertainty pooling within his gaze. You slam the door hard enough until the wood splinters. 

Harry Potter is imprisoned by his fate as the Chosen One—and it seems time has imprisoned everyone at Hogwarts, yourself included. 

The first task for the tournament arrives defiantly, without care for Harry and his loved ones. You have only been to the Quidditch field twice—today happens to be the second time. Everyone is bundled in their wooliest sweaters and warmest jackets; although, Hermione did have her portable bluebell flames. You stare at it with envy. 

“Oi! Professor, over here!” One freckled Weasley twin—Fred, you guess—beckons for you to sit by their swarm of red and gold. He pushes Ron away to make room for you beside Minerva. 

“Thank you, Mister Weasley,” you say quietly, sniffles falling from your frost-bitten nose. 

It’s quite odd—you’d have expected to be sitting with Professor Sprout and Amos, amongst your sett of badgers. But it’s not half-bad. You don’t erupt in flames when Minerva holds onto you, shrieking, as Fleur narrowly avoids her dragon, awoken from its trance. You don’t particularly mind either, when the Weasley twins bump their chests and holler into Ginerva’s ear when it’s time for Viktor Krum to face the Chinese Fireball.

“We got a traitor here!” George snickers when you flinch and yelp for Cedric as he fights shy of the Short Snout’s fire, and cheering breathlessly when he eventually captures the golden egg. You glare at George mirthfully, wondering where your fight and heat has gone. 

“Please excuse me for a moment,” you say, rising to your feet as the judges mull over their scores for Cedric. “Minerva,” you nod to her, and she offers you a hint of a wrinkly smile. (McGonagall thinks that if anyone can talk back in the face of a Ministry chairman in defense of her students, then perhaps she’s misjudged a professor or two.) 

Your cheeks grow numb from the cold as you cross the swarm of Beauxbatons students, past the flock of Ravenclaws. Harry’s match is underscored by the deafening cheers; the stands  rumbling from the yells for his name. You’re nearing the territory of yellow banners and black insignias, trumpets blowing into your ears, when the clamor and hurrahs turn into terrified gasps; students rushing back from the edge. You don’t understand the fuss until you look back at the arena. 

Harry’s dragon has broken free from its chains. 

You join Professor Sprout and Severus in herding the students away from danger—spotting James and Sirius across the arena, hastily reinforcing the protective barriers around the stands, uttermost precision in their wandwork. While Harry dances a life-threatening waltz, you hurriedly clear out the space closest to the banisters. Your breath hitches as the Hungarian Horntail wreaks havoc below, inducing quakes and showers of fire. 

But more frightening than any dragon, you hear the bloodcurdling scream of a student.

“Daphne!” 

The Greengrass heiress, Astoria, cries vehemently as Draco holds her back from rushing to the front of the stands. 

You scour the area frantically—there, only a few feet away from you, lies a fear-stricken Daphne Greengrass, staring right into the eyes of the Horntail. Its teeth bare, growls like thunderstorms, and the rising scent of embers and ashes. 

“Daphne, get away from there!” 

You hardly hesitate—you run to her, desperation pushing at your legs, terror holding your heart captive. As the dragon screeches in preparation to breathe fire, the nearest Aurors miles away—each gasp for air is torn from your throat. In a blink of an eye, you grab Daphne into your arms and shield her from the Horntail. The crowd bellows in fright—you close your eyes, preparing for even the most excruciating of pain. 

But there is nothing. 

Just you, Daphne, the Hungarian—and Remus who’s pointed his wand at the onslaught of flames, redirecting it up into the sky as Harry grabs the Horntail’s attention, now zipping freely on his broom. 

Remus looks back at the both of you in relief, drawing his wand back in his pocket. “Are you alright?” he asks you first, a weary tenderness in his eyes. 

You tear your gaze away from him, checking on Daphne instead; cupping her pale cheeks and wiping the tears from her eyes. “Are you alright, Daphne? What do you feel? Come, darling, let’s get you to Madam Pomfrey—can you stand? Here, put your arm around my shoulder.” 

“T–Thank you, Professor,” stammers Daphne as Astoria rushes to her, the pair of sisters blubbering and crying. The blonde-haired girl nods to you and Remus, “Both of you. I–I don’t know how I’ll repay such kindness.” 

“Don’t worry, Daphne,” says Remus, smiling as he offers her a lemon-flavored treat. 

He steps back to make way for Lily to fuss over Daphne, his eyes straying to you, oozing with sincerity as he rubs his handkerchief to your cheek. He grins at you and your heart skips a beat. “My kindness is freely given.”

Has kindness ever felt so real before?

act iv. you wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me. 

“THE CHILDREN ARE terrified, Missus Fawley. Just last week, we had another incident. All the windows in the kitchen—shattered! The little ones couldn’t sleep for days.” 

You hear the orphanage matron’s voice behind the bedroom door. You’re allowed but a moment of playing with your ragged, plush animals, before the matron comes barging inside. (How rude, you think to yourself. Hasn’t she ever heard of knocking before?) Although, unlike all the other times, she has a lady right on her tail. This woman is much taller than Sister Thompson, certainly more beautiful-looking, too. Not that you have anything against Sister Thompson’s wrinkly face and foul smile. 

No, this woman walks with her head held up high, dressed in a burgundy leather coat that clearly costs more than the thin rag you call a shirt. This must be Mrs. Fawley, then. Her black heels click against the rusty, wooden floor; you watch impassively as she bends down to your eye level. She takes you by surprise when she grabs ahold of your chin, slowly turning your head from side to side. 

“So this is the child,” Mrs. Fawley muses, red lips quirked. Haunting blue eyes stare back at you; hair dark as ebony falling to her waist. “You may leave, Sister Thompson. I would like to get to know my future ward.”

The matron widens her eyes. “Missus Fawley, I strongly advise against—!”

“You misunderstand me, Sister Thompson,” says Fawley, a sharp edge to her voice. “That was not a request.”

A strange sense of victory fills you when Sister Thompson bows her head in response, tossing you just one sour glare before exiting the room. The rickety door clicks shut and Mrs. Fawley returns her attention to you with a low hum, eyes raking over your form once more. You wonder what she’s thinking about; wondering if it’s the vast difference between her neatly-pressed clothing and your rumpled dress shirt. Many have visited the orphanage before, but none have spared you a second glance, not with Sister Thompson scaring them all away. (You suppose there is no appeal in adopting a child with temperamental issues who can make other girls’ noses bleed.)

“Show me,” Fawley commands, breaking the quietude; her voice stern, yet hypnotic. Much like the first notes of a pied piper’s song. For a few moments, you don’t understand what she’s asking for, until realization dawns upon you. You drop the plush toy’s limbs—seconds later, the teddy bear waves its hand as though it’s gained a soul. If this had been a wooden doll with a long nose, it would be saying: ‘I’m a real boy!’

Fawley chuckles, leaning back with a pleased look. Your head falls to the side in confusion—when you had shown this little trick to Daisy Anne and Annaliese, they’d begun to throw stones at you, screaming and saying that you were a witch. You don’t try to play with the other children anymore after that. Rather than being afraid, Missus Fawley seems to be happy with you. “My name is Agatha Fawley, special adviser to the Wizengamot, daughter of the Sacred Twenty-Eight,” she tells you, and you don’t have a lick of comprehension. “What do you know about witches and wizards, darling?” “I don’t know, maybe. . .” You scrunch your nose, making the stuffed elephant twirl the bear with just a glance—Fawley tilts your chin upwards, demanding your utmost attention. “That they aren’t real? Or if they are, they should be burnt at the stake?”

Agatha Fawley hisses, a low sound that sends shivers down your spine. You wonder if you’ve angered her. The toys fall back to the floor lifelessly. “Damned Muggles—! Is that what they teach these days?” She shakes her head. “No, never mind. What matters is what happens from now on.” “Are you going to adopt me?” you dare to ask, gaze falling to the floor, heart hammering against its confinements.

“I will,” she affirms and your eyes grow wide, breath stuttering in your throat. “But if we are to become family—there is one thing you must do for me.”

“Anything!” You all but scream in her ear, a plea for her to take you away from the orphanage; far, far away from hurtful words and a room that echoes your loneliness back to you. 

“Never lower your eyes.” She smiles, teeth bared into a snarl, reminiscent of a prowling fox. “You are magic, my darling. And I will be your mother. No one on this earth can make you kneel in surrender.”

You believe her.

You believe her with all your heart.

But, you would learn that even monsters can call themselves ‘mother’ and embrace you with open arms. 

The Fawley Manor is large—larger than the orphanage, and that was a place you couldn’t fully explore due to its largeness. There must be a thousand rooms, as far as the eyes can see. It’s like a princess castle coming to life—akin to the ones you’ve read about in storybooks. Missus Fawley’s home nearly touches the sky. There are tall trees, wide grassfields, and glimmering lakes. You gasp and cover your eyes with your hands as the chauffeur drives past the marble sculpture of naked ladies. (“Think of them as Goddesses bare to the mortal eye, dearest,” says Fawley when you yelp and sink into the leather seats.) Then, the family butler, maids, and chef come to greet you, all smiling at the new addition to the manor. 

You meet Elsie, the house elf—your first real encounter with magic. Well, besides Missus Fawley turning paper into crystalline butterflies in the car. Elsie is a tiny, wrinkly creature who wears five different-colored knitted hats atop her head. She can’t seem to stop shuddering while speaking, too, as if drenched in cold, invisible water. But you look into her big eyes and you decide to be her friend forever. 

“Get settled into your room, and then we’ll have you acquainted with the rest of the staff,” Fawley says after she ushers you into a room—a bedroom just for you, where you won’t have to listen to anyone else’s snoring or fight to the death for a blanket on a cold winter storm. The bed is bouncy and soft, not unlike the cardboard they’d given you at the orphanage. Your shelves are stocked with toys and books. 

Then, you remember that in exchange for all this, you must do your best in school. That is one thing you aren’t looking forward to. 

But, how bad could a school be if it’s filled with magic? 

You happily imagine smelly trolls, dashing unicorns, talking ghosts, and floating crayons. 

For your first week in the manor, you enjoy glazed desserts, fluffy pillows, and silken clothing—and on your second week, you are reminded of your duty to the family you’ve been brought into. Something bigger than studying in a faraway magic castle. Missus Fawley introduces you to her long line of ancestors. You stumble on your footing as the portraits shuffle around and gaze upon you with curiosity, some with a more heated glare than others. They call you a funny term as you walk past. Mudblood. But, Fawley tells you not to worry. You are now her child before anything else. 

The family crest is chiseled with gold; you squint your eyes to make sense of the inscription: Virtus in Arduis.

“Virtue in hardships,” Agatha explains in her dulcet tone. As you featherly trace the emblem with your fingers, Fawley leans down to your height, clearing her throat; her expression impossible for you to read. “I brought you to this family because I saw potential in you. I sensed great magic from your person. But we all have our duties. Magic gives, and magic will take.”

“The wizarding world is in grave danger,” she tells you firmly, gripping the curve of your jaw with an intensity that frightens you. “Will you help me fight for the greater good?”

You blink.

You just got here and now you have to fight for a world that you never even knew that existed?

“Greater good?” you echo in disbelief. “F-Fight? Fight who? I’ve never even fought in my life! Making Daisy Anne’s nose bleed w-was just an accident!” 

“I will be with you every step of the way,” she vows fiercely, the tips of her nails digging into your cheeks. “Tell me, do you understand? You will do what is right without any recognition at all. Think of it as a performance, my love. And I’m preparing you for your role in this world starting now.” 

The ingénue in this act you have to play involves studying endlessly, practicing your wand work until Fawley is satisfied, and familiarizing yourself with every shelf in the library from dawn until dusk. You don’t understand why you must memorize every charm and every incantation—but Missus Fawley reminds you that you are bound to her and your responsibilities. You don’t want to go back to the orphanage, cold and alone—so, you acquaint yourself with parchments and quills, swallowing the discomfort when the nib harshly rubs your skin raw. 

On your tenth birthday, Missus Fawley gifts you with a closet overflowing with chiffon, taffeta, and organza. Lace parasols, pretty shoes, and wide-brimmed sun hats. The chef surprises you with a three-layered cake, the constellation icing charmed to flicker like real stars in the night. It’s the best birthday you’ve ever had. For the first time, you feel like your life is actually celebrated. 

The next day, your adoptive mother says with utmost exigency, “This time next year, you shall be off to Hogwarts, but that means your debut in society is drawing near. The wizarding world will officially acknowledge you as my child.”

“When that happens, vultures will flock to you as though you were a corpse.” Her eyes flash dangerously. “And you will become one, unless you learn how to fend for yourself. The most ruthless of us all can be adorned in pearls and dressed in ball gowns. Appearance is everything in this world—do not let them see that you are afraid.” 

And so, you don’t tell her that she’s petrified you to the bone.

“As the sole heir to my fortune and properties, you must understand how to navigate, not only the wizarding world, but this treacherous domain, as well.” Missus Fawley straightens your back, harshly tapping you once more to spread your legs at a more acceptable distance. “To be envied by all—the perfect host must always be ready to receive their guests with attention and politeness.”

When you wince, or move to massage your sore muscles, she barks at you, “You must always be composed, even in near-death. If you crumble—if you let even a single person know what you’re truly feeling, all this will be for naught.”

The burden of her words is heavier than the textbooks she shoves in your hold. 

“Control them before they can control you,” Fawley explains as the seamstress measures your waist and arms. “Exert your influence in a conversation. Not only in words, but your stature. Present yourself accordingly. Jewelry and clothing can be your armor when you cannot draw your wand.”

You grumble under your breath when the seamstress accidentally pokes you with a needle for the nth time. 

“Smile when flattered, giggle when offered a dance, and curtsy when greeted.” Fawley glares daggers at you when you hiss in pain. “But most of all, do not let any of those cretins know that you are fully aware of the power you wield over them. Anyone can be a puppeteer if they want to be. You’ll just be the greatest of them all.”

(But even a master of puppets has someone pulling their strings from behind the curtains.)

Elsie stays up with you each night, carefully pouring ice-cold water over your head, and playing with the floating bubbles to distract you from the ache in your legs and arms. “Elsie will give Master her hat!” the young elf says one evening, pulling the topmost beanie from her head and laying it on yours. She tells you a bedtime story before tucking you beneath the covers of your queen-sized bed. You fall asleep to the sound of grasshoppers chirping and portraits murmuring to one another. 

Then, you get your first taste of a pureblood skirmish. Missus Fawley had taken you to Diagon Alley, months away from the first of September—a letter in your hand with all the materials a first-year would need for their classes. Safe to say, you’re more than excited. (“Oh, mother, look!” you exclaim, pointing to the various shops—and also remembering the rule of calling Agatha mother out in public. “A sweet shop! Fortescue’s ice cream parlor! Mother, can we go there? Please, please, please!”) Fawley smiles at your wide-eyed wonder, your hand in hers—today is a special one, she decides. You’re allowed a bit of fun. Especially since you’ve shown unfathomable progress in your studies. 

You get your very first wand at Ollivanders—and now this world of grumpy goblins and jumping chocolate frogs becomes even more real. You hardly let go of your wand, a tingle of exhilaration running through you each time you brush your fingers against the finely-carved wood. Even Missus Fawley is pleased with the wand that chooses you. Later, you’ll be given three hours to practice your charms again, but you find that you don’t mind—not when you’ve learned that you can now read books under the covers when Elsie turns the lights off.

As you exit the shop, breathless and flushed with a hunger to explore more of this world you’ve been given access to, you and Fawley run into one of her friends. This must be one of the scary people she’s warned you about. Sharp cheekbones, unfriendly gray eyes, and a stern demeanor. You immediately suck in a breath and school your face just as Agatha has taught you. 

“Walburga!” Fawley greets with a lovely smile, but you notice that it doesn’t reach her eyes, not like when she smiles at you for growing another inch taller. She brings her hand onto your shoulder. “What a pleasant surprise, my dear.” She peers at the two young boys hiding behind her, much like you were doing now. “Oh, my! Is it that time already? I’d forgotten young Sirius was set to go to Hogwarts this year. You must be overjoyed.” 

Walburga is a tall lady, taller than Agatha, even. She hums, lips quirked, chin held up high. “Fawley,” Walburga responds, rather displeased. “Talking my ear off, as usual.” Her trenchant eyes land on you and her smile curves into a sneer. “And who might this little one be?” 

You risk a glance at Missus Fawley before offering the other woman a sweet, half-curtsy. “Madam Black, how do you do?” you smile at her, gaily revealing your name and the gap in your front teeth—the two boys snicker and your eyes instantly narrow into a glare. 

Walburga stares you down harshly. “How adorable.” Her eyes slice to the two boys behind her. “Sirius, Regulus, introduce yourselves.” 

Missus Fawley laughs, a grating sound—much like warning bells—as her eyes flash dangerously at her, hand tightening on your collarbone. “What a relief to know that Sirius will at least have one friend already before they arrive at the castle.” 

“But—oh, dear, look at the time.” Agatha quickly casts the Tempus charm before looking at you aghast, eyes wide as saucers, mouth parted dramatically. “I promised the Daily Prophet a photoshoot today! It is my thirty-first birthday soon, after all. I’d give you tips on how to capture this look, but, Walburga, it seems you’re embodying the housewife fashion perfectly.”

“Ta-ta!” She plants two, airy kisses on Walburga’s cheeks before waving the three goodbye. 

“That,” Fawley whispers into your ear as she snuggles the side of your face. “—is exactly how to do it.”  

You collapse in your bed that night, wondering just what you’ve gotten yourself into and what kind of world you’re about to live in.

How confusing.

All this time, you thought that Missus Fawley had been preparing you for an intense entrance exam. Why else would she make you study twenty-five hours a day and eight days a week? But as it turns out, all you had to do was sit on a chair and have Professor McGonagall put a talking hat on your head.

“Hufflepuff!” the Sorting Hat proclaims, and the table of yellow and black welcomes you with open arms. You sit next to a boy named Amos Diggory. Later in the night, you’ll share a dormitory with a kind girl named Amelia Bones. 

(Hogwarts is the best!) 

The holidays arrive in the blink of an eye and you find yourself standing at the steps of the manor once more. Agatha Fawley waits for you by the door, engulfing you instantly in a hug that shields you from the falling snowflakes and biting winds. Hot cocoa with marshmallows and gingerbread cookies await you in the grand dining room; you even get a crotchety greeting from Isolde Fawley the Third’s portrait. Elsie crumples to the floor and sobs at your arrival. 

“So you were sorted there,” Fawley mutters to herself, a worried expression contorting her face. The fireplace crackles as a winter storm rages outside the manor. You lay on her lap as she absentmindedly pats your head. Stories of your first few months at Hogwarts fall from your lips without pause. “This would go smoother if you had been sorted in Slytherin, however; but no matter—it’s not what I expected, but we can make do. The Diggorys and Bones’ are purebloods, so maybe not all hope is lost. But you need to get more acquainted with the Greengrasses and the Malfoys, Druella Black’s daughters as well.”

You hide your frown against her legs. You really liked Amos and Susan, Bellatrix was just downright mean to everyone, even calling this one girl, Lily, a Mudblood, too. But if mother wanted you to try, you might, but only once. If Bellatrix didn’t want to be your friend, then there’s no helping that unhinged witch. (At least the Prewett twins’ pranks were funny. Bellatrix once snuck inside the Ravenclaw tower to leave a dead pig’s head in the girls’ dormitory just because.)

On the twenty-fifth of December, Agatha Fawley throws a gala just for you—masqued as a fundraiser for Muggle children in need. (None of the families cared about them, you would realize later on.) The ground nearly rumbles from the number of guests she’s invited. From your bedroom window, you spot a few familiar faces. Sirius Black, who stands out from the crowd like a pale bean sprout; his cousin, Bellatrix, who’s already taken to yelling at the staff; Lucius Malfoy, the Flints, and the Parkinsons. Your head goes dizzy. 

As long as you don’t trip during your entrance, everything should be fine, right? Right?

(You one-hundred percent trip in front of everyone as you descend the stairs. The sound of James Potter and Sirius Black’s laughter haunts you.)

But other than that, the Yule event goes by smoothly. You don’t fall flat on your face when greeting Cygnus Black and Druella Black née Rosier, and mother is thoroughly satisfied when you smile in the face of Walburga Black and Abraxas Malfoy. You stay in the corner after welcoming your guests, sitting in your chair like an abstract painting forbidden to touch; whilst the Prewett twins and James teased Elsie until she cried from anxiety. Sirius also goes out of his way to congratulate you for growing all your teeth in. 

You don’t understand why Mother is so scared of these people.

But you’ll understand virtue in hardships soon enough when you receive your first tutoring in ballroom dancing. Instead of sapphire earrings or a trip to France, Missus Fawley has a different gift in mind for your fifteenth birthday. She surprises you with a tutor—you’re bewildered at first, arguing that you’ve consistently been at the top of your class. (“Madam Hawthorne is not here for your academics, my darling,” Fawley explains with her red-lips stretched in a foreboding smile. “Dance is a beneficial skill for any host to have. You’ll practice until your footwork is perfect. You will dance until I say you can stop. And when your feet are aching and bleeding, you will keep dancing.”) 

Each night for your summer holiday, you go to bed, sobbing into your pillows, body trembling from Madam Hawthorne’s cane. 

Everything changes on the eve of your sixteenth birthday.

Like all the years before, Missus Fawley invites the entirety of the pureblood society to the manor. 

You stay with Narcissa and Andromeda, gently placating their concerns when they ask about your unnatural quietness—truthfully, you could no longer breathe in the flounced dress you’ve been forced to wear; the sides of your feet raw from constantly practicing with Madam Hawthorne, head aching from the lights and obnoxious perfumes; stomach gurgling. Bags under your eyes from revising endlessly for your N.E.W.T.S. 

Eyes drooping and neck craning from exhaustion, you don’t at all expect for James Potter to emerge from the crowd; wavy, brown hair sweeping over his glasses, wine-colored suit melting into his dark skin. He holds out his hand to you with a boyish grin. “May I have this dance?” 

You blink, frozen solid for a few moments until Narcissa softly nudges your side. “Y-Yes, if you must,” you splutter, placing your palm in his. 

He leads you to the dance floor as the orchestra plays a song perfect for a waltz along a flower field; your eyes glued to his back. The chandelier hangs overhead as James settles your arms around his neck in one swift motion. You almost step on his feet, spluttering your gratitude when he steadies you by the waist, the heat of his hands permeating your layers of clothing. 

“Isn’t it odd that the birthday celebrant wasn’t dancing all this time?” he says, pulling you in for a twirl. 

“I assume the others were all too afraid to deal with my mother,” you reply timidly. “She’s quite overprotective, you see.” 

“Who? That tall lady over there by Missus Black who’s currently glaring at me?” James chuckles into your ear as you step closer to hear his heartbeat. “She couldn’t possibly terrify me.”

“Lily says thank you, by the way.” 

“Oh? For what?”

“Letting her copy off your Defense Against the Dark Arts essay—she’s downright shite at the subject. Don’t tell her I said that, though.”

You laugh along with him, and you find that you could rest in his arms forever.

But, as your dance with him comes to an end, so does your wistful reverie. 

When most of the guests have left the scene, and when the lights have dimmed, Mother presents to you her real gift—your debut in the wizarding society. She leads you to a room, one where you’ve never ventured before. It’s deep past the cellars, where cobwebs and dust bunnies grow. (Before you enter, Narcissa grips your hand firmly, a look of dread and urgency in her eyes. “Be brave,” is all that she says, encasing you in her arms.) 

In this dark room, you see Abraxas and his wife, Walburga, Cygnus, the Notts, the Goyles, and more people you recognize, all dressed in their finest black cloaks—as though it were a funeral instead of a birthday. In the center of it all, is your mother, Agatha, with a man kneeling in front of her. 

“What is this?” you ask in alarm, frantically searching for answers. The man struggles against his rope, binds, screams and pleas muffled by the cloth shoved in his mouth. The sight of his bruises makes you all but retch. “Mother, what is going on?” 

Walburga is the first to step forward, her lips painted blood-red against her ashen skin, curving into an edacious smile. She cradles the back of your head to her chest. “My lovely dear, it has been the utmost privilege watching you grow. Your mother is certainly proud of you, we all are. Tonight, just as our sons and daughters before you, we offer you our blessing on this very special day.” 

“You know of the Unforgivables, right, my child?” Her voice is a sweet, ruthless cadence in your ear; her touch, like worms crawling on your skin as she places your wand in your hand. You bite down on your tongue, swallowing each breath as the walls threaten to cave in on you. Your fingers forcibly shake in terror and you worry that you might snap your wand in half if you aren’t careful. “The Cruciatus, the Imperius, and—?”

“The killing curse,” you breathe out, ever-so stiff in her hold. You watch as Abraxas kicks the man to the ground; you dig your nails deep into your palm to keep from flinching. 

“That’s right, little one,” says Walburga, tracing your jaw with a morbid sense of satisfaction. She holds your chin in place as Abraxas tears the cloth from the man’s mouth. It’s worse now. You hear his desperate begging and his guttural cries for help. “Muggles,” she spits the word out like venom. “Look at them. They’re filthy. Infecting our blood with theirs.”

“Kill him,” Walburga says, a delicate whisper, as though she had asked for a cup of tea. “Kill him and you’ll have proved your worth to us.” 

“No! No, please!” The man struggles against Abraxas’s arms. “Please! I have a family! A c-child!”

You stagger backwards, nearly losing your grip on your wand. You look to your mother for help. “I—!”

“Kill him, pet!” Bellatrix cackles from across the room, teeth bared viciously, eagerly beckoning for you to come forward. “Make sure you mean it! Otherwise it won’t hurt!”

“You know the words,” says Walburga, lifting your pliable arm—a puppeteer controlling its ragdoll. “Say it.”

The man before you is real. He’s a real person with a real family anxiously waiting for him to come home. His children worried sick for their father. How can they just stand there and expect you to kill him? “Mother, please—I can’t. I w-wont.” Your breathing grows labored, hot tears pricking your eyes; the man screams and yells, and the sound echoes ceaselessly in your ears. “I don’t. . .  I don’t understand.”

Agatha Fawley closes her eyes, and you understand perfectly. 

Each sob wrecks your body and the tears endlessly flow from your ears, you hiccup and shiver; blood pooling from the bite in your tongue. “I can’t do this—please!”

“You will.”

You close your eyes just as a flash of unforgiving green shoots from your wand. “Avada Kedavra!”

The man falls limp to the floor, and so does your wand. Walburga coos and drowns you in a sea of shallow praises, the men offer their congratulations, but all you hear is the sound of a lifeless body dropping to the ground. 

A man who you just killed by your wand, in your home. 

That night, the four walls of your bedroom bear witness to your anguish—you cry until you throw up on the floor, body lurching and quivering on the freezing red oak. 

“Do you get it now?” says Agatha as she enters your room, the faintest of sunlight streaming through the windows. She bends down and cups your face in her palms. “This is your world from now on.” 

You rip her hands away from you, gritting your teeth. “I don’t want to live in your world—not anymore! I don’t care about all this! Magic, wealth, and all these things mean nothing if I have to kill innocent people! You’re a monster!” 

“Good.” Fawley’s voice is cold as she stands up, lifting her chin as her eyes glaze impassively. “That means you’re ready for your next lesson.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said I was done!” you retort, sore from crying.

“Don’t you see?” says Fawley, pausing underneath the door frame, gaze ruthlessly slicing towards you. “We will destroy them from the inside out. Walburga, Abraxas, Tom Riddle. All of them, one by one. That is our true duty.” 

As she turns to leave, she adds coldly, “Ready yourself. I’ll be teaching you Occlumency during your summer break.” Then she slams the door shut, leaving you all alone in your room. 

When you return to school after the winter holidays, you’re forced to pretend that you hadn’t taken the life of an innocent Muggle. 

‘Do not let them see you are afraid.’ 

“Unfortunately, flaming red hair and hand-me-down robes will not complement my dress—it’s crimson taffeta, you see, handcrafted only by the finest tailors in Italy,” you say dismissively to the ragtag of Gryffindors before you, Vittoria Zabini and Isadora Bulstrode giggling at your side. The Prewett boy visibly wilts and you almost give in—almost. But everyone must play their part in this world. You know that if you show a sliver of weakness, Vittoria and Isadora will be happy enough to report to their mothers—vying for the pedestal you’ve been put on by their parents. 

For the final blow, you scrunch your nose in disgust, slamming your Divination textbook close. “Can you even afford anywhere in Hogsmeade for a date, Prewett?”

(Walburga would Avada you herself if she caught you in such a place with such a wizard. You’re more terrified of what she might ask you to do to Gideon—someone she deems as a blood traitor. You refuse to utter another Unforgivable. You just won’t.) 

“Oh, you cruel wench!” Marlene McKinnon steps forward and before anyone could take another breath, she slaps you in the face. And, finally, you feel something other than the guilt of taking someone’s life.

Your cheek stings from the impact, your ears ringing with the sound of your friends asking if you’re alright and Dorcas Meadowes roaring about how you deserved it—well, you’re not about to disagree. You move your jaw about, cradling the side of your face as you sigh impassively—oh, it’s nothing compared to the etiquette lessons of Agatha Fawley. “My mother will certainly hear about this, McKinnon.”

“You and your mother can kiss my arse!” she shrieks, eyes ablaze.

“Gideon didn’t deserve that, and you know it,” Lily argues fervidly, eyes sickle-shaped as she looks back at the Prewett twin’s dejected expression. “How could you even say that?” 

“How could I not, Lily darling?” you reply off-handedly with a roll of your eyes.

Lily flinches. In her gaze, all you see looking back at you is the Muggle father who had cried out relentlessly for one last glimpse of his children. She stares at the badger emblem on your cloak with disdain, and you with a great deal of pity. “You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen.” 

She has the softest voice you’ve ever heard, but it hurts you all the same. 

You’ve scrubbed your skin raw in the bath, hoping that you’d wash the feel of your sins off your hands—it’s all for naught. Agatha might be a monster in your eyes, but you’re the fool that played right into her act.

You get to your feet, meeting her eye-to-eye. In a low whisper, lips close to her ear, you say, “There are far worse creatures out there, Evans. You’re lucky you’ve been born only a Muggleborn.”

Fortunate that she won’t ever have to play the role that you’ve been forced to. You feel an overwhelming envy towards her—effortless beauty, pure and untainted hands, a kind heart that draws in every one and every person. Compared to her, you must be a dirtied, black swan in a lake that’s only meant for white swans like Lily Evans. 

And she will have more charming princes and truehearted fairies on her side than you could ever hope to gain. 

“Say another word and I will tear your hair from that pretty head of yours,” Marlene snarls, pushing Lily behind her.

Oh, how easy they make it for you. 

You smile in delight. “So you think I’m pretty?”

Marlene lunges.

(You are so tired of it all.)

Every night of your summer holiday, you spend it writhing on the floor, Agatha’s lessons on Occlumency taking its toll. She grows harsher, stricter, and more apathetic than the sun beating down on the manor windows. (“Again!” Fawley demands as you collapse to the ground, drenched in sweat and your head numb from her probing. “Do you think the Dark Lord will be lenient with you? Get up! We’re going again! If you want this to end, you will endure this without error!”) 

While your peers are out swimming in lakes and racing around in Quidditch brooms, you’re stuck within the confinements of your home. But you are not that naive, you’ve seen the headlines of the Daily Prophet. A coalition known as Death Eaters have begun making their mark on the wizarding society. There are rumors of a great, sinister power rising. People go missing everyday, and you worry that this might be the world that your mother has been preparing you for all this time. 

But why you? Why must you carry this burden all alone? Who will pick up the pieces of your battered soul when the weight of your burden crushes you entirely? 

There are times when you wish you never left the orphanage at all. 

A week into your summer break, you find out that your mother is dying. Violent coughing, dizzy spells, jaundiced skin, her eyes bloodshot, and the healer frequenting her bedroom quarters. You’re not allowed inside, of course, but you can hear her feeble voice and the doctor’s stern orders. 

You also learn that she’s absolutely insane—but that is a fact you’ve come to terms with years ago. One night, during dinner, you’d let it slip that you have your suspicions of a classmate being inflicted with a lycan’s curse. Agatha Fawley reacts just about as one would expect her to. 

“A werewolf? In Hogwarts?” Fawley staggers to her office, the tower of neatly-piled documents and research reports from the Ministry now fluttering to the floor. “No, no, no. . .” she utters to herself, panic seeping within her skin. It’s the most frazzled you have ever seen the great Agatha Fawley. You stare at her unraveling from the threshold of the room, unsure of what to do. “Dumbledore has gone mad! That old loon! What was he thinking? Sheltering a beast within the castle!” 

“Don’t worry, my dear,” says Agatha as she reaches for you, a ghastly smile on her face and a near-empty look in her eyes. Your brows pinch together in confusion—you hadn’t been worried about that student at all. “I’ll have that monster out of the castle in no time. The Ministry will have no choice but to listen to me.” 

“That’s it,” she mutters, haphazardly grabbing for her feather quill and blank parchment. “Perhaps a law to forbid werewolves from ever integrating into society. School, house properties—can you imagine if they manage to infiltrate the Ministry? Everything I’ve worked so hard for!” 

“Mother?” you call out hesitantly, crossing the distance, hand outstretched as Fawley slips on her footing, a muttered profanity under her breath. The woman before you is unrecognizable, a sallow casing of a moribund soul. “Mother, please, Remus is no threat to the castle,” you plead, ripping her hand away from the quill. “You can’t do this!” 

“Do not tell me what I can or cannot do!” Agatha seethes through her teeth, chest heaving as she glowers at you. “Everything I have done, I have done for you! Yet, you still continue to fight me? I should have left you in that orphanage to rot while I had the chance!” 

“Well then, why didn’t you?” you scream, pushing her away as the words force themselves out of your throat. “Maybe that Muggle father would have still been alive if you did! Maybe I wouldn’t have to suffer so much! To hell with you and your duty!” 

Fawley laughs to herself, a weak and feeble sound. At first, you think it’s in response to you, but then you watch her drag her palm down her face, unblinking when her fingers appear to be drenched in blood. You take a step forward and there’s crimson trickling down her nose, a pallid contrast against her skin. “Ha,” she chuckles once more, keeling over to the ground as she stares up at the ceiling, blood on her flesh. “Merlin, what have I done? I–I’ve gone too far—even the Gods cannot save me.”

The despair in her voice is confounding. “Come here, my love,” she croaks from the floor, reaching out to you with bloodstained hands. Reluctantly, you sink to her side, gnawing on your lower lip as she cups your face in her palms—how many times have you been in this position before? “I’m sorry,” she sobs, shoulders trembling. “Oh, my darling, I am so sorry. I’m afraid I’ve doomed the both of us.” She traces the frame of your jaw and cheekbones. “My child, my beautiful child. What have I done? Will you forgive me?” 

You realize that this must be the consequence of living in a constant lie. To be an imitation of a human person, with no room for grief, rage, fear, hope or even a semblance of love. You stay silent, drowning in the arms of your adoptive mother. “I am to die soon,” says Agatha with utmost finality, eyes boring into yours. “But you are better than me. Braver. Far stronger than I have ever been. I know this must be the heaviest burden a child can carry, but you must understand that the fate of this world is at stake. I am so sorry, my love, but I must leave this duty to you.” 

She lets her head hang limply. “I-I am tired, as well. I’ve pushed away everyone and anyone for this. To do what is right, to endure what is hard—that is what I’ve lived by all these years.”

“And so must you.” Agatha has been mourning all this time, but not for her life. 

You hate her. 

You hate her with all your heart. 

But even monsters need a heart to breathe. 

A month passes by in a blur, and you are now set to meet the ill-famed Tom Riddle. You know that he was a student of Professor Dumbledore; that Narcissa is extremely terrified of him, and that Lucius Malfoy idolizes him to a fault. (“This is the moment I have been preparing you for all these years,” your mother tells you, shields of Occlumency glimmering in her deep blue eyes. “Do not let him in no matter what.”) Soon thereafter, Missus Fawley apparates the both of you to the Malfoy manor. 

The dining room is bleak, befitting of a Malfoy; curtains drawn, fireplace idly crackling, and hushed murmurs upon your arrival. All eyes are on you, and you’re lucky to have dressed in your Sunday best. At the head of the table, you see Tom Riddle, with Abraxas and Cyprian Nott sitting on each side. You hear something large slithering across the polished floors—your breath hitches at the sight of a monstrous serpent curling around Tom Riddle’s chair. The glass chandelier chimes overhead and you wish it would fall from where he sits on his shrewd throne. 

(You find Regulus Black sitting beside Narcissa, cheeks flushed, body quivering as his skin pales to a deathly color; holding onto his left arm for dear life. And, your heart just physically breaks. You don’t understand why this is the world you must live in.) 

“Come here, my dear,” Tom Riddle hisses, urging you forward with a serpentine leer in his eyes. You feel like a circus lion forced to perform its tricks. 

Tom Riddle is handsome—you notice begrudgingly. A menacing kind of beauty that entices the weak and preys on the vulnerable. (You would not be one of his victims, you vow, raising your own walls against him.) His gaze drills into your own—instantly, you feel his magic snaking around in your head, searching for hidden truths. The sensation is staggering, dizzying, and you’re nearly brought to your knees. You clench your jaw at his Legilimency—obstinate bastard. 

“This one is lasting longer than your son, Abraxas.” Riddle chuckles, his finger tracing the curve of your jaw, as Abraxas forces a smile. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he leaves your mind. You release the breath you’ve been holding for the last thirty seconds. He finds none of your secrets, and you suppress a vindictive grin. Riddle glances at your mother. “How fascinating.” 

You wonder if his intrigue will keep you alive for another day or bring you closer to your death. 

“My Lord,” you greet windedly as you press a kiss to the cold signet of his ring. “What an honor to stand before you today. Although, I could have done with a more polite greeting from you.” 

Bellatrix snarls at you in warning. “Do not speak to the Dark Lord that way, you insolent brat!” 

“Enough, Bella,” Tom rasps, flicking her concern away, barely so much as sparing her a glance. “I’ve no need for a little girl to come to my defense.” She visibly wilts at his dismissive words and you almost feel pity for her—almost. Then, you remember this is the man who treats the Cruciatus curse like a treat to give away freely to children—now, you pity Bellatrix fully. The curly-haired girl twitches at the sight of him toying with his wand, Nagini’s forked tongue flicking in anticipation. 

“Tell me, my dear,” says Riddle, trailing his gaze down to your arm. “Has your mother arranged a marriage for you yet? Much like our dear Cissa here.”

You grow frigid in his hold. “Not at all, my Lord. Mother thought it best if I focused on my studies before anything else.” 

Tom hums in thought, eventually releasing you from his clutches. “I see. . . Then, have you considered other ways of pledging your allegiance to our cause?” 

Instinctively, you hide your left arm from his sight. “My Lord,” you begin, wondering how much longer you can address him as such without throwing up in his lap. “The only reason there isn’t much backlash to your. . . merciful endeavors is because Mother and I have ensured that the Daily Prophet’s eyes are elsewhere. The Ministry is blindsided, and no one expects a mondaine darling to be under your influence,” you say, desperation pouring from each word. 

You don’t want to carry his Mark. Not ever. You can endure it—you can endure it all so long as you aren’t eternally condemned to his name. 

“Take that away, and you’ll face significant repercussions,” you threaten boldly. “I promise you that. They look away because of me.” 

For every village and family terrorized, you had shifted the public’s attention to your facetious behavior. Throwing galas left and right, appearing out in public with various partners—you had done it all to bury the looming war. Rita Skeeter is at your beck and call. For every attack, your face is plastered on the front page. For every cry for help, the Ministry is busy dealing with trivial matters that your mother has proposed—such as anti-werewolf bills. 

And Voldemort would never notice that you’ve been thieving covert information from right under his nose and delivering it anonymously to a rising organization known as the Order of the Phoenix. 

(You’re also not pleased that they share similarities to your non de plume, the Firebird, but you suppose that is the least of your worries.) 

If Molly Weasley comes across a sealed letter on the steps of Grimmauld Place, with complete details and addresses of Death Eater hiding places, it is no one’s business but the Order’s—and yours. 

For every life taken, you remember that Muggle father in your mother’s cellar. It may not be today, it may not be tomorrow—but you’ll dismantle the pureblood society yourself. All of them, one by one. 

Tom Riddle smiles, and you realize that no one threatens him and gets away with it unscathed. 

A day before you’re set to return to Hogwarts for your seventh-year, the Malfoy Manor is pervaded by your gut-wrenching screams. 

There you are, little Firebird with your wings clipped, writhing on the floor of Lucius Malfoy’s guest room—the Cruciatus curse surging through your veins like molten lava threatening to burn you from the inside out. You hear Narcissa and Missus Fawley’s voices blend into a cacophony of panic. They’re shouting for various things: warm towels, bandages, essence of Dittany, and water. Regulus’s hold on you is tight, near-suffocating, even. 

But you don’t feel anything other than the mutilated flesh of your arm. 

You scream, cry, and scream again—you feel his magic over and over again. Branding you. The ink blends into your skin—but it’s not your skin anymore. A part of you now will always belong to him. 

Bile rises to your throat. 

Tears fall from your eyes. 

(How cold is the floor? You don’t even care anymore.)

And, the worst part is that no one can see it. Riddle charmed it perfectly to coalesce against your skin tone. But you see it. You see the skull and the stupid, wriggling snake. You see Tom Riddle’s monstrous glee as he drives his wand into your arm—Abraxas and Lucius holding you down as you thrash and flail. Your only reprieve was your mother was there, cradling your head to her chest, blocking out their malignant laughter. (You can’t believe you never noticed, but your mother had been branded, too.) 

“I’ll. . . kill him,” you say to yourself, blood and saliva trickling from your lips. If it is the last thing you’ll ever do, you will have Voldemort’s head on a silver platter. 

“Don’t be foolish,” Narcissa scolds, tipping your mouth upwards to swallow the drops of Dittany. “None of us have the power to do that. We just have to make do with the life that we’re given.” 

“I promise. . .  you,” you gurgle through the searing pain, gasping for air, clawing at her arms. “I’ll destroy them all.” 

You pass out in her arms. 

When you awake, you’re on a train to Hogwarts, left arm bandaged and hidden under the sleeve of your school robes. 

You don’t bother attending your classes—seeing no more purpose in Transfiguration and Herbology when you’re just a pawn in someone’s, everyone’s plans, apparently. The professors express their concern when you no longer turn in your homework or assigned projects. Once again, you barely see the need to. Your meals during breakfast, lunch, and dinner go untouched. You stay away from Narcissa, Vittoria, Isadora, Lucius, and Regulus. Your only friends, Amos and Amelia, stay away from you, too, having seen news of your promiscuity in the Daily Prophet. You scoff internally—you’ve never even had your first kiss yet. But even that seems like a distant dream. 

You are tired. 

How much longer do you have to play this part? How much more of yourself do you have to give? 

You’re only seventeen—how can you even hope to defeat Voldemort like this? 

The castle walls have dulled, and you drift through the corridors like a wearisome ghost. The once colorful world that you have been brought into now pales in the face of curses, spilt blood, and the Mark on your arm. You wonder what would happen—if you just run away now. 

Why should you be the one to bear the burdens of this duty thrust upon you? Why do people like James Potter and Sirius Black find loyalty and a real family within Hogwarts, and there is no one willing to fight for you? 

Perhaps, you have no one else to blame but yourself. 

Rita Skeeter publishes her article on the growing rift between you and Vittoria Zabini—claiming that you had stolen her beau from her.

You toss the newspaper into the fire. 

Some nights, you don’t bother returning to the Hufflepuff dormitories anymore. You know what they think. You know what they say behind your back. 

For the third time this week, you find yourself at the top of the Astronomy Tower, legs dangling from the edge of the window, eyes blankly staring at the horizon—if you run towards there, you wonder how long it will take before they find you. The cold nips at your cheeks, but you barely feel anything other than a gnawing emptiness.

Your gaze falls to the ground below, thirty, fifty meters from where you sit. 

Maybe. . . 

If you move a few inches forward. . . 

If you just fly. 

You’d be free. 

“Oh, I didn’t know this window was occupied.” You loosely turn your head to find Remus Lupin standing before you with a crooked grin, hands shoved in his pockets as he awkwardly shuffles one foot over the other. He raises his arms up in surrender. “I guess I’ll. . . find somewhere else to brood.” 

I don’t care. 

Go away. 

I want to die.

If I disappear, would you care? Would anyone? 

You rest your head back on the windowsill, hugging your legs to your chest. 

Starlings chirp and fly past you—how liberating it must be, to soar in the skies. But all you can do is watch enviously. Powerless, little songbird with no more lullabies to sing and no more wings to fly with. 

You let your weight shift over the window. 

Maybe if you fall, you could see what it’s like to fly. 

“H-Hey! Don’t—!” Remus quickly snatches your hand and pulls you into his embrace—the both of you tumbling to the floor. You feel his chest heaving, arms trembling around you, and the sound of his rapid heartbeat. His eyes are wide as he looks over your face for any injuries. “Why would you do that? Are you mad?”

You sigh. 

Maybe tomorrow, then. 

“Oi!” Remus pokes your shoulder. “Don’t just ignore me! You scared the piss out of me, you know? Bloody hell.” His shoulders slump in relief, and he takes another peek at you—just to make sure you’re still in front of him. “A-Are you okay?” he asks softly, afraid to spook you further away. “Do you want to talk about it or anything?” 

You shrug. “Nothing to talk about.”

His gaze flickers from you to the window ledge. “I think that’s a big something to talk about, honestly. B-But I get it. Really. No judgment.” 

An unwilling chortle escapes past your lips. Remus Lupin and his marauding bunch of lions would never understand the burden you have to carry each day for the rest of your life.

Remus scratches the back of his head with a wolfish grin. “Hey. . . listen. We don’t know each other all that well—so this is going to sound terribly weird. But would you like a hug?”

He opens his arms wide enough for you to fit—and you stare at him in horror. “C’mon, then. It really seems like you need it. And honestly, I kind of need it, too, especially after a scare like that.” 

You stay silent. 

He shakes his hands, beckoning you forward, golden hair flopping over his eyes. “I don’t bite. Promise. One hug and we’ll go on pretending like we don’t know each other tomorrow. Marauder’s honor.”

“I haven’t done anything to deserve your kindness,” you say with a prominent sneer—certainly not kindness from him. It must be another prank of theirs. You wait for Peter Pettigrew and Sirius to jump out and spray you with garlic juice. 

Remus smiles. “I think you’ll find that my kindness is freely given.” 

You nibble on your bruised lip. 

Could you really? 

Maybe just this once. 

You’re only human, magic as you are. 

You take one step forward. 

Then another. 

Another.

Until you fall right into his arms, and you inhale the scent of honey, milk raspberry chocolate, and cedarwood. The warmth of his arms around you is real. His voice is real. He whispers cruel words into your ear, “You’re alright, love. Let it out. I’m here.” You burrow your head deep in the crook of his neck. The sound of his heartbeat is real. He tightens his hold around you, and the ground underneath feels real. For a few moments, you don’t feel like you’re floating away into oblivion. 

Maybe you’d stay alive—for a few more days. 

To do what is right. 

To endure. 

Perhaps, tomorrow will be easier—if such kindness is real, maybe you’re allowed to seek it for yourself every now and then. 

But your nightmare doesn’t end when you’re awake—it takes you by the throat when you find yourself summoned to the Malfoy Manor on Hallow’s Eve. 

You’re not the only one caught by surprise. One by one, Tom Riddle’s followers apparate into the dining room, stumbling inside with a bewildered expression. Their Dark Lord has called for them in the dead of night—it must be for something important. You stiffen, sinking into Lucius’s shadow. You search for your mother but she doesn’t appear to be anywhere in the room. Someone brushes their hands against yours—Narcissa. She stands by your side, face impassive, her pupils frantically trying to make sense of the situation. 

Then, Tom Riddle finally apparates into the room, startling you for a fraction of a second. Not far behind is Abraxas, Cyprian, the Lestranges, Bellatrix, and finally—

Your mother. 

Fawley looks worse for wear, her skin sinking into her bones, clothes tattered, and her face littered with bruises. Bellatrix drags her across the floor, hair wrapped around her hands. 

You move to stop Bellatrix, anger blinding your vision—Narcissa tightens her grip on your wrist, subtly shaking her head. You rip your hand away from her. 

“We have found a traitor in our midst!” Bellatrix cackles, throwing your mother to the ground—your fists clench, swallowing each lump in your throat with rage blinding your vision. “I caught the bitch helping the McKinnons escape!” 

“No,” you whisper, dread knocking you backwards—it just isn’t possible. The two of you had always been careful. Bellatrix hits her again, and you have to restrain yourself from marching forward and cursing her from where she stands. 

One moment of weakness, that is all Tom Riddle needs. He finds you in the crowd with ease. The crowd of Death Eaters part like the red sea, and you steel yourself with Occlumency before you are sharply pulled forward, the mark on your left arm blistering as though a hundred needles are driving into your skin repeatedly.

“If the mother is a blood traitor, the child is sure to follow!” Bellatrix hisses, spit flying into the floor, her eyes gleaming with maniacal glee.

Voldemort cruelly holds your jaw in his hand, nails digging into your flesh, threatening to break through your bones. “Is this true?” he asks, drawing blood from your skin. “Tell me!” 

“No!” you cry out, kicking and punching to get away from his hold. “It’s not—let me go! That is my mother! You’re hurting her! She’s sick!”

“That,” Riddle’s eyes flash with hostility, breath hot on your skin, “is a betrayer to our cause.” 

“She’s not!” you scream.

“How did she find out, then?” Voldemort flings you to the ground—immediately, you rush to your mother, gathering her in your arms. Tom Riddle cocks his head and you’re blasted into the walls—you feel his Legilimency trying to force its way in, exploiting your pain and shock. But you won’t let him in. He’ll have to pry your memories from your cold, dead body.

The pain is searing—you’re being torn apart from limb to limb. Your mark is burning, head throbbing from a concussion, and still fighting against Riddle’s magic. Through your blurry haze, you see Lucius holding Narcissa back from running to you. “We’re not traitors!” you cry out desperately, crawling pathetically to your mother’s listless body. “I swear!”

Voldemort sneers just before he points his wand at your mother. “Crucio!”

“No! No! Stop it! Please! Please, stop it!” you beg on the ground as your mother helplessly writhes on the floor, the Cruciatus curse reducing the once austere Agatha Fawley to a whimpering mess. “You’re killing her!”

Tom snarls, “Good.”

Bellatrix digs her claws into your neck, her laughter resounding throughout the manor—you swallow the sobs down your throat as she drives her wand into your flesh. “Your mummy over there is done for. But you—our precious jewel, you can still prove your loyalty to our Dark Lord.” 

She puts your wand and closes your fist over the wood—your eyes grow wide as you thrash in her hold, screaming as she forces you to look at Fawley. “Kill her. And you may live.” 

“Just say it,” Bellatrix whispers in your ear. “Two little words. You’ve already done this before, pet—the second time should be easy enough!”

“No!” you knock your head back into her nose, slipping away as her hold loosens and she screams profanities at you—but to your misfortune, Voldemort captures you, like a defenseless bunny running into a starving snake. 

“Mum, wake up, please!” 

You cry out helplessly, sobbing as Voldemort forces you to watch the life gradually fade away from her blue eyes. Her magic envelops you—and you remember warm holidays spent by the fire, Muggle storybooks before bed, surprising you with breakfast in bed for your birthdays. It’s a warm feeling, a stark contrast to Tom Riddle’s invasive magic. Her voice echoes in your head one last time.

“Thank you for showing me what love feels like, if not for a moment. I am sorry I could not show it as a proper mother would.”

“Kill her!” Voldemort rages into your ear. 

You watch as Fawley’s eyes drift to a close, an act of resignation. “It’s okay, my darling,” she whispers tiredly. “I. . . can rest now.”

For the second time in your life, you point your wand at someone’s heart—this time, it’s your mother’s. 

“What are you waiting for?” Bellatrix asks, twitching menacingly. “Kill her! Before I do it myself!” 

There’s a faint smile on her face. 

“I’m. . . sorry.”

Those are Agatha Fawley’s last words before you take away her life.

The incantation falls so delicately from your lips, an act of mercy for the woman you once called your mother and your greatest tormentor. 

But your eyes are on one person and one person only.

Tom Riddle. 

“Avada Kedavra!”

He will know your pain.

Not today, not tomorrow.

But you’ll destroy them all, one by one.

a/n: THERE IS KISSING IN THE NEXT SCENE I PROMISE.... AND TRUST MY LILY LOVERS WE WILL GET OUR REDEMPTION ARC SKDJHFGKJH and sirius lovers too,, but yall are well-fed every day so.. next part has the yule ball, likee,, there's no way THAT becomes angsty.. if you saw a plot-hole, no you didn't just CRY and enjoy sdhgsdf... come tell me what you thought!! (if you have any constructive criticisms, just come to my dms BUT PLS BE VERY GENTLE.... oh and don't hesitate to tell me if i accidentally wrote anything super specific like height, skin color, etc.!!) i promise to better in the final part!!!! (there's only two parts to this fic.) I LOVE YEW I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS STORY AAAAAAAAAAAA

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hello! I've read your soap and price fics and you are amazing!!!

I had an idea for a fic for Ghost. The reader would be Soaps slightly older sister who isnt like Johnny at all. Im thinking she either picks up soap from base after an op or from the bar. I'll leave alot of this up to you but i just wanna see Soaps Sister meeting Ghost!!

Brother's Coworker

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Soap's Sister!Reader

SYNOPSIS: In the dim illumination of the streetlights, Ghost lays eyes on a woman leaning against the body of a vintage Hillman Imp.

WORDCOUNT: 4.2k

WARNINGS: Little bit of angst, but mostly fluff and pre-relationship pining, loads of sibling banter, conflicting emotions, etc.

A/N: Finally able to use my sibling experiences for a fic lmfao, enjoy!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The woman was leaning against the body of a vintage Hillman Imp, the custom color a deep forest green along the sides and a cream white coating the upper third. Ghost stared at her as the rest of the men filed out of the bar one after the other—Johnny and Gaz being especially loud. He blinks slowly, hands inside his blackened pockets.

Across the way, your ears perk slowly at the sound of rapturous shouts, but you only continue to look down the sidewalk at the long illuminations of street lamps and the glints of broken bottles on the ground. Over your chest, your hands shift in their hold on your biceps, your thin jacket crinkling. Light dances in your irises.

“Oi, is that who I think it is?!” Familiar Scottish drawl brings a smirk to your face, and you turn slowly to huff, snapping out of your silent thoughts. 

“Who else would it be, ya bloody git,” your voice carries, but it lacks the sheer volume of your brother’s; the great boom that reminds you of the bombs he’d used to make out of your mother’s hair spray bottles. 

Never a dull day in your childhood home, really.

“‘Bout gave me a heart attack, not answerin’ my calls like that!” Johnny laughs loudly, obviously drunk, and stumbles over merrily. You’re taken into a chest-breaking hug in mere moments, leaving you squirming with a deep grunt. “Should have your head, MacTavish.” You manage to squeak out, “Put me the fuck down, you horror. And what in the hell have you done to your hair?!”

“Oh, my dear sister.” Your brother lets you go as the three other men slink over, amused with the scene but some momentarily confused by the sudden introduction. Gaz laughs, and the Captain huffs a chuckle before fixing the position of his beanie on his head. 

Ghost, as always, chooses to watch like a looming shadow above the rest. 

Johnny puts a hand to his chest, the other remaining on your shoulder, “You wound me. Such cruelty stuck in your black soul; I say now, mother was always right—”

You smack the side of his head and Johnny grunts. 

“Ow!” He yells, glaring at you. “What the fuck?!” 

“Open your mouth again and I’ll wring you out, you arse. You know I will.” Grumbling, the Scot rubs the side of his head as you raise a brow at him. The stare-off lasts for a decent bit, and before the rest of the group knows what’s going on, the two of you are embracing each other once more; laughing loudly. 

Ghost’s eyebrows pull in slowly.

“Ah, it’s good to be back!” Johnny chuckles, holding you close as you pat his back.

“Of course, I’d find my kid brother at a damn pub on his first day home.” Taking a step away from the hulk of a boy, you brush down your shirt and jacket with a scoff. Looking up, you come to face the remaining men with an exasperated look. “He’s full of shite half the time, y’know, now. Can’t imagine what he puts you all through.”

“Bloody hell, Soap, you were holding out on us,” Gaz chuckles loudly, sticking out a hand for you to shake while he glances at the mohawked Scot who looks giddy despite being insulted by who’s very obviously his older sister. “Never knew you had siblings, Mate.” You take the man’s hand as he smiles brightly at you. 

“Kyle.” He says, and you beam back, “But Gaz’ll do just fine.”

“A pleasure,” your voice carries to John who you raise a brow at teasingly. “Well, look who the Reaper’s yet to drag down…Good to see you again, Captain.”

Price shakes his head, a smirk peeling his lips as Gaz steps back. 

“Still on that land of yours, then, Love?” The brunette asks gruffly, leaning back on his heels for a moment while you sag your side into Johnny’s arm. Your brother scoffs and loops his limb over the bridge of your shoulders as you nod. 

“You know it. Proper quiet when the neighbors aren’t up to a ruckus racin’ down the streets. Christ, those kids are devils—worse than Johnny and I when we were young.”

“Now that’s hard to believe, eh?” The man beside you laughs through his slurred words and you roll your eyes. 

Chuckling in return, you blink, spying on the intent black figure behind everyone else. Piercing brown eyes dig past flesh like a scalpel while you tilt your head to the side, interest alighting behind your skull. He doesn’t move or even greet you, just looks over you and then turns his attention to the street like a roaming bear would; hell, he certainly could be a bear with how big he was. Bigger than Johnny, even. 

This stranger wears a large brown leather jacket, the hood of his underclothes pulled up to cover most of the pale skin that would otherwise be visible. The long swish of light lashes captures you as you study the way he blinks slowly across the road. On his chin and on the top of his forehead, the fabric of a skeletal-painted balaclava shrouds him. Cargo pants and large black combat boots sit on his feet. 

He stands like a statue. 

“Who’s this then?” You call easily, and those eyes travel back to you even as the head doesn’t. It’s strange the way you seem to brush aside the blatant intimidation he exudes simply by standing.

“Ah,” John grunts, chuckling, before stepping to the side. “Simon, introduce yourself.” 

A low voice lowly wafts after a moment to silence, Manchester accent spearing you in the ears with its rough make-up, “Ghost.” 

You blink over at the Captain, but he just shakes his head and you move on. Johnny chuckles and whispers to you, “Don’t mind ‘em, Lt’s a bit rough around the edges.”

Plastering on a polite smile, your chin moves in a nod, “Pleasure to meet you, Ghost. Good to know the other two who look after Johnny out there.” The man beside you feels his face burn, free hand going to itch at his neck.

Ghost grunts and shrugs off the veiled praise, large muscles stiff.

“You’re actin’ like I’m not the one savin’ their skins half the time,” Gaz interjects on the Scot’s point.

“Is that what you call it?” You share an amused glance at John. 

Though, your eyes always sway back to Ghost, or Simon, depending on who you ask. He listens to the chatter, obviously, but he seems much more content to only stay with his hands inside of his pockets and study the street for...what exactly? The beast wasn’t shy, no, just…silent. If you didn’t know better you’d call him aggressively casual with the way his shoulders sit.

Stance relaxed but the underlying threat was palpable on the wind. Like a wolf rubbing his cheeks on the ancient trees of his territory. ‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ - it seems his very DNA states that.

Brown eyes suddenly lock with your own as if snapping into place and before you can release a squeak of alarm, you swiftly dart your gaze away back to the arguing Sergeants; face burning.

Christ, how long had you been staring at him?

“Alright, you two, ease off it!” Trying to distract yourself, you wave a hand. “You’re both too drunk to be gettin’ into street fights at this hour. Johnny, into the car ya fool.” 

Your brother slashes you with a grin.

“Fuckin’ finally, a decent bed!” It was tradition to give Johnny the spare room when he was back home—proper meals. 

“You’re callin’ mother, y’know.” You unlock your car and motion to the passenger seat with a frown. “I dinnae care if you’re trapped for hours—give the woman a rest of all her worrying.” 

“You heard the woman, Sergeant,” John forces the gravel out of his throat, rubbing at his beard. Something hits your chest as your brother opens his door as you stand in the cold. You glance at each man in turn; eyebrows pulling in with thought.

“Ah, what the hell,” your voice huffs out. Ghost watches you closely, blinking as he lifts a hand to itch at his neck from under his hood. The leather jacket crumples with tiny shifts of worn-out material. 

“Don’t suppose you boys need any good beds to rest your heads on for the night?” Wiggling your keys, you pat the top of your Hillman as you slide to the driver's side. Johnny slinks inside his own and chuckles as he closes the barrier with a careful thunk. 

“Hospitality finally leakin’ in?”

“Next time I hit ya,” you send him a bland look, “I’ll aim for the neck.” Fake flinching towards him, the man squeaks and snaps quickly back into the car door as you snicker lively. 

“Beast!” Johnny exclaims. You roll your eyes and shimmy down the window behind him, calling out as the rest share glances.

“Get in if you’re comin’ over! If not all the food I made yesterday’ll go to waste!” That seemed to get Gaz into the back, with only Price and Simon left behind. 

Brown meets blue and John’s beard pulls back with a smirk. He clears his throat, “Well, I’m not one to spit in her face.” The Captain walks over and grunts as he bends down. 

Ghost sighs under his breath and follows, impartial as to where this night is going. He wouldn’t sleep tonight, no doubt. The hard and unforgiving beds on base were the only things he could rest on now save the ground. And food? He could go without food for days.

Though, being Johnny’s sister bought you some favor, trust wasn’t something that Simon gave around freely. But the car you drove was nice, and the company of his Task Force was easy to basque in until they shipped out again. 

Simon sits down on the refurbished seat and softly closes the door behind him. Dead-eyed, he stares at Johnny’s headrest as you glance at him from the rearview mirror—seeing his shoulder dig into the glass of the window. 

You shove down a joke and hum. “Good, then, it’ll free my fridge at the very least.” 

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Gaz offers as you start up the engine, “it’s awfully nice of you to do this for us.”

“Ah,” Simon hears you dismiss as he turns to stare out of the window; so often feeling his gaze drawn back to you as a leaf attached to a tree might act. “Don’t worry your head about it. I like the company.” 

“Aye, just how she is,” Johnny says earnestly. “Was always the one to let me over with my pals when the football games were over—’cept we were usually covered in mud.”

“I’m still finding grass in my rugs, Johnny Boy,” you mumble, focusing on the road as a slight squeaking emanates from the front of the car. Simon picks up on it easily, not preoccupied with speaking. He glances at you but mentions nothing beyond a shuffling of his thighs. 

Outside the land slides past in shades of verdant green and gray as the town falls away. 

He was confused, rightly. You’d seen his standoffish nature but had chosen to extend hospitality as the old Greeks did just off a growl of his name. But maybe it was just because he was your brother’s coworker. 

Simon grunts to himself and rubs at his wrist. Throughout the ride, the two of you would glance at each other and try to forget that you had; when the long driveway of a large secluded home expands out above the car, Gaz whistles lowly.

“Bloody hell, Ma’am,” he states and John chuckles. You easily smile and roll your eyes. 

“Trust me, it was more work than it was worth.” Ghost’s attention is slightly peaked.

“You worked on it?” His tone implies he doesn’t care, but his eyes gore into the mirror to lock with your own. Blinking in surprise, even the others seem to be taken aback by the man's lack of venom in his speech. 

Ghost wasn’t afraid to speak his mind when he needed to, but he didn’t do mindless chatter. Your eyes cycle between the driveway and the masked Brit before you clear your throat. Johnny glances at you with a raised brow, slight confusion in his brows. 

“Mostly—left the nasty bits to people more knowledgeable than I am, but I did most of the grunt work, eh?” Simon hums as the car pulls to a stop inside the garage, eyes not leaving the back of your head. 

Your neck bristles at the sensation of unrelenting contact, but the burning that joins it is telltale. Licking your lips you twist the keys out and quickly shuffle out of the door to dispel the electricity in the air. 

“Alright,” you say, “out. All of ya…Johnny, you’ll be helping me with the bedding.” 

A groan is cut by an unimpressed glare. “...Yes, Ma’am.”

You huff and smirk. 

“Trainin’ him well I see,” teasing John as they all file out of the car, he shakes his head at the two of you as Simon scoffs. Gaz openly laughs as Soap’s offended look grows. 

You all enter the house as you direct them to the kitchen after they’ve taken off their boots and hung their jackets. “It’s all in the fridge, heat what you want, and don’t bother fightin’ Johnny if he takes too much. Tell me and I’ll make him sleep in the back near the chickens.” Your voice tells them as you pat your brother on the shoulder. 

Johnny grumbles and kisses the top of your head. “You’re horrible to me,” He jokes but his eyes shimmer with affection. As you leave to get a head start on the rooms, you smile and call out to him.

“That’s my job!” 

Backing out into the hallway, you leave with a deep well of happiness in you. You don’t even realize that the party had only contained three men instead of four until you’re in the linen closet and a shadow suddenly blacks out the light from the bulbs. Jumping slightly, your head swivels as you carry very many sheets and pillowcases in your grip. 

“Oh,” you mumble through cotton, smile growing as the flip in your stomach does, “Ghost! Done eating already?” 

The man is still and silent as he glances from your face to the sheets. Without a word, he halves the load and steals them as your jaw loosens in shock.

“Johnny’s outside callin’ your mum.” Ghost turns and walks out, but waits for you in the hallway to be directed. 

You push down the tightness to your throat and see the man’s feet shift on the hardwood. He looks funny, such a big man carrying bed sheets. His actions make your heart speed up. Brown eyes blink at you like a cat. 

“Well,” you chuckle, “always was one to get out of housework.” Trying a smidge more, you shift past him and turn off the light. “His barracks room dirty?”

“Pigsty.” Simon blandly states, walking slightly behind you. Your pace slows so you can stay beside him. He side-eyes you but says nothing. 

Leaning in slightly, you quip as Ghost tenses, “Can’t say I’m surprised. The man’s used to me bailin’ him out.” Chuckling, you go into the first bedroom and put everything on the bed. 

Simon grabs the pillows and starts to dress them quickly and efficiently. 

“But thank you,” you say, and the Brit pauses to look up at you, something swirling in his murky gaze. Earnestly, you tilt your head with a smile. “Ya can go back and eat more if you want. No need to help—you’re a guest.”

“Not hungry,” is all he answers, and gets back to work. You watch for a moment, perplexed, but not at all about to deny the assistance. A genuine grin twitches your lips. 

“Johnny writes about you, y’know,” your fingers pull at the fabric and you chuckle as Ghost’s incredulous look turns to you—face hidden but confusion is obviously seen. “Says he looks up to you quite a bit; something about Mexico.” 

Your face dips slightly, and Simon’s body stills. Along the pillow, his grip carefully tightens. He can’t find it in himself to walk out of the door and stand outside even if he knows he should. 

“I really can’t imagine what it’s like,” you mutter, shaking your head. Gazing at him, you study his wound muscles and secret flesh like a tapestry—wondering if he hides himself because of the safe anonymity or a sense of numb fear. 

He wouldn’t admit to either, you know. But something about Simon had captured your attention and now you had a face, or just a body really, to put to the written name like a puzzle piece. 

You take a long breath, “But you’ll never know how grateful I am.” 

By the way his chest stops moving and his body goes frozen, you think you hit something inside of him; the minute widening of his eyelids like pedals opening in the light. Simon peers at your expression, his eyes sliding from one point to another. 

Like he can’t really pinpoint what you want. 

Ironic really, because you didn’t want anything. 

“Don’t thank me,” is what he settles on, moving back to the pillow as if your words hadn’t stabbed him. “Johnny knows what he’s doing.”

Your small snort enters the air above the sliding sheets. “There’s no argument there.” A sigh echoes as you finish up, putting your hands on your hips. Across the bed, you two stare as Simon tosses down the pillows. The remainder of the sheets sit on the end of the bed. 

The man’s eyes narrow on you, and he clenches his jaw under his balaclava. 

“The only thing that I do know is that every time my brother comes back he smiles less than he did before.” You side-eye him seriously as you move. “I can only guess what all of it does to the others who don’t have anyone else to go back to.”

Simon’s breath halts in his chest before he finds the means to take down a slow inhale. Brown eyes glare intently, jaw tight, but it’s not the fire that gets to you…it’s the lack thereof.

Ghost doesn’t like this feeling, and your candidness was something he hadn’t expected.

“So,” you drawl, “I’m thanking you for giving him someone to joke around with—a distraction,” a teasing smirk, “no matter how blunt.” 

“I just told you—”

“Well, I don’t bloody care, do I?” Huffing, you smirk and tip your head back before snatching the rest of the sheets. “C’mon, we have three more rooms.” 

Simon watches you leave and tries to fight the rampage in his chest; the merciless slam of his heart to his ribcage. What had you done to him? A hand comes up and rubs into the bridge of his nose, fingers heavy and tight. 

What in the hell was going on? 

Growling under his breath, Ghost stalks out of the room only to see your back disappear into the next. In the hallway, he takes a long inhale and closes his eyes to steady himself. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” the man grunts. The tension in his shoulders was plainly visible. 

For the remainder of the room, Ghost would send you tight glances as he worked but didn’t utter another peep. You had taken his voice, or what little left of it there was. 

In many ways, you were like your loudmouth brother—your snark and your stubbornness. But you were different too. 

He feels his eyes trail down your form slowly from time to time. Capable; hardy. Simon blinked away and grunted under his breath aggressively. 

When everyone was done with their food and Johnny had come back in from his call to his mother, with a soft smile on his face, you knew it was time for bed. 

“Alright,” you strut into the kitchen with Ghost on your heels—his large arms crossed over his chest as he caught Soap's intense stare. The Lieutenant's brow raises, but Johnny only frowns in conspiracy before he looks over to you and itches at his chin. “Beds are made. You can all thank Simon for that, seein’ as Johnny used our mother as an excuse yet again.”

“And she was very pleased to hear from me!” Your brother points to you.

“She’s our mother,” you deadpan, “It’s her job to be, ya arse-face.” 

The boys all follow you down the halls as you point to the rooms. Gaz shakes your hand again and gives you a tiny hug in thanks while John pats your shoulder and calls a soft, “Goodnight, Sweetheart.” 

Both close their doors and you hear the large sighs through the wood. You have to wonder when they’d had a good bed to sleep on and a good meal. Last was your brother and Ghost, the latter of which kisses your head and hugs you tightly. 

“It’s good to see you, truly. Been missing you, little Hen. Thanks for lettin’ me over all the time when I’m home.” You melt and grip his shirt. 

“You’ll always have a place here, you know that. One call away…Now go to sleep. You smell like a pub.” He lightly chuckles against you. With a bond this tight, the two of you never had to say that you loved each other—it was just known.

Johnny squeezes you one last time before pulling away and slinking into his room, giving an unrecognizable glance to Ghost on his way in before the barrier slips into place with a quiet thunk of wood. The two of you look at and stare for a moment. 

“Lucky you,” your voice is quiet but easy to hear, “you get the room with a view of the field.” 

“Color me surprised,” he mutters, not looking enthusiastic. Against the tone, the look makes your mouth jerk in a laugh, and you cover your lips after a moment. 

Simon’s eyes unconsciously soften. 

You wave a hand, chest light, “Let’s go then, you brute.”

“Brute?” Simon grumbles, “Gettin’ familiar?” 

“Please,” you shake your head and walk to the last door in this section of the house. “You all became familiar the second we met.” 

The man rolls his eyes but has his smirk hidden as you open the door for him. He tilts his head in thanks and strolls inside.

You hum, crossing your arms ahead of you and leaning on the doorframe as he looks around, “Don’t think too much over it… The baseline is, you’ll always have a bed here if you need it.” 

Ghost slips out, “What are you? Bloody boarding house?” The swelling in his chest made his words harsher than intended, but you just smile cheekily at him as eyes lock.

“Hell’s bells, if you want ta’ get me a business card just go ahead and print ‘em off already. I’ve no problem with it.” He stares and you laugh, shrugging. “Makes me feel good.”

Splaying your hands, you back out. 

“I know you probably won’t sleep,” Simon pauses, feeling caught but not showing it. “Libraries down the hall—if you smoke, use the back door. Kitchen is free game.”  

“Why?” He asks and you blink, confused.

“Well, why not?” Simon glares.

“You shouldn’t trust people like that.” A loud laugh echoes and makes the man annoyed with you.

“Simon,” you say, and he finds himself hanging on every word that falls from your lips in the moonlight. “Not everyone is out to get you. If you’re friends of Johnny’s, then you’re friends of mine. That boy can sniff a cheat faster than a hound can find a hare.” Perhaps it was the way his shoulders went back at that, or how his brows loosened, but you finish off with a soft explanation. “You’re safe under this roof.”

You wondered, not for that last time that night, if he’d ever been told that. From how his balaclava moved with a sharp jerk of his jaw, you assumed never. It made your lungs hurt. 

With a few more seconds of quiet gazing you nod and move back. 

“Goodnight, Simon.” You leave him staring at the door as you close it—eyes boring into the grain so harshly they might catch fire. 

Ghost doesn’t know how long he stays like that, but his ears twitch at the echo of running water and soundless footsteps. He should leave, he tells himself; this is dangerous, a voice hisses. It’s not safe here, how could it be? There were no guards—no weapons. If someone were to sneak in there wouldn’t be an alarm. 

A secluded home. Nothing around. 

Then why had your words seeped into him?

“You’re safe under this roof.” Simon closes his eyes harshly.

—

In the morning once everyone’s gone back to the base, you admit you don’t know if you’ll see Simon again; you probably won’t. But you find that you can live with that. The memory of his loosening tension is all you need to feel special in your own right. Those brown eyes that, if but for a moment, had bled so effortlessly feelings of something other than blood and death. 

As you sigh a dreamy chuckle to yourself, you get ready for the day before heading to your Hillman. The silent drive to work joins with the strange mix of weight and levitation to your chest. But halfway into town, it hits you. 

Silent.

There is an obvious lack of squeaking from under the hood of your car as you slide along the countryside. 

The smile doesn’t leave your face for weeks.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[v1si0n]

JUST GIVE ME A REASON (J.JH)🪐

SUMMARY: you didn’t think think you could possibly hate performing at your schools spring showcase until you were paired up with your mortal enemy, Jung Jaehyun. but you guys are singing a love song, and god knows what love songs do to youngins like you.

GENRE: enemies(ish) to lovers , college au, performance arts majors! y/n and jaehyun, humor, fluff, tiny bit of angst, lovers in denial but its just y/n LMFAO

WARNINGS: profanity, jokes about death, inaccurate depictions of performance arts majors, jaehyun and y/n are constantly at each others necks but in a kinda cute way…?

NOTES: AHHHHHH my first actual written piece!!!! i’ve had this fic partially finished for a LONG ass time and i’m finally releasing it for you lovelies to read💗💗💗hope you love it as much as i do :)

WORD COUNT: 15.5k

TAGLIST: @shiningnono @stickwme2 @mmjhh1998 @bluedbliss @peachfulnight

♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪ (๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪ (๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪ (๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪ (๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪

its in the stars

it’s been written in the scars on our hearts

When Mark Lee told you that Professor Kim would choose the pairs for this year's talent show, you believed it wouldn’t be too bad.

You were wrong. So humiliatingly wrong.

There you were, staring at the bulletin board outside the classroom, shocked and angry to your very core. You read the line with your name over and over again hoping, praying, that it was somehow a typo.

“Jung Jaehyun?! He paired me with Jaehyun?” You shrieked, your best friends Mark and Donghyuck snickering from beside you.

“Hey, he’s a pretty good singer,” Mark nudges you. You glare at him and he holds his hands up in defense.

“He’s a dick is what he is, Mark! You can’t possibly tell me you still like him after what he did to me,” You huff. Mark is scared to answer, but much to his delight, Professor Kim steps out of the classroom to greet students.

“Ah, Y/N! I take it that you’ve seen who I partnered you up with,” he smiles.

“Prof, can I please switch? I’ll perform with anyone else just not him,” you plead and he laughs directly in your face.

“Nope. No changing or switching partners.”

Your eye twitches.

“Prof-“ Your voice is scarily low, and this cues Mark and Hyuck to whisk you into the classroom.

“I’ll kill him, I swear,” you grumble.

“Listen bub, just stick with it for this performance. Three weeks of rehearsal and two nights of performances. You can do that,” Hyuck says gently, patting your head in an attempt to calm you down.

You mumble a “fine” under your breath and make your way to your seat. You stare blankly as the students pile into the lecture hall, one of them being the one and only Jung Jaehyun himself. He catches your eye and smirks, obviously having seen the list outside the classroom. You see him stray away from his original seat, making a beeline for the empty seat next to you that you use to hold your bag.

“Hyuck, switch seats with me,” You slap his arm repeatedly.

“What? No, I always sit in the middle,” He brushes you off as he takes out his laptop.

“Mark?”

“Sur- Actually, I think I’m good,” He smirks.

You look at him in confusion and realize he’s watching Jaehyun as he approaches you. He taps Hyuck to alert him, and now they’re both laughing under their breaths. You make a mental note to get new friends.

Jaehyun is now standing in the aisle, beaming at you with a shit-eating grin on his stupid face.

“Hey partner, mind moving the bag?”

“The seats taken,”

“No, it’s not, just move your bag.”

“I don’t want to,”

“Y/N-”

“Here! I’ll take your bag my sweet,” Hyuck pipes up from next to you. You stare at him in horror as he takes your bag and winks at you, placing the bag under his feet.

“Thank you, Donghyuck,” Jaehyun smiles and plops himself down next to you.

“Of course Jaehyun! Any friend of Y/N’s is a friend of ours,” Mark quips, and you burrow your head in your hands with a groan.

You’re banging your head repeatedly on the table as the boys begin talking about the upcoming performance, and you silently pray to yourself that God would take you out at this very moment.

“Aw, don’t act like that, partner! We’re gonna have so much fun.”

Jaehyun puts his arm around you and pulls you closer to him, causing you to thrash around and accidentally elbow Hyuck in the chest. A loud groan is heard throughout the lecture hall and everyone turns to look at him, and Mark offers an apologetic smile.

“Donghyuck and Y/N. Let’s keep quiet back there, yeah?”

You both mumble apologies to Professor Kim and glare at each other. Mark shushes both of you and points toward the front of the class, and you direct your attention to the screen. The words “SPRING SHOWCASE” glare back at you in ugly bold letters.

“Students! As you all know, the spring showcase is only a month away. This year, the music department and I have decided to assign partners rather than letting you choose, as to avoid constant repeats.” (READ: Mark and Hyuck high-five under the table.)

A chorus of complaints is heard throughout the lecture hall, the loudest being you, Mark, and Hyuck. The Spring Showcase was your guys’ favourite time of the year because it meant you three doing what you love most together, then getting to show it to the entire school.

“Prof! The whole point of the spring showcase is to showcase our talents! What if we’re paired with people we don’t work well with?!” You exclaim, and Jaehyun scoffs next to you.

“Yeah, Prof! What if our partner constantly has a stick up her as-“

“Funny! Considering the fact that during the winter showcase the microphone stand actually almost went up your a-”

“That was the tech crew's fault! I didn’t know the mic would rise so soon!”

“Let's avoid talking about such things in the classroom, please.” Professor Kim pipes up. You both roll your eyes at each other and you feel Donghyuck pat your head again.

For the next hour, you’re pretty sure Professor Kim is probably mentioning crucial information about the spring showcase, but all you could think about was the living nuisance that was Jeong Jaehyun. His very presence next to you was driving you up the wall and knowing that you would have to see him every day for a month straight made your face feel hot with rage.

“That’s it for today's class! All pairs must submit their songs by the end of the week! Group rehearsals start as soon as every pair has submitted their song choice.”

Students start slowly trickling out of the lecture hall as others linger around to talk to friends. You slump down into your seat and stare into the distance, Mark and Donghyuck making small talk with Jaehyun as they pack their bags.

“Y/N? Are you listening?” Mark nudges your shoulder gently. You shake your head, still staring off into the distance.

“We said let’s go grab lunch near campus,” Hyuck holds your bag out for you.

“How can you even eat in this situation?” You sigh dramatically.

Your friends roll their eyes at you, while Jaehyun smiles, almost contently, at your misery. He puts a hand on your shoulder, causing you to scowl and turn your head to look at him.

“I’ll see you guys later. I’ll be waiting for your text partner,” He winks at you and you make a face.

“Please run in front of a bus.”

“Only if you’re next to me!” He calls out as he leaves the lecture hall.

You decide right then and there that it wouldn’t be too bad if you were sentenced to death row.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

Fridays usually meant two things for you and your friends: One, the canteen would be serving ice cream, and two, all of your classes ended early.

With that being said, it became a tradition for you three to meet after class at your designated table in the canteen with your respective ice cream cups in hand. However, this Friday was a little different.

“Is that Y/N I see?”

You’re picking at Donghyucks ice cream when you hear an aggravating voice shout from across the room. You cower in your seat out of embarrassment, your friends snickering at the boy desperately trying to get your attention. He rushes over and slides into the seat across from you.

“Y/N? My dearest partner?”

“What the hell do you want, Jaehyun?” you say through gritted teeth.

“Aw, did our sweet little princess Y/N not get enough sleep?” He reaches over to pat your head and you swat his hand away. “Did you think about what song you wanted to do with me?”

“Just give me a reason,” you mumble with a mouthful of ice cream.

“Um, for the showcase? For an honors student, you’re kinda dumb, babe.”

You choke on your ice cream and Mark stifles a laugh from beside you.

“The song. Just Give Me A Reason by P!nk and Nate Ruess.”

Jaehyuns smirk falters. The tips of his ears glow red as Donghyuck stares at him with judgment written all over his sunkissed features.

“Yeah, right.” He clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck. You could practically see the gears turning in his head as he searches for a comeback. “Bit of a hard song for you, no?”

“Worry about yourself and your pre-pubescent voice cracks,” You state calmly, not having to look at him to know you struck a chord.

“That happened-“ He shouts, lowering his voice upon realizing he was getting stares from the people around him, “years ago. My throat was dry.”

“It was last year,” Mark states, earning a pointed glare from Jaehyun.

“Whatever!” He throws his hands up in exasperation and stands up to leave.

“So that’s a yes?” You call after him as he walks away from the table, and he flips you off in return. You take that as a yes.

“Good song choice for you guys to fall in love,” Hyuck mumbles as he licks his spoon clean.

“Pardon?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“A love song for lovebirds. Good one,” He says almost matter of factly, and you look around the cafeteria.

“Are the lovebirds in the room with us?”

“He’s not wrong, you know. Every boy/girl duo that has done a love song ended up in a relationship within 24 hours of the showcase,” Mark points his spoon around as he talks.

“You guys seriously believe that? It’s just Music Department superstition, nothing else to it.”

You swirl your spoon inside your cup of melted chocolate ice cream as you ponder. You vaguely recall the buzz around the two seniors last year who kissed on stage after their duet.

“I can’t believe you’d call it superstition! It’s deep rooted lore thats an important part of our history as music students!” Donghyuck exaggerates.

You roll your eyes as he begins his deep dive into the stories surrounding your department. As he nears the end of his rambling, you feel a tap on your shoulder and turn.

“Yes, Soojin?” You muster a smile as you look at the girl in front of you.

Kang Soojin. Your campuses day one it girl and the bane of your existence. To be fair, you would’ve never had a problem with her had she been a decent human being towards you from the start, but for some unknown reason you found yourself bearing the brunt of her hatred since highschool.

“Why was Jae just talking to you?” Her high-pitched voice pierces your ears and you wince.

“Who?”

“Jaehyun? Jung Jaehyun? Don’t act stupid,” She snaps.

“Oh, he’s my partner for the spring showcase. He was asking what song we should do,” You blink at her.

“Try not to stick around him too much. You’ll rub off on him and I don’t need that,” She snickers before turning on her heel and walking away.

You’re left absolutely flabbergasted, processing her words before turning to your friends with your mouth agape.

“What the fuck?” You whisper, struggling to come to terms with what just happened.

“She does not play about Jaehyun,” Mark lets out a low whistle.

“Why is she talking to me like I want to be around him? I was literally forced into this,” You huff.

“Wait, hold on,” Hyuck starts, hands beckoning you and Mark to come closer. “You guys know Johnny? I heard him telling Doyoung that Jaehyun rejected Soojin in front of all her friends on Valentine's Day. She cried and everything.”

“What an asshole. No wonder why the poor girl is always pissy,” You mumble.

“Maybe she’s pissy towards you because her man wants you,” Mark wiggles his eyebrows and you make a face.

“Ew, no. Never put that into the universe,” You shake your finger at him.

“You won’t be saying that after the spring showcase,” Hyuck sings, licking the last bit of ice cream off his spoon.

You mumble profanities under your breath and narrow your eyes at the boy in front of you, but a tinge of anxiety bubbles in your stomach. As sure as you were that you could never possibly develop feelings for Jaehyun, you truly don’t know what could happen after spending that much time together.

You shudder. You can’t afford to spiral too deep into your thoughts right now, especially in front of Mark and Donghyuck who watch your every reaction like hawks. You let out a fake cough in an attempt to regain composure.

“So, what should we get for lunch?”

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

your head is running wild again

my dear, we still have everything

Your first week of rehearsals with Jaehyun was nothing short of a nightmare.

His incessant teasing and nitpicking had begun to drive you up the wall, and quite frankly you don’t think you’ve ever been closer to crashing out.

“Professor! Y/N won’t act like she’s in love with me and it’s ruining the stage chemistry!” Jaehyun calls out from the stage, much like a fifth grader snitching to their teacher.

It was a Friday evening in the auditorium where your class had been rehearsing for the spring showcase. You and Jaehyun had barely finished singing before his features were taken over by his stupid signature smirk and he asked to stop the song.

“Um, while I don’t believe she needs to pretend to be in love with you, I do believe you are lacking a bit of emotion, Y/N. This is a love song, and well, you don’t exactly look too pleased to be sharing the stage with Jaehyun,” Professor Kim articulates carefully, looking at you expectantly as if he could see the impending breakdown written all over your features.

You offer a tight-lipped smile to your professor, knowing that he was right but you could not, for the life of you, muster a smile in Jaehyun’s presence. “Can another pair go now? I need a minute.”

Professor Kim nods and you quickly walk off, stomping backstage and down the stairs before beelining for the auditorium exit. You push the doors open and step into the corridor, huffing out a breath as you try to collect yourself.

“Great, this is the perfect spot for us to practice,” Jaehyun pipes up from behind you as he shuts the door.

“God, why did you follow me?” You groan, making the mistake of turning around just in time for him to run right into you, “Ever heard of personal space?”

“I’m practicing,” He shrugs, not budging from his spot. You attempt to take a step back but he steps forward, and you swear you were on the verge of a psychotic break.

“Jaehyun, if you don’t step the fuck back-“

“You need to be better at pretending that you love me, so I’m helping you,” He remarks, his smirk widening at the way your face flushes.

“What the hell are you talking about? I don’t need your help,” You put both hands on his chest to push him away, but your efforts prove to be useless when he grabs both of your wrists with one hand and tugs them down.

You can feel the embarrassment start to settle in at the realization that Jaehyun was definitely trying to get a reaction out of you right now, and it was definitely working in his favor. Each step you took back, he took forward, his hand still holding onto your wrists.

“Now if I’m not mistaken,” He pauses, tapping his chin thoughtfully, stepping forward and effectively trapping you against the wall of the corridor, “I think you have a little crush on me, sweetheart.”

You try to rack your brain for any sort of comeback, but all that comes out of you is a weak scoff, “You are mistaken.”

Jaehyun chuckles darkly at your weak argument, the sound sending chills up your spine as you press yourself impossibly closer to the wall.

“Is that so? Is that why you can’t even look me in the eye right now?” He lowers his head so that you’re both face to face, and your cheeks burn a bright red when you indeed can’t meet his scrutinizing glare.

“That’s what I thought,” He scoffs, releasing your hands in favor or pressing both of his against the wall behind you, efficiently caging you in between his arms. “Tell me sweetheart, why do you keep pretending that you hate me?”

The question catches you off guard, your brows furrowing at the accusation that was just thrown at you. You manage to regain your composure for long enough to speak up, “What makes you think I’m pretending?”

“Just a feeling I have,” He shrugs, “and maybe because I let both of your hands go for quite some time now and you have yet to push me away. Would you like to tell me why that is?”

You look down at both of your hands and back up at him, heat rushing up your neck and painting your cheeks a scarlet hue. You shove his chest and let out an exhale when you’re free from the confines of his arms. You mentally curse yourself for standing there gawking at him like an idiot instead of pushing away sooner.

“Both of our lives would be much easier if you admitted it, Y/N,” He sing-songs from behind you, his voice giving away the obvious smirk that was plastered on his face.

“Admitted what?” You turn around with your arms crossed.

“That you like our little game. That you don’t hate me like you want everyone to believe,” He states simply, tucking his hands into his pants pocket.

Something about the way he was so sure of himself almost convinced you that he was right, that maybe you put on this act because there was something ugly and complex buried beneath the surface. Before you can allow your thoughts to consume the space between you and Jaehyun, you shake your head to get rid of them completely.

“You’re delusional,” You mumble weakly, turning to walk back into the auditorium. You can hear Jaehyun’s laugh from behind you and you grimace, quickly walking back to your spot where Mark and Donghyuck look at you with taunting eyes.

“So…you and Jaehyun took quite some time outside. Mind sharing with the class what you two did that has you looking like that?” Hyuck rests his chin in the palm of his hand as he tilts his head curiously at you.

“Looking like what?” You frantically smooth a hand over your hair, uselessly tugging at your top as you try to remain presentable.

“Let’s see. Red cheeks, shaky hands, glossy eyes, and,” Mark pauses to lean in closer to you, inhaling briefly before he nods and pulls away with a hum, “You smell like him.”

Your eyes widen as you bring your arm up to your nose, cursing when the familiar scent of Jaehyun’s cologne tickles your nostrils. “It’s not what you think, we just talked.”

Donghyuck furrows his eyebrows with a slight pout, rubbing his chin in mock thought. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong Mark, but talking to someone usually doesn’t end up with you smelling like them. Am I correct?”

“I’m afraid you are correct, Donghyuck. I’m curious, Y/N. Do you usually go home smelling like one of us after we’ve talked?” Mark prods, and you groan, running a hand over your face in frustration as your friends continue to tease you.

As Mark and Donghyuck continue their unrelenting jokes beside you, your eyes flicker towards Jaehyun’s form as he walks back into the auditorium with his hands in his pockets. His eyes catch yours and his lips immediately curl into a smirk, his left eye dropping to a wink as he regards you with a hint of amusement on his features.

Despite the way you narrow your eyes at him, your body almost doesn’t allow you to look away from him even after his eyes refocus on your professor. Your eyes trail from his eyes to his nose, stopping involuntarily at his lips as he rubs them together. You’re entranced by the way his tongue darts out to wet the surface, and you grow more frustrated by the second at the way the beating of your heart betrays the nagging in your brain that tells you to look away.

For a second, you’re almost convinced he’s doing this on purpose, putting on a show because he knows you’re watching, and your suspicions are confirmed when he turns his head to the side to look at you, his smirk resurfacing when he notices the way your eyes remain on him.

You will yourself to look away, clearing your throat as you try to calm the drumming in your chest. You straighten your posture in the uncomfortable wooden seat before your phone vibrates in your lap and you try to look down at it without drawing Mark or Hyuck’s attention.

jaehyun: still denying it?

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

you’re not broken just bent

and we can learn to love again

Monday mornings were on the long list of things you didn’t like.

It was the only day out of the week that you had a 9 AM class, and to make matters worse you shared that class with none other than the anti-christ himself.

“Psst. Y/N,” Jaehyun whispers from the seat behind you.

You rub at your temples and take a deep breath, doing your best to remain calm and not commit aggravated assault.

As your professor walks in, you turn to get your laptop out of your bag, only to notice it wasn’t hanging on the back of your seat where you left it. You turn to the boy behind you with a pointed glare, and your eyes flick down to your bag in his lap.

“Jaehyun,” You warn.

“Y/N,” He mocks your tone.

“Give it back,” You reach over to grab your bag but he leans back to avoid your touch.

“Why should I?” He teases.

You pinch the bridge of your nose to ease the headache that was forming. “You’re holding my bag and you’re asking me why I need it back?”

“Tell me what you need and I can give it to you,” A taunting smile makes its way onto his face and you feel your composure slowly slipping.

“Jaehyun, I swear to fucking God if you don’t-“

“Alright students, let’s begin our lesson for today. I need all eyes to the front,” Your professor's voice cuts through the room and you clench your jaw.

“You probably need your laptop, don’t you?” Jaehyun jeers, pulling your laptop out and waving it in front of your face. You start to wonder what you did in your past life to deserve this kind of karma.

You grab the laptop from his hands before he can change his mind, turning your attention toward the powerpoint that’s projected onto the screen.

As your professor carries through the lesson, you type your notes fervently to keep up with his words. Your laptop dings and a notification pops up in the corner, causing your eyes to divert from the powerpoint to your screen. Your face sours when you see Jaehyun trying to Airdrop something to you, and you quickly hit decline before refocusing on your professor. You’re only able to regain your focus for a few seconds before another ding catches your attention. You decline the Airdrop request, pulling out your phone and typing out a rather angry message to the idiot behind you.

you: can you stop being annoying im actually trying to pay attention

jaehyun: you’re texting me🥺🥺🥺

jaehyun: what’d you save my name as ;)

you: jaehyun ???????

jaehyun: no heart emojis ?? wheres the love ;(

you: there is none

you: now leave me the FUCK alone or you won’t make it home after class

jaehyun: just accept the airdrop i promise you won’t regret it :))

You roll your eyes at the message before a notification pops up on your phone that makes your jaw drop. It was an Airdrop request from Jaehyun, your screen showing a picture of him standing in the mirror shirtless with his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. You ogle for longer than you’d like to admit, your eyes scanning the dips of his abs and the way his hip bones peek out from the waistband of his sweats. You shake yourself out of your daze, tapping the screen rapidly to decline the request. You see a message from Jaehyun pop up.

jaehyun: like what you see baby?

You peek over your shoulder with your face twisted in disgust and Jaehyun winks at you.

you: not in the slightest

You shut your phone off and put it face down on your desk, attempting to return your attention towards the lesson in front of you, but much to your dismay your mind reels with thoughts of the picture Jaehyun had sent you. The image he sent sears itself into your brain and your heart beats a little quicker against your own will. You clench your teeth in anger that you could only really direct at yourself and the way your mind has begun to waver when it comes to Jaehyun, the line between hatred and something thats definitely not that blurring more as the days go by.

“That’s it for today! Enjoy the rest of your week and I’ll see you next Monday,” Your professor's voice brings you out of your daze, your eyes darting around as if you were afraid that anyone could read your thoughts.

“Still thinking about it?” Jaehyun’s lips are dangerously close to the shell of your ear and you jump in your seat.

“Personal space, Jaehyun, Jesus fucking Christ,” You pant with a hand on your chest.

“Seems like you were a little distracted. Penny for your thoughts?” He teases, leaning his arms on the back of your chair as you gather your belongings.

“Thinking about ways to get rid of your body,” You mutter, reaching out to grab your bag but he holds his arm above his head.

“Not so fast, sweetheart,” He tuts. “Walk with me to my next class.”

“What’s with you today? Did you wake up this morning and decide that making me miserable was your goal?” You question.

“Just feeling a little lonely,” He shrugs, and you try to search his features for any signs of humor, your lips turning down into a frown when you realize he wasn’t joking.

“Oh,” You trail off, feeling a strange tug at your heart when he looks at you expectantly. “Whatever. Lead the way.”

He bounces on the balls of his feet before exiting the classroom with you in tow. He walks towards the glass doors that lead to the courtyard and you stop abruptly.

“Is your class in another building?” You quirk a brow.

“Yeah, something like that,” He smirks, eyes glinting with mischief as he turns back around and you continue to trail behind him.

You follow him as he walks off campus and eventually into the school's parking lot, your eyes narrowing at the back of his head as you stop in your tracks.

“You don’t have another class today, do you?” You stand with a hand on your hip as he turns around scratching his neck.

“Not really,” He laughs sheepishly, “but I need to ask you for a favor.”

“You couldn’t just ask me after class? You had to lie to me and practically kidnap me?” You look at him bewildered.

“I wanted to ask you in private,” He frowns.

“We’re in an open parking lot, Jaehyun.”

He looks around, suddenly realizing that there are students bustling around the parking lot. The tips of his ears burn a bright red as you run a hand through your hair in exasperation.

“Okay, whatever, I’ll just ask you. I need you to be my date for the sports banquet this Friday.”

You tilt your head quizzically, eyebrows furrowing as you look at the boy in front of you,“You’re joking, right?” You laugh.

“I’m serious,” He winces when your laugh trails off, shutting his eyes as if expecting you to freak out any moment now.

“Of all the people you know, you decided to ask me? What gave you the impression that this would be a good idea?” You question him slowly.

“I-okay hear me out. I needed a date and I can’t ask any of the girls I know because A. I’ve hooked up with some of them and B. they were already asked by my other friends and I can’t be the only one without a date Y/N, that shit is so embarrassing-”

“Okay, stop,” You hold a hand up to cut off his rambling and he quickly closes his mouth.

You ponder for a moment as you stare at Jaehyun, who shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he looks down at the ground. You’ve never seen him this nervous, his hands fidgeting with the keychains hanging from your bag that he’s still holding and his foot tapping on the ground. You don’t know what takes over you as you clear your throat to speak up.

“You owe me,” You mumble.

His eyes widen as he stares at you, expecting you to laugh in his face and say you were kidding, but when that never comes a smile slowly spreads across his features.

“You’re serious, right? Seriously serious? You can’t take it back- actually, I’m going to RSVP for the both of us right now,” He pulls out his phone and types quickly, and you find his excitement rather endearing. You catch yourself smiling and your face drops.

When the fuck did Jung Jaehyun become endearing to you?

You snatch your bag away from him as he types on his phone. “Text me the details. I’m going home,” You stammer, frantically swinging your bag over your shoulder and turning around.

“Wait, I can drive you!” He calls after you but you wave your hand in dismissal, pulling up your recent calls on your phone and tapping on the first name on the list as you speed walk away from Jaehyun.

“Donghyuck. You and Mark at my apartment tonight. I’ve lost my fucking mind.”

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

you stole my heart

and i, your willing victim

“And then I said yes! Like a fucking loser with no ounce of dignity, I said yes! Is that not the craziest, most batshit insane thing I’ve ever done?”

Mark and Donghyuck are currently sat at your kitchen island, distractedly munching on the array of snacks you put out for them as you debrief them on the events that had occurred earlier in the day.

“I had absolutely no reason to say yes. But it's like, he looked so nervous and I felt bad? Why the fuck did I feel bad?!” You huff angrily, squinting your eyes at your best friends when you notice them wordlessly chewing.

“Hello? A little bit of engagement would be appreciated, guys,” You wave a hand in front of their faces.

“Do you have juice or something? These chips are dry as fuck,” Donghyuck gets up to sift through your fridge.

“Are you even listening to me? Mark, what do you think?” You shift your attention to the glasses-wearing boy in front of you.

“I think,” He hums, staring off into the distance as he chews slowly on a tortilla chip, “that these chips need dip. Pass me the guac, Hyuck.”

“Mark!” You whine, your friend putting his hands up in defense as he takes the container of guacamole from Donghyuck.

“Bub, you’re not gonna like what we say so I don’t think there's any point in us saying it,” Donghyuck shrugs, sipping on the bottle of iced tea he took from your fridge.

“Anything is better than nothing. I’m all ears,” You push your hair behind your ears and motion for them to continue.

“I think you did it because you have feelings for him,” Hyuck states matter of factly and Mark draws his lips into a thin line while nodding.

“Wrong. Next,” You dismiss, the boys in front of you shrugging at your denial.

“Okay, next is he probably likes you too,” Mark points out.

“Even more wrong. Can we start being realistic please?” You plead, groaning when your friends shake their heads.

“Think about it! That man knows more women than you know people-“

“Okay, rude-“

“Yet he chose the one girl who, allegedly, hates him and isn’t trying to hop on his dick. He is very obviously into you, or at the very least he’s interested.”

Donghyuck’s hands are on his hips now, Mark nodding enthusiastically along to every word.

“Amen, brother,” Mark raises his hand in praise.

You roll your eyes at the two boys, scowling at the thought of any potential feelings involving Jaehyun.

“It was because he hooked up with all of them already and they all hate him!” You defend yourself. Mark and Donghyuck share a look.

“Is that what he told you?” Mark quirks a brow.

“Yes.”

Your friends share another series of knowing looks, smirks slowly adorning their features as your eyes bounce between them in confusion.

“Stop looking at each other and speak!” You shout impatiently.

“Jung Jaehyun, notorious non hooker-upper, told you that he hooked up with so many women that he’s out of options? That’s funny,” Hyuck snorts.

You blink, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion as you process the words you just heard.

“What are you talking about?” You ask.

“Oh poor little Y/N. So caught up in her own little world that she doesn’t know any campus gossip,” Mark rounds the corner of your kitchen island and swings an arm around your shoulders, ruffling your hair gently.

“What gossip?” You swat him off.

“Bub, Jaehyun doesn’t do hook ups. He has not hooked up with a single girl on campus, especially not the ones who throw themselves at him every single day like Soojin.”

You tilt your head to the side as the gears in your brain start turning. You could have sworn you heard stories of his fuckboy antics, his friend group being known throughout campus for having an ongoing hookup counter.

“Johnny and Yuta fuck anything that moves. I don’t doubt he’s the same way,” You laugh nervously, anxiety bubbling in your stomach at the way your friends study your reactions.

“His whole schtick is that he’s different from his friends. That’s why he’s such a babe magnet,” Mark sighs defeatedly and Donghyuck pats his shoulder in mock sympathy.

You let the information marinate for a second, the fuckboy image you’ve built of Jung Jaehyun slowly coming crashing down as you pick apart every rumor you’ve ever heard.

“Look at her face, you can tell she’s realizing she was wrong about him,” Donghyuck murmurs to Mark, breaking you from your train of thoughts.

“I-I’m-I wasn’t wrong! The rumors had to start from somewhere!” Your argument comes out weakly, making Mark and Donghyuck shake their heads in disapproval.

“See, now she’s denying reality. Poor thing,” Mark fake cries into Hyuck’s shoulder.

“Guys!” You whine.

“Alright, alright we’re just joking. But in all seriousness, sooner or later you’re gonna have to accept the fact that he’s not a bad guy and if you weren’t so dead set on hating him for something he did when he was in highschool, you’d probably be jumping his bones because lets face it, the sexual tension between you two is suffocating, and everyone loves a good enemies to lovers.”

You gawk at Donghyuck as he sips from his bottle calmly.

“I’m not gonna lie Y/N, for lack of better wording, he ate you up with that,” Mark pipes up after a beat of silence.

“I’m-you-whatever! I’m going to my room, don’t wreck my place,” You mumble as you retreat back towards your bedroom.

“We’re sleeping over!” Hyuck calls after you and you wave a dismissive hand in the air, knowing all too well that they knew your apartment like the backs of their hands.

When you reach the solace of your bedroom, you shut the door softly as your friends begin to argue over what movie to watch for the night. Your thoughts dizzy you as you slowly crawl on top of your sheets and hug a pillow close to your chest.

You wanted to believe that Jaehyun was a liar and that he somehow was able to trick your friends into believing he was a good guy. You wanted so desperately to believe that you were right, and that your long lived hatred for him has always been valid.

You think back to highschool, the teenage angst and awkwardness of it all making you cringe internally as you reminisce. As if it happened days ago, the image of you and Jaehyun on the bleachers during field day remains vivid in your mind. Every detail is burned into your memory; the way the wind felt, the sound of the students laughter that rang throughout the field, and even more specifically the way Jaehyun’s cheeks were tinted a light pink as he spoke to you.

“Are you saying that you, Jung Jaehyun, haven’t had your first kiss yet and we’re in our senior year?” You arch your brow at him, shifting the lollipop in your mouth to the side as you peer at him curiously.

“Oh, come on, don’t act all high and mighty. You haven’t had yours either!” He exclaims with a finger pointed at you. You shush him with a hand over his mouth, and he puts his hands up in mock surrender.

“That’s a different story! You..you’re Jung Jaehyun. Literally all the girls in our graduating class have dreamt about kissing you since freshmen year. You got the most cheers at the talent show last year even though you looked dumb as fuck singing ‘All I Want For Christmas is You’ in that Rudolph sweater,” You snort at the memory as the tips of Jaehyun’s ears are painted scarlet.

“Just because I allegedly have options, doesn’t mean I want any of them to be my first kiss,” He huffs, “And look who’s talking! We’re in the same boat, you know.”

You narrow your eyes at him scrutinizingly, “What are you talking about? If I had guys throwing themselves at me, maybe I would have had my first kiss by now.”

“What about Mark or Donghyuck? I’m surprised neither of them have asked you out yet.”

“Ew, what? They’re my best friends,” You look out onto the field where Mark is currently chasing Donghyuck with an inflatable flamingo in his hands. “I could never date them. And I’m almost certain Hyuck has already kissed Mark at some point.”

Jaehyun raises his eyebrows at the information he just heard, shrugging his shoulders as he watches your best friends with you. “Besides them. It’s hard to believe you don’t have guys throwing themselves at you. You’re…not ugly.”

It was your turn to blush at his bold statement, your hands instinctively coming up to tousle your hair shyly, “Same goes for you…I guess.”

Theres an awkward tension in the air as you two avoid eye contact with each other, opting to look out onto the field where Mark now has Donghyuck in a headlock. After a few moments of suffocating silence between you two, Jaehyun speaks up.

“What if we were each others first kiss?”

You choke on your own spit at his words, coughing erratically as you clap a hand over your chest in an attempt to stop. When you manage to catch your breath, you look at him in bewilderment, searching his eyes for any signs of humor but finding none.

“Are you serious?”

“Why not? We both haven’t had ours yet, and it’d be better than losing our first kiss to a stranger,” He shrugs a little too nonchalantly at the suggestion, and your face twists even more in confusion.

You stare at him for a moment as you think about his suggestion, his logic making more sense than you’d like to admit. You become increasingly aware of the butterflies in your stomach and the drumming in your chest as you continue to stare at him, and you force yourself to look away as you clear your throat.

“I guess it’s not a bad idea,” You mumble, and you hear him let out a breath.

“Great. Meet me in front of the vending machines in 15 minutes,” He shoots you a wink before getting up from his spot next to you and walking off the field, your eyes following his movements as he disappears from your line of vision.

You look down at the digital watch on your arm, watching as a minute passes, then five, then ten. When the fifteen minutes have passed you stand from your seat, taking in a deep breath before walking in the same direction that Jaehyun went. You could feel your heartbeat quickening as you near the vending machines and you wipe your clammy palms on your pants before you round the corner, your mouth opening in shock as you watch the scene that unfolds before you.

There, in front of the vending machines, stood Jung Jaehyun with his back facing you, and a rather happy looking Kang Soojin with her lips attached to his.

You don’t waste another second before you stomp away from the two of them, your cheeks burning in embarrassment as you angrily wipe away the stray tear that made its way down your cheek. You mentally curse yourself for getting your hopes up in the first place, the excited buzz you felt earlier being replaced with an overwhelming sense of stupidity. You let out a bitter laugh.

You suppose you were quite the idiot for believing that someone like Jaehyun could ever make space for someone like you in his heart.

A wave of embarrassment washes over you as you recall the events that happened that day and you shudder, urging your brain to think about anything else so you could bury that memory.

The moment of him asking you to the sports banquet pops into your head, the genuine excited glimmer in his eyes when you said yes still fresh in your memory making you sigh. As easy as it was to accept the rumors as truth, the way your friends spoke of him riddled your head with uncertainty. He was one of the few people you could never read, and if you were honest you found yourself thinking about him lately, more often than you’d like to admit.

You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head, physically trying to rid your brain of Jaehyun. You open your bedroom door to the sounds of what you could only assume to be Despicable Me and you smile, knowing it was Mark’s idea and Donghyuck was probably pouting on your couch right now. When you walk out you’re greeted to the exact sight you were expecting to see.

“Y/N, he’s making me watch this stupid fucking minion movie again,” Hyuck whines from one corner of your couch.

“Stupid minion movie? That’s literally you!” Mark points at the screen when a minion pops up.

You don’t know what it is but the presence of your two best friends eases the racing of your mind, a small smile decorating your features as you watch them argue back and forth about who was more of a minion.

“Why are you just standing there? We left your spot open!” Hyuck pats the spot between them that you claimed as yours ages ago. After you settle yourself between them, you feel Mark pat your head and you turn to him.

“Stop thinking so much, it’s bad for your brain. You’re gonna end up like Hyuck,” He smiles reassuringly at you and you don’t even get the chance to smile back before a handful of popcorn is launched in his direction.

“What does that even mean? My brain and I are perfectly functional, thank you very much,” Hyuck huffs from beside you.

“Don’t throw food!” Mark exclaims before promptly picking up the pieces of popcorn that were scattered on his lap and popping them into his mouth.

Even with the grimace on your face and the sound of Donghyuck going off on a tangent about how he has a higher IQ than Mark, you couldn’t be more thankful that your mind had started to stray far away from Jaehyun.

You just hope it could stay that way.

*･･*:.｡..｡.:*･'♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

you’re still written in the scars on my heart

If you had realized sooner that getting ready for a banquet would be this stressful, you might have said no a lot easier.

As you viciously pat powder onto your face, Donghyuck stands in front of your closet door with a steamer to your dress and Mark wipes down your shoes.

“Are we sure you’re not going to bust your ass in these?” Mark holds up one of the heels and examines it.

“She’s fine. Don’t talk to her, she's already running behind schedule,” Donghyuck barks from his corner of your room.

“What’s his problem?” Mark quirks a brow in your direction.

“He’s a little upset because I dragged him to the mall with me this morning to get those because I forgot about shoes,” You point at the heels in Marks hand.

“I told you to have everything ready like what, a week ago? And now here we are running to Macy’s of all places to find you a pair of shoes?” Donghyuck nags as you two speed walk through the mall.

“God, why did I not bring Mark instead of you? I should have known you’d be no help,” You grumble under your breath.

“First of all, Mark couldn’t tell a stiletto from a kitten heel. You need my expertise if you’re gonna be Jung Jaehyuns date,” Hyuck scoffs.

“Not his date! His plus one!” You exclaim dramatically, cowering slightly when you realize you might have been too loud.

“Date and plus one are the same thing, but okay. Let’s just find you a nice pair of black platforms with ankle straps to go with your dress,” Donghyuck claps his hands together as you gawk at him for even knowing what that was.

The memory of Donghyuck and you this morning makes you giggle as you sweep glitter onto your eyelids.

“Don’t laugh! You’re gonna crease your makeup!” Hyuck shouts at you as he looks through your jewelry box and holds up different pairs of earrings next to you.

“Hyuck, you seem to be more into this than Y/N. Do you want to take her place?” Mark snickers.

“Oh, excuse me for not wanting my best friend to embarrass herself at the biggest event of the school year,” Donghyuck rolls his eyes dramatically, holding up a pair of sparkly silver hoops to your face, “Yes! These are it.”

“It’s just another sports banquet. They have like, ten of them every year,” You shrug.

“Just another sports banquet is absolutely insane, Y/N. You do realize he’s not even on the hockey team and yet he was still invited? Do you know why?” Hyuck has a hand on his hip as he stares at you expectantly.

“…He’s not on the hockey team?”

“Because of his friends! Johnny and Yuta are our schools top hockey stars and every year, they invite him to that damn banquet because you know whats better than two hot guys in suits? Three hot guys in suits. They are the trio, Y/N, and everyone there is on the same level of hot and popular as them, if not more. That banquet you’re going to is literally just an excuse for all the popular kids to show off their parents money and get hyped up for their shitty gameplay,” Donghyuck lets out in one breath and you feel your hands start to slightly tremble.

“Well, now you got her all nervous, dumbass. I’m pretty sure he didn’t tell her for a reason!” Mark points out and Donghyuck looks at you with worried eyes.

“Oh god, please don’t start crying or sweating, your makeup is almost done,” He gently smoothes a hand over your hair and you swat him away.

“I’m fine. A little nervous now, thanks to you, but nothing I can’t handle,” You mumble quietly to hide the shaking in your voice.

A ding! causes all of you to freeze in your spots and look at each other, Mark being the first one to move as he grabs your phone and unplugs it from the charger.

“Jaehyun says “be there in 10 sweetheart” with a heart emoji. Sweetheart?!” He exclaims as he reads the message on your phone over again.

“That’s not the point! He’s almost here and I’m not dressed!” You yelp as you douse your face in setting spray.

“Okay, its go time! Get dressed and take your hair out of the rollers. If he comes, I’ll greet him at the door and distract him so you have time for shoes and perfume. Go!” Hyuck claps his hands together and drags Mark out of the room with him. You walk up to your dress and remove the hanger, slipping into it quickly and easily zipping it up yourself. You walk towards your mirror and your eyes slightly widen at your own appearance.

You’ve grown so accustomed to your usual casual attire that the sight of you in a dress almost feels foreign, and you find yourself turning side to side to admire the way the dress accentuates your features.

“Heels,” You whisper to yourself before you perch yourself on the edge of your bed and begin strapping on the black heels Donghyuck picked out for you earlier in the day.

You hear your apartment door open and you recognize Jaehyuns voice as he greets Donghyuck and Mark. You mutter curses to yourself as you quickly spray on your perfume and deodorant, letting them dry down as you pack your purse with your necessities for the night.

You become increasingly aware of the anxiety that settles in the pit of your stomach at the thought of Jaehyun seeing you all dressed up, and you find yourself involuntarily double checking your appearance in the mirror. You take a deep breath before opening your bedroom door.

“Just have her back by midnight latest. It gets a little creepy around here at night,” You hear Donghyuck say and you shake your head in disbelief at your friend.

“Hyuck, I’m not your daughter you know,” You call out as you walk out of your bedroom, all three sets of eyes landing on you.

Donghyuck wipes a fake tear from his eye as he looks at you and Mark lets out a low whistle as he admires your form.

“You look great, bub. I did a great job,” Hyuck pats himself on the back and you roll your eyes, slowly turning your head to gauge Jaehyun’s reaction.

He stands impressively still as his eyes rake up and down your body, and you want to cower instinctively at his almost predatory gaze. His eyes trail up your body to finally meet your eyes and you swear there’s a hint of something, but Mark claps a hand in front of his face and it goes away in an instant.

“Hey. Stop staring at my best friend like that,” Mark scowls, regarding Jaehyun with caution as he narrows his eyes at him.

Jaehyun clears his throat, straightening his shoulders before turning to Mark with a smirk, “Is it my fault this is my first time seeing her in something that isn’t her church girl clothes?”

“Church girl clothes? I dress perfectly normal, thank you very much,” You scoff, walking towards the front door, looking at Jaehyun expectantly. “Are you coming or what?”

Donghyuck and Mark watch with knowing smiles as Jaehyun walks towards the front door, his eyes never leaving your figure as he stands next to you.

“Wait!”

You both turn your heads at Donghyucks voice, and you’re nearly blinded by the flash that goes off. When you regain your vision, you see Hyuck holding up his digital camera, and you groan.

“Dude!” You whine, Jaehyun chuckling as he gently guides you out of your apartment.

“Have fun listening to EDM all night! And make sure you stay away from Yangyang!” Mark calls out as you step into the hallway of your apartment building and you raise an eyebrow. When the door of your apartment finally closes, Jaehyun turns to you, his dimples on full display as he gives you a quick once over.

“Ready, my lady?” He offers his hand out to you and you scowl, ignoring the way your heart thumps a little harder at his offer to hold hands.

“You seriously owe me one, asshole. Let’s get this over with,” You mutter, walking away from him and towards the elevators.

Jaehyun watches you with an unreadable expression plastered on his face as you walk in front of him, and he lets out a laugh, speaking low enough for only him to hear.

“Let’s get it over with.”

･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

One hour into the banquet and you were starting to think that Mark had some sort of psychic ability.

Shitty EDM blasts through the speakers and you gulp down the remainder of your champagne with a grimace. Your eyes flit around the room, landing on Liu Yangyang as he shotguns a beer in the corner with Johnny. A chorus of cheers erupt when Johnny finishes first and he receives several pats on his back as he makes his way over to you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You need another drink, pretty?” He shouts over the music, and it takes every fiber of your being to not gag at the smell of beer coming from him. You eye the way his tie is now secured on his head like a bandana, and you offer him a tight lipped smile.

“I’m good, thanks,” You call out, shooting him a thumbs up and he nods, stumbling over to the table of new pledges and forcing them to take shots with him.

Against your own will, your eyes search the crowd for a certain dimpled boy, and you find yourself frowning slightly when you can’t see him. You feel a hand on your shoulder and you turn to see Jaehyun looking down at you with a small crease forming between his brows.

“Why was Johnny talking to you?” He leans down to speak over the music, and you start to wonder if the champagne is the reason you find the proximity dizzying.

“He asked if I wanted another drink. I said no,” You answer.

Jaehyun looks at you for a moment, as if considering something, before he leans closer to your ear and speaks.

“Let’s step outside for a second.”

You never agree to something quicker, standing to your feet and letting Jaehyun guide you out to the lobby and up a flight of marble stairs. His hand rests too comfortably on the small of your back, and you ignore the way his touch feels like fire on your skin.

Maybe you were a lightweight after all and maybe the effects of the champagne were starting to take place, making you more perceptive to the way he stayed close to you as you passed by groups of people.

He leads you to an empty room upstairs, walking towards the large glass doors at the end and sliding them open. You step out onto the terrace, your eyes taking in the view of the field below, decorated with fairy lights and flowers for the banquet. Jaehyun shuts the door behind him, walking up to stand next to you as you look up at the inky sky.

“Woah, you can see the stars so well. They’re so pretty,” You breathe out.

Jaehyun’s eyes study your features that are dimly light by the glow of the fairy lights, and he mumbles quietly to himself, “Very pretty.”

A light breeze creeps its way over your form and you shiver, crossing your arms over your chest to try to garner a little warmth.

Jaehyun doesn’t miss the way you cower slightly as the temperature drops, his arms moving quickly to take his blazer off and drape it over your shoulders.

“Oh, I’m good,” You protest, starting to slide the jacket off your shoulders but stopping when Jaehyun puts two hands on your shoulders to readjust the jacket.

“Keep it on. I don’t wanna hear your ass complaining when you get sick and can’t sing at the showcase,” He mumbles, the glint of fondness in his eyes going unnoticed as you grumble under your breath that you’re fine but slipping your arms through the jacket nonetheless.

“Even if I get sick, I’d still sing better than you any day,” You joke, a small smile making its way onto your face upon seeing Jaehyun’s dimples slowly deepen.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N. My biggest hater yet you still agreed to be my date for tonight,” He tuts.

Despite the cool air nipping at your nose, you could still feel the warmth spread on your cheeks at his words.

“I am not your date…I’m your plus one,” You articulate, hesitating before you finally ask what had been on your mind all night, “Why did you ask me to go anyways? I know you had other options.”

Jaehyun ponders for a moment, his lips drawing into a line before he lets out a breath.

“I guess I did have other options. None of them were my first choice though.”

You’re thankful that the sky was dark enough to hide the stupid blush that blooms on your cheeks at his words. “And I was your first choice because…?”

“You’re kidding, right?” He snorts, looking up at the sky with a sigh, “Senior year field day.”

Your eyes almost bulge out of your head as those words leave his lips, and you whip your head to the side to look at him.

“W-what about it?” You stammer embarrassingly, your heartbeat quickening as you wait for him to answer you.

“We were supposed to be each others first kiss and you didn’t show up. I can’t say I wasn’t bummed, you know,” He’s still looking out at the sky as he speaks, and you hate that even in a situation like this, you couldn’t help but admire the way the moon dances over his features.

“I did show up and you were kissing Soojin. So I wouldn’t have even been your first kiss,” You mumble, and you hate the way you almost sound disappointed.

He lets out a dry laugh. “Yeah, I can’t blame you for leaving. But, just for the record, she stole it from me. I wanted it to be you.”

You didn’t think it was possible for your eyes to widen any more than they already were, your lips parting in surprise as you try to process what he just said.

“She…stole it?” You repeat his words and he nods slowly, choosing to ignore the part where he said he wanted you to be his first kiss for the sake of your own sanity.

“I guess she heard us talking about it or something. She followed me to the vending machines and just kinda…threw herself onto me,” He admits, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

Not only did Jaehyun just completely deconstruct the reason behind your hatred for him, but he did so while also admitting that he wanted you to be his first kiss. An unfamiliar feeling bubbles in your stomach and you rack your brain for something to say.

“Well that…sucks,” You wince at your own words, mentally smacking yourself in the head for not being able to think of anything else. A little sigh of relief escapes your lips when Jaehyun laughs.

“It did suck. I wanted it to be you,” He repeats his words from earlier and he turns to you, looking at you with sincerity written all over his sharp features.

You come to the conclusion that you’re definitely in way over your head right now. You blame the champagne, no, you blame the way the cologne on Jaehyun’s blazer completely clouds your senses.

“Why’s that?” You say quietly, your eyes locked onto his intently.

“Why do you think?” He says calmly, turning to face his entire body towards you before stepping closer.

The tension between you two is enough to suffocate you, and you blame that for your lack of rationality and judgement as you let him enter your space, your eyes never leaving his as he towers over you even in your heels.

“Jaehyun…” You mumble, not sure if it was an attempt to stop him or a cue for him to close the space between you two.

“I’ve really, really wanted to make up for that kiss. Can I?” He speaks quietly, his eyes searching yours for permission.

You’ve definitely had too much champagne tonight, and that’s why you end up nodding.

His hand hesitantly comes up to gently cradle your jaw, your eyes never leaving his as your heart pounds excessively in your chest. He inches closer, his lips barely brushing against yours before a loud bang in the distance causes you to jump away from him. You turn your head towards the field where Yangyang lights up a row of boxes, and you watch as sparks of red and white shoot into the night sky. Not even a second later, you hear a chorus of laughter from the room behind you and the glass doors slide open. Johnny and Yuta come stumbling onto the terrace with three other guys you don’t recognize, and they smile drunkenly at you before whooping at the next round of fireworks.

“Holy shit, we have the best view in the house!” Johnny slurs, whipping out his phone and recording the fireworks as the other boys clink their beer bottles together.

You’re suddenly very aware of the fact that you almost kissed Jaehyun just now, and you let out a small gasp. You look over at Jaehyun, who watches his friends with a scowl, and you quickly slip his blazer off of your shoulders and shove it in his arms, the smell of his cologne lingering on you far longer than you appreciated.

“I’m…I,” You can barely get your words out, so you resort to pointing your thumb at the glass doors behind you to signify you’re leaving. You turn to walk back into the venue but his hand gently wraps around your wrist, and you look back at him.

“Wait, let me take you home,” He nearly pleads, but you simply shake your head and pull your arm out of his grasp. He tries to speak again but Johnny wraps an arm around his shoulder and tugs him into a group selfie.

Your mind is a whirlwind of thoughts as you make your way back into the venue, your cheeks hot as you weave through the crowds of people that litter the space. You quickly pull your phone out when you reach the front, ordering yourself an Uber and sitting on the curb as you try to process what just happened. The single glass of champagne you had was slowly starting to wear off, and you’re left with no excuses for the way your heart still hasn’t stopped hammering in your chest even after you’ve left Jaehyun’s vicinity.

You’re almost certain you look insane right now, sitting on the sidewalk with your head in your hands as you mumble “I’m fucked” over and over again under your breath. A car horn causes you to jump in your spot, and you look up to see what you could only assume to be your Uber. You get in, confirming your address with the driver before he begins to pull away from the curb, and you lean back in your seat with a huff.

“Rough night?” The driver chirps, and you let out a dry laugh, the fog in your brain beginning to lift and leaving you feeling slightly disappointed and confused.

“Something like that.”

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

we’re collecting dust

but our loves enough

There’s a noticeably thick tension between you and Jaehyun the next day at rehearsals.

You’re well aware that his eyes had been laser-focused on you from the minute you walked into the auditorium and it left you with an unsettling pit in your stomach as you tried to engage in conversations with your friends to distract yourself from the boy shamelessly staring at you.

“Is it just me or is Jaehyun staring at you?” Renjun asks from the seat behind you.

Mark and Donghyuck snap their necks towards the boy in question, their eyes following his gaze to confirm Renjun’s statement, only to have it land on you.

“Come on now, why would he stare at me?” You smile sheepishly to feign innocence. Donghyuck gasps loudly and jumps out of his seat, causing the surrounding students to avert their attention towards him.

“Is this about last nigh-”

You clap a hand over his mouth and force him back into his seat before he can finish his sentence. His eyes are about to pop out of his head as you offer an apologetic smile to the students who glare at your group.

“What the hell is wrong with you?! Do you want the entire school to know my business?” You whisper-shout as you remove your hand from his mouth.

“Holy shit, I need to know what happened, start to finish. Better yet, I need a play-by-play of what happened from the moment you left the house,” He rambles, bouncing in his seat excitedly.

“Mark, make him stop,” You groan, rubbing at your temples.

“I would love to, but I’m also curious,” Mark winces when you shoot a glare in his direction.

You sigh. It would definitely make the load on your shoulders feel lighter if you vent about last night’s events to your friends. You barely get the chance to open your mouth before Professor Kim walks into the auditorium.

“Hello, students! Give me ten seconds to get the speakers and mics on and we’ll be up and running!” He chirps as he sets his clipboard down and walks onto the stage to set up.

“I’ll tell you guys after rehearsals. My place, tonight,” You whisper to the three boys before you all turn towards the stage.

Professor Kim stands on the stage with a happy grin, eyes scanning the students in the audience before he looks down at his clipboard.

“Today we’re going to try to do rehearsals with the curtains and lights. First pair up is Y/N and Jaehyun!”

It was your turn for your eyes to bulge out of your head. You look over to your partner, only to quickly look away when you realize his eyes are already focused on you, a taunting smirk adorning his stupid face.

“Come on up, guys” Professor Kim calls out.

You hesitantly stand up, looking back at your friends who give you reassuring nods. You trudge through the backstage doors and up the steps, walking onto the stage and positioning yourself at one of the mic stands. In your peripheral, you see Jaehyun only a few steps behind you, doing the same as the curtains close.

“I need to talk to you, you know,” You can feel the way his eyes bore into the side of your face as he speaks, and you sigh.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

The opening chords of the song starts playing and the curtains open, the stage lights shining directly onto you and Jaehyun. You start off the song, easily moving through the first verse and chorus. When Jaehyun’s verse starts, you tense up, doing your best to remember Professor Kim’s notes from your past few rehearsals. You watch as Jaehyun sings his lines while looking directly at you, your eyes getting lost in his as you both start singing together. The bridge approaches quickly and before you even realize it, you’re both standing in front of each other, the lyrics feeling more like a conversation between you two than the words to a song.

This is a performance. You’re both putting on an act.

You try to repeat those words to yourself mentally, but it all goes out the window when his hand reaches out to gently graze your cheek. Your eyes try to search his and for a second, you swear they’re filled with nothing but longing.

The last note of the song echoes throughout the auditorium and you’re both staring at each other. Something is definitely different, but you can’t quite put your finger on what. You feel something bubbling in your chest and your stomach, and if you weren’t so lost in the way his lips curl up into a smile, you’d be able to figure out what it was.

The stage lights dim and there's scattered applause coming from the other performers and the crew. You snap back into reality and look into the audience where you see your best friends looking at you with a knowing smile. You put the mic back onto its stand and rush backstage, where you sit down on a crate and collect your breath.

“Hey, that was great,” Jaehyun pants, slowly approaching where you’re sitting.

“Right, yeah.”

“I told you I’d make a great partner,” he jokes and you shake your head.

“Yeah, whatever. I can’t wait until this is over with,” you mumble to yourself, but he doesn’t miss it.

“You hate me that much, huh?“

“Why are you acting surprised?”

You finally look up at him and if it wasn’t so dark backstage, you’d be able to see the smirk on his features.

“Cause the way you look at me on stage says different.”

The look on his face is enough to send shivers down your spine, but you’re so lost in his aura that you still can’t distinguish what it is. You need to snap back to reality soon, otherwise you’ll lose complete control of the reigns you have on your feelings. The sound of the backstage door opening causes you to shift your attention to Mark and Donghyuck, who come rushing in with the biggest shit-eating grins you’ve ever seen. You’re suddenly very aware that your two best friends were watching it all happen, and you stand up abruptly.

“It’s called having stage personality and presence. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

You don’t even give yourself time to process the change in his face before you walk off, grabbing Mark and Hyuck along with you.

When you reach the audience, you collapse into a seat, and Hyuck is the first one to break the silence after a series of knowing stares between him and Mark. “So…you hate him, huh?”

“Hyuck,” you whine.

“Innocent question, Y/N.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and gesture for them to sit next to you. They’re now on either side of you, waiting for you to speak.

“I feel insane,” you almost laugh, but nothing was particularly funny in this situation. You just feel like you need to laugh to lighten the heavy feeling on your chest.

“Because you might not actually hate him?” Mark inquires, and you shake your head.

“Because I don’t think I ever really did.”

Your friends send you sympathetic glances, Hyucks eyes darting towards the doors that lead backstage when it squeaks open. He watches Jaehyun walk out seemingly disheveled, before he makes a beeline for the auditorium exit to avoid the stares of the other students. “Is it so bad to be wrong about someone?”

You sigh and rub your eyes. There were too many thoughts swirling around your head and it made you dizzy.

“Can we step outside?” You ask them and they stand, leading you towards the back of the auditorium. Mark pushes the door open but barely takes a step out before he freezes in his spot with Donghyuck doing the same, causing you to bump into their backs.

“Oh shit.”

You look up upon hearing those words leave Mark's mouth, and your blood runs cold.

Jaehyun was leaning against the corridor wall, Kang Soojin latching onto him like the bloodsucking leech she is. And just like that, you’re back in highschool watching Soojin kiss Jaehyun in front of the vending machines again.

You don’t know what it was about the sight but you felt sick to your stomach, your breathing becoming shallow and your hands shaking.

“Woah, Y/N, you okay?” You hear Mark ask, but your heartbeat is so loud in your ears that he sounds far away.

Your eyes finally break away from the sight and you stomp forward, walking through the corridor without another word. You keep up your speed until you’re sure you're far enough from the devil himself, and you turn the corner of the hallway.

“Y/N! Wait up!” You hear your friends call after you.

You slide down the wall and sit on the floor, tears sliding down your cheeks even though you’re not exactly sure why.

You thought you hated Jaehyun. You thought you’ve hated him ever since highschool. But why did the sight of him and Soojin make your chest ache? Why was it so easy for him to make your resolve crumble? Why couldn’t you get him out of your head?

“Jesus Christ, are you okay?” Mark pants, crouching down to examine your crying figure. The tears wouldn’t stop coming no matter how hard you tried to control it.

“Bub…” Hyuck sits down next to you and wraps an arm around your shoulder. You lean into him and you let the tears fall silently this time.

It’s silent as Donghyuck holds you close and Mark sits in front of you and strokes your hand. You didn’t know what to say, but you knew you didn’t have to explain anything to them just yet. You let them comfort you in silence, not worrying about the dread that came with knowing you’d have to talk about it at some point.

“Let’s go home.”

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

we’re not broken just bent,

and we can learn to love again

You skip the next two rehearsals despite every bone in your body fighting to be on the stage. You make up a lie about being sick to Professor Kim, and Mark and Donghyuck cover for you.

It wasn’t an entire lie. You definitely felt a churning in your stomach since the incident and it made you nauseous. Your phone had been on silent for two days, and your hand had been itching to pick it up and see if Jaehyun had texted you.

The clock blinks 2:14 AM as you shuffle back into your room after using the bathroom. You pull back your comforter and slip into bed with a long sigh, curling yourself into the same position you had been in for the past two days and letting your eyes flutter shut.

Your phone vibrates from your nightstand and you ignore it, assuming it’s either Mark or Donghyuck calling to check up on you. The vibrating stops and your room fills with silence for a brief moment before your phone rings again.

You reach behind you with your eyes still closed, swiping across the screen to accept the call before bringing it up to your ear.

“I’m alive, boys. I appreciate your concern but it is 2 AM,” You croak into the phone, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Not boys, just boy. And if I knew all I needed to do to talk to you was call you, I would have done it a lot sooner.”

Your eyes shoot open and you damn near jump out of bed.

“Jaehyun?” Your voice cracks. “Why are you calling me at two o’clock in the morning?”

“You’re gonna ask me that when you’ve been MIA for the past two days?” He scoffs into the receiver.

“If Professor Kim told you to check up on me, I’m fine. Are we done here?” Your voice is shaky as you try to maintain your usual cold demeanor towards him.

“God damn it, Y/N,” He snaps. “I’m calling you because I want to. Because I care. You can’t disappear for two days and not respond to my texts then expect me to not give a shit. Cut the fucking attitude.”

A tense silence envelopes the call as you fiddle with the drawstrings of your pajama shorts. All traces of fatigue have left your body upon hearing Jaehyun’s voice, making you sigh deeply as you lean against your headboard.

“I’m fine, Jaehyun,” You chew at your bottom lip in an attempt to keep the lump in your throat at bay.

“Stop saying that when both you and I know it’s not true.”

That was the final push that sent your last bits of sanity off the edge.

“What do you want from me, Jaehyun? Do you want me to sit here and cry to you about how shitty I feel right now? Do you want me to tell you that I wish I didn’t have to go back to rehearsals because I have barely been able to get out of bed for the past two days?” You cry.

It’s silent again, embarrassment slowly seeping into your veins as you wipe the streaks of tears from your cheeks.

“Do you want me to tell Professor Kim to excuse you from the performance? I can do it solo,” His voice is surprisingly gentle.

You stare ahead at your black TV screen as you think about Jaehyun’s words. Performing at the spring showcase has always been one of your favourite times of the year, and you knew that if you didn’t perform this year you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself. Especially knowing that it meant you’d have to admit that the reason behind your dejection was Jaehyun.

“No, I can…I can come back tomorrow,” Your voice is uneasy.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday, sweetheart,” He laughs.

You hate the way the pet name makes your heart clench.

“Right, then Monday. I’ll be back on Monday,” You sputter, smacking your palm to your forehead in an attempt to regain composure. You feel another surge of embarrassment when you hear him laughing again. “If that’s it, I’m gonna go to bed, Jaehyun.”

“Wait!” He calls out, and you hum curiously at his urgency.

“I know you didn’t ask but, there’s nothing going on with me and Soojin. She was on me. You guys really just came out at a bad time,” He breathes out and you feel heat rushing to your cheeks at the thought that he knew you were bothered by him and Soojin.

“I-the-um-that doesn’t matter to me,” You attempt to lie, the shaking in your voice not only apparent to you but to Jaehyun as well, who laughs at your failed efforts. You smack your palm to your head again at the embarrassment that has yet to leave your body since the call started.

“That’s a shame. I was told it did,” You hear the traces of a smile in his voice and you pale.

“Who told you what?” You squeak.

“Let’s just say one of them is a really bad liar and the other one is a chronic yapper. I’m sure you can figure it out from there,” He laughs into the receiver and you curse under your breath.

“Those idiots,” You grumble.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m glad it does matter to you,” He speaks, the blush returning to your cheeks as you continue to stutter embarrassingly into the phone.

“I said it doesn’t,” You muster, not even believing your own words.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart. Get some rest, yeah? I need my partner in tip top shape on Monday,” He chirps.

“Yeah, I will. Thanks for checking in, Jaehyun. I appreciate it,” Your lips slowly spread into a smile and he hums.

“Oh, and Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t care if you don’t reply to anybody else’s calls or texts. But don’t pull that shit with me or I swear to God I’ll show up to your house next time.”

You let out a giggle at his request, nodding to yourself and not missing the way he sighs, almost contently, into the phone. You hate to admit it, but this was the best you’ve felt in the past few days.

“Goodnight, Jaehyun,” You laugh quietly.

“You should laugh more often, Y/N. Sweet dreams,” He voices before you hear the noise that signals he hung up.

You return your phone to its place on your nightstand before falling back onto your pillows.

“What the fuck?” You whisper to yourself, clapping a hand over your mouth after a girlish giggle slips past your lips.

That night, you fall asleep peacefully with an undeniable smile etched onto your features, as soft brown eyes and deep dimples occupy your dreams. When you wake up in the morning you swear the sun shines a little brighter, and you go about your morning with ease and a small smile.

Getting back to rehearsals feels easy and you quickly fall back into routine, your performance with Jaehyun getting stronger as the day of the show approaches. Neither of you bring up what happened, and quite frankly you couldn’t be more glad that he seemingly swept it under the rug for your sake. The idea of having that complicated conversation nearly made you retch every time you thought about it, so you continually prayed that he would forget about it as time passes.

But unfortunately for you, the universe doesn’t seem to hear your prayers.

It’s the Thursday night before the performance and you’re the last one to pack up and leave the auditorium after a long day of rehearsal. You sling your bag over your shoulder with a sigh, fishing your phone out of your pocket to check the time and frowning when you see it was almost 8pm. The loud squeak of the auditorium door startles you, and you look up to see Jaehyun sauntering down the aisle towards you.

“Why are you still here? You scared the shit out of me,” You call out, a hand on your chest to stop the racing of your heart.

“I was waiting for you. Mark and Donghyuck left, and I wasn’t going to leave you alone,” He shrugs, stopping to stand in front of you.

Shit. Was he finally going to talk to you about what happened the other week?

“Why were you waiting for me?” Your eyes flit nervously around the room.

He lets out a soft chuckle, lowering himself to meet your eyes, “Did you think I forgot?”

“Forgot what?” You stammer, stepping back to allow for some distance between you two.

“That I know you were bothered by me and Soojin. That we almost kissed at the banquet.”

You realized with an alarming clarity that you were very much fucked, and there was no way you could back out of this conversation now. Your reactions were too obvious, your emotions too readable, and you let out a defeated sigh.

“It was the alcohol talking at the banquet. I wasn’t in my right mind,” You deflect, flinching slightly when he laughs at your weak attempt to dissmiss him.

“Okay, let’s say you were. You weren’t drunk when you saw me and Soojin though,” He mentions.

“So?” You try to keep a stoic demeanor but it’s quickly replaced by surprise when he steps closer.

“Why were you bothered by it, Y/N?” He prods, tilting his head as he notes the way your eyes fail to meet his.

“Wouldn’t you be bothered by two people practically making out in front of you?” You scoff weakly.

He hums thoughtfully, before shaking his head, “Not really. Not unless I liked the person.”

“T-that’s not true,” You try to argue, but you know it’s no use. He’s got you right where he wants you, and just the tiniest push would send you over the edge.

“Be honest with yourself, Y/N. It won’t help either of us if you keep lying like this,” He almost growls as he steps forward to trap you against the foot of the stage.

“Why do you care?” You furrow your brows at him.

“Because I like you, god damn it. I liked you in highschool and I like you now.”

A strange feeling churns in your stomach at his words and you almost laugh. The idea of Jaehyun liking you made you feel strange, insecurity and disbelief pricking at your heart as you open and close your mouth pathetically.

“N-no, you don’t,” You dismiss, looking away from him as if it would change the tension between you two right now.

“Yes, I do. I like that you’re not afraid to speak up against people you don’t like and I like that I can tell what mood you’re in just by looking at your face. I like that you’re always humming even though I tell you it’s annoying and I like that you don’t let me tell you what to do. I like that you’re bothered by the idea of me and Soojin together, because I like you,” Jaehyun lets out all in one breath and you try to search his features for anything that isn’t the complete sincerity that was written all over it.

“You don’t like me, Jaehyun,” Your voice is barely above a whisper as you shake your head.

“Don’t tell me how I feel. I like you, Y/N. Too damn much for you to try to convince me I don’t,” His voice softens as he lowers his head to try to meet your eyes, a frown forming on his lips when you turn your head to look away from him.

“B-but Soojin…you like Soojin,” You can feel your heartbeat in your throat as you try to dismiss his feelings for you, not wanting to face the reality of your own just yet.

“I don’t care about, Soojin. I never have. I don’t even look in her direction because I’m too busy looking at you.”

It becomes increasingly difficult to convince yourself that he didn’t actually like you. You feel sick, the butterflies that only seemed to erupt when he was around begin swirling violently in your stomach. Your heart beats wildly in your chest as you look up at him and your brain works in overdrive to justify the way he’s looking at you, like you were an oasis in the middle of a barren desert. The line between hatred and something that was definitely not that was completely gone, and this time you can’t blame the alcohol or the tension for the way your heart nearly bursts when he gently tilts your head to look at him.

“Jaehyun…” You call out weakly, not missing the way his eyes are almost begging you to believe him.

“I like you, dumbass. So much,” His voice is barely a whisper as he searches your face for any type of emotion.

You’re not drunk, you’re not vulnerable, and you definitely can’t ignore it anymore. The pounding of your heart in your chest is loud, urgent, and the butterflies that clutter your stomach demand your attention. The startling realization that Jaehyun was the only person who could evoke such a visceral physical reaction from you washes over you, and everything becomes clear to you as your eyes meet his.

You like Jaehyun, and you probably have for a long time.

“Oh shit,” You mutter to yourself, looking at him with a newfound sense of clarity.

“What is it?” Jaehyuns brows crease slightly at your words.

“I like you too,” You breathe out, the ghost of a smile on your lips as you look up at him with a glint of adoration in your eyes.

Jaehyun lets out a breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as his body relaxes in relief.

“Thank fucking God.”

Without another thought, he tilts your head up and presses his lips against yours, his free hand securing itself on your waist as he tugs you closer. He holds you with the utmost conviction that you’d disappear from his very sight if he let go, his desperate hands holding you impossibly closer as your lips mold with his.

Your heart nearly bursts at the seams as you run your hands up his arms and past his shoulders, stopping to gently cup his face. You kiss him back with equal fervor, your body buzzing with what you could only describe as pure bliss. When your lungs begin to burn from the lack of oxygen, you both pull away, your chests heaving and cheeks tinted a bright pink as you both catch your breath.

“So you were pretending to hate me this whole time, huh?” Jaehyun pants, his hand sliding down to squeeze your hip.

You swat at his chest, your lips twitching into a small smile, “Shut up, before I take it back.”

His hands rest comfortably on your hips, as if they were meant to be there all this time, and he pulls you into his arms. “Nope, can’t take it back. You’re stuck with me.”

You laugh against his chest, wrapping your own arms around his torso as you rest your cheek against his chest. He sways you back and forth gently, a comfortable silence dawning on you two for a moment.

“So…now what?” You speak up, pulling away from the hug to look at him.

He considers you question for a moment as he looks at you, his adoration never fleeting as he tucks some hair behind your ear. “I’d really like if you were mine. How does that sound?”

You hum in mock thought, but the quckening of your heart and the unrelenting butterflies in your stomach know the answer to his question.

“I think I’d like it if you were mine too,” Your grin widens when you notice the way his eyes light up at your response.

“I was always yours, dumbass,” His dimples deepen as he lets out a laugh.

You hear what sounds like a wail coming from backstage, and you whip your head around in slight fear.

“Is someone back there? I can hear you,” You call out, your arms loosening around Jaehyun.

Donghyuck and Mark emerge from behind the curtains, sheepish grins on their faces as they wave at the both of you. You instinctively release your hold on Jaehyun, your face reddening as you realize that your best friends just witnessed everything.

“Are you guys stalkers or something? Why were you hiding back there?” You question as you cross your arms over your chest.

“I’m sorry, bub, but we couldn’t miss this. It was your boyfriends idea!” Donghyuck snitches, pointing an accusing finger at the boy next to you. You turn your head towards Jaehyun and raise an eyebrow at him.

“My fault?! I asked for your help, not for you to stalk us!” Jaehyun retorts.

“Same difference! What did you think we were going to do-” Hyuck defends himself, his words being cut short as Mark smacks him on the back of the head.

“If you were quieter, they wouldn’t have found out! You just had to start crying like a loser!” Mark points out.

“They were being so cute, I had to! I told you we could have played it off!” Hyuck sputters.

You shake your head as they both begin bickering in front of you, and you feel Jaehyun wrap a secure arm around your waist from behind you.

“Your boyfriend, hm? I could get used to that,” He speaks low enough so that only you could hear him.

You turn your head to look up at him and you’re tempted to deny the reality of the situation again, but the feeling of his thumb gently tracing shapes on your skin pushes any sense of insecurity you had out of the way. There was nothing to deny anymore, and you mentally confirm this when he gazes down at you, his eyes warm and reassuring.

“I could too.”

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

NOTES: she’s finished!!! thank you so much for reading if you’ve made it this far<33 i hope you guys love this one as much as i loved writing it :))) more work coming soon my pretties💞💞💞💞

[lovelyhan]

— every summertime  ⟢

you're not really interested in the record shop downtown. but people aren't oblivious to the way you keep trying to get into the owner's pants—not even the owner himself.

★ FEATURING; jeonghan x afab!reader

★ WORD COUNT;  16.1k words

★ TAGS; 70s au, playing hard to get, bad bad bad decisions, friends questioning said decisions, reader is a slut in theory but not so much in practice (at least...in the beginning), pining?, angst but like, only a microcosm of angst, smut (MINORS DNI)

★ WARNINGS; alcohol consumption

★ NOTES; if i told you all about how much this fic has changed over the last three months i've spent writing it, you'd all be sick of me going back and forth with the direction i wanted this to go lmfao !!!! i don't think i've ever suffered writing anything as much as i did with this, so i'm proud to be sharing the fruit of every one of my trashed drafts to all of you :') i sincerely hope you all like it T T

this is part of the svthub 70s;teen collab!

★ SMUT TAGS; unprotected sex, jealousy, possessiveness, dom jeonghan bc i just Need him to dom me, vaginal fingering, semi-public sex, dacryphilia kinda?, cockwarming

★ PERMANENT TAGLIST; @cheolhub - @pretty-trustme - @just-here-to-read-01 - @idkmelkro - @dejavernon - @venusrae - @jyiiscool - @jiniesclub - @junhui-recs - @bldelaine - @featmia - @fruitzcup - @hoeforhao - @candidupped - @billboard-singer - @caratochan - @novalpha - @dahliatopia - @0717luv - @shiveringgaze - @toruro - @mixling-blog - @minnie-mouser22 - @homerunhansol - @mirtaspace - @ti--red - @zzucculent - @woozarts - @rubyreduji - @mozellerra - @lllucere - @cheolzip - @jjjzzzz - @lissiesykes - @dearjeonwonwoo - @meowmeowminnie - @colored-confetti - @partiallyinfluencial - @speaknowlwt - @flwrshwa - @lilylikesthat - @aurorahongg - @whippedforjihoon - @todorokiskitten - @immabecreepin - @98-0603 - @peachhiz

★ JEONGHAN TAGLIST; @yoonzinoooo - @scandal-in-bohemia - @bias-recs - @lunaryoongie - @haoxiaoba - @ak6ko

“Ji, I got you a present!”

Your best friend of over ten years glances at you momentarily while he’s in the middle of replacing the strings of his guitar. There’s an unimpressed look on his face when he does it—no different from the way he looks at you whenever you walk in a gritty session of Dungeons and Dragons back in high school. Only this time, you’re being downright annoying for another reason entirely.

“I’m pretty sure you already have all the Led Zeppelin vinyls in existence so I just picked out whatever from the shelf instead,” you tell him nonchalantly as you bring out a spiffy-looking record of Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon. “This one’s nice, isn’t it?”

It is, but here’s the thing:

“I already have that.” Jihoon affixes you with a blank stare as he gets up from his seat, letting his fingers glide across the alphabetized collection on his own shelf. 

Ten seconds later, your best friend pulls a carefully preserved vinyl with the exact same album art plastered on the front, making you lower the one in your hands in abject disbelief. But Jihoon has been friends with you long enough to know that something like this isn’t enough to fluster you.

“Consider it a high quality dupe then.” You giggle maniacally before letting yourself fall on top of Jihoon’s bed and hold the sealed vinyl tightly to your chest. “Jeonghan looked soooo gorgeous today. I was really down in the dumps when I heard that he cut his hair, but there’s just a different appeal when guys have it shorter. You get me, right?”

“I really don’t,” Jihoon deadpans as he plops himself back into his chair, coiling a roll of fresh nylon around the pegs of his guitar. “Don’t you ever get tired of spending your summers chasing after a guy that obviously doesn’t like you back?”

“Don’t you get tired of lecturing me when we both know I’m never gonna listen?” A simper escapes your lips before you engage the Stevie Wonder poster on Jihoon’s ceiling in a staring contest. “Besides, it’s not as if I like like him! I just want to fuck him—big difference.”

There it is—the classic why am I even best friends with you sigh that only makes Jihoon more endearing than he already is. “Let me rephrase then: why do you keep chasing after a guy who obviously doesn’t want to fuck you back?”

Stevie Wonder ends up winning when you shoot back up into a seating position, letting out an obnoxious laugh that you stifle with the same vinyl you supposedly got for Jihoon. “Au contraire! It might seem that way, but you just haven’t seen a person as deep in his own denial as Jeonghan is.”

“Second door to the left—bathroom’s there. I highly recommend that you take a long, hard look at yourself in the mirror.” Jihoon’s jaw ticks when he says the words but as long as he isn’t blatantly kicking you out of his room, you’re still within tolerable range. “Didn’t Mingyu set you up with one of his friends? I clearly remember you telling me about it before the semester ended.”

Ah, that’s right. 

Two weeks ago, Kim Mingyu—one of the many friends you’ve left in your hometown—called the telephone that you shared in an apartment with four other girls. When the housemate that answered told you about some guy with a lisp looking for you, you quickly ditched whatever notes you were pretending to read for a quick conversation.

Of course, once Mingyu dropped the call, you quickly turned the telephone dial to ring up your best friend with a pressing question: Mingyu wants to set me up with some guy named Jungkook. Do you know him? 

Jihoon, however, has never met anyone that goes by that name his entire life, which made you draw the conclusion that this Jungkook person must be Mingyu’s friend from another city. He tends to collect people like trading cards and you can’t fault him for it. Mingyu is pretty charming.

Charming enough that you agreed to go hang out with him and Jungkook once you’re back in your hometown.

“Well, he hasn’t contacted me about it again so my Jungkook appointment is on hold until then,” you point out with a huff. “Plus, I don’t see why I should stop trying my chances with Jeonghan just because I’ve got another boy reserved.”

“I don’t remember you being this much of a man-eater last summer.”

“Yet you still love me anyway.” 

Despite already having one in his possession, Jihoon accepts the blasted Pink Floyd vinyl and places the dupe right next to his first copy on the shelf of collectibles. The conversation drifts onto different topics ranging from your mutual struggles with work and the supposed girlfriend that Soonyoung may or may not be lying about. Then right after he finishes restringing his guitar, your best friend walks you home just like old times.

When you’re halfway to the front door of your house, however, Jihoon calls out your name—a sound barely audible in the evening breeze, but you turn around with a questioning look anyway. 

“Don’t be too pushy with Jeonghan, okay?” He instructs sternly. “I know you’re just fucking around, but really, you’re better off investing your time in better things. In better people. Not someone who only keeps you around as a source of entertainment.”

You gasp, covering your mouth with your hand for added flair. “Fucking around? I’m very serious about getting my insides rearranged by him!”

Your best friend makes a face. “Y/N.”

“Just kidding, Ji. You, of all people, should know that I know my limits!” you reassure him with a smile. “Why do you think Jeonghan still speaks to me warmly whenever I walk inside his shop? Whenever I run into him at the disco?”

“Because you’re his customer? And he’s after your money? And maybe he’s a pretty decent person outside his reputation as a sexual fiend?”

“Well that might be true, but that’s also because he’s interested in me too!”

“Good night, Miss Delusional.”

“Good night, Mister Enabler!”

This is pretty much a good summary of your relationship with your best friend. You willingly get yourself tangled up in something incredibly stupid, he tells you off like he’s your mother every time he finds out, and once things start crashing down, you run over to Jihoon in tears while he consoles you for something that’s a hundred percent your fault. It’s quite the understated miracle how he’s tolerated you for so long, but that’s precisely why you’re best friends in the first place.

But there’s this one thing that you can’t tell even Jihoon about. 

“Were you finally out on a date with Jeonghan?”

Your sister, Luna, asks when you make your way to the living room to say hi. She’s nose-deep in one of those Stephen King novels, but her eyes stray away from the pages to spare you a momentary glance. 

You snort. “As if he’s that easy.” 

Luna hums before her eyes wander back to her book. “Mmm. You’re right. If he was, he would’ve gone out with you like, I dunno, three years ago?” 

“You’re such a bitch.”

“And you’re such a coward,” she snorts. “You know, if you just told him hey I’ve been in love with you since we met at Joshua’s graduation party instead of asking if he wants to sleep with you, your odds of getting with him would skyrocket.” 

“Now where’s the fun in that?” you chuckle before stepping inside the living room to ruffle her hair—an act of affection that Luna receives with distaste. “Quit making unnecessary comments about my sex life and help me with dinner before Mom and Dad get home.”

“Your non-existent sex life?”

“Oh, screw you.”

After having dinner with your family, you quickly retreat to your bedroom to retire for the evening before Soonyoung can call your house phone to ask if you’re down for a night out. It’s practically tradition whenever you’re back in town, but your last conversation with Jihoon has been weighing heavily on your mind since you walked inside your house. 

Despite there being a one hundred percent chance that you’ll run into Jeonghan again if you go out with your friends, you’re strangely not in the mood to mingle like you always do. 

You’re better off investing your time in better things. In better people.

That might be true, but…

How can you possibly break free of a cycle you’ve always found yourself tangled up in every summertime? 

THREE SUMMERS AGO

A few nights before graduating from college, Hong Jisoo—better known as Joshua—decided to throw an unforgettable party at a disco club his stepfather owns and monopolizes an entire chain out of. You’re not sure how he managed to pull the strings and smuggle enough booze to make the entire graduating class drunk, but old money does wonders especially in a town as small as this.

You recall it vividly because that was the first time you met Jeonghan.

He was a new face in a crowd of people you practically grew up with. But even if he wasn’t, you still would’ve been able to pick him out of the sea of graduating seniors with ease because of how breathtaking he looks.

His hair was brown when you met him, the tips barely tickling the nape of his neck with bangs framing his soulful eyes. You caught him sipping on a glass of something you can’t really name and the moment your brain managed to process the existence of such a beautiful man in such a boring old town, your immediate reaction was to turn to Mingyu. 

“Who’s that? Violet jacket, white pants? I don’t think I’ve seen him before.”

Mingyu hums before looking around—something made easier by his towering height. “Oh! That’s Jeonghan—Joshua’s brother.”

“Brother?” Jihoon pipes up right next to you, mirroring your surprise. “I thought Joshua was an only child.” 

Seungkwan hisses as he ushers the four of you into a miraculously vacant booth near the jukebox, looking around as if your conversation was under threat of being eavesdropped on. “Pipe it down! We don’t want to get kicked out of the party for talking smack about Joshua’s family.”

“We’re not talking smack, we’re just confused.” Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Is it so bad to wonder about the newcomer when the entire disco has been eyeing him up and down? Look, even Soonyoung stopped mid-dance just to talk to him.”

True to Jihoon’s observation, another one of your friends, Kwon Soonyoung deigned to step off the dancefloor to exchange a few words with this Jeonghan person. Their interaction lasts for merely a few seconds with Soonyoung obviously taking a liking to the newcomer—a hearty laugh piercing through the song playing on the jukebox as he nods before heading back to whence he came.

Jeonghan was grinning the entire time too—a lazy, laid-back yet attractive smile—and fuck… 

You might have a nasty case of love at first sight. 

“So are you going to explain why Joshua suddenly has a brother or are we going to be in suspense the entire night?” Mingyu whines in his seat. 

Seungkwan huffs. “Alright, alright! Apparently, Joshua’s stepdad has another son who used to live several cities away. No one knows why he moved into this old dump, but hey, more eye candy for everyone, I guess.”

“Is he single?” you blurt out.

Mingyu’s expression twists with smugness. “Why are you curious? You’re not trying to go after him, are you?”

“And if I am?” Brows raised, you fold your arms together as you stare the six-foot puppy down. “It’s like Seungkwan said—he’s eye candy! It won’t do anyone any harm to try and get to know him better, right?” 

“Are you sure that’s a wise decision to make when you’re going to be traveling a lot for work?” Jihoon ponders seriously. “What happened to being ready to leave everything behind and starting anew?”

“Hey, it still counts as starting anew when I’m trying to get with the new guy in town.”

That’s when it starts. 

Jeonghan is easy to talk to. That night, you learned that he moved into town because the big city was much too stifling for him to bear; that he gets along swimmingly with his stepbrother despite their parents’ sudden remarriage; that he isn’t really interested when you boldly asked if he wanted to go out sometime.

It’s no big deal. Not like you went into that conversation with high expectations. The fact that he even entertained you was already a miracle on its own. You can take your losses with your head held high—because it’s no big deal.

But then you saw him leaving the disco with some woman you don’t recognize. You’re not sure who she is and what her relation is to Jeonghan, but the smiles they exchanged as the man of the hour escorted her outside would be forever engraved in the back of your head. 

The rest of the evening was a blur. You thought you’d be able to wipe the image of Jeonghan going home with someone else off your mind with enough booze, but even when you wake up with a hangover the next morning, the ghost of his pretty smile still haunts you. 

You carry it with you even after graduation—all teary eyes and tight hugs exchanged with the friends you spent your entire life with. While Soonyoung is in the middle of telling you to memorize everyone’s house telephone numbers so you can keep in touch while you’re away, you spot Jeonghan in the crowd of visitors filling the university quad.. 

He’s with Joshua and their parents, happily congratulating the youngest for his most recent milestone. You're sure you were at least subtle enough with how you observe him from the corner of your eye, but he catches you staring anyway. 

Instead of breaking eye contact immediately, however, Jeonghan holds your gaze and cracks another one of those lazy grins before waving. You have to look around to see if he was gesturing towards anyone else, but to your surprise, it seems that you’re the intended recipient.

Naturally, you don’t let it get to your head. You’re leaving town in three days and maybe it isn’t such a good idea to keep hankering for someone who made it clear that he isn’t into you. 

But then Jihoon thought it would be a great idea to drop by this newly opened record store in Main Street. So I can give you a little souvenir when you’re thousands of miles away, he said and you were so touched with the sentiment, you actually went along with it.

The excitement you’d racked up at the idea of receiving a gift from your best friend, however, was easily eclipsed by the person that greets the two of you once you enter the front door of the shop. 

“Good morning,” greets a chipper-looking Jeonghan wearing denim overalls with the name of the shop embroidered on the front pocket. “How can I help you two?”

Jihoon quickly recovers from the initial surprise and utters, “Oh, um, I wanted to buy a few cassette tapes for my friend. Can you direct us to the right aisle?”

Jeonghan nods before leaning across the wooden counter to direct you two to a row of shelves on the far right. “Just go down that one and you should be able to find what you’re looking for. They’re all arranged by the artist’s names.”

“Cool. Got it.”

Before you can even get a word in, your best friend proceeds to drag you off to the stack of cassette tapes—ducking behind the shelves to make sure Jeonghan doesn’t see what goes on.

“What’s he doing here?” he hisses quietly.

“Do I look like I have a clue? You’re the one who planned this,” you point out with your arms folded. “Just when I thought you were against me making a move on Jeonghan, you proceed to bring me to the place where he works anyway.”

“I still am! I just didn’t know he’d be here too…”

“Well, don’t get your panties in a twist and just let me pick out my gift so we can leave. How’s that?”

Though he’s visibly disgruntled with the knowledge you’ve both been presented with, Jihoon grunts in agreement before you flutter off to the neatly organized shelf. It reminds you of the one back in your best friend’s room. He’s been big on collecting vinyls and cassette tapes for as long as you can remember, so it’s natural for Jihoon to be drawn to this newly opened record shop. 

When you end up taking far too long to make up your mind about what you want, Jihoon eventually migrates to the other spots in the store—checking out the other merchandise being put up for sale with a quiet look of amazement shining in his eyes. The sight of him in his natural habitat has you chuckling to yourself before your gaze rivets back to the collection of tapes you’re supposed to choose from. 

Of course, you’re startled by Jeonghan appearing seemingly out of nowhere right next to you.

“You’re taking your sweet time,” he chuckles, offering up another smile that makes your heart do somersaults. “Say, aren’t you the one who asked me out at Shua’s graduation party?”

You stare him down like he just personally affronted your entire family before clearing your throat—making a show of grabbing a random tape from the rack to examine its contents. Anything to get you to look at anything but Jeonghan’s stupidly beautiful face.

“Uh, yeah. That’s me,” you laugh uneasily. “And I’m only taking my sweet time because I don’t want to repetitively play an album I don’t even like on my Walkman.”

“Fair. How about I offer up a few suggestions then?”

That makes you arch an eyebrow. “Sure. What do you have for me?”

He hums for a moment before reaching for one of the higher levels—easily accomplished by his height. The gesture has you backing up against the wooden shelf to give him some more space, but the close proximity has your face flaring with warmth. 

“Here,” Jeonghan offers before handing you a cassette tape that looks pretty brand new. “The Beatles is cliché for a reason and I personally think Let It Be was the best way to end their time together. But you might also be interested in Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors. It’s a personal favorite of mine.”

He then proceeds to reach for another tape from the store’s vibrant collection and gives it to you—the lazy smile on his face never faltering. 

“Hmm, which one should I get though?” you wonder while comparing the two. “My best friend over there rarely gets me gifts and I’m not about to abuse the privilege by getting two.”

Jeonghan shrugs. “The other one’s on the house then.” 

The nonchalance in his tone makes your face twist with disbelief. “What?”

“I said it’s on the house. You can have your friend pay for one while you get the other for free,” he explains. “Think of it as a limited time promo of sorts.”

You grimace. “Um, I don’t think I saw any signs outside that said you’re offering a Buy 1 Take 1… Won’t the owner of this place be furious with you or something?”

“Now how can I ever be furious with myself, sweetheart?” 

You’re not sure what baffles you more—the fact that Jeonghan turns out to be his own boss or the fact that he just addressed you with some nickname that has you blushing like a schoolgirl. 

“Y/N, are you done—oh.” 

Saved by the bell—or rather, your best friend—Jihoon walks back into the scene with surprise coloring his features. He’s got a couple of vinyls and a box of guitar picks hefted in his arms as he stares at you and Jeonghan all alone in the aisle.

“Ji, I finally got to pick some out,” you beam while holding the two tapes Jeonghan recommended. “The owner said it’s a Buy 1 Take 1 so…”

He mutters the words the owner under his breath before his gaze zeroes in on Jeonghan who simply waves at him with a cheery air.

“Oh, I-I see,” Jihoon clears his throat. “Thank you for being so generous. You really didn’t have to. She doesn’t even care that much about music in the first—”

“Anyway,” you interject loudly before directing yourself to the counter. “Let’s go check these out. We’re meeting Mingyu and the rest of the guys for lunch, aren’t we?”

You pack up your business with Jeonghan fairly quickly. He places your most recent purchases in individual plastic bags, handing them to you with an ever-present smile. Even when you’re already seated at the diner you chose to hold your farewell lunch in, your mind still toys with the memory of Jeonghan calling you sweetheart.

Though if you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t think of Jeonghan much when you eventually move out of your hometown to pursue your work. You make new friends and colleagues, kindle a few romances here and there, and still keep in touch with a select few you’ve left behind.

Of course, Jeonghan does cross your mind whenever you deign to listen to the cassette tapes he personally picked out for you, but starting over completely in a new city every few months certainly gives you a fresher outlook in life.

Yet whenever you come home for the summer, it takes little for you to start regressing into old habits you thought you’d already outgrown. 

TWO SUMMERS AGO

“When did you arrive in town?”

You nearly spill your drink all over that same violet jacket he was wearing the night you first met him—heart rate spiking at the sight of such a gorgeous face. Jeonghan leans across the counter where you and Seungkwan deigned to catch a breather after dancing your hearts out to Earth, Wind, and Fire. Thankfully, you’re able to mask the surprise upon seeing him again with a warm smile.

“Just this afternoon actually,” you chuckle before taking another sip. “I didn’t think you’d still be here. Big city boy like you should’ve gotten tired of this place in the first month.”

“I could say the same for you,” Jeonghan rebuts with an easygoing grin. “You’re a big city girl now too, aren’t you? But you’re back home anyways.”

“Well, Y/N actually has friends to come back to or else we’ll hop on the earliest flight to wherever the hell she is to come get her ourselves,” Seungkwan interjects beside you with a huff. “What’re you even doing here? Don’t you have a date waiting for you or something?”

Despite convincing yourself that you were over that fleeting crush on Jeonghan, you still feel your shoulders sag at the thought that he was here tonight with someone else. Thankfully, neither Seungkwan or Jeonghan notice the shift in your countenance.

“I do, actually. I was just going to pick up a couple drinks I ordered earlier. Can’t a man treat her to a Tequila Sunrise?” Jeonghan pouts and just in time the bartender stationed behind the counter places two glasses of a vibrant-looking drink in front of him. “Well, it’s nice to see you again, Y/N. I hope the tapes I sold you kept you good company while you were gone.”

Oh. He still remembers that.

“They did,” you affirm all while trying to keep yourself from smiling too much. “I can always rely on the taste of someone who literally owns an entire record store.”

“Well, if you need some new tunes to groove to, you know where to find me,” Jeonghan says with an attractive wink, butterflies beating their wings inside your stomach. 

It’s only when Jeonghan walks back to the booth he’s sharing with his supposed date—a pretty blonde with shiny dangling earrings that glimmer in the disco lights—that you realize that maybe you haven’t really gotten over him like you initially thought.

Unfortunately for you, Seungkwan gets the same idea.

“Jihoon’s not gonna be happy about this,” he drawls before taking another sip of his drink. 

“Well, he’s not my mother.”

“Your mother won’t be happy about you getting the hots for someone who sleeps with different women every weekend, but okay.”

You brush off his comments with a shake of your head, downing the rest of your drink as you tug him out of his stool. “Whatever. Come on, let’s go find Soonyoung and the others.”

Apart from your usual circle with Jihoon, Seungkwan, Mingyu, and Soonyoung, they’ve made a couple more friends in the local university they decided to attend together. They introduce you to Seokmin, a theater major with the brightest smile you’ve ever seen—and for some reason, they’ve all managed to befriend Joshua Hong himself as well.

The new additions to your growing group of friends fit right in. Even Joshua, who you’ve always thought of as some snotty trust fund baby, proved to be quite enjoyable company. To your delight, your first night back after almost an entire year of being away turns out much more worthwhile than you initially thought.

For the rest of the night, you try your best to keep your mind off of Jeonghan and focus on mingling with your friends again. God knows how badly you’ve missed them—the occasional phone call can’t ever hold a candle to hanging out with these lunatics in the flesh. 

But despite having loads of fun just watching Soonyoung engage someone apparently named Minghao in a dance-off, you can’t help but feel like someone’s watching you. 

It doesn’t take long for you to find Jeonghan’s eyes in the crowd. 

His date is resting her head on his shoulder—obviously buzzed from the drinks she’s consumed for the night. You’re not sure if it was pure coincidence that your gazes locked in such a packed crowd, but before you can even think about waving at him, Mingyu yanks you to the dancefloor to duke it out with the rest of your friends.

The heat of Jeonghan’s gaze sears into your being like a soldering iron kissing your skin. Every time you try to look for him wherever the boys would unwittingly drag you to have some fun, you’d find his intense stare still affixed on your form. If it was anyone else, you would’ve been unnerved by the scrutiny he’s giving you especially when his date is literally half-asleep next to him in their booth.

But maybe part of you will always want Jeonghan—even if you’ve convinced yourself otherwise.

When the night comes to an end, Mingyu and Seokmin do the honors of carrying a ditzy-drunk Soonyoung inside Joshua’s SUV. It proves to be a fool’s errand at most because of course Soonyoung would make it a point to be difficult while all his well-meaning friends just want to tuck him back to bed—breaking into a quick dance every five steps forward.

“Hey, I’ll just go use the washroom first,” you whisper in Jihoon’s ear. “I won’t be long.”

Your best friend nods. “Yeah, we need someone to look after these idiots. Seungkwan would just provoke Soonyoung into doing something even more stupid.”

“Hey! I heard that!” Seungkwan complains.

You break away from them momentarily with a giggle before hoisting the strap of your purse over your shoulder and making your way to the washroom. 

There are a couple of other disheveled disco-goers trying to make themselves look a bit more presentable. You decide to take a vacant spot by the mirror to touch up your makeup, dusting bits of glitter with unknown origin away from your face. Once you’re all set, the others have long left the washroom—prompting you to make your way out of the building before the owner closes its doors.

However, once you make it back to the main area, you spot Jeonghan on one of the barstools—speaking to a man with dyed blue hair, while his date is nowhere to be found.

“Y/N?” Jeonghan calls out despite your best effort to brisk walk to the door. “You’re still here? Your friends didn’t ditch you or anything, right?”

You shake your head. “Oh, no. They’re waiting for me outside. They were struggling to get Soonyoung inside your brother’s car so I thought I’d go freshen up first.”

“Shua’s car? I didn’t know you two were friends,” he comments with brows raised. “I asked him about you back then but he said he and you haven’t spoken two words to each other.”

Wait a minute. He asked Joshua about you?

“That’s because you’re always too friendly, Han,” the other man whose name you don’t know interjects with a roll of his eyes. “You probably know all your customers and mine by name at this point.”

“You’re being funny again, Cheol,” Jeonghan snickers before turning to you once again. “Y/N, this is Seungcheol. He’s the new manager of this particular branch of our father’s discotheques. He’s also a very good friend of mine.”

You glance at Seungcheol with a nod. “Hi.”

“Hmm, your friends are a bunch of regulars here, but I don’t think I’ve seen you around,” he observes. 

“That’s because this little bird has been away for work for the past year,” Jeonghan supplies while twirling a glass of what looks like bourbon in his hand.

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow at him. “You sure know a lot about Y/N.” 

“Well, she was one of my first customers and her best friend is one of my most loyal regulars,” he laughs before taking a sip, grinning so handsomely, you can almost feel your knees give out at the sight of him. “Tell Jihoon I said hi once you meet up with them again, yeah?”

“O-Okay,” you stammer, clutching your purse much too tightly for someone who’s just having a casual conversation with a bunch of guys who aren't your friends. 

“I’ll leave you for a while. I’m going to go check on your sister and make sure she hasn’t thrown up all over my desk,” Seungcheol excuses himself with a pat on Jeonghan’s shoulder. 

“Your sister?” you repeat with an incredulous ring to your voice.  

“Mhmm. My biological sister,” Jeonghan hums in affirmation as Seungcheol steps out. “Not so different from you, she’s been traveling in and out of the country for work and decided to pay me a visit while she’s here. Though I didn’t expect her alcohol tolerance to be…like that, which is why I had her rest in Cheol’s office for the meantime.”

Your mind processes his words at lightning speed—quickly pulling out the memory of Jeonghan with his supposed date with her head on his shoulder.

“So your date was your sister?” you clarify. 

“Why are you making it sound like it’s a bad thing? Can’t I take my sister out on a few dates?” He shakes his head.

“I never said anything like that!” 

Jeonghan places a hand on his chest in feigned offense, shaking his head with a dramatic sigh. “It’s alright, I’m quite used to being falsely judged.”

“You are so dramatic,” you snort.

“So I’ve been told,” he laughs airily before putting down his glass, getting up from the stool he decided to occupy. “By the way, there’s a little something that’s been bothering me since you came over here.”

As your present company draws closer to you with each word, your heart swells with equal parts anticipation and dreadful curiosity. 

Something’s been bothering him? Did you perhaps do something wrong? That’s a little impossible because you could’ve sworn you’ve done your best to ignore him the entire—

“You’ve got some glitter right…” Jeonghan murmurs as he cups the side of your face with a warm hand, thumb brushing against the corner of your mouth. 

“Here.”

It’s as if time came to a standstill when he does it—holding both your gaze and your breath captive in the lush brown of his eyes. You always wondered what it would feel like to have Jeonghan’s skin on yours and of all the ways it could’ve happened, this isn’t exactly part of your list of delusions.

He’s so close and so pretty and he smells so good—

“Are you sure you don’t want to go out sometime?” 

You don’t even realize that your thoughts have translated it into words until Jeonghan’s expression morphs from relaxed to mildly surprised. He pulls away only a little before his lips twitch into a smile that borders on taunting.

“Oh? You’re still on a mission, huh?” Jeonghan simpers. “You’re a persistent little thing, aren’t you?” 

Maybe it’s just the alcohol you’ve consumed making you just a bit braver than you usually are, but your mouth just won’t stop running.

“Well, I wouldn’t be this persistent if you didn’t give any signs that you might’ve lied to me the first time I asked.” 

“Hm? And what makes you think I was lying?”

Your shoulders heave with a soft laugh, folding your arms together as you hold his gaze with confidence oozing out of your posture. “Yoon Jeonghan, if you really aren’t interested, then why were you watching me the entire night? I’m not blind you know. You weren’t being subtle either.”

“What if I was just extremely happy to see one of my first ever customers back in town?” he chuckles, the tone of his voice aggravatingly leveled for someone you’re supposedly cornering. “And sorry to say, sweetheart, but I don’t really go out with any of Shua’s friends.”

His reasoning makes you heave an incredulous laugh as you recall the way he stared at you earlier tonight like you have a target on your back. You want to make it a point that you’ve only considered his stepbrother as a friend on this same night, but decide on going at this with a different approach.

“Okay,” you respond coolly, challenging the nonchalant smile on his face with one of your own. “If you don’t go out with any of Joshua’s friends, would you sleep with one?”

You don’t know how, but you’ve managed to make the distance between you even smaller. Jeonghan doesn’t budge even as you stare at him with fire in your eyes—even when your skin prickles with electricity from the sparks of something inevitably flying between the two of you. 

Once upon a time, you resigned yourself to the fact that Jeonghan would be nothing more than a fleeting, unrequited crush. But who knew that all it would take is a single night after months of not seeing him to make you realize that maybe things aren’t really what they seem?

“My, I’ve never had anyone come onto me this strongly before,” he muses with a soft laugh. “But your friends must be looking for you. No one takes that long to retouch in the ladies’ room, no? You best be on your way, Y/N.”

“You’re avoiding the question,” you deadpan with an amused smirk. “If I told you I’d leave you alone and never bother you with this again if you really, truly aren’t interested, will you answer me then?”

A voice that sounds like a strange mix of Jihoon and Seungkwan wails in the back of your semi-inebriated mind. What the fuck are you doing?!

You want to respond back that you completely know what you’re doing, but you’re well aware that the half the words you’ve uttered during the entire course of the conversation would never even get past your lips had you been in a better state of mind.

But for all of Jeonghan’s inclination of playing hard-to-get, he leans closer to your ear—the hand he places on your bare shoulder nearly searing his mark onto your skin. 

“Maybe next time, sweetheart.”

This game you’re playing with Jeonghan eventually becomes commonplace.

You spend a chunk of it deliberately getting under his skin. While you certainly made all those bold declarations under the influence, you quickly realized that the day after Jeonghan gave you his cryptic answer, you’re completely serious about this so-called mission.

So you brought out all sorts of ammunition that would make your mother weep with how you’re practically flaying yourself open for a man. You’d purposely wear tight-fitting clothes that emphasized the dips and curves of your body, show up to every night out where you were certain Jeonghan would be present, and of course, hang out at his record store more times than an average person would willingly spend in her boring old hometown.

Jeonghan—ever the infuriatingly level-headed person he is—takes all of it in stride. Where your friends have raised eyebrows with how you’re openly pursuing the most un-pursueable man you all know, he doesn’t treat you any differently from the way he usually does. 

He still entertains you whenever you sneak up on him at the disco, still accommodates your unnecessary purchases in his store…

Still flat-out rejects your advances even if he’s borderline flirting back.

It’s a constant push and pull that Jihoon might be sick of hearing whenever you deign to come over to tell him about the progress of your pursuit—or lack thereof. But since he’s taken up the mantle of your best friend, this is the fate that he has to live with. 

“You do know that you’re dancing with a wolf over there, right?” he points out one night while he’s busy writing a song and you’re flipping through a magazine on his bed. “The other guys have told me enough stories about how he’s always got a different date every time they’re at the disco. He’s a raging Casanova, Y/N. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“How can I get hurt when I’m just after a good time?” you chuckle as your ears ring every time he strums his guitar. “If he’s such a Casanova, then why hasn’t he tried to make a move when I’m openly expressing how into him I really am? Have been for, like, two years now!”

“If I knew the thought process behind how he responds to you, I wouldn’t be stressing as much as I have for the past two years,” he grumbles.

“You worry too much about me, Ji. I’ve already fooled around with some guys here and there. What’s another one from my hometown?”

Jihoon turns to glance at you with a tired look on his face. “But Jeonghan isn’t just some guy. He’s Jeonghan.” 

You want to refute that statement by saying that you have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. But for someone who mostly keeps to himself, Jihoon has an extremely good perception on things. He probably already knows things about Jeonghan even if you don’t say them outright.

The owner of the record store in Main Street is undoubtedly alluring. He’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen—beautiful enough to have you hope time and time again that you can call him yours. What’s more is that the chemistry between you was established the moment he teased the possibility of you getting what you’ve wanted since you met. 

Maybe next time, sweetheart.

No matter how risky it is to toe this jagged cliff of your mutual interest, you’ve always been a glutton for danger.

ONE SUMMER AGO

Your game plan after settling your bags into your house is simple: drop by Jeonghan’s store to let you know that the biggest thorn on his side is back in town and check if he magically wants to fuck you this time around. It’s a routine that your friends have long grown tired of—seeing no point in interfering when you’re so dead-set to get with Jeonghan however you can.

It’s pretty pathetic, but you’re anything but a quitter.

Although contrary to popular belief, screwing Yoon Jeonghan isn’t always the only thing running through your head whenever you’re home. Take right now for example.

You’d just finished unpacking your things into your room when you realized that you’d forgotten to place one of the cassette tapes that Jihoon personally made for you inside its usual protective container—discovering that the outer casing was cracked through the middle while the plastic film lolled out of the rupture, dangerously close to being torn in the state you found it in.

If it were any other cassette tape—even the ones Jeonghan personally picked out for you before you left—you wouldn’t have been fazed. These things are replaceable, especially when Jeonghan would have a dozen other copies waiting for you in his store.

Except this tape in particular can’t be replaced because Jihoon spent a fortune getting it personally manufactured for you. He recorded a few of the songs he personally wrote into the film and had it mailed to you as a surprise—a thoughtful attempt at easing your homesickness for the holidays. 

There wasn’t a day when you didn’t listen to your best friend sing with the help of your Walkman. Your old cassette tapes from Jeonghan definitely took a backseat once you received Jihoon’s present in the mail with a letter he personally wrote attached to the package. 

And now it’s broken because you were an idiot who didn’t pack it somewhere more secure—

“Sweetheart, I’m closing early tonight. If you’re going to ask if I want to sleep with you, you should try…”

Jeonghan’s playful tone falters when he sees that you’re sniffling in the oversized parka you hurriedly pulled from the coatrack before heading over to the only person who can possibly salvage Jihoon’s precious gift. You don’t say anything as you place the broken cassette tape on top of the wooden counter—eyes downcast as Jeonghan peruses what you’ve presented for him to inspect.

“T-That’s really important to me,” you murmur, wiping the tears off your face as your eyes rivet themselves on the smiley that Jihoon doodled right next to the message he wrote for you on the outer cover. “Can you fix it? I’ll pay you up front.”

As the store owner you’ve been crazy about for the better part of three years examines the crime scene before him, he lets out a soft laugh that has you glancing at him inquisitively.

“So Jihoon made you your very own tape, huh? How sweet of him.” He smiles comfortingly—devoid of the usual mirth and amusement he typically showcases in your presence. “Don’t worry too much, yeah? The outer shell is damaged, but the tape reel itself is still intact. I’ll just replace the casing and you’ll still be able to listen to this just fine.”

Your eyes widen ever-so slightly. “Really?”

Jeonghan’s smile spreads even wider as he leans across the counter. He’s tall enough that he can reach you without much difficulty, his knuckles softly brushing against your cheek in a quaint attempt at drying your tears. 

The sight of him so close to you is equal parts foreign and familiar. His gesture reminds you of the time he brushed some glitter off your face last summer, but the provocative look in his eyes back then is nowhere to be found. All Jeonghan offers you right now is solace over something that you probably overreacted about. 

“I’ll go check if I have some spare cassette cases in the back before I try to fix this, okay? You can have a look around the shop in the meantime.”

Jeonghan punctuates the words with two soft pats on your cheek, his soft smile never faltering as he directs himself to the door behind the counter—Jihoon’s broken present carefully cupped in his hands.

As promised, your knight-in-denim-overalls manages to fix one of the most precious gifts you’ve received in your lifetime. You nearly jump to embrace him when Jeonghan reemerges from the back with the cassette tape more or less good as new, but he quickly side-steps your attempt out of the fear that you’ll end up breaking the damn thing all over again.

“How much do I owe you?” You’re practically humming with glee as you bring out your wallet from the pocket of your jeans. “Thank fucking god, Jeonghan. I was so close to losing my mind over it.”

“I’m the one who revived this patient and you’re thanking god? Way to discredit an artist for his craft.” The store owner pouts. “I’ll let this slide and tell you that you don’t have to pay for a thing.”

“I insist.”

“You can pay for it in other ways, you know.”

Once the words are out of his mouth, silence settles over the two of you in near-deafening fashion. The bustling of cars and other vehicles from outside is the only sound you could hear as you mull over what his words could possibly imply.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” You gape, eyeing him incredulously. 

As Jeonghan hands you back your perfectly repaired cassette tape, the corners of his mouth twitch with a conniving smile. “What do you think I’m saying, sweetheart?”

That you can pay for his services with sex? Isn’t that the usual implication when it comes to things like this? But that doesn’t seem right. 

Even if you should be elated from being so much closer to your goal, it feels like you’re cheating. You’ve been subjected to this seemingly endless chase for so long that in the ideal event that Jeonghan would finally cave and let you sleep with him, this definitely isn’t the way he’d concede. You know him well enough to say that for sure.

So instead of pouncing at your prize like some slobbering mutt, you choose your words carefully—making sure to not step into that conversational bear trap he so obviously set up.

“No idea. You tell me.”

Jeonghan simpers before dusting off his overalls, carding his fingers through his dark hair. He’s wearing it a little longer this summer and you’re really digging the look more than you probably should.

“How about we stop by the roller rink later? My treat. You can pay me back with your company.” 

A large scowl immediately roots itself on your face. “Aren’t you already doing too much?” For someone who’s been pestering you like a fly every summertime, you’d like to add but obviously didn’t. “Seriously, let me just pay you for the repair and we’ll be even.”

Adamantly, he shakes his head. “I don’t have any rates for tape repairs, so consider it as a favor. I also mentioned that I was closing up early tonight, remember?”

“Uh, what does that have to do with—”

“Seungcheol begged me to come to the roller rink to teach him how to skate because apparently this lady he’s been eyeing is a figure skater. Poor guy doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of her on their first date this weekend,” Jeonghan explains swiftly before chuckling to himself. “He’s kind of unteachable so I thought I’d bring some backup.”

Your face twists with even more confusion. “And what made you think I’m any good at roller skating?”

Jeonghan shrugs. “Gut feeling.”

And that’s how you wound up in the town roller rink at eight in the evening when you promised Luna you’d be home to watch The Exorcist on your father’s VHS player. 

Jeonghan is awfully difficult to say no to when he’s the one doing all the pestering and even though your roller skating skills are subpar at best, at least you’re not as pitiful as a man named Choi Seungcheol.

“These aren’t even roller blades,” you point out all while stifling a laugh. “What’s the deal, Cheol? Is your center of gravity that shitty?”

“Say that to me when we’re in a taekwondo match, I dare you,” Seungcheol huffs as he grips the metal railing for dear life. “The things I do for a gorgeous girl…”

Jeonghan skates over to his friend with a smirk, tugging on his arm. “Come on, now. You won’t impress your date if you keep ambling by the sides like a spaz.”

In an attempt to become the devil’s advocate, you take Seungcheol’s other arm in your grasp as well. “Yeah. If you weren’t confident about this, why’d you ask her out here? Actually, who on Earth schedules the first date at a roller rink?” 

“I wanted her to know that we have common interests!” 

“And skating is your common interest?”

“...No, but at least she’d get the idea that I care about what she does for a living.”

With the newfound determination to not embarrass himself in front of the gorgeous figure skater, Seungcheol lets you and Jeonghan teach him the art of not falling on your ass every time he glides forward. This goes on for about thirty or-so minutes until he finally gets the hang of it and is out and about in the rink full of teenagers that are looking at him funny.

This is when you decide to wind down and hang out by the railings as well, watching your student test out if he can do a little spin now that he’s sort of mastered the basics. Unfortunately for Seungcheol, he slips and lands on his back after the attempt—immediately scrambling back to his feet before any of the younger skaters could laugh at him for the mishap.

“Hope you don’t mind that I whisked you off for an impromptu tutoring session.”

You don’t even startle when Jeonghan materializes beside you like he almost always does—his eyes also trained on his poor friend while he practices what he’s been taught. A soft sigh escapes your lips as you stare at him with a shake of your head. 

“I’m supposed to be marathoning horror movies with my sister, you know,” you chuckle. “Dunno why you asked me to come with you to teach the unteachable, but I’m glad I could help.”

He lets out a quiet laugh of his own. “I just wanted to give you a warm welcome is all. Haven’t seen you in a year.”

“Even if all I do is ask if you want to have sex with me?” 

“Hey, all friendships are built on different foundations. Ours just happens to be more unorthodox than the rest,” Jeonghan points out, like it’s common knowledge. “Besides, don’t you think it gives the friendship more spice when one of us keeps asking the other if they want to sleep together?”

You punch him in the shoulder. “You’re so weird.”

“And you still want me to fuck you despite that. I think that says a lot more about you than it does about me.” He grins and your throat constricts with how pretty he looks.

Just before you can open your mouth to dish out another snarky response, the song that comes up on the speakers switches into something familiar—the crowd of skaters immediately erupting into cheers.

“Oooh, Dancing Queen,” Jeonghan marvels as he pushes himself off the railing before yanking your hand. “Let’s go, sweetheart. Can’t let Cheol have all the fun now, can we?”

You’re no dancer but you’ve spent so many nights with your friends at the disco that you can’t really refuse when ABBA says that you can dance and you can jive. It’s a little more challenging when you’re literally wearing roller skates and Yoon Jeonghan is spinning you around while his head is thrown back in laughter, but you can manage,

It feels so strange to be doing this with him. You’ve gotten used to just coming up to Jeonghan to hit on him and get rejected before going about the rest of your day, so you don’t really know the protocol when it comes to fooling around with him in a roller rink. 

But instead of psyching yourself out too much, you just let yourself loose in the moment.

It’s…nice. You can feel the music in your veins as you burn the memory of Jeonghan grinning as he twirls you amidst a sea of roller skaters. Something pangs in your chest—a feeling you’ve felt with your other romantic prospects from the past, but never with Jeonghan.

Just when the song is about to end, however, you lose your footing and end up slipping onto the polished wooden floor. It would’ve been less embarrassing if you hadn’t hooked your arm around Jeonghan’s waist to balance yourself, but you both end up toppling into a heap.

“Shit, sorry!” you groan, rubbing your tailbone as you try to collect yourself. Your legs are right on top of Jeonghan’s though, so it proves to be somewhat difficult to get back to your feet without bracing your hands on the ground. 

Which is exactly what you end up doing just to keep yourself from face planting.

Jeonghan isn’t able to school his expression fast enough when you straddle his hips in the middle of the roller rink—eyes lit up with surprise as you stammer apology after apology. You really want to fucking stand up but you’re so shaken up by the chain of events that you can’t find the right balance. 

“So much for your center of gravity, huh?” 

You and Jeonghan both jump at the sound of Seungcheol’s voice—the other man sporting a smirk of his own as he stands over the two of you. Thankfully, instead of simpering at the fact that you got a taste of your own medicine, he offers a hand for you to take—one that you take more gingerly than you meant to. 

The three of you eventually hobble back to the waiting lounge together, making jabs at each other’s slip-ups for the night. Hanging out with these two men is just as fun as hanging out with your old friends and you’re glad to know that you’ve found such worthwhile company despite being away for most of the year.

After returning your skates, Jeonghan tells you and Seungcheol that he’s just going on a quick bathroom break and you agreed to wait for him before heading home. Your student then takes the opportunity to strike up a conversation. 

“Hmph. And you thought this wasn’t an ideal spot for a first date.”

Puzzled, you glance at Seungcheol with a questioning look. “What are you talking about?”

“You and Han,” he continues. “This is your first date, isn’t it? Took him long enough.”

Took him long enough? Seungcheol’s words sound so silly, you actually end up laughing at the foolishness of it all. “What? Jeonghan? Taking me out on a date? You didn’t hit your head while you were practicing, did you?”

“Hey, I might be a newbie, but once I learn, I never forget it,” Seungcheol huffs before crossing his arms. “And, yeah, is it so strange for Han to ask you out? Sure, you’re never really here like half the time—”

“I wouldn’t say half the time. I only ever get short breaks in the summer”

“Hey, summer breaks aren’t short… Okay, maybe they kind of are, but that’s not the point!” 

“Whatever your point is, it’s pointless,” you snort. “He always turns me down whenever I ask if he wants to sleep together. How could he possibly want to take me out on a date?”

Seungcheol makes a face. “You’ve been asking him what?” 

“...If he wants to sleep together?”

“Well, that’s because you’ve been asking the wrong question!”

“I’m not! Look, that wasn’t always my go-to. The first time we met, I asked if he wanted to go out sometime. He said no. And it’s been a…thing between us for me to constantly ask even if I know he’ll just turn me down.”

“...Doesn’t that just make you pathetic?”

“You know, you’re a lot different when you’re outside the disco.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “Anyway, you should really recalibrate the way you’re trying to get with Jeonghan because even if he’s the biggest manwhore I’ve met, when he actually gets serious, he—”

“Now what could you two possibly be talking about?” 

Like he always does, Jeonghan waltzes into the conversation with the most opportune timing. He glances at you and his friend curiously as he slings his arms around both of your shoulders—a conspiratorial grin weaseling its way onto his face. “Sounds to me like it’s something interesting.”

“I was just about to tell Seungcheol that you don’t go out with Joshua’s friends, hence the complete impossibility of this being a first date,” you clarify—face heating up with embarrassment at how ridiculous you sound right now. “I mean, would a proper first date include teaching your hopeless friend how to roller skate?”

Seungcheol snorts. “You obviously don’t know what Han considers as a proper first date.”

“But she’s completely right about that specific preference of mine,” Jeonghan agrees without missing a beat. “Now that this is all cleared up, how about we drive her back to her house? It’s getting late.”

That night, you climb under the covers of your bed reeling from that conversation you had with Seungcheol. You still think it’s downright silly for him to assume that Jeonghan took you out on a date when he clearly just sees you as a friend. 

Yet when you think about it a bit more, isn’t it more ridiculous for you to still be going at this game you’ve been playing with him for the past three years? Asking a man who’s way out of your league to sleep with you like some hooker on the streets? 

The way Jeonghan receives your advances doesn’t help your predicament in the slightest either. Most men would be unnerved by the fact that some woman keeps trying to get in his pants, but Jeonghan practically considers it as a thing that friends do. He simply turns you down without treating you any differently, and you’re starting to second-guess whether he’s just that good of a person or if he’s only keeping you around to amuse himself.

Seungkwan would tell you that you’ve got little to no respect for yourself. Jihoon would just sigh and tell you that he honestly expected better from you, and you wouldn’t fault either of them, really.

Because even when the odds are stacked against you, you’ll always find your way back to Yoon Jeonghan.

THE PRESENT

Much to everyone’s surprise, you’re able to go two straight weeks without seeking out the object of your prolonged affections. 

You make plans with anyone and everyone else there is to make plans with—going on a picnic with your sister, helping Jihoon write a song, hitting the arcade with Seungkwan. Anything to keep yourself away from Jeonghan.

Hell, you even agreed to meet Jeon Jungkook in the flesh when Mingyu finally remembered that he set you up with him a month ago. 

First impressions last and Jungkook definitely blew all your expectations out of the water when he pulled up in front of your house with a shiny Harley Davidson that boasted far more horsepower than your father’s old minivan. He’s the textbook definition of a badboy if his piercings and full sleeve of tattoos are anything to go by.

But for someone who hasn’t even met you before, he was thoughtful enough to bring flowers for your mother, a bottle of wine for your father, and Stephen King’s newest release for Luna when he arrived at your door with a boyish smile.

When Jihoon caught wind of the news, he immediately came over to your house to confirm if it’s actually true—a completely drastic shift from your usual habit of coming over at his.

Apparently, your mother ran into him at the grocery store and fessed up all about this wonderful biker who took Y/N out on a candle-lit dinner at the only decent restaurant in town to your best friend. It’s painfully obvious that Jihoon mirrors her excitement when you tell him that yes, your first date with Jungkook actually went better than expected. 

You thought Jungkook was the type of guy that your best friend would avoid at all costs. Jihoon hates loud noises that don’t contribute to his musical creativity and your newest flame’s motorcycle would definitely be an issue if your best friend ever hears him rev it up. 

And yet when you finally introduce them to each other, they hit it off at lightning speed. Turns out Jungkook was also a music major when he was in college and you find yourself lost in a sea of jargon as the pair engrosses themselves in a conversation regarding their mutual interests. 

Jungkook gets along swimmingly with your other friends too.

You should’ve trusted Mingyu’s judgment when he first told you that his friend can blend into any circle he chucks himself into because now you can only watch in awe as he and Sonyoung duke it out at your usual disco—exchanging high fives when the song on the jukebox comes to an end and the rest of the crowd cheers at them from the sides.

“How’re you liking our little town so far?” you ask when he returns to the booth you’ve claimed for the two of you, giggling when he leans down to press a kiss on your cheek. 

“You seriously downplay this place too much,” Jungkook sighs, unable to suppress the grin on his face. “Sure, there aren’t a lot of things to do, but I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who’s as passionate about dance battles as Soonyoung over there. Joshua, Seokmin and Seungkwan are brilliant company, too. Oh, and how could I forget about Jihoon? I’m seriously pissed because Mingyu didn’t introduce me to them sooner.”

Your bottom lip swells into a pout. “Only them, not me?”

Jungkook lets out a soft laugh that makes your skin tingle, leaning closer enough that you can feel his breath on your face. When he smiles, his lip ring glints in the colorful lights of the disco.

“Baby, if we’ve met any sooner, you’ll probably get sick of me.”

“And why is that, Mr. Jeon?” you whisper. 

He hums for a moment, tracing the outline of your lips with the heat of his gaze. “I’ve been told that I’m a very passionate lover. You might not be able to handle it.”

“And who’s to say you’re the judge of that?”

“Well, we can get out of here so you can see for yourself, no?”

Your face heats up at the notion of what he’s trying to imply. It’s a little silly because you’ve spent so much of your time practically throwing yourself at Jeonghan that when another man expresses interest in you, you suddenly clam up out of embarrassment. 

Jeonghan…

Even if you’re being pinned in place by Jungkook’s weightful stare, your gaze still goes over his shoulder—straight to the bar where you know he’s been watching you. 

The moment your gang of loud friends piled into the disco one after the other, you were quick to pick up on Jeonghan’s presence as he spoke to Seungcheol at the bar and from the way he snapped his head in the direction of your group, you like to think he’s just as privy to yours too.

Especially when his eyes zeroed in on Jungkook’s arm around your waist.

This time around, instead of hounding the guy with the same question you’ve been asking for years, you do your best to ignore his existence altogether. It was easier than you expected because Jungkook has the ability to make you forget about everything else when you’re in his company. He’s charming and sweet in ways that don’t leave you second guessing his intentions. The man wants you and he needs you to know that in whatever way he can manage.

But even if you’ve got a handsome badboy under your spell, Jungkook’s charms don’t work on you with the same intensity as a single gaze from Jeonghan.

He isn’t smiling at you like he usually is—lips nearly twisted into a frown as he watches Jungkook crowd you in your shared booth. While most of your body language would suggest that you’re receiving your beau’s affections openly, the fact that your eyes are trained on the man you’ve been trying your best to get over would tell Jeonghan another story entirely. 

Which is what ultimately makes you let out a breathy laugh before lightly pushing Jungkook off of you.

“Easy there, tiger. We’ve been dating for, what? A month?” you remind him with a somewhat forced smile. “You might be one of the two hottest guys I’ve met in my life, but I still believe in the art of taking your time.”

“The two hottest guys?” Jungkook parrots, amusement coloring his face as he leans back on the leather upholstery of your seat. “Who’s the other one then?”

You force yourself not to look at Jeonghan so you wouldn’t give yourself away. After all, you haven’t lost yet. It’s perfectly normal to still think about the man you may or may not have been in love with for years when you’re in the middle of getting over him. Whatever you and Jungkook have going isn’t a lost cause just yet.

“No one important,” you insist before tugging him back to his feet . “How about you come dance with me instead of asking silly questions, loverboy?”

A hint of skepticism crosses his face for just a moment before he concedes, letting you drag him back to the dancefloor as you try your damnedest to ignore the way Jeonghan’s gaze never strayed far from you for the rest of the night.

Summer is almost coming to an end and your boss has already mailed you some documents containing the details of your next job. You read through them while you’re bundled up in blankets in the living room with Jihoon, who seems more excited about it than you are.

“You’re going to Paris?” your best friend gawks. “That’s actually insane. I thought only the filthy rich could go there in this economy.”

“Well, if you land yourself some work in a pretty well-off company, you can gain more benefits than you’d otherwise expect,” you chuckle. “How about you come with me? You can go busking in front of The Louvre or something. Then the Parisians would discover just how talented one Lee Jihoon actually is.”

“Or I could get arrested by the Parisian police force.” Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Thanks for the offer, but I am not as ambitious as you are.”

“Hmph. Suit yourself then.”

While the two of you are busy planning an itinerary for the entirety of your trip, the telephone rings down the hall and you get up to answer it. 

“Hey, beautiful,” Jungkook’s smooth voice rings in your ears after asking the caller’s identity, making your face warm with how flustered you are. “Heard tonight was best friend’s night so I wasn’t really supposed to bother you, but Gyu wanted to throw me a surprise birthday party and he was wondering if you and Jihoon want to come with.”

“It’s not a surprise anymore if you’re the one inviting guests though?” you point out with a laugh. “And your birthday isn’t until a few days.”

“Yeah, you’re right, but one thing about Mingyu is that he can’t keep a secret for the life of him. What’s more is that we already have dinner plans for my special day, remember?” Jungkook sighs. “Anyway, are you two going to show up or am I gonna be miserable the entire night because you’re not here?”

“Where even is here, Jungkook?” 

“At the disco, where else? Mingyu rented out the entire place for the occasion.”

“Hmm, maybe you should start dating Mingyu instead.”

“God, no. So are you coming or not?”

It’s funny how you don’t even hesitate when you answer, “Sure thing. I’ll go tell Jihoon about it.”

“Aw, baby, you sure know how to make the birthday boy happy. See you soon.”

You hang up on Jungkook after bidding him a farewell of your own, heart beating just a little bit faster at the exchange. You know you’re not obligated to come to his not-so surprise birthday party since you already made plans with Jihoon to marathon a couple of movies, but even if you and Jungkook aren’t really a thing just yet, you still feel like you should at least be there to celebrate alongside your friends.

Jihoon agrees to it without a hitch—god knows how much he adores Jungkook. And as the two of you are getting ready to go out again, an idea pops into your head.

“You can go ahead of me to the disco. I’ll just go buy Jungkook a present first.”

Your best friend glances at you, confused. “I can accompany you, you know. It’s no big deal.” 

But despite his kind offer, you shake your head adamantly. “I really want this to be kept between me and him, Ji. Is that alright?”

“Ugh. Fine, whatever.”

There’s some truth to what you’ve told Jihoon, but everyone knows that only relaying some of the truth is as good as lying. 

You tug your jacket tighter around your shoulders as you stand in front of a familiar record store. You’ve been to and from this place so often in the past that you’ve practically memorized Jeonghan’s operating hours by heart. 

You’re going to prove to yourself that you’re over that phase in your life. Once you buy a vinyl by this one bossa nova artist that Jungkook really likes, you’ll kiss your once-prominent obsession with Jeonghan goodbye.

Not like it’s difficult, right? Jungkook has always been sweet and reassuring where Jeonghan gave you nothing but uncertainty and countless instances asking yourself, what am I even doing? It’s practically a no brainer to choose the former over the latter.

You suck in a deep breath. The thundering of your heart is too loud to ignore, but before you’re overcome with nerves, you step straight inside.

It’s empty like it always is when closing time is just a few minutes away. Jeonghan’s already mopping up the floor of his shop—something that surprised you the first time because you didn’t think people who came from old money actually knew how to do chores. 

You also notice that he’s already changed out of his denim overalls—already donned in an outfit that he would no doubt be wearing to the disco right after he closes up shop. A velvet maroon shirt with a few buttons undone that’s tucked inside a pair of black trousers. Before you can catch yourself salivating over how fucking good he looks in that outfit, his gaze flickers to you in an instant.

“Hm? Been a while since you’ve dropped by, sweetheart,” he comments before stuffing the mop back in a supply closet and sanitizing his hands. “You’ve been busy with that boyfriend of yours, haven’t you?”

So he has noticed. “You could say that.”

He nods before stepping over to you, that stupidly disarming grin ever-present on his pretty face. “Hm? Is that trouble in paradise I sense? Don’t tell me he hasn’t bothered to put a label on things. What a waste.”

You planned on making this gruesome exchange with Jeonghan swift, but you completely forgot that he has a knack for getting under people’s nerves when he feels like it. “Why would it be a waste when we’re just taking our time? Besides, I’m not here to talk to you about me and Jungkook. I’m here to buy something.”

“For your little badboy? Now what could he possibly know about the finer things in life? That man looks like he wouldn’t even be able to play a triangle.”

Just when you managed to spot a record that you’re certain Jungkook has mentioned to you in passing, Jeonghan’s uncalled for words have you scowling at him. “Really? I know your family’s loaded and all, but you never really struck me as the pretentious type, Jeonghan. Mind you, Jungkook is a music major, and that’s low, even for you. 

He simpers with folded arms, one foot tapping impatiently on the linoleum. “Well, forgive me, sweetheart, I don’t think I can react with my usual finesse when someone else is encroaching on what belongs to me.”

You don’t even think it’s possible, but your scowl only deepens. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You’ve always been mine, no?” 

…How he has the guts to tell you that after every single instance he’s rejected you is unfathomable. You do not want to have this conversation right now, so you quickly pluck Jungkook’s present from the assortment of vinyls before storming off to the cashier—mentally cursing Jeonghan for being so self-sufficient that he doesn’t see the need to hire other people but himself. Now you’ll be forced to deal with him until you’re finished with your purchase.

“How can you stomach buying your little badboy a birthday gift when we both know your heart is still tethered to me, sweetheart?” Jeonghan taunts you from behind as he shuffles towards the counter. “I thought this was just some ploy to get me jealous, but you’re acting a bit too realistically for comfort. Have you forgotten who you were trying to get with for the past few years? 

“Have you forgotten who you’ve rejected time and time again?” you deadpan with a glare. “You made it clear whenever I asked that you weren’t interested. You know, Jihoon and the others kept calling you a player, so I never really understood why you never tried to get with me—someone who’s literally throwing herself at your feet every summer.”

Jeonghan lets out an incredulous laugh. “Why do you think I turned you down each time? You’re always asking if I want to have sex with you, but have you ever considered that maybe I don’t just think of you as another notch on my belt? That I actually wanted to get to know you past the sexual pretense?”

His words are quick to turn your heart into stone. “Then why didn’t you say that to me back then? Why are you only coming clean about this when I’m finally ready to move on with someone else?”

“That’s because I like you, Y/N,” he sighs, jaw clenching as if he has the right to be more frustrated than you are. “I didn’t want to just sleep with you. I wanted us to be friends first before I pursued you, but then you went on about asking if I wanted to fuck each and every time you’re home. I was just being careful because I don’t want to give anyone the power to trample on my feelings.”

“So you thought it was okay to trample on mine?”

The exasperation on Jeonghan’s face seemingly melts away with that simple response. You’re still staring at him with fire in your eyes—the kind he’s used to admiring from afar whenever you’re feeling your emotions a little more intensely than usual. But for once in his life, Jeonghan is unable to formulate some clever retort.

“Just fucking scan my vinyl so I can leave,” you grumble before sliding the record across the counter. “If you don’t have anything worthwhile to say to me, just don’t say anything at all.”

“Do you really mean it?”

Your whole body freezes up when you feel Jeonghan standing directly behind you, caging you between his tall frame and the counter. Both of his lean arms are braced against the wooden surface and you make a mistake of whirling around to face him. 

“M-Mean what?” you stammer, suddenly losing whatever conviction your voice once held because of his goddamn eyes. They look so pretty even if they’re pleading for something you can’t put your finger on.

“That you’ve already moved on with him?” he murmurs. “If it’s true then…you can forget that this conversation ever happened. Go celebrate his birthday and make him your boyfriend or whatever.” 

When Jeonghan leans closer, his lips brush the shell of your ear—making you shiver with anticipation. “But if you think you’d still choose me after all, then I promise you that I won’t waste your time anymore. I’m ready to own up to what I feel about you even if I deserve none of your reciprocation at this point.”

He’s right. He doesn’t deserve even an ounce of what you would’ve been willing to give before you saw reason. Jihoon was smart to come to the conclusion that Jeonghan only kept you around to entertain himself, but once losing you became a possibility, he suddenly put on this show of buttering you up.

Admitting things he should’ve told you years ago. Telling you he likes you only when you’ve already got your eyes set on someone else. 

The logical thing to do is turn him down and walk away from Yoon Jeonghan once and for all. You could do it—you could leave the convoluted history the two of you shared in the past. You’ve already been doing it with Jungkook for the past month. But no matter how much you convince yourself otherwise, there’s a singular truth that you won’t be able to escape: 

You’ll always find your way back to Yoon Jeonghan.

The next few minutes are a blur of desperate touches and equally desperate kisses. You don’t remember when exactly you lunged in for the kill, but the next thing you know, Jeonghan has you propped up on the counter of his store as he pushes your jacket off your shoulders and hikes your skirt further up your thighs.

“Wanted you for so long,” Jeonghan sighs against your lips and you feel like he’s exercising active restraint so he wouldn’t rip the delicate fabric of your skirt. “But I needed you to take me seriously so you wouldn’t think you’re just another girl I slept with.”

You bark out a condescending laugh before reclaiming his lips, shoving your tongue down his throat until he’s groaning into you—fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs. 

“You obviously didn’t take me seriously with how much you fucked with my head.”

“I wasn’t fucking with your head, sweetheart. I was just biding my time.”

“So the thing that finally got you to crack is seeing another guy get his hands on me,” you point out with a quiet chuckle, trying not to moan when his lips trace a scorching path down the skin of your neck. “I didn’t take you to be the jealous type. If I knew, I would’ve paraded Mingyu inside your shop ages ago.”

“Hm?” He hums—a noncommittal noise that has you shivering beneath his touch anyways. “Are you saying that you would fuck Mingyu too? When you’re already cozying up to his best friend? You’re quite greedy, huh?”

You let out a quiet whimper when you feel him press two fingers against your clothed core—wanting him, needing him. “J-Jeonghan, someone outside might see…”

“Then we better put on a show, right, sweetheart?” 

The fact that Jeonghan calling you sweetheart incites a more visceral reaction out of you compared to Jungkook calling you baby makes a clump of guilt fester in your chest. The vinyl you’re supposed to get for him as a present sits idly a few inches away, but all of it is forgotten once Jeonghan reminds you of what you really want. 

It’s fucking humiliating how your cunt gushes at his words. Jeonghan is clearly pleased with the mess he finds between your thighs after pushing your underwear to the side. You curl yourself into his chest, twitching every time his fingers graze your clit. He laughs, low and dangerous in your ear all while he lathers your slit in your own essence.

“I’d love to take my time and eat you out right here, but I don’t think I have the patience just yet,” he whispers before teasing your entrance with the occasional dip of his fingers. “I’ll make you come with my mouth some other time. For now, I think I just need to see you crying on my fingers and my cock.”

His crooked digits slide into you with perfect ease, stretching out your gummy walls so you’d be able to take something more. You cling onto Jeonghan like a lifeline as he murmurs a string of filthy musings into your ear.

“Has your little badboy finger-fucked you this good, sweet thing?” he rasps. “In fact, has he even kissed you?”

“H-He’s kissed me once,” you admit, the walls of your cunt clenching around his intrusive fingers as you try to recall how you and Jungkook shared your first real kiss in the parking lot of the movie theater. “But I wished it was you instead…”

“Really now?” Jeonghan chuckles, clearly emboldened by your honesty. “You still think of me even when you’re with someone else, hm? Well you’re in luck sweetheart.”

“I do the same thing, too.”

Your eyes flutter with pleasure when he curls his fingers inside your tight channel, his free hand toying with your clit with each pass he makes. Jeonghan praises you for spreading your legs so prettily for him, for being his good girl and no one else’s. Every word he breathes into your ears only makes you wetter by the second and you fear that each time he plunges his digits into your heat, someone outside would hear the squelching flesh.

“J-Jeonghan,” you whimper, thighs quivering with the need for release. “Let me come, please. I wanna come on your fingers. I need it.”

Of course, your newfound lover makes it a point to laugh at your desperate plea, licking his lips as he draws tight circles around your sensitive nub. “Just a few moments ago, you were afraid of being caught getting off like this. Now you want me to make you come?”

You nod vigorously—uncaring for how pathetic it would make you seem. “Yes, I want you so much… You’ll give it to me, won’t you?”

Ah, he’s always known you were a vixen. Those days when you’d purposely dress up wearing the skimpiest outfits just to get his attention were one of the hardest. In fact, the entire ordeal of keeping his hands off you when you were offering yourself up so willingly was one of the hardest things he’s done in his life. 

But Jeonghan supposes that he can still reap the benefits of his patience—even if that patience was snapped in two when you dared to think another man deserved to have you.

“Of course I’ll give it to you, sweetheart,” he murmurs sweetly before planting the sloppiest kiss on your lips. “Come for me if you want my cock in you. You can do that, right?”

You screw your eyes shut at his affirmation to focus on getting yourself to the pinnacle of gratification. Jeonghan has slowed the pace of the fingers thrusting in and out of your messy cunt and decided to zero in on your clit. You’re twitching and thrashing in his grasp, moaning his name so prettily, he wishes he could snap a photo to preserve the memory for life.

You come undone on his fingers with a breathless sigh, nearly collapsing on top of the counter from how boneless you felt in the aftermath. But Jeonghan is quick to coil an arm around your waist, peppering your face with kisses as he keeps himself from grinning too wide.

“So good for me. So perfect—my perfect fucking girl.” 

The lasciviousness dripping from his words urges you to spread your thighs for him—eyes glazed over with lust as he undoes the zipper of his trousers. You have to keep yourself from gasping once he takes out his impressive length—fully engorged with how much you’ve been teasing each other over the past half hour. 

Jeonghan fists his cock before sliding the head across your oversensitive clit, but you don’t voice out any complaints—already desperate to have him again despite having just recovered from your last orgasm. 

He doesn’t wait for a verbal confirmation, doesn’t waste his time on any more preamble. Jeonghan simply hooks your thighs around his elbows and sinks his cock into your tight channel with his bottom lip caged between his teeth. You’re a lot less reserved with the noises you make—openly crying out his name once he buries himself to the hilt. 

You feel him everywhere—inside you, on your skin, on your face, in your heart. Jeonghan is heaving deeply as he lets you get used to him and when he flashes you that lazy smile that started everything, your chest seizes with something not shy of glee. 

You have him. You finally have him.

And from the way that smile you’ve always loved morphs into a smirk, you have a feeling he’ll make sure you engrave this moment into your mind.

“We could’ve done this sooner,” Jeonghan sighs with the first drag of his hips, loving the way you writhe underneath him when he plunges his cock back into your slick heat. “If only we just got together like normal people, I could’ve fucked you on every surface of this store years ago.”

“If only you didn’t reject me every single time like some self-absorbed brat.”

“You sound pretty brave for someone who’s already in tears on my cock, sweetheart.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jeonghan murmurs something along the lines of cheeky little thing before surrendering his grip on one of your thighs in exchange for the space to reach for your face. There, he wipes the moisture collecting in the corner of your eye with his thumb, a self-satisfied look settling on his face.

Jeonghan murmurs something along the lines of cheeky little thing before surrendering his grip on one of your thighs in exchange for the space to reach for your face. There, he wipes the moisture collecting in the corner of your eye with his thumb, a self-satisfied look settling on his face.

“Maybe you do now.”

He doesn’t waste anymore time after that—fully aware that though he’s already drawn the shutters before you came, he hasn’t had the opportunity to lock the main entrance yet. The possibility of someone walking in on you getting fucked to an inch of your life on the countertop are all too real and Jeonghan has no plans on getting arrested for public indecency when he just grew the balls to tell you how he’s felt all this time.

“You’re fucking dripping for me,” your lover rasps into your neck, leaving a trail of love bites in his wake as your poor cunt takes a beating. “All dressed up for someone else but here you are stuffed full of my cock. Tell me, who is it that you really want?”

“You.” The mewl that follows your abrupt answer is music to his ears. “I’ve only ever wanted you, Hannie. F-Fuck! Right there, please.”

He drags your hips closer to the edge, resuming a secure grip on your thighs to keep you balanced as he rams his thick cock into you. You throw your head back in bliss, uncaring for how the bruises he’s kissed into your skin sting with pain. The pleasure he’s sowing between your legs eclipses any sort of ache that can deter you from losing yourself in the moment.

You hook your legs around Jeonghan’s waist to keep him close—arms slung around his neck as you pull him down for a kiss. Your lover responds in kind, moving his mouth in perfect sync with yours as if to make up for all the years you could’ve spent in each other’s arms. 

“You’re so pretty like this,” he murmurs against your lips, eyes burning with pure, unadulterated desire. “So pretty and perfect for me.”

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you’re balls deep inside me,” you try to scoff but it melts into another breathless moan when Jeonghan angles his hips just a bit differently and has your eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

“You talk big for someone who can’t handle being a little roughed up,” he teases. “Now hush and take my cock like the good girl you are.”

It doesn’t take long for you to feel that familiar pressure in the pit of your stomach—like a balloon expanding and expanding until you’re filled to the brim with the pleasure he’s giving you on a silver platter. You whimper beneath him, pressing your mouth against the cut of his jaw as you murmur about how close you are.

“Fuck, I need you to feel you come around me, sweetheart,” he moans. “Come on my cock—let me feel your cunt squeezing it out of me.”

You don’t know if you’re just that high strung, or if you’ve waited for this for so long, your body just responds to his whims. But whatever the reason, the most skin-tingling, toe-curling orgasm washes over you like a storm surge—pure lightning skidding up the length of your spine as you surrender yourself to the height of euphoria. 

“That’s it,” Jeonghan goads, fucking you through your orgasm as he chases after his own. “You feel so good around me, my perfect Y/N.”

As you drift in and out of coherence, you vaguely pick up on the fact that Jeonghan isn’t wearing any protection—the two of you overcome by your need to have each other to think things through. But as his cock plunges over and over into your soiled cunt, you find yourself uncaring for the consequences of your recklessness.

But Jeonghan continues to surprise you by using all his strength to disentangle your legs around his waist—pulling out just in time for those spurts of cum to splatter all over your rumpled skirt. He hisses between his teeth as he pumps his cock into completion, his white hot release staining your clothes in a way that you’ll probably still forgive him for with how well he fucked you tonight. 

"Can't get you pregnant when your career's ahead of you," he chuckles and you can only punch him in the chest in response.

The silence that settles moments after is more deafening than it should be, but you’re no means unsettled by it.

Not when Jeonghan still has that look in his eyes.

When he kisses you again, it feels like the stars and the planets have aligned for everything to fall into place. He smiles against your lips as if he’s just as relieved to have found you when you thought all hope was lost and it makes you recall any other time you’ve been more in love with someone else in your life.

In the end, you come up empty handed.

“I’ll clean you up and close up the store,” Jeonghan murmurs. “I need to take you home with me because I am nowhere near done with you.”

And who are you to say no to that?

“Paris, huh?”

Jeonghan muses right after he’s finished cleaning you up—diligently scrubbing at what three more rounds of sex at his apartment have done to your poor body. You answer him with a quiet hum, burrowing deeper into both the warmth of his blankets and the heat of his chest.

“Yeah, I think I’ll be stationed there for a better part of the year,” you tell him softly, tracing the small trail of freckles on his sternum. “It’s going to be way different than what I’m used to, but new experiences are always welcome.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, you don’t have any reason to be afraid of Paris to begin with. The only thing that might get in the way of you having a good time is the language barrier.”

“You talk like you’ve been there before.”

“Been there before? Sweetheart, I lived in Paris before I moved here… Why are you looking at me like that?”

You mutter a string of curses under your breath before pouting at him. “I keep forgetting that you and Joshua are a couple of trust fund babies. Of course I’d be surprised if you dropped a bomb like that.”

Jeonghan chuckles before leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss—deepening it until you’re hooking your thigh across his hip and moaning into his mouth again. Your lover chuckles at your eagerness before he pulls away, a string of saliva obscenely connecting your lips. 

“I do kind of miss it there,” he admits sincerely, but you can’t pay the admission much mind when his fingers are trailing the inside of your thighs again. “Maybe I should go on a quick getaway for a while.”

“What, so you can go fuck me in Paris, too?”

You do your best to bite down your whimpers when he lathers his fingers with the wetness between your thighs, making it a point to rub your still sensitive clit in slow, lazy circles. The vibrations of Jeonghan’s laughter travel across your skin and when he presses a kiss on the corner of your lips, you’re not sure how to feel—endeared by the sweet gesture or embarrassed by how quickly he’s winding you up.

It doesn’t take long for his cock to be in full hardness again and you don’t even resist him when Jeonghan eases his length back into your tight hole. He sighs against the crook of your neck, grazing your skin with his teeth as he slides inside you languidly. When your hips are flush together as he bottoms out, your chest swells with pride when you hear him breathe out a shuddering sigh.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Can’t believe I waited for so long to have you like this.”

“Now if only you said yes the first time I asked you to sleep with me,” you chuckle, trying not to moan at the feeling of his cock pulsating inside you. “You could’ve railed me in the bathroom of Cheol’s disco and he never would’ve known.”

“Oh, he’d definitely know,” Jeonghan chuckles dryly as he presses a kiss along your jaw. “But thanks for the visual, I think I just got even harder. We should do that when you get back.”

“Didn’t you say something about going on a quick getaway so you can fuck me in Paris, too?”

“You’re the one making plans here, sweetheart. Not me. But if you’re so hell-bent on taking my cock in the bathroom of some random Parisian disco instead, then I suppose I can make the proper arrangements,” your lover appeases you with a lazy smile. “Maybe I’ll have Jihoon and your friends watch after the store while I’m gone.”

“He might be your regular, but when he finds out that we’re screwing around, he’ll probably torch the entire building.”

Jeonghan pauses for a second. “That reminds me, won’t they be looking for you, sweetheart? From the way you were dressed earlier, it looked like you were headed somewhere else after buying that stupid badboy his birthday present. This is quite the detour, don’t you think?”

When Jeonghan brings it up, it takes you a few seconds to process that…fuck.

“Yeah…” you groan. “I was headed to the disco for Jungkook’s surprise party.”

He hums. “And here you are warming my cock. That boyfriend of yours is going to be heartbroken, you know?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you grumble, mewling when Jeonghan snaps his hips into yours to take you by surprise. “But…I guess it still sucks that I lead him on like that.”

“I suggest,” Jeonghan starts before pulling himself back again only to rut into you so hard, you’re surging forward on the bed. “That you give him a call in the morning—tell him that you’re fine and nothing’s happened to you. Oh, and tell him that you actually have a boyfriend now.”

Despite your senses being overloaded by how good his cock is stretching you mid-conversation, you still manage to look up at Jeonghan with withering surprise. “I do?”

“Sweet girl’s gone dumb on my cock, huh?” Jeonghan laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead that has you melting from the contact. “From here on out, I’m your boyfriend. Some fucker from another city has no business flirting with you when you’re with me.”

In a split second of clarity, you roll your eyes at him. “I still think it’s stupid that you only went after me after I found someone else. You’re a terrible person.”

“But you still love me anyway, hm?”

You do. You think you’ve loved Jeonghan even longer than you first realized it. 

Loving him and losing him even if you had neither to love nor lose is a vicious pattern you’ve cycled through for the past four summers. You’re perfectly aware that actions have consequences and what you chose to do with Jeonghan now would definitely jeopardize everything you’ve built for yourself. 

But you can think about what Jihoon and Jungkook and Seungkwan and everyone else has to say about this some other time. 

For now, you’re just going to focus on how good your boyfriend splits you open on his cock.

“And how are you so sure about that?”

Jeonghan shrugs before crowding you against the bed, a no-good smirk plastered on his pretty face. It gives you hope that maybe—just maybe—the cycle has finally been broken.

“I dunno. Gut feeling.”

⟢ end notes: you're finally at the end of it! thank you so much for reading through this brain fart that has been decaying in my drive since july :') i'd also like to extend my thanks to jj, rj and zeta specifically because if it weren't for them i would've lost every and all direction for this fic altogether and i might've actually dropped out of the collab for real (i am literally 4 going 5 days late!!) leave a like, reblog with your thoughts, or yell at me in the replies -- idk !! it's just that this might be one of the last fics you'll read from me for a while, so i'd appreciate the feedback now more than ever T T that said, do check out everyone's works from the collab as well!! they've all created such wonderful stories with the given theme <3 you def won't regret it!

this is part of the svthub 70s;teen collab!

[toomiieimagiines]

hihihi

uhm so am i allowed to request again (i don’t wanna spam) 😭😭🙏

and if i am can u pls do a rui x hopeless romantic best friend reader (i’m totally normal about best friends to lovers lmfao)

so like the reader is always yapping about hot guys and it’s a little angsty at first because rui is thinking to himself ‘why did i have to fall inlove with someone that won’t ever choose me’ and then one day a hot guy comes up to reader and asks her out, reader is about to say yes but then she realises that she barely knew him and there was someone (rui) who had been by her side since day one and she figures out who she really loves (RUIII) so she rejects him and when rui asks why she just hugs him and says ‘because your the one i really want’ mwah mwah i feel like such a genius (i really hope this made sense lmao be prepared for a million bestie-> lovers and angst-> fluff rui requests 😼)

thank youyoyoyoyoyuuu!!

hi guys! i’m so so incredibly sorry for how inactive i have been! unfortunately, the fanfic writer curse caught up to me, and i’ve had considerably bad things happen to me! ToT

i had developed a really bad addiction after a recent episode - which may be why i’ve loved to write my characters so miserable, but they get a happy ending in the end - and have recently relapsed after a couple months. i’ve also been struggling with a lot of things, like being bullied again, pressure from theater, classes, autism, parental issues, memory of past trauma, having no friends, things like that. i’ve just been having a really hard time, so writing has been super difficult for me. i’m currently having some of the worst mental health in my life, and am un-recovering from other things i’ve had in the past too, after seeing the results of my recovery. sorry if this triggered anybody, i just needed to get this off my chest, and felt also that i should explain where i have been. you all supporting me has kept me going, and i hope you enjoy this one too! LETS END THE PITY PARTY!!!

in other - not so depressing news - here you guys go!! sorry for OOCness, obviously this is a more dramatic approach to a story! happy ending, j tried to write the inner narration differently for how you two were feeling at the time.. and ty once again for such a great idea, mama ^3^

“I don’t think I could stand to be where you don’t see me.”

If he has to sit here and listen to this one more time, he thinks he’ll go insane.

Rui Kamishiro loves you. He truly does. You’re his best friend, his partner in crime, his-

Never mind.

Rui loves you, but he absolutely HATES your taste in guys, and it’s driving him nuts. Nodding and agreeing can only get him so far before he wants to rip his own hair out, and tonight is no exception.

“I give up! All boys are dumb, I don’t need them!” You lament, resting your chin in your hands. It’s the same song and dance over and over. You swear off boys, you get attention, you get sucked in, and he has to pick up the pieces when it inevitably fails. How many times has he thought about how much better he would treat you now? He doesn’t know. He’d be a classical lover, he’d never speak to you the way those stupid unprincipled high school boys do.

Gross. That’s his best friend, why’d he think that? And when did he start being so self confident? He really outta look at himself in the mirror. What an egomaniac he’s turning out to be.

He shakes his head.

“You do know I’m still a boy, right?” He prods, trying to cheer you up. He knows this situation well, and he knows exactly how to make you feel better. Again he’d pull you out of this, and again he’d watch you fall in love.

He wishes you could be happy. He wishes you weren’t in love with being in love. You’re too pure for true love, love is disgusting, depraved, and unkind. You’re not anything like that.

“I know, I know, but you’re the only good one!” You point, words self-assured. “I don’t need a boyfriend, you do everything boyfriendy for me anyway!”

Ouch. Thanks a lot, that’s exactly what he needed to hear right now. He’s not gonna dwell on that last bit for now, he’ll wait until he’s home. Then he can- he doesn’t know. Cry, or something juvenile like that.

“So I’m back-up-boyfriend?” He masks himself in jest, smiling teasingly at you.

“Eh, maybe,” you snicker, “you’d definitely be cute if you weren’t my friend.”

He turns to his school work sharply, trying to mask his complete and utter despair. Ugh, why does he have to be so dramatic? His own personality makes his skin crawl with disgust and hatred, and that only makes him cringe more. He could think about how obnoxious he is all day. Maybe he should use that go home and cry pass early. He pretends to check the time, as if that isn’t all he’s been doing.

“It’s getting late, after this problem I should get going.” He mutters, scribbling some random numbers into his notebook. You yawn in response, being broken out of absentmindedly scrolling through your phone.

“Ugh, I wish you didn’t have to go!” You drape an arm over his torso, trying to hold him in. He smiles fondly, wrestling to get you off of him.

“I’d have to walk home in the dark then, do you want that?” He knows you’d never let him, and he sees it immediately.

Your face looks knowing, and you let him go right away. It amuses him at first, but quickly fills him with overwhelming pity. You’re so kindhearted it makes him sick. You shouldn’t worry about someone like him, it’s bad for your health.

“Would you like me to walk home with you?!” You shoot up, the idea of him not being safe running through your head. Maybe he should’ve kept his mouth shut. How emasculating! He’s not a helpless young girl! He’s just as manly as those boys who you long for, he’s not a puppy to be walked!

God, is jealously turning him into a bigot? He shakes his head once again, this time not just to clear his thoughts. He’s absolutely not letting you walk him home, it’d be mortifying. He takes your attention belly up, you should have a break. Maybe some time to yourself for a change? God, Rui, get a grip.

“I’m fine, I don’t want you out late by yourself either,” he assures, looking at you in haste.

“Ah. You have a point.”

“I always do.” He means more to that, and he wishes he could tell you. He wants you to see that even he knows what he’s talking about. He needs you to see him, just for once. Not as a best friend, or backup boyfriend, just as a regular one. As a lover who dances in the rain, or ties your shoes

He needs to stop. He shouldn’t think about you like that. It’s lecherous.

You two exchange goodbyes, giving him a long hug (much to his horror). He hates how feverish it is it hold you like this, it makes him feel guilty. His body gets hot, his cheeks flare up, his throat feels tight- it makes him feel like a pervert, even if his thoughts are the farthest thing from lewd.

He feels that everything he thinks about you is repulsive, though.

“Be safe”’s and “See you later”’s are passed between you two, and he walks down your front steps, now completely alone. His eyes scan the damp pavement, seeing the golden hues from the sky light the boring rock. That’s how he feels about you, he decides. You’re the sun, and he’s the pavement. He humors himself by thinking that your suitors are the clouds, stopping you from shining your light for him so he can grow weeds in the cracks of his soul. That’s what these feelings are. Weeds.

He wants to live life beautifully with you, he decides. He wants to tie your shoes, he wants to twirl you as you dance.

He wishes he could be the moon. Something of consequence- of importance, but he’s just the pavement. Not the earth, not the stars, not the clouds, or rain, he’s just a man made monster who destroys nature - you - and is walked over by people who do matter.

He should quit being this way, he grumbles, it doesn’t do anybody any good to be so flowery. He’s too girly- too weak. Maybe that’s why you don’t like him. If you’re willing to date anything that moves other than him, that must mean he’s on a completely new level, huh?

That’s what dreaming gets you, Rui. Crushed dreams and embarrassment.

He lets out a pitiful sigh, kicking a pebble with his shoe. He sees a worm in a lawn which reminds him of himself, he sees a couple shopping for a new game which reminds him of you, he sees a convenience store which reminds him that he’s hungry-

His life can be so mundane sometimes, what a drag.

He’s about to reach his front door, when he steps into a puddle. It feels like an appropriate representation of his life right now. A sense of disgraceful hilarity washes over him, and he begins to laugh. He laughs a while, he laughs as he takes his shoes off, he laughs as he peels his button up down, and he laughs as he lays in his bed. How dramatic he could be some times!

He falls asleep quickly. He has a dream about being on stage and forgetting his lines.

He wakes up with a thud, he fell out of bed. How embarrassing. He decides to check his phone.

Weirdo: RUII

Weirdo: wanna hang w me 2day?? u don’t have dance time right??

Weirdo: gonna kill you. WAKE UP

Me: I’m awake, sorry!

Weirdo: finally sleeping beauty

Weirdo: wanna get a snack? i’m simply starved…

Me: When?

Weirdo: an hr maybe…

Me: Okay :) I’ll tell you when I leave.

Weirdo: kay!!

He really doesn’t feel like being social today, but he’d never pass up an opportunity to see you. He’s an obscene degenerate when it comes to you, pouncing on your attention like a sick dog. It’s mortifyingly pathetic.

He gets dressed, throwing on a boring striped sweater. It’s getting colder outside recently, and he’s always ran cold anyway. His hands are shaky and nervous as he brushes his teeth, the anxiousness to see you making his body jittery. He considers breakfast, but quickly shuts the idea down. He doesn’t want to be stressed out - at least more than he already is - when he sees you. Twitchy hands lock his door, and he gets a few feet away before he double checks that he did, in fact, lock it. Pull yourself together, Rui! He screams at himself.

The walk is just as unexciting as he expected, albeit a bit chilly. He’s feeling thankful for the sweater. The breeze runs its hands through his hair, and he’s reminded that winter is coming. He always liked Autumn flowers the best, hibiscus flowers are pretty too, he supposes. It’s nice to have the warmth of the sun soothing his cold hands during summer, for sure.

He trips over a rock on the way, and his pants get wet on the knees. Khaki blends into an ugly brown, and he sighs. How unlucky, would anything go right for him today?

Turns out it will, you look really good today.

You great him at the door, practically buzzing with eagerness. It makes him smile, knowing that you do, in fact, want to see him. Or at least are acting like it. You’re a good friend to him, he’s lucky to have you.

“Rui!” You hug him as a greeting, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. His heart soothes, eyes closing in relaxation. Problems feel obscure and distant when you two are like this, despite his reluctance last night. He can forget about corrupt feelings - or misguided love- and he can just be your best friend. Despite his apprehension to be cared for, he is flattered that you, at least, seem to like him.

“Hey.” He breaths you in, his voice soft. He hopes you don’t notice, it’s embarrassing.

“Hey!” You reply, pulling away. “Big things planned, Rui!”

“What big things?” He asks, amused. “Big things” for you were junk food and shopping.

“Big things! It’s a surprise!” You put your shoes on, and he can’t help but feel jealous as he watches your hands tie them dutifully. He sighs, stretching. He decides to make it a challenge to act normal the whole day. No weird thoughts are going to beguile his mind, he promises himself.

You lock your front door, twisting the knob to make sure that it did, in fact, lock. This fills him with a child-like sense of delight, maybe you two really were similar.

Nah, not possible. You’re too pure - too perfect. Ugh, Rui, no more stupid thoughts.

He watches you check the time, make a face at a nearby bird, and cover your cheeks with your hands. You suddenly perk up, wrapping your arms around him.

“Warm me up, will ya?” You scowl at the cool air, grip tightening. He gulps. It’s weird he reacts like this, considering you two have done things like this all the time. It’s normal, so why does he have to be such a creep? His arms wrap around yours, running his hands up and down to create heat.

“Should’ve worn a jacket,” he chides, “wouldn’t be cold, y’know?” His voice is so casual, like everything is totally fine. It is fine. Fine, fine, fine.

“Gotta look good. I’m on the hunt, obviously,” you joke. It isn’t funny to him, but he lets out a laugh.

“You’re hopeless.”

You two stop at a convenience store first, and you all but sprint to the drinks. He had this ritual down to a science. You grab two different color slushies, and he grabs whatever odd snack catches your collective stomachs eye today. Today the two of you decide to split a cookie, and walk to the counter. The cashier gives you a smirk, and he averts his eyes.

“This it?” The boy cocks his head, and you get the memo. You immediately jump on the opportunity.

“Mhm!” You wink, resting your chin in your hands while leaning against the counter. In all honestly, he wasn’t even that cute. At least, that’s what Rui kept telling himself.

“Don’t worry about it, than. I got you guys,” he waves you off. Score! You think, but he adds. “If I can get your number.” Rui feels like falling into the floor, how awkward! You just scribble it onto a stray receipt, winking.

“Thank you! You’re the sweetest!!” You singsong, skipping along with Rui following suite. You immediately burst into laughter, throwing a fake punch at Rui. “What a weirdo! Like I’d call him over what, 1000 yen?! I don’t even know him, yuck!”

So you did have some sense, he feels like letting out a sigh of relief. You hold your hands out.

“Which one do you want? I got your favorite!!” You look so proud, and he wants to laugh. His “favorite” isn’t actually his favorite, but he’d never tell you that.

The lie started one day in middle school, when the two of you suddenly had a weird craving for slushies. When you picked them out, you had gotten a red one and a blue one, and asked him what he wanted. While he really didn’t like red, he knew you liked blue, so he said red. Now for the past four years, you’ve always ended up getting him a red one, thinking it was his favorite. He’ll deal with it for you. Seeing your blue tongue stick out with brain freeze is better than any sugary drink anyway.

“Red, duh.” He scoffs playfully, taking a sip of it. The taste doesn’t really bother him all that much anymore. It reminds him of you.

You always let him divide the snacks, thinking he gives himself the bigger half. He never does, but he eats slower so you think he did. You skip along, enjoying it.

“Y’know, this isn’t bad. Wish they had the brownie, though. That never does us wrong.” God, don’t make him think of the ‘crack brownies’ - as you two call them. Those are great, and he likes them, so you never miss an opportunity to shove them down his throat.

“Don’t complain. Remember the egg roll incident?” He points, laughing at the memory. You two steer clear of that section now, having gotten sick.

“Ugh, I haven’t thought about that in a while! I’m never eating an egg roll again after that day! Ugh,” you gag.

Moments of silly memories like this make him feel like he’s known you forever. He can’t even remember a moment where he hasn’t loved you.

“Where’re we going now, commander?” He salutes, following the trail of sunshine you left behind.

“Where ever the wind blows us, kind sir!” You salute back, pushing him along. Your constant checks of your phone don’t go unnoticed by him, and he fights the urge to roll his eyes.

“Who’re you texting? Don’t tell me it’s that guy.” He tries to sound casual, knocking his shoulder against yours playfully.

“‘M not a total idiot, I’ll have you know!” You huff, holding your phone to your chest. “It’s just somebody we went to school with a while back, ‘m seeing if I can pull the moves.”

“Do I know him?”

“Dunno, never saw you two talking, so maybe not. He was in my english class, remember, the only class we didn’t have together?”

“Ah.”

You two walk in silence, except for when he yanks you back from the collar so you don’t walk into oncoming traffic, which amuses you greatly. You two soon arrive at the small mall, and he tails you as you run with excitement. You two browse everything, constantly pointing out cute plushies, or interesting keychains.

“Rui, look! Look!” You shake him, pointing to the back of somebody’s head inconspicuously. “Wait don’t yet- Okay, now! He’s turning around! That’s the guy! What a coincidence we see him here, right? Do you recognize him?”

Ha. Yeah, he knows this guy. He definitely knows him. He’s the one who would trip him during passing periods, he’s the one who left flowers on his desk. They make eye contact, and it’s like all of his growth left his body. He’s just the same freak from middle school, he’s still thirteen.

He shudders at the guys smirk, sensing that he definitely knows that Rui knows him. He jogs over to the two of you, and Rui already knows what’s about to happen, due to the lopsided smile on your face.

Damnit, this is the first time he doesn’t think he can act like it’s okay.

“Oh wow, what a coincidence! Must be fate we run into each other like this, ehe…” You giggle awkwardly, a dumb expression gracing your face. It’s painful seeing you that way for anybody other than him, and he looks away awkwardly.

“Must be.” He answers, swaggering closer towards you. Rui thanks whatever God above because - despite his current situation - at least this asshole didn’t go to highschool with you guys.

He looks down at his shoes, and tries to shuffle away, knowing this jackass is about to say something. He’s quickly stopped.

“Who’s this, huh? Feel like a recognize him from somewhere…” He trails off, smirking through his nose as he turns his attention to him. “Have we met before?”

“This is Kamishiro Rui, he’s my friend! He went to middle school with us, remember?” You happily answer for him.

Ha, friend? What happened to back-up boyfriend? He’s a little hurt, to be honest.

He feels bitter, it’s unbecoming- God, he doesn’t care. He should feel bad for getting so angry over it, it’s not like you belong to him. He’s such a freak, getting attached to you like this.

He starts to pick at his fingers, then he plays with a loose string on his sweater. You two continue to chat like nothings wrong, and he keeps thinking. It’s something he’s gotten good at recently.

He stops feeling bad about himself for a second- a split second where he resents you, and wishes his pain upon you. Wants you to know what it’s like to be so disgustingly, guiltily, revoltingly obsessed with someone. In this split second, he can’t even find it in himself to feel guilty about it, which is unlike him. He wishes you felt love like this, that you were as psychotic about it.

But this doesn’t last long, because he remembers that he loves you more than anything. He’s lucky to be your friend. You’re a great friend, you’re an amazing person, you’re the sun, the sun, the sun.

He’s the pavement, he has to remember.

“I’m- I’ll leave you to it, y’know? Fabric store.” He stutters, choking on his voice. You don’t even notice, waving him off.

You do, however, remember to press his shoulder, uttering an absentminded “Okay, Rui, bye,” and he remembers again how perfect you are for doing it subconsciously. He lets himself feel the touch, long after he’s walked away. He deserves it after the trouble he’s reliving.

When he makes it to the fabric store - which he really didn’t need anything from, Nene had gotten some the other day - he can’t help himself from wishing he could just go home. Malls were always overwhelming already, and now his saving grace has the attention of another man. He walks through aisles, but realizes that he now has to buy something.

‘Least he knows that social cue, he laughs bitterly, running his hands across his face in frustration. He’s so ridiculous.

Meanwhile, you were chatting up a storm. It was your first time talking in person since middle school, after all! You feel giddy for a while, but it cuts abruptly. You feel a strange sense of urgency, something’s missing.

Oh, your best friend.

But where had he gone? You’re sure he was just here. You smile apologetically at the cute boy, putting on your best performance.

“Oh, I better go get my friend now. I don’t like walking home when it’s late. Was nice seein’ you, let’s hang out soon, ‘kay?” You singsong, stepping closer. You want to give yourself a pat on the back, you’re so cute.

He rolls his eyes, and you’re hit with a wave of uneasiness. That noise he made sounds strangely dismissive, he’s not the kind of guy to be a jerk though, you must be hearing things-

“Leave ‘im. Between you and me, he was a total freak in middle school. Probably is now, too. Probably likes you or somethin’, total nutcase.” His voice sounds so casual, like it’s not the douchiest thing you’ve heard all day.

You let other men walk all over you, sure. You let them cheat on you, lie, whatever. But you’re not about to stand here and insult Rui. He’s the only untouched thing in your life - the only person who isn’t cruel. He’s so gangly and awkward, but in the best way. You could live a million times and not be able to deserve him, at least you think so. He’s so unusual, and that’s what you love most about him. Little things like not liking loud lights, or liking the red slushies the best, make your heart buzzy with familiarity. He’s the one constant in your life.

You’ve been awfully worried about him recently, though. His particularly (as you like to call it) has gone to the an extreme, and it’s been a battle getting him to eat real food. You’re not blind, you see the way he’s been spacing out, or tapping a little too much. You just thought he’d been overwhelmed. He worries you to death sometimes, but despite all of his own struggles, he always seems to not care about it, deciding to always be there for you instead. Ah, he’s just such an amazing guy - no, not guy, he’s not anything like those other boys you talk to. He’d never insult someone like that. He’s not just a guy, he’s like your person.

Yeah, he’s definitely your person.

Your heart sputters at the thought, and you feel something you’ve never really felt before - save for hugs between the two of you that lasted just a second too long, or words a little too romantic. The feeling makes your mind fuzzy, and your heart hurt terribly with something you could only place as homesickness.

Oh.

“I,” you begin, backing away. “Yeah, I’m sorry but I’ll really be going now-“

“What? C’mon I was just messing with you, even though having guy friend’s kinda weird.” He rolls his eyes.

“Yeah whatever, I’ll call you back,” you say dismissively.

You’re totally lying, you laugh, you’re not calling him back.

He didn’t seem to like that.

“Damn, can’t even joke around with you people. Whatever, weirdo, sorry I insulted your little boyfriend.” The change in tone amuses you.

Yeah, good riddance, pal.

You turn away, walking through the mall with pace. It takes a while, but you spot him watching a pet stores aquarium.

He’s a funny one.

You wave your hands, trying to get his attention. He swallows, knowing that it’s probably to ask him if it’s cool to walk home by himself. Emotions are stupid, and ironically, you both think that at the same time.

“Rui! Rui! Hey c’mon, let’s go home, yeah?” You smile, face feeling warm. It’s a different feeling from when you usually talk to him. He looks at you, a little shocked. He had assumed you were smiling wide because you set up a date, so he turns his head.

“Where is he, huh?” He looks away, back to the fish tank. You shift in place, was he mad at you? You’re a little irritated at the mention of the guy, though, and huff.

“Don’t worry about that. Seems like I only attract douchebags, so I decided to go.” You explain, poking his shoulder. “Hey,” you start, “let’s just walk home, I wanna talk to you about something.” The idea makes you feel dizzy, but you’ll have to illustrate your feelings one day.

You can leave out the “I think I’m in love with you” part, you think.

The two of you walk in an excruciating silence, staring down at the reflection of the setting sun in the puddles. His heart tightens, remembering his earlier comparison. Even now, you’re so perfect. Even if he’s frustrated with you - despite you turning down the guy in the end (he doesn’t know why, he wanted to ask) - even if he’s ready to scream, and cry, and ask you what it is he did for you to be so turned off by him, he still thinks you’re the most heavenly, divine person to ever grace his view. He wants to be where you see him, he wants to be in your orbit.

“You’re like the sun-“ He blurts out, immediately regretting it. He didn’t mean to say that, God, he’s so fucking stupid. He sees you stop walking, smiling that same stupid, dopey, lopsided smile that he’s always so jealous of-

Oh. It’s for him.

He chokes, stopping to meet you eye-to-eye. You look up at him too, laughing giddily.

“What does that mean?”

He sputters, stepping away. “N-no it’s nothing- It was stupid anyway so-“

“No, tell me!” You urge, laughing a little harder. “What if it was something bad, ‘nd you were making fun of me? That’s not nice, Rui!”

“I- Hey-“ His voice goes a touch higher, a defensive tone rising. “That’s not-“

“Then tell me.”

“It’s just,” he breaths, trying to word it in the least creepy way possible. How does convey the fact that he sees you as a divine presence, that he sees himself as a worthless creature compared to you, without sounding like he’s hopelessly possessed by love for you? “I just- you’re so amazing,” he starts, “I thought of this stupid thing the other day when I was walking home - you know how I am - and well, I just thought of you when the sun reflected off the pavement - since it rained, y’know? - and well, it just- Sorry, it was dumb-“ He rambles, covering his face in anguish.

Nobody’s ever put that much thought into you. Sure, you��ve received a few ‘You’re so gorgeous’’s, where you’ve had to wonder where they learnt such a “big word”, but never something as poetic as that. The usual Rui-ratic explanation endeared you to him even more. You look at him, the smile never leaving. He’s just… so Rui. His stupid striped sweater, his half up hair - that you’d begged him to grow out - his eyes, whatever. Everything about him you treasure, and little do you know he cherished you even that more intensely.

“I think you’re the moon, Rui. Or maybe the earth, since I take care of you, hah!” You snicker, stepping closer to him. He takes a step back in return, and you grab his hands to make him stay put. His heart throbs, and he almost goes crashing down.

“I.. I don’t-“

You yank his hands, making him look back up at you. “Hey, Rui, I,” you look at him assuringly, “I wanna say something, and you can’t laugh okay?”

He holds his breath, so do you.

Fuck it, just tell him.

“I think I’m in love with you, Rui.” You gaze at him, the words shooting out faster than you can second guess them.

“I don’t-“ He breaks away, his fists balling up. You messed up, you think, you really, really messed up. “I’m not- I’m not going to- You can’t just say that because you got rejected. I- It wouldn’t be nice to- You don’t love me-“

“Rui,” you beg, grabbing his arm again, “holding hands on the way to school, cuddling while doing homework, knowing everything about eachother, these aren’t-“ You breath, “I’ve wanted somebody to love me for so long, Rui, and I was so blind to the fact that I was loved. But the love that I felt for you, - that I feel for you - Rui, isn’t the kind where I can be- where I can just be so- so normal about those things!” You monologue, saying whatever’s on your mind. You’re the rambling one now.

“I found myself comparing you to these piece-of-garbage dude’s I’m always with, wishing I could just date somebody like you instead! But now I realize that it is you-“

His heart falls into his gut, and he breaks free from you again. His hands move to his face, covering his eyes. His voice is broken and cracky as he begins to cry. “That was- you-“ He pulls you into a desperate embrace, arms holding you like you’ll disappear. “You shouldn’t, you’re wrong.” He sobs, “I’m- the way I love you is- You don’t understand, the way I feel isn’t normal I- My love is disgusting, and horrible, and depraved-“ He shakes, you rub his back. “You are so perfect compared to me, I’d never be able to- I love you so much, more than friends are supposed to, more than anyone’s supposed to at our age-“

“Rui, hey Rui please don’t cry.” You beg, smoothing out the ridges in his sweater. “I don’t- I don’t agree with that, and I can scream that at you, but I’m sure you won’t believe me. You’re not disgusting for feeling emotions different, Rui that’s what I love about you.”

“Stop- stop saying my name like that. It’s too hard to-“

“Rui, I love you. You don’t need to accept it, but I love you. More than being in love, more than being loved-“

“I love you, too,” his voice cracks, “that’s why I’m so scared. I don’t want to ruin a friendship that’s all I have, if this is just- I’m scared I’d lose you in any way, and I can’t live in a world where you don’t see me. I won’t. It’s sounds horrible but-“ He stops as you pull away from the hug, and wipes his face hastily. You put your pinky out, and his stomach drops again.

“C’mon, just like when we were kids. Pinky promise that no matter what, we’ll always see each other. That way you don’t need to worry anymore, y’know? I never break my kissy pinky promises, ever.”

Just like when you two were little.

He locks his with yours, just like you taught him all those years ago. He remembers your shared handshake for theater, he remembers your shared handshake for testing, and he remembers the song you two had to duet for choir - when you have forced him into it for a year. He holds everything of you so dear to his heart, you endear everything about him to you as well.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“I see you.”

“I see you, too.”

You two kiss your hands, then bring them down, still interlinked. You stare at him, and he stares back at you. In a moment of profound sincerity, you lean forward, and kiss him. It’s slow and gentle, and you unlock your hands half way through to hold his face, which he mirrors. His heart settles for the first time. You see him. He’s your moon, your earth, you’re his sun, his stars.

He’s suddenly alarmed by a quick pushing off of him, gasping out a “Rui!”

“I-“ he pants, wiping his mouth. “Hm?”

“we’re in the middle of a park!”

[tomssexdoll]

OKAY HERES THE SECOND ONE HOP OFF

so you and bill are in his car and got into a bad argument on the way home. it was about the party you and him just went to and how he was constantly talking to other girls. but how could he not? he’s a worldwide superstar. eventually the argument goes silent and bill speeds into an empty parking lot. “get in the fucking back” he says and you look at him with pure confusion. “did i fucking stutter? get in the back and take your panties off” WOOF WOOF WOOF and you’re wearing a dress so once you get in the back you just hike your dress up and slide off your panties. he crawls into the backseat with you and puts your legs on his shoulder. “you’re so fucking bratty. can’t just trust me anymore, huh? gotta fuck some sense into you” i came so incrjejdifiti hahhejHEHWS anyways. then ofc he fucks you and the car from the outside is SHAKING LMFAO. and he puts his hand on your neck, not to choke you but just lightly to show possessiveness 🌚🌚🌚🌚 “fuck, prinzessin, so wet f’me”

okay there stop harassing me 😡

ofc my pookie lookie dookie

jealous jealous girl

PAIRINGS: Bill 2011 x Female reader CONTENT: ANGST + SMUT SYPNOSIS: Y/N is jealous from Bill constantly talking to girls at this party, you start an argument with him while driving home and then he snaps, ordering you to the backseat A/N: hi blair WARNINGS: yelling, arguing, dom!bill, sub!reader, p in v (missionary), degrading, light choking

"You always fucking do this Bill! Always talking to other girls" I raised my voice. Me and Bill had gotten into a very heated argument, it started when Bill wouldn't get his attention off random girls at the party, forcing me to be left alone at the drinks table.

When we got into the car I instantly confronted him, and of course it exploded into the heated argument we were currently having, his jaw clenching and hands clenching on the steering wheel.

"I can't talk to my fans? I cant talk to people?" he grunted, "it's not that Bill, it's always girls you're talking to!" I sighed heavily, he was obviously not getting my point. "How is it my fault that most of my fans are women?" he yelled, slowly picking up the speed.

He wasn't wrong, how could he not be talking to other girls? He was a worldwide superstar..But it still made me fucking furious, other girls talking to him, flirting and batting their eyes, purposefully showing their cleavage, not like there was much to show.

"You are so fucking controlling!" he screamed, "controlling? CONTROLLING?" I yelled, turning to face him, "you make me fucking crazy! You always do shit like this!" he took a harsh turn, softly flinging me into the door.

"For fuck sakes slow down!" I complained, "oh shut up! Just fucking shut up!" he yelled. I just decided to leave it at that, not bothered to deal with his bullshit any longer.

Suddenly he sped into an empty parking lot, the car stopping with a loud screech. "What the fuc-" "get in the fucking back" he cut me off, staring directly at me, his eyes intimidating. I couldn't say a word, shocked to my core and utterly confused.

"Did I fucking stutter?" he snapped his fingers at me, "get in the back and take your panties off, now" he said sternly, his tone scaring me. I decided to be a brat, show him how pissed I was.

"No." I said coldly, crossing my arms. He chuckled, "no?" raising his eyebrows, "I said get in the back" he growled lowly, grabbing my arm roughly and pulling me closer to him, our faces nearly touching.

"Now" he raised his voice, I flinched and instantly obeyed, climbing into the back seat and laying back on the black leather seats. He got out of the car, walking to the other side, opening the door and climbing inside, slamming the door behind him.

He crawled to me, I was fiddling with my panties, shaky hands trying desperatly to get it off. "Let me do it, fucking hell" he grunted, tugging my panties down and exposing my wet pussy, needy for him.

"Dress up" he ordered, "o-ok.." I murmered, hiking my dress up. He grabbed my legs, harshly slinging them over his shoulder. "You're so fucking bratty, can't trust me anymore, huh?" he scoffed, dragging his pants down, his cock straining against his dark grey boxers, the ones he knows I love.

"Gotta fuck some sense into you" he growled, pulling his boxers down, his cock smacking against his abdomen. "Bill.." I whined, growing impatient, "be fucking patient or else you'll get nothing, you don't want that right?" he spat, I pouted and shook my head, "exactly..shut up and wait" he grunted.

After what felt like hours he brought his tip to my entrance, shoving it in. Usually he'd slowly push it in, let me adjust to his thick length but no, he was punishing me this time.

"Fucking slut" he grunted, thrusting in and out harshly, holding my legs as they rested on his shoulders, his cock fucking me deeply, pleasure coursing through my body.

"Mmm.." I whimpered softly, holding onto the leather seats beneath me, trying to stabilize myself from his cruel thrusts. "So fucking bratty..always teaching you lessons" he groaned, pounding his cock into my tight hole.

People from outside stared in horror as they saw the car shake violently, luckily Bill had his windows tinted. "Imagine if everyone could see how dumb I make you, how hard I fuck this pussy.." he grinned, slamming his fat cock into me, stretching me out deliciously.

"Oh fuck!" I whined as his tip abused that gummy spot in me, waves of pleasure and shock crashing in me as it hit the spot every time. I loved riling Bill up, sometimes I did it for no reason to get this reaction out of him, I loved the way he could dominate me so easily when he was mad.

Usually he was pretty gentle and I loved that but sometimes I needed a little spice. Rough, passionate sex.

"Fuck prinzessin, so wet f'me.." he groaned, throwing his head back, his cock pounding into my sopping cunt, bringing tears to my eyes. His hand moved to my neck, lightly squeezing, "takes me fucking you like this for you to fucking behave, when will you learn your lesson, huh?" he raised his voice, ramming his cock into my g spot, his tip kissing my cervix.

I whined more, desperatly holding onto the seats, trying not to fling around the car. His thrusts were powerful, passionate and full of rage, as if he wanted to destroy my pussy, teach me a lesson not to be such a raging bitch.

I felt a knot slowly form in my stomach, coiling down to my core and burning my heat. "i'm close...fuck..." I cried out, his pace quickened, hand tightening around my neck but only a little bit, not so much to the point where it hurt me, yes he was mad but he just wanted to show a little bit of possessiveness, not murder me.

"Cum for me..cum on this fucking cock" he grunted, his other free hand going to my clit, rubbing rough circles. "Oh fuck!" I whined loudly, my boobs bouncing like crazy as his thrusts became even harder, stabbing my sweet spot harshly, my cunt burning with pleasure.

"Soo good!" I moaned loudly, my whole body shuddering as I came on his cock, soft moans leaving my lips after my orgasm, he kept on fucking me hard, nearing his orgasm too.

His hand detatched from my clit, focusing on his orgasm now, I felt his cock twitch in me and decided to help, clenching my pussy around his cock tightly, a loud groan coming from him as he shot his seed into me, thick ropes of cum coating my insides.

"Holy fuck.." he panted, setting my legs down onto the seats and collapsing on top of me, stroking my hair gently. "Did so well for me..surprised you didn't act out while I fucked you" he chuckled, our chests heaving up and down on each other, "I figured I'd just shut up this time, you were already so mad" I smirked, leaning closer and kissing him softly.

After we calmed down he helped me get dressed then got dressed himself, carrying me out of the backseat and plopping me into the passanger seat, strapping me in.

He hopped into the drivers seat, resting a hand on my thigh, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin.

tags: @itsmealaiah @itsangelll @kaulitzsbabyy @ballhair @ge-billsgf @estxkios @tomkaulitzloverr @charliesgoodboy @bkaulitzlover

[jeonqkooks]

our beloved summer | jjk (7.5) (m.)

You made a vow to hate Jeon Jungkook ever since he packed up and left you without a single explanation, but when he shows up at your door after years of radio silence, it turns out that maybe your resolve isn’t as strong as you thought.

pairing: producer!jungkook x songwriter!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: exes au, fluff, Angst, smut; THE REASON™️, crying because obviously there's gonna be crying, mentions of hobi leaving :(, cursing, uhm she hits him; kissing (well, of course 😂), br*ast play, t*tty s*cking, oral s*x (f. receiving), f*ngering, unprotected s*x, r*ding, cr*ampie, uhm idk i think that's it word count: 6.9k (poetic, i know) note (1): holy fucking shit i am literally shaking like a chihuahua as i'm writing this a/n. what the hell it's finally here. we've been waiting for this for almost a year and a half. TREMENDOUS thanks to Jo @daechwitatamic, Ari @/wintaerbaer (edited 2024: crossed out but not removed bc even tho she plagiarized obs afterward, she did beta this for me so i guess i still gotta give her that lmfao), and Jazz @jeonwiixard for beta-ing this for me and for reassuring me that it's not a load of crap (probably) and especially Jo for telling me if i back out she'll come kick me. frick! gaaaah. okay i'm gonna let you read or i'll go out of my mind

series masterpost / playlist ; moodboards ; taglist

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

I want you to smile, to feel like enough 'Cause you deserve yellow and lions and love I hope you come back when you're doing well Forgive me for being the worst of myself

New Recording 28 - Chelsea Cutler

The second the door is closed, his mouth is on yours again. 

His hand on your waist, yours in his hair, it’s similar to how it was mere minutes ago, just the urgency has increased tenfold. You want his suit off as much as you want your dress on the floor.

Jungkook detaches from your lips to let you breathe as he cages you between his body and the door, but it’s not like you can focus very well on breathing when he starts kissing down your neck, sucking bruises into your skin. His hands travel south, one palm curving around your hips to grope your ass, the other settling on the back of your thigh to lift it up, opening your legs wider so he could better slot in between them. With your leg lifted, it makes the slit in your dress ride up, exposing your core to the cool air of the room. You can feel his growing bulge pressed against you, right over your panties. 

You whimper his name when he sucks on the sweet spot on your neck, his hips grinding against you slowly.

“Yeah?” You can hear the smirk in that one simple word and the honey that drips from his voice. “What is it?”

“Want you…”

“I’m right here,” Jungkook says. His slender fingers rub you over the pink lace that you’re wearing underneath your dress, teasing your opening through the fabric for a few beats before he pushes your panties aside. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

His breath is hot on your neck. He presses his lips against your skin absentmindedly, the tip of his index circling you but not pushing inside just yet.

“Tell me you want me too,” you pant, your arm hooking around his neck to hold him close.

“I want you.”

Truth.

You pull him in for another bruising kiss before you blindly push him further into the room, your hands roaming the broad expanse of his clothed chest. He stops when the back of his knees hit the bed.

“Hey.” Jungkook breaks away from the kiss to look at you. “Are you sure?”

If Jimin knew what you’re doing right now, he’d say that you have zero self preservation instincts.

He’d be right, though. If you had any self preservation instincts, you wouldn’t be doing this.

Your stupid, battered heart has only ever wanted him.

“I’m sure,” comes your immediate reply. It’s desperate, but you don’t have it in yourself to even care. “I’m sure. I want this. Please.”

“You were drinking.”

“I’m not drunk. I promise.”

Maybe it’d be better if you were drunk. Then you could at least blame this lapse of judgment on a pathetic state of inebriation and not on your stupid self who’s always weak for him.

He stares at you for a minute, searching for any sign of your willingness being driven by alcohol. He seems relieved when he finds none, and it isn’t until then that he shrugs off his jacket, before helping you take off his dress shirt and trousers.

You haven’t seen him like this in so long.

Every defined line on his body, accentuating every detail that you could spend hours running your fingers over.

He looks different but at the same time, not really. A tad more muscular, but still the same lean frame. Hard chest and abs on full display for you. God, your fingers are fucking twitching with the need to touch him.

Once he’s been stripped down to his boxers, he leans down to kiss you before you stop him with a hand on his chest. The lone tiger lily on his arm catches your attention.

Your fingers reach out to trace the black ink on his body, the lines delicate, your touch feather light. You’re suddenly curious. When did he get it? You can’t remember if you two ever talked about getting tattoos.

“What does it mean?” you ask. It strikes you with the realization that this is just one of the thousands of things that you missed, a reminder of your lost time. 

“Please love me,” he says, bringing his hands up to cup your face. He looks at you, just for a few seconds, before clarifying, “It means ‘Please love me,’” then kissing you again.

Jungkook clumsily and blindly searches for the dress’ zipper on your back, giving it a few impatient tugs until it finally starts gliding down your body. Your lips never part from one another as the dress falls to the floor, pooling at your feet. But once you step out of it, he does pull back to look at you from head to toe. His eyes fall to your chest, clad in a lacy pink bra that matches your panties. The look he gives you is the same one that he did when he saw you in your dress earlier today. But there’s something else in his eyes - realization, pride, perhaps a question too.

His hands are back on your body instantly, throwing you onto the bed, crawling over you like a predator. He discards your bra with ease, flinging it to the floor with the rest of your clothes. You shiver when the chilly air meets your bare chest, but the sensation quickly goes away when he takes your breast into his warm mouth. You let out a delighted sigh, arching your back to push yourself further into him as his tongue flicks over your stiff nipple. One of his hands comes up to squeeze your other breast to make sure that it isn’t neglected, rolling your pebbled bud between his thumb and forefinger. He switches to sucking your other tit after a while, then pawing at the one he just had in his mouth.

“Jungkook,” you whine his name when he makes out with your tits for too long, because there’s somewhere else that desperately requires his immediate attention. “Need you…”

He releases your nipple with a wet pop, and he looks pleased with himself when he sees that they’re thoroughly glistening with his spit. “Sorry,” he says with a chuckle. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” He starts making his way down your body, kissing every inch of your skin that’s on display for him, before you put a hand on his shoulder when his face gets close to your thighs.

“What are you doing?”

He looks up at you as his fingers ghost over the fabric of your panties. “Can I?”

You lick your lips, contemplating whether or not you have the patience to wait for him. But alas, you decide, “Okay.”

Jungkook makes quick work of sliding your underwear down your legs and letting it join the pile on the floor. Even in the dim light, he can see just how wet you are, practically glittering with arousal, looking so utterly inviting that it makes his mouth water. All of this, just for him.

He doesn’t waste another second, diving right into you to lick a stripe up your dripping folds. Swiftly burying two fingers into your heat, he doesn’t stop until he’s knuckles deep. Your lips part in a silent but delighted moan. You forgot how good he used to make you feel. Your fingers could never feel as good as his, not thick enough to stretch yourself open and not long enough to reach deep inside of you.

“Fuck,” you drawl, your eyes fluttering shut when the tip of his tongue meets your throbbing clit, teasing it until you’re practically grinding against his face. You thread a hand into his hair, gripping his dark locks until he’s groaning, sending blissful vibrations all throughout your body. The figure 8’s that his tongue draws on your clit sets you alight, sends you into a whole other dimension completely as pleasure courses through your veins. 

“So good,” he mumbles. To you? To himself? You can’t tell, but that doesn’t really matter. “Still so good.”

You hear it, just how soaked you are, as he begins thrusting his digits in and out of you. He strokes your walls delicately with each press of his fingers, scissoring you open for what you know is to come. 

His tongue dips into your entrance then, teases your dripping hole as you pant heavily, 

Your legs close in on his head as the orgasm nears, but he keeps your thighs apart, firmly holding them open as he makes you unravel.

This is fucking unreal - Jungkook with his whole face tucked between your legs, desperate to make you come with his talented mouth. You never would have anticipated this when you woke up this morning.

No, just a while ago you were crying by yourself down at the beach. Now you’re crying out his name as he smothers himself in you.

Once he starts curling them inside of you, it’s embarrassing how fast you come. You clench hard around his fingers as the orgasm washes over you, dripping down his fingers and he uses the added wetness to carry you through the high.

“Jungkook…” you whimper, sounding completely fucked out even though it’s only just beginning. After a while, the heightened pleasure fades into the background, and he presses soft kisses against your inner thigh.

He crawls his way up your body until he’s facing you again. You watch his fingers and the way they’re coated in your juices, wondering what he’ll do with them next. Jungkook languidly smears the wetness all over your lips like he’s carefully painting them, only to kiss you afterward. When you moan against him, he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your hand finds its way into his boxers then, wrapping your fingers around his hardened length, pumping him in your fist until he’s shallowly rutting against you.

The kiss gets broken when he suddenly pulls away, realization dawning on him. “Shit,” he exclaims. “I don’t have a condom.”

“Oh.” You blink at him, then you both just look at each other for a while. This isn’t a problem with no solution, even if the solution is a disastrous one in hindsight. You just want him, so badly that you can’t think of anything else.

He waits for you, doesn’t dare say anything else until you do.

Yet again, the opportunity presents itself for you to stop.

But you’ve already gone this far, and though it’s damn near impossible, you want him even more than you did before.

“Are you clean?” you ask.

It’s evident that he’s surprised by the way his eyes widen, and his silence that follows for the next half a minute. “Yeah,” he tells you.

“Okay. Then we don’t need a condom.”

He says your name once, his fingers brushing your hair away from your face sweetly. You always did like your name best when it used to fall from his lips so softly. “Are you sure?” he asks.

“I’m sure. I promise.”

Jungkook sucks in a breath, like he’s steadying himself, before he rids himself of the remaining piece of clothing on his body, then settles between your legs again. This time, his cock rests directly on your bare pussy. The anticipation makes it harder for you to breathe, makes you squeeze your thighs around his waist to not let him leave.

“How long has it been?”

Your answer is vague. “Too long,” you say. You don’t want to tell him that there’s been no one else since him, but you have a feeling that he understands it anyway. You think that he’d be pleased with your answer, that maybe it would boost his ego in a way, but there’s only a certain sadness that settles in his eyes. 

“Okay.” Regardless, he pushes past the sudden gloom that befalls his features, blinking away the disheartenment swimming in his irises, to align himself with your entrance. He rubs his cock against your pussy to coat you in his precum, even though you yourself are certainly more than wet enough for him to slide home easily. “Ready?”

“Yes,” you confirm, bracing your hands on his shoulders as he eases the tip into you, making the both of you moan at the contact. You feel him, all of him.

For a second, you wonder if he has ever forgone protection with anyone else, or if it’s only ever been just you.

Jungkook takes one of your hands off his shoulder to lay it flat on the bed next to your head, lacing your fingers together, giving your hand a slight squeeze. “Breathe. You can do it.”

“Give me a minute.”

“We’ve got time,” he says, his voice smooth like velvet.

“Can you kiss me?” you ask, almost like you’re shy even though he’s balls deep inside of you.

He chuckles lightly, so endeared by you and your silly question.

His lips meet yours sweetly, like doing so would help make the stretch less painful. Maybe it does, at least a little bit. 

You can feel his cock throbbing inside of you, and he’s probably trying so hard to hold back, but he keeps kissing you nonetheless.

“You can move,” you say after a while.

“I’ll go slow, okay?”

“Okay.”

He rears his hips back, slowly, then thrusts forward again. You whimper from the slight burn, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. His movements are gentle for the next couple of minutes or so, and it isn’t until you start opening up more that he sets a steadier pace. Even when he starts to fuck you faster, one of his hands is still on your hips, rubbing your skin soothingly. 

“Fuck,” Jungkook grunts out, followed by a sigh of your name as he pumps into your cunt, every ridge and vein of his cock dragging deliciously in and out of your walls. “You feel so good.”

He gazes down at you as he moves, and there’s just something so intimate about it that it makes you want to cry again.

You know what it’s like to have him fuck you, and this isn’t it.

No, this is something else entirely.

I love you, you think. I love you so fucking much.

“Missed you.” His words come out hushed, caught in half a moan, half a whimper. “Missed you so fucking much.”

“Did you think about me?”

“Always,” he says, without even missing a beat.

“No,” you clarify. “When you were sleeping with other people, did you think about me?”

“I only thought about you.” His hips stutter as he tells you this, like he’s confessing to something that he shouldn’t. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

You never admitted this to anyone, not even Taehyung even though he probably sensed it, but you used to feel like you could be physically sick just looking at the photos on his feed every time you’d lurk on a drunken night. They were never flashy, just subtle enough for you to know that there was someone. It made you nauseous, because the place next to him was always supposed to be yours.

You just stare at him, not knowing how to process this bit of information. Sure, it’s an ego boost. There’s some pride in knowing that you were the one on his mind even if you weren’t together.

He’s so utterly gorgeous like this that you can’t form a single coherent thought, too lost in the way his eyes bore into yours and in the blossoming warmth that spreads all over your chest from hearing his words.

How did he manage to get even more beautiful? Sculpted by the gods. The standard for all men.

“What is it?” he asks when you stare at him for too long.

“I…” You blink away the daze. “I wanna be on top.”

“Okay.”

Jungkook slips out of you just long enough to get seated with his back against the headboard and pull you into his lap. You hover over him, letting his tip rub against your dripping hole for a moment before you sink onto him. You tip your head back and sigh as you envelope him fully again, the only difference is that you can feel him so much deeper like this.

He grabs your ass with both hands, kneading your skin as he helps you ride him. The sounds that you make together are downright obscene, bouncing off the walls, ringing in your ears.

“Harder,” you tell him shakily. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I want it to hurt,” you say, holding onto him like you’re bracing for impact, because you know he’ll give you what you want. “Make it hurt.”

Jungkook sighs once, then digs his heels into the mattress to steady himself before his hips go wild, thrusting into you with such force that it nearly has you sobbing, your head falling onto his shoulder. It makes you burn with pleasure, like a star before it becomes a supernova. When the tension starts building quickly, you can’t help but slam your hips down harder to meet his thrusts, to chase that high.

You press your lips against his skin, any spot you could find - his jaw, his neck, his shoulder. “Tell me you love me.”

The words are ready on the tip of his tongue, like he’s been waiting for an opportunity to say it. He doesn’t miss a single beat as he tells you, “I love you.”

“Mean it.”

“I do mean it. I love you.”

Truth.

For some sick and twisted reason, his words send you crashing over the edge, falling into that abyss of pleasure that you’ve been searching for. You say his name, over and over again, like you’re making up for all the years that he wasn’t around to hear it.

Your walls convulse wildly around him as you cry out, your toes curling, your thighs shaking. He holds you close, thrusting into you through your orgasm until you’re dizzy, like you could actually pass out from the overwhelming bliss.

“I’m close,” he tells you in a raspy voice.

You catch your breath long enough to say, “Come for me.”

“Where do you want it?”

“Inside,” you say without much thought. If you were in a clearer state of mind, you would know that it’s reckless and stupid. You’re not on birth control, and if anything were to happen, you would have no one to blame but yourself.

But you aren’t in a clear state of mind, and maybe this is even more dangerous than if you were fueled by alcohol. At least you can sober up from alcohol.

You just want him so badly that rationality seems like a luxury you can’t afford right now.

“Y/N,” he whispers shakily, though there’s a warning edge to his voice that you understand.

“I want you to come inside me. I want it. I want it so bad. Please.”

Jungkook groans at your answer. 

He doesn’t ask you to look at him, instead choosing to hide his face against your neck where you feel something wet glide down your skin as he grips your hips. It’s followed by a sniffle, and hands that hold onto you like you’re a lifeline. 

He’s crying, and that breaks your fucking heart.

You don’t know what to do. Part of you wants to tilt his chin up to look at you, because it feels strange without his tender gaze on you, but you decide against it even though the tips of your fingers tingle with the need to do so. 

Your walls clench with purpose, squeezing around him, trying to help you get there. It’s not that long before you hear your name falling from his lips in a choked out moan, so needy and beautiful and makes you nostalgic. He empties himself inside of you, making you shudder from the sudden warmth that he paints along your walls.

You stay in the same position for a few more minutes until your chest is no longer heaving with exhaustion and euphoria. He gently pulls you off his lap to lay you down on the bed, pressing an apologetic kiss against your bare shoulder when you wince from the oversensitivity, from any kind of movement at all. 

When he moves to throw on his boxers and goes to stand up, you reach for him. “Where are you going?” You instantly feel pathetic for asking.

He pauses, then squeezes your hand as that sadness from before makes an appearance in his eyes again. “I’m just going to the bathroom,” he tells you, his voice quiet.

The relief on your face must be visible. “Okay,” you say. Rationally, you know he probably wouldn’t fuck you and leave you the second the deed is done. But again, rationality is a luxury at the moment.

Jungkook returns a couple of minutes later with a warm cloth, and dabs it between your legs to clean you up. You grimace when he touches you there, evidently sore already from the activities you just engaged in.

“Sorry,” he’s quick to say, though it isn’t really his fault. Or maybe it is his fault. You’re not sure if that even matters.

When he’s done, he gets under the covers with you. “Come here,” he says, then shuffles your body closer to his until he’s holding you with his hands on your bare waist. He leans down to kiss you, and you let him. God, you feel like you’re fucking melting.

It’s different from the kiss down at the beach, and it’s different from the needy ones you shared in the past hour. It’s soft and slow and easy, like there’s nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about.

Jungkook breaks away eventually, and rests his forehead against yours then. One of his hands on your waist slides up to your ribs, until his thumb could brush the underside of your breast. The touch is gentle, sweet, completely innocent.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. He means everything he tells you. “You’re perfect.”

You even blush, like you’re a stupid lovesick teenager. “Tell me,” you say.

“Anything.”

You reckon it’s self-indulgent at this point. You’re only asking to feel better about your place in his life, or rather, the place that used to be yours.

“Tell me you can’t live without me.”

He nudges his nose against yours. No hesitation. “I can’t live without you.”

Truth. You know it’s the truth.

Nonetheless… “Liar.” Your tone is soft. There’s no bite at all. You touch his face, trying to commit to memory every detail, how his soft skin feels under your touch as if it’s the last time you’ll ever get to see him like this. Maybe it is. You never got to have a last time with him, never got to know that it was ending before it already ended. You’re not thinking about the morning because you don’t want to, but the seed of anxiety is there in your belly. Your fingers trace his jawline as you say, “You lived without me. You were doing fine without me.”

His lips ghost over your cheek. “It wasn’t much of a life,” he says. “I couldn’t bear it without you.”

The thing is, you know that he’s being honest. And it should make you feel good that you affected him as much as he affected you.

But then… it keeps leading you back to that question. The question that you thought you could go the rest of your life without knowing the answer to. But for that to be possible, you needed him to stay gone, stay out of your world forever.

He shouldn’t be here, tangled up in the sheets with you and kissing you like his life depends on it. 

He shouldn’t tell you that he misses you, that he loves you. Shouldn’t tell you to please, love him too.

It’s contradictory, isn’t it? You needed to never see him again if you stood a chance of moving on with your life. You needed it and yet, all you wanted was to have him back by your side.

The tattoo catches your attention again. It feels like it’s laughing at you, mocking you.

You clench your teeth once, your eyes beginning to turn glassy. Jungkook sees it, and he’s quick to break up your train of thought. He presses his mouth to yours, shushing you with a deep kiss that makes your head spin, despite it all.

“Don’t think about it,” he mumbles against your lips, so desperate to get you to stop. As if he can sense where this could lead.

“How could I not? I don’t know who you are anymore.”

“You know me.” He holds onto your wrist, to keep your hand on his face before you can pull it away. “I’m still the same.”

“No, you’re not,” you say quietly, absentmindedly.

“Yes,” he insists. “Yes, I am.”

Maybe that’s true. Maybe you do see the person you used to know. But you only ever see him in glimpses and it always leaves you with a terrible, nauseous feeling afterward.

He doesn’t understand how much it hurts you to catch glimpses of the boy you used to love - the boy you still love - only to realize that maybe that isn’t the person he wants to be anymore. It feels like he keeps trying to kill that version of himself, like he despises the person who meant the world to you.

Are you gone forever?

Come back quietly.

“How old are you?” you ask after a moment.

The question makes him pause, his soft features twisting in confusion. He leans back a bit, so his eyes could focus on your face better.

“What?”

“How old are you?” you repeat.

It takes him another while to answer as he tries to see where you’re going with this. But when his search comes up empty, he just answers, “29.”

"I don't know who you are at 29. The last time I knew you was 24. No. You hadn't even turned 24 yet. Where was 25? 26? 27? 28? It’s unfair that you still know who I am when I don't know who you are. I feel like I never aged a day past 24. You carried on living but I'm still here."

His eyes well up once again, but this time, you can see it. The first tear spills over, lands somewhere on your collarbone. This is what you used to want, right? To see him hurting, just like how you were hurting? Well, be careful what you wish for.

No part of you feels victorious that you’re making him cry, that the score is finally being settled, because none of this undoes all of the shit you had to go through. If anything, it makes you feel even worse, like you’re still losing.

“I never moved on from us. I couldn’t move on from you,” he says, voice cracking toward the end. Your heart is doing the same thing in your chest, but you’re glad that he can’t see it. “I swear I miss you every day. I wanted you with me every day. You have no idea how much I wanted to come back to you.”

Jungkook looks so dejected, like a reflection of you these past few years. You recognize that look in his eyes. You know that sadness all too well. He was in as much pain as you were.

He loved you when he left you. He still loves you even after all this time. 

You inhale shakily. For the first time, you feel infinitely selfish for only focusing on your own misery without even stopping to give him the benefit of the doubt, to consider the possibility that maybe letting you go wasn’t something he wanted. Maybe he isn’t the antagonist that you spent years making him out to be.

There’s more to it, and you need to know.

“Then why did you leave me?”

Graduation was just shy of a month ago, and two weeks before that was Hoseok’s flight when he left you all behind.

You and Jungkook, along with Taehyung and Jimin had gone to see him off at the airport. Of course you did, you were his best of friends after all. The goodbye was full of jokes accompanied by sniffles, and tears that overflowed without permission because you all agreed that you would hold yourself together for Hoseok. Jimin was probably the one who cried the most, even though inside, you were equally sad to see your friend leave.

A part of your life was ending, and that in and of itself was depressing enough already, but you thought at least the whole group would still be together and start the next chapter by each other’s side.

Nonetheless, it wasn’t the end of the world. All of you could still make it work, even if it wasn’t the most ideal of situations. You promised to keep in touch, promised to message the group chat every day and have video calls every weekend. You were still kids, and kids tend to be optimistic like that.

What none of you could see coming was how everything would fall apart in a matter of mere weeks.

Jungkook thinks that decades from now, when he’s old and gray and helpless, he still won’t be able to forget that day.

He should’ve been more concerned when your mother contacted him out of nowhere, asking him to meet with her, asking him not to let you know where he was going.

He’d shown up half an hour early to the cafe where they were supposed to meet, just because he didn’t want to risk being late and have your mother disapprove of him even more. Not once had she expressed anything other than disdain toward your relationship, but you’d always told him it didn’t matter, that you were the only person who could decide what to do with your life, not anyone else, let alone your mother. He always believed you back then, even if deep down, he still wanted her to see that he was enough for you. Her unattainable approval still mattered to him.

Jungkook spent thirty whole minutes running on nothing but anxiety and caffeine. That was probably his first mistake, ordering a cup of coffee which only made him more nervous than he already was.

When your mother arrived, it barely took her any time at all to get right into what she came here to say. She hadn’t even bothered with a drink.

Was that how it was always going to end? Should he have seen it coming from the beginning? Was he the only one who thought it would be you and him all the way until the very end?

Maybe he was more of a hopeless romantic than he thought.

It was the way she had called him a phase that she hoped you’d grow out of. That she had let you keep this relationship for long enough, but now that you’d graduated - now that you’d be starting a life for yourself - she couldn’t sit back and watch you throw it all away for a boy who could never give you what you deserved.

It was the way she told him she didn’t want history to repeat itself. How she didn’t want to subject you to the same fate that she and your father had to suffer through. How she had left your dad because in the end, he wasn’t enough for her and you, even though you were a child and you deserved to grow up with a father and with love.

She said the same thing would happen to you and Jungkook, because you were meant for greater things and he was not meant to deserve you. She made it clear that he would always hold you back, that he would never amount to even a fraction of what you should receive in life.

“If you love her, you would let her go.”

Cliché, right? Like the kind of stuff you only ever see in movies? Well, movies have to take inspiration from somewhere.

He thought about his own mother then, and about how people could have such different ways of showing love. He believed that your mother loved you, and he still believes that. She wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of seeing him if she didn’t care about you. She wanted the best for you, and that wasn’t him.

She didn’t have to tell him to keep it a secret from you, because he wouldn’t have told you regardless. He was well aware of how strained your relationship with your mother was, and letting you know would only drive it closer to the edge. She knew he wouldn’t tell you. He loved you, and that was the one thing that she could count on.

Just sitting there in that café, Jungkook felt like all of the air had been sucked out of the room, even though he was surrounded by the other patrons and their lively laughter as they chatted away. The pitiful way that your mother kept looking at him forced him to learn what it was like to feel truly worthless.

The pity in her eyes only intensified when he couldn’t even say a single word in response, couldn’t think of anything to defend himself.

Silence meant agreement, and that was what he chose. Jungkook - the naive boy that he was - stopped believing in you. He’d believed her instead.

He was just a kid, what else was he supposed to do? 

She was your own flesh and blood, and he knew nothing could ever replace that. He would rather let you hate him, resent him for the rest of your life, than let you lose your family.

That day, he lied to you for the first time ever, saying he couldn’t come over because he was tired. The sunflowers he bought for you just hours prior ended up dying on his windowsill.

He wouldn’t see you again for a few more days, then for months afterward.

July was supposed to represent a blossoming summer, but all he could remember was the dreadful promise of a winter that would inevitably come.

You call his name when he takes too long to answer. “Tell me.”

“I love you,” he merely says. His hand brushes your cheek.

You frown, despite the way the three words make your chest tingle.

“I love you,” he says it again, trying to ease the furrow between your brows.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I’m sorry.”

His voice is soft, barely even audible, but it’s this gentleness that makes his words ricochet, ringing in your ears loudly like a gun going off in the quiet of your room.

Again with the apologies.

Fuck this.

It’s hard to take it to heart when you don’t even know what he’s apologizing for.

You gave Jungkook the chance to explain himself, but if he doesn’t take it, then that’s not on you. There isn’t much else that you can do.

You swallow hard, then shove him off of you so you could get out of the bed. Your legs instantly tremble as you attempt to stand, but you soldier on as you put on your bra and underwear, then grab your dress from where it lays abandoned on the floor. You’re shaking, but it’s difficult to determine if it’s because you’re angry, or cold without his warmth nearby.

He’s quick to his feet too, rushing toward you before you could leave.

“Don’t touch me,” you hiss when he reaches for your arm. He doesn’t listen, because when has Jeon Jungkook ever fucking listened?

“Y/N, wait-”

“Wait for what?! I asked you a simple question and you can’t even answer me.”

He runs a hand over his face frustratedly, clearly torn over something. He holds your angered gaze, but the way he looks at you is much milder, gentler even if it’s equally frustrated. “I’m trying to protect you.”

You don’t know if it’s the wrong answer or not. You just know that in this moment, it irritates you to no end.

“Oh my god,” you gasp mockingly. “Someone is trying to kill me.”

“What?”

“Someone is trying to kill me. Someone is waiting outside that door right now, waiting for me to come out so they can kill me. Holy fucking shit, I’m about to be assassinated.”

“Y/N, I’m serious.”

There’s that burning sensation behind your eyes again. “And you think I’m not? What do you mean you’re trying to protect me? Protect me from what? Do you think this is a fucking k-drama? Jesus Christ,” you scoff harshly. “What do you want from me? What the actual fuck do you want?”

Jungkook aims for you again, and in an attempt to ward him off, your swinging fist inadvertently collides with his chest. The dress falls to the floor again, laying next to your feet, that useless piece of fabric.

It probably doesn’t do much damage to him, but he’s a bit startled regardless. So are you, if you’re being honest. But you do it again, and surprisingly, he lets you.

“You coward.” You shove hard at his chest, making him stumble backward. “You unbelievable asshole. You fucked me, you said you loved me, and you still can’t tell me why you left me.” 

He allows you to push him until his back is pressed against the wall. And even then, you don’t relent. Your fists continue beating against his chest as you start sobbing, spilling ‘I hate you’s in between so many expletives it could make his grandmother faint.

He might bruise in the morning.

You hope he bruises in the morning.

The least Jungkook could do is bruise for you.

You want him to curse him out for so many things - for loving you, for leaving you, for not even having the balls to tell you why he broke your heart. For coming back to remind you that you still love him. For proving that he still has you in the palm of his hands, and every twitch of his finger can make you feel like the walls are crumbling down on you.

But even as you tell him how much you hate him, you’re still thinking: Come back. I don’t want to keep losing you. Come back to me.

Because he’s the only person who can hurt you like this. When you think about him, it used to make you so depressed that you could hardly function. There’s no other way to put it to make it sound less pathetic. That’s just how it is.

You shouldn’t have agreed to this weekend, shouldn’t have been nice to him, shouldn’t have let him convince you not to think about it. You shouldn’t have opened the door for him in the first place, because there was always a part of you that knew he could get under your skin so easily just like that.

This wasn’t your second chance at holding onto him. It wasn’t a do-over. It was a re-enactment.

The years haven’t made you wiser, that much is clear.

You don’t know how long this goes on for, but at some point, you begin to wear yourself out. Your movements start to slow and the energy to violently sob leaves your body until you’re nearly collapsing. Jungkook catches you when you don’t have the strength to hold yourself up anymore. Why are you always so fucking helpless?

“You just…” Your voice gets caught at the end of a sob. This is rock bottom all over again. “You make me so sad.”

You grasp his arm weakly, feeling like your own lungs are failing you. You can’t breathe. It’s too much, too infinitely humiliating. He’s doing this to you again, and this time you have to shoulder most of the blame, because you are the one that enabled your own heartbreak for the second time.

You’re still crying, and you hate that this is the first time he’s ever seen you cry like this.

“I’m trying to protect you,” he says firmly, looking at you like he’s trying so hard not to break down alongside you. “Please, I’m so sorry.” The words come out as a whisper now. You can feel the tremble in his voice and the shake of his hands where they hold you. His big bambi eyes - the usual home of constellations - now house tears that threaten to spill onto his supple cheeks. “Please. What can I do to make you believe me?”

It’s those stupid fucking eyes. It’s your stupid fucking self.

“You need to tell me.” Your tears keep on falling no matter how much he tries to wipe them away. “I can’t take it anymore.”

“It’ll make things worse,” he tells you, his voice cracking as he does. He sounds like he means it, and maybe he does believe that whatever he’s hiding from you will only hurt you more. It almost has you caving, but you can’t do this a second time. You’re exhausted, both physically and emotionally. In the morning, you’ll think about how this is all so dramatic, the way you’re acting right now. The most k-drama-esque thing that has ever happened to you. But in the moment, you just feel like someone plunged a knife in your chest, and they keep twisting it, twisting and twisting,...

In the end, you decide that it’s a risk you’ll have to take, because nothing can be more painful than the absolute hell he’s putting you through. He’ll never understand how utterly excruciating it is to experience this kind of heartbreak.

“If you don’t tell me now, I won’t be able to survive you again.”

up next...

our beloved summer (08) ⏤ aka the JK centric chapter

all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted september 30, 2023]

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

I love jack so so much he's perfect but tbh I do think it would've worked much more with the show if he was a destiel baby instead of lucifer's. and I'm not just saying that as a shipper or whatever I mean narratively it would've been a lot cleaner- and actually, I think it would've been super funny to no-homo them creating a baby together, like, literally all they would have to do is say "oh, when cas rebuilt dean after hell he accidentally left some grace tangled in his soul, and every time he's healed him since then it's been growing stronger until a nephilim was born". like yes the studio is homophibic etc etc but all the jokes they'd make about dean being spiritually pregnant would be very funny for me personally.

but ANYWAY, jack's story gets messy and convoluted and I think this would've been like...a simple fix. them worrying about him going dark side could be because they're worried how demon!dean and lucifer!cas affected him in development, the show LOVES bloodline drama, chuck's wanting abraham and issac 2.0 would've worked better this way, dean's storyline with him would be improved, bc rather than 'oh no I slowly but surely emotionally adopted the antichrist' like I think he would've had an easier time clocking his john-behavoir if it wasn't a question whether he was jack's dad or not. plus last time dean actively raised a kid he went to great lengths to keep the supernatural away from him, so it'd be interesting to see how he handles a kid he CANT possibly hide from this part of his life. it would make more sense why michael wanted jack as a vessel- yes obviously he wanted the nephilim power boost but also having him as part of the winchester bloodline, making him a PERFECT vessel he doesn't have to worry about burning up would add a lot. we could also use this argument for why lucifer is so interested in him if anyone actually liked that plotline in season 14 lmao. we know chuck hated cas and dean's relationship, could you imagine if he checked in and found out they made an unauthorized baby together💀 like that really would've given better context for why he hates jack so much. cas wouldn't need that whole weird brainwashing arc to wanna protect unborn jack, PLUS it could've been an interesting source of angst for him- he feels like he's failed once again, creating an abomination and putting dean in danger, but also still loves jack immensely. it'd be so good! also imagine how fucking stressed out heaven would be to find out a mini castiel is on the way. they wouldn't even wanna exploit that kid for power they'd be preemptively treating the headaches they know they're gonna get lmfao.

also. the casting directors literally put jensen and misha into a face morph app and cast the first actor they could find that matched the results. which would've made more sense if,,,,he was just Theirs. the comedy of dean and cas making a baby before either of them managed to admit their feelings to each other would be more fun then the "dude adopted a kid and pawns him off on his unwilling roommate's all the time and they eventually warm up to the kid" storyline we actually got. we also could've replaced some of the jack-dean angst from the show with "dean wants to connect more with jack but he feels shut out whenever cas is around bc he can't relate to any angel stuff so obviously jack's going to cas for help more!", which I think would be interesting!! how AWFUL dean and cas would feel that jack didn't feel safe enough to be a baby. dad!sam is still in full swing but he cares for jack right off the bat instead of trying to use him for his powers at first. lily sunder talking about how cas killed her kid bc he thought it was a nephilim and dean, who's already fully aware he's (spiritually) knocked up by cas is like 👹 inch resting cas-tee-elle tell me more. mary having a 'my baby has a baby' crisis. cas insisting jack looks nothing like him is a running joke but then at some point he explains its bc jack's 'true form' looks just like dean's soul....

ALSO- in a show where, canonically, the very first act of free will was cas falling in love with dean...the physical manifestation of that defeating chuck and taking his place as god? come ON.

[ayyy-pee]

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 4 - 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒓𝒖𝒕𝒉 𝑼𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒍𝒅

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Pairing: Choso x f! Reader

Summary: Will this pain ever stop?

Chapter Warnings: Angst...again lmfao

WC: 6k

Choso Art By:NC9__

**While not all chapters contain adult content, the themes of this story are targeted towards adults, so minors DNI please.

You have an art project due.

You have an art project due that's worth sixty percent of your grade. 

You have an art project due that's worth sixty perfect of your grade, and you haven't even started it yet.

The canvas you’d set up two hours ago has been sitting in front of you without so much as a line drawn on it. The assignment is to sketch or paint something or someone meaningful from memory. You have many places you could choose from. You could paint your parents. They obviously mean the world to you. You could sketch your hometown, your friends from home or maybe your childhood bedroom.

Then there’s the obvious choice – the beach. The beach where you spent so many of your formative years. The beach where so many amazing memories were made. The beach where you met –

You shake your head wildly, willing yourself not to think about it, about him.

After four long months, many unanswered messages (because you’re blocked) and too many sad tears shed to count, you have now entered into the anger stage of your grief journey (with a sprinkle of the sads!). And honestly? It’s been easier for you that way. It’s been easier to hate him for what he did.

Him – because he doesn’t deserve his name to be uttered by you ever again. Not after the way he treated you. It’s not even the fact that he rejected you, though that sting was something you never want to experience again. But to make the choice to just end over a decade of friendship in the blink of an eye? A decision that wasn’t only his to make. To block you without another word? To just drop you like some stranger on the street after so many years, so many firsts together. To treat you like you never mattered at all…

Yeah, he can go to hell for all you care.

You push your canvas back with more force than necessary. Your artistic mood is ruined anyway, not that you were in one to begin with. It’s good timing, too, because a light knock echoes through your dorm door, and you beckon the visitor in.

“Hey,” Suguru enters, hands full of two six packs of beer. “You coming to Kai’s?”

Right. Tonight, Kaito – who you may or may not have vomited breakfast, lunch and dinner on after drinking too much and having a full on breakdown about him in the hallway in his hallway a week after he broke your heart – has invited you all over for a party!

It wasn’t Kaito’s fault. It was yours, really. You couldn’t look at the guy without being reminded of the conversation that led to your heartbreak.

“You should be with someone like him.” The memory played on loop in your drunken mind, pulled tears and anger from the depths of your soul and forced it all up for everyone to see.

Absolutely humiliating. Yet, despite your unfortunate mishap at the last gathering, Kaito still seemed to be interested in you. It probably helps that he has no idea that you confessed your feelings to your best – former best friend only to have your heart ripped out and fed back to you. You’d like to keep it that way. Some truths really are better left untold.

“I guess I could go,” you mutter to Suguru who has now cracked open a beer and placed it in front of you.

“Cool. Everyone’s already over there if you wanna walk together..” You open your mouth to protest, but Suguru quickly cuts you off. “I don’t mind waiting. It’s dark out anyway.” He flops down onto your bed, careful not to spill his drink. “Don’t feel comfortable with you walking alone.”

You stare at your friend from your spot on the floor. Sometimes - and you know it’s your mind inflicting its own sick torment on itself - Suguru reminds you so much of him in so many ways that it hurts. He’s quiet and caring, sweet and just an overall good person. He protects you in ways that feel so familiar it scares you. While there are no romantic feelings there for Suguru, you’ve found yourself growing even closer to him while navigating your heartbreak because of the familiar comfort he provides.

The warm sting forming along your waterline surprises you. Yes, you’re angry but there are still times when the overwhelming sadness feels just as fresh. You haven’t cried over this in awhile, but the kindness Suguru shows you consistently makes you think of those summers. And those summers make you think of his warmth and kindness that you’ve known all your life. And the memory of his warmth and kindness feels like a jagged blade being shoved slowly into your chest.

“You good?” Suguru’s quiet voice pulls you back to the present. “You look about two seconds from bursting into tears…”

You swipe at your eyes quickly, clearing your throat. “Yeah…yeah, I’m fine. Just stressed about this damn project. You know how it is.”

Even from across the room, you can see the way Suguru’s eyes narrow just slightly. He’s always been good at picking up on cues, catching people’s lies. But he doesn’t pry further, and you’re grateful when he simply stands and practically floats across the room where he reaches into the box of beers and easily pops the cap off of the bottle before handing it to you.

“Easy fix for all that stress,” he tells you. Your hand wraps around the bottle and you give Suguru a weak smile.

“Kai’s excited to see you, by the way,” Suguru adds, grinning behind his beer when he sees you choke on your first swig. He’s a good friend, but he can be such a dick sometimes! No wonder he and Satoru are so close. They both get off on catching people off guard, watching them squirm.

After nearly passing into the afterlife, you manage to finally catch your breath when Suguru takes pity on you and slaps a large hand against your back. “Is–” you cough harshly. “Is he really?”

“Yup. Dude likes you a lot even after you puked all over his new–”

“STOOOOOPPPPPP!”

“Shirt that he bought exactly for–”

“ENOUGH!!!” You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Hanging out with y–”

“I’m gonna yank your hair!” You slap your hands over your ears.

Suguru’s head falls back with raucous laughter. “As much as I’d love that, save the kinks for Kaito, please.” 

Your face practically ignites with embarrassment. Even joking about becoming intimate with someone after having only been kissed once makes you want to crawl into a hole. You take everything back. You hate Suguru and his teasing. 

Suguru downs the rest of his beer, happily observing your discomfort. “Go change so we can head out.”

You stand, flipping Suguru off before you head into the bathroom to get ready. You’re excited to go. You’re excited to see your friends and have a carefree time. And surprisingly, you’re kind of excited to see Kaito. You hope tonight will get your mind off of everything. You really need to forget all that’s been plaguing you over the last several months.

- - - - - -

When Suguru said Kaito was having a party, you didn’t think he meant an absolute fucking rager. Does no one give a damn that you’re quickly approaching midterms? Not to mention the mid-semester enormous projects your professors have been dumping on everyone! 

No one cares? 

No? 

Just you? 

Okay.

You suppose you could set your worries and stress and lingering thoughts about he who shall not be named aside for one night before it’s back to your regular scheduled programming. Even still, you just can’t wrap your head around how insane this party is. The last time you were at Kaito’s house (that’s putting it lightly – it’s more like a damn castle!), it was just your small study group. And you were very clearly going through something at the time, hence you spewing your guts out shortly after arriving for “casual” drinks and game night.

But tonight is different. There are warm bodies packed into the space, and you wonder if it’s the whole of the university that has been crammed into this place. Music is blaring so loudly you’re sure this party violates almost every noise ordinance there is. And again, no one seems to care. Everyone is pressed up against someone; hips moving scandalously to the beat. Multi colored lights flash across the room in time with the music. It’s more like a club here than a house party. It’s no wonder Suguru made you change out of your sweats and into a practically skintight dress.

If you’re going to enjoy this party, you’re going to need a drink – just one this time! You tell Suguru you’ll catch up with him in a bit, then maneuver your way into the kitchen as quickly as possible. When you’re there, you’re relieved to find that the kitchen is rather empty, just a few stragglers hanging around to grab more beverages. You appreciate the quietness in here, because the short time you were in the main room, the thumping was already giving you a headache.

Your eyes land on the counter where all the mixers and liquor sit. One little tequila and orange juice isn’t going to kill you, or result in you slumped on the couch (again), so you pour your little drink and take a sip. The burn of the alcohol is welcome. It soothes the bit of anxiety beginning to swell in your chest from the idea of having to move through that crowd again to find your friends.

“You look…” A smooth voice comes from behind you, making you jump in surprise. You spin around to find emerald eyes roaming along your form, appreciating the way the fabric of your dress hugs all your curves beautifully. “Wow…”

“Thank you, Kai,” you breathe, hiding shyly behind your red solo cup. “You look good, too.”

Kaito’s pretty grin spreads along his face, the two of you standing to the side of the small group gathered in the kitchen. “Suguru told me you were getting a drink. Had to come find you. How’ve you been?” He questions, reaching past you to grab a bottle of liquor. “Excuse me.” He pours himself a bit of alcohol.

“Not bad, just busy with this art project. I know I haven’t been around much, but I need to get a good grade on this one.”

He nods, eyes boring into yours. “I feel that. That’s why I threw this party.” He waves his hand around the room. “Needed something to get my mind off shit.”

Images of what – no, who – your mind has been stuck on flash through your mind, and you take another swig of your drink to quell the sadness threatening to resurface. “Honestly, I’m glad you did.”

Kaito smiles down at you, and you feel your heart race behind your ribcage. “Me, too. I’m really glad you came.”

You spend a good while speaking with Kaito in the kitchen, completely forgetting about the party outside of this room and your friends in general. It’s surprisingly refreshing. You’re open with Kaito, laughing at his jokes, letting him flatter you with the compliments he can’t seem to help but shower you with.

And you like it.

You like him. 

Kaito makes you feel good. You had no idea how much you needed to feel good until now. And even as Kaito leads you outside to a balcony overlooking a gorgeously lit garden, even as the music pumps so loudly through the closed double doors, it’s nothing compared to the pounding  Kaito causes your heart to do.

Maybe it really is a good thing that you came to this party. And a good thing you only had one drink!

“So…” Kaito sighs, staring out over the pretty shrubs and the enormous fountain that sits in the center of this outdoor garden. “Can’t believe senior year is coming up so quickly.”

“Oh wow, it really is. You’ll be graduating before you know it.”

“Scary times. Not looking forward to finding out what the real world's like.”

You hum in agreement. In another year you'll be in Kaito’s position, wondering what you will be doing for the rest of your life. And Kaito is right. It’s scary to think about. All of this stress from school will build up to something, though you don’t know what that something is yet. You’d love to sit and ponder on what your future holds, because just a few months before, you were fairly certain you knew what and who you wanted. But so much has changed in such a short amount of time. You don’t know what’s next for you. Regardless, you want to be open to change.

“There will be no talking about futures together, making plans, sailing off into the sunset…none of it.”

Yeah, you need to be open to change.

You sigh loudly. “As much as I love letting the existential dread set in, did you bring me out here to talk about school?”

Kaito laughs, running his fingers through his dark hair and you can just barely make out the crimson spreading along his cheeks in this dim lighting. He’s nervous, and you find it adorable. “No. No, of course not. I just…ah, fuck.”

You place a hand on his arm, soothingly patting. “Take your time…”

His eyes narrow playfully as he bites his lip, shaking his head. He leans against the balcony railing, turning to face you. “I really like you…” he admits, then he chuckles. “You know, if that wasn’t obvious.”

“I would have never guessed,” you tease, and Kaito laughs again. “I like you, too, Kai. I know I’ve been kind of…” You try to find the right word for your behavior over the last four months, but all you can come up with is, “a mess. But I do like you.”

Kaito’s face lights up. It’s so cute, the way he looks so excited to hear this. He moves closer to you, taking your hand in his, and you feel your heartbeat pick up speed.

“I’m so glad. I thought there was no way you were interested.”

This makes you burst into a fit of giggles. “How are you the one surprised here? I puked all over you and somehow you still like me.”

Kaito’s teeth sink into his bottom lip again, and he grins. “Would you think I was an absolute freak if I said that somehow made me like you more?”

Your brows knit together in confusion, but you can’t help the goofy smile spreading across your lips.

“I just mean!” Kaito stumbles over his words, trying to correct himself. His fingers card through his hair again, and you make note that this seems to be a nervous habit of his. “Ugh, I mean…most girls have something absolutely humiliating like that happen and–”

“Off to a great start,” you jest, which makes Kaito smile harder.

“You know what I mean. I just didn’t think that you’d still want to be friends after something like that happened. I was kind of worried that you’d be too embarrassed to want to talk to me.”

“I was,” you admit. “But you kept coming around to study group so it made it kind of hard to avoid you.” Your lips quirk into a smirk, letting Kaito know that you’re still teasing him.

“You’re so mean to me,” he pouts cutely before he adds, “Would you think I was an absolute freak if I said that somehow makes me like you more?” He winks, and you both fall into a fit of giggles.

You’re not sure when the last time you felt so…free was. The air around Kaito is so refreshing, so light, so nice. You can be yourself with him. You can laugh with him. You can just…be with him.

Kaito’s sudden silence has you peering up at him, only to find his face serious. Somehow, you’re just noticing that he’s much closer. He leans down slowly, and your heart thrums loudly in your ears as your breaths mingle. Kaito has his eyes locked on your mouth, his tongue peeking out to run along his bottom lip and your eyes follow the motion. 

“I want to kiss you so badly…” He confesses quietly. “So badly.” 

Your cheeks warm at the prospect. You’ve never kissed anyone besides him. And you’re unsure if–

No.

You push the memory away. He wanted you to be happy even if it meant it was with someone else. He removed himself from your life to make sure of that. So now, you will do what was asked of you, and move on.

“Can I…” Kaito’s voice beckons you back to him. “Kiss you?”

“...yes.” You nod, agreeing quickly. The both of you slowly lean closer, Kaito’s hand squeezing yours, until your lips just barely ghost over each other. Kaito’s hand comes up to cup your cheek, then he closes the distance, pressing his mouth gently to yours.

His lips are so soft, so careful as they move against yours. The taste of Kaito’s mouth has you sighing into the kiss, the mixture of mint and whiskey more pleasant than you would have imagined. It’s nice, just like everything about Kaito. 

Your mind is reeling, heart beating wildly in your chest. You’re finally experiencing your first kiss at college! You used to dream of this moment. Giving your first college kiss to someone you really like. And you really like Kaito. This kiss…it’s everything you ever hoped for!

So why does the way Kaito’s lips caress yours feel so wrong? Why does the way his hand gently strokes your cheek feel so off? And the way he sighs your name against your lips? It’s just all so wrong.

You try to fight it, try to resist the way your head floods with images of that hot summer night at the beach all those years ago, of that kiss that seems to have ruined you for all other men. How compared to everything else going on at this moment, it all felt right. There were no awkward feelings, no doubts, no sudden alarms blaring in your head telling you that you should not be kissing this person. And it has your heart dropping.

This isn’t fair.

It isn’t fair that no matter how much you think you’ve moved forward and healed, it only takes one tiny thing to send you right back to square one. It isn’t fair that you’ve been put in this position by no choice of your own in the first place. It isn’t fair that even as this man who so clearly likes you presses his lips to yours, you can only think of being somewhere else with someone who isn’t him.

It isn’t fucking fair.

What’s even worse is that that damn beach seems to haunt you no matter what you do. It’s crazy how you can see the water so clearly in your mind, damn near feel the mist of the ocean spray on your face as Kaito slots his lips against yours. And it seems Kaito feels this mist as well, because he pulls back, brows knit together as his beautiful eyes roam your features.

“Did I do something wrong?” He questions quietly. The confusion seems to be clear as day on your face because Kaito gently swipes at your cheek and it’s then that you feel the wetness on your skin. Tears; big, fat ones at that. You hadn’t even realized you had started crying.

A sob involuntarily rips from your throat and your hands fly to your mouth to cover the sound. But then another follows. And another. And it’s all you can do to just close your eyes and try to will yourself not to break down right here. But when you feel yourself wrapped in an unfamiliar, but soothing embrace, a wave of emotion comes crashing down on you harder than the wave that brought you to him over a decade ago. And it only makes you cry harder. Kaito’s arms squeeze you tightly, his hand rubbing soft circles on your back.

“It’s okay…” he whispers, though you can hardly hear him over your weeping. “Whatever’s going on…it’s gonna be okay.”

The two of you stand like this for a while. Kaito simply holds you until your body stops shaking with each sob. 

“I–” You sniffle loudly, burying your face in Kaito’s chest because once again, you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of him and now you’re too ashamed to look at him. “I’m so, so sorry, Kai.”

His hands fall on your shoulders, pulling you from his hold and you peer up at him, only to find him gazing softly down at you.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Kaito is so sweet. Too sweet for you, who is too damaged to be of any good to him.

“I’m going through sort of a break up right now,” you confess. “I care about him very much, but it just didn’t work out. I thought I was ready to move on, to try this, but I don’t think I am.” You feel fresh tears beginning to fall. “I’m sorry. I really do like you, but I’m just not ready for anything new.”

Kaito nods, in understanding, pulling you back into his arms when he sees another tear roll down your cheek. “I get it. You don’t have to explain yourself.”

See? Too sweet for you.

Kaito whispers your name as he releases his hold on you. “Just know that you’re an amazing person. I’d still love to be friends with you, if you’re comfortable with that.” He squeezes your shoulder comfortingly. “And whoever broke your heart…they fucked up letting you go.”

His words make you want to cry harder. You wish you could believe that, believe that you were worth fighting for. But you were the one fighting, and right now, you feel like the one who lost.

Still, you manage to mutter a quick “thank you” before you hug Kaito one last time for the night.

- - - - - -

Maybe you’re doomed to never leave Kaito’s house on a good note. Twice you’ve left there in shambles, and you’re not willing to see if the third time’s a charm.

You leave Kaito’s without bothering to find your friends to say goodbye. You don’t want to see them, don’t want to explain the reason why you’re suddenly racing back to your dorm. Don’t want them to know that the moment you get back to your dorm you’ll be falling to pieces. You want to be alone. 

In the safety of your dorm, there’s no one here to tell you it will be alright, no one to soothe your pain or offer you words of encouragement. And you don’t want it. You want to feel these emotions, let them all out as the waves come. You need the space to do so.

You don’t care that you’re standing in your room in the same stupid dress you were wearing when you broke down in front of Kaito after telling him you liked him, after having your first kiss in college with him. You feel ridiculous as is, so what’s one more thing to add to the roster? 

Your eyes spot the stupid blank canvas on your table, still in the same spot you left it when you headed out to the party with Suguru, and your body moves on autopilot. You let your hands do what they know how to do best, dipping your paint brush into whatever color feels right. 

Each stroke of the brush feels like a weight lifted, feels cathartic and the sorrow that drove you to paint in the first place melts into raw anger. The tears fall as an image begins to take shape, furious brushstrokes flying across the canvas.

You don’t know how long you’re sitting there painting, but when you’re no longer able to shed another tear, and your angry sobs finally subside, you set your brush aside and observe the finished product.

It’s the beach - your beach - painted the way you see it now. 

Messy. 

Distorted. 

Tainted with memories that now leave a sick taste in your mouth. 

And it’s beautiful.

You wipe your swollen eyes as you stand and strip off your dress, leaving the fabric in a pile on the floor. You don’t give the painting any more attention, don’t bother looking back, leaving it to dry while you head to the bathroom to shower and get ready for bed.

Come Monday, when you present your project in class, your professor does not hesitate to gift you an A. You listen numbly as she rambles about the raw emotion it evokes. She sings your praises about your growth this semester, and she tells you she hopes to see more of this passion in your future work. 

It’s bittersweet, but you suppose something good had to come from all of this pain. 

Maybe one day, when it’s not such a sore spot, when it doesn’t hurt so fucking much, you’ll thank him for it.

- - - - - -

Your senior year creeps up on you. All of your hard work has finally paid off, and you’ve fortunately been able to take it pretty easy for your last year of college. You even had time to complete an internship with an incredible art gallery and may have a position lined up for after graduation!

You want it so badly, so you’ve been spending more time experimenting with your art. It keeps you busy, which is exactly what you need.

Utahime and Shoko are officially together, not that their relationship was much of a secret to begin with. You love seeing those two together. Especially now that Utahime is no longer struggling with her classes. She can dedicate more time to her music and spend more time with her girlfriend before she leaves for medical school.

They’re sweet with each other, but third wheeling with them sucks. Nothing is fun when you’re stuck watching your friends making out wherever you go. You still love them, but you’ll see them again once they’re out of the honeymoon phase. So maybe you’ll never see them again. Who knows?

Satoru and Suguru…They also became a couple, but that was a toxic situation that lasted about a year before they had a very nasty breakup that ended with Suguru transferring schools. 

Though Satoru does make frequent visits to “see his friends” that just so happen to live in the same city that Suguru moved to. You’re not sure what’s up with your friends and feeling the need to hide their relationships when it’s all so glaringly obvious what they’re up to. But you don’t pry.

And you? You haven’t tried dating anyone since that disastrous night at Kaito’s. You needed time to heal, so you’ve poured all your energy into your artwork. Clearly it’s paid off for you.

Speaking of Kaito, he graduated! He was offered an amazing position with a great company, and actually moved out of the country. You two remain good friends, which is why as you lie in bed scrolling through your Instagram feed, you see the pictures of him and his new girlfriend on your feed. You double tap, liking it. They’re so cute together. And Kaito seems so happy, and you’re happy for him.

Your finger continues to swipe at the screen, scrolling through pictures and videos of your friends. Some of your high school friends have gotten married. Some are pregnant. Others have adopted a new pet. Now that you’ve got time to breathe, it feels like everyone’s life is changing so quickly. 

But still, it’s nice to have time to do absolutely nothing. You spent a good majority of your college career frantically trying to keep your head above water. You’re glad for the downtime.

A notification suddenly pops up on your Instagram. It’s a message request, though you’re not sure from who. 

“You love stallions?” You question aloud. “Who the hell…” You squint, bringing your phone closer to your face to see if the profile picture gives you any clues as to who is randomly sending you a message. But it’s just a pair of…red shoes? You have half a mind to delete the message, because when you try to view the page, it’s private.

But apparently, you’ve really got time on your hands, because curiosity gets the better of you and you open the message.

yuluvstallions: hi Y/N!!! 

yuluvstallions: (i hope this is ur page. I messaged like 4 others) 

yuluvstallions: It’s me! Yuji!! It’s been a REALLY long time! Hope ur doin good! Plz tell ur mom nd dad i said hi! 

yuluvstallions: I miss u SO much so i had 2 try nd find u on here! N e way. Idk if u remember but my bday is comin up in a few weeks! Im gunna be 13! Can u believe it?! IM A TEENAGER!!!

yuluvstallions: i think u might b on spring break during that time, so id really love it if u could come. I’ll send details here

Yuji attaches an image of his party invitation, and you can’t even focus on that because you suddenly feel like you can’t breathe. The invitation font sits atop the background image, against the sky. It gives all of the location’s details, the time and the date. And at the bottom of this image are the four brothers, standing on the beach with their arms around each other’s shoulders and big grins on their faces.

There’s Yuji, who looks to be almost as tall as you, wears the biggest smile. Then Kechizu, who is still short and stocky, the same way you remember him. Eso, who has a mohawk now? And then, there’s him.

Choso.

You set your phone down. You think you’re going to be sick.

- - - - - -

It’s nearly one in the morning when Choso arrives home. He’s not usually off this late, but he’s been finding it easier to sleep when he comes home absolutely exhausted. Though it doesn’t help much. He’s only been managing to sleep a few hours a night for the last few years, and somehow, by some miracle, he hasn’t keeled over. 

Choso sets his keys down, heading up the stairs, careful to avoid the worn steps that he knows will creak beneath the pressure so as to not wake Yuji. He slips into the bathroom where he strips off his uniform and steps into the shower. The heat of the water melts away the thick scent of dairy and sugar from Choso’s skin and hair, and he finally feels like he can relax.

It’s been a surprisingly busy spring season. He can thank spring break for that. The town has university students coming in and out like a revolving door, and business is booming because of it. He can’t complain. It’s more money, and it keeps his mind off of…things.

Choso finally settles into bed, pulling his blanket up to his chin. He’s exhausted.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like sleep is in his near future because he hears a knock on his door the second he closes his eyes. The door cracks open, a head of pink hair peeking in. His youngest brother slips into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Yuji looks nervous, moving across Choso’s room to sit at his desk. “Hi, big brother,” he beams. “How was work?” And while Choso loves when Choso refers to him as his big brother, he can only assume Yuji wants something.

“What is it?” He asks, voice clearly conveying his exhaustion.

Yuji plays with the hem of his shirt, eyes fixed on the floor. “So…as you know, my birthday bonfire is coming up.”

“Still can’t believe you’re about to be 13,” Choso sighs, shakily. Yuji has grown up so fast and is quickly becoming an incredible young man.

‘Don’t cry. Don’t cry…’

Yuji chuckles nervously. “Yeah…so…It’s a big milestone, right? Like, a big birthday because I’m finally a teenager…”

“Yes…I know…What are you getting at?”

“Would it be okay if I invited…” he trails off, but it's obvious who Yuji’s referring to – you. Of course Yuji wants to see you. He's got the same emotional attachment to you as Choso has to him. He can admit that in the past it made him jealous, how much Yuji loved you. And how much you loved Yuji. But right now, the idea of Yuji extending an invitation to you after not seeing you for almost half a decade, after the way things were left off between you…it sets his nerves on fire.

He has no idea what you're up to these days. It takes a hell of a lot of restraint each time the temptation crosses his mind, but he doesn't check your social media. And if his brothers have any contact with you, they don't provide him any insight into your life either. Though Choso thinks that's more in protest of how things went down between you two, not to protect his feelings. They always did love you more. 

But would Choso be able to handle seeing you after the way he treated you all these years later? The idea of seeing you standing in front of him makes him feel sick. And the idea of seeing you standing in front of him with…Kaito, or whoever you may be dating now makes him want to vomit. He knows he told you to move on, find someone who could be better for him than he could ever be, but he doesn’t want that flaunted in his face either.

Ugh, this is just all fucked up.

Choso’s aware of how selfish it would be for him to say no to Yuji because of his own feelings. Because he’s scared to face the consequences of his actions. He caused this rift between you two. He burned the bridge. Not you. Not Yuji. Choso did that. Maybe you’ll show up. He’s sure Yuji and his other brothers would love to see you. Worst case and most likely scenario, you hate Choso and won’t come at all. 

That idea hurts just as much. 

But Choso can’t use what he did as a reason to tell Yuji no.

“Sure,” Choso finally grunts. “Invite her, but don’t get your hopes up.”

Yuji grins, wide and goofy. He stands, clapping his hands together as he makes his way out the door before calling back, “Good! Because I already invited her and she said she’s comingggg!” He sings from the hall.

“YUJI, SHUT UP!�� Choso hears Eso’s muffled yell from his room, followed by Yuji’s loud laughter.

Choso groans, staring up at the ceiling as his mind races. If he thought he was getting any sleep tonight, he was sorely mistaken. How could he sleep now? Knowing that in a few short weeks, he’ll be seeing you for the first time in years. Potentially speaking to you for the first time since he hung up in your face and blocked any form of communication with you. The conversation haunts him to this day, like some strange form of punishment. It’s why he works so much, why he sleeps so little. At least when he’s awake, he can keep his thoughts at bay.

Exhaustion snatches Choso, his body finally giving in so he can sleep. He’s sure he’ll wake up tomorrow feeling as though he never relaxed for a moment. That’s how it always is. Because while he can keep himself busy enough to not think of you for a second while he’s awake, it’s when he closes his eyes that his mind torments him with nothing but images of you.

This time, his dreams are pleasant. This time, he sees you and him together. You and him, on the beach where it all began.

[connorsbunnyx]

☆ « 𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 » ☆

♡ ~ dom!micheal afton x sub!gn!afab!reader ~ ♡

♪ smut request: micheal surprises reader on their birthday!

♪ a/n: i absolutely love this request anon! i hope you enjoy this smutty fic <3. i hope i did a good job with your vague request :]. it does have a wholesome fluff around the end that is very romantic <3. this fic is based in modern times :D! also, very sorry if my writing's bad or seems rushed, it wasn't, that's just how my writing looks to me (the end was rushed though). i'm also sorry that there's so many warnings, i just don't want to trigger anyone😭.

♪ songs that vibe with the fic: "Clair de Lune, L. 32" by Claude Debussy or "It's Been a Long, Long Time" by Kitty Kallen for the romantic part (Kitty Kallen is for the 40s-60s type love <3). "The Hills" by The Weeknd or "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails for the smut part (such good music that match the vibes😩💙).

♪ warnings (non sexual): mdni, 18+, modern!au, reader's and Micheal's age is mentioned, reader's height isn't mentioned but they are shorter than Micheal, honestly this doesn't have a major plot LMFAO, vulgar language (obviously), established relationship, reader uses they/them pronouns but has an afab body, reader wears feminine clothing and uses binder, one mention of bullying, beginning explains backstory, a few mentions of the reader being pretty/beautiful, Micheal calls reader petnames (baby, darling, love, etc), no use of y/n or anything like that, angst at the end, probably not proofread fully - there might be spelling/grammar mistakes :(

♪ warnings (sexual): piv, switches between soft!dom!Micheal and hard!dom!Micheal, creampie, no condom but reader is on birth control (please use protection irl, it's hard to have a baby), dom/sub dynamic, daddy kink, bondage, oral sex (reader receiving), praise kink, degrading kink (only used for "good [insert pronouns]" praises), possessive!micheal, marking kink(??), a little edging, choking, slight breeding kink if ya squint, aftercare <3.

♪ fic starts under cut ♪

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You and Micheal have been together for awhile now, almost three years, since you two met in college. You and Micheal started out as friends, instantly having a connection. The connection was mostly because he was sweet and charming to you, his actions towards you were much different than other students at the college. You were bullied quite a bit, not as bad as your highschool bullies though, but Micheal helped you gain confidence and stand up for yourself. You both caught feelings fast, afraid to tell each other, until one fateful night. You kissed Micheal, telling him your feelings, to find out that the feelings were mutual. Soon after, you two started dating.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Today was your 21st birthday, meaning that you were finally ready to drink alcohol. Micheal was only a year older than you, he sometimes had beer when he came over to your apartment. Those days he would let you take a sip then softly laugh at how your face would scrunch up in disgust from the taste and the burn in your throat from the beer.

The date you were on started out as one of the best dates you and Michael had, it was beautiful tonight. The sky was filled with stars, the moon was clear in the sky, there were no clouds in sight, it was absolutely beautiful and utterly peaceful. The weather was amazing as you sat outside the restaurant, the one you and Micheal were at right now. The outside table you were at, was a perfect spot to see the distant mountains that were scattered around the small town of Hurricane, Utah. The cool air had a nice breeze, making the temperature much better than it was earlier that day.

You and Micheal had already ordered your food, two medium-rare steaks, mashed potatoes, and a small salad for you. The food smelled and looked amazing.

♪ a/n: i'm sorry if your vegan/vegetarian, you could pick your own choice of food <3! now, let the sinful actions commence :D!

Micheal had been hiding the tent in his pants he saw you in that little dress you wore for the date, that was an hour ago. He couldn't help it, the dress hugged your body perfectly. The dressed hugged you so well, the hem of the dress reaching the top of your thighs, it was a short black turtleneck dress with short-sleeves. He could see the subtle outline of your binder through the dress, your tits practically gone. Micheal wanted to fucking devour you while at the restaurant and on the way to the restaurant.

He observed you as you ate your food, making sure to eat his own food occasionally to make sure he wasn't caught staring. Honestly, you were oblivious about his hunger for you, you were too focused on how pretty everything was around you, plus, you were also focused on how amazing the food was.

When you finished your food, you wiped your mouth before looking at Micheal with a smile. He smiled back, grabbing your hand and kisses your palm. You blush slightly from the affectionate kiss to your palm, making Micheal's pants feel tighter. He called over the waiter and paid for the meal, leading you out of the restaurant with graceful strides. Although his strides were graceful, he seemed to be in a rush to get you home..

You two went into his car, his hands immediately buckling you in with a kiss to your cheek before driving off after he buckled himself too.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Almost as soon as you and Micheal entered your apartment, Micheal was already kissing your lips with a gentle but passionate pace. His hands were on your waist as he kissed you, his grip a bit tight as the hunger he felt for you slowly overwhelmed his body and actions.

"i have a surprise for you, my dear." He mumbled against the kiss, pulling away to breathe. You looked so pretty like this to him, face flushed pink, your eyes hazy with lust, your breathing heavy, and your lips puffy because of only him. He could feel pride and possessiveness course through his blood from the sight of the effect he had on you. He quickly grabbed your hand and led you to the bedroom, gently pushing you onto the bed.

Micheal slowly bent down over your figure, his lips immediately latching onto yours, this time his kiss filled with lust and hunger. One of his hands slowly slid up from your thigh, across your stomach, to one of your tits that was covered by the binder you were wearing. He could feel your hard nipples through the binder and dress, making him let out a soft chuckle before he pulled away from the kiss to stare into your eyes.

"do you want this, darlin'?" His voice was husky with lust as he asked permission, a small smirk on his face when you nodded. "speak up, dear." He commanded, the smirk on his face getting bigger as he watched your body shiver in anticipation.

"please, touch me." You whisped in a breathless voice, the tone in your voice soft as your panties got slick with arousal. Micheal groaned softly at your words, his pants now tighter as he thought about how he could touch you.

But, wouldn't it be more fun to tease you? To see you beg for only him? You'd look so fucking pretty writhing in pleasure underneath him, you'd know who you belonged to.

Micheal was a bit conflicted, after all.. it is your birthday. He finally decided his next move, the smirk on his face completely gone as he stared at your smaller form with pure hunger. He slowly leaned down and kissed your neck, his hand that was on your chest cupping your throat in a gentle choking manner. Micheal didn't add preasure to your neck, he just rested it there as he kissed up and down your neck, leaving small hickeys. His other hand, that wasn't on your neck, trailed down to the top your thigh.. just below the hem of your dress. The action made you let out a soft, desperate whine from his subtle teasing.

He chuckled softly at your reaction, a faux sympathetic expression on his handsome but sharp face before pulling away from your neck and looking at you face-to-face. His hot breath fanned your lips as your eyes stared into his, the air getting thicker with lust as you two stared at each other. He studied your features with "concern" in his eyes, his brows scrunched together.

"is something the matter, dear?" He asked in a soft whisper, his deep and husky voice laced with faux sympathy. He almost sound like he was mocking you, the sound of his voice making your body tempature rise with lust and anticipation. You were excited about what he might do to you, you would probably let him do anything he wanted to you and enjoy it. He took note of the small shiver your body did, his ego growing bigger along with the possessive feelings that he had in this moment. He leaned down by your ear, his hot breath now fanning the shell of your ear.

"baby, you need to tell what you want or i can't help you." His voice was low as he spoke, the slight British accent mixing in with a Southern accent that he developed from living in Utah with his family, the British accent from when he talked with his father. The mixed accent made you let out a soft gasp, along with how Micheal's hand finally cupped your lace white panties under your dress.

"please.. need you, Micheal-!" You cried out in desperation, feeling his thumb, from the hand that was cupping your panty-covered cunt, gently rub your clit through the panties. He tutted disapprovingly at how you called him by his name, making him pull back his hand for a brief moment. You hadnt heard his disapproving sound when he made it, you were too focused on how badly you needed him in that moment.

"Micheal, please —" You started begging, getting cut off as a cry escaped your lips from the gentle but firm smack, on your panty-covered pussy, that Micheal gave you.

"that's not my name, darlin', and you know it." Micheal said lowly, his voice deep and animalistic, the sound of his voice almost like a deep animalistic growl. You gasped softly, not answering him, as his thumb rubbed your clit again, this time in a rough manner. Micheal's hand on your throat tightened a little, a gentle but firm preasure now on your throat. The pressure wasn't too hard, just enough to make you feel a little lightheaded and your mind hazy.

But, you not answering Micheal didn't please him at all, his hand on your cunt now giving your cunt another slap, this time was much harder. You cried out again, choking out a sob from the pleasureful pain of your, now sticky panties, rubbing against your clit, along with the overstimulating feeling your clit was receiving between the slaps and stickiness of your panties.

"no — 'm sorry, daddy!" You cried out with a soft sob, hot tears welling up in your eyes, threatening to fall, from the feeling of your overstimulated clit and the sweet sting the forceful slaps left on your throbbing pussy. Micheal left out a soft hum of approval, his hand on your throat loosening and the hand on your cunt gently rubbing your clit through the thin, stick panties you still had on. He leaned up to your face as he continued his motions on your cunt, moving his hand to gently grip your chin as he pecked you lips. He pulled away and went back to your cunt, your panties to his eye-level now.

Micheal slid his hand down from your chin, down your tummy, before having both hands grip the edge of your panties from under the dress you were wearing. He looked up at you, his eyes silently asking you for permission. You gave him a soft nod, a soft, reassuring smile on his face before he lowered his body as he got on his knees on the floor. He slid his hands from under your dress, to your waist, and pulled you closer to the edge, his face now in front of your panty-covered cunt. His face was serious again, the hunger that he had for you evident. He gently out your legs on his shoulders, spreading you open so he could see your cunt clearly.

The action made your face flush pink in embarrassment and excitement, anticipation filled your mind as filthy thoughts raced around in your mind. You didn't even notice that Micheal had already pulled your panties off you and bunched your dress up to your waist, you were too focused on pushing away the thoughts that were racing in your mind. Your attention didn't go back to the present until your thoughts got cut off by Micheal giving your bare cunt a soft lick, making you cry out in surprise. Your legs shook a bit as pleasure filled your body, the familiar feeling of your tummy getting hot with anticipation, the familiar knot of pleasure forming in your tummy already. Micheal let out a soft hum from your reaction, your head falling back onto the bedsheets as the vibrations of his hum filled your body with pleasure.

Micheal slowly licked up and down your lips, teasing you. Soft whimpers escaped your lips from the almost overwhelming pleasure of Micheal's teasing, making you bite your lip to keep the noises that bubbled up in your throat slip out. Micheal noticed this and pulled back, making you lift up your head and look at him with a confused expression.

"let me hear those noises, dear. i want to hear you, 'kay? you don't want to be punished d'ya?" His voice was low and animalistic as he spoke, his eyes dark with lust and a hint of anger. You nodded quickly, causing a warning slap on your ass. You gasped from the feeling of the slap, the gasp immediately forming into a soft whimper from the comforting sting the slap left.

"yes daddy." You whispered, earning a soft hum from Micheal before he leaned down again and kissed along the top of your thighs, leaving hickeys and bite marks that were seen scattered around your thighs. As he finally reached your pussy again, he kissed your clit, making a soft whimper escaping your lips from the feeling. He chuckled softly before licking your cunt again, this time slowly picking up his pace as he kept licking.

Once Micheal had found a pace he liked, he licked and sucked your pussy like a man who hadn't ate a proper meal in days. The feeling made you moan his name repeatedly, the knot in your tummy getting tighter as he continued his pace. Micheal could feel your cunt tighten on nothing as he continued eating you out, soft hums occasionally leaving his now puffy lips. Your arousal had dripped onto your thighs, Micheal's face, and the bedsheets - the bedsheets now having a small puddle of your arousal on the edge, where you were laying down. Your hands flew down to Micheal and gripped his shaggy brown hair as he slipped his tongue in your tight hole, a soft cry leaving your lips as your back arched off the bed just a tad.

You could feel the knot in your tummy tighten, your cunt tightening around Micheal's tongue as he thrusted his tongue into your mercilessly. You moaned loudly as Micheal teased your hole with a finger, his tongue still thrusting into you in a rough pace.

Your orgasm was approaching quickly and Micheal knew it, so he decided to pull away completely to tease you, his head now just a few inches away from your cunt as he breathed heavily. The action made you let out a choked sob of desperation as you started to beg for him. "daddy —please, need to cum —" You whispered with a soft, begging whine in your voice, your hands desperately trying to pull him back to you by gently tugging his hair towards you with another whine, making him grip both of your wrists tightly, but not too tight, with one hand and pull them away from his hair. He slowly stood up, making sure not to hurt you in the process, and look at you with a stern look.

"no. only good sluts get to cum." Micheal whispered harshly, his voice husky with an animalistic tone, his voice practically a growl. He leaned down, his face to your eye-level. His hot, heavy breath fanned your lips as he looked at you with wide, lustful eyes. He let go of your hands before standing up with a stern expression on his face. Your orgasm quickly dissapeared, making you have a soft pout on your lips. "don't move your hands, keep them above your head." He commaned, his tone harsh but it had a hint of gentleness underneath the harsh tone. He walked over to one of the dressers in the bedroom, pulling open a drawer that you knew all too well.

Your ears practically perked up like a bunny's would from the familiar sound of metal making a — clink! — sound as the metal hit one another. You lifted your head just enough so you could see what Micheal was grabbing, making your eyes widened a bit as you saw what he had grabbed. Micheal had grabbed his favorite toy, the black leather cuffs that always made you wet no matter what. The small chain that kept them together and/or hook onto something drooping slightly as Micheal held in a lazy grip, his hand flexing slightly as held them. The sight of his hand made your face get a bit red, memories of how many times he had choked you and touched you with his hand.

You had zoned out from your thoughts, not noticing how Micheal was looking at you with a dark — hungry — look, that was until you heard Micheal's heavy footsteps again.

Your eyes quickly flicked back to him, your lips parting as you stared up at him with — slightly — wide, lustful eyes. He smirked darkly down at your smaller form, his usual blue hazel eyes now a dark blue with hints of green in them still. You slowly gulped, your body starting to slightly tremble as anticipation once again filled your mind and body. Micheal helped you sit up after he set the cuffs onto the bed, taking off your dress and binder. He gently rubbed the little red line that the binder left, gently kissing along the line of it that was in the front.

He picked up the leather cuffs and motioned for you to hold out your wrists, your body immediately following his directions as if it were on autopilot. He hummed in approval, strapping the leather handcuffs onto your wrists, tugging onto the chain that kept them together, testing the cuffs.

A ghost of a smile graced his lips as he saw that the cuffs were tight enough for you not to move very well, one of his hands gently gripping the chain and helping you move up to the headboard. He quickly grabbed a leather belt that was on the floor and tied it to the headboard of the bed, wrapping it around the chain of the leather cuffs and keeping your hands above your head. He tugged on the belt, testing the belt to see if it would loosen. He let out another soft hum as he saw that the leather belt was tight enough and kept your hands pinned above your head, your wrists not able to move. He gave you look of — does it hurt? — a smile gracing his lips when you shook your head.

Micheal slowly pulled you down, making sure to not hurt you as he made the position more comfortable for you. He leaned down and kissed your lips in a slow, gentle pace, his hands spread on the bedsheets on both sides of your form as he kissed you. You let out a soft whine as he kissed you, your arms jerking a bit as you tried to touch him. He let out a soft chuckle from your actions, knowing that you were a bit irritated with the handcuffs that wouldn't let you move. He pulled back from the kiss to breathe, enjoying the way that your body was trembling under him when he hadn't even done anything. You looked so fucking pretty to Micheal as you stared up at him with pleading eyes, frustrated tears welling up in your eyes as they threatened to fall. Micheal looked at the tears in your eyes, his eyes growing darker as the possessiveness he felt got stronger, everything in him telling him to make you cry so you knew that you only belonged to him.

Micheal stepped away from the bed, finally stripping out of his clothes. Once he had his everything else except his boxers off, he breifly palmed himself through his boxers before taking them off, his cock pink and the veins bulging. You stared at him with hunger, watching as he slowly stroked his hard cock with his spit, his eyes full of hunger as he stared at your body. He stopped stroking himself and walked back to your spread out body that was on the bed, sitting in between your spread legs with a small smirk. He maintained eye contact as he gently rubbed himself up and down your bare pussy, gathering your arousal.

Your pussy was absolutely drenched, the small puddle on the bedsheets now a bit bigger from how wet you were. Micheal lined himself up with your hole before looking at you with a slightly concerned expression, he was silently asking for permission. You nodded, giving him permission to slip inside you. He gave you a soft smile before looking back down at your pussy, bumping his cock into your clit in a teasing manner. The action made you gasp, the gasp turning into a silent scream, the silent scream now a whimper as he slowly pushed himself inside you with a groan.

You whimpered softly as Micheal slowly entered your warm, tight hole, his cock already filling you up even though he wasn't even fully inside you yet. Your head tilted back as a low moan escaped your lips from the feeling of his cock filling you up more, a soft whimper escaping your lips as your hands gripped the leather cuffs. Micheal slowly leaned forward, softly shushing you as an attempt to comfort you.

"you're 'kay dear, 'm almost there.." Micheal whispered as he leaned forward, kissing your cheek. He slammed fully into you with a groan, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss to swallow the loud cry that escaped your puffy lips. He kept himself all the way inside your hole, staying still so you could get used to his size. It still amazed Micheal how tight you were despite having sex with him almost everyday. Micheal looked down at your smaller form, watching how your tits were so exposed as your head tilted back a little, your lips parted as soft whimpers slip out. Micheal kept still, waiting for your permission to move.

The pain from Micheal's size subsided, the pain now pleasure. You moved your hips up as best as you could to test out the feeling of him, a low moan escaping your lips as you rested your head on a pillow to look up at Micheal. Micheal looked at you with the silent question for permission, getting a nod from you. Micheal slowly thrusted forward, a low groan escaping his lips from the feeling of how tight your cunt was. The action made you moan, the soft noise making Micheal twitch inside your cunt. He kept a slow pace for now, the knot in your tummy from earlier coming back.

Micheal looked at you with lustful eyes as he slowly thrusted into you, keeping the pace agonizingly slow so he could make you beg for him. It worked, soon enough you were a babbling mess of — "please, faster-! need you, daddy!" or "harder, daddy-! s- so good..!" — with small whimpers and whines escaping your lips, the desperation for him overwhelming your body, soul, and mind.

Micheal let out a low growl, an actual growl, finally setting the pace to a quicker one with his hips slamming into yours as he thrusted harder into your tight hole, the hard thrusts making you cry out and moan. Micheal stared down at your body, the possessive feelings getting overwhelming as he slid one of his hands to your throat and gripped it firmly, the grip still gentle though. Micheal pulled out, leaving just his tip inside you before slamming into you. He kept doing that until he heard you moan louder than you had earlier, almost making him go feral.

"that's right, moan for me." Micheal growled lowly, his hips slamming into yours in a harder pace as his larger body hunched over your smaller form. Your body shook as you felt the orgasm that was denied earlier approach much faster than before. Micheal could feel your cunt tightening on him, making him groan lowly as he slammed into you even harder.

"that's right darlin', cum for daddy. i want to feel you cum on my cock." He groaned lowly, his hand on your throat tightening a bit more. The grip wasn't too tight, just enough to make you a little lightheaded and brain hazy. As if on cue, the knot in your tummy snapped, a silent scream on your lips as your back arched off the bed and your head tilted back as you laid on the pillow. You came hard, your whole body practically trembling as you came, the feeling making Micheal groan. Micheal couldn't handle it anymore, his hips now slamming into yours hard as he thrusted into you with abandon, low growls and groans escaping his lips.

"fuck, such a good slut f' me. you're mine, darlin'." Micheal growled lowly, leaning down and capturing your lips in a rough kiss as he thrusted into you impossibly harder. "cum f' me again, dear. need to feel you again." Micheal groaned into the kiss, running his tongue across your bottom lip — asking for permission. You kept your lips closed with a soft giggle, making Micheal growl lowly. He thrusted sharply into you, making you gasp slightly. He took the chance and dove his tongue into your mouth, taking control of the kiss as he explored your mouth with his tongue. Micheal pulled away from the kiss and gripped your hips tightly with both hands, slamming into you harder — if that was even possible — his cock hitting your g-spot with each thrust.

The pleasure was overwhelming for you, making you cum again with a cry. Your body shook under Micheal's grip as you came, your head tilting back, your back arching off the bed, and your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Micheal looked down at your body as you came, speeding up his thrusts as he slammed into you even harder.

"i'm goin' to make you mine forever, baby.." Micheal whispered as he leaned down next to your ear, his breathing heavy as he fucked you through your orgasm. The overstimulation was too much for your body, making you cum again as you practically screamed from the overwhelming painful pleasure of Micheal's thrusts and the overstimulation you were experiencing. Micheal's thrusts got sloppy as he chased his orgasm, slamming into you harder a few times before he slammed himself fully inside you.

Micheal stayed still as he came inside you with a low groan, the groan sounding a lot like a growl. His cum filled you up to the brim, a low moan escaping your lips as your tummy felt scorching hot from how much cum was inside you. Micheal stared down at your body, watching how full your cunt looked with his cock fully inside you. You looked absolutely beautiful with his cock stuffed inside you so deeply. Micheal stayed in place for a few minutes, enjoying how it felt to have you so full of him inside you.

Eventually Micheal slowly pulled out of you, watching how his cum dripped out of your cunt and fell onto the bedsheets that were under you. He looked up at you, watching how you were starting to get sleepy and drowsy. Micheal leaned forward and untied the belt, throwing it across the room, not caring where it went. He then unbuckled the handcuffs, kissing your wrists to comfort you. He got off the bed, walking into the connected bathroom and grabbing a soapy washcloth to clean you up. He walked back over to you and slowly cleaned you up, gently rubbing your waist with one hand while his other one cleaned your cunt. Micheal picked you up bridal style, taking you to the bathroom and letting you use the restroom alone as he switched out the bedsheets and the comforters. Micheal carried you out of the bathroom as you yelled out his name, setting you back on the bed. He gave you a change of black panties but helped you put on his black "Nirvana" shirt that you basically swimmed in and helped you put on pajama shorts.

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You and Micheal had been cuddling on your bed, the movie "Bolt" playing softly in the background. Your head laid on Micheal's chest as you watched the movie, not noticing how Micheal was grabbing something very special..

"baby, let's go get some snacks." Micheal offered, although it was more like commanded, making you grin. Micheal slowly got up and held out his hand, smiling when he felt your hand in his. He led you to the kitchen, helping you walk since you were still a bit sore. He gently grabbed your waist and sat you up on the countertop, pecking your nose before walking over to a cabinet and grabbing a box of chocolate he bought for you.

♪ a/n: you can choose any candy ya want, i just put chocolate so i don't have to do the fav food abbreviation <3.

Micheal handed you the chocolate, chuckling softly at how excited you got from seeing it. He watched as you opened it, slowly pulling out the small box with a ring inside it and getting down on one knee as he took the opportunity of you not looking to ask the big question once you looked back at him.

You stared at the note in the box of chocolates in shock, reading the handwritten words with tears of happiness already welling up in your eyes.

♪ a/n: the text below is the note and it's corny as hell, i know it is. but it's fanfiction, wth did you expect?💀 bruhh, i'm not even good at love notes, so it's even more corny and worst than most😭😭

Baby, these three years have been the best years of my life and I want the rest of my years to be the best too. You always make me so happy, before I met you.. my life was dark and had no light, it was endless darkness. You are my light, my amazing and beautiful light. I love you, darling. look in front of you for a surprise, my love.

yours forever,

Micheal A.

You finally looked back at Micheal, a soft gasp escaping your lips as you saw him on his knee and the beautiful clear diamon ring in the small box he was holding. You covered your hand with one hand to stop the sobs of happy tears wrack through your body, your whole being now filled with overwhelming happiness and your love for Micheal. You nodded quickly, setting the box of chocolates to the side and hugging him as he stood up, his larger form in between your legs. You hugged Micheal tightly, the sobs wracking through your body as he gently stroked your back and gently kissed your hair. After you had finally calmed down, you looked back up at him with a soft smile. He smiled back and leaned down again, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss as he slid the ring onto your ring finger. The motion made you smile into the kiss, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck and deepening the kiss.

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You were excited about your future with Micheal, you absolutely loved this man. You loved Micheal Afton, the most important person in your life who thought he didn't deserve your love. He loved you and you loved him, you were happy with your life now..