#clique six

[partiallypearl]

There is nothing more exciting than a room full of people. - Fleabag, S2E03.

[bullworths-weird-art-kid]

across the spiderverse is coming out soon should I flesh out my spiderman/bully au. should i

[supercantaloupe]

i just remembered this photo i took at an honors band rehearsal a few years ago and i don't think anything else sums sums up what doing honors band is like better than this

[evergone]

Lonely

Theodore Nott x Legilimens! reader

Warnings: Swearing.

Description: The reader has no friends until destiny (in the form of a boy named Theodore Nott) does everything to make her feel like she belongs.

In your first year, you were put in a dorm by yourself. You heard so many times that this was a gift — a sign of your good fortune, Professor Trelawney said — as everyone else in your year group had to share with someone else, but you, the introvert you were, were left to your own devices. Despite these assumptions, you quickly discovered that sharing a dorm was central to establishing friendships, and you spent the vast majority of your high school life friendless and alone.

At times, your boredom and your loneliness were so all-encompassing that you would read the minds of the first years who you knew wouldn’t be capable of sensing the imposition upon their thoughts. None of them thought of much. The boys were preoccupied with daydreams of girls and music (most of them were very into hip-hop as was the popular culture of the nineties), and the girls were nearly all stressing about parties and school work.

You were as much at ease with your situation as one could possibly be. You were of the mindset that if there was nothing you could do about it, why bother? Everyone had their cliques, their friends, and you were just the one to be left out. Your only goal was to get through the remaining year, then you would leave school, rent a house somewhere obscure, become a writer or an archaeologist or something else fun, and start your life over again. But it appeared that destiny had other plans.

Destiny, that supreme, omniscient, omnipotent concept that dwindled above and twisted within the interactions of all peoples, came to you in a free period you were spending in the library. The period before had been Charms, but that was of no consequence, neither was the fact that you had no more classes until later that night when you would make the journey to the Astronomy tower. You were sitting at a desk in the far left corner of the library, tucked between the pages of a number of books written by Z-named authors of some incredibly niche portion of history when Madam Pince’s high-pitched and troubled voice disturbed your rather unproductive attempts to finish your homework.

Ever bored, and hardly ever entertained, you leant to the side to see around the long bookcase. To your surprise, your eyes immediately met with a pair of blue ones. The irises were mere spots lost in the oceans of colour and they darted between you and Madam Pince, desperate for assistance. Behind those eyes, you could hear his mind asking for your help. If you was slightly smarter, you would’ve avoided this person’s gaze altogether and returned to your work.

“Madam Pince,” you said before allowing yourself a moment to think, and the frustrated librarian’s head turned to you in owl-like frustration, “Is everything okay?”

“Not at all,” she said, her voice an angry whisper, “Mr Nott should be in class, instead, he’s here violating my books!”

You glanced at the owner of the eyes. The green lining of his robe told you he was from your house, so you knew him even if only from afar. He hung out with the big group of your housemates most of the time, but you’d observed that he often sat by himself in the common room and the others intruded on his personal time. He was tall — probably six feet or so — and thin, with hair that was darker than blond, but most definitely not as dark as some of his friends’ hair. In the traditional sense, he was handsome, but you’d heard him speak in class before, and his voice bore an awkward intonation as if to speak was to curse which made him seem almost as nerdy as yourself. Despite this, every movement he made seemed elegant no matter his emotion, this was so inherent of a feature that even in that moment — when he was so clearly itching to turn and run — he was like a swan. His name was Theodore Nott, and you’d never spoken to him before.

“He’s supposed to be helping me with my homework,” you blurted out and Madam Pince quirked a pencilled-on eyebrow, “You know I’m terrible with, uh, Ancient Runes.” You both had that class together.

“Yeah,” nodded Theo as he stepped around her and stood by your side, “The professor said it was okay, I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.”

“As am I,” she frowned, “Tell her not to let this happen again.”

“Yes, Madam.”

With an irritated hum, she left the two of you alone. Theo turned to face you once she was out of earshot, and let out a sigh of relief before sitting down on the edge of the desk you were at.

“You’re in Slytherin,” he said obviously, “What year?”

You sucked in a breath of air, “Sixth. Yours.”

“Oh.”

His brain exploded with a million thoughts at once, his conscious and subconscious fighting for dominance. You could hear the embarrassment as he reprimanded himself for not knowing, and the confusion as he searched his memories for some sign that he had, in fact, seen you before.

“We have Potions together, and Astronomy, and Divination, and Ancient Runes, and… most of our classes, actually.” You shrugged without a care.

Theo cringed, “Sorry. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed you before.”

“I don’t really make my presence known,” you said, “So don’t worry about it.”

“I’m Theodore Nott,” he introduced himself, hand outstretched towards you, “What’s your name? I don’t want to make the same mistake next time.”

“Y/n L/n,” you said and shook his hand. It was soft and had no callouses at all.

“I best be off, I’m missing Arithmancy.”

“Boring.”

“You’re telling me,” he chuckled and left the library.

Over the course of that afternoon, you were unable to tear your mind away from Theo, and none of your homework was completed as a result. You didn’t go to dinner in the Great Hall. Your mind was much too preoccupied to eat.

At eleven-thirty, your alarm sounded, and you washed your face in preparation for Astronomy. Professor Sinistra demanded that all her students wore their uniforms for her classes, even if said classes were at midnight, but there wasn’t a single person who ever did that other than Hermione Granger. Everyone else tended to pull their robes overtop their pyjamas and call it a day, yourself included.

The lesson wasn’t all that interesting as Sinistra had the class chart some stars for the whole hour. However, you barely managed to get anything done because you were so distracted by Theo who was sitting peacefully at the opposite side of the tower amongst his friends. Including Theo, there were five of them (you didn’t include Crabbe and Goyle, who you always thought were less friends than goons, or Millicent Bulstrode or Tracey Davis, both of whom you knew were periodically hated by the others). Two girls, three boys.

Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass, Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy, and finally, Theo. At seventeen, his hair was a mostly consistent length of woody brown curls that sat fluffily on his head — if anything it was maybe a bit shorter on the sides. His eyebrows were thick as they always were, and in that particular Astronomy lesson, they were hard pressed against the tips of his long eyelashes that seemed almost too feminine to belong to him. By far the most intriguing and attractive aspect of Theo was, of course, the prominent mole on his left cheek that stole your attention away from a tight-lipped smile he had thrown your way.

Your immediate reaction was to blush and avert your eyes, but upon glancing back and noticing he was still staring, you offered him a short wave. He nodded in response before turning to Draco and saying something too far away for you to hear.

The next morning, or, perhaps, later that morning is the right expression, you went to breakfast in the Great Hall. Not having eaten dinner the night prior had left you so completely starving. You could’ve eaten a pegasus. You sat down on the edge of the Slytherin table by yourself, and loaded a plate with two eggs, about five slices of bacon (it very well could have been more, your memory isn’t perfect), a piece of toast, and a spoonful of baked beans.

“Where are all your friends?”

You looked up to see Theo standing over you chewing on the end of a breadstick.

“Why do you ask?” you questioned.

“Because you’re sitting here by yourself and it looks a bit pathetic, L/n,” laughed Theo teasingly.

“I don’t really have any friends.”

“Oh,” said Theo, “Sorry I asked.”

You shrugged, and as he glanced to the middle of the table you shoved as much of the baked beans into your mouth as possible, and quickly swallowed them. Merlin’s beard, you were so embarrassed.

“Give me a sec,” he said absentmindedly and you almost thought to use your Legilimency on him, “I’ll be right back.”

He placed his breadstick in front of you as if it were a deposit meant to reassure you that he’d be back, but you weren’t fazed either way. You watched as he jogged over to his group of friends and started chatting with them, but never sat down. With his right hand, he motioned back at you, and you glanced away as the rest of them turned to get a good look at you. Suddenly, you were concerned about how well your makeup was applied, and if your uniform looked good, and if there was still too much food on your plate. And then, all of them stood up with their plates, and followed Theo over to sit around you.

Most of them sat on the other side of the table, but Theo sat next to you, and Blaise by his other side. He introduced you to everyone: Goyle, Crabbe, Draco, Pansy, Daphne, Blaise, himself (“but you know me already,” he’d joked).

“It’s crazy to think we don’t know you despite being in the same house as you for the past six years,” said Daphne and Pansy elbowed her in the waist, sending her a death glare.

“Excuse her,” Pansy smiled awkwardly, “She’s a bitch.”

Your ears tickled at the word. You weren’t used to people calling those they were friends with such vulgar names… You weren’t used to the idea of friends at all.

Draco started rattling off about half-bloods and “that darn Potter,” spurring his friends into a rather heated conversation. They laughed and cackled loudly at each other, entirely easy around you as if it didn’t matter at all that they didn’t know you.

“Is this okay?” Theo asked you in a whisper once the group had moved on to another topic of conversation.

“Yes, this is nice,” you responded with a blush over your cheeks as you tried not to smile, “I don’t remember the last time I spoke to so many people.”

Theo’s eyes softened, glazed with a thin layer of water that informed you of his empathy. He felt your loneliness as if it was his own. The image of a young version of himself locked in his bedroom, wailing for his long deceased mother, flashed in his memories and seeped into your brain. An involuntary consequence of your extraordinary Legilimency talent.

When Saturday finally arrived, you slept in the whole morning. You only awoke at the sound of a knock on your door followed by a series of laughter at ten o’clock. You rolled out of bed, and for a moment stopped in horror of your hair in front of the mirror to quickly tie it up, and then opened the door.

You were surprised to see Pansy and Daphne there, but even more so when Daphne asked, “It’s Hogsmeade day, why aren’t you ready?”

“Huh?” You said, squinting at the light of the hallway.

“Theo sent us up to grab you, get some clothes on and let’s go,” said Pansy as she pushed past you and slipped into your room, Daphne hot on her heel, “Merlin’s beard, there’s absolutely nothing in here.”

“Yeah, uh, I’ve got it all to myself,” you muttered.

“Oh, that’s got to be terribly boring,” said Pansy.

Both of the girls made themselves at home as they rummaged through your drawers looking for something nice to wear. They were both dressed very well themselves, and it made you a little self-conscious to think they were going to see all your cheap clothes.

Pansy threw a sheer white shirt you didn’t know you had and a pair of bootleg jeans onto your bed while Daphne kicked over some matching joggers and a big white handbag you’d stolen from your mother.

“It is terribly boring,” you said.

As the three of you descended the stairs (after you got dressed, of course), you could already hear the sounds of masculine voices teetering on yelling at one another. One of them you knew to be Theo’s, and while you weren’t particularly familiar with them, you were inclined to assume the other two voices were Draco and Blaise. At the bottom step out of the girls’ dormitory hallway, you were proven correct when you saw them bickering like old men at a weekend golf tournament.

Draco was the first to notice the three of you, and his grey eyes lit up at the sight, “L/n, come settle an argument for us.”

You walked to join the small group and stood beside Theo, your handbag held meekly between your fingers, the nails of which had magenta paint flaking off them.

“Your mate Theo here—�� Draco gestured to him with an uninterested hand, and you nearly laughed at the idea that Theo was your mate more than he was any of the others’— “Thinks that we ought to have a Legilimens registry like we have for Animagi. Frankly, I think it’s absolutely blasphemous that we even have one for Animagi; let them run wild, I say! What are your thoughts? Don’t mind the coincidental pun.”

“I’m afraid I’m a bit biased in this conversation,” you spoke quietly.

“How do you mean?”

The faces of the group stared at you with raised brows, and eyes that glistened with interest, and you were red from the attention.

“Well, I’m a Legilimens,” you admitted, “So, I’d have to disagree with you, Theo, for my own sake.”

“Are you really?” Theo asked to break the silence, and you nodded shyly.

“That’s so cool!” Daphne all but squealed, “What number am I thinking of?”

“Seven.”

She brightened with delight, and slapped Pansy’s arm, encouraging her to try your magic out like a little game. Pansy did just that, and you ended up going around the whole group, describing what they were thinking of. Eight. Twelve. Bakery. Seven. And Theo was questioning why you weren’t already on the way to Hogsmeade.

With that final thought, they grew disillusioned by the game, and you began the walk to Hogsmeade.

You’d never been into town with other people before, not that you went much at all. You usually stayed in your room, or wandered the halls, towering over the first and second years who weren’t allowed to go on weekend Hogsmeade trips yet. But there you were, forming one kink in a string of knots engaging in stimulating conversation about the current condition of the world, and even boring conversation about the homework for Defense Against the Dark Arts which, to you, seemed so thrilling even if only for the fact that it was verbal discourse in some form. You’d forgotten what it was to converse with others.

“Is there anywhere you need to go once we get there?” said Theo once you were nearing the end of the path and closing in on the town.

“I would have been awake before Daphne and Pansy got to my room if I planned to go anywhere today,” you joked and he smiled, “If you don’t mind, I might just go wherever you go.”

All he offered in response was a hum, and it left you thinking that you’d somehow made the air around you awkward. You’d later come to learn that he was just like that, never much of a talker if he thought the situation didn’t call for it.

Almost instantly after you passed sign that read ‘Welcome to Hogsmeade,’ the group dispersed, and Theo and yourself were left to do as you pleased.

Your companion, it seemed, didn’t have much he wanted to do either, so he led you to the Three Broomsticks. Kindly, he offered to pay for a butterbeer or two, but you didn’t think you were close enough for that, so you humbly told him it was alright. You sat in relative silence until our drinks arrived when Theo struck up some conversation.

“What have you been doing all these years by yourself, L/n?” He asked.

“I don’t know… Stuff…”

Theo laughed, and you laughed along with him. Your mind was frazzled by the alcohol, which kept refilling itself as you chatted on, and every so often you found thoughts that didn’t belong to you creeping into your mind, but you couldn’t place who they belonged to. It was just the odd word — sad, or pretty, or damned, or Y/n.

“Nott, are you and Malfoy good friends?” You asked.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t we be?”

“You seem to argue quite a bit.”

“He’s just like that,” said Theo, “Likes to start shit for no reason, that one.”

You giggled, and he grinned happily. Another person’s thoughts seeped into yours once again, that time a full sentence: ‘I love her laugh.’

The bell that hung over the entrance to the Three Broomsticks jingled, and though you couldn’t see it behind you, you watched as Theo’s expression morphed into one of guilt. You turned over your shoulder, and made out the figures of the four people who had come with you. Each of them were wearing a disappointed look on their faces.

“What in the name of Merlin are you two doing?” asked Pansy, her tone equal parts concerned and amused.

“Nothing,” said Theo.

“Yeah, if ‘nothing’ is code for drinking all day,” said Blaise, “Snape’s gonna have your asses for this.”

The others guided yourself and Theo back to the castle. Your hand was attached to Pansy’s forearm, Theo’s arm was slung over Draco’s shoulder. By the time you reached the Slytherin common room, You were sober enough to move on your own, and thus, started your way up to your dorm.

“Where are you going?” Theo asked curiously. He was far away enough that you couldn’t smell his breath which stunk like the vomit he’d expelled from his body halfway through the walk back.

“My room,” you said.

“No, no, no.” He shook his head and then closed his eyes from the dizziness. “It’s sleepover night. You have to come to our dorm, I made room for you on my bed.”

“I used to sleep there because he’s got the best mattress out of the three of them, but we figured you might prefer to sleep beside him than Blaise,” Daphne explained.

“Oh,” you breathed, “Do I need to contribute anything?”

You hadn’t had a sleepover before. You didn’t know the proper protocol. You assumed one would need to bring at least their pyjamas and a pillow, maybe some sweets of some kind to share. But Theo shook his head, and you were in the boys’ room before you knew what was happening.

The boys’ dorm room was the opposite of yours. So exquisitely full, and intricately messy. The three beds were all the same size as yours with dark green bed hangings, and each about a metre apart.

Closest to the door and to their small shared bathroom was Theo’s bed. On the right, beside the door to the bathroom, he had a tower of books that acted as a wall. His sheets were black, but his pillows and blanket cover were a dark oceanic blue-green. There wasn’t much room, but you spied a large mess under his bed which you assumed was what he’d removed from the bed to make space. On his bedside table sat a small lamp that provided the only light in the room before Daphne declared it was far too ‘dark and gloomy’ and turned on the central light.

On the floor, directly under the light, there was a large medieval-style rug that bore our house crest, and the others sat on it lazily, ushering you over.

“I need a smoke,” said Draco, and he walked over to the window where the ashtray was.

“Me too,” said Theo as he also moved to the window, “You want one, L/n?”

“I’ve never smoked before.”

“Then I shouldn’t get you in the habit,” he smiled, “It is such a terrible habit to have. Costs more than it’s worth.”

He pulled a box of cigarettes from his pocket and offered one to Draco, and they both lit them with their wands.

“Does it taste nice?” You asked.

“Not particularly,” said Theo.

“Why do you do it then?”

“You’re so curious, L/n,” Draco teased.

Theo playfully slapped him on the chest, “Leave her alone,” he said, and then turned to you, “I’m an addict.”

“That’s got to be bad for your lungs, Nott,” you frowned, suddenly concerned.

“Don’t you worry about him,” said Pansy, a knowing smirk on her lips that told you she was well aware you’d continue worrying.

The night went on much shorter than you wished for it to. You’d hoped, perhaps too eagerly, that none of you would ever sleep. Far too much did you enjoy being awake with those people who you’d met too late in yout life. You were truly happy to have met them because for all the simple joys you’d managed to discover in your time alone, none were half as happy as those grand joys you found with them

You all took turns getting changed in the small bathroom (Theo lent you a shirt to wear), then you all slid into our respective beds. You were nervous about sleeping beside Theo because, in truth, you didn’t really know him. But he placed a pillow between you, and only faced you for a moment — a moment in which there was a look in his eyes that you couldn’t decipher, a moment in which you attempted to read his mind all too late — and then he kissed his fingers, and he touched them to your head, and he turned the other way.

“Did you sleep well?” Theo said once he noticed you were awake the next morning.

“I’ve never slept beside someone before,” you explained nervously, “I think it was a decent experience. I hope I didn’t move around too much.”

“Not at all, L/n,” he said.

A hum escaped your mouth, and you were acutely aware that Theo was watching you as you stared up at the roof of his room. Painted on it, Sistine Chapel-style, was a beautiful lush green forest.

“L/n. It’s so formal to call you by your surname.” Theo let out a disapproving tut.

“I call you by yours?” You said as you looked at him from the corner of your eye.

“You’re the only one who does.”

“It’s your name!” You raised your voice slightly before lowering it again so as to not wake any of the others up. “What else am I supposed to call you?”

“Theo,” he said, “That’s what everyone calls me.”

“And what false-name shall I bear, then?”

He chuckled quietly as he finally sat up. He raised his long arms in a stretch that exposed the bottom of his stomach and his V-line, and you glanced away until he returned his arms down to a cross in front of his chest. You took notice of his hair, which was awfully messy in the morning, and you thought he should get his hands on a bonnet to take care of it, but then you thought he probably shouldn’t. A silk pillow would’ve done him wonders, though.

“A nickname for Y/n,” said Theo, “How about Y/n/n?”

“I suppose that will do,” you said as nonchalantly as possible, but inside you were screaming with excitement. A nickname! You’d never had a nickname before.

“Oh, you suppose, do you?” he teased.

Your amused smile betrayed your insincere attempt at a pout, “Don’t make fun of me.”

“Don’t let anyone else call you Y/n/n, alright?” said Theo, and you crossed your brows in question, “I want it to be just an us-thing. They can call you your full name at most.”

He was extraordinarily bossy. But it was sweet. Heartwarming, even.

“Wait, but if everyone calls you Theo, I want something just for us, too!” You blushed at how overly familiar that sounded, but Theo’s rosy cheeks filled you with conviction. “How about Teddy?”

Giddily, he smiled at you, “Say it to me in a sentence.”

You frowned, but obeyed, “I like being your friend, Teddy. — How was that?” He nodded happily, “You say one for mine, now.”

He thought for a moment, trying to decide on a sentence to say.

“Read my mind, Y/n/n.”

Always, he had to boss you around. But, again, you really didn’t care. It was just nice to have someone to boss you around. To think that only at the beginning of that week, you had no friends at all… Now you had so many, and all thanks to destiny. All thanks to your Teddy.

A breath, and then you forced your way into his mind. There was a picture there waiting for you, a memory from Monday. A memory of you, except, you seemed to glow. You’d seen yourself in a million mirrors and memories over the course of your life, but never had you looked so beautiful. And then, there were words.

“I’d like to go on a date with you, Y/n/n.”

Your eyes snapped open as you left his thoughts to belong to him alone.

“What?” You asked, your ears red.

“I think you’re absolutely brilliant, Y/n/n. Please, go on a date with me?” Theo smiled.

He inched closer until your noses touched and you could barely tell each others’ features apart. Each of you were just blurs of colour.

“I’d love to go on a date with you, Teddy.”

[imfoive]

Trophy Husband - Chapter 5

Hyunjin x Reader (fem.) Genre: Arranged Marriage au!, Marriage of Convenience-ish, Romance, Angst, Frenemies-to-Lovers, NSFW (mdni) Warnings: mentions of cursing, drinking, crude language, somewhat proofread WC: 6.0k A/N: Last chapter of the year! I hope the slight insight into y/n melts away any frustrations the previous chapter left. Our bickering-couple will see you again in 2025! Feedback, Reblogs, Likes are greatly appreciated! Happy reading! ── MASTERLIST

Synopsis: Two individuals with polar opposite lifestyles are thrown into an arranged marriage for the benefit of both their families, or so they claim. One is a frivolous playboy, living off familial wealth, while the other is an overly controlling workaholic. Navigating their marriage with a business-like approach, their relationship is marked by a whirlwind of bickering, banter, and societal pressures. Amid misunderstandings, they uncover layers of unexpected qualities, eventually discovering a sweet love neither saw coming.

Missed a chapter? - Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4

CHAPTER 5 ───────────────────

As a child, Y/N Yeom had always been compared to a bird, lost in her own world. 

Soaring freely, high above, doing as she pleased as her parents’ only child. One of the perks of having no competition with a sibling. 

She chased her imagination, colorful dreams unfurling in her mind.

It was something her parents bragged about. How independent she was. How ambitious she was. How proud she would make them.

It was something her parents would come to regret as she entered her teenage years. The extracurricular activities they had piled onto her as a child, aimed at making her well-rounded and talented in many fields, from dancing to piano to art, would soon return to haunt them. 

Especially when the Yeom heiress declared she wanted to be an artist.

Her mother had laughed at it. 

A sound that still echoed in Y/N’s mind. It had been a laugh muffled by her fingers, her face a alight with amusement as she stared back at her young daughter, clearly finding the idea more humorous than anything else.

“Don’t say such silly things Y/N”

Words that still rang in her memories.

Her carefree world began to shatter.

Then came the hiding. 

The pretense of attending tutoring classes designed to prepare her to follow in her father’s footsteps, while she secretly slipped into the art program she had forged her mother’s signature to join, started swiftly.

For the most part, she had gotten away with it. That was, until her art teacher called her parents after she won a competition. One whose name she couldn’t even remember anymore.

Her father was furious when he found out. Perhaps she would have been too if she was in his place. Although, she believed she wouldn’t have allowed her child to hide their passions in the first place.

She wouldn’t have laughed at their dreams.

Y/N started growing bitter. Her carefree world shattered even more.

She had always been sort of an outcast amongst the other children in her social circle, although self-appointed.

They seemed to lack their own dreams, their own passions. Happily following the plans their parents had drawn out for them, while she struggled to even hang up her art pieces with pride. 

The first time Y/N had properly seen Hwang Hyunjin was back in school. The academy they attended was full of children of the elite, cliques of those who loved to flaunt their good looks and their parents’ wealth. One of which the second Hwang son was also in, though she never truly cared enough to acquaint with him, let alone keep his name memorized.

If she tried to recall when his name had become a familiar one in her memories, she would probably say that swim championship he had won for their school. A first time win after six years of their academy losing. Only for Hwang Hyunjin to hold the winner title for his entire academic career.

She had always been acutely aware of his existence, hearing his name here and there throughout school, catching glimpses of the supposedly handsome Hwang Hyunjin in the halls, at events her parents dragged her to. Types of events where she would hole away at some random empty room after initial greetings. 

The first time Y/N had taken a proper look at him was in one of these events, in her search for an empty room she would spend the evening in before it was time to leave. She had stumbled upon Hyunjin, the handsome second son of the Hwangs.

Handsome he was, his gaze snapped to hers the moment she entered. Their eyes locked for the first time as she stood frozen in the doorway, catching him in a …compromising position. 

His lips had been locked with the school president’s. But at the sound of the door, the two broke apart almost instantly. Hyunjin wiped his mouth casually, while the school president, usually prim and proper, sputtered, her eyes darting between his and Y/N’s equally stunned expressions.

   “Ah—Sorry...” Y/N had muttered awkwardly, closing the door behind her as she blinked at the odd combination she had walked in on.

The school president cornered her in halls the following day, pleading eyes already giving way to her request. To not tell anyone she was with Hwang Hyunjin, the apparent “black sheep” of his family, a detail Y/N hadn’t known until that moment, though it wasn’t something she even cared for.

She had her own problems to deal with, and who the school president was or wasn’t making out with, didn’t even register on her radar. She barely even remembered the event, let alone have time to run around and spread gossip.

Still, Y/N promised. And then, just a few weeks later, she found herself witnessing another scene, some other cheerleader pulling the “black sheep” of the Hwang family behind the bleachers.

A sight that would become more familiar than his existence itself.

────────────────────────

The shower water running down her skin should have felt relieving. Should have helped her loosen up, the hot scorching water that always managed to help her relax after a long strenuous day, tingling yet soothing. But as Y/N stood beneath the shower, the one place she usually found peace, her mind refused to settle. Instead, she found herself staring at the water swirling down the drain, her thoughts drifting back to what had happened between her and Hyunjin.

Back to the memory of her trophy husband, kneeling before her, his piercing gaze locked onto hers with a mixture of astonishment and something more. Something darker, more desirous.

And suddenly she was heavily aware of Hyunjin just outside, in the bedroom where he had trudged into after feeling lightheaded.

It seemed he really had exerted too much energy, the alcohol in his system, the confinement between her legs, the exhaustion afterwards. All overtaking him almost instantly. Y/N had even helped him into the bed. 

He had muttered things under his breath, a chuckle escaping through his mumbles as he had tried to keep his eyes open. Yet, ultimately he had lost that battle and soon his breathing had grown shallow.

Y/N had stared down at his passed out form, gnawing at her bottom lip as her eyes trailed over him. Ultimately retreating in for a shower to clear her head.

Yet the shower didn’t seem to clear anything at all.

Instead she felt even more conflicted. 

The scraps of Hwang Hyunjin she could find in her memories resurfaced as she tried to recall as best as she could. Yet every single one of them seemed to be of him with a pretty girl on his arm.

But now here he was, the pretty man on her arm.

The bathroom door had opened with a soft click, Y/N peeked out to glance back into the bedroom, her trophy husband’s body still tucked under the duvet as she had left him. The bedroom was lit dimly, the bedside lamp casting a soft glow, allowing her to look down at Hyunjin’s serene expression as she approached his passed out form.

Y/N instantly thought back to earlier in the evening. As if her mind hadn’t been replaying every moment of it in a loop ever since. The feeling of his touches, his gaze, his tongue, still burning against her skin, in her memories. 

Perhaps that was how his playboy nature worked.

His bold actions, his whiskey-laced breath. 

The way his tongue darted out to lick his lips, the sultry tone in his voice.

Which Hyunjin had it been this evening?

The playboy Hyunjin who knew the arts of pleasure?

Or…

She pictured the flush on his cheeks. The heat that radiated from his skin against her. 

The desperation in his wide gaze, his slightly shaky fingers tugging at her dress as he asked for permission.

Perhaps it was her husband Hyunjin.

The gallery director clutched at the bathrobe tightly, slowly crouching down to get a closer look at his face.

The ever so pretty Hwang Hyunjin. Her playboy husband, so serene, so angelic even in his sleep.

Her eyes traced his features, resting on his lips. The ones that had her chasing that orgasmic feeling that she hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. 

His lips, that would curve into those smug smiles whenever he taunted her, irking her slightly, amusing her mostly. 

His lips, so kissable.

Y/N leaned in, her mouth pressing against his. A soft kiss, a simple peck maybe.

His breath felt hot against hers as he slept, a low sleepy moan escaping his mouth as she pulled away, peering back down to take in his sleeping expression. He shifted slightly, brows narrowing in a frown before relaxing. A sight that made her stifle a smile, fingers pushing away the stray hairs that fell over his face. 

The room quieted again after Hyunjin settled once more, his crouching wife observed this side of him.

She had always been the first to fall asleep. Always exhausted, easily slipping into her dreams once her head hit the pillow. Sometimes she would watch Hyunjin from her tucked in spot. The dark-haired man, who seemed to always be doing this or that on the other end of the bedroom. 

Sometimes reading on the recliner, sometimes standing out on the balcony. Oftentimes he would shuffle under the sheets once her eyes fluttered close. Her lids, heavy, yet aware of his presence beside her.

Oftentimes she wondered what he would do if she asked him to embrace her.

Engulf her in his warmth to soothe her of her day’s exhaustion, unaware if his arms would even have that effect.

Though, after tonight, maybe her assumptions weren’t too far off.

She often wondered what it would be like to make this man hers.

To allow him into her heart. The shielded, guarded organ that seemed to harden against love.

Or would she simply become his plaything? The one he would turn to whenever he needed to let off steam.

Hyunjin inhaled deeply in the midst of his shallow breaths, a low noise that was just loud enough to draw her attention back to just the two of them in this room. Y/N finally pushed herself back on her feet, glancing down at him once more.

Did she trust him enough? 

He hadn’t done anything that would have broken her trust, went against whatever clauses they’d laid out, whatever contracts they’d signed. Yet, there was that nagging voice in the back of her head.

The one that whispered to her.

That he was putting on some act, behaving himself only for a moment before he craved attention. Before he got bored of sitting still.

He’d done it before. Or atleast, from what she had read and heard in the past.

After some new scandal of his, he would disappear. Lie low for a couple of months before he was once again dancing in nightclubs. Even prior to their marriage, he had been engulfed in some incident. Something about a bar fight. The news that she read about after her father had thrown the marriage arrangement at her, left her tasting bitter.

Her husband turned in his sleep, sinking deeper into the mattress, his face turned away from hers.

Y/N reached out. Perhaps to push back some more stray strands of his hair, perhaps to lean down and press another kiss to his lips. But she faltered, the quiet hum on her cell phone vibrating against the dresser echoed in the bedroom, the sound had her already striding over, knowing well that these late night calls from her secretary were always urgent.

Knowing well that she had always been the kind to prioritize her work. Her ambitions.

That she would never be a perfect lover, let alone be a perfect wife.

The gallery director fidgeted with her wedding ring, inhaling deeply as her eyes glanced over the glass doors of the meeting room. 

Her secretary had called her late last night, finally arranging a meeting with a potential sponsor for Y Gallery’s upcoming project. 

Y/N had rushed out frantically, glancing back at her husband once, before she had to start preparing for this meeting in the early hours of the morning. But now that she was done, and had nothing to do besides wait, her mind trailed back to Hyunjin.

Back to her trophy husband who seemed to be ever so peaceful in his slumber. She wondered if he would remember what he had done last night?

A part of her cursed herself for not ensuring he was sober enough before agreeing to his ministrations. Although he didn’t seem it, the way he had almost collapsed afterwards had her worried slightly.

Her eyes shot to her cellphone, the discarded device that had a cascade of messages and notifications from people she didn’t care enough about to respond right away.

But no message from Hyunjin.

It made sense. It was still early in the morning, and over the months of being married to him, the gallery director had learned that her husband loved to sleep in. Especially on days after he had a few drinks.

She wondered if she should message him. Tell him to take it easy in case he wakes up with an aching head. Tell him to call her so she could ensure he was alright.

Hear his voice.

His groggy sleep-laced voice, memories of it running through her mind. From all the times he had muttered things as he made her coffee on those days he claimed she had roused him awake.

Y/N blinked at his contact. At the words she had typed out, staring at the letters almost as if they were foreign.

They felt foreign.

Types of words she hadn’t sent in what felt like forever.

Words of concern. Of worry.

Messages a wife would send her husband.

The knock on the glass door tore the gallery director out of her trance, her instant social smile spreading over her face as she stood. Arm extending for a shake.

   “Thank you so much for taking the time to meet me today Madam Kim.” Her voice dripped with confidence.

The gallery director’s husband rustled under the sheets, his brows furrowing in a frown, eyes still shut tight but awake nonetheless.

The silence in the room stretched and for a moment he simply just laid there.

But then as the gears in his brain began to work, the memories of the night prior surged down on him, replaying through his mind in a loop.

Hyunjin’s eyes shot open, slowly he propped himself up to glance around the empty room. His body slightly ached for some reason, and his mind was foggy as he scanned his surroundings. 

There was no sign of Y/N. 

No quiet rustle of sheets, no trace of her presence. No loud clatter of her attempting to be quiet but failing miserably.

The space felt oddly hollow, and an uncomfortable silence settled in as he fully sat up, trying to make sense of everything. Of the time, of the day. 

His fingers traced his lips, tugging at his bottom lip as he tried to distinguish whether whatever he was thinking about right now, whatever he had done, had in fact happened or had it all been a dream.

Hyunjin made his way out of bed, figure crossing the rooms to peer out in hopes to find a glimpse of her, or a clue that would soothe the anxiety that had begun to bubble within him.

The living room was silent, a familiar stillness that settled in at this hour. Times when Hyunjin would head to the gym and the entire house was empty. Yet, the silence felt eerie to the man who had just awoken, his hair rustled messily as he glanced around the room. 

A loud sigh had escaped his lips. The anxious feelings started to subside as he was almost to that conclusion that it had been all a dream.

Almost.

Hyunjin’s eyes flickered to the counter. His brows relax at the sight of the mug of forgotten tea.

The drink that had long gone cold, still in the spot last left. Right across the front island, where he had tasted his wife. 

Not a dream.

Hyunjin gulped, the dry feeling in his throat refusing to subside. And all his anxieties began crashing down.

The second son of the Hwang family had had his fair share of one-night-stands. Sometimes waking up alone, sometimes leaving alone. It had never bothered him enough for his mind to linger on it any longer than he needed to. Forgetting it all almost with the new day.

And although whatever happened between the business-couple wasn’t even close to things Hyunjin had experienced in his one-night-stands, it still pricked at his heart in a way he didn’t think it would.

He knew the kind of person his wife was. Knew her priorities, knew that she would be working at this time, especially on a work day. But he didn’t expect to wake up alone.

Didn’t expect these anxious thoughts to course through him when he was welcomed by silence. 

Perhaps that’s what love was. 

These foreign emotions that surged through him right now had never been present after his past…overnight escapades. The lingering feelings that never seeped into his thoughts the next morning were heavily weighing down on him now.

He must be overthinking it all, he had to be.

Like a love-sick fool who felt abandoned.

Hyunjin had never thought himself to be the clingy type. In fact, he despised the women who often clung to him, professing their adoration for him. Attraction, love, things that made his brows twitch in irritation.

Yet here he was feeling clingy. Being clingy. 

His fingers drummed on the steering wheel of his car as he sat outside his wife’s gallery, gaze wandering over the building. Doubts clouded his mind as he second, third-guessed his actions. 

The sudden knock against the glass of his driver’s side window made him jump, head whipping around to pull down the tinted glass. 

One of Y/N’s gallery employees looked down at him, eyes full of curiosity.

   “Ah, Mr. Hwang, it’s you.” 

Hyunjin forced a smile, attempting to hide the uneasiness that stirred within him. To not appear as suspicious as he thought he looked, sitting out here in the outdoor parking lot wracking his brains. 

Nervous, anxious, but painfully missing his wife.

   “...She left so early, so…” His excuse trailed off, trying to settle the nervous twinge in his tone with a clear of his throat.

The young woman smiled with her nod as she straightened, glancing back at the glass building of the gallery.

   “Director Yeom had an early meeting that ended not too long ago. But now, she’s holed up working. I’m slightly worried...” The employee sighed, her brows furrowing with slight concern.

Words that are just enough to push away all of Hyunjin’s second-guessing. 

The trophy husband was already stepping out of his vehicle.

   “Let’s get her to take a break then.” He mumbled with a gentle smile, nodding at her before he was already striding ahead.

The gallery director herself had indeed been holed away since the early morning. Reworking a proposal that she suddenly needed to do after her meeting. As a gallery owner, the majority of her work was centered around securing investment and funding to keep it running. From managing visitors, renting out parts of the pretty space for events and shoots, to attracting rich patrons and people who had enough money to spend on her, her hands were always full.

But she wanted to do something different this time around. A gala, where proceeds would go towards sponsoring aspiring artists. The rich would get a chance to flaunt their wealth, and the starving artists would get a chance to showcase their talent through her gallery.

Y/N would like to think the meeting went well.

Most of the people who were attracted to her gallery outside of everyday visitors, were the wives of the wealthy businessmen in their circle, familiar faces that Y/N had grown up around. They loved to show off their wealth. Purchasing pieces and hosting events at her gallery had become a popular trend of some sorts in the recent years. Maybe it was to do with the fact that Y/N was going against her family and doing something she was passionate about. The high society women lingered about to either scope out the gossip that surrounded that or maybe they were truly infatuated with the wonderful artwork she had collected and exhibited in her gallery.

Madam Kim was one such prominent woman in their high society. The madame of one of the country’s leading law firms, her late husband is still a respected figure even now, years after his demise. 

The gallery director had initially wanted to propose a potential partnership with Madam Kim’s daughter-in-law, a woman who was an appreciator of art, and a regular patron of Y Gallery. But when the director had reached out, she had gotten a response from the matriarch of the family instead.

Y/N wasn’t complaining. Madam Kim was one of the more tolerable individuals of the elite class, humble in her ways, yet still had an immense influence on the other women and wives of her social circles. Maybe she had gotten lucky.

Or maybe not. The extra work that Madam Kim had requested was starting to take a toll on the gallery director whose eyes were starting to sting. Tell-tale signs of an oncoming migraine already throbbed at her temples.

The knock on her door faltered her machine-like fingers typing away with a frenzy, her eyes shooting over her glasses to take a glance at the incoming visitor.

She expected to see her secretary, perhaps with the drafted email the gallery director had been awaiting. But instead, the long dark locks of her husband’s appeared in her line of sight, and she stiffened at the sight of his figure entering her office.

For a brief second, the two of them stare at each other, simply just taking in each other’s presence, eyes floundering over one anothers face after not having seen it in what almost felt like years. Hyunjin’s eyes flicked to her desk, at the bottle of pain pills that rested by her glass of water, a sight that made his brows furrowed with a frown.

   “Have you slept?” He questioned with a sigh, the concern on his expression deepening.

Her eyes followed his to the same pills. She had taken two in attempts to soothe that headache that pounded at her temples, but of course it hadn’t worked. Instead she decided she would push through this workload before taking a power nap.

   “Not yet.” Her response wasn’t surprising, making her husband groan slightly, his arms crossing over his chest.

   “Have you eaten?” He continued, already understanding what her response was from the silent stare she shot him.

Y/N wanted to break into a laugh, to point out the creases that settled between his brows as he looked at her with an upset frown, clearly displeased by her answers. 

She wanted to break into a laugh because he was one more question away from becoming a nagging spouse. 

Instead she stifled the urge, sighing as her eyes darted to the bright screen that burned her eyes, before they settled back on his form just a few feet away.

   “I’ll eat soon. I promise.” She muttered.

   “Ten minutes.” His words followed immediately after her apparent hollow promise, making her tilt her head in slight confusion.

   “You have ten minutes before I force you to eat.” He added, his brows narrowing.

His words caught her off guard, a tone of his that she had never heard before. An expression that looked foreign too, as he stared with her pointedly. Yet she didn’t hate the sight of it. Rather, it sparked something else in her. That familiar challenged sensation erupted within her. Mixed with something else. Something she couldn’t really describe without thinking about him on his knees again. 

   “Force me to eat?” Y/N repeated, raising an eyebrow.

She leaned back into the cushion of her chair, her fingers lacing together in front of her. The gallery director watched her husband uncross his arms from over his chest, sliding them into the pockets of his slacks before a teasing smile tugged on his lips.

   “Spoon-feed you if I have to. Airplane and all.” His words were laced with a mischievous edge, watching as she squinted for a second, before finally breaking into that laugh she tried her best to stifle.

The contagious sound made her trophy husband mirror, his eyes creasing as his chuckles followed.

His anxieties faded almost instantly at the sound. At the sight of her.

   “Give me ten minutes. I’ll bring you something to eat.” 

Y/N opened her mouth to protest. Maybe to refuse or maybe to lie about not being hungry. But Hyunjin doesn’t allow her to, pointing a finger at her with a commanding tone.

   “Ten minutes. Sit tight.” He shot, already heading out the door.

Ten minutes. She pressed her lips into a soft smile, staring at the empty spot her husband had been standing in.

True to his words, ten minutes later the gallery director’s husband returned. Nodding at her secretary who sat outside her office, his grin radiated almost as he carried whatever nutritious breakfast he could scour for his wife, though it was long past breakfast time. 

But when he entered the room, he was greeted by silence.

He had expected to hear more rushed typing, the sound of her fingers working against the keyboard was a sound so familiar to him, he was slightly stunned by the quiet.

His gaze shifted to settle on the gallery director. The sight of her slumped figure, passed out on her arms over the desk, both fascinated and awed him all at once. 

She lasted ten minutes, barely. Unable to keep her eyes open. He was slightly impressed when he had entered earlier, it was clear she was exhausted, yet would have pushed herself further if he hadn’t distracted her.

Hyunjin sighed, gently placing down the bag of takeout on the coffee table before walking towards her. His eyes skimmed over her desk, at the cluttered surface that resembled her make-shift workstation that was their living room table.

He picked up the crumpled balls of paper, pushing it aside before he pulled out the chair on his side softly, taking a seat across. He leaned against the leather, getting comfortable as he simply gazed down at the exhausted woman who would have sworn she wasn’t sleepy, wasn’t exhausted if asked. But here she was now, softly inhaling and exhaling.

His eyes drifted to her laptop, the screen still glowing brightly, clear that she had fallen asleep not too long ago. 

Gently, Hyunjin reached out, fingers pushing back a stray lock of her hair, a fond smile tugging on his lips as he watched her breathe softly. His gaze shifted to the notepad beside her, amidst the crumpled papers and stacked sheets of ink. 

The open notepad was covered with a jumble of words, arrows, and little annotations in her meticulous handwriting. Despite the confusion of the notes, a few familiar words caught his attention, prompting him to slide the laptop in front of himself. With a nod to himself, he leaned forward and began typing. His eyes flit over the screen once to linger on her form.

   “The things I do for you.” He muttered under his breath, patting her hair softly before diving into the task at hand.

The sound of the press of keys had been a distant sound, yet as she stirred away, it had grown louder.

The gallery director’s lids fluttered open, staring at a sight that should have been strange, yet it didn’t feel so. Maybe she was still dazed from her impromptu nap, refreshed eyes still adjusting as she took in the sight of her husband absorbed between the laptop screen and her notepad, his fingers meticulously working against the keyboard.

It should have been a strange sight. Seeing Hwang Hyunjin working. On something that he claimed not to know about, claimed not to care about. But it wasn’t strange at all.

Instead, her heart clenched, the shielded, guarded organ of hers, suddenly racing in her chest. And all she wanted to do now was reach over and kiss him. 

A incoming notification on her laptop broke the comfortable silence that had settled in her office. An email from her secretary sitting outside, the notification of the email draft Y/N had requested popped up on the screen. It instantly drew Hyunjin’s attention, his eyes scanning the subject-line almost instinctively.

   “Artist Armin…” He muttered, reading to himself.

Y/N’s brows narrowed, a wave of bitterness spreading over her tongue as she slowly sat up. Movements that have Hyunjin look up to her. His gaze softening at the sight of her awoken state.

   “Is it written ‘A-R-Min’ or ‘R-Dot-Min.” She asked, her tone slightly groggy. 

Hyunjin glanced back at the screen, at the notification that lingered on the corner.

   “A-R-Min.” He replied, looking at her with slight wonder.

Y/N inhaled deeply, before letting out a slight groan.

   “It’s supposed to be R-Dot-Min.” She grunted almost, reaching over for the laptop so she could send the corrections to her secretary.

   “I’ll do it. You eat.” Hyujin pressed instead, pulling the device closer to him. 

An action that made her arch and eyebrow.

   “Really? You want to be my personal secretary now?” A smile had spread on her lips.

Hyunjin shrugged, his smug smile returning on his face.

   “What does the compensation package look like?” He chuckled, already ready to type the email to her secretary.

Y/N stood, stretching before she headed towards the bag of food, slightly hungrier than she was before her nap.

   “Anything you want.” Her words are more casual, distracted fingers pulling out her breakfast and lunch.

Her words make Hyunjin pause, fingers hovering over the keys.

For a moment, he wondered if asking for a kiss right now, maybe even daringly asking if he could lift her onto her desk, would be enough compensation. But he caught himself almost instantly, clearing his throat before grabbing the laptop to join her by the couch.

   “R-Dot-Min, right?” He confirmed once again.

Y/N’s hands stilled against the container of food, tasting bitterness all over again.

   “Yes.” She almost spat.

Her gaze drifted off, her thoughts suddenly elsewhere as she ate.

Hyunjin watched her movements, the way her fork disappeared into her mouth, the way her lips wrapped around the bottle of water. It made his own throat dry, his thoughts swirling, and he had to bite back the urge to say something. He didn’t want to sound like some pervert who couldn’t think of anything beyond wanting her all to himself, but suddenly, he couldn’t help it. Those thoughts lingered, darting through his thoughts.

He dropped his gaze, staring at the shiny surface of the glass table between them. He had to remind himself to control himself. To stop thinking like some fuckboy after her body. The trophy husband gnawed at his lower lip, trying to steady himself, his mind.

The gallery director watched as she dropped the empty container of her now-devoured food, wiping her lips. Her eyes lingered on Hyunjin, sitting across from her, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip, before he glanced back at her.

   “Who’s R.Min anyways?” Hyunjin cleared his throat, sending the email corrections to her secretary.

Y/N fell silent at the mention of the artist, the one Madam Kim wanted to collaborate with simply because her grandson had liked his work. 

What do lawyers know about art, anyway? 

She had groaned to herself during the meeting, though outwardly she had smiled, offering her radiant social grin and empty compliments, promising to follow through and try her best for a collaboration.

   “He’s a painter.” She answered curtly, rising to her feet.

Silence settled between them once more as Hyunjin set the laptop aside. The sound of another email pinged, cutting through the quiet, and both of them glanced at the screen.

   “Your secretary sent the email to R.Min.” He read aloud, eyes drifting over her.

A flicker of irritation drew over her expression, arms crossing as she muttered something under her breath. Likely a curse, though Hyunjin couldn’t quite catch it.

   “Enough about that artist—Do you remember what you did last night?” Her voice was sharp.

Her blunt question made him stiffen, his eyes widening slightly as he watched her from his seated position, suddenly wanting to melt into the leather. He swallowed a few times, unsure of what kind of answer would ease the irritation still lingering on her face. The scowl shot towards him, ones he thought he would have gotten rid of after he had pleasured her last night.

   “I do…” He finally sighed, his gleaming gaze flickering from his fingers to her face.

   “Why are you nervous? Do you regret it?” She asked.

Another question that made his eyes widen, this time more from the fear of her misunderstanding than anything else. 

   “No!” He almost exclaimed, licking his lips to calm himself down.

She blinked, slightly taken aback by his loud response. The pressing expression, the piercing gaze that he stared up at her with.

Her eyes traced over his rigid form that looked up at her. 

Nervous. Passionate perhaps. 

Kissable.

The gallery director only needed two long strides.

Three steps and she was towering over him, her figure already leaning into him. Hyunjin reflexively drew himself back as she inched closer, until he was pressing flush against the leather of the sofa, trapped almost. He inhaled sharply, stunned eyes darting between hers to grasp exactly what was happening, why she was suddenly so close.

Could she hear his heart about to explode in his chest?

Y/N can’t help but stare in fascination. This up-close view of her pretty husband was even more breathtaking than last night, his open eyes boring into hers. She could see the nervous twinge in his gaze, something she hadn’t truly expected from the ever-so-cocky Hwang Hyunjin. Yet, seeing it now, she couldn’t help but smile at how cute he looked beneath her.

Her fingers ghost over his lips. The ones she had gotten a feel of after stealing a kiss in his sleep. Although she would never, ever admit she had done so. He shuddered almost, even without her touching him yet.

   “I-is this a dream?” He found himself muttering instead.

Her brow arched at his words.

   “You dream of me?” She countered, her tone laced with a teasing edge, a hint of amusement.

Hyunjin swallowed hard.

   “No.”

He was trying his best. To cling onto that fragile thread of sanity left in him. To not appear desperate, craving her touch, her lips. Ready to melt underneath her.

Y/N let out a breathy laugh, her gaze dropping to his lips for a split second before locking with his eyes again. Clearly unconvinced.

   “I don’t kiss liars.” She murmured smugly.

Hyunjin swallowed hard. The thread snapped.

His hands shot out, slipping behind her hair to rest again the nape of her neck, tugging her toward him. 

His lips crash against hers. Desperate, frantic. 

All control shattered, his sanity slipping away as he pulled her closer. 

Closer. 

Into himself, wrapping his arms around her, settling her over him, onto his lap.

Melting underneath her. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ to be continued.

── ask to be tagged! (18+) - @jellyleggz, @binniesbabe, @bookswillfindyouaway, @lemonn015, @scarlet789, @onlyhyunjin, @freekyfangirl, @candyquokka, @jehhskz, @stayjinnie, @suzyhhj , @minh0scat, @qwonyoung23, @d34thon2legs, @dessianna1, @kpopjackie, @rundontwalkshesaid, @sheerfreesia007, @thecutiepieme, @danihwang882, @hyunebunx, @seeeeking-skz, @hanadulsetaad, @velvetmoonlght, @alrm02, @tirena1, @hityoulikebahng, @tsunderelino, @cybergracie, @notevenheretbh1, @piscesrising01, @alisonyus, @hyuneyeon, @broken-glowsticks, @modesttiger, @gnabnahcbby, @shhyucm, @hanniesdegree, @lenfilms, @sushiinmidnight, @chrisbangsass, @fixation-dump, @minluvly, @loxgirl2004, @aeri-skzver, @ellemir2404, @mariahxrrera, @t1eekn0wsaurus, @aprilmaejune77, @amenabiii [CLOSED]

[oneforthemunny]

home is wherever i'm with you |hockey player!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: life on the road during hockey season is far less glamorous than you thought it would be. homesick and lonely, eddie tries to get you feeling better.

also special thank you to @angietherose for the name of the au hockey team :) eddie is officially on the indy reapers! thank you to all who voted as well!

contains: fluff, but there is slight angst at the beginning. mentions of loneliness, a little depression. slight-ish tension or strain on the relationship, but you know i make it happy at the end lol. language.

Pasadena, California - 1993 

Day seventeen on your six week excursion with Eddie. Well, excursion was a generous thing to call what this was. You were feeling more like a groupie for the Indianapolis Reapers, a puck bunny as Eddie’s teammates snickered, brows raised in suggest when they’d pass jersey clad girls lingering around their buses. Stop after stop- press, practice, training, games, all over the nation. 

A suitcase full of clothes you’d grown sick of already, longing to go home and trade them for something different, washing them in the sharp, sterile detergent of the hotels. You longed for your own sheets, perfumed with your own detergent. 

Eddie was gone for most of the day. You tried to sightsee on your own, explore the cities but it was lonely, lacking someone to giggle with over lattes, to hold your hand in the street, just to talk to. The other WAGS that came along, stuck out the long haul across the states, clung to each other, comfortable in their own little clique. You were too new, an outsider to their group. 

“Hey, babe,” Eddie pressed the key into the lock, twisting the heavy latch open. “Babe, do you have that stuff? Did you bring it?” He hummed, dropping his bag at the door, kicking off his sneakers. 

His nose curled at the pungent smell, ripe from the warming weather of California. “Jesus Christ, I gotta wash this stuff. I’m sorry, I’ll put it in the laundry thing.” Eddie hummed, sliding the slotted closet door open. “Can’t believe how warm it is here already. Feels so nice outside. You’ve been outside today, sweetheart?” He rambled, sweetly, tossing the powdered detergent into the washer, shoving the workout clothes from his bag into the tiny machine. 

The steady hum of the air conditioner filled the room, his only response. Eddie’s brows lifted, jamming the button of the washer, sliding the door back into place. He didn’t remember hearing you say you were leaving today, but he had taken a pretty hard hit to the glass during practice, ears still ringing dully. 

“Baby?” Eddie called, opening the bathroom door, empty of you other than the scattered products on the vanity. Heavy steps on the patterned carpet, Eddie walked into the bedroom suite, halting at the edge of the crumpled sheets. 

You laid on your side, still in what he’d left you in that morning, eyes puffy and red rimmed looking motionlessly out the window. “Hey, I thought you- I was, uh, I was just talking but-” Eddie’s heart beat in his throat, uneasy at the sight of you, crumpled in the sheets. “Are you ok?” 

You turned, cheek still pressed to your arms under the pillow, just enough to see him- all wild curls, matted and frizzy with helmet hair. “Yeah,” You croaked, throat scratchy and sore with sobs that had stilled hours ago, still you were plagued with the aftershocks of weeks of suppressed emotion. 

“I- I’m not trying to sound like a dick or anything here, but you’re clearly not.” Eddie said softly, slowly approaching the bed. The bed dipped under his weight, a warm hand rubbing over your ankle under the cool sheets. 

“Baby,” Your face crumpled at the coo, so sweet, gentle, it made your nose burn. “What’s goin’ on?” Eddie muttered, thumb circling your ankle bone gently. 

Your nose burned with a slow, shaky exhale that he felt, rattled all the way down your body under his touch. Eddie’s heart dropped. “Hey, look at me.” Eddie’s voice was softened but sharp, teetering on frantic. You turned, looking at his wide eyes, running over your frame in worry. “What’s goin’ on? What’s the matter?” 

Your lip wobbled, head screaming words you couldn’t bring yourself to say- you didn’t know how to say. “I just-” You took a breath, chest stuttering. “I don’t… feel good.” 

Eddie’s brows creased, crawling up the bed beside you. “Don’t feel good, like, sick?” He muttered, the back of his hand pressing to your palm. “You don’t feel hot t’me. What hurts? Is it your head still? I told you, baby, that hippie dippie shit only works so much. You have to take medicine-” 

“-No,” You shook your head, eyes squeezing tightly to keep your tears at bay. “It’s-it’s not that.” 

Eddie blinked carefully. “What? Is it, like, the time of the month? D’ya need me to go get some stuff for you? You know I don’t mind to. Not a problem for me, baby, just tell me what you need.” Eddie’s head tilted to the side, so sweet and doting, it made your chest heat with swarming guilt and adoration. 

“I’m not on my period. It’s nothing, Ed.” You shook your head, curling back into your pillow. 

Eddie stilled above you. “Are- Are you pregnant?” He whispered. 

“No.” You groaned quickly, head shaking into the warmth of the pillows. 

Eddie sighed lightly, a huff of relief that fell short, when your body turned from him, back towards the window with a long inhale. “Hey, can you- can you look at me? Please? Look at me, baby.” Eddie’s pitch raised, teetering towards scared, his hand on your shoulder, pushing you gently so you rolled on your back. 

He hovered over you, curls falling down nearly brushing your cheeks. “Tell me what’s going on. Please? Tell me what’s wrong.” Eddie whispered, nearly a beg. “You don’t feel good? You don’t feel good here?” His throat swelled, tight with fear. “With me?” 

Your silence had Eddie’s stomach twisting, dropping with fear, bile rising in the back of his throat- he was going to be sick, he was sure he would be. 

“No,” You muttered, head shaking lightly under the pillow. “Not with you, just,” You reached up, nervously twirling his curl around your finger. “Just with this.” 

Eddie swallowed, willing himself still, calm, though his heart felt like it might give out. “This? Wh-What do you mean this?” Eddie’s voice shook. 

You blinked up at him, eyes rounding in a sad softness he hadn’t seen before. “I just… I miss being home.” You whispered, eyes glossing with a fresh wave of tears that pricked your waterline. “I miss seeing my friends, and being in my own bed, a-and even work. I just,” Your breath hitched, lip trembling. “I’m just really lonely.” 

Eddie was sure his heart did give out, break right in his chest, sunk right to the pit of his stomach. “Do you- You wanna go home?” Eddie’s hand ran down your cheek gently. “That’s what you want? That would make you feel better?” 

Your face crumbled, caved into itself at his tone. “I-I don’t know.” You admitted, eyes squeezed shut to keep the tears in. “I don’t want to leave you, b-but I don’t-” You pressed your palms to your eyes, taking a slow inhale through your nose. “I just don’t want to be alone so much. A-And I know that’s not your fault. I know you’re working.” 

When your eyes did meet his, Eddie wished they’d stayed closed, heartbreakingly sad, vacant of that light that usually shone through, brightening anything cast in your gaze. “I just… I’m feeling homesick, ‘m sorry.” You muttered. “I just really miss home, and I’m having a bad day.” 

“You don’t- Don’t apologize.” Eddie shook his head. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were feelin’ like this.” Eddie swallowed, pulling you up gently. Your body was slack, limp with unmotivated movement, but still, you settled into his arms. The tension in your body melted, nose buried in the material of his shirt, lathered in cologne and the hot California air. 

“I have a half day tomorrow.” Eddie muttered, his heart beating fast, you could hear it, feel it. His hand smoothed up your back. “We’ll do something. Go exploring and stuff. Do some fun stuff.” 

“You’re ‘sposed to rest.” You muttered, cheek squished to his chest. “It’s before your game, you’re supposed to be resting.” 

“Yeah, but that is resting.” Eddie shook his head gently. “I’ll be alright. Promise. Played after way worse. Me and Josh used to come in hungover, vomited on the ice one time.” Eddie’s chest rumbled with soft laughter. “Pretty sure we’re the reason that rule’s in place now.” 

Your lips curled, even through your sullen, dazed mood, you couldn’t help it. Clinging to him tighter, you moved into his touch. “Coach just means take it easy like, don’t go get fucked up and actually sleep the night before.” Eddie muttered, chin tucking down onto your head. “C’mon, lemme take you out tomorrow. Me and you. Go anywhere you want.” 

You didn’t reply. Instead, sighed gently, settling into his hold. 

Eddie was restless through all of morning practice, hands buzzing, ready to run to the rental car at the first dismissal. Shower be damned, he’d take a quick one at the hotel, he couldn’t be held up any longer. 

“What’s goin’ on with you, Munson?” Elijah muttered, next to Eddie in the huddle on the ice, the coach’s droning about protocol for the game. 

“Nothin’.” Eddie whispered back, twisting his stick in his hands. “Just wish he’d fuckin’ hurry up.” 

Elijah’s eyes cut to Eddie, snorting lightly. “You got somewhere to be?” 

“Yeah, I do actually.” Eddie sighed out. “Gotta get back. Promised my girl I’d take her out.” 

Elijah’s brows raised. “Shit, you brought her with you?” 

Eddie’s shoulders tensed. “She wanted to come.” He muttered defensively. “I mean, she wanted to. Now it’s kinda fucked, she’s-” Eddie’s eyes cut around him. “She’s kinda homesick.” 

Elijah nodded slowly. “Yeah, that happens.” He fought back a smile. “When’s the last time you took her out?” 

Eddie’s eyes cut to him, defensive with accusation. “It’s not like that. I take her out.” 

“Yeah? On the off day? After we’ve traveled all day?” Elijah snorted, shaking his head. “C’mon, Munson. Believe me, that doesn’t count.” 

Eddie ignored him, gripping his stick with furious annoyance. The fuck did he know? He didn’t know anything. 

“Look, I’m not tryna piss you off. I did it, too. Just- believe me, alright? That one day shit doesn’t work.” Elijah pressed gently. 

“Hey, I got it, alright? I’m good.” Eddie growled. 

Elijah held his hands up in defense. “Alright, I’m just saying, when it was me,” He started. “I wasn’t meaning to. I just wasn't used to it. Had my own road routine and tried to fit her around it instead of into it. Thought it was going good until it wasn’t.” 

Eddie stilled, silent but shoulders slumping lightly. “You gotta change your routine, find a way to fit her into it. She’s on the road too, not just you.” Elijah continued. 

The coach whistled, waving them in dismissal. Eddie blinked, pulled out of his daze, lifting his helmet and stick with him. Elijah nodded at him. “Have fun tonight, Munson.” He smiled softly. “Make sure you take her somewhere nice.” 

Elijah’s words rang in Eddie’s head all the way back to the hotel, only a short drive from the arena. Eddie nearly threw his keys at the valet, sliding into the elevator shamelessly, bouncing on the balls of his toes until he reached your floor. 

You startled when he came in, sitting at the vanity, doing your makeup. “You’re done already?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie muttered, ducking down for a kiss. “Just gotta shower real quick, but are you hungry?” He shimmied his workout sweats onto the floor, kicking his socks off with them. 

Your eyes lingered over his bare lower half for a second, turning back to paint your mascara on. “I’m not starving.” You mumbled. 

“Alright, good, I was gonna see if we could go to this place. I think you’ll like it.” Eddie grinned over his shoulder at you, the hiss of the shower coming to life. “Some guys told me if you’re in Pasadena you gotta go here.” His smile so wide, eyes sparkling in the dim yellowed light of the hotel bathroom, it made your tummy tingle with warm excitement. 

“Promise you’re not looking?” Eddie mumbled, hands over your eyes, waddle-walking awkwardly behind you, pressed close to your back. 

“Swear I’m not.” You grinned. Eddie was right, it was beautiful outside. Warm and bright, light illuminating his hands that covered your eyes with a reddish glow. 

“I can feel you trying to. Your lashes are tickling me.” Eddie muttered, leaving you giggling. “Ok, just- you know what, this is good enough. I’m scared you’re gonna trip.” Eddie said, lips curling at your soft laugh. 

“Are you ready for your surprise?” You could hear Eddie’s grin in his voice, a breeze floating between the two of you. 

“Yes.” You giggled, Eddie’s chest swelling at the sound. “Just show me. Your hands are clammy. They’re gonna smear my mascara.” 

“Shit, sorry.” Eddie muttered sheepishly, a blush spilling on his cheeks, pulling his hands away so they were still in front of you. “Ok, ready?” 

“Eddie-” 

“-Sorry, Alright, one, two,” Eddie moved his hands, smiling proudly in front of you, a pinkish looking building behind you. “Here it is! Surprise!”

You blinked. “Oh.” You quipped softly. 

Eddie blinked, smile falling. “What? I thought you’d- You don’t like it?” 

“No,” You shook your head. “I mean, no, that’s- Where are we?” 

“Oh,” Eddie shook his head lightly. “Shit, I thought you’d know. Uh, apparently this place is supposed to be like the place for flowers, y’know? Pasadena has that flower festival thing, but it’s not until later and I know you like to go to the cool places, and-” Eddie motioned to the store behind him. 

You took in the building, spilling over with plants you could see from the inside. “I, uh, I know you miss home.” Eddie said softly. “And I was just thinking, y’know, we can’t get houseplants like at home, but maybe some bouquets? Some flowers for the hotel room.” 

Eddie waited a beat, desperately trying to read your face, eyes wandering over the building and the signs. “I thought maybe you’d pick out some flowers and-and it would make it feel like home.” Eddie’s hands slid down his jeans, hot from the sun beaming on them. “Plus, you wanted to see some around here, a-and y’know… one bird, two stones.” Eddie rambled, shrugging sheepishly. 

You felt the familiarity of a cry bubbling back in your chest, swelling and suffocation, only this time the aching of sadness was gone. In its place, a bubbling, burning feeling of adoration was left, consuming you from the inside out with every nervous glance Eddie gave you. He’d listened, really fucking listened. He always did, but this time it was different. Relief, comfort washing over you for the first time in days. 

It felt like home. 

Like the two of you were back in Hawkins, or Indianapolis even, perusing the usual spots, happy and content to be together in a familiar place. 

Eddie wasn’t expecting you to grab him, pull him into you with a fierce, sloppy kiss. Right there on the sidewalk, under the California sunshine. Lips melting into his, clawing and grabbing at his shirt, the back of his neck. Eddie’s cheeks burned bright when you pulled apart, a smile so wide and goofy it made you giggle. 

He let you grab his hand, lead him around the flower shop like a lost puppy, picking out anything and everything that made you smile. A bright bouquet spilling out beautifully in the green vase, made just for you. 

You sat it right on the small bedside table, beaming at how it livened up the room. Eddie wasn’t sure if it was the flowers or you. Either way, it revived you, made you happier and giddier. Made the sheets of the hotel less cold when you slipped beneath them, legs tangled in his, pinning him under you onto the stiff mattress. It made the room brighter, spilling with a new fragrance that felt familiar. 

It was small, a miniscule way that meant the world to you; made you feel at home. Eddie knew it, planning how he’d do it with every next city, until you finally got back home.

[cuntressgoingdigital]

HEART 2 HEART | abby anderson x reader

free palestine! click this link for more info + dono links

synopsis: you comfort abby after her fight with mel in the aquarium

notes: this was written haphazardly while i was bored at work. i'm replaying tlou2 and this scene made me sad so here we are.

cw: sfw , gn! reader, hurt/comfort, gay yearning, kinda angsty, abby sexuality crisis, not quite a happy ending?, not exactly proofread

word count: 1k

you and abby’s shared sleeping bag lacked her warmth when you awoke. it took you a few moments to recognize your surroundings. this was your first time in the aquarium and naturally you were on your guard the entire time. it wasn’t that you didn’t trust owen and mel, you just didn’t know them. they had taken to yara and lev nice enough, so you assumed they were benevolent to some degree. in the very least, they weren’t a threat.

muffled voices drew you closer to the door that separated the makeshift bedroom and the main corridor of the aquarium. still groggy, you attempt to make out who the voices belonged to. after a few lines of indiscernible conversation, you could make out only a few words.

“you’re a piece of shit abby! you always have been.” 

you felt like an interloper, hesitant to bear witness to this conversation. so, you waited until silence took over.

abby was your best friend, even if you weren’t hers. you accompanied her on her secret mission to go “save” owen. you held no alliance to him, or any other member of the salt lake crew. your love for abby put you in this clusterfuck of a situation and you didn’t regret any second of it. 

you ran a semi-secret intel operation. you read every document, no matter if it were a chore list or religious text, that was recovered from the dead seraphites during patrols. isaac insisted it would encourage more thorough and devastating battle plans, but after a while the only thing you felt was guilt. 

abby, as isaac’s top scar killer, almost always had something to deliver to you. she always made idle conversation with you. as time went on your conversations became longer and your feelings for her grew. she attempted to introduce you to her other friends, but there was always an air of clique-ishness. they didn’t have room for new personalities it seemed. 

but, abby was always drawn to you. when manny needed the room she would often slip into your bed at night and snuggle into you for warmth. when she couldn’t sleep you would run your fingers through her long blonde hair and quietly hum to  music that wasn’t playing while you read through documents. after nearly a month straight of her coming to share your bed, you began to suspect that her absence wasn’t always at manny’s request. 

in her off time she would accompany you on random fetch quests at the behest of isaac. if you were sent across the stadium to complete some task isaac decided was beneath him, abby would follow behind you as you skipped along and chatted endlessly about something or another. sometimes she would talk back, but a lot of the time she just enjoyed hearing your voice. 

the sound of something metal hitting the floor drew you out of the room and out into the open. 

“abs?” you whispered. 

she didn’t turn to look at you, her eyes trained on the fish tank behind her. her fingers pawed at her cheeks wiping away the few tears that dared to fall. 

you took a few steps and slid down to the floor, back pressed against the fish tank. “come on.” you patted the space next to you. 

like a wounded dog she did as she was told and plopped down onto the floor next to you. you wrapped your arm around her as she rested her head on your shoulder.

“was that mel?” you had no idea what was going on with them. tensions were already high between them because of their shared love for owen. 

abby had only mentioned once, maybe six months ago that she still had some semblance of feelings for owen. she was really drunk and you had tried hard to forget. that had an obvious impact on her relationship with mel. after jackson things only seemed to get worse. 

you never asked, and abby never told. 

“i don’t know what the fuck i’m doing anymore. things were so easy a week ago.” a few of her tears ran down onto the sleeve of your shirt. 

“am i a bad person?” 

you could tell the question was almost rhetorical. any outright denial would be an attempt to stroke her wounded ego and an agreement was obviously not what she needed right now. much less was it something you would ever think to say. 

“i think you’re trying.” you whispered. this was a tender moment for only you and her to share. “abby from last week probably wouldn’t have come back for me or those kids.” you intertwined your fingers with hers. “there is no metric for a ‘good person’. the only thing that matters is you’re trying to be better than you were yesterday.” 

you could feel her holding her breath, likely trying to stave away any more tears. she sniffled and you kissed the back of her hand. 

“i love you, abs. okay?” 

it wasn’t your first time saying these words to her. most times it was in jest after you had been purposely annoying and you could tell she was losing her patience. or when she would save you an extra of your favorite meal from the mess hall. but, you always meant it. you loved her to the moon and back and would follow her anywhere. maybe you were too stupid and idealistic, but you would love her even if she never reciprocated your feelings. she was your forever, even if that meant being her lighthearted companion until the end of time. even if that meant dying in her arms. 

her puffy, teary blue eyes caught yours. she pressed her forehead against yours and lowly whispered your name. “i–“

yara sprinted into the room, looking mildly panicked. the two of you turned to her, immediately breaking the brief moment of solace you had found in each other.

“nice shirt.” abby gestured to yara’s t-shirt with a cartoon otter printed on it. 

abby often considered saying it back. kissing you in the darkness of your room. but, that would require parsing through her feelings for you. for owen. her sexuality. it was all too much. 

and it was certainly something she didn’t have time for right now. 

but, one day.

one day she would. 

[purplebass]

The secret history subtly deals with the theme of education and the different ways one could learn and could teach things. The motto of Hampden is "learning by doing" which is itself a teaching methodology theorized by John Dewey (it is still seen as a valid method, especially in stem contexts).

Julian is like a Greek rhetorician. He is able to persuade his six students merely by discussing philosophy and other things they like so much. He is a master of the word, which is at the same time clear to the group but also, it isn't. He conditioned the group's actions and lead them to do what they did. Julian already chose Henry as his successor, in a way. He knows that Henry also has an "aura", an empathetic strength which makes him both alluring and scary at the same time.

Dr. Roland is a psychology professor. Psychology is the science of the inside, and is so akin to philosophy because psychology tried to give answers to the matters of the mind and the emotions and the human being that philosophy used to ponder about. It is stated several times that Dr. Roland is a behaviorist, and they believed that learning could be achieved through conditioning. He talks a lot, but in the end, we see that what he says never influences Richard that much. Richard only sees Roland as his way to earn money while in a shitty town, but we see that he is just a random professor who leads a very ordinary life in comparison to Julian's life.

Richard uses Dr. Roland to get an income to sustain himself, while he attends Julian's classes. After Bunny's funeral, the group slowly falls apart and Richard finds solace in solitude in Dr. Roland's office rather than in Julian's classes with the members of his clique. This is a consequence of learning by doing, where the learning is questionable and brings about traumatic consequences for Richard and the others. He has to live with the consequences of their actions and he isn't okay with that, but he has to bear that cross since he feels a sort of sick loyalty to the others even though they never completely welcomed him in their group. He also knows that perhaps, if he isn't careful, he might be the next Bunny because he now knows too much

[lamoobsessions]

To Guild A Lily

Synopsis: You and Hazel have been together for six months now and things have been going really great. That is, until you stupidly invite her to meet your family over spring break -your family, who does not know your gay.

Warnings: Homophobia, very little use of y/n, things get a twinge spicy but its not smutty, kinda cheesy but it's cute.

Word Count: 6k

A/N: Hey 😏 It's been a while, and i'm sorry. But I'm back AND with a new story. This one will be a short mini series -probably three chapters tbh. Originally, I didn't think I was going to post it, because it lwk feels too personal. But what the heck, I like it, so here it is!! Christmas break is here, so i'll defiantly get some writing in for anyone who cares, lol. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! (And also apologies in advanced)

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The decision to attend a university outside of your home town was the best decision you’ve ever made. It’s been everything you hoped it to be. You made friends, you have your freedom, you have your independence, and, the best part of all, you have a different social demographic. Which may be a weird detail to others, but to you, it’s a blessing. No longer do you have to live behind the social constraints provided by the community you grew up in.

Though, that isn’t to say college is fantastic. The workload is insane, your apartment is depressing as hell, living expenses are through the roof, and making a healthy consistent meal plan for yourself feels near impossible. College can be awful at times, but it fulfills your small box of expectations. 

Truly, you’re quite happy with where you are in life. Everything has a certain glow to it, a certain beauty. With this new-found freedom and privacy, you joined new social cliques, attended parties, joined clubs, and took all the classes that attune your interest. Which is how you met Hazel.

She sat next to you in a gender studies class in the second semester of your freshman year, which you later found out she only took the class with her friend PJ to meet the ladies of the campus. Which, to her credit and your pleasure, she accomplished. 

The two of you hit it off almost instantly; from quipped, sly whispered jokes in the lecture halls, to not-so productive study dates, the two of you eventually fell into place with each other. She introduced you to her friends, both of whom you found very intimidating at first, since they make a very chaotic duo. Even so, they grew on you, and it wasn’t long til you became a part of their group. It also wasn’t long til your feelings for Hazel began to sprout. 

It happened at the library -of all places. She made the first move and the two of you have been together for almost six months now. Things have been great. 

It takes a lot for you to open up to people, but when it came to Hazel, things felt easier. Suddenly, you felt more bold, more electric with your personality. Those around you could sense the shift, even your family, who lived hours away.

In your eyes, this is a good thing. The relationship you have with your family is complicated. You love each of them to death. Your mother, your father, your sister, all of them you’d take a bullet for. Unconditional love, as many may call it. But they were… different when it came to values. More on the old-fashioned side than you typically prefer. But the thing with college is, you get to break away from home, and that’s exactly what you did -well somewhat. Your mom still calls every day to check up, mostly asking if you've met anyone yet, and by anyone, she means a boy. 

It’s isolating at times, knowing your family doesn’t know this integral part of who you are. But, in your eyes, it was for the better.  

Though, after six months of being with Hazel, a certain consensus within yourself was breached. It felt unfair to your family, since they were always asking if you’ve made any friends or found a boyfriend yet. And secondly, it’s unfair to Hazel. You met her mom three months after dating, it wasn’t planned, but it happened, and now you feel an insatiable obligation to introduce her to your family. 

But the kicker is, Hazel doesn’t know that your family is oblivious to her existence. They’re even oblivious to the fact that you like girls. So, you’ve avoided bringing it up. 

You don’t want to ruin a good thing. Things are so easy, why mess it up? 

“So, when are you leaving?” Hazel asks from the foot of your bed, watching as you shove ungodly amounts of clothes into your small suitcase on the floor. 

You shrug, placing another chunky sweater that surely will not fit into the luggage. The thing isn’t going to close, but you’ll be damned if you weren’t going to try. “I think maybe early tomorrow morning? What about you?”

“Oh, I’m not going home,” she casually reveals. “I think I’ll just stay here.”

You stop your pushing and look up at her questioningly. “What? Why not?”

“My mom will be out of town the whole week, so there’s basically no point in me going back home.”

“She’s going out of town the week of your spring break?”

Hazel nods with a slightly solemn expression, to which you purse your lips, knowing her complicated relationship with her mother. 

“What about PJ and Josie, they’ll be going home too, right? Why don’t you go with them?”

She sighs, leaning into the mattress. “Josie is going on vacation with Isabel and her family, and PJ said she’s going on some ‘pussy’ retreat -whatever that means.”

You frown at this. The college campus was nice, but there wasn’t much to do. Without any friends around, it gets boring and depressing fast. You would know. You spent the first semester of your freshman year losing your goddamn mind, rotting in your dorm room binging the entirety of ‘Orange is the New Black’.

“Well, you can come home with me,” You offer, wanting to bite your tongue the second the suggestion leaves your lips. 

“Really?” Hazel perks up excitingly. 

“Yeah, why not? It’s only a five-hour drive, it will be like a fun little road trip or something.” For you, it wouldn’t be a fun little road trip. It would be a nightmare of spiraling thoughts and contemplative re-routes to the nearest cliff. But you can’t stand the thought of leaving Hazel, knowing she would be left alone on campus for a whole two weeks. 

“You sure your family won’t mind?”

As you stop packing and grab your phone off the nightstand, a nest of anxiety burrows behind your ribcage. You’re a good liar, or, to put it more lightly, you’re good at masking your true emotions. “I’m sure they won’t. I can text them and ask if that will make you feel more comfortable with it.”

“Can you?” She questions with a look of sincerity. “I don’t want to just show up unannounced.”

“Yeah, of course,” You plant yourself next to her on the bed, subtly hiding the phone screen. Now, with the phone in your hands and your mother's contact photo glowing on the screen, you begin to wonder what you’re even supposed to say.

 ‘Hey mom, I know I haven’t told you this yet, but I’m gay, and I have a girlfriend, and she’s coming over. Hope that’s cool. Cool? Cool. Alright bye bye now.’

Immediately, you regret offering to text her. Yet, even with your discretion, you begin to type. 

YOU: ‘Hey, just want to let you know I’ll be heading home tomorrow. Probably around early morning.’

YOU:  ‘But Is it okay if I bring a friend down with me?” 

You curse yourself as soon as the word floats into the chat. Friend. 

Shutting off your phone, and tossing it out of your hands, you nod with a not-so reassuring smile. “There.” 

Thankfully, Hazel misses the uncertainty in your expressions and returns an optimistic smile.  “This is exciting, I finally get to meet these parents I've heard so much about.”

You shake your head bemusedly. “Look, there’s a reason I don’t talk about them. I mean, they aren’t exactly the most agreeable people.”

“I’m sure I can handle it.”

“I know you can,” you brush off, as you allow yourself to fall onto the satin sheets. “I’m just not sure I can.” 

“You can. Everything will turn out fine.” She joins you, lying next to your side and taking your hand hers. “Besides, I’m great with parents.”

You smile softly, nuzzling your head into her shoulder. Internally, your heart sinks. How could you not tell your parents about her? Since the second semester of freshman year, she’s been this symbol of comfort in your life. Yet in that same sense, she’s also your girlfriend. So, how could you tell your parents about her? 

You exhale a long, pent-up breath -unaware that, through this spiral, you’ve briefly forgotten to breathe. “I guess I can’t keep you from them forever.”

Hazel lifts her head and leans over you with a smug look. “Forever, you say?”

You laugh upon realizing the implications of your words, and turn away to avoid her demanding stare. “Shut up.” 

“Forever is a long time to be together. Even longer time to go without meeting one’s parents.” 

You shrug, “I think we could get away with it if we tried.”

She perks up, as if having an epiphany of her own. “Oh, maybe we’ll do one of those lavender marriages,” She encourages. “You know, we’ll pretend you're straight, and I’m just some estranged sister-in-law that you inevitably fall in love with -because how could you not? And then, you’ll get divorced, and we’ll run away together, and that way, I’ll never have to officially meet your parents, and they’ll just know me in passing. ”

You pause a moment, mouth set slightly agape at her nonsensical ridicule. “Are you done?”

“I mean, I could keep going, but that’s just a quick summary.”

Pursing your lips, you bite back a broad smile, and bring a hand to her cheek to pull her closer. Leaving a quick peck on her lips, before pressing your forehead to hers, “You’re the worst.”

A giggle reverberates off her chest, and you could swear that sound can kill. “We’ll be fine, I promise. Worst-case scenario, they end up hating me, we elope, move to Barbados, and live happily ever after.”

“Not a bad worst-case scenario.”

“Mhm.” she purrs, placing a hand on your waist and pressing her lips to yours, as you bring a hold to her cheek. The minimal space between your bodies lingers before it begins to diminish; her figure hovering over yours, effectively stabling herself by pressing a leg between your thighs. 

You melt under the touch, allowing the heat to rise to your cheeks and your stomach to do an insurmountable amount of flips. A smile curves against her lips, one that you cannot help but to reciprocate amidst her near suffocating rapture. 

Slicing through the once sensual atmosphere, your phone dings. Breaking away from her embrace, you turn towards your phone on the other side of the bed. “Shit, it’s probably my mom.”

Hazel hums. Though understanding, you can sense a slight disappointment in the way she relaxes next to you onto the bed. 

Swiping open your phone, the message reads:

MOM <3: That’s perfectly fine, hun. Can’t wait to me this friend of yours 😉 

MOM <3: Text me when you leave, love you!

You bite the inside of your cheek, knowing, even through text, she’s aware this friend isn’t like every other. She read you like a book, immediately picking up on the lack of assurance behind your words. She knows if it was just any other friend, you wouldn’t have asked. 

Your mother knows you well, but not well enough to know it isn't a boy you’re bringing home. 

YOU: I will, love you too <3

Shutting off your phone once again, you turn back to Hazel and put on a more heartening expression. “We’re good to go.”

“Really?” she questions. “You didn’t look too sure for a second?”

“Yeah, it’s just- some other stuff she was saying. It’s all good.” 

Hazel quirks her brow, not buying your reasoning.

“Seriously,” You add, wanting to end this questioning as soon as possible. “It’s fine,” You lean in and plant a quipped kiss on her cheek before catapulting yourself off the bed. “I should get packing, though.”

A hand grips your wrist before you can get any further. “No, stay,” she whines. “We were just starting to have fun.”

You gently take your other hand and guide yourself free of her grasp. “As much as I’d love to continue having more fun, you should probably start packing, too.”

Hazel groans, falling onto her back with an exaggeration you found to be quite endearing. 

You feel bad for deceiving her. She should know about the issue surrounding your parents, at least before you arrive at their house mid-afternoon tomorrow. You just didn’t know how to tell her, not that she wouldn’t understand, cause she would. The problem is how it would make her feel. 

Yet, in an undeniably selfish way, you hope that by finally introducing Hazel to your family, this unrelenting guilt entangled in the back of your mind will finally resolve. Maybe, just maybe, telling your parents about your girlfriend would make this thing you have with Hazel feel all the more better. Maybe, just maybe, telling them would allow this already perfect thing to blossom into something better. Maybe, you’ll finally sleep well at night and dream again once more. 

…

Come late morning, around 11 a.m., you and Hazel have already packed your bags and stuffed them in the trunk of your car. Having taken this route home on numerous occasions already, you didn’t bother typing your address into the GPS before setting off. 

Before leaving town and into the interminable country roads, you stopped by a small family owned convenience store for breakfast. You grabbed a pre-packaged blueberry muffin and a small coffee, while Hazel wandered aimlessly around the store with an indecisive contemplation -which is per usual. Ultimately, she meets you at the counter with an energy drink and a ��freshly made’ breakfast sandwich -also her usual.

You grin teasingly upon seeing her choice. “You spent all that time deciding, just to get what you always do?”

She shrugs defensively, “I was wondering if I should try something new.”

You huff shaking your head, watching as she hands the cashier her card. 

Hopping back into the car, quiet conversation fills the air. Hazel grabs the aux cord and puts on the road-trip playlist she made just the night before. It’s full of songs and bands the two of you share a liking to, most of which you can scream every word to. 

The drive home is beautiful. It’s full of curvy and long countryside roads, and old historical district villages. Although, your favorite part is around the halfway mark of the drive, where the bundles of farmland are located. Here you pass numerous herds of cattle and their calves, all tucked safely behind mesh wire fences. 

Making this drive with Hazel is something you never thought would be so exciting. You felt like a tour guide of sorts, telling her miniscule stories about random experiences you’ve had in the area. Like how you stopped at one particular gas station on the way home once, and swore to never go back again after you had a near scrap fight with a group of opossums. Or how you once got a flat tire on the side of the road, and the only person who stopped to help you was someone fully dressed in drag. .  

“Sometimes I forget you’re from the middle of nowhere.” Hazel comments. 

“It’s not really in the middle of nowhere.”

“Really?” She retorts, giving you an unimpressed look, “Cause I haven’t seen a proper grocery store for miles.”

“What? We passed like fifty Dollar Generals, which around here is like the equivalent of a Whole Foods.”

She laughs lightly. “That’s exactly my point.”

“Don’t worry,” you chaff. “When we get closer to home, things will start looking a little more developed.”

She smiles with a shake of her head, as she looks back out the window. “You know, you never talk much about where you're from, better yet your family.”

You tense, gripping the steering wheel slightly, unsure of what to say.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Hazel confirms, looking back your way. “How come?”

Her question sounds so innocent, as if she doesn’t know the true extent of where a conversation like this could lead. The two of you have been living in this comfortable bubble for the entirety of its existence. It’s safe here, it’s content. It’s a place where your family can’t come in and hurt you, or even worse, hurt her. 

You’re used to their overtly derogatory teasing, but Hazel isn’t. What if your family steers her away from you, what if she projects their behavior onto you, or starts to perceive you as one of them -they are family after all.  

You finally broke free, went off on your own, and got to choose the people you surround yourself with. Things finally felt like they were in your control. You could keep your family life separate from the one you live away at college. You could keep this perfect balance of family and friends. You could finally separate yourself from your upbringing. But the thought that your family could drive something so perfect out of your life, stressed you out beyond comprehension. 

“Hey,” Hazel interjects, bringing you out of your spiraling thoughts. “You alright?”

“Yeah-uh, sorry.” You reply, anxiously tapping your fingers on the steering wheel. 

“It’s okay” She reassures with kind eyes. “You just kind of spaced out there when I asked about your family. Is everything okay?”

You exhale a long breath. Even feeling the motions of it all and knowing this trip could make or break everything with Hazel, you’re aware that she deserves to know. 

“They don’t know, Haze.” you finally blurt. 

She hesitates a moment. Her expression is evidently confused, as she turns down the music. “Who doesn’t know what?”

“My parents. They don’t know. They don’t know I’m…” For some reason, it’s hard to say. You’ve always been comfortable in your sexuality, so why is it so hard to say it now? 

“Gay?” She finishes for you.”They don’t know you like girls?”

You bite your lip, shaking your head. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve told them sooner -long before I even thought of bringing you to them. Which also should’ve been way sooner. I just didn’t know what to say or how to tell them or-”

“So they’re homophobic?” She interrupts.

You stutter on your words, struggling to form a proper response, before letting out a defeated breath. “Kind of?”

“Kind of?”

“Well, they’re not like homophobic in a way where they think gay people shouldn’t have the right to marry or exist. To them it’s more like, ‘i dont care if you’re gay just don’t do that stuff around me’ kind of way. So they are homophobic, but it’s like…it’s just…” You hesitate, glancing at Hazel’s expression carefully. 

For a moment, she stares at you in bafflement. What she could be thinking appears unreadable -that is, until a small laugh escapes her. 

She’s laughing?

“Hazel,” you sigh. ”It’s not funny. I’m serious.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry for laughing,” She apologizes with a waving of her hand. “It’s just… I’ve never heard someone describe it that way.”

“Hazel,” You complain, desperately trying to keep your focus on her and the road. 

She purses her lips as she tries to bite back an amused smile. After a deep exhale, she finally regains her composure and meets your weary expression. “Look, it’s fine they don’t know. I get it, it’s hard coming out, especially to people like that. I don’t expect you to tell them right as we walk through the door. Although, I’d love to see such a dramatic proclamation of your love for me, I understand not telling them. So, you don’t have to… for now.”

She pauses for a moment, placing a comforting hand on your forearm. “But I do wish you would’ve told me about them before bringing me all the way out here. I need to like, be more prepared for a situation like this.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you before,” you apologize, wishing you would’ve swallowed your transgressions and told her sooner. “You don’t have to do this anymore. If you’re too uncomfortable-”

“No, I want to.” she interjects. “Things will just be a little more awkward, is all. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“No Hazel, you don’t-... this was a bad idea. I should’ve told you-”

“Hey, it’s fine. I’m okay with it, really.” 

You flatten your lips, dissatisfied with how you’ve made things. Her circumstances are unfair, yet she’s still willing to meet them. 

“Are you sure? I can text my mom, cancel the whole thing, and I can just stay with you on campus for spring break. I’ll make it up to you-”

Hazel interrupts with a stern call of your name. “Seriously, it’s fine”

You switch your worried gaze from the dark roadway to Hazel’s pitying stare. You didn’t think it would be possible, but you begin to think you might want to turn around more than Hazel. You’ve finally built up enough courage to offer for them to meet, and a part of you wonders if it’s for the best, if the timing is even right. 

“It’s just…my relationship with my family is complicated. They’re not… easy people to get along with. I don’t want them to make you feel uncomfortable. I don’t want them to say some dumb shit and hurt you. I don’t want them to ruin things between us. And I’m scared that after this, things between us will change. That you’ll see me differently, like I’m one of them, and want to leave. And, honestly, Hazel, these past few months with you have been really really amazing and I don’t want to lose that …I don’t want to lose you.”

Hazel is silent for a long moment, seemingly mulling something over in her head. And with each passing moment, you get more nervous that she had changed her mind and did, in fact, want to turn around and leave you with your family troubles.

“Pull over,” She suddenly demands.

“What?” 

“Pull over, I want to give you a hug.” She implores with a strange sophistication in her words. “And because you’re crying and probably shouldn’t be driving.”

You hadn’t even realized it before, but tears were streaming down your cheeks, your voice was hoarse, and your vision was far too blurry to be driving in the dark. 

You wipe your tears abashedly with a weak laugh, and pull over onto the side of the empty highway. Shifting the vehicle into park, Hazel’s arms immediately wrap around your shoulders -the unwarranted comfort making you fall apart at the seams. All in one fell swoop, everything comes crashing down. 

You tuck your head between her shoulder and neck, desperately attempting to suppress the lump in your throat. Her affection is warm and safe. To you, her embrace isn’t a new feeling, yet, it’s still somehow refreshing. Like a much-needed breath of fresh air, or a sip of ice water on a hot day. 

“You’re not going to lose me because of them. Nothing they say or do will ever change how I feel about you, alright?” she whispers over your shoulder. 

You nod, unsure if you can trust your own voice. 

She let's go, placing a small peck on your cheek. Her palms cradle your face as she stares into your eyes. “Everything is going to work out just fine. And if it doesn’t, we’ll leave. Simple as that.”

You nod once more, hating how speechless you feel. Here she was, sacrificing her spring break to meet your homophobic parents, yet she’s the one comforting you. 

“Alright. Now, switch seats with me. I’m driving now.”

Not even bothering to argue, you unbuckle your seatbelt and open the driver door. 

You type in your address into the GPS, and allow Hazel to take the wheel. 

…

Pulling into the rocky driveway, your heart’s in your ears and there’s a knot in your stomach. If the prolonged carsickness from the car ride didn’t make you throw up, walking through that front door surely will. 

Hazel puts the car in park and turns the ignition off. “You okay?”

You stare at the dash, eyes glued straight ahead and you nod slowly. 

A hand grabs yours, squeezing it three times over, a gesture you have yet to understand but never fails to ease your racing heart. Glancing at this impossibly calm and collected girl next to you, you wonder how you ever got so lucky to be a part of her world. It seems nearly inconceivable. She’s too good to be true, too good for you. 

Flashing a weak smile, you open the passenger door and step out into the cold air. 

The sun has set into darkness, as the crickets chirp in a harmonious choir. One thing you did miss about home were the quiet nights. Compared to the college town, where police sirens were an atmospheric staple and the oxygen is thick with pollution, your hometown was silent. Everything could be heard throughout the still nights, including your favorite calls of the mourning dove. 

You ultimately decide to leave your bags in the car, figuring you’ll grab them after dinner, which is supposedly ready according to the text your mom sent ten minutes prior to your arrival. So, not wanting them to wait another moment to eat, the two of you walk to the front door. 

Typically, when you visit home, you barge through the door, not bothering to announce yourself. It’s your home after all. But this time, being so filled with nerves, you knock. 

“Come in,” your mother's voice beckons from inside, followed by the excited barking of the family dog. 

The moment you open the door, two paws meet your abdomen. “Hey, buddy,” You shakily greet, ruffling the dog's head, as his tail wags excitedly. 

“Hazel, this is Ru,” You introduce sliding off your shoes. 

Ru is the name everyone decided on, and the one you came up with. Though you never had the heart to tell your family you named him after Rupaul. But it’s funnier if they don’t know. 

“Hi Ru,” Hazel coos, squatting to the pups level, allowing him to sniff her hand, to which he immediately accepts. Originally, your family wanted a guard dog. Instead they got Ru, who wouldn't hurt a fly.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest?” Hazel laughs, flopping his ears. Already you could tell the dog loved her. Seeing her with Ru, both of them lighting up at the interaction, made things feel slightly better, like everything might turn out alright.

“Hey, hun!” Your mom greets, rounding the entrance corner, her arms open wide. 

“Hi,” You put on your best smile while wrapping your arms around her, using every last piece of willpower to suppress the nerves. 

“Missed you,” she reminds, pulling away before her gaze quickly drifts to the girl behind you. 

“Mom, this is Hazel.”

Something falters behind your mother's stare, and in an instant you notice her subtle surprise. Indeed, not a boy.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” Hazel stands, offering her hand.

“Nice to meet you,” She shakes her hand briefly with a smile, then turns back to you. “Where are your bags?”

“Oh, we left them in the car. Didn’t want to hold up dinner any longer, you know?”

“You didn’t have to do that,” she brushes off, as she saunters back to the kitchen, “But after dinner, I’ll send your father out there to help you unload all your stuff.”

“Speaking of which, where is he?” You ask, gesturing for Hazel to follow you further into the home. 

Your mother scoffs, grabbing the plates from the pantry. “Bathroom, you know how he is.”

“Gross, I’m eating.” A voice calls from the dining table. 

You peek your head around the corner to find your sister, who not surprisingly didn’t wait for your arrival to eat. “Good to see you too.” You tease.

She nods, her mouth full of food. 

Looking at the stove, you find fresh cooked salmon, cubed baked sweet potatoes, and charred asparagus. If there is a second thing you missed about home, it’s the home-cooked meals. 

“Dinner looks good, mom.” You smile, grabbing a plate for both you and Hazel. 

“Thank you,” She chirps, filling her plate and looking at Hazel who has been shadowing your side. “Please, help yourselves to whatever.”

“Thank you so much,” Hazel lightly mutters, joining your side to fill her plate. “And thank you for having me. I know it’s last minute.” 

“No worries. It’s always nice to have a new guest.” 

Finally taking a seat at the table, Hazel sits by your side. You could tell she was being overly conscious of how close she sat next to you. Despite knowing she only wanted to avoid unwanted attention, you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Her comforting presence is an inescapable desire, one that you cannot have -not here. 

“You know, when you said a friend, they thought you were finally bringing home a boy.” your sister ridicules from the seat across from you. 

A distaste for your sister settles on your tongue. Of course that was the first thing she’s said since you arrived. It didn’t matter that it was a diss towards you. What mattered was how Hazel glanced in your direction -a mix of dejection and pity- it killed you. 

“Well…” you begin, unsure of how to respond to such a remark. “It's best not to assume things, is it?”

Her eyes flare with amusement, indicating she wasn’t expecting a defensive remark. It wasn’t like you to respond in such a way, but these are different circumstances.

Without introduction, your father walks in with his plate in hand. On his way to his seat, he plants a small pat on your shoulder. “Good to see you home for once.”

You smile flatly. Every time you visited home, the subject of your frequent absence was always brought up. Even with the easy drive home, Christmas and Spring break were the only times of year that you ever visited home. 

“Um,” You clear your throat, “Dad, this is Hazel.”

Directing his attention to the girl, he offers a curt nod. “So, what are you majoring in Hazel?”

Mentally, you roll your eyes, because of course that’s his first question. 

“Uh, engineering, sir.”

His expression lightens, “Really? That’s a pretty good one, make a lot of money in that field.”

“Yeah, definitely. But it’s very competitive, so we’ll see how it goes.” 

“I’m sure you’ll do great.” Your mom chimes in, as she takes a seat next to your sister. 

Hazel smiles warmly, “Thank you.” 

“Hazel actually got a perfect score last semester on her Calculus three final,” You bud in, trying desperately to keep a conversation floating.  

“Wow, calculus, huh?” your dad replies, evidently impressed. “How’d you pull that off?”

“Well, I’m pretty accustomed to the formulas by now. I’ve been working with this sort of thing ever since I joined the fight club in high school and made…” She pauses, reconsidering her story. “I just helped everyone with their calculus homework, really.”

“Wait, did you say fight club?” Your sister adds. “Like the Brad Pitt movie?”

“Yeah -um, it wasn’t necessarily a fight club, more like a self-defense club. You know, for female solidarity and stuff.” 

“Oh, well that’s very cool,” Your mom comments. “You know, we made y/n take a self-defense class before going to college.”

“Really?” Hazel questions, eyes lightening with surprise as she turns to you.

“Mhm,” your mother grins proudly. “best of her class.”

“What? Why did I never know this?” 

You shrug with the first genuine smile you’ve mustered since the night began. “I don’t know, I never thought to mention it.”

She lightly laughs, making your nerves ease ever so slightly. 

The night goes on as the conversation picks up. Hazel and your family exchange  stories, jokes, and current happenings in their lives. Things are looking up, you think. Dinner has long been eaten, and no one has even bothered to move from the table. The earlier tension has finally dissolved into an air of comfortability, and your nerves have finally settled into an ease. As far as you could tell, your family has found a liking for Hazel.

You made a deal with yourself.  Before spring break ends, you’d indefinitely tell them. The only question is, how would you find the proper timing? Things are going so well now, what if telling them ruins it? 

Eventually, Hazel excuses herself, discreetly asking you for directions to the bathroom. You stood, grabbing both your plates and pointing her in the general direction down the hall. 

 Discarding the plates into the dishwasher, you return to your seat on the table, hazel now absent from your side. Without her comforting presence, the energy seems to shift in the room. There is a thick silence among your family. For a moment, you can’t tell if it’s all in your head. Although, almost in an instant, your earlier hopes for a peaceful spring break dispel into thin air.  

“So, your friend Hazel.” Your sister begins. 

You look up expectantly, awaiting some derogatory remark with deep trepidation. 

“She’s got a personality, doesn’t she?”

You narrow your eyes, “What does that mean?” 

“She’s just different is all.” 

“Yeah but what does that mean?” You ask once more with impatience, eyes darting between each of your family members, looking for some unknown answer. 

“She just means,” Your mother adds, “She’s a lot more different from your other friends. She’s…”

“Funny,” Your dad finishes, though it’s not a compliment. It’s a passive tone, one you know all too well. 

“Funny?”

Your sister shrugs. “Yeah. I mean, the way she dresses, her hair, her humor. It’s all just different from what we’re used to.” 

“So…You don’t like her?” you question with a twinge of hurt. Wherever this is going, you dread it. That same tangled ball of nerves in your stomach have finally resurfaced, and all it took was for Hazel to leave the room. 

Your dad scoffs, “You know that's not what we’re saying, y/n. “ 

“Yeah we like her she’s just-”

“Different, yeah I got it. You don’t have to say it a million times.”

“You don’t have to get so defensive about it. It’s not that big of a deal,” Your sister remarks with a condescending laugh, “I mean, what? Are we not allowed to talk about her?”

“Not the moment she leaves the room, no. That’s fucking weird and condescending.”

“Hey!” Your dad warns. “Watch your mouth.”

You feel at a loss for words. Everything is escalating so fast. From what you observed, everyone was having a good time. Why do they have to go and ruin it? How could they be so insolent? 

“I don’t see why you’re getting so defensive about her though?” Your sister adds. “It’s not like we’re saying anything bad.”

“No, but you’re making passive comments, and I can tell what you’re actually thinking, and it hurts my feelings that you think that way.”

“Oh god forbid we hurt your feelings,” Your father claims. 

The hurt is soon replaced with anger, as your father’s remark seeps into your skin. After all these years of growing up with them by your side, you’ve never seen them so… ugly. You knew they weren’t the most agreeable people, but this was a whole new side.  “Why would you-”

“We’re sorry, honey,“ Your mom interrupts. “We don’t mean to upset you. You’re right, it’s rude to talk about someone when they're out of the room.”

You give her a disbelieving look. “It doesn’t matter if she’s here or not! The stuff you're saying still sucks, and it’s weird, and all of you are being rude.”

“Oh my god, we aren’t even saying anything bad! We just said she’s different from your other friends.” Your sister complains. 

You groan, “Yeah and you keep saying different and not actually elaborating on what you mean.” 

“Y/n, honey, calm down.”

“No! I wanna know what does ‘different’ mean? What does that mean to you?”

A subtle silence envelopes the air, a heavy, understanding silence. You aren’t mad because you don’t understand what they’re saying; You're mad because you do. You want to hear them say it. You need to hear them say it. 

“You know what we mean,” Your sister finally confides. 

It takes everything in you to not burst at the seams. Can they not even say it? Was it that hard for them? 

“Why can’t all of you just be… supportive, unconditionally.”

Your dad shakes his head, “Why does it matter what we think anyway?” 

“Because, she’s my girlfriend!” You cry. The moment the words finally reveal themselves, a weight is lifted off your chest.

The room falls silent, their faces painted with complete bewilderment.

“We’ve been together for five months now. And I didn’t want to tell you guys because I knew you would react this way, and I knew you wouldn’t understand, or in the very least, even try to. But it turns out, I don’t even need to tell you she’s my girlfriend for all of you to absolutely lose your shit! I mean, you’re my family for Christ's sake! I just wish you’d be a little more supportive, or at least have a heart when I tell you i’m…I-” The rest of your words fail to fall from your mouth, as they bubble up behind the lump forming in your throat. 

They give no response, not even one from your father to correct your language. They simply stare, and it’s an unbearable silence, one that fills you with an impending dread. One that holds the weight of all that is unspoken. One that says absolutely nothing, yet everything all at once. 

Maybe it’s disgust or maybe it’s shock, yet the uncertainty of their expressions remains. All that can be certain is the very fact that you can’t be here anymore.  

Though, all you can manage to do is study their contemplative stares. You study them with a pained glare til your eyes drift to the hall, where Hazel stands in the entrance. You don’t know how long she’s been there, but with her sympathetic yet ultimately, disappointed expression, you presume she's been there long enough. Now, only one thought floats through your mind: Hazel shouldn’t have to be here.

You abruptly stand from the table and pace out the door.  “Thank you for dinner,” You mutter, as you grab your keys and wallet off the counter. You take Hazel’s hand without meeting her eyes, and usher her out the door. 

Faintly, you hear your mother call out from the kitchen, though her voice only mumbles under the rumbling thoughts in your head. 

It’s funny, you thought the worst response would be one of disapproval. But it turns out, no response is worse. With no words spoken, you don’t know what they’re thinking. Sure, the silence is enough to make you want to curl up inside yourself and disappear, but you can’t tell if it was shock or dismay. 

Before you can open the driver door, Hazel cuts in front of you, giving a knowing look. She was going to drive, no questions asked. And you had no energy left to argue, so without another word, you hop in the passenger seat and tuck your knees to your chest, holding back the fountain of tears that threaten to spill. 

As the car leaves the neighborhood, Hazels sits behind the wheel with the same face as before. You don’t know if the disappointment in her eyes is for you or your family. Or maybe it’s both, being of the same blood and all. You are them, and they are you; they are you, and you are them. It doesn’t matter either way, because they’re family. And when you needed their approval most, they chewed it up and spit it out.

They’re the people that are supposed to support you most, they’re supposed to love you unconditionally. But when it comes to a love that is unconventional to them, all that goes out the window. Maybe simply being their daughter wasn’t enough.

All these interminable, chastising thoughts suddenly come to a halt, when the hand that’s been anxiously gripping your shin, is pulled away.  Your eyes drift upward to find Hazel’s hand intertwined in yours. Her eyes are glued to the road in such a steadfast way, you begin to wonder if she’s even paying attention to her driving. She seemed out of it, lost in her own world. Til, she flips on the blinker and makes the turn out of your hometown.

[bethanydelleman]

This is the best multi-season joke I've ever seen in a TV show and I demand it be recognized. There is a clique in the show Recess called "The Ashleys", girls who all have a very popular first name and are obsessed with fashion, and all in Gr 4:

Later, we meet their younger sisters, all in Kindergarten, all named Brittany:

And then we meet their brothers, all in Gr 2, all named "Tyler"

You have to watch all six seasons to appreciate the fully glory of this joke. I personally love it. And I had three boys in my class once named Tyler!

[jburrgf]

Prudence Girl.

We could stay alone, you and me and this temptation, sipping on your lips hanging on by thread.

pairing: joe burrow lsu x reader (becoming enemies to lovers)

summary: after a year at LSU, your best friend finally convinces you apply to be a prudence girl.

description: college life, frat party, kiss

—————————————————————

It was a relief to be far from home. From Ohio in general.

Now, I have to put up with my best friend, Tracy Evans, rambling about the fraternity and sorority homecoming at LSU and how much she’d love to be part of Prudence.

Prudence, by the way, is a sorority mostly run by a clique of cheerleaders. They all live in a huge house, practically Republican HQ, where they throw parties almost every week.

I find it cosmic and weird that the name is also a condom brand. But hey, no judgments here.

“We have to go, y/n.” Tracy grabs my shoulders, shaking them. “We can’t miss this!”

“Freshmen can’t miss it, and we’re not freshmen,” I say, winking at her. “At least, not technically. I still feel like one, tho.”

Tracy rolls her green eyes. “That’s where you’re wrong, y/n. It’s not just freshmen who can’t skip out. Prudence pledges can’t either.”

“And why does that matter to us?” I ask, frowning.

“Because, my dear, if we pass tonight’s initiation, we’ll be Prudence pledges,” she says, winking as my jaw slowly drops. “I signed us both up.”

“You what?” I get up from my chair, furious. “If you want to be a Prudence Girl, Tracy, go ahead, but don’t drag me into it!”

Tracy rolls her eyes again. “Don’t be dramatic,” she says, stroking my cheek. “You don’t have to go through initiation if you don’t want to, or even join Prudence. I just want your company, you know, moral support and stuff.”

With her puppy-dog eyes on me, it was impossible to refuse. Sighing heavily, I nodded.

“You owe me, Tracy Evans!” I growl, grabbing my black jacket and throwing it over a white T-shirt that says, “Don’t look at my tits, perv” as I leave the room.

I walked across the dorm with a scowl on my face. Sure, it’s good to be away from home, but it’s not like Cincinatti is a paradise. It’s not even close.

“Hey, y/LN!” I turned my head to the left, where Alyssa Powell was calling me. “Love the shirt.”

I roll my eyes with a faint smile. “What’s up, Powell?”

Me and Alyssa knew each other from the hallways of LSU. She wasn't like a friend of mine, but she was cool to talk to.

“I need ya’ help, y/n,” she says, biting her lip. “You know I don’t get along with Abby Griffin, right?”

“I think the whole campus knows, after she grabbed the principal’s megaphone and announced she’d make your life hell.” Aly grins at the memory. “Go on.”

“I need a reason to stay in Prudence,” she continues. “And a great reason would be to mentor a pledge during initiation. And I saw your name on the list…”

Oh, no.

“Aly… Look, you’re awesome, smart, funny…extraordinary!” Aly smiles, blushing. “But no way.”

“Why not?” She pouts. Oh boy, here come the sad faces again.

“Because I have zero interest in being part of Prudence,” I reply, tucking a strand of curls behind her ear. “Mentor Tracy. She really wants to join you guys.”

Aly sighs. “She already has a mentor,” she says, her voice pleading. “Abby made sure every pledge had one before I could even consider it. I’m surprised you don’t have one yet.”

“Oh, that’s simple. I hate every Prudence Girl,” I say, shrugging. “Including you. But I hate you with love, you know?”

I watch Alyssa laugh, throwing her head back.

“Y/n, look, I wouldn’t be here begging if it wasn’t important,” she says, grabbing my hands. “My mom graduated as a Prudence Girl, so did my aunt, and my older sister. It’s a family thing, you know? I can’t screw it up just because the leader hates me for sleeping with Joe.”

“Wait, what?”

I had no idea about it. Fresh gossip, I guess?

Joe Burrow was the new sensation on campus for the last six months. He was QB1 from the LSU Tigers and didn't lose any games in the regular season — at least not until now. I didn't know that guy very well, and honestly, I like it that way. I'm not into jocks, especially the ones with massive egos.

“Yeah. She doesn’t like me because I hooked up with her boyfriend once, that’s all,” she says, shrugging. “Please, y/n…”

I stare into her brown eyes, at her wild curls and clothes far too bold for a university.

“Okay. On one condition,” I say, watching her smile grow wider and wider.

“Anything!”

“I want a room with Tracy, just the two of us. That, or no deal!” I cross my arms.

“Deal!”

[…]

When I return to my dorm, Tracy is there, jumping around to an ‘80s song, dressed in pink leggings, a black crop top, leg warmers, and a headband holding back her blonde hair. She looked ridiculous. Ridiculously beautiful.

“What the hell are you doing, Evans?” I ask, climbing the bunk bed ladder. If joining Prudence means having my own bed on the floor, it might be worth it.

“Aerobics,” she says, smiling. “I do it every day after class for two hours. It’s exhausting, but it works.”.

“You should try it.”

“No thanks. I prefer my soft butt,” I say sarcastically. “Oh, by the way, I’m doing the initiation and becoming a Prudence Girl.”

“What? Why?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be happy?” I frown.

“I am, of course I am,” she smiles. “But why? You were so set against it this morning.”

I sigh. “Alyssa Powell asked me,” I shrug. “If she’s not my mentor, Abby Griffin will kick her out of Prudence.”

.“Remind me to thank her later.”

I lay back on my pillow, thinking about what it would be like to share a house with dozens of girls. Rent is $100, slightly less than the dorm, but that’s not reason enough to join a sorority.

“How does this initiation work, anyway?” I ask.

“It’s really simple, almost childish,” she says, rolling her eyes. “The guys eat or drink something, then kiss us. If we guess what it was, we’re in.”

“Seriously? That’s it?”

“Almost childish, like I said,” she grins.

Then it hits me. “Wait! Guys? What guys?”

“What other guys, silly? Prudence Girls kiss Prudence Boys,” Tracy bites her lip. “I can’t wait to kiss one of them.”

I rub my face with both hands, already regretting agreeing to this mess.

“I bet you can’t.”

[…]

Prudence House was packed, full of students. Nobody cared that it was the initiation for the new Prudence pledges because it was one of the most anticipated parties of the year—alongside the Prudence fraternity’s homecoming, the Kappa farewell, and the random Acacia parties, all of them Republican houses.

Tracy made me wear one of her dresses, shorter and tighter than I had imagined. My best friend did my makeup and hair, not because I can’t get ready on my own, but because I take forever doing it.

In just an hour, I was perfectly ready, waiting for the campus lights to go out and the pink lights of the Prudence sorority, in the back street, to take over. The house was ridiculously large—after all, it housed almost thirty girls—with many rooms, many bathrooms, and a huge party hall. It was in this hall that I stopped to observe the beige walls.

“Stop looking at things like that, you look like a child,” Tracy murmured, elbowing me.

“Sorry, mom,” I teased, hiding a smile. “This place feels like a museum.”

Tracy didn’t respond, maybe because she agreed or maybe because Abby Griffin was making her way toward us, looking determined.

Abby Griffin was the type of girl with queen bee energy. And she really was, technically. For the past two years, she was the “Prudence Queen”. I never knew how we became friends — actually, I didn’t even have the idea that she knew who I was.

“Y/n y/ln, I presume,” she said, eyeing me with superiority. “Alyssa’s new recruit.”

“In the flesh,” I smiled at her.

“The initiation will start shortly, in the backyard. If you're late, you’re out.” I could see in her eyes she wanted to add "along with Alyssa," but she held back.

“We’ll be there.”

Tracy squeezed my hand and pulled me outside in a matter of seconds, making me roll my eyes dramatically.

When we arrived outside, a line of women stretched across the lawn, their nervous and anxious faces clearly marking them as potential pledges. Everything would depend on a stupid kiss from a guy.

Alyssa found me when I got to the end of the line; including Tracy and me, there were twelve of us, the maximum number allowed per semester. Aly smiled and held my hands.

“Your room is already reserved,” she whispered. Aly glanced around, checking the area before leaning in to whisper, “Coffee candy and mint gum.” To disguise her words, Aly gave me a quick peck. “See you later, Prudence Girl.”

I held back the urge to groan that "Prudence Girl" and "Prudence Boy" sounded like names for a girl group and boy band—and they also actively reminded me of condoms, of course. I could make that joke later, after surviving the initiation just because a fling had kindly asked me to.

Tracy watched us with a smile; a nod from her confirmed she had heard what Aly said.

I would call this cheating if I cared about this whole mess.

“Welcome, everyone—brothers, sisters, pledges, and nosy students,” Abby Griffin began, silencing the crowd. “Tonight, we’ll be welcoming our new sisters—those who, of course, pass the initiation.”

Tracy squeezed my hand. Sneaky little thing.

“The initiation is as follows: we have a dozen Prudence Boys here, but you won’t see them until after you've kissed them.” At that, each mentor handed their pledge a black blindfold and placed it over our eyes. “Each guy has tasted something different—maybe a strawberry, maybe whipped cream, maybe vodka... Your job, during the kiss, is to figure out what was in his mouth before he kissed you. Good luck.”

Apparently, a line of twelve boys stood in front of us, aligned like we were. But we wouldn’t be kissed all at once.

I had to endure the sounds of sloppy kisses for several long minutes, along with guesses of foods or drinks—all of them correct.

Tracy squeezed my hand one last time before letting go.

It was her turn.

More kissing sounds, longer than usual. I rolled my eyes beneath the blindfold.

“Coffee candy!” Tracy shouted, earning applause and cheers.

Now it was my turn.

I felt the approach of someone who smelled of cheap cologne and sweat, and I automatically grimaced. This was clearly Abby’s doing.

But before the guy could mess up my night, a voice stopped him.

“Step aside, Oliver.” The body heat from the boy faded as he stepped away, and someone else approached. This one smelled of Dior Savage and coconut shampoo, and I honestly like it more. “She deserves someone better.”

“And you’re that someone better, Burrow?” Oliver, I assumed, yelled.

There was no response. Instead, soft lips covered mine, kissing me gently, while a hand slid to my neck, holding me in place, at his mercy.

An overwhelming sense of déjà vu hit me.

But his mouth didn’t taste like mint gum. Oliver surely would have, but this intruder had interfered.

I didn’t know whether to thank him for sparing me from the sweaty guy or curse him for confusing my mind.

I was still being kissed. His lips pressed lovingly against mine, and at the end of that affectionate wildness, three soft pecks were left as his hand released my neck.

Oh, crap. Crap, crap, crap.

The once-noisy crowd had gone completely silent. Not a single person was saying anything.

Nothing. Not even a whisper.

I focused on the taste left in my mouth, where his tongue had roamed freely.

“What the hell was that, Burrow?” Abby yelled, probably storming toward us.

I didn’t dare remove my blindfold, afraid of what I’d see. Of who I’d see.

“You weren’t supposed to kiss her!” Abby continued.

Someone leaned toward me, and from the scent, it was him again.

“Do you have a boyfriend, darling?” he asked with the sweetest voice he could do it.

“No.”

“Then yes, I can kiss you.” I pressed my lips together as they argued.

“No, you can’t! You took Olly’s place!” Abby shouted back.

I cleared my throat, embarrassed.

“Chocolate,” I suddenly said, silencing them. “You ate chocolate before...”

A soft gasp escaped the boy, low and pleading, before his mouth claimed mine again.

Oh my God...

“Joseph Burrow!” Abby shrieked, furious, while the boy ignored her completely, more interested in caressing my lips with his own.

Damn, this feels so good!

A strand of my hair was tucked behind my ear as my lips were reluctantly released.

“Congratulations, Ohio girl. You’re a Prudence Girl now.”

I felt like I could faint at any moment, but I didn’t remove the blindfold, because I knew who I’d see if I did, and I wasn’t ready for that.

[kombuuuu]

Saviour of Mine.

Miles Morales x Fem!Reader

“You want stitches, big boy.”

“You gonna' stay on top of me?”

“No, but I'll make it hurt real nice.”

warnings : a little jealousy, not enjoying the spiderciety, a tad angst, more medical stuff i don’t know shit abt, misunderstandings, creepy obsession by a teacher, it gets better at the end promise,

requested by @viozxe :3 my boy my love i love him (gatekept this image for like two weeks but i finally have somewhere to use it)

For a man so true to his word, Miles had a thing for flaking on you.

You hadn’t seen him in around six hours. The event he had fled from leaving you dressed in your nicest clothes, looking like a sweet mess surrounded by family members not your own. After the first forty or so minutes, you had politely excused yourself from his Mama Rio and Officer Jefferson — Who both insisted you refer to them by their first names — , and booked it out of there.

You'd assumed he'd ran off with his little spider-clique. Something you'd rather not join, considering your particular distain for the man in charge. Who so happened to have quite the distaste for you, also. Avoiding the mirage of spider people had been relatively easy thus far, with the multi-versal gaps and all. But when Gwen Stacy had started to come see Miles more often — You would have to either sit through the excruciating task of listening to them talk. Which involved a lot more intimate moments than you were comfortable with being witness too. Or leave whilst she was there, and presumably not talk to Miles for a few hours — or.. days. Depending on wether he ditched you for her or not.

Having your best friend, of which you had fallen infatuated too, try and get with another girl right on front of you, any time they were together? Not the most ideal of situations. So you went home.

—

You cradled the led pencil on your dominant hand, other tapping to the beat of the song playing through your headphones. Sweet R&B to soothe your woes, whilst you focused on the homework in front of you.

You grabbed the rubber, sighing in exasperation and starting to scrub at your page, getting a little too frustrated and tearing the flimsy paper in the process.

You stared at the tear for a moment before borderline yelling, a tearless sob escaping you before you dropped your head against your desk. Slumping down into a flopped position.

You had to complete this by Monday, you knew that. Mr. Warren was the nicest teacher at your school. He’d helped you when you parents couldn’t. Taken you in — you’d even told him about Miles. He didn’t seem to like him very much, said it was a shame they shared a first name. You thought it was a crazy coincidence.

You slowly slid off your chair, pushing it back on its wheels as you went until eventually you were rested lying on the ground, staring at the window of your room.

Golden light shone through your curtains in a bright calling, basically signalling your escape as it sung to you.

You stared for another solid minute before groaning, Mr. Warren could wait.

Avidly ignoring the ache in your chest at the thought of finding Miles with the current focus of his interest.

You crawled to your closet and reached for the handle, still on the floor — before remembering your Van Der Waals and just using the tip of your fingers to lazily pull it open.

You snorted at yourself, before shuffling through the box at the bottom of your closet and pulling out the sleek spider suit.

The next minute was spent trying to energetically shuffle on your suit, and get your adrenaline running. Which proved working when you were rather excited — or antsy — to swing your way around the city.

You closed your window behind you, crawling up your building and letting the cold air force you more awake.

You backed up, jumping a little hop as you did. Bouncing on your feet before you ran, leaping off your building in a refreshing spin.

An excited yelp left your mouth before you shot a web to the next building over, using the top of a bus on the bust Brooklyn streets to boost your momentum, gradually gaining speed as you swung through the city in a series of twists and flips. Graceful swinging amidst a series of fumbling and laughing to yourself, still somewhat new to the spider-person talents.

You pulled out your phone, the small thigh pocket you had specially designed for your suit making it easier to carry your essentials around when you were in no need for over coats.

You stuttered in your swings, a small squeak escaping you when you almost hit a bird, yelling out a “Sorry!” to the poor thing.

The thwip of your web attaching to a near tall building sent another rush through you, curving yourself between two structures and landing on top of a bell tower. The same one you and Miles had been visiting together for the past year. You tripped a little over your own feet before righting yourself, smiling under the mask.

You didn’t need those other spider people, didn’t need a “Community to fall back on.”—, as that Miguel had put it.

You had yourself, Miles, and a teacher that supported you. And that’s all you needed.

—

You dialled Miles’ number. The irony of your inner statement making you cringe a little. You inner voice convincing you that literally no one else can hear you be embarrassed. You were speaking in your head. Your other—, more combative, inner voice— saying otherwise.

You willed them both quiet as your phone rung.

Miles’ cute face being showing on the profile photo, you stared at it as you waited, foot tapping the cement bell tower.

His face was in your hands, and smiling that charming smile he always did. His cheeks were squished in your hold as you kissed his cheek, holding the camera.

It was a romantic photo, if not for the fact you were best friends. You found yourself getting jealous of your past self. Chastising her for not relishing in that moment further.

Your phone beeped twice, signalling the call ringing out. You stared at it curiously, Eyes of your mask tilting into confused slants.

“C’mon man, pick up.” You whispered to yourself, glaring at the device in your hands and trying again.

When he didn’t pick up then, either — you had started to get impatient. And ended up rolling your eyes at him.

Muttering curses along with phrases of envy under your breath.

You had nothing against Gwen, in all honestly, she was a perfect fit for him — charming and troubled just like he was. Able to bond over their shared issues and shared interest.

Like each other.

You scoffed and shoved your phone back into your pocket, before angrily shooting a web, and slinging away.

Going to a bodega you knew always cheered you up to get rid of the mood you had out yourself in.

—

You walked out of the bodega with your bag in hand, your other waving joyfully to the owner, Hoa, the sweet lady you had met three weeks after moving here. Who made the best Bánh Mi you could find. You pet her cat on the way out, the sweet Turkish Angora purring as she nosed along your hand.

Hoa yelled out for you to “Come back whenever, Spider. On the house, next time.”

“Never on the house, Hoa.”

Her annoyed grumbles fades the farther away you walked. Skipping a bit as you pulled out the food, crisp bread with all the fillings you loved making the first bite look heavenly. You had the urge right then to pull up your mask in front of every flashing camera just to taste that home made bread.

You sighed your compliments instead.

“She never misses.”

“Who never misses?”

You startled at the civilian that had approached you, his tall stature and spiky nature making him stand out so much you wonder how you hadn’t noticed him.

Maybe your spider senses were distracted with your food.

“Oh— uh..,” You sucked your teeth for a second, eyes darting curiously around, wondering why he wasn’t just like the other civilian. Taking photos and videos of you as you walked past — ever fascinated by the new “Hero” around. You would barely call yourself that, but it’s what the people deemed you.

“My.. Friend.”

The man bent down by the waist, hands behind his back as he started walking with you.

“Name’s Hobie. Guessin’ your ‘friend’ made tha’ sweet lookin’ sandwich, mm?”

“Mm.. She uh— Oh, I’m —!..” You paused, tripping over your feet and scuffing your shoes. You cringed under the mask, stuffing the food back into your bag.

“..Spiderwoman.. She makes good food. Yup.”

Hobie snorted at how quick you were about to reveal your identity to who you assumed to be some confident civilian.

You awkwardly walked with him, every now and again glancing longingly at your sub as he leisured in his pace. Taking his sweet time walking who knows where whilst you begrudgingly accompanied the stranger — or not stranger. Acquaintance.

“Ya’ real confident for a Spidey.” Hobies’ sarcastic voice drawled, sniffing and scrunching his eyebrows before his face relaxed into a teasing smile again.

You side glanced him, otherwise focused on trying to leave the conversation. “Well considering there’s only three — two, of us.” You giggled nervously, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Rest in peace, Spidey-1.” You — somewhat — joked.

Hobie let out a snort and choked on his breath, laughing at your awkward nature.

No wonder Miguel hadn’t let anyone even mention your lack of inclusion to the Spider-force.

Not after the first day of trying to convince you, anyhow.

It would have been utterly humiliating to be bested by someone who couldn’t hold a conversation for the life of her.

Hobie had a lot of respect for you, right off the bat. He knew the moment that Miguel (and Jess) had come back from Miles’ universe — pissed off and *alone — that you hadn’t been persuaded. And considering Jess and Miguel had a rather unique skill with their convincing, feeding off vulnerabilities in younger Spider-people to be the lack of parental figure in their lives, or elder — to have relatability in their pains. It wasn’t technically ill intended, but Hobie thinks it’s more than a little manipulative.

So to have you — someone he’s seen is vulnerable, hurting, easy; not fall victim to the duos tactics, and actively *berate them for it.

He was well awed.

And his brotherly instincts kicked in terribly fast. He thinks he sees a lot of himself in you. Awkward and growing into yourself, struggling against the high standards you were held to as a spider. And fighting from that box people tried to put you in.

So yeah, well awed would be an understatement. Proud would be a criminal understatement.

So when he had been looking for Gwen, trying to show her some stupid thing Pavitr had sent him just to show her — and realised she was gone. He checked his watch, lo and behold, she was in your universe.

Meaning she was with Miles, who rather actively tried to steer you away from his spider drama. Right now, though? He was distracted.

And what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

He walked with you for a while longer, letting you both get comfortable in the silence of a stranger.

“This ain’t weird f’ you, mate?”

You had both ended up at some alleyway, filled with stalls of food and bustling people pausing in their tracks to stare at the oddly placed pair of Hero and “Random Punk?”

“Not quite. I’ve had weirder interaction with weirder guys.”

He nodded in acknowledgment.

“Yeah, Guess ‘m not as weird as some villains.” The brit droned, dropping down to your height and eyeing the stalls as you passed, pocketing some things from stores he knew as bigger organisations.

“I was talking about regular people, but yeah those too.”

He laughed, grinning at your dry humour and nodded again, leaning into your view and smirking at your adjusting lenses.

You reached the stall you were looking for, the girl greeting you with a smiling “Hi, Spidergirl!”

Your eyes shrunk, “Spiderwoman, Spiderlady, Spider — and you chose the most demeaning.”

“Well, you are built rather girl like, young and spry and — oh, is that Hoa’s Bahn Mi?”

You nodded enthusiastically at Avanti, dropping your hand into the bag and pulling out a cookie you’d saved for her.

Hobie watched the interaction from stood behind you. Slipping in a “You had a spare cookie this entire time?”

You snorted and Avanti handed you a peach ice tea and a couple of her home-made desserts in a Spider-man themed lunch box. A note reading “Got this just for you — brin bring it back!!” placed on top, you glanced up, putting the lunch box in your bag as you did so and thanked her before you and Hobie were off again. “Seriously, the whole walk. No cookie.”

You laughed at his pouting tone, “I’ll get you one, next time, big man.”

He draped his arm over your shoulder, leaning some weight on you and started talking about random things he could think about during the trip back to your apartment.

You’d grown to enjoy his company, the older man — and his lack of filter — being oddly entertaining. You quipped, and he quipped back. Not enough for you to really trust him seeing your apartment, but enough that you set the boundary on your block.

“Hey Hobes, this has been a really good talk—,”

“Gotta ge’ back to ya’ Spiderin’, aye?”

You smiled up at him, lenses sliding into a pleased expression. “Yeah, real difficult stuff y’know? Saving the city and all that.”

He nodded along with you, right as his funky watch (that did not at all match his outfit, but looked to be bedazzled with a series of metal spikes) beeped. He brought his arm up and checked the small screen, face morphing into one of annoyance. “Aye’. Right timin’ mate, cause I just got a call from HQ.”

“Ahh.. Big cooperation?”

“Not in a million years, brutha’. More like a socie’y.”

He looked up at you and grinned. “Miguel really don’t like when I flake out on ‘im.”

You paused a second while Hobie fiddled with his watch, reaching into his back pocket while checking for anyone around. When he found no one, he slipped out his spiked mask and slid it on.

You stared, dumbfounded.

He clapped your shoulder again, scoffing amused at your wide-eyed expression.

“Was this —“

“A ploy f’ you ta’ join the Spider socie’y? Not a’ all, mate.” He sniffed, itching his head through his mask and squeezing your shoulder.

“I right respect ya’ f’ not joinin’. Wish I woulda’ had ya’ will at my age.”

“Oh… Thanks…”

He nodded at you, Lenses squinting.

“Yeah but, I gotta dip, Gwen’s not distractin’ Miguel with sneakin’ off no more. He pro’bly realised I was gone too.”

“Yuh huh…”

“Bye, [Name].”

You blanched one last time before he shot a web onto your neighbouring apartment building, opened a portal mid-air, and flung himself through.

“What the fuck..” You whispered to yourself, perplexed at the interaction that had just occurred.

“What the hell.”

—

It was two hours later, when you were full of Bahn Mi, Pastries and Ice Tea, rethinking everything he’d said; when his last words caught up to you.

Gwen’s out of this universe. Not in the figurative sense — Although she is everything everyone wants to be, but you’re gonna ignore that — So where the hell was Miles?

It was late now, Moon shining a casted light through your living room drapes just as the Sun had onto your bed hours prior.

You gradually dragged yourself from your couch, reaching over your coffee table with great effort to reach your charging phone.

You huffed, giving up and snatching your web slinger from the floor by your feet and shot a web to grab your phone, tugging it off the charger. The thicker part yanked out the wall instead, landing hard on your torso with a dull thump. You scrunched your face up and grumbled, cursing at the thing while you pull your phone off the now useless charger and throw it on the floor.

“Fuckin’ asshole…”

You flipped your phone, eyes widening when your lock screen lit up with a series of notifications. All getting progressively worse. Your spider-senses growing in alert.

miles (o O) 7:42 PM

haiiii

gwen left

u should’ve hung w us

haha

get it \(^ W ^ )\

hung

cause spider

i’m comigg to home now

yoii r home

soffy swinginf

waiiiiiiiiiixixiiixkm jjj fd

bab guy ine secon

The messages abruptly stopped, being replaced entirely by a series of calls. Some left voice messages, some not.

You clicked on a recorded voice message.

(miles (o O) Left a Message at 7:46 PM.)

“Hey, [Name]!” Miles’ cheery voice rang out through the speakers, bringing a lovesick smile to your face despite the off feeling you had in your chest.

“Just gonna — Oof, hey man! Not cool. — Gonna take care of this guy before—,” A pause and a grunt. “,—Before I come home to you, yeah? Pick up soon I wanna know what you’re doin’.” A begrudged shout sounded far from the speaker. “Are you on call right now?”

“It’s important!”

“We’re fighting!”

“I have a life loser—“ Three harsh beeps rung out, signalling the end of the voicemail.

You clicked on a few more, just quick tidbits of him complaining you not picking up, and fighting an unknown villain. Also complaining how he missed you and “This guys is not goin’ down!” He shouted louder; “C’mon man! I have somewhere to be!” “Suck my dick Spiderman!” “Woah—! Well don’t get angry now, asshole!”

“Hypocrite!”

“Am not!”

“Are too—“ Three beeps.

You clicked again.

“[Name], Please pick up! This guy can— Fuck! — You dickhead!” A beat played and a cough was heard. Your frown deepened.

“I’m at the—“ Cut off.

You checked for another voicemail, one continue the one left off. A worried scrunch in your nose. There wasn’t one.

Right as you were going to call him back, his profile photo popped up again, you pressed answer with a lip between your teeth.

“Miles?” laboured breathing came through the speakers, wet gasps and sniffled coughs every now and again. He was silent for a full minute before answering you.

“Hey, [Name]..” His voice was gravelling and deep, sandpaper against softened lips.

He sounded tired, and your heart rate picked up in fear, almost like he could hear it. “Fuck..,” He whispered into the phone, groaning. Holding the phone loosely on his end, as apposed to the anxious grip you had on on yours.

“I’m.. Stuck in some construction site.” He gasped. “Miles what the hell—!”

“Mi Vida, please. The guys not—“ A loud crash made the speaker in your phone crackle. A whispered “Shit.”, before he hung up.

You wanted to call back, but from his whispering, and panicked tone, you could only guess he was trying to hide.

Whoever this villain was, they weren’t giving up.

—

You followed his tracker, the location he was pinged at getting closer by the second. You breathed hard against the force of wind, dropping down into a run on where the location was set to be.

“Fuck, fuck— Miles where are you?..”

Your footsteps were light, crouching under concrete slabs and tip toeing around loose gravel. Red light was cast along unfinished floors and crumbling walls. Shadows reaching towards you from the corners of your eyes. Your spider senses were on high alert, at a constant buzz. They suddenly upt in pitch and you flinched around, almost screaming at the hand covering your mouth. Pressed harsh against your face, and another around the back of your head so you couldn’t escape. Your hands gripped the wrists of the stranger before you heard an incessant shushing.

“Conejita, quiet.”

You relaxed instantly, the eyes of your mask downturned in fearful stress.

His hands were shaking against your head, figure hunched and body scratched up. The tears in his suit spanning across his right shoulder and chest. He slowly removed his hands, bringing a lone finger to where his lips would be in his mask in a ‘hush hush’ manner.

Coming in closer to you, leaning down to where your ear would be and whispering “He’s still here.”

You grabbed his forearms, leading him deeper into the site, away from the reddened lights and into the creeping shadows.

He breathed heavy behind you, throat wet with his own blood, he grunted and tried to help you in walking with him, good arm thrown over your shoulder as you dragged him. “C’mon, just a little farther.”

“What’re you…” He cut himself off, heaving. You set him down in the quiet corner, tucked behind two large concrete sheets and some large bent up pipes.

“Just—, sit here Miles, okay?” You brought his head up to yours, still talking in a quietened voice. Hands on his face and crouched in front of his slumping form.

“I’ll be right back, don’t move.”

You stood from crouching, hands slipping off his face while he dragged forward to stay in your grasp — mumbling something like a plea for you to stay.

You turned from him, dashing away in silent movements, slinging yourself up onto high ground and turning back to make sure he wasn’t visible unless you truly looked — he wasn’t.

You lept off, disappearing from his sight with a yank against your webs.

He mumbled, shifting closer in your direction as the exhaustion hit him. Huffing, he leant back. Letting his head hit the wall and focus on keeping his eyes open.

"Quédate despierto.. No te muevas..."

“Stay awake.. Don’t move…”

He heaved again, the heaviness in his chest deepening.

“Stay…” He closed his eyes — for just a second, just for the relief — Dragging his hand up to rip the mask off of him, and forcing himself to open them again, to watch the Moon.

“Awake.”

—

You creep around corners, listening in and honing your senses to a point. For anything, a trip, a movement. A breath.

You whipped your head to the left, following the sound of light breathing.

“Come out little bunny.”

You tensed, he’d heard you.

“Ah, don’t worry, honey—,” You heard him creep forward, closer to you. He didn’t know where you were, obvious by the hesitance in his steps, but he had the right direction. You can move now, he would hear. And with how he’d heard Miles’ mere whisper before, you suggest maybe he had an ability similar to your own. “,Not him I want, anyways.”

That made your shoulders loosen a little, but you never rested. Who knows whether he was lying or not.

You shot a web, hitting the pipe of your aim and jumping from one to another, using your webs to steady yourself. You heard him huff a laugh.

“I heard that.”

Your eyes slanted, crouching into a spidered position. You crawled, using the stick of your fingers to steady across the pipe, sticking to it and trying to find the mystery man in the sea of red the warning lights casted.

Your spidey-senses went haywire and you jumped from the pipe in less than a second. Right as you did, a bang went off and you stumbled forward, landing in rubble and groaning. Rolling before you steadied yourself and jumped up. No rest until your opponent is resting in Death.

You finally saw him. What looked to be some guy in a green fuzzy suit.

“My girl..”

“Wha— *Are you a furry?”

He groaned, and charged for you, right hand outstretched and left in a clenched fist. He swung for your head, twisting his body as he did. You shot a web on his abdomen, pulling him towards you and jumping to slip under his arm, using his prior speed to throw him into a block of concrete, just missing a pole from stabbing him through the chest. He glanced at for a moment and grabbed his head — which had taken quite the hit.

“Seriously what type of Grinch cosplay is this?”

He growled again, like a man with rabies.

“C’mon dollface, don’t fight me here.”

“You hit first, asshole — Also what the fuck, i’m not your ‘doll’.” He shot for you again, throwing a bomb behind you to throw your body forward, you tried to grapple for stability, webbing to anything in reach. But he gripped your waist and held you against him.

“[Name]…”

You froze, body wanting to gag and shed your own skin at the same time.

You swung for his jaw, knocking him clean off you with a disgusted hand.

“Who the fuck are you!?”

He held his jaw and you stumbled farther from him. Hands held beside you, ready to attack if needed.

He grinned at you, blood seeping onto the green fur of his face, you felt sick.

“Oh, come on, babyface.” His jenky voice was digging into your skin, peeling it up and stabbing into your muscle. Twitching into your flesh and making your body hurt, making you hurt.

You ripped your mask up and hurled, spitting nothing but bile onto the ground below you, the burn of stomach acid sitting heavy in your throat and you felt like crying. Your breath heavy and gasps painful.

“What the fuck.”

—

You smiled at your professor. Waving back at him from the other side of the lecture hall. Miles come up behind you and hooked his arm around your shoulder, swaying against you as he chatted with you about anything that had happened in the time he hadn’t seen you. You snorted, chatting back — Forgetting completely about the other Miles.

You dropped your shoulder and your Miles stumbled, grumbling up at you before you gripped his forearm and dragged him to sit with you at the back of the hall. His mood changing in an instant as he followed along like a lost puppy, gawking at you with a dopey smile plastered across his face. His canines exposed, charming and boyish. How he always is. You sat him down, and sat next to you, and he dragged your chair a little closer, grabbing you leg and placing it over his.

He started laughing again at the eye roll you gave him, and you cracked — smiling and giggling with him.

What you hadn’t seen, was the glare settled on the two of you. The way Warrens previous smile had dropped into a snarling frown, hands gripping the pencil he had been holding in a death grip. He jumped at the sound of a crack, the pencil had snapped in his hands and he got even more pissed, about to scream at the *other Miles to get away from you. To get his hand off you.

That kid didn’t deserve you like he did.

You loved him like he loved you, he knew it.

You had too.

He watched you laugh and his heart fluttered, angry at who you were laughing for but still — you were so pretty.

You wouldn’t be laughing like that if he wasn’t here. You loved him.

—

“Mr. Warren?”

“How many times have I told you to call me Miles?” He slipped out of his own head, breaking from the stare he had on you.

You laughed sweetly, eyes shining. “How many times have I told you I already *have a Miles?”

He watched your smirk as you quipped back at him, a jealousy brimming in his chest. He chuckled, a heartless sound to no one but himself.

“Ahh, How many times am I going to forget?” He tapped his pencil on his desk and tried to focus on you instead. He watched you go back to your work, so intelligent, mature.

You shaded in the answer on the sleek sheet. You were right, of course.

A hair fell from behind your ears and he wanted to tuck it back, wanted to give you straight A’s for nothing despite knowing you would get them anyways.

You threaded you hand through your hair and if he wasn’t focused on how beautiful you were — maybe he’d be disappointed it wasn’t his own.

He watched you, forgetting the papers he was grading — he was focused on something else, now.

—

He was standing when you turned back. Hunching over his injuries and staggering towards you.

“Mr. Warren?”

“Yes, my dear.”

You gagged again, and he looked sad at the act.

“Please, baby—“ He stretched out his right hand, pleading with you.

“,—I know you love me too. I know that fucking Spider is taking you from me.”

He stepped closer.

“I know it.”

You stumbled back farther, wiping the spit from you lips and pulling your mask down, you went to shoot a web, to get away. But he was on you before you could, the hand not outstretched revealing a cloth covering his palm. Sodden and dripping a clear liquid.

He gripped your suit and dragged you forward, shoving the cloth closer to your face.

“Stop fucking resisting.”

“Get off!”

You gripped his forearm and bent it back, far enough you heard a snap. He yelped out. The sweet smelling cloth dropped from his hand and his other lost grip on your shirt. Taking the opportunity you dropped down, crouching on one leg and using the other to swipe the things legs from under him.

You watched him fall and grabbed the cloth. Hearing his pained groans as he tried to scramble up again.

You kicked a leg over him, straddling his chest and bringing your free hand back — swinging down on him with anguished cries.

He tried to raise his hands, you pinned them down in his own chloroform ridden cloth. He called your name, endearments that made you skin crawl. Tried kicking you off as his body grew weaker. Pleading with you, using his remaining strength to yank at his own arms.

He wrestled against your hits, face bloodied and nose broken. You hit again, watching his disgusting face whip to the side, blood leaking from his mouth as a tooth went flying.

Tears breached the edge of your eyes, frustration of every kind tearing your skin anew, your knuckles pouring the hurt you felt. Blood mixing in a sickening spill of feelings, an obsessive love — something cruel and harsh. And the injuries you’d sustained from it, equally as such cruel.

You’d spent *months trying for a man in love with someone else. And this man you had confided in, who had been a mentor in your trivialities — had taken advantage of that, of you.

He disgusted you.

You kept swinging.

—

Miles jerked awake, gripping the hands that were on his shoulders in an instant, the figure flinching back at his strength.

“Miles! Just me—,” He opened his eyes further, pain ringing through his body as he loosened in your hold.

“Just you.”

He took your appearance in, the blood coating your suit, that hadn’t seemed to be your own. The thick liquid shining on your hands and forearms, crudely splashed onto your mask — like something out of a horror film.

He reached up slowly, pulling off you mask with great effort. His own sitting next to him. You were on your knees before him, bathing in red so deep it could have been mistaken for black against the reddened light. He groaned when you touched his chest, coughing a little at the pain.

“Sorry! Sorry — I’m so sorry.” You quickly retracted your hand and gasped. Apologising through near tears. He wet his lips, watching your tear lined eyes in worry.

“Hey— Conejita, what— what happened?”

Letting his hands rest on your cheeks, carbon fibre wiping at soft skin.

You sobbed, gripping his wrists and moving his weak hands closer to you. His brows furrowed further.

“I don’t — I don’t know, he —,”

You breathed fast against his palms, crying to him. Miles straightened himself up, ignoring the pains shooting up his body and trying to comfort you, shushing your cries and cradling your face.

“Mr. Warren he was —“

Miles’ eyes widened, finally letting the familiarity in his voice click. That was who it was, who was so mad at him, disgusted by the Spider.

Miles shuddered, thinking back to the off feeling he’d always had around the older man.

How he was always around you.

“What did he do.”

His eyes darkened and you cried harder, Miles had completely forgotten about his wounds, shifting to get up and find the fucking bastard.

You gripped him tighter, “Miles. He’s not —,”

“Where is he.”

“Dead.”

His breath escaped him, the blood made sense now. He got closer to you and slid his hand around your head, pushing your face into his good shoulder.

You cried again, shaking form cradled against his own weakened body.

“Shh, Mami. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“We’re alright, I promise.”

He hugged you closer, pressing a haste kiss to your forehead.

“You’re safe.”

—

You helped him home, having to hold him up and swing at the same time, which wasn’t much as a hassle as you thought it would be.

You both sat on your couch, him lying down with you sitting on his thighs.

He watched you work, suit and mask discarded somewhere in your living room and clad only in a pair of loose joggers you had found for him.

Your face was pinched into a frown, eyes still puffed from crying and a brows scrunched unpleasantly.

“Stop moving.”

“I’m not.” He threw his head back, rolling his eyes at your complaining.

“See? Moving.” You poked his chest and he winced.

“Okay! Okay— Damn, chica.”

You smiled at his tone, a small, timid thing. And he pushed down the fluttering in his stomach.

“You’re lucky you don’t need stitches.”

“Lucky? Havin’ you here longer would make me lucky.”

You grumbled, pouting at him angrily. “You want stitches, big boy?”

“You gonna stay on top of me?”

“No, but i’ll make it hurt real nice.”

He snorted, shifting to look at you better.

“Then, nah.”

You kept at your work, patting him with antiseptics and making him hold an ice pack across the forming bruises.

And he admired you, the streaks of light from the window falling against your face. A city ridden with crime making you so, so pretty.

“Why’d you come for me?”

You gave him a curious look but continued to patch him up. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I?”

He sniffled, averting his gaze. “I dunno I just— didn’t expect you to show up.”

You shook your head a little, understanding his fears.

“I’d always show for you, Miles.”

He hummed, flustered at the thought.

You moved up to his face, gently patting away blood with a warm hand towel, your other hand holding his face towards you. Fingertips brushing his cheeks in a hold so caring he might’ve fainted if it wasn’t you holding him. He’d stay awake for you this time. He’d protect you this time.

“I love you.”

You froze, towel stuck in the air and your eyes locked onto his.

Miles held his breath, waiting for your reply as he watched you clock the words.

His nerves got to him quick, spouting out whatever he could in your silence.

"Estaba hablando con Gwen y me ayudó a darme cuenta, ¿sabes? No paraba de decir que estaba enfermo de amor, yo no lo entendía y pensé que quizás debería..."

“I was just talking with Gwen and she helped me realise, you know? Kept saying I was lovesick and I didnt get it and I just thought maybe I should—“

“I love you too.”

He snapped his gaze back to you. Hope colouring his eyes a sparkling gold.

“You do?” He whispered, an intimacy running through his bloodstream. Heart pumping too fast in haste of the pure admiration he held for you.

You nodded, and your hands splayed out further, cradling the edge of his lips.

“I do.”

He tried to sit up, abs clenching under effort to get closer to you, you let him drag you forward. He ditched the ice pack and settled his hands on the crest of your thighs, rubbing his thumb over your hips.

“Say it again?”

He whined, begging you. He wanted, needed to hear you say it again.

“I love you.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, forehead pressing against your own. You followed.

The things he felt for you were too much, too much. His chest was heaving again, but not from pain. This was love he hadn’t experienced before, this was anything but painful.

"Dios, también te amo."

“God, I love you too.”

Your hands slipped from his lips to the back of his neck, scratching gently along his nape and he shivered.

“Let me kiss you? Please?”

He whispered again, voice cracking. Chapped lips brushing against your own softer ones in a featherlight touch. He was holding off, not letting himself the pleasure without you wanting him back — he wanted to know you wanted him back.

“Please.” You were sure, certain — and it was all he needed.

He kissed you sweetly, letting himself indulge in you without restraint.

He hadn’t known what he’d been missing out on — but now he does. Know he knows. And god, if he hadn’t felt more full in his entire life.

Everything had been bland compared to you, had been bitter and dull against the sweetness of your lips. Smooth against rough skin and he’d never felt something so soft before. His hands gripped you harder for just a moment and you pulled back merely an inch to catch your breath. He opened his eyes and watched your lips sparkle in the same light he’d admired minutes before.

“I love you too.”

You smiled at him and he pulled you ever closer. “I know, Miles.”

—

“I fuckin’ told ya’, mate.”

“Wh— I never said otherwise!”

“Yeah but ya’ neva’ agreed either, aye?”

“I never disagreed.”

“Pff, whateva.”

Gwen rolled her eyes, scoffing at the brit next to her with a smile on her face.

They watched you both as Miles nervously introduced you to Peter. A sort of Spider-convention was set up. And the invite was — begrudgingly — extended to you.

“They’re cute, though.”

“Bloody oath.”

You offered the older man with a warmed gaze, turning to the kid in his arms and cooing. He smiled at you, being one of your favourite spiders had its perks.

He was one of the only ones who never tried to make you join the society, so he got a pass from you.

Miles held your hand and smiled, chatting with Peter excitedly once he realised the lack of tension.

“Do you want to hold her?”

“Do I—,” You looked up at him hopefully. “Yes! Uh— Yeah. Yes please.”

You dropped Miles’ hand and he pouted, watching you take the baby from Peters arms, the early father fretting as you waved him off, insuring him you knew how to care for a child.

Peter relaxed and stood next to Miles as you rocked his baby gently. A rather fond feeling overtaking them both — leading Peter to take a photo of you with his kid, and Miles to shyly ask him to send it to him.

The look of you with a kid? It was way too early in life for baby fever.

He huffed when he heard people making kissy noises behind him. You too preoccupied with entertaining the kid to realise it.

He turned to the trio of teens behind him and flipped them off. Pavitr gasped offendedly at him and Hobie and Gwen laughed, causing Miles to roll his eyes and snort.

“Assholes.”

You gently passed MayDay back to Peter and gave a quick kiss to her head. Peter going off to get her a bottle.

Miles came up next to you and you smiled at him, watching the skyline from the buildings rooftop.

“[Name].”

You huffed and rolled your eyes at the voice behind you.

Way to ruin a moment.

“Miguel.”

You turned to him, Miles cringing quickly as he turned with you.

“Hey— Miguel! Crazy seein’ you here, haha! Insane.” Miles nervously laughed, his voice deepening on the last word and you coughed a laugh, agreeing with him.

“Uhuh, crazy.” A sly smile adorned your features and you grabbed his hand again, interlocking your fingers in a foxy movement.

“You weren’t invited.”

“Huh? Of course I wasn’t!—“ Your smirk grew bigger. “—I’m a plus one.”

He glared down at you and it only felt all the more justifiable, he opened his mouth to talk before Peter was dancing over with MayDay held out.

“Here take this, thanks!”

He quickly handed her off to Miguel and spun him around by his shoulders, continuing to walk with him in the other direction. “She needs a sleep. Rock her to sleep.”

“Wh—“

“Rock her.”

—

Miles gripped your hips, swaying gently with you to the soft music playing in your kitchen. Your Ma had left two weeks prior for a month long work trip, and he couldn’t stay away. The domesticity he had built with you reaching an all time high as he watched you cook.

He rested his head on your shoulder and you both continued to sway a little. Moving his hands past your hips to lean his hands on the bench you cut your food on, caging you in slightly. You hummed, reaching for a tomato and placing it on the board.

“I love you.”

You giggled — a sweet, girlish thing.

“Love you too, baby.”

“Love you more.” He smiled against your shoulder.

“Pfft, yeah okay, big boy.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed, and his heart fluttered again.

—

GOD DAMN AS ALWAYS WAY OFF THE RAILS

lovely translator @sataraxia

(literally my bf the delusions are getting worse he’s my bf guys!!! ⬇️)

[michele-apricity]

𝓭𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓪𝓬𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓶𝓲𝓪 ˙⟡🪶─

𝒃𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔

Dark academia is rooted in a love for philosophy, history and literature... so here are some recommendations for books that fit the dark academia aesthetic and you should definitely read

𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒔

The Secret History by Donna Tartt

The cornerstone of dark academia literature. A group of elite classics students is drawn into a web of obsession, betrayal, and murder.

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

A dark exploration of beauty, morality, and corruption in Victorian England.

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

A Gothic classic delving into the pursuit of forbidden knowledge, ambition, and the consequences of creation.

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë

A story of love, mystery, and self-discovery, set against the brooding backdrop of Thornfield Hall.

Dracula by Bram Stoker

A Gothic masterpiece full of eerie atmospheres, academic investigation, and the dark allure of the unknown.

𝒎𝒐𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏 𝒏𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒔

If We Were Villains by M.L. Rio

A Shakespearean tragedy set in an elite performing arts college, where students’ lives unravel after a murder.

Vita Nostra by Marina & Sergey Dyachenko

A surreal and unsettling novel about a young woman attending a mysterious school where reality bends under the weight of knowledge.

Bunny by Mona Awad

A darkly humorous and sinister look at creativity, academia, and a cult-like clique in a prestigious MFA program.

The Atlas Six trilogy by Olivie Blake

A magical dark academia tale about six exceptionally talented magicians competing for a place in a secret society that guards knowledge.

In The Dream House by Carmen Maria Machado

A memoir with Gothic undertones that explores trauma, storytelling, and academic reflection.

𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒚/𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒔

The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafón

A mysterious and haunting tale of a young boy discovering a forgotten book and its dark history.

The Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo

A supernatural dark academia story set in Yale’s secret societies, where magic and danger collide.

Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

A chilling Gothic mystery set in a decaying mansion, with a protagonist investigating her cousin's eerie marriage.

The Lying Game by Ruth Ware

A tale of friendship, deceit, and secrets in the shadow of a Gothic boarding school.

Plain Bad Heroines by Emily M. Danforth

A queer, layered story blending Gothic horror and academic intrigue across timelines.

𝒑𝒐𝒆𝒕𝒓𝒚 & 𝒑𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒐𝒑𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔

The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson

Dickinson’s introspective and haunting poetry complements the aesthetic’s love of literature and existential reflection.

Meditations by Marcus Aurelius

For the intellectual side of dark academia, this stoic philosophical work is a guide to self-reflection and understanding.

Paradise Lost by John Milton

An epic poem exploring rebellion, ambition, and the fall from grace, perfect for the themes of the aesthetic.

Songs of Innocence and Experience by William Blake

Poetry reflecting duality, beauty, and the darker aspects of human nature.

𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒕𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒕

A Deadly Education by Naomi Novik

A magical school where survival is key, blending dark academia with fantasy and wit.

Jonathan Strange & Mr. Noell by Susanna Clarke

A dense, Gothic tale of magic, rivalry, and ambition in 19th-century England.

The Magicians by Lev Grossman

A modern, darker take on a magical academy, filled with existential musings and flawed characters.

A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness

A historical and fantastical romance steeped in academia, libraries, and ancient mysteries.

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke

A haunting, introspective story set in an otherworldly labyrinth that plays with memory, knowledge, and solitude.

𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒅𝒖𝒍𝒕

Ace of Spades by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé

A suspenseful story of privilege, power, and systemic secrets in an elite private school.

Catherine House by Elisabeth Thomas

A slow-burning, atmospheric novel about an experimental university and the price of knowledge.

We Were Liars by E. Lockhart

A tale of mystery, tragedy, and privilege among a wealthy, secluded family.

The Raven Cycle by Maggie Stiefvater

A series rich with mysticism, academic undertones, and a search for ancient knowledge.

An Enchantment of Ravens by Margaret Rogerson

A romantic and artistic dark fantasy set in a world of fae and forbidden craft.

Did you read any of the books mentioned here? And if so what was your favorite/your opinion on them?

I personally read most of the books here and loved every single one.

-michala♡

[neiptune]

something's not quite right with them

c/w: 2.4k wc, the secret history au, implied incest, implied dark themes, gojo and suguru and everyone else are secretive annoying & disgustingly elite students, the dark academia setting just really does it for me idk i want to play around with dark themes more

PART 2

The library is empty enough to give you less excuses not to focus on what’s in front of you, thick books piled on top of each other and messy notes taken on isolated pieces of paper you keep forgetting to arrange in an order that would make sense.

Most of the students have travelled back home for christmas but you’re too behind on your study plan and had decided that staying would’ve made you more productive than joining your parents on a christmas trip to Salzburg. What an idiot.

The only things you’ve been able to focus on during the past hour are the specks of dust lazily dancing in the winter sun filtering through the tall windows, and the group of people sitting two tables away from you. Their presence there is so unusual one might guess it holds the reason of almost every single stare in the room locked to them, hesitation laced with morbid curiosity. But, truth be told, they’d be alluring anyway, anywhere.

There’s something weird and unnerving about how they carry themselves, always so elegant and eerily enticing. It doesn’t help that they’re almost never around, only attend one class and spend their time exclusively with one another.

To state that you never wondered what went down behind closed doors on evenings and Sunday mornings would be a lie. An entire classroom shut down, barricated for just six people and the only professor you’d refused to endear yourself to would pique anyone’s interest.

You don’t like them, therefore you never had any reason to feel lured enough to attempt a conversation like so many have, with fairly disappointing outputs no less. You don’t like the haughtiness embedded in their attentive stares, the smug sense of superiority surrounding each component of the clique like a nebulous haze that bodes ill.

You don’t like how that Utahime girl constantly sits on her sister Shoko’s lap, letting the latter card thin fingers through her hair so languidly one might get the wrongest idea. You don’t like the contrast posed by that bubbly Yu guy, always far too excited to discuss whatever it is they study in their stupidly exclusive, obsolete literae humaniores class. You don’t like Nanami Kento and his insufferable, stoic expression: he looks like he’s carved in stone, the cold and sharp-edged kind.

You definitely don’t like the best friends, Suguru and his sickeningly condescending smiles, Satoru with his infuriatingly cocky smirks and jokes blurted out loud in Latin or Greek to complete strangers passing by their table, only to laugh at their confusion. You can’t quite put your finger on it but those two have some odd dynamic going on, although you’ve never been one to believe the weird rumors suggesting secret relationships, clandestine gatherings at night or straight up incest. People love to make up stories about popular students they can’t approach and the group certainly is weird enough to fuel some unusual fantasies.

Still, that Gojo guy sometimes looks at his friend like he’d want to swallow him whole and you swear you’ve seen Geto tilt his head up with a gentle hold of his chin more than once, speaking in soft murmurs only inches away from his lips.

Whatever they have going on, it’s none of your business. But you do wonder what they learn in that class, if their exams are any different from yours, where the hell they disappear to from time to time, why they all stayed instead of travelling home for the holidays. Don’t they have families? Are the perfect, most elite students of the already disgustingly elite college having trouble keeping up with their study plan too?

Lost in your thoughts, you notice Suguru’s sharp gaze suddenly darting to yours a second too late. You instantly bring your focus back to the notes you have messily scattered across the table but Satoru’s distinctive, petulant chuckle travels all the way to your ears and your hold on the pencil grows a little tighter.

You don’t dare look in their direction again and actually end up getting some work done, taking short breaks every now and then only to reply to your roommate’s texts. Thank god she’s more than a few states away, Hina is never one to shy away from challenges and she also fell victim of an irrepressible (and, quite honestly inexplicable) fascination with the Classics gang, as she likes to call them. She’d meet Geto’s gaze and bluntly ask if she could join their table with one of her charming smiles, not even bothering to mouth the question or get up to discreetly inquire. She wouldn’t care about heads turning and strangers whispering and you can’t shake the feeling that they’d actually end up indulging her. If as a cruel joke or out of genuine interest, you’re not sure.

As you rise from your seat to start collecting all the exam prep materials, a single glance is all you allow yourself. It’s enough. Suguru is elegantly supporting his head on hands clasped underneath his chin, the thought of his feline eyes having been set on you the entire time teasing your spine with a shudder. Satoru follows suit: he’s been clearly chewing the top of his pen and he lets it rest between his pearly teeth as thin lips stretch into a cheshire smile right as your gaze slips away again, the attempt at giving yourself some sort of composure seemingly amusing him.

You clear your throat and unceremoniously shove books and notes into your leather backpack, the pads of your fingers growing increasingly cold as the air in the library suddenly changes. There are less students sitting at the dark, agarwood tables now, the sunset must be a mere half an hour away and for some silly reason, the greenish glow the little electric lamps cast over the chestnut of the shelves and the burgundy of the walls turns unsettling.

It’s nothing, you tell yourself. Then why are your hands shaking while you gather the few remaining tomes you couldn’t fit in your bag?

Let them look if they want to. You’re going to keep your head up and march by their table and the disturbing, fleeting moment will recede to the back of your mind as soon as you’re out of the library, free to focus on a matter of the uppermost importance: what the hell to get for dinner.

Still, the tweed of your skirt feels itchy on your legs and the opaque black tights are sticking uncomfortably to the skin. You hope the way you loosen your tie is casual enough, as opposed to the booming clacking of your chelsea boots along the polished pavement.

You know you’re not imagining the way the table grows silent as you approach it, every nerve deemed alert by gazes still stubbornly, shamelessly fixed on you. And yet, if they think you’re going to attempt some sort of approach, they better brace themselves for a big, fat, disappointing—

“Excuse me?” his voice is as soft as velvet, melodious in a way you never would’ve guessed. It stops you in your tracks and, for some reason, makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up at the same time.

Suguru offers one of his saccharine smiles when you meet his eyes.

“We have a debate going on. Perhaps you could help us settle it”

Utahime is staring at you with an arched brow, not entirely hostile but indifferent enough to make it clear she’s far from being interested in your opinion on whatever matter. Her sister’s arms are loose around her slim frame, one hand comfortably resting on her naked thigh, skirt sitting shockingly high on her legs. Shoko doesn’t smile but shfits slightly forward in her chair when you glance at her, head tilted to the side in quiet anticipation.

“I doubt it” you reply, not adverse either but certainly resolute enough to elicit a chuckle. Yeah, you don’t fucking like that Yu guy.

“Oh, come on” Geto softly reclaims your attention once more “I’d love to hear your opinion on the matter”

“She doesn’t have any valuable opinion on the matter. Let it go, Suguru” Utahime starts to impatiently tap on the book in front of her with a pencil.

He hums, seemingly pensive.

“Is that so?” the fake disappointment in his voice makes a vein on your forehead throb.

You narrow your gaze and shift the weight of the books you’re holding to your left arm. Whatever stupid game or bet this is, perhaps it’s time for someone to teach these assholes the school is far from being their personal playground.

“What debate?”  

Gojo’s smirk isn’t but a teasing curve in your peripheral.

“Some of us believe that Roman literature is too derivative of the Greek one to be deemed original” Suguru doesn’t add a question to his statement, he simply leaves it hanging in the air as he waits for you to bite.

And hell, you do.

“Only because genre-defining works are all in Greek. But should all epics be judged against Homer? Should all history be judged against Herodotus, all comedy against Aristophanes?”

Nanami’s eyes lazily travel to you for the first time but you don’t falter, nor you let Utahime’s scoff distract you from Geto’s magnetic gaze.

“So we shouldn’t compare, say, De Rerum Natura to any of Epicurus’ writings?” the challenge he offers is polite. You simply shrug.

“You could, but would that take away the fact that it remains one of the most original pieces of all ancient literature? Lucretius was the first one to write a didactic epic about philosophy. Latin literature found an innovative way to build depth and exist within an already established tradition, why would you reduce it to being merely derivative?”

He stares back for a moment too long before offering another one of his enigmatic smiles.

“It’s six to one, Hime” Yu grins as he faintly throws an eraser that hits her arm.

“Oh, give me a fucking break” she groans, gaze now fiery confronting yours “Latins were assimilators, borrowers. I’m willing to bet your ignorance goes as far as arguing that everything Virgil has ever written won’t be forever inferior to anything Homer’s ever thought”

You ignore Yu’s low, impressed whistle and take a second to weigh each word she’s spat. Then, you offer a gentle smile.

“Comparing works of literature, particularly when composed in two different languages and centuries apart, is awfully subjective. But sure, I will bite. The Aeneid, the Illiad and the Odyssey are all written in dactylic hexameter but I would argue that, in general, Homeric poetry is just not as cohesive, not as harmonious. The Aeneid is briefer and still, it manages to evoke both Homeric epics beautifully. We can’t hold Virgil accountable for the fact that Homer came first, can we? You’re focused on the wrong comparison anyway, you should’ve asked me to pick between Virgil and Ovid”

Shoko’s giggle is sweet enough to dim Utahime’s deep scowl. She kisses her shoulder and whispers something about knowing when to admit defeat, chocolate eyes never leaving your figure.

“Requiescat in pace” Yu sticks his tongue out and effectively dodges the eraser being thrown back at him, boyish grin making his eyes glimmer with malice.

“Would you like to sit?” literal honey trickles from Suguru’s relaxed tone, a closed hand now resting on his cheek, index finger pressing to the temple. He looks absolutely unfazed by his friends’ antics, much more focused on studying you instead.

“Suguru!” Utahime’s hiss is certainly rewarding, just not enough to convince you to accept what suddenly feels like an offer there is no turning back from.

Right as you’re about to speak, Satoru straightens up in his seat and you can no longer resist the urge to glance in his direction. You’ve heard about his eyes before, the not so quiet gossiping involving the group always surrounding him the most. He truy does look as perfect as they say, disturbingly so actually, so much that he instantly reminds you of Aether, son of Erebus and Nyx, personification of the sky.

The way he smiles makes you take a tentative step back for good measure: whatever element balances the blessing of such ethereal beauty, must be extraordinary in its darkness.

“Cubitum eamus?”

It’s impossible to blink back your surprise, one that has the corners of his lips curl further up. The boyish inflection of his voice doesn’t pair well with the wicked glint in that otherworldly, challenging stare.

Suguru lets out a good natured huff, Nanami’s scoff sounds much more sincere. It gives you the courage not to succumb to the blood rushing to your cheeks, undesired heat making your insides churn with sincere revulsion.

“Malo mori quam foedari” you murmur it as a prayer to keep yourself safe and don’t spare any of them a single other glance as the urge to get out of the room finally becomes unbearable.

Some would find the deviant laughter that follows you all the way outside of the building amusing, perhaps even satisfying. But all it does is leave a rancid taste in your mouth and as you make your way back to your dorm, you can’t help but feel as if you have taken one too many steps toward something you really don’t want to have anything to do with.

Satoru watches your upside down figure walk away, chair leaned back as he throws his head back in laughter.

“Suguru” he smiles, the tip of his tongue running along his upper lip while he still eyes the wooden doors that have swallowed you “she’d be fun to play with”

“You’re repulsive” Kento’s eyes run along the page he’s so focused on reading, disapproving frown by now a habit more than a timely reaction.

“I think we should get to have a little fun” Shoko ignores her sister’s glare as she sweetly mirrors Gojo’s smile, hand warm as the pads of her fingers sneak underneath Utahime’s skirt to soothe her irritation.

“Let me have her first” Satoru feels ignited as he meets his best friend’s gaze, he recognizes the dimmed flame beginning its faint flicker within it “let me ruin her just enough for you”

Suguru knows he’s lying. All Satoru does is take and take until there’s nothing left, he consumes everything he touches way before anyone else has the chance of getting their fair share. He lives for himself and is still arrogant enough to like that Geto can see right through his bluffs, gets a twisted pleasure from pushing his limits more and more to find out when the wire will snap.   

Sure, he’ll let him have it his way yet again. Suguru doesn’t appreciate rush, knows that true corruption takes time and, boy, does he have all the time in the world.

index vocabulorum:

requiescat in pace - rest in peace

cubitum eamus? - will you go to bed with me?

malo mori quam foedari - death rather than dishonor

[rafesapologist]

the set up — rafe cameron; part four

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you've been one of the pogues since childhood, and your loyalty has always lied within your friend group, who is practically your family. when a threat by the name of rafe cameron begins to threaten the pogue's plans, they assign you to gain the trust of the dubious kook and keep an eye on what he's up to. however, now it's been six months since your friends set you up to spy on the kook prince himself, but what you didn't anticipate was to fall head over heels for the boy. your relationship had soon become inviolable shortly after your guys' first exchanges, much to your friends' dismay, and you two became practically inseperable. that was, until rafe discovers the truth.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴(𝘀): cussing, mentions of violence, kind of fluff, lil bit of angst but not much.

author's note: so so sorry for this taking a few days to upload! i've been out of town all weekend and was getting ready for the eras tour concert i went to! i tried to write while i was at the hotel but it just wasn't happening (alcohol might've taken a part in that but anyways), regardless we're back and i'm excited to write for u guys again :)

It was Friday night and your heart was racing. Although you weren't entirely sure why you felt so queasy, you boiled it down to the fact that you were going to be spending the night surrounded by a bunch of Kooks. You realized ahead of time that you were going to feel completely out of place amongst the upper class clique, a group of people totally different than you. Truth was, you were a Pogue through and through. You resided on the south side of the island, also known as The Cut. A majority of the time you were with your friends at the chateau, hanging on the hammock with JJ, taking bikes to see the ocean, and maybe even at the boneyard, but in no ways was any aspect of your life as opulent as a Kooks', or even close to it.

Your first impression even matched your identity, a dead giveaway that you were undeniably a Pogue. In any other circumstance you would have embraced what position you were born into, but if you wanted to win over Rafe Cameron's heart, and trust, you were going to have to put in some substantial amount of effort to get to that point. Therefore, when the opportunity to go on a 'date' with Rafe was finally proposed, you went straight to Sarah to lend you the most full Kook outfit she had in her closet.

Despite hating the identity you were trying to hide behind, you had to admit that Sarah's sense of fashion was impeccable. Lucky for you, she dressed you in a sage green square neck gingham mini dress, with a small slit up the thigh that you knew would be observed by Rafe's wondering eyes. You needed this to work at all costs, even if it meant that you were losing part of your dignity by dressing up like a braggart.

"Are you excited?" Sarah asked through the speaker of your phone, her question clearly rhetorical and rather needling.

"I just want to get this over with." You admitted with a whine.

"Well, JJ and Pope are going to be there so it won't be so bad." Your cheerful blond friend encouraged you with a hopeful smile, which had the right intention but seemed to fail at getting you through the circumstances at stake.

"Yeah, that makes it even worse." You grumbled, fumbling with the hooks on your sandals hurriedly.

"C'mon, I know it's Rafe we're talking about but he seems to have some sort of interest in you, so you should be fine." Sarah inspirited your optimism against the obvious signs of uneasiness you had been exhibiting for an hour over the phone.

You sighed, figuring that Sarah truly did have a point. Rafe seemed to have grown some kind of absorption with you since you had started working at the golf course, which essentially was a part of the plan, but you never expected him to grow so fond of you so quickly. Who knew all it took was a short skirt and batting your eyelashes to get Rafe Cameron to fawn over you. Go figure.

"Yeah well- Shit." You were interrupted abruptly by the sound of knocking at your front door. The noise alone was enough to make your stomach turn, as if it wasn't already before. Your body temperature rose once it had settled in your mind that it was more than likely Rafe at the front door, probably waiting impatiently in that damn polo he always wears. In that moment you wanted nothing more than to sneak out your bedroom window and run far away, but that wasn't an option and this date was crucial in order to convince Rafe you were something special.

"What? Is he there?" Sarah asked with confusion at the sound of urgency in your voice.

"Yeah he's at the front door, I think. I gotta go, text you later." You waved off your friend in a hurry before ending the call. You began to scurry around your room in search for your most sweetly-scented perfume, hoping to advance your level of allurement with an aroma that would likely inveigle the nescient boy. You planned on getting him right in the palms of your hands, so you decided on a fragrance of vanilla with hints of gourmand notes.

You felt satisfied with your appearance once you got a glimpse of yourself in your bedroom mirror before you exited the room, thinking to yourself that Rafe was definitely going to have his eyes on you all night, and the thought alone had a fire lighting up in your stomach.

You opened the front door and was immediately met with the sight of the dirty blond Kook, a visual you were slowly starting to become oddly familiar with. Your first reaction was to take in the view as you surveyed his clean-cut appearance, but as your eyes trailed his tall stature, you realized he had been doing just the same back to you. The only difference was that his stare was much more intense with a hint of longing beneath it, and it made you feel small under his gaze as he inspected every inch of your body - especially the exposed portions of it.

"You look beautiful." Rafe acknowledged your graceful presence, silently admiring the way your dress adorned your figure remarkably.

You smiled in return, "You don't look bad yourself, Cameron."

Your comment earned a small smile from the boy, noticing that his cheeks began to blush at the same time.

"Just for you, princess." He teased in response, a remark that sent heat coursing through your entire body. Rafe was notably always making suggestive comments and phrases towards you at any chance he could get, but for some reason, the way his nickname for you rolled off his tongue made you feel like you could melt right then and there.

You followed closely behind him on the way to his car that had been parked in your driveway after quickly saying your goodbye's to your parents, only to be put into a state of shock when you had realized Rafe had opened the passenger door for you to get in. Your heart seemed to flutter once again at his gesture, an act of chivalry that you had never experienced before.

"Thank you." You expressed your gratitude for his actions with a feeble voice as you hopped into the sumptuous-looking car.

"No need to thank me, angel." Rafe expressed much to the liking of the butterflies floating in your stomach.

You watched as the broad blond entered the driver's side door and started the car engine, finding yourself fixated on the prominent veins in his arms and hands as he did so. You had thought to yourself that in that moment, despite all the chaos that surrounded Rafe Cameron, maybe he wasn't as awful to be around as you initially anticipated. Sure he was a bit tempermental at times, but never towards you. Matter of fact, you were quite sure that Rafe wouldn't raise a hand at you, one being because he was gentle with you in every interaction you two had, and two because he wouldn't dare take away his time to fawn over you. He didn't want to be the one to rip that smile off your face that captivated him so much.

You enjoyed the scenic view of the coastal town and all of its serenity, watching out the window as you peered up at the clear night sky above you as the moon lit up all that surrounded you. Perhaps you became a little too entranced in the view, a state of ambedo, since all of the sudden you were brought back into reality by the feeling of a warm hand gently placing itself on the top of your exposed thigh. Your eyes shot down to where the warmth was coming from, your eyes then trailing up from the hand on your leg all the way to Rafe's side profile. It seemed as though Rafe could sense your stare as he instinctively glanced over at you for a brief second, catching your gaze.

"Is this okay?" Rafe asked tenderly, motioning to his hand placement. The innocent gesture creating a moment of kairosclerosis for you, and even a little appreciation towards him. You swore to yourself that if you had told the other Pogues what had just happened within the previous ten minutes, none of them would have believed you. But it was all real, and you were there, experiencing the extent of Rafe's affinity that no one could imagine he had.

"Yeah it's okay." You flashed a small, yet accepting smile at him. Rafe seemed to take note of your assurance as you noticed the tension in his body language relaxed, his fingers sliding further into your inner thigh yet remaining in a place that wasn't too high up for you. It was clear Rafe had an awareness of your boundaries and didn't want to cross them, which you were thankful for.

"So, how does a girl like you end up with people like John B and JJ Maybank? I mean, I know you're a 'Pogue' and all, but those guys are total losers." Rafe inquired, causing you to frown subtly.

"They're still my friends," you defended, "and they've been there for me more than my actual family has." You admitted, your voice falling more quietly as you confessed.

"What do you mean by that?" Rafe questioned as he looked over at you with furrowed brows, contemplating the severity of the situation you were talking about.

"My parents don't care what I'm doing or where I'm at. I basically live at John B's house and the hardly notice when I'm gone," you scoffed to yourself quietly, "I'm in no better position than JJ or John B. Half the time it's like they're the only family I have."

Rafe frowned as you spoke, becoming evident that he was taking in your every word by the way his jaw clenched as you told him about your family situation. You had also noticed that his thumb began to rub against your skin in a soothing manner that sent cold chills throughout your body.

"I'm sorry. I know what it's like to have a kind of fucked up home life." Rafe joked dryly as he eyes stayed glued to the road ahead, his expression turning somber.

"How?" You asked, confused as to how someone as wealthy and affluent as Rafe Cameron could even began to understand the detriments of living in a bad home.

"My dad is a control freak who plays favorites. He always chooses Sarah, everything is always Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. She could run him dry and he'd still treat her like a fucking angel. Me, however, he could care less about unless he wants something done." Rafe groused while his grip on the steering wheel became tighter. You realized the subject of his father struck a nerve somewhere in Rafe, which was a cause for concern. If Ward had been that careless with his son, what was he willing to make him do for him?

You wanted to calm down the ill-tempered boy before you were going to arrive at your destination, mostly because you knew that if he showed up in such a state and spotted one of your friends, you would be screwed.

"Well it's any consolation, at least you have me to understand having a fucked up family." You quipped in the effort to try and make the atmosphere in the car light-hearted again. It seemed to have worked out though, because Rafe started to laugh back at you.

"That's right, at least I'm not a Pogue either." Rafe jested in return.

Your jaw dropped flippantly, pretending as if you were offended by his comment. "Oh, fuck off." You shoved his shoulder lightly.

"Just sayin'." He shrugged, still unapologetically chuckling at his own joke. What an ass. You thought.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The two of you had finally arrived to the park in which the movie was set to play at. You realized upon arrival that practically everyone on the island was there, causing your heart to sink. If there was anything you hated, it was large crowds of people. Your breathing began to fasten as you observed the large quantities of individuals entering the place and taking their seats on the grass in front of the large projector screen. You fiddled with your hands and began picking at your fingernails in order to distract yourself from the anxiety that was brewing within you.

"You okay?" The sound of Rafe's baritoned voice breaking you out of your disassociation.

"Yeah," you replied mousily, "just hate big crowds."

"Well, you'll be with me and if anyone says anything to you I'll handle it myself." Rafe affirmed, lending you a hand to hold as you stepped out of the vehicle.

"Is your first instinct always violence?" You asked.

"Only if someone is messing with you." He smirked, taking your hand gently as he guided you over to the area in which his group of friends were sat.

You watched from behind Rafe as he greeted each one of his fellow Kook friends with handshakes and by dapping them up. The longer you stood and waited for him to introduce you to the rest of them, you could feel the awkwardness killing you internally. The thought of having to meet new people made you went to throw up already, let alone a group of stuck up Kooks who were seemingly intoxicated.

"This is y/n," Rafe finally turned around to acknowledge you, throwing his arms over your shoulders as he held you by his side proudly, "she's one of Sarah's friends."

"Didn't know you were banging your sister's friends now." One of the boys retorted, causing the entire group to snicker in return.

"Yeah yeah, fuck off, Ryan. You were fucking Kelce's sister for like a month." Rafe riposted at the snarky brunette Kook who quickly became quiet and practically mute following the comment.

"You did what?" Kelce asked furiously, glaring over at the other Kook who had his head hung low in order to avoid eye contact, and likely a bigger confrontation.

"Anyways, she's hanging with us tonight so don't be a bunch of dicks." Rafe asserted amongst the group, causing their full attention to advert to him. You were left in shock as you noticed they all obeyed to his demand without further question. You took it as a sign that Rafe was likely the ring-leader type of friend amongst his group of company. You had to admit though, the sight of all those Kooks taking orders from Rafe was humorous.

Eventually, you were able to take a seat next to Rafe on the set of lawn chairs that were scattered across the park. Quite honestly, you weren't paying attention to the movie that had just begun what-so-ever, too caught up in the way you were surrounded by a group of men that you barely knew at all. You tried your best to remain calm and collected in the given situation, trying to keep your attention on the screen in front of you, but your brain simply wouldn't retain any of what was happening on it. Rafe wasn't much help either, as he was too engaged in a conversation with Topper and Kelce to notice your boredom.

Until you heard the sound of someone behind you trying to gain your attention.

"Psst, y/n! Psst, over here!" You heard a familiar voice call out to you in an obnoxiously loud whisper. You quickly turned your head around as your eyes wandered the premise, seeing no sign of where the noise was coming from.

"Y/n, over here!" The voice half- whispeed, half-shouted again. This time guiding you to where exactly the sound was and who it was coming from. JJ.

"What the hell, JJ?" You mouthed in bewilderment, motioning your head over to Rafe who was merely 5 inches apart from you.

"Check your phone!" JJ mouthed back as he pointed down to the phone in his hands. You did as told and seen you had unread messages from your blond friend in your notifications.

*JAY-J &lt;3: had to make sure you were safe from all those damn kooks*

You rolled your eyes at JJ's message, letting out a half-hearted laugh as you looked down at your phone. You had completely forgot who was sitting right next to you until you were caught off-guard by the sound of Rafe's voice interrupting you.

"Everything okay?" Rafe whispered to you as he looked at you with concern, mistaking the noise you made as a sigh instead of a laugh.

"Oh yeah, just breathing." You lied in an attempt to brush Rafe off, but you failed miserably at getting his attention off of you.

"Do you want something to drink? I can go get you anything if you want." He offered, which set off a light bulb in your head and a perfect escape plan to come into mind.

"Actually, I'll go get it," you smiled," I need to stretch my legs anyways, been sitting all day."

"Okay, I'll save your seat for when you get back." Rafe smiled as he watched you stand up from your seat. Part of you felt guilty for lying to the boy, but you needed to see your friend desperately and if you were surrounded by Kooks for any longer, you might have lost your mind.

*Y/N: meet me at the concession stand. i bought some time to get away from rafe for like 10 mins* You texted JJ in a hurry while you hastened over to the concession line. You stood off to the side of the building with your arms cross, standing up on your tip-toes occassionally to try and spot your friends among the sizeable crowd full on Pogues, Kooks, and Tourons.

You were taken by surprise once you felt a pair of hands grab you by the waist from behind, spinning you around to come face-to-face with sight of a blond boy who was a relief to see in that moment.

"JJ!" You squealed once you realized it was none other than your best friend with Pope accompanied beside him. JJ smiled in reaction to your excitement, taking you in once again and spinning you around in the air swiftly. You felt giddy as you felt JJ's hands hold your hips steadily, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck once he had placed you back on the ground.

"Alright guys, enough with the rom-com fest here. Rafe could find us at any moment." Pope interrupted your and JJ's moment of jubilation with his typical panic. You rolled your eyes at his pessimism, although he did have a point. If Rafe were to have spotted your Pogue friends, he might just kill them both.

"Good point." You agreed, taking a step back from JJ's embrace and looking at the two boys standing in front of you as they awaited your response, "I just needed to get away from all those Kooks for a minute. If I had to listen to them talk about Midsummers any longer I was going to drive my head through a wall." You griped.

"Wait, Midsummers?" Pope repeated back at you as though the topic sparked an idea in his mind.

"Yeah, that thing where a bunch of Kooks get together and play dress up." You stated, still in a state of confusion as to what was brewing in Pope's brain, considering he's always coming up with something.

"You should go with Rafe."

"What?" You and JJ both shouted in unison at Pope's absurd request.

"I mean, you wanna gain Rafe's trust right? It would be the perfect opportunity to do so. Meet his family, live like a Kook with him for a night. Plus, you won't even be alone. JJ and I are gonna be working there that night, and Kie and Sarah are still considered as Kooks so you know they're going, too. I don't think it's a bad idea." Pope explained.

"Pope, there's no way in hell she's going to-"

"I'll do it." You cut off JJ just before he could reject Pope's suggestion, causing both of the boys to look at you in disbelief.

"Y/n, what? Do you realize what you'd be getting yourself into?" JJ apprised much against his friend's idea. You knew it was just JJ being his normal stubborn self, but you didn't have time to pay any mind to it. You knew that Pope's idea was the best bet in order for you to work your way into Rafe's life with ease, and so you knew what you'd have to do.

"JJ, I know you're worried and all, but this is our only chance at getting one step closer into whatever fucked up plan Rafe and his dad are conspiring against us. It's either I do this, or we're done for." You pleaded up at the distressed blond who looked down at you with an earnest look in his eyes.

"JJ, she'll be fine. We're all going to be there so you know she won't be alone." Pope added.

JJ sighed in defeat, the realization that you weren't going to back down washing over him. He grazed his hands through his shaggy blond hair as he placed a hand on his hip, "If any of this goes wrong, I'll kill him." He warned.

"Everything is going to be fine, Jay." You reassured, stepping forward to place a quick kiss onto the apple of his cheek. His body seemed to relax some at the gesture, his hands falling to your hips again as he peered down at you.

"I'm serious, y/n. I've already got enough reason to punch that asshole right in his face, let alone if he does something to you."

"He won't. You need to trust me on that, yeah? I can assure you it'll all be fine." You convinced once again, looking over at Pope in hopes he would help the situation, but instead he looked back at the two of you with judgement.

"You guys are strange." Pope added, scoffing at your guys' obvious shared displays of affection. It wasn't abnormal for you and JJ to be so hands-on, especially in a time where JJ was in a state of worry. None of the other Pogues seemed to understand the relationship you and JJ had going on, but they chose not to question to because more than likely, you two barely even knew what was going on.

"Well, who do we have here?"

taglist (if i missed any of u i apologize, pls let me know if u need or want to be added!!): @ellesalazar, @champomiel, @vadinaleme, @kys4-20, @gills-lounge, @allsmilesreally7, @sublimepenguinpeach-blog, @sp00ky-spr1te, @bibliophilewednesday, @haroldpotterson, @i-love-rafe, @ellesalazar, @calmoistorm (if i forgot to add you, please let me know!)

[miss-bushido]

everything counts a little more than we think

Rating: Mature Tags: Drinking, drunk kissing, implied/referenced sex

Notes:

This fic was inspired by a tweet from @jquinnworld on Twitter: “thinking about “straight” steve who seemingly just Can’t stop kissing dudes when he gets drunk”. Title of the fic is from ‘Ada’ by The National

~*~*~*~

Whenever Steve gets drunk, he kisses boys. It’s well known among the teens and young adults of Hawkins, has been for the last two years. Put a shot of tequila or three in his hand, or one of those Long Island Iced teas, and very soon, you’re getting kissed by King Steve.

He still kisses girls, too, of course, but more often than not, you can find him on the couch or pressed up against a random guy in a corner, sloppily making out with them. It doesn’t matter the social clique: jocks, nerds, freaks, Goths, punks. Steve takes all comers (no pun intended).

His partners are left flushed and gasping. Hair mussed and lips pink and shiny. They are dazed and pleased in equal measure, the memory of getting kissed and pawed at by Steve Harrington not something they would ever forget. Or would ever want to.

Steve has a reputation as a good kisser for a reason. He’s soft when he needs to be, never uses teeth, knows when they need it hard and rough. When to use his tongue and when to back off. Sometimes he’ll be so into everything that he kisses down to the neck, sliding his hands everywhere to heighten everything.

Some people call him a slut, but Steve seems to lean into it. He laughs and jokes about it himself, masking the hurt he feels deep inside with another vodka shot (or four), another boy (or five more) pulled into the dark corner of a basement.

Lots of the boys and girls in town explore their own bodies in the privacy of their bedrooms at night. Imagining it’s Steve’s hands and his body on them, the kisses deepening. Everything is sticky sweet and slow like honey with him in their imaginations, especially when these fantasies turn sexual, how they wished things would happen in real life.

And so it goes. Each party thrown: Steve drinks, and he kisses, and touches. And everyone is fine with it. All the guys are straight. Of course they are. Especially Steve. They’re all just having fun. Inhibitions dulled from the copious amounts of alcohol found in their parent’s liquor cabinets. They give one another knowing smiles in the hallways at school, but don’t talk about it otherwise. It’s a sexy dirty little open secret what goes on at the Hawkins High parties, and how Harrington can’t keep his mouth off of everyone.

Because of all these things, the night everyone saw Steve making out with Eddie Munson on the couch, no one batted an eye. It was only natural that The Freak would also get kissed by The King. No one said anything when Steve and Eddie went into a bedroom and shut the door, not coming out for hours.

Harrington must really be drunk to spend so much time with The Freak they comment, laughing into their red Solo cups before starting another round of beer pong.

It was only after several months that anyone put two and two together as to why Steve stopped drinking as much. Stopped kissing everyone he could get his hands on at the parties.

Everyone except Eddie Munson.

By the time everyone realized they hadn’t seen Steve at a party in over six months, he and Eddie had been quietly dating for the better part of that time.

And when Steve kissed Eddie, he was sober.

And it finally felt right to do it.