#do I dare to turn this into a full character study

[blithe-spirit]

Can’t sleep and had RE:8 brainrot, this is too short for ao3 so here you go.

Donna Benevieto has always been alone.

Wooden fingers entwined with her own, a halfhearted smile in a cracked mirror, a note of rare praise from those deigned her family - none of it can change the accepted fact that she has always, always been alone.

Not always, says that voice in her head, a warm echo that gently caresses the back of her skull. As if a hand was resting there, protectively, smoothing over hair. Not always, cara mia.

Donna does not listen. She never does.

She has always been alone, and will remain so until her flesh rots and her tendons give way and she collapses, inanimate, to the ground. Her precious flowers will find purchase for their roots in her body, will grow and stretch towards the sunlight by grace of her flesh. Or perhaps not. Perhaps she will remain this marionette of her Mother’s for eternity, skin replaced by pale and cool porcelain and joints of wood. Perhaps the thing that lives inside the meat of her body will extend its tendrils throughout, claiming every nerve, and she will belong to nothing and no one except to that which they all serve.

She is particularly morose today.

On days like these Donna retreats to her workshop, studying her plans and carefully carving the most delicate of features from blocks of dull wood. She imagines she is unearthing each creature, freeing them almost, as a proud straight nose emerges here, a frightened brow there. Donna’s concentration is hard to break during these moments, channeling her thoughts of twisted roots and rotten things that wait in the dark, on the edges of dreams, into the very dolls she creates. She half expects them to crumble on her worktable before her with the weight of her fears. Surely they could not last long in this world after soaking in her wretched misery. Her loneliness.

She will talk to them sometimes, either in hushed tones or more privately in her head. Donna will tell them what the rushing waterfall sings to her as she designs, hands on the chisel or carefully holding minuscule screws. How her flowers chatter as they bend and snake around one another, reveling in a green embrace. How some days the house is so quietly loud with the sound of her own wants that it is impossible to bear.

On other days, Donna’s creations are impossibly light, kinetic, looking at their new world with bright and fresh faces painstakingly painted on. She will hum a tune as she outfits them, a tune that was once hummed to her, long ago, in what seems to have been a dream.

It must have been, for Donna Benevieto has always been alone.

[ladybyakuya]

are we still friends? + (ren kaji, hayate suo, umemiye hajime, sakura haruka)

cws. | gn!reader, headcanon + scenarios format, sorta character study, fluff, angst, comfort. | redirect to blog navigation.

syn. | How do they react to confession when the feelings are mutual?

notes. | Will there be part two? who knows? but for now please have these. I forgot how to write smut so I'm writing fluff. 

☆ Ren Kaji: Ren does not like talking or listening so he pretends that he can not hear and with his headphones on it's easier to convince but when you specifically ask him to take it off so that you could talk it annoys him. He rarely takes his headphones off since it was a gift from someone. So all he does is to take the lollipop out of his mouth and say, "You can talk. I am not listening to anything," It really irritates you but you do not wish to act on it right now. He has started to grow a little too comfortable with your presence around him and maybe. . .just maybe it's time to create a ripple in his stagnant heart. At the rooftop of the school, where gentle breeze and sunlight prevails you say you like him and watch his eyes go bigger. He takes off his headphones with utmost haste demanding, "Say that again," but now it is your turn to annoy him. All your comebacks are full of: "no." , "Did you not listen when i said once?" , "This is why i told you to take your headphones off," and so on. You are so engrossed in conversing with him that you fail to notice his swift motion of leaning and planting a kiss on your cheek. Your lips cease to move for a while yet it is ever so quick and swift that it happens within a blink of your eyes. "Okay, I'll say it for you then," Ren says. Gulping and continuing, "Y/n likes Ren Kaji. and I like you too." in one breath and just vanishes out of your sight. The next few days he is spotted sleeping at unusual times because he has spent sleepless nights regretting why he did not take his headphones off.

★ Hayate Suo: Suo has known for a while that you like him. Well, he is not too sure but he always had a pretty good idea when it comes to emotions. He has probably known even before you that you could harbor feelings for him so when he hears the rumors from other students he does not react much except with some snarky comments to shut those rumors with his sickly sweet saccharine smile. But hearing it from you, at some secluded place near the bike stand of the school is certainly is out of the syllabus for him. At first, he does not know what to say, what to do, or how to react but when your eyes slowly look up to meet him the first thing he thinks if you did it because of rumors or some sort of dare. If so, then both are wrong. He thinks confession should come when it's time not when it is influenced by others. So, all he says is: "I know." eyes blinking a little too much, unable to consider you as his focal point. " I've known for a while." And then, he asks for some time to think about it which is unexpected because from what you have heard he has rejected every other proposal that came his way. You came prepared to be rejected when you decided to confess but this goes out of the syllabus for you too. So, you end up thinking if this is his new way of tormenting people who like him but he really needs time to properly think because he thought there is no way he thought you would like him back. He does not want to hurt you. That goes against his morals. He could feel his cheeks being warm, ears too, palms tucked behind his back cold, and rapid heart rate. "So, this is how it feels to be confessed."

☆ Umemiya Hajime: Being an older brother to everyone has never been a bother until he developed a gut wrenching crush on you or that is how he would like to put it. Not only that, you have developed quite a friendship with Kotoha ever since you started helping her out in her resturant. You are probabaly same age as her which makes things a little more complicated. Was it not enough that you might be under the impression that Kotoha is his girlfriend? Like most other people; But thanks to Sakura for clearing that confusion up. Still. . .still he feels his heart twist whenever he visits the resturant. All he does is to silently watch you. He could have easily creeped you out if you had not developed a crush on him. When Umemiya's visits became you became a little bold, like talking to him, asking about his day, exchanging numbers but never have been alone with him. He always comes with his band of boys. It denifitely nice to hear him laugh, talk and sometimes steal sneaky glances but it does not help with the wave of emotions he makes you feel. So, one day when the door bell chimed and as usual you said, "Welcome" looking in the direction of entrance ceasing your chores all you could do is stare for a moment since the customer is none other than Umemiya Hajime and he is all alone. So, you repeat again, "Welcome Umemiya-san." tearing your gaze away from him. "Kotoha is busy. Should I let her know that - he cuts you off with," i'm not here for her today." sipping water ever so slowly from the glass you just served on the coaster. Is he nuts? is he really doing this? Right now? why is he not freaking out? or maybe he is, internally, just like you. "I'm here for you today." And, when he confirms you turn around to get a proper look. 

"I see," you say.

"You didn't answer my call so i had to come here," Umemiya remarks. 

"so, you are here to scold me?" Umemiya's heart drops in some bottomless pit. He did not mean it to come out this harshly. He is just tensed, especilly after how you texted last night : "I like you Umemiya-san." 

"did you check your phone after last night?" and to that you just nod. You do not want to and who honestly would after confessing to the brightest star. You are so out of league from him. Umemiya smiles. "I see," he speak softly. He gets up and then he is about to leave but just before exting the door he says, "Please, check you phone."

★ Sakura Haruka: Sakura has a habit of talking, and going on and on about it unless someone interrupts. If possible, he would talk in one breath. So, when you say that you like him he dismisses it as a joke. "quit kidding. Nobody likes me. y'know that. . ." And there goes your probably hundred-and-fifth confession. He never takes it seriously no matter how serious you try to be Sakura manages to bungle up your intentions so quick yet you can not seem to blame him. If anything he is too honest, so often he comes as rude and obnoxious but his intentions are so pure that sometimes it makes you think can a person be this stupid? But this time when you confessed you thought this would go in the usual direction; him dismissing it as a joke but this time when he looks at you he is faced with something new, something he is not good at handling. "you. . . are you crying?" And it dawns on you how heavy your heart has become with his oblivious nature. all those "I like you-s." never reached his heart, only his head. You quickly wipe away your tears and try to cover it up with the most brilliant lie ever to exist. "It's just dirt." given his oblivious nature he is supposed to buy but he is asking questions again. "You. . . all these time. . . were serious?" Yes, you absolute dimwit. You can not even nod to confirm his thinking. You swallow hard trembling lips parting to speak and you are met with his chest with his arms wrapped around you. " I-I ... was told that if you like someone...you can hug them... y'know when they ...say they ...like you," he starts to stammer and it creates a swarm of laughter arises from your stomach. "Whoever told you that must know a lot about dating," you say having a fair idea who it might be.

[sapphiressmoke]

Outlander IV

Summary: She doesn’t know how it happened but they were calling to her to come closer. Touching it was never suppose to uproot her life and transport her somewhere she never thought she could see and witness. She has to try her best to survive if she wants to get back, right?

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen X Modern!Reader

Characters Mentioned: Criston Cole, Alicent Hightower, Otto Hightower, Helaena Targaryen, Aegon Targaryen

Warning: Vulgar language (ass, whore, cock) mention of sexual acts briefly

Word Count: 3.9K

Previous

a/n at the bottom 🫶🏻

With the moon passing over Kings Landing, Aemond did not dare to take his eyes off of you as you slept. The young prince didn’t think you came to realize that you were in his room, but nonetheless, it didn’t matter to him. Anyone would say it was improper for an unwed lady to be sleeping in a man’s room but they didn’t know the full story. Well, neither did he but he wanted… No he needed to know you were safe. He watched as you chest raised with each breath and then deflate once you breathed out. Breath in. Breath out.

He had this fear that if he, himself, fell asleep that maybe you would disappear. Every so often, he would walk up to you to just study your face. The candle that burned next to his bed illuminated your face perfectly. He saw how your long lashes laid against your upper cheek, how your lips were slightly separated when you breathed out, how your eyebrows creased just slightly… Every little thing about you was perfect. You stirred for a moment as Aemond brushed a piece of your hair out of your face. He would shush you back to sleep, as if trying to sooth a crying babe.

Suddenly, the air in the room shifted and Aemond felt the hairs on back of his neck rise. “You must protect her.” A voice spoke behind him. Aemond stood up abruptly, turning to try and see who had entered his room.

He walked a few steps ahead, keeping your sleeping figure behind him so he could keep you out of harms way. He unsheathed his sword and looked around to see if he could spot anyone in the surrounding area. “Who goes there. How did you get in here.” His voice boomed, commanding.

A glowing violet eye shimmered in the darkness, a glimmer of blue went and gone “All is well Aemond, at ease.” The figure walked in the shadows but never steps out to reveal himself. “I come with a warning.”

Aemonds eyes followed the eye hiding in the darkness, ready to attack if needed. He watched as the figure stared at you with a longing look. Despite not seeing the perpetrators face, the eye held strong emotions. “What could you warn me about? Show yourself.” He tried to not yell as he did not want to wake your sleeping figure behind him.

“Your own downfall will be your anger and ego. Those who are family will try to put you down and take her away.” The voice explained gently, calmly, as if trying to not scare an animal in the wild. “Hold her close to your heart and do what your gut tells you to do.”

He dropped his sword to his side, still keeping a strong grip upon the leather of the hilt. “And what is that suppose to mean? You don’t even know anything about me.”

He watched as the figure stepped out of the shadows, the face first appearing to be a man with a stoic face and short hair silver hair, wearing the conquerors crown, then morphed into a softer featured man but still sporting the short silver hair until the last face was his. His hair was untied and his eyepatch seemed long gone. “We are you.” The rest of his body stepped from the shadows and walked towards the bed to sit next to you. “Life is cruel to those who love with big hearts. We are familiar with heartbreak. It wrecks you from the inside out. Every soul is bound to another and some may get lost along the way but they are always bound to find one another. She has found her way back to you.” Aemond watched himself sit next to you, they were both watching you sleep peacefully. “You must be careful with who you call family because they will try to use her to their advantage. Keep her close.” His hand skimmed over your cheek before he stood up and looked at Aemond. “You love her greatly and she loves you greatly. Don’t take it for granted.” And with a blink of an eye, he vanished from Aemond sight.

He stood there in disbelief, trying to process what had just happened. He knew he has seen those faces before and would this mean that there were such things as reincarnations? Was he apart of a greater story than he was aware of?

“Aemond? Are you okay?” He hadn’t realized that had woken up while he was lost in his thoughts. He turned to see that you were sitting up while your right arm held you up, your eyes still full of sleep and your hair disheveled.

You couldn’t quite see his face in the dark but you could see that something was bothering him deep within his mind. He strides before you and stroked your head. “Yes, yes I am Y/N. I’m alright. How are you feeling?”

You felt him place his hand against your forehead, searching for any heat. You took his hand by the wrist and placed it down. “I feel alright. My head feels a bit heavy but that’s all.” You played with his fingers, trying to figure out what to say. “What are you doing up? Have you slept.”

“Of course I have.” He lied straight through his teeth and you knew it. “A noise from the hall woke me up not too long ago.”

You laughed softly. “You are a terrible liar, Aemond. You are still fully dressed and you have your sword scabbard still attached to you.” You watch Aemonds gaze fall to his hip and you could only imagine that his cheeks were red from being caught in a lie. You scootched over a couple of inches and patted the spot next to you. “It seems to still be late in the night so I request that you undress into your sleep attire and join me in the bed for the rest of the night.” You smiled a bright smile that he could not refused.

“I-It’s improper.” He stuttered. He wanted to accept but he knew that it was wrong to lay with a woman when he and she was unmarried.

You thought back to your history lessons of royalty family and you remembered learning that everything was improper before marriage. No touching, no sleeping together, not even being alone and this must be breaking every rule that the prince was taught. “If we do not touch, would it still be improper?” You asked.

He looked at you and sighed. If you were a sin testing him, he would gladly accept it. “Fine.” You turned over so your back was facing him as you let him undress. You heard the sounds of laces being untied and hooks being let go. You felt the bed dip in as you assumed he was removing his boots. By the end of the undressing, he was left but just in his chemise intimate clothing. You turned over to face him when you felt him lift the sheets to go under. “You know, you’re on the side that I usually sleep on.” He jested when you finally faced him. “But I don’t mind sharing this one time.”

He felt your gaze looking at his face. More specifically his eyepatch that still laid upon his face. You went to grab the leather strap to take it off but Aemond was quicker to grab your hand and bring it back down towards the mattress. “Not yet. I can’t.” He shook his head. “It is not a pretty sight that I am ready for you to see.”

You brought his hand to your lips and placed a simple kiss on the skin of his knuckles. “I will not rush you, Aemond. I will gladly look at your one beautiful eye for now.” Despite knowing you for less than 48 hours, he has felt more love with you than with anyone else in his life. His heart felt as if it was tied to hers and wherever she went, he must go. “I hope this isn’t too improper for you, Aemond. I don’t want to cause you too much stress.”

It was his turn to play with your fingers as he tried to figure out a way to respond. “Despite was the Faith says, I do not care in this moment nor ever while you are here. What happens in here is for us only. Now, hush up and close your eyes. It’s time too sleep.”

You feigned offence with a small gasp. “It is not me who lied about being asleep this whole time. You must close your eyes and find sleep yourself, young prince.”

For the next part of the hour, Aemond and Y/N spoke about nonsense while never letting go of the hand that they previously held.

‘We are you’ were words that plagued the one eyed prince for the rest of the night.

We are you.

A knock on the door was what woke up the young princeling from his sleep. He rubbed the sleep from his eye to try and fully wake himself up. He heard you stir next to him as you dug yourself deeper into the pillow, trying to stay asleep for as long as possible. When sitting up in the bed, he bent down and grabbed the pants that he previously wore and pulled them then striding towards the door. He pulls open the heavy doors to be greeted by Ser Criston. “Good Morrow, my prince.” The Knight bowed. “Your mother, the Queen, requests an audience with the Lady Y/N. Alone” The knight peered into the room to see you sleeping in the princes bed still. He cocked an eyebrow at the scene but stayed quiet.

Aemond nodded, looked back at you and then back at Ser Criston. “Of course… Let me wake her and I will bring her.”

The Knight shook his head. “I’m sorry, Prince Aemond, but she requests the audience to be alone with her. She requests that I bring her up myself, the Queen advises that you must have greater things to tend to.”

He looked back once more upon your sleeping figure and sighed. “Okay… Okay. Give me five minutes and I will get her up. Did mother tell you what she needed?” The knight shook his head saying no. What would his mother possibly want with her? He closed the door behind him, leaving Ser Criston on the other side of the door. He approached your side of the and started stroking your exposed cheek. “It’s time to wake up, Y/N.”

You groaned and raised your hand to Aemonds lips, shushing him. “5 more minutes please. Shhh.”

A smile played on his lips. He took your hand in his and placed it back down on the bed. “I wish I could give you more time but my mother… The Queen… She’s requesting an audience with you, alone.” You head snapped up at the statement he made. He brushed your hair behind your ear to have a better look at your sleepy face. “I’m not sure what she needs but Criston, the knight that was with me when I found you, is outside the door waiting to escort you.”

You slowly sat up in the bed, your mind was racing at the thought of meeting the Queen. Was she going to banish you back to the forest? Question where you came from? You had no idea how you could answer that question. ‘Oh yes my Queen, I’m from, what seems to be, the future and I have now travelled to the past. It also seems that your sons ghost guided me to the stones that brought me here.’ She would certainly think you were insane and send you somewhere.

“O-Okay.” That was all you could muster. “I guess I will put the clothes on from yesterday and go. Yes, that’s the plan.” You shakily stood up from the bed and all Aemond could do was watch you. He felt the stress role off of you but he didn’t know how to protect you from this.

Those who are family will try to put you down and take her away. Hold her close to your heart.

Alicent watched her father sit in the chaise in her room as she paced the floor, picking at her cuticles. “This could mean so much more for us, Father. This could help our cause of putting Aegon on the throne as the rightful ruler.” She continued to ramble on until Otto butt in.

“My dear daughter, please explain what you mean.” He demanded.

Alicent stopped her step and stared at her father. “The girl! She was found by being guided by the White Hart. Ser Criston can vouch for this, father.” She took a seat next to Otto and placed her hands in her lap but continued the picking. “We all know the symbolism behind the animal

is royalty and it appeared to her and Aemond.”

“And who is this girl?”

Alicent took a deep breath before continuing. “We have no idea. She was found at the Stones of Many a Moon being guarded. There is something about her and she will be our key.” The Queen took her fathers hands in her own. “We must treat her as one of us, as if she is family. Whatever she wants, she must get. Same goes for Aemond. We need them on our side. We need them happy.”

Otto looked at his daughter with a pleased look, knowing that what she was saying was right. “You are right my daughter. They are the key to success for the realm. We will treat her with respect but we must keep a close eye on her.” He tapped her hands and proceeded to place them on her lap. “I’ve heard she has roomed with Aemond last night.”

“I heard the same… It’s highly improper but if it is what they want, they shall receive it. The news of her becoming must be kept within the council. It must not reach the ears of Rhaenyra. She will try everything to take her.” The Queen thought back to her childhood friend but quickly shook the thought away as the doors to her chambers proceeded to open.

Ser Criston Cole bowed before introducing you to the room. “My Queen, Lady Y/N has been brought as requested for an audience.” The Knight made eye contact with the Hand of the King before nodding his head towards the elder man who took to his feet and left the room to leave the two of you alone. You couldn’t help but notice the look that the man and Alicent shared with each other. As if they could speak telepathically.

Alicent stood up and walked towards you and brought you into a quick hug that you couldn’t even return from the speed. “Lady Y/N, I hope you are feeling much better.” She took a look at her Kings Guard and thanked him for the service and to wait outside the door.

You weren’t sure how to react to the sudden affection, causing you to stumble over your words. “Yes yes, thank you, Your Grace. The rest was quite needed.” You smiled at her. You remembered seeing her quickly at the campsite. The longer you stared at her, you more you could see that her eyes held emotion the same way Aemonds did and facial manoeuvres were quite similar.

You felt her grasp your hand and guide you over the lounge area to sit with her. “Please, when it is just us two, call me Alicent. Drop the formalities.” She smiled, still grasping your hand. Her thumb grazing over your knuckles.

“If that is the case, please call me Y/N. Drop the Lady, it makes me feel higher than I truly am.”

“Of course, Y/N.” The Queen continued to smile but there was more meaning behind the smile that she let on. You watched as her deep eyes eyed you up and down, looking b at what you were wearing. “I see that you are still in Aemonds garb from yesterday. It seems that you have no clothing here… I shall request for a dressmaker to come for measurements for you at once.”

A sudden wave of uncomfortable took over you. You weren’t use to be getting doted on, especially by a mother figure. Your mother took care of you, yes, but she could not find the time to sit down with you and just talk. “I can’t accept that. Are you sure, your Gra- Alicent.” You corrected yourself.

All she could do was give you a motherly laugh, basically saying that she would do what she needed for you. “Of course, sweet girl, I can’t have you running about in my sons clothing.” She gave your hands a light squeeze. “If you need anything and I mean anything, you come let me know. I want you to feel comfortable here.”

A small smile played on your lips played in your lips but your eyes kept fleeting back to the door where you saw the older man. Was he the king? “The man who was here just before, was he..?”

“The King? No.” She shook her head and a solemn expression took over. “That is my father, the hand of the king. Currently, his grace is bed ridden as he has been sick for quite some time now but I assure you that once he is up for some visitors, Aemond and I shall bring you to meet him. He would be very pleased with you.” Perhaps meeting you, hearing how you were found would surely persuade the sick king to change his mind of the heir. He himself believed prophecies and symbolism more than anyone. She held your hand tightly, scared that letting go would put the green cause 10 steps back from where they were heading. “Now, let’s talk about dresses.”

Perhaps she was the mother you always dreamed of but to her, you were just a pawn in her game.

Aemond roamed the halls of the Red Keep, his mind continuing to play out what he had seen last night. He knew the faces he saw were familiar, he must have seen them depicted somewhere before in his studies. The words said by himself kept playing through his head ‘Those who are family will try to put you down and take her away. Hold her close to your heart.’ He hadn’t realized that he walked towards his sister room until he heard her soft spoken voice call him. “Aemond.”

He turned his head towards the open door to see Helaena embroidering as the twins played on the floor. “Helaena.” No matter the mood, just seeing his older sister made him smile. Perhaps it was because it was her innocence and kindness he admired or the way she was soft spoken but he always smiled. He entered the room and took a seat next to her. “How are you, sister?”

She laid her head on his shoulder. “I’m quite alright. The twins are eager to fly out with you.”

He loved his niece and nephew and would protect them any cost. They had been asking at least once a week to fly out on their dragons but the Dragon Keepers have agreed that they are not quite there yet. “Has Aegon not offered to bring them on Sunfyre?” As the questions rolled off his tongue, he thought that he already knew the answer to that. “Nevermind. The time will come for their turn to be in the sky.”

She lifted her head off his shoulder and looked up at him. “Time is suppose to move forward but it seems that it chose to move back this time. Time can be stalled by greed.”

He looked down at his sister, trying to understand what she was trying to tell him. He knew she would have moments where her phrases would make no sense to anyone but herself. “What do you mean?”

“Time is being kept in place by emerald. Cut the cord and let time move freely.”

The silence that was left after her voice was broken by the booming voice of their elder brother. “Aemond! There you are!” Aegon stumbled into the room, his own legs causing him to trip here and there. At the sound of his voice, the twins nurses had decided to take the twins out of the room, muttering something about the twins needed time outside. “If I heard correctly, you have soaked your cock in a whore!”

Helaena could feel the tension beginning to rise already at his words. “Aegon, please stop.”

Aegon came up behind Aemond, placing his hands on his younger brothers shoulders and giving them a harsh squeeze. “Come on Helaena! Have some fun. Our dear brother here has had a stick up his ass for such a long time. Getting his cock wet will definitely lighten him up.” Aemond started to tense under the words of his brother. “It may not be a proper whore, from what I’ve been told though. I’ve heard that you had to go deep in the woods to find her. Was she tight? Did she gag and spit all over your cock? She must be good since you brought her back here and have her sleep in your room!” Tick Tick Tick. “Maybe when you’ve had enough, you can pass her over to me for some fun.”

Tick.

Aemond stood up faster than anyone could see and had his hand wrapped around his brothers throat. “If you speak of her that way one more time, my hand will be my sword and your head will be rolling on the floor… dear brother.” At the end of his sentence, Aemond pushed his brother backwards, causing him to fall down and cough from the pressure on his throat. “I’m sorry, sister.” He gave a quick nod towards his sister and rushed out the room to try and control his temper.

He rushed towards his mothers quarters, hoping to find you and just be with you as you were the only person he wanted to see in this moment. As he rushed towards the stairs, he thought he heard a voice from the Gods themselves call out his name.” Aemond!”

He looked up and the biggest smile reached his lips as he practically skipped steps to see you. It seems that you were being escorted back to his room after speaking with his mother. “Y/N.” He grabbed your elbow, allowing himself to feel grounded. He looked to your behind left to see his mothers loyal knight. “Ser Criston, I can take her from here. Thank you.” He heard the cornish man say ‘you’re welcome’ as he bowed and headed back towards the royal quarters. “It is weird for me to say but I missed you in your absence.”

You brought your arm up to squeeze his hand. “I can say the same.” You both stared into each others eyes, not bothering about the world around you.

SOO we are introducing more lore to the story. If you know who Aemond saw… shhhh he doesn’t know. I have such plans. Next chapter, I’m going to dive into more of the readers adaptation to this time period since it’s only been one day since she’s been found. We can also already see what’s brewing with the Hightowers.

LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK

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[starsstuddedsky]

What? Like It’s Hard?

gn reader x soonyoung

summary: With the help of a little bit of bleach, Soonyoung is certified legally blonde–complete to last minute-dedication to scoring as high as Elle Woods on the LSAT. While he has no interest in law school, he’s notorious for never turning down a dare. So how does a frat bro in serious danger of failing his senior year get a 179? He asks the smartest person he knows. 

Or, studying for a law test has never seen this much chemistry.

genre: fluff, angst, non-idol au, uni au, friends to lovers, opposites attract

warnings: swearing, drinking, food, arguing, a couple sex jokes, one spicy scene at the end but no actual smut, refusal to acknowledge feelings, what's the word for beyond oblivious????

full wc: 24.3k

playlist! - i'm not very good at this but i tried to add songs alternating between yn and soonyoung :)

a/n: hello!! first of all, sorry this so long! it's been a very very busy summer. thank you to everyone who has continued to show interest in the story, it's really kept me going. i honestly have no idea what this is anymore but i hope it does not disappoint :) as always i appreciate feedback of any form <3 thank you again for reading and have a lovely day! finally, happy scoups day :)

a/n2: a special shout out to @chocolatemilk139 for being my beta and for helping me fact check... why do i keep writing about lawyers when i know absolutely nothing about the field.......

“Nope.” You grab your backpack, shoving your laptop inside, but he gets to your water bottle before you can reach it. 

“Come on.” Soonyoung pouts his lips. 

“I won’t do it,” you say. 

Soonyoung hugs your water bottle hostage against his chest, dark blue hiding in the crook of his elbow, bright against the pale pink sweater he wears. It’s an unusual choice for him, normally clad in baggy jeans and loose t-shirts. Still, the color highlights his new hair, blonde bordering on white. Hardly the first time he’s done something insane for a bet. 

“Please! I’m desperate!” He cries again, stepping closer, though he keeps a firm grip on your water bottle. You never should have told him how emotionally attached you are to it; you should have known it would be held against you. 

“No,” you say. You sling your backpack on, just in case he gets any other ideas. The other students shoot dirty looks at you, actually in the library to study (like you were, until Soonyoung arrived). So you grab him by the arm, rolling your eyes at how he jerks the water bottle out of reach. 

“Walk and talk, we’re not doing this here,” you say, folding your arms over your chest. 

“Come on, how hard can it be?” Soonyoung asks. “It’s just a test.”

“Just a test?” You snort. “Soonyoung, you are aware that most people don’t apply to law school on a dare?” 

“I don’t have to get into law school!” He says, “just get a 179 on the LSAT.” 

As if that makes it any better. You eye Soonyoung and his tight grip on the plastic. Maybe it’s a lost cause and you should just swing by the bookstore to get a new one instead. But that water bottle has butterfly stickers that have survived since freshman year and a dent from the time Jun tried to use it as a weapon in a fight against Jihoon (that was declared a draw when the bottle busted open and doused both of them equally); it holds memories better than water and you’ll be damned if you let Soonyoung hold it hostage. 

“That’s actually harder,” you mumble. From the corner of your eye, you can see him tucking the blue bottle under his right arm, farthest from you. This won’t be easy, especially since you saw the poorly disguised thirst trap of him and one of his frat bros at the gym: those arms are not to be underestimated. 

“I’ll pay you!” 

“With what money?” 

Soonyoung pauses. You’ve reached the exit by now, sunlight warming you through the glass doors. He turns to the sunlight, and you know he’s pretending to be a main character from an artsy film (not that he’s ever seen on). He takes a deep breath, as if he already regrets what he has to say next. 

“Okay, I’ll offer you the only services I have.” He turns to face you, eyes on the floor. 

“Oh my god, Soonyoung!” You shove his shoulder. “You are not selling your body for a test!” 

“But it’s all I know!” He says. He pokes your arms. “You could have so much muscle if you lifted just twice a week.” 

“Oh.” You blink at him. “You meant working out?” 

“What did you think I meant?” 

You feel heat rush into your cheeks. You push the door open, praying Soonyoung doesn’t notice. “It doesn’t matter,” you say, not daring to check if he’s following. “I don’t have time to workout.” 

“Then what do you want?” Soonyoung asks. He stays just out of reach, adjusting his grip so that the water bottle hangs from his hand. “Please, I’ll do anything!” 

“Why do you need me?” 

“Because you’re the smartest person I know,” he says without hesitation. In the three years of your friendship, you’ve learned that the only time Soonyoung isn’t serious is when he flirts. 

“You are,” he insists. “Plus you’ve already taken it, so you’re my best chance. My only chance, it’s not like I have a good track record with tests.” He gives you a lopsided smile as he tries to pretend like he’s joking. But Soonyoung has always been easy to read. You see the sparkle in his eyes dim, and you remember freshman Soonyoung–when he failed the midterm and holed up in his room in the frat house for two full days, not even venturing out to drink. It’s that damn sparkle that gets to you. He isn’t paying attention anymore, water bottle hanging loosely from his hand, but you can’t bring yourself to snatch it. 

“You can pass it,” you say with a sigh. “It’s about studying correctly.” 

“I don’t know,” Soonyoung says. “I’ve never really studied.” 

“Well, that’s what I’ll teach you.” 

Soonyoung freezes, grabbing your arm. “Seriously?” When you turn to face him, his smile is so bright it warms you from the inside out, hotter than the actual sun on your skin. He throws his arms around you, wrapping you in a hug so tight he lifts you off the ground. Your heart does this strange thing where it hops into your throat. Your arms come up as a reflex but his embrace is too tight for you to even hug him back.  

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He shouts. He doesn’t let go, even when he sets you back down. He loosens his arms just enough to look at you, the full force of his smile directed at you. “I swear you’re welcome at the frat house any time, I’ll buy you anything you want when I have money, I’ll drive you wherever you want if I can get Seungcheol’s car, I’ll do whatever, just thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

You know you should answer, or say something, but thinking is too much when he’s so close you can smell the strangely sweet combination of laundry detergent, cologne, and sweat. You push out of his arms, snagging your water bottle on the way out. 

“It’s whatever,” you mumble. Though his arms aren’t around you anymore, you feel strangely hot, like your blood is boiling, and your heart still pounds. 

“It is not whatever,” Soonyoung declares. “I swear, whatever you want, I’ll do it.” He holds a hand over his heart and if it was anyone else you’d think they were joking but it’s Soonyoung: he’s deadly serious. 

You can’t handle his gaze anymore, turning to study your beat up sneakers. “Really? You’ll get my first edition copy of Pride and Prejudice from Jun?” 

“I’ll get that book back.” He glances at you. “It is a book, right?” 

“Yeah,” you say. “Though there’s been some good adaptations.” 

“That’s the one with the zombies?” 

“Zombies?” You frown. “Oh my god, do you mean Pride and Prejudice and Zombies?” 

“That’s not the original book?” 

“No,” you say, laughing. “The original is Jane Austen, in the 1800s.” 

“Oh,” Soonyoung says. 

“I’ve actually never seen that one,” you say. “It’s the only adaptation I haven’t seen.” 

“How many movies are there?” 

“Well, there’s the 1940 adaptation, the BBC series that’s widely regarded as the most faithful adaptation, the 2005 Kiera Knightley movie that’s iconic, plus the Lizzie Bennet Diaries, which is a vlog-style Youtube adaptation. Then of course there’s Jane Austen’s other works, like Persuasion, which, the new one, for the record, was a terrible adaptation.” You stop when you realize you’re dangerously close to going on what Jihoon calls ‘an Austen tirade.’ 

“I liked the movie,” he says after a pause. “I don’t know if it was that good, or close to the books. But it was fun.” 

“I’ll have to watch it, then,” you say. “I know it’s the obvious choice, but Pride and Prejudice really is my favorite Jane Austen novel. Good luck getting it back from Jun though. He’s studying abroad this semester.” 

“He’s the friend from your history class?” 

“No, that’s Jihoon, my roommate,” you say. “Jun was in my language class.” 

“I thought you hated everyone in that class.” 

“Oh, I did,” you say. “But Jun is friends with Jihoon, so he sort of just became my friend too.” 

Soonyoung hums, saying nothing else. You don’t recognize the song, though you tend to mostly listen to classical music when you study or whatever Jihoon blasts from his room, so it’s not that surprising. The melody is nice, though. Well, Soonyoung’s voice is. 

“I really am grateful,” Soonyoung says. “I know I was begging, because I don’t think I can do this without you–well, I don’t know if I can do it with you, but you’re my only hope and–I’m rambling again.” He flashes a smile. “The point is, thank you.” 

You shrug, feeling shy under his gaze. “It’ll help me study anyways,” you say. “You learn a lot when you teach.” 

“I thought you already took it?”

“I only got a 150,” you say, sighing. “I need at least a 165.” 

Soonyoung nods, forehead creasing like it always does when he’s lost in thought. “Thank you anyway.”

“Well, you swore to do whatever I tell you,” you say, desperate to change the subject. “Don’t think I won’t abuse that.” 

“Oh, YN,” he says, “I’m counting on it.” He even winks. 

You cough, choking at the outright flirting. Soonyoung hasn’t tried a line on you in so long you thought he’d used them all. He isn’t serious–it was engraved in his DNA the second he became a fully fledged member of Sigma Beta Tau but it’s not like many people flirt with you, so it’s hard to stop your heart from jumping. 

You check your phone, unable to look him in the eyes. It’s 2:18 now, prime naptime if you can get back to your apartment before Jihoon gets back. But if it’s past two, unless he lied to you at the start of the semester, that means Soonyoung should be in his data ethics class. “Hey, don’t you have class right now?” 

Soonyoung glances at the time on his phone. “Shit.” He takes off, sprinting across the grass, dodging three picnics and narrowly avoiding getting rocked in the back of the head by a frisbee. He pauses at the edge, turning back around to wave wildly at you. 

“Thank you!” He shouts. The picnickers glance between you and him and you can feel the blush returning. Soonyoung doesn’t notice all the eyes on him, waving like a goofball one final time before sprinting off again. Like a whirlwind, he’s gone again, leaving you to stroll across campus and wonder what you just signed up for. 

.

.

Soonyoung’s brow furrows into a frown, lips pulling together in a pout. He rests his chin on his hands, looking up at you from the table like a puppy that knows he’s in trouble. “That bad?” 

“Your analytical reasoning was good!” You say, not wanting to destroy him just yet. “The logical analysis wasn’t that bad either, you just need practice.” 

“Wasn’t there a third section?” 

“The score for reading comprehension was pretty bad.” Horrendous, actually, but you can’t tell him that, not when he’s deflating faster than a balloon at a knife throwing contest. He sits back, head knocking lightly against the back of the stiff library chairs. 

“We can work with this! It’s really not that bad,” you say. You reach out instinctively, wrapping your hands over his hands. Your thumb rests against the soft smooth skin of the back of his hand, the rest of your fingers brushing lightly against his calloused fingers. You jerk back when you realize what you’re doing, patting his hands once and grabbing the workbook in front of him as if it’s what you meant to do all along. You study the upside down words, not daring to look at the disgust that’s probably painted on Soonyoung’s face. 

“You can start with practicing the logic problems,” you say, flipping through the work book. “I’ll figure out a strategy for the reading portion.” 

Soonyoung heaves a sigh, sitting up and hunching over the workbook. You flip open one of your old workbooks and try to pretend like you’re not trying to melt away from embarrassment. 

“This isn’t very much teaching,” Soonyoung says without looking up. “Lots of problem solving.” 

“I don’t really know what I’m doing either,” you say. “I just watched a lot of youtube videos when I was studying last year. I should have known better than to take it over the summer, though.” 

Soonyoung glances up. “How come?” 

You chew on your lip. You’ve known Soonyoung for a while now, but you’ve never talked to him like this, mentioning any real things other than complaining about roommates. Soonyoung would listen, probably say the ‘right’ things, but it’s a study session, so you just say, “Just not good timing.” 

He nods, returning to his humming. You turn to your own workbook, trying to figure out how to get Soonyoung to actually read the passages for the reading comprehension. Twenty minutes pass in an instant and Soonyoung drops his pencil, sliding his journal with the answers back in front of you. You flip to the answer key, scanning between the two. 

“When are you taking it again?” Soonyoung asks while he waits. 

“Just before Halloween,” you say. Exactly 38 days from now, according to the IMPENDING DOOM countdown clock on your phone. 

“That soon?” 

You shrug. “I wanted to give myself time to take it again in case I bomb it and it had to be before midterms, so, yeah.” 

“Is it really that bad to take all your tests at once?” Soonyoung asks. 

“I mean, finals week pretty much kills me every semester. I actually thought I was cutting it close with only two weeks between it and midterms.” 

“Is November cutting it too close?” 

“Depends on when in November you plan on taking it,” you say, “though you probably won’t be able to take it again if you don’t like your score.” 

“Not a problem for me,” Soonyoung says. He doesn’t waver against your raised eyebrow. “I’m getting that 179, first try.” 

“You’re that confident?” 

“In you.” He winks. “Also the bet is off if I don’t get it on the first try.” 

You nod. “Yeah, that makes more sense.” You glance at your calendar. “

“November 18th.” 

“That’s not too bad, you dodged between midterms and finals, there should be plenty of cram time.” 

Soonyoung shrugs. “I just scheduled it so that I would get the results before the Christmas party.” 

“I didn’t think you would be the religious type.” 

“Oh, I’m not,” he says. “The frat has this annual post-finals party before people go back home for holiday break, usually on the last day of finals. There’s no way I’m letting Seungkwan get away with my hard earned Playstation, and there’s no way he’d miss the party.” 

“You can’t just buy your own game?” 

“It’s a console actually,” he says, “and that’s not the point.” You prepare for some lecture about honor or frat code or something overly dramatic and inspired by any of the countless war propaganda movies he loves, but he closes his mouth. 

“I guess it doesn’t really matter,” you say. You turn back his sheet, half the answers marked with a dark blue X because red feels too cruel. “You’re clearly committed.” 

He sighs at the answers, flipping back to the first question and frowning. You think the conversation is over, but without looking up from glaring at the right answers, he says, “You should come.” 

“To?” 

“The Christmas party.” 

You stare at the top of his head but he doesn’t seem to notice. You wonder how he manages to keep his hair so blonde without ruining his scalp but you don’t see any dandruff. “Me?” You finally say. 

“You said you’d come, like, freshman year,” he says. “You never did.” 

You did promise, back when you saw him for class every day. But frat parties weren’t your scene back then. They aren’t your scene now. Nothing about blasting music and binge drinking appeals to you, and yet Soonyoung peeking at you from his notebook makes you feel guilty anyways. He looks at you like he really doesn’t understand why you wouldn’t want to go.

And that’s the worst part: for Soonyoung, you would go. When he looks at you with the damn Soonyoung Sparkle, you’d do anything. 

“I’ll… think about it,” you finally say. 

He looks at you for a moment longer, then nods, like he didn’t really expect you to say yes. You try not to feel like you’re letting him down. 

“Can you explain this one to me,” he asks, turning the book so you can see it from across the table. 

You skim the question, which turns out to be a series of questions about stained glass windows. You take a moment to glance between Soonyoung’s answers and the correct ones. 

“Walk me through your process,” you say. 

“Okay, I start with…”

.

. 

“Soonyoung, are you even listening?” 

He blinks at you, lifting his head from his arms. “Something about strategies? For reading?” 

You snap the book shut, shaking your head. You open your mouth, speech on responsibility and studying on the tip of your tongue but one look into Soonyoung’s Sparkle Eyes (patent pending) and all the words are gone. You really need to figure out how to get around that super power. 

“Come on, it’s so nice out,” he says. “We should be outside.” He grabs your hand. “This is not studying weather, this is dating weather.” 

“Soonyoung your test is in two months, you seriously want to skip?” You don’t dignify the second part of his complaint with a response. The idea of Soonyoung on a date makes your stomach flip. 

He sighs. “No, but it’s October, we won’t get many more nice days, so can we at least go outside?” 

You hesitate a heartbeat too long and Soonyoung jumps up. He closes the workbook, knocking loose papers off the table and sending highlighters of every color flying in every direction. The chaos earns a couple side eyes from the people around you and a full on glare from the person directly next to him, but Soonyoung, as Soonyoung as ever, doesn’t seem to notice. He picks up the papers and highlighters, shoving them into his backpack without a folder and slinging it over his shoulder. You can only follow him, grabbing the drinks before he tries to carry them along his laptop. When it comes to Soonyoung, mixing liquids and technology is more dangerous than mixing alcohols. You haven’t forgotten The Coffee Incident, flooding his backpack at 8 in the morning. 

He drags you out of the library, though you don’t put up much of a fight. Soonyoung makes you want to relax, just a little, and when he smiles back at you as soon as he steps out of the sunlight, you find you don’t regret a thing. 

Soonyoung pulls his emergency blanket out of his blanket, passing it to you. He’s more prepared for naps than any class he’s ever taken but the thin fabric is soft so who are you to judge? He heads straight for the quad, which is already filled with people, some groups of friends, too many obvious couples with heads in each other's laps or arms wrapped around each other. Soonyoung settles down in a relatively unpopulated corner, taking the blanket back to shake it out the blanket a few times before laying it flat on the ground. 

Soonyoung groans when you pull out the workbooks as soon as you sit down. “There isn’t anything more fun to study?” 

“Soonyoung, it’s the LSAT,” you say. “It’s not really meant to be fun.” 

“But–” 

“You’re the one that wanted to go outside,” you remind him, tapping his arm with a pen. “If you’re too distracted we’ll have to go back into the library.” 

He gazes at the other people laughing for a long moment before turning to face you again. You raise your eyebrows and he takes the workbook from your hands, flipping it open to the sticky-note bookmark. 

The next twenty minutes are relatively quiet, the only noise coming from the chatter of the people around you, too far away to clearly hear, and Soonyoung humming while working through practice problems. You’re not sure if he even realizes he’s doing it, though he bobs his head slightly. You wonder what Soonyoung is like when he isn’t trying to get out of studying–even outside of the party invites you’ve avoided, you rarely see him on campus (because you aren’t on campus when you don’t have to be). You almost went to dinner with him to celebrate passing the business class freshman year where you met him, but you got food poisoning and he never rescheduled. 

It’s for the best, though. Even like this, tutoring him minus payment of any kind, you can tell that spending too much time with him will be dangerous. He flirts so easily it feels genuine, and even though he can be ridiculous, he’s never been anything but lovely to you. And it doesn’t help that he’s hot. He glances up, as if he can feel you staring, but he just flashes a smile at you and ducks his head again. Damn frat bros with endearing charms that melt you like the perfect grilled cheese. 

Perfectly blue without a cloud in sight, the sky is an empty canvas above you. The air is just the right temperature, just between hot and cold, the sun ensuring that it never dips into the latter. Just the slightest breeze kisses your skin, lifting the edges of the papers but never flipping them. Soonyoung was right: the perfect date weather. 

“Soonyoung?” You turn your head to see a dark haired man standing over you. Wearing a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and sides ripped open, you figure there’s a 80% chance he’s one of Soonyoung’s frat brothers. 

“Seokmin?” Soonyoung frowns. 

“You were actually serious?” Seokmin asks, gesturing to the books. “You know Seungkwan said it as a joke, right?” 

“Yeah, but a bet is a bet,” Soonyoung says. “And I really want his Playstation.” 

Seokmin snorts. “You know he only said it because he knows you can’t do it.” 

“I’m not like I’m losing anything by trying.” Soonyoung sets his lips in a sharp line of determination (which you recognize from the dining hall when he sweet talks his way into free cookies). Seokmin raises his eyebrows at his aggression but eventually decides it’s not worth the fight. Instead, he plops down on the blanket, making a little triangle between the three of you. 

“You must be YN,” he says, extending his hand. His easy smile and the way he sat down without waiting for an invitation reminds you of Soonyoung. Unlike the faux blonde, it feels foreign and you shift a little closer to Soonyoung instinctively. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” you lie. Seokmin’s eyes curl into little half moons when he smiles, apparently not noticing your awkwardness. You can’t help but feel like he’s intruding as he turns to Soonyoung and asks him to explain what he’s doing. Soonyoung explains it well, though it helps that he was working on the analytical reasoning section. 

It’s because he’s interrupting Soonyoung’s studying. That’s why it bothers you that he’s here, even though Soonyoung doesn’t seem to mind and Seokmin seems genuinely interested. Unfortunately, the revelation doesn’t stop you from wishing Seokmin would just leave.  

“I don’t know how you do any of this,” Seokmin says after Soonyoung explains the next problem. 

“It’s easy!” Soonyoung says. “Half the time the answer is in the question, you just have to know where to look!” 

“Quoting me?” You raise your eyebrows. 

“Well I did learn from the best!” 

“So cliche,” you mutter but the compliment gets you smiling anyway. You look up to find Seokmin looking at you. He has a strange look on his face, frowning, but not angrily. He looks a little bit like when Soonyoung can’t decide between the right answer and the second best option. He doesn’t look away when you catch him staring. 

“What?” 

He pauses a long moment before answering, as if pondering how to answer. Finally, he says, “I like you.” 

You stare at him. Soonyoung had been diligently working on practice problems but his head jerks up at the words. 

“I mean, you’re a cool person,” Seokmin quickly says. “Good tutor for Soonyoung.” After hearing his name, Soonyoung grins and turns back to underlining in the workbook. 

“Tutor?” You say. “I really don’t think I’m doing all that much.” 

Seokmin shrugs. ”I don’t know many people that would spend this much time with someone if they aren't helping. Besides, either way, I’ve never seen Soonyoung this dedicated before.” 

“That’s because you don’t dare to bet against me,” Soonyoung says without looking up. 

“He might have a point there,” you say. Soonyoung takes a moment to smile at your support. 

“What I’m trying to say is that you’re cool,” Seokmin says. 

“Thank you?” You wait for him to say something else but he sits back and rests his hands behind him, stretching out in the sun a little more. Sighing, he tilts his head toward the sun. 

“Seems like the weather will turn cold soon,” he says. “This might be the last warm day of the year.” He glances at Soonyoung. “And you’re spending it here instead of pre-gaming the Tau party.” 

Soonyoung’s pencil freezes. He peeks up at Seokmin, then at you, then shrugs. “I take my bets seriously.” 

“Whatever,” Seokmin says. He lays back fully, half of his body sticking off the blanket into the grass. “What are the Ke$ha lyrics? ‘The party don’t start ‘til Soonyoung walks in?’” He doesn’t wait for a correction. “I think I’ll wait until you're finished and we’ll tear it up together.” 

Soonyoung glances at you, then unsuccessfully tries to hide his laughter at your expression. You don’t mean to be rude, but Seokmin really just invited himself all on his own and crashed your picnic. Study date. Outdoor study session. The name doesn’t matter, what does matter is it’s only supposed to be you and Soonyoung. 

“He’ll fall asleep in about five seconds,” Soonyoung whispers. “He doesn’t actually care about the party, he just likes my nap blankets.” On that point you can’t really blame Seokmin. 

“As long as it doesn’t disrupt your studying,” you say. 

“Right,” Soonyoung says, more to himself than you. “That’s what’s important.” 

You aren’t so oblivious that you miss his bitterness, but you are enough of a coward to decide not to ask about it. How do you even ask about something like that? You can barely answer his questions about the LSAT, so feelings? No chance. 

You flip open your own workbook and set a pencil case down to keep the book open and ignore the soft snores from Seokmin. Soonyoung hums, the soft breeze carrying the gentle tune to you and easing you into a false sense of comfort, planting the idea that it’s always been like this and it always will be. But Soonyoung will take the LSAT in November and you will graduate in the spring and there won’t be any more excuses for seeing him, let alone laying out in the sun with him. Letting yourself enjoy this moment has dangerous consequences for your heart. 

And yet you enjoy the warm sun on your skin and hum along with Soonyoung anyway. Seokmin is right: this kind of day won’t last long. 

.

.

You jump awake at the sound. It takes you a moment to register where you are, to blink the sleep out of your eyes and recognize the stiff library chairs, the yellow tinted lighting of the study rooms on the third floor. Built like a prison cell with no windows and stained linoleum floors, you aren’t entirely sure how you fell asleep. The last thing you remember is working on your essay on Sense and Sensibility, which was rather difficult since you haven’t had the time to finish rereading it. Your book rests on the table next to your open laptop, screen dark. 

A second knock reminds you why you woke up in the first place and you turn to the door. Through the glass door you see a student with a backpack hanging off their shoulder, half smiling. They turn the knob, opening the door just enough to stick their head in. 

“Hey, sorry, I think I have the room scheduled,” they say. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I lost track of time,” you say, slamming your laptop shut and shoving everything into your backpack. To their credit, the other student doesn’t rush you, even apologizing and telling you to take your time. But if you’ve lost the room, that means the two hours you had booked the study room for–the two hours you designated for writing the essay and doing problem sets–were spent asleep, which means the LSAT cram schedule has been completely thrown off with only three days before the test. 

You groan as you step into the elevator, pressing the button for the fifth floor. The farther up, the more intense the quiet levels get. Hopefully it won’t be so quiet that you fall asleep, but since you got a nap, you should be able to power through an all-nighter. It wouldn’t be the first time. You brace yourself to check your phone for the time, though being kicked out of the room means you already know your fate. 9:08 means that you have a little less than three hours until the library closes. You’ve done more with less time. 

The first couple desks are occupied by students but you don’t stray, heading for a familiar corner, ignoring the empty desks that line the stacks. Your corner, that you found freshman year during finals season when you couldn’t find an empty desk, is perfect: hidden behind the encyclopedia shelves with a light directly above it, only three dicks carved into it–all on the underside (discovered on a particularly bad day where you found it most comfortable to lay underneath and rethink your entire life). You smile at the small comfort, striding through the stacks with Sense and Sensibility still in your arms. 

You nearly drop the book when you see the backpack, abruptly turning despite the fact that it must have been obvious to whoever stole your corner that you were headed there. You feel rage boiling up and threatening to spill. You close your eyes, reminding yourself that the corner isn’t actually yours. Still, as you settle into a desk facing a giant window that reveals the dark campus, you can’t help but feel bitter. Your thoughts stray to the desk that should be yours, even as you pull out your computer. 

BATTERY LOW

The words light up your screen, mocking you before the screen falls dark again. You dig in your backpack for your charger that you always slip into the main pocket. You feel your underused pencil pouch, the single journal since you keep most of your notes on your laptop, LSAT prep book, your three folders, and no charger. Even when you look inside and lay the entire contents of your backpack on the desk in front of you, the only charger you find is for your phone. Which means the longer laptop cord is probably sitting on your desk, all the way back at your apartment. 

A twenty minute walk back, twenty minutes less for writing your essay. You can start it on your phone, maybe, though the thought of switching between reading the Sparknotes and typing already exhausts you. It’s moot anyways, since all you can do is sit and stare at the desk, covered in the contents of your soul. This is what your life has become: a stack of paper that weighs less than the digital universe on your laptop that’s all contingent on a $15 charger that abandons you when you need it most. 

In the end it isn’t the rage that gets to you. It’s the hilarity of it all, how silly it is that your life is dictated by something so stupid. 

The fifth floor decrees silence, so you make sure that your sobs don’t make a noise. You can’t control the tears but you can hold your breath. When your head starts to feel light and your lungs are desperate for air, you can breathe through your mouth and inhale as slow as you can to keep the shakiness to a minimum. You can do everything you can to hold it together, even when you’re falling apart. 

Someone taps you on the shoulder. You lift your head, ready to face a tired librarian kicking you out but instead you see bleach blonde hair and a forced smile over a furrowed brow. 

“What are you doing here?” You whisper, glad for the quiet because you don’t trust your voice to support you. 

He holds up a thick, leatherbound book. LSAT for Dummies. “Extra reading couldn’t hurt, right?” 

You blink at him. The only times you’ve seen Soonyoung in the library on his own has been with a thick blanket and closed eyes (it’s how you know he sleeps with his mouth open, just a little). You can’t quite believe he’s in front of you and yet he takes a step closer and doesn’t vanish. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks. 

“Shhh,” you say, holding your finger to your lips to get him to quiet down, even though there’s no one in sight. “Quiet floor.” 

He nods, looking around as if he’s waiting for someone to kick him out. He turns to look at your desk, the contents of your backpack still strewn about. He tilts his head but doesn’t dare raise his voice to ask. You know he hasn’t missed the tears, still wet on your cheeks. 

You done? He mouths. 

Not even close, you think, but you nod anyways because it’s the easier answer. Soonyoung doesn’t hesitate, gently closing your laptop and sweeping everything into your backpack. You watch as he dumps it all into the biggest pocket, zipping it up and slinging it onto his back. He tucks the law book under his arm and holds out his other hand for you to take. 

“Come on,” he whispers. And you take it, let him pull you out of your chair. The walk to the elevator; out of the library; toward the edge of campus; nothing feels far when Soonyoung doesn’t let go of your hand. You follow him in a daze, clinging to his hand in the off-chance that all your luck rides on him–like if you let go, you’ll lose your tether to this planet. 

Soonyoung rarely walks in silence and today is not an exception. He rambles about the only member of the frat capable of cooking that apparently can’t do anything without creating a giant mess. Even as he complains about the guy, Soonyoung can’t help defending him, explaining in mouth-watering detail how good his food is. 

“One time he crowd sourced some steaks and did a grill for the new pledges and they all thought it was a prank or something and nearly cried when he actually let them eat them. I think they burnt their mouths from eating it too fast, afraid someone was going to take it away from them.” Soonyoung stops at the edge of campus. He glances at you, a question in his eyes. Where are we going? 

“Soonyoung,” you say. Squeezing his hand feels natural. “I don’t really want to go back right now.” 

He nods, squeezing your hand back. “You want to go for a ride?” 

“You have a car?” 

“Nope.” Soonyoung fishes his phone out of his pocket and makes a call. You can only hear Soonyoung, who says, “I need a ride,” and “Pick me up by the duck statue,” and then he hangs up. 

The edge of campus that Soonyoung drags you to is right next to the athletic fields, which explains why there is a giant statue of the mascot that towers over you. It has three of its own personal spotlights and shiny claws from fans rubbing them for good luck, despite there being no official tradition. You only went to one game, mostly to confirm you would rather be anywhere else (except maybe the bathroom of the stadium). Either way, the only thing you do know about the statue and mascot for your school is that it is not a duck. 

“That’s a raven.” You point at the statue. 

Soonyoung frowns between you and the hunk of metal. “Oh, Larry?” 

“It has a name?” 

“Well, there’s the official name, which is like, Midnight Rain or something, and the frat name.” 

“And the frat name is Larry?” 

Soonyoung shrugs. “I didn’t choose it.” 

“And you call it a duck, too?” 

“It looks like a duck.” 

You study the statue. You aren’t an ornithologist, but you’re pretty sure ducks have webbed feet instead of talons, and different beaks. Plus you’ve never seen a pure black duck. But you’ve spent enough time with Soonyoung to know it doesn’t have to make sense when the frat is involved (in fact, you’ve found sense is rarely involved in their decisions). 

“We just call it the duck. Or Larry, when we want to be formal.” Soonyoung jumps at the honk of a horn. You turn around with him to find an obnoxiously red convertible parked against the curb. The driver’s smooth black hair is styled to look effortless, hair falling just above his eyes, and he wears sunglasses despite the fact that the sun went down three hours ago. He might be attractive, if he wasn’t trying so hard. You never thought you had a type, but someone like Soonyoung, who wears clothes that he likes and sticks his hair straight up because he thinks it looks funny–that’s more your style. 

“Here’s our ride,” Soonyoung says. He starts walking, pulling you with him, still holding your hand. You aren’t sure if he even realizes, but you’re in no hurry to remind him. 

“Hey Josh,” he says. 

Driver (Josh, apparently), finally pulls off his sunglasses. “Soonyoung, you have a friend.” 

“I’m YN,” you say, wishing your voice didn’t sound so scratchy from crying. 

 “Oh, I know,” he says, a twinkle in his eye that flirts between danger and fun. “I’m Joshua.” You try not to feel unsettled by it. He raises an eyebrow as Soonyoung slides into the backseat and you sit beside him. “Am I just an Uber to you?” 

“Seungcheol is out and I knew there was no way you would let me drive your car,” Soonyoung says. 

“So, yes?” 

Soonyoung shrugs and laughs at Joshua’s expression. 

“Where are we headed?” He asks with a resigned sigh as if he’s used to Soonyoung’s antics. Has he done this before? You frown. Why does it matter to you if he’s done this with someone else? You’re so busy with the internal war, you miss Soonyoung’s answer. 

“Seriously?” Joshua asks. “It’s a weeknight.” 

“Like that’s ever been a problem for you.” 

Joshua glances at you. “You’re okay with this?” 

You pause. You don’t actually know where Soonyoung said to go. But it’s Soonyoung, your heart says. You're inclined to agree with it tonight. “Yeah.” 

He shakes his head and mutters something you don’t catch and kicks the car into gear. Before long, you are flying down a two lane road you didn’t even know existed. The wind starts to pick up with the top of the car down, blasting your face. Though your nose is still stuffed from crying, the air fills your lungs, tasting like dead leaves and unnatural warmth courtesy of climate change. For the first time tonight, you can breathe. 

.

.

The clock reads just shy of 1 am by the time the car stops. As soon as the rumbling engine cuts out, another noise takes over, drowning everything else out. Crashes too rhythmic to be thunder, the blows softened by tall dunes illuminated by the car’s headlights that Joshua didn’t turn off. 

Soonyoung turns to you with a grin. “Ready to have some fun?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, jumping out of the car instead of opening the door, ignoring Joshua’s shout. He sprints toward the crashing waves. 

Joshua shakes his head, opening his door and ushering you out from the back. He even closes the door behind you, folding his arms over his chest and walking slowly to the beach with you. The headlights cut out but the moon and stars shine enough to see where the boardwalk ends and the sand begins. Soonyoung’s movement gives him away more than any light, running alongside the water and dancing with the tide. 

You clear your throat. The ride cleared your head enough for you to feel properly embarrassed about meeting someone right after sobbing. You shudder to imagine how terrible you looked when he first picked you up, clinging to Soonyoung like he was the only thing keeping you alive. A blush forms just at the thought of it. 

“So, you do this often?” You ask. 

“Do something truly insane because of Soonyoung? All the time.” Joshua laughs. “We don’t usually end up this far away though, and usually someone’s life is in imminent danger.” 

“That doesn’t surprise me,” you say, watching Soonyoung strip his socks and shoes off and toss them behind him. One sock gets caught in the wind and blows back toward you and Joshua. 

Joshua stops before the two of you can catch up to him. You turn to look at him. It’s difficult to read his expression in the moonlight but he frowns like he’s not sure he should say something. Eventually he says, “I’m going for a walk down the boardwalk.” He glances at Soonyoung, then back at you and smiles. “Have fun with him.” 

You watch him turn around and trudge back up the sand, wondering if all of Soonyoung’s friends are this strange. Maybe it’s just being in a frat. You grab Soonyoung’s sock and set it with his shoes, smiling when he turns around and waves like a maniac. 

“It’s the ocean!” He shouts over the crashes. 

“You’re soaked!” You shout back. He glances down and apparently finally realizes his shirt is wet, clinging to his shoulders already. He strides back toward you, grabbing your arm and pulling you closer. 

“My shoes are not coming off!” You warn him. 

“Just come closer!” He says. “It’s amazing!” You stand with him at the edge of the water, watching it rise in the darkness and draw closer and closer. It crashes on the sand first, a violent move, kicking up wet sand and mixing it with white water. The frothy white water creeps forward, until you have to dance backward. Soonyoung stays in the water, letting it wash around his feet. 

“It feels better like this,” he says. 

“My feet are covered in enough sand,” you say, though he does look like he’s having fun. The water must be freezing this time of the year–it would feel so nice running over your skin. But you’d end up with wet socks and even more sand in your shoes to clean out. 

Soonyoung holds out his hand. “You’d like this.” 

You chew on your lip. Normally you’d laugh in his face and say ‘not a chance.’ But normalcy has never been running three hours away to the beach in the middle of the night when you have class at 9 in the morning. You pull off the sneakers without untying them and pull your socks off, setting them next to Soonyoung’s and joining him at the edge of the water. His hand isn’t out by the time you return but he slips it into yours when you join his side. 

Another wave crashes and you watch the water creep forward, faster than you expect it to be–and you’re right, it’s freezing, but Soonyoung’s right too, it sends an icy shock throughout your body that sends a tingly rush up from your toes to every nerve in your body, setting them on fire. You squeeze his hand and laugh. 

“Good?” He asks.

“I love it.” 

You don’t know how long you stand there, holding onto Soonyoung’s hand and letting the water wash over you. After a few waves, it doesn’t feel cold anymore. You stand until your feet are buried in wet sand, each wave sending you lower and lower. 

“My feet are freezing,” Soonyoung eventually says. 

“Mine, too.” You lift your feet reluctantly, already missing the coarse sand and cold water. You have to let go of Soonyoung’s hand to put on your socks and shoes, shuddering at all the sand in your socks. The cotton became damp from sitting too close to the water, your shoes faring the same. Yet you don’t regret a second of it. 

You stand up and stretch, feeling your spine pop. When you turn back around, you almost scream. You manage to contain it to a gasp, a wheezing Soonyoung’s name. He blinks at you innocently, like he isn’t standing in front of you with his shirt in his hand. 

“What are you doing?” You choke out. 

“We’re at the beach,” he says. “I have to take pictures.” 

“And you need to take off your shirt for that?” 

“Why? Does it bother you?” He smirks. 

Muscles have never been a selling point for you. The “people” you’ve crushed on have all been smart or kind, crushes of intellect rather than bodies. His toned abs, sculpted shoulders, the way his body curves gently as he allows you to stare at him–normally it wouldn’t get to you at all (other than the embarrassment of being this close to a shirtless man for the first time in a long time). But it’s not just the muscles. It’s Soonyoung, your Soonyoung who calls you at four in the morning to tell you about the movie he just finished and is too endearing for you to truly be annoyed at. It’s the Soonyoung that gets lost in the Engineering building even as a senior. It’s the Soonyoung that drags you to the beach in the middle of the night just to make you smile. Yes, it bothers you. No one should be this incredible and hot. 

“No,” you mumble, failing to convince yourself of the lie. 

Soonyoung seems to be done teasing you, dropping his shirt into your hands. He walks a little closer to the waves, apparently not bothered by the chilly ocean breeze. He starts to pose, then raises his eyebrows. “Aren’t you going to take pictures?” 

“Where’s your phone?”

“The camera’s broken,” he says. “Just use yours and you can send them to me.” He continues to pose, flexing his arms as subtly as he can which isn’t particularly subtle (though the muscles are even more impressive in person). You are tempted to reach out and feel the tension, before you realize you are staring again. 

You numb to Soonyoung in this half-dressed state as you take the pictures. The frat must have a professional photographer or something, because Soonyoung knows how to pose. Despite some of the angles and positions seeming awkward, each picture comes out as if from a photoshoot. He only gives you a few instructions on taking pictures, and compliments you way beyond your talents. 

“Just like that!” Soonyoung says, breaking his model face to grin at you. “You’re really good at this.” 

“You can’t even see the pictures,” you say. You bite your lips so you don’t smile. Apparently that doesn’t matter, because he keeps posing. It’s a good thing you just upgraded your phone storage because you estimate at least a thousand pictures are taken for each pose. 

“Are you guys done?” You jump at the voice next to you. Apparently Joshua returned from his walk, sneaking up using the crashing waves as cover. “We should head back soon if you want to make your morning classes.” 

“Definitely want to,” you say. You haven’t gotten any work done, but that’s no excuse to skip class. Soonyoung pouts but doesn’t argue. 

“Perfect!” Joshua claps his hands together. He shoves you toward Soonyoung and grabs your phone. “One more picture together and we’ll go.”

Being at a distance worked perfectly fine but those muscles have you frozen in place again. Soonyoung throws an arm over your shoulders and grins like you do this all the time. His biceps press through your jacket, the flex of the muscle exactly as you imagined it, not that it stops your heart from thundering. 

You can’t help but steal a glance at Soonyoung. Despite feeling like you’ll malfunction at any second, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. Soonyoung’s features look soft this close, even the sharp cut of his jawline. You want to study every line of his face, each curve, memorize it until the way his lips slowly curl into a smile is carved into your heart. Spending the rest of your life here doesn’t seem too bad. 

“Let’s go,” Joshua says, breaking whatever magic froze time for you. You are left with cold toes and sand in your sneakers as you march up the dune and back to Joshua’s car. 

“I just cleaned it,” he groans, looking at all the sand you and Soonyoung tracked in. 

You mumble an apology but when you try to offer to clean it for him, he shakes his head. “Nobody touches my baby.” 

You glance at Soonyoung, who followed you into the backseat again. He rolls his eyes at Joshua, smiling in a way that you know means he isn’t serious. You smile back at him and click your seatbelt into place. 

“Address?” Joshua asks, handing you his phone. You punch it in and hand the phone back. 3 hours and sixteen minutes. 

Joshua whistles, seeing the arrival time of 4:53. “Remind me never to do this again.” 

“The beach was your idea,” Soonyoung says. His words slur a little. 

“Just go to sleep already,” Joshua says. The engine rumbles on and he pulls away from the empty boardwalk. 

“‘m not even tired,” Soonyoung says, fighting a yawn. He slouches and leans against the headrest, rolling his head to look at you. “You have class in the morning?” 

“Not until nine.” 

“That’s good.” He doesn’t succeed in fighting the yawn this time. His blinks become longer and longer, eyes closing more than opening. It’s like watching the energizer bunny shut down. 

“Soonyoung?” 

He opens his eyes and you think maybe he’d wait for the rest of his life for you to say something. 

“Thank you.” 

“Always.” He smiles lazily. “I swore I’d do anything.” 

His sworn loyalty. It should be fun, having a boy like him dedicated to fulfilling your wishes. But what would it be like if he wasn’t sworn to you? If he did these kinds of things just because he wants to? 

You didn’t think you were tired but the next thing you know, Soonyoung gently shakes you awake. 

“We’re here,” he says in a quiet, very un-Soonyoung voice. 

You blink at him, trying to figure out why your neck hurts so much, frowning at the unfamiliar surroundings. From the rear view mirror, Joshua watches you. Right, instead of writing your essay, doing the problem sets, or any of the readings, you went to the beach. You wait for the guilt to set in but it doesn’t come. None of the anxieties from earlier in the evening (the technical part of your brain reminds you it was the night before) overwhelm you. 

“Right,” you say, clearing your throat. Your mouth tastes nasty but before you can say anything, Soonyoung hands you a water bottle. You take a sip before saying thank you. 

Soonyoung unbuckles his seatbelt. “I’ll walk you up.” 

You nod, grateful you don’t have to ask him. The night has been a full adventure on its own yet you aren’t quite ready for it to be over. At least you aren’t ready to say goodbye to Soonyoung. 

There’s still something you want to tell him. You want to tell him that you like his blonde hair, even though everyone else thinks it’s ridiculous. You want to tell him that you lied earlier, you nearly lost your mind seeing him shirtless. You want to tell him that you feel proud when he gets the right answer on the first try, that you think his concentration frown is cute, that you’ve never enjoyed studying like you do when he’s by your side. You want to tell him that on your worst days, days like today, just being Soonyoung makes it better. 

But you learned a long time ago tired ramblings and drunk confessions are siblings. They both end in heartbreak and twelve packs of ramen. 

So you ride the elevator with him and watch the lights flicker. You never cared when Jihoon brought his friends (well, Jun) over, but the carpets that look dirty no matter how many times they’re cleaned and beige walls are even worse tonight. You can stand to live in a boring apartment, but not a dirty one. 

“This is me,” you say, gesturing to 808. You turn your back on the door, facing Soonyoung instead. He looks radiant under the fluorescent hallway lights, which really isn’t fair. They make his bleach blonde hair look natural, highlight the blemishes on his skin, easy to see when he’s this close. 

You should go inside and he should go back down but neither of you move. For the second time tonight, you are frozen in time with Soonyoung. 

The floor creaks and you jump, turning around at the same time, accidentally knocking into Soonyoung’s chest as you turn to face the noise behind you. Jihoon, gym bag over his shoulder, frowns at you across the hallway. 

“Are you seriously just getting back now?” 

Shit. You never texted him. “Um, Jihoon, this is Soonyoung,” you say. He waves behind you. “Soonyoung, Jihoon.” 

Jihoon folds his arms. “I’ve heard about you.” You glare at him, which he ignores. “You’re taking the LSAT on a dare?” 

“You’re the one that wants to be a music producer?” 

Jihoon raises his eyebrows and looks at you. “You’ve mentioned me?” 

“Only the worst,” you say, smiling at him. 

“I thought you were at the library all night?” Jihoon says. 

“We went on an adventure,” you say. You show him your sandy shoes. He raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything. It’s clear he knows he interrupted something, but the stubborn asshole doesn’t move. 

You turn back to Soonyoung. “Goodnight,” you say, resisting the urge to hug him. 

“It’s morning,” Jihoon says. 

“Goodnight,” Soonyoung says, glancing at Jihoon. He pauses and fidgets with the hem of his shirt but finally gives you a half hug that feels more like a bro hug than anything else. He disappears into the elevator then pops his head out a final time “Send me the photos!” 

You turn to Jihoon. “I forgot to text you.” 

“I figured I’d wait until the morning to call,” he said. “Even if you were kidnapped there’s still a 90% chance you’d figure out a way to show up for class on time.” He turns the key in the lock and strides into the apartment. You’re too tired to argue back, especially when he’s right, so you just follow him into the apartment. 

“I like him,” Jihoon says before you vanish into your room. 

“Should I find you a wedding dress?” You say. “Soonyoung is single.” 

Jihoon rolls his eyes and grabs a protein shake from the fridge. “Why do I even bother?” 

You don’t wait for him to leave first, peeling your shoes off in the entryway where you can sweep up the sand and practically fall into your room. It’s race to change into an old t-shirt before you collapse onto your bed. 

You set an alarm for 8:30 and check fifty times to make sure it’s actually set. Then you open your camera roll, shaking your head at the countless pictures. You choose twenty non-blurry ones before your eyes start to droop. You scroll to the bottom and click on the pictures Joshua took. Soonyoung grins for the camera, his easy smile as captivating on your phone as it is in person. You are staring at him, a soft smile on your lips and hearts practically bugging out of your eyes. It’s so ridiculously obvious how you feel. You send him his thirst traps and keep that picture for yourself. 

It takes a week for you to realize Soonyoung never posted the pictures. 

.

.

The weight of the world has the decency to wait until you’re home to fall on your shoulders. You hold your keys up and can’t push it into the lock. If you didn’t do well today, it means the past two months have been a complete waste–all the studying, the assignments you got low grades on because you were studying, the nights you spent at your desk–wasted and doomed to repeat. 

All but the time you spent with Soonyoung. Even if you fail (again), he should at least score decently, and you can’t consider that a complete waste. 

You raise your key to insert it into the lock but the door flies open. Jihoon glares at you, arms folded over his chest. “What the hell is taking you so long, your boyfriend is here.”  

You peer past him and find Soonyoung lounging on the couch, feet resting on the coffee table. He sits up when he sees you, grinning and waving. You wonder if he’s been there since you told him you were finished. You make a mental note to get Jihoon his favorite protein shakes. 

“How did you know I was here?” 

“Me and your boyfriend heard you shaking your keys in front of the door for like twenty minutes,” Jihoon says.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you mutter, praying Soonyoung didn’t hear either of you. You push past Jihoon, letting him lock the door behind you. Soonyoung jumps off the couch as soon as you drop your bag, almost tackling you in a hug. You pretend not to hear Jihoon’s scoff as he locks himself in his room again. 

“How’d it go?” He asks, squeezing you one more time before letting go. You try not to feel disappointed about it. “I mean, I know you did amazing, but how do you feel? Was the room super hot or super cold? Did the proctor give you the evil eye when you turned in your paper because they were secretly trying to sabotage you?” 

“No?” You frown. “And the room was fine, I felt pretty good about it, but I felt good last time, so I don’t really know, I just really don’t want to take it again.” You sigh. “I know you want to know as many details as possible for your test, but I really, really don’t want to think about it right now.” 

Soonyoung grins and pulls out a package of White Claws and a bottle of vodka from a plastic bag that you just noticed sitting on your coffee table. “That’s perfect because I brought a gift from the whole frat.” 

“That seems pretty on brand,” you say. 

“And a gift from me.” He digs again and pulls out a DVD. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. 

“You’re kidding.” You say. “I think I have to be drunk to watch that.” 

“You don’t have faith in my taste in movies?” Soonyoung asks but he pops open the first drink and slips something shaped concerningly like a knife out of his pocket and stabs the can, chugging it before it can really spill on your carpet. Before you can register what he did, he tosses the empty can on the coffee table, immediately scrambling to straighten it. “Sorry, force of habit.” 

“Soonyoung, I don’t think I can keep up with you,” you say, sitting slowly onto the couch. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m a lightweight,” he says. “I definitely should not have chugged that.” 

“I guess I better catch up,” you say, unscrewing the vodka and pouring a shot in the little paper cups that Soonyoung brought. The acrid scent curls your lip but you knock it back as fast as you can, forcing it down when you miss the back of your throat and it burns your tongue. Soonyoung hands you a can, the lime flavored seltzer pushing the nasty flavor out of your mouth. 

“Yeah, I’m terrible at that,” you say. 

Soonyoung shrugs. “I’m not one to judge. You should have seen me as a pledge.” 

You grin at the mental image of Soonyoung wearing a fake toga made of bedsheets. “I bet you were adorable.” You take another sip of the drink (which tastes significantly worse when you aren’t comparing it to straight vodka) and miss Soonyoung scrambling for words. 

“I can’t drink this,” you declare, setting the can down. You cross the room to the fridge, opening it and studying the contents. Soonyoung follows you, resting his chin on the door and glancing inside. 

“Jihoon does most of the cooking,” you say, feeling self-conscious. Not much populates your fridge, a package of chicken breast and a carton of eggs. A couple containers of take out that are either two days or two weeks old sit in front, and the drawer of fruit that is filled with apples from Jihoon’s mother definitely smells funny. 

“I live in a frat house, this is heaven.” 

You flash him a smile and grab the orange juice, shaking it as you grab a glass from the cabinet (thank god Jihoon did the dishes last night). Soonyoung follows you back to the couch and waits for you to pour a glass and add two shots of vodka. You raise the glass and he takes your rejected White Claw and clinks it. 

“Cheers,” he says, sipping this one instead of chugging it. He sets it down and leans against the armrest so that he can face you. “How did you meet Jihoon, by the way? He seems like a pretty reserved dude.”

“Yeah, sorry if he was short with you, he isn’t half as mean as he pretends to be,” you say. 

“We actually talked a lot.” He pauses, tilting his head as he thinks about it. “Well, a lot about working out. I think I could turn him into my gym buddy with enough pressure.” 

“I would pay to see that,” you say. Jihoon tried to bring you to the gym exactly once, and you have regretted it ever since. The soreness haunts you, but you think Soonyoung might be one of the few people on the planet that could keep up with him with those arms. 

“I didn’t know you were into that,” Soonyoung says with a giggle. You roll your eyes. 

“You know for a fact that’s not what I meant,” you say, “and to answer your question, we lived in the same dorm freshman year. He was next door, and both our roommates were psychotic, so we ended up trading. We’ve been living together ever since because I’m the only one that can put up with his annoying ass. Also he cooks and keeps me alive during finals.” 

“I can’t believe I was a dorm assignment away from living with you.” Soonyoung shakes his head and pretends to sigh. “Fate isn’t on my side.” 

“Don’t you live in a frat house?” 

“Semantics,” Soonyoung says. He pauses. “Semen-tics.” He starts to laugh and though the joke is far from funny, you find yourself giggling too. 

“You’re drunk,” you say. 

Soonyoung points at you. “I’m pretty sure you’re drunk too.” 

You tilt your head from side to side, trying to think at first but the motion feels nice, toeing the line between dizzying and comfortable. Right, you were checking if you were drunk. You have your answer, but you don’t want to stop spinning just yet. 

“Do you really want to be a lawyer?” Soonyoung asks. You freeze with your head on your right shoulder, frowning at him. “I mean, like, how do you know?” 

“It makes good money,” you say. “Well, corporate law does. Everything going according to plan, I’ll be out of debt before I’m thirty, retiring at 65.” 

“But how do you know that’s what you want?” Soonyoung asks. You wonder if he’s asking you or himself. You think about the first day you met him. 

It was the first day of your sophomore year, 8 in the morning in the worst classroom in the Armhayer Building at the end of a dead end hallway with no windows. The business program had a required career building course and some cruel administrator decided to make the other available class clash with the other required business class for the year, so half the class was people you were stuck with for the full year. Despite its reputation, the business school at the university seemed to only accept idiots. 

You settled for a long semester of biting back your eye rolls and yawning through class, choosing a seat in the front so that at least you won’t have to look at anyone else. And for fifteen minutes, you struggled to keep your eyes open. 

Then Soonyoung walked in. 

He was out of breath, telling the professor that he got lost several times and someone gave him the wrong directions. You didn’t really pay attention to him until he dropped into the seat next to you. Fully prepared to give him a side eye and judge him for the rest of the semester, Soonyoung flashed a smile at you and apologized for disrupting you. He was so obviously not your type, yet when his head dropped on your shoulder, you didn’t wake him up. Two classes later when the professor told the class that you would be in a semester-long partner project, you didn’t hesitate to say yes when Soonyoung asked you. 

Soonyoung hadn’t ever taken the class seriously, going through the motions and doing the bare minimum for most of the assignments. You never paid any attention to it, but you realize that he never actually told you what he planned to do with his life, always asking you what you planned to do with your copious amounts of money. Now you wonder if it was because he really doesn’t know. 

“I want stability,” you finally say. “This plan is stable. Safe, as long as everything goes according to plan. I guess it’s not as cool as dreaming about being an astronaut or whatever, but it’s what I want.” 

“I think it’s cool. Knowing what you want to do.” Soonyoung says with little enthusiasm. 

“You don’t have any idea?” 

He shrugs. “I have to be smart to do the things I want to do.” 

“You are smart.” 

“You don’t have to pander to me, I’m not looking for your pity.” 

“Soonyoung.” You wait for him to look you in the eyes. “You are smart. This isn’t pity. Sure it takes you a little longer to read things, and you have to work a little harder to answer some questions, but that doesn’t mean you’re not smart. You’re just as capable as me, more capable when it comes to emotional intelligence. Have you ever noticed that wherever you go, someone is always waving to you? I don’t think there’s a single person in this world that doesn’t like you. Don’t downplay how important that is.” 

He chews on his lip and you know he doesn’t believe you. How many people have told him he’s dumb? You want to drag every single one of them here and make them apologize, make them realize how special the boy in front of you is. Eventually he shrugs. “I’ll just end up being an intern, and then I’ll be so charming they’ll promote me without realizing I don’t know what I’m doing and I’ll become a CEO that pays people to do the job for me.” 

You smile and shake your head. “We can vacation together in the Bahamas.” 

“Please, that’s where the semi-rich people go,” Soonyoung says, lifting his head from the back of the couch. “We’ll have our own islands and sail past each other.” This time when he smiles, the sparkle glints, just a little. His bleach blonde hair sticks in strange angles from rubbing against the couch, looking a little like a fuzzball. You reach a hand out and pat it down, except the hair is fried from being bleached so many times and almost breaks under your hand. 

When you pull your hand down, Soonyoung is staring at you. Except staring isn’t the right word. He looks at you like no one else ever has, a thousand unsaid words behind his eyes, a language like no other that maybe only you can understand. Those dark eyes, so soft and warm, begging you to drown in them. He’s a siren, luring you in with a song of desire that only you can hear. 

You don’t realize you’ve leaning closer until you fall forward, catching yourself on his chest. Soonyoung’s hand flies to your waist, moving so fast it must have been reflex. 

“Sorry,” you mutter but you don’t get off him. Resisting his eyes from this close is impossible. Soonyoung blinks at you, frozen. It occurs to you that you’re almost kissing him. All you have to do is lean forward, press your lips against his. Would his lips be chapped? Would he kiss you back? Would he make fun of you for being a terrible kisser? You hold your breath, wondering if you are about to find out. 

You jump at the bang of a door slamming shut. You push off Soonyoung’s chest, back to your side of the couch until your back slams against the armrest. The pain is almost enough to sober you up and you realize exactly what you were about to do. You can’t bear to look at Soonyoung staring at you so you look at Jihoon instead, who doesn’t seem to realize that he interrupted anything by walking into the kitchen, headphones blasting music so loud that you can hear it. He grabs one of the takeout containers from the fridge and finally notices you and Soonyoung staring at him. 

“What?” He shouts over his headphones. You shake your head and he stares at you all the way back to his room, slamming the door shut behind him with enough force to make you jump again. 

“We should probably start the movie,” you say, turning to face forward, anywhere but Soonyoung. “I’ll get my laptop.” He doesn’t say anything but you can feel Soonyoung’s eyes on you as you jump up. Ignoring the spinning in your head, you walk to your room. You lean against the door as soon as it shuts behind you, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. 

You wish you could blame the idiocy on the alcohol, but you aren’t drunk enough for that. Besides, regardless of the reason, it was a mistake, it would be a mistake, to kiss Soonyoung. No matter how badly you want to do it. 

Your computer sits on your desk. The longer it takes for you to get back, the stranger it will be, so you grab it and return to the couch. Dizziness gives you an excuse to peer at the floor, perfectly valid reason to avoid Soonyoung’s eyes. 

“Are you ready to have your mind blown?” He asks when you insert the DVD into your laptop. 

You raise your eyebrows but still don’t have the courage to face him. “It’s that good?” 

Soonyoung laughs easily, as if nothing happened. “You have no idea what you’re in for.” 

You peek at him from the corner of your eye. He faces the computer, sitting back against the couch. Other than his red tinted cheeks, you can’t tell he’s drunk at all. You have no idea what you’re in for, he said. He has no idea how right he is. 

.

.

You hold Soonyoung by the shoulders, staring him down. Your eyes begin to water but you hold them open, determined not to lose. Soonyoung squints, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. You just have to hold out a little longer, but your eyes begin to ache and the air pierces into them. 

“Damn!” Soonyoung cries, throwing himself back onto the couch and squeezing his eyes shut. You let go of his shoulders and resist the urge to rub your eyes, settling for blinking as fast as humanly possible. Your eyes burn but you smile anyways, wiping tears away with the back of your hand. 

“How are you so good at that?” Soonyoung asks. He gives into the impulse, hands pressed against his eyes. 

“I’m really not, I think you’re just bad at staring contests,” you say. “Now hurry up, you lost so you have to answer.” 

He sighs as if he didn’t beg you to help him study. With only a day before his test, you’re not sure how much this is really helping, but at least he isn’t partying with the rest of his frat (who do a pre-finals bar crawl, apparently). Instead, Soonyoung is on your couch, again. You try not to think about the last time he was here. Not productive thoughts, especially not when Soonyoung is one day away from taking the most important test of his life. 

“Is it B?” 

“Are you asking or telling?” 

“I hate when you say that.” He peers at the paper, eyes moving slowly as he rereads the line. “No, it’s C! Wait, no, B. No, A!” 

“Pick an answer.” 

He chews on his lip. You have to force yourself to keep your focus on his eyes. “B,” he finally says. 

You’re tempted to drag it out and make him wait but he puts on the Soonyoung Sparkle so you go ahead and nod. 

“I knew it! Trust your gut!” 

“You’re quoting me now.” You pretend to wipe tears from the corner of your eyes. “You’ve grown up so quickly.”  

If it were Jihoon, he’d roll his eyes but Soonyoung perks up, as if you’ve given him a real compliment. He pauses before asking his next question, eyes flickering to the papers separating you from him. 

“You really think I’ll do well?” He asks softly. 

You study him, the way his unnaturally blonde hair has been strategically gelled to stick up in all the right places, the way his plain white t-shirt hangs loose on his shoulders. You wonder what he sees when he looks in the mirror because the way he sits now, waiting for an answer as if you’d actually say no, breaks your heart a little. He really has no idea how brilliant he is, in every sense of the word. You don’t know how to make him see it so you just take his hand and wait for him to look you in the eyes. 

The second the glittering dark irises meet yours, you see the desperation. He tries to smile, to hide the fear but Soonyoung has always been easy to read. You fight the urge to brush your fingers against his cheek. 

“Soonyoung.” You squeeze his hand. What you feel isn’t a passing crush, you’ve known that for a while now. Admitting it doesn’t give you the bravery to do anything except pull the shield of cowardice around your heart a little tighter. “I’d be an idiot if I said I didn’t.” 

He holds your gaze a little longer, until it almost looks like he believes you. Then his eyes light up. “I have a surprise for you!” 

He digs into his backpack, pulling out a blanket (not the one he used when it was still warm enough to sit outside in the grass), a plastic water bottle half-full of bright green liquid, three crumpled flyers for events on campus, and finally, a small rectangular item, carefully wrapped in paper towels. 

“I was a little worried it would get damaged in my backpack,” he says. “I really, really tried to walk gently and didn’t bring it near any coffee.” 

You choose not to point out the unnatural liquid in the plastic water bottle, instead appreciating his efforts to protect whatever your surprise is. Besides, it’s not like he didn’t try. He carefully pulls the paper towels off, revealing a navy blue leather bound book with gilded lettering. Not just any book. 

“You got it back?” You cry. Soonyoung pulls the rest of the paper towels off to reveal the intricate design on the cover, the golden pages, with Pride and Prejudice inscribed on the spine. “My baby!” 

You hover over the book, not wanting to ruin it with the dirt and oils from your hands but so desperately wanting to caress the beautiful book. It’s just as you remember it, down to the tiny dent on the front cover where you accidentally knocked it against a railing. You can’t wait to put it back on your bookshelf where there has been an empty space ever since Jun managed to snag it. You remember Soonyoung is there when you hear his laughter. 

“You like it that much?” 

“Of course,” you say. “It’s my baby.” 

“It’s a book.” But he smiles and you know he’s just teasing. So you figure, why not? 

You throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. His frat-bro instincts must take charge because he doesn’t hesitate to hug you back, pulling you against his chest and squeezing you like he’s the one getting a gift. 

“Thank you,” you say. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

“This is my thank you,” he says. You can feel his voice rumbling in his chest, a strange sensation that sends butterflies tumbling around between your stomach and your heart. “It’s the least I could do for you. 

The awkward position isn’t exactly comfortable, twisting your body to face him with your shoulder overtop of his forcing your face into his neck but you don’t want to let go. You give yourself five more thundering heartbeats before you let go, turning to study your book again so you have an excuse to avoid his eyes. 

“How did you get it back?” 

“Same way you lost it,” Soonyoung says. “I made a bet.” 

“On what?” 

Soonyoung shrugs, turning to look at the book that still sits in his lip. He gently places it into yours, using the paper towels to prevent smudging with his fingers. 

You frown. “How? Jun is in another hemisphere.” 

“Don’t underestimate the power of video calls and express shipping,” Soonyoung says. “By the way, I’m wearing your friends down. Pretty soon they’ll like me more than they like you. 

“Oh really?” You raise your eyebrow. You ignore the vole gnawing at your gut whispering that he might just be right. 

“I got Jihoon to go to the gym with me and I got him to admit I was friends with you before he was,” he says, holding a finger out. “Jun says that he wants to meet me the second he returns to the country.” A second finger goes up. “Who else can I add to the list?” 

He’s only joking. He doesn’t mean it the way it sounds, but your skin wants to crawl inside out. The truth is, they are pretty much your only friends. Jihoon, Jun, and Soonyoung, the latter two having wormed their way into your life. My only friends. 

“You’ve got to start going on the offensive,” Soonyoung says. He avoids your eyes and you know he didn’t miss your discomfort. Great, now he pities you. “I’m serious, Seokmin and Joshua have been asking about you, and Seungcheol keeps complaining that he hasn’t met you yet.” 

You snort. “They’re frat bros, they just want more people to party with.” 

“I’m a frat bro,” he says. 

“Yeah, but…” But what? He’s Soonyoung? Once again, you wonder why he is so different to you–why the epitome of frat boy chaos doesn’t repulse you like he should. But he isn’t some one-dimensional steroid-infused party boy, not the type to bully the freshman trying to join just because he can. He gets drunk after two shots and makes his pledges follow him for 24 hours a day as “hazing,” only to take them for a dinner he can’t afford and skips his own classes so they don’t miss theirs. 

He’s not a typical frat boy. But Soonyoung loves his frat, and you can’t find a way to tell him this without making it sound like you are looking down on the rest of the members. 

So you just say, “Isn’t this supposed to be a study session?” 

Soonyoung sighs, pulling the book in front of him and staring at the words. Even though you can see that he isn’t reading, he doesn’t say anything else. 

“Your test is tomorrow,” you say. 

“Yeah, I know.” He doesn’t pick up the pencil. 

You’ve never struggled to read Soonyoung. He can’t hide when he’s upset, shoulders slumping, a little pout forming over his lips. He doesn’t fully frown but his eyebrows comes together, just a bit. And it’s usually easy to figure out what’s wrong–he’s tired, or wants to be at a party instead of studying. But now? He was fine just a moment ago, even while he was cramming earlier. 

“Is something wrong?” You don’t know why you’re so scared of the answer. 

“I just thought that… nNever mind.” He sighs again. “You’re right, this is a study session. I should be studying.” He doesn’t look at you and you can’t help but feel like you messed up. But Soonyoung eventually picks up his pencil and asks you to check his answers and the feeling slowly fades. 

Will the rest of your feelings fade when you aren’t with him like this anymore? When he takes his test and has no reason to see you every day? Will your heart still beat at the mention of his name? Will you spend the rest of your life thinking about all the almosts with him? Or will it fade until Soonyoung is just a boy that you helped because of a silly bet?

Even as you consider it, you know the answer. He isn’t just a boy, and he never will be. Maybe that’s what really scares you. 

.

.

You glare at Soonyoung. “Do you know what time it is?” 

Jihoon glances at his watch. “7:43.” 

Soonyoung grins beside him, arm over his shoulder. Both boys stand in your bedroom doorway looking far too composed for this ungodly hour. 

“It’s a Saturday.” Just two minutes ago you were in blissful sleep. Okay, maybe not blissful, since you stayed up until three in the morning because you couldn’t fall asleep, and you were having a weird dream where you were looking for something and ended up by the stadium staring at a giant duck statue instead of the raven. But the point is you were asleep until two fists banged on your door so loud you thought it was going to fall apart. 

You can’t even be that mad at Soonyoung, not when he smiles like that. So you glare at Jihoon.

“Honestly, I figured you would be up,” he says. “You were the one that said you didn’t think you were going to get any sleep.” 

“I’m sorry,” Soonyoung says. “I really just wanted to help distract you for the last hour.” Right. The last hour until your entire future would be determined by a triple digit number. No biggie. 

“Let me get dressed,” you say. They step back before you have the chance to slam the door in their face. You’d like to be able to dress up nicely, but you’re already shivering, so you grab your comfiest sweatpants and the sweatshirt Soonyoung lent you (that still smells like his cologne). You dart into the bathroom and meet the two boys in the doorway of the apartment, pulling on your sneakers. 

You pull the hood over your messy hair and tighten the strings. Soonyoung grins at you and taps your nose. 

“Ready to go?” 

“How did you get out of bed this early?” 

“Oh, I never got in,” he says. “Long story, but we gotta go, they won’t wait much longer.” 

“They?” You ask but Soonyoung doesn’t hear you. He turns to Jihoon, waving. 

“See you tomorrow!” He says, throwing an arm over your shoulders to pull you out the door. “I’ll let you know how it goes!” 

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” But he looks at you and smiles. “It’ll be fine.” Before you can thank him, he shuts the door. 

Soonyoung doesn’t let go of your side, pulling you to the elevators and squeezing you against him. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like I should be asleep.” 

Soonyoung smiles, as if your grumpiness is funny. You decide it’s moot since there’s no way you could fall asleep now that you are an hour and seven minutes away from finding out the results of your future. 

“I figured I’d save you from wallowing in worry,” Soonyoung says. “We can do fun things while we wait. I planned out the whole morning, we have options! There’s going to the gym, or for a job around campus, breaking into the science lab and petting the rabbits, going to Barb’s for breakfast–”

“Breakfast,” you say. You aren’t a huge fan of getting in trouble with the college when you have just over a semester before graduation and though you aren’t sure if your stomach will accept food, working out is a guarantee for throwing up. Besides, a hot cup of coffee could clear a little of the fog in your brain. 

“Barb’s it is,” Soonyoung says, practically bouncing on his toes. He really seems to only have two settings, and today he’s at 120%. 

He lets go of your side when the elevator opens and you step to the ground floor of your apartment. You rub your arms and pretend like the chill is from the weather even though the lobby is still warm. He holds the door for you pretending to be a doorman, bowing and gesturing with his arm for you to pass. You turn so that he doesn’t see that the silly gesture made you smile. 

Parked outside is a white jeep that looks larger than normal, and is apparently the asshole that’s been blasting their music for the past ten minutes. You aren’t surprised in the slightest when Soonyoung strides up to the car.  

“I don’t have a car,” he says, belatedly apologetic. The two men in the front seat don’t seem to mind, though you suspect they have been up all night along with Soonyoung as soon as the door opens and you hear their voices singing off-tune over the blasting music. 

“Boy, you got my heartbeat runnin' away,” The driver cries, using a water bottle as a mic. You recognize Seungcheol from Soonyoung’s descriptions, half from his voice and half from the back of his head. The person riding shotgun is also familiar, a mess of dark hair that must be Joshua. He doesn’t look much different in daylight, sunglasses resting on his forehead. Thankfully they turn the music down a little and stop singing when you get it. 

Seungcheol grins at you through the mirror. “So I finally get to meet the infamous YN. You know, you still haven’t shown up to any parties.” 

“I’ve been busy,” you say, glancing at Soonyoung who focuses a little too much on his seatbelt. 

“Hi, YN,” the passenger up front says, waving at you through the rearview mirror. 

“Joshua,” you say. “Get into life and death scenarios with Soonyoung recently?” 

“Well, Soonyoung jumped out of a car window.” He pauses. “It wasn’t moving,” he adds when Seungcheol jerks his head towards him. “Though I wouldn’t put it past him.” 

“I have done it before,” Soonyoung says solemnly. It takes him a moment to realize everyone is staring at him. “It was a dare.” 

“Why am I not surprised,” Seungcheol grumbles, turning back around and putting the car into drive. Though you were thinking something along the same lines, the way Soonyoung deflates a little makes you wish Seungcheol hadn’t said anything. 

The rest of the drive is quiet–at least in terms of conversation. Seungcheol cranks his stereo up to the loudest setting and blasts the Spice Girls until Joshua starts singing along. Apparently car karaoke for “Wannabe” is sacrilegious to the frat leader. 

You can hear yourself think again when the car pulls into the parking lot and he finally cuts the engine. A few cars line the parking lot of the 24 hour diner that sits on the outskirts of campus. The giant neon red Barb’s that hangs over the entrance flickers in the cloudy morning light teeters the line between quaint and electrical fire waiting to happen. 

The workers, a host and three waitresses, wave at the boys, and do a double take at you. You swear you hear the host whisper “Is that really them?” to Joshua as he leads the group to a table in the corner but Soonyoung distracts you with the menu. 

“I had this thing memorized since freshman year, I can’t believe you’ve never been here. The pancakes are my favorite for hangover cures, not that I’m hungover by the way, I’m actually running on my third energy drink.” He taps the picture, a golden stack of perfectly fluffy pancakes that can only be photoshop. 

“Aren’t energy drinks bad for your heart?” 

Soonyoung shrugs. “Joshua invented this to get through finals, you mix Red Bull, Bang, and Coke and it keeps you up for three days straight. Great for when you’re nervous because you physically have to do something about it.” 

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” you say. “Wait, why are you nervous?” 

“Your test results come out today,” he says too quickly.  

You consider debating with him but a waitress approaches, wearing a fifties frock and a high ponytail with a ribbon that probably looked like a bow at the start of her shift but has drooped down and now just looks sad. Her face is a mask of emotions, not a smile, not a frown, just emptiness, a contrast to the button clipped to her collar making her “Happy.” 

“The usual?” She asks, pausing at you. She tilts her head and you can see the mask twisting at the edges, a frown almost forming on her brow. She glances at Soonyoung. “Is this who I think it is?” 

“Who do you think it is?” Soonyoung asks at the same time that Joshua and Seungcheol say, “Yes.” 

The corner of Happy’s lips turn into a tiny smile that seems to be her equivalent of a grin. “I’ve heard so much about you.” 

“Okay, haha, very funny,” Soonyoung says. “Stop harassing my friend. We’ll order when we have a chance to look at the menu.”  

Happy raises her eyebrow just slightly at the word “friend,” but closes her notepad. She returns to a pastel pink bar where you can clearly see her whispering and gesturing to you. 

“Why do so many people know me?” You mutter, shrinking into the corner of the booth. 

“The thing about Drunk Soonyoung is that he doesn’t really shut up,” Seungcheol says. 

“That’s being gentle,” Joshua says. “One time he spent four hours describing Finding Nemo. That’s longer than the actual movie.” 

“It’s a good movie,” Soonyoung says. 

“The point is,” Seungcheol says, glaring at Joshua, “he tends to talk when he’s drunk. Usually about good things, things that he… Well, things that he likes.” 

You turn your head to look at Soonyoung, who is once again pretending to study the menu. “You like studying for the LSAT that much?” 

Joshua unsuccessfully tries to hide his laugh with a snort while Seungcheol gains slightly more success with a fake cough. Soonyoung doesn’t react at all, staring at the painted flowers on the menu. Eventually, he shrugs. “I’m dedicated to the bet.” He points at a stack of pancakes covered in bananas and chocolate. “That’s what I usually get.” 

“Isn’t against all rules of gym core and muscle building to eat decadent things?” 

“Did you just call working out ‘gym core?’” Seungcheol asks. 

“Am I wrong?” 

“Nope!” Soonyoung says brightly. “And cheat days are a thing, so do you want to split it or not?” 

“You know I can’t say no to bananas and chocolate.” 

“And pancakes!” He waves down the waitress and points to the stack. 

“Ah, the new Soonyoung,” she says. “You guys getting your actual usual?” 

Joshua and Seungcheol nod and she doesn’t bother to write any of it down. Then again she already knows their orders. Except she called Soonyoung’s “new.” Before you can ask what she meant, a shout makes you jump. You turn around to see a stream of boys entering, enough of whom you recognize that you realize at least half the frat has rolled into the diner. The waitresses roll their eyes and groan but somehow they don’t look all that upset. 

“Mr. President!” The tallest boy, Johnny according to Soonyoung’s Instagram tags, holds a fist over his heart and pounds it a couple times. Seungcheol nods and greets each of the boys, most of whom seem to still be in various stages of inebriation. Almost all of them glance at you and whisper to each other, and you get the feeling they know exactly who you are. 

Just what has Soonyoung said about you? 

“How are we doing on time?” One of them calls out. 

“46 minutes,” Joshua says. You frown. 46 minutes… until 9? Do they all know about today? 

You tap Soonyoung on the arm. “What’s going on?” 

“You see, the thing is,” he says, “apparently I was nervous?” He tries to fake a laugh but it sounds strained. “I don’t really know but the guys made me tell them about today and then I didn’t really know what was happening but I guess they followed us here? Thought you might like moral support, or something.” 

You peek out at the booths crowded with frat bros and cringe back into your seat when they grin at you. “They’re all looking at me.” 

“Well, I guess I do talk about you a lot,” he says, only loud enough for you to hear. He won’t meet your eyes. 

Ask him why. You want to be brave. You want to be right about the answer you think he’ll give you. You chew the inside of your cheek. 

“Because of the bet?” 

Soonyoung doesn’t answer for a moment. “I guess.” 

Coward. 

“Why are we whispering?” Joshua asks, leaning across Soonyoung towards you. “Are we gossiping?” 

Soonyoung pushes him off. “Butt out.” 

“Just telling Soonyoung that I’ve never had an army of drunk guys rooting for me before,” you say. 

“Could have had it sooner if you came to a party,” Seungcheol says. 

“You really want me at a party that bad? We just met.” 

Seungcheol glances at Soonyoung, who shakes his head. He sighs. “If only I could tell you why you need to come.” 

You frown between the three men. “I don’t like when people talk in circles over me.” 

“Just promise you’ll come to the Christmas party. It’ll all make sense then,” Seungcheol says. You’ve heard a lot about Seungcheol from Soonyoung, and the more you listen to him, the more you believe it. He’s a strange man. 

“I’ll think about making an appearance.” 

“Really?” Soonyoung whips around to face you and you know that you have to come now. You haven’t seen him this excited since you let him skip studying to party. No, he’s even more excited now. “You’ll come?” 

You can’t stand his gaze so you study the placemats. “Maybe.” 

He grabs your hand until you meet his eyes. “Please?” 

The Soonyoung Sparkle. You never win against it. “Fine.” 

“Get a room,” Joshua says behind a very fake cough. You pull your hand back into your lap and pretend like you aren’t embarrassed. 

“How long now?” You shout out.

“40 minutes,” someone answers. You groan and lean back into the sofa. Studying was hard enough but waiting makes you want to pull out each individual hair on your head. You stare at the ceiling, trying to decide if the stain looks more like a horse or a flower. 

“Look at this.” Soonyoung passes his phone in front of you, forcing you to look down. His Instagram is open to a picture of a kitten looking drunk, face covered in milk. Such and obvious attempt to distract you but you smile anyway. 

“Sweet,” you say and even you aren’t sure if you mean the cat or Soonyoung. He shows you cat pictures until the food finally arrives (33 minutes to go). You have to wait another five minutes because Soonyoung insists on having a photoshoot, despite your protests that you look like you just woke up (he raises his eyebrows at that). You stop fighting when Joshua makes him cut a piece of the pancake and feed it to you. Chocolate nearly drops in your lap but Soonyoung shoots his hand out at the last second and catches it. 

“Okay, can we please just eat,” you say. Joshua and Seungcheol shrug and pretend like they weren’t instigating the pictures and telling you and Soonyoung how to pose. 

Soonyoung was right about the bananas and chocolate. Rich and decadent, they’re delicious. When he cuts you a slice and pushes it toward you, you can even forget the countdown to the end of the world. Or, more accurately, the end of the world doesn’t mean anything to you when Soonyoung smiles at you like that. 

You eat slowly enough to bring you to the ten minute mark. Fear mixes with the dessert for breakfast in your stomach, twisting it until it threatens to jump out of your throat. Soonyoung takes your hand under the table and holds it. You don’t run away this time. 

He holds you to the planet again, keeps you from floating away and disappearing before you can reach the stars. It’s Soonyoung that keeps your heart beating. Always Soonyoung. 

Seungcheol and Joshua chat, Soonyoung piping in a few times, but their words don’t reach you. Stuck somewhere between crushed beneath the weight of the world and floating away, you focus on the clock, watching the seconds tick closer and closer. 

“Last minute!” Someone behind you finally shouts. Soonyoung squeezes your hand. You pull up the website on your phone and put in your login information and hover over the SUBMIT. At thirty seconds, they start shouting it out. 

“Ten!” 

“Nine!” 

“Eight!” 

“Seven!” 

“Six!” 

“Five!” 

“Four!” 

“Three!” 

“Two!” 

“One!” 

Half the guys start cheering already, probably forgetting the count down doesn’t mean as much as the results themselves. You hit SUBMIT and watch the little wheel spin around and around and around until it finally refreshes. The number stares back at you, impossible to read right in front of you. 

169. 

“Congratulations!” Soonyoung shouts, throwing his arms around you and squeezing while you try to comprehend what that means. 169. The number should be all you can think about but Soonyoung holds you, shouting how proud he is, how he always believed in you. 

“169!” Seungcheol shouts, miles away from your bubble. You can hear the guys break out into cheers, hear them chanting the number (which turns into 69) but it’s just you and Soonyoung. The world didn’t end and Soonyoung is still by your side. 

The rest of the morning is a blur. Every member of the frat insists on congratulating you, which mostly means a lot of hugs, though one of the more drunk guys tried to spin you around on his shoulder. You laugh when you’d usually frown and find your way back to Soonyoung’s side like a magnet. 

Maybe it’s the euphoria that gives you courage. 

“Hey Soonyoung?” 

“Hm?” 

You say it before you can think too much. “Maybe just the two of us next time?” 

He grins before you can finish speaking. “I’d love that.” 

.

.

You have the courtesy to let Soonyoung sleep in as much as he wants. You wait for him at Barb’s, trying to figure out how to call this a date. 

You’ve seen him a couple times since you got your score back, but you needed to study for finals and he had to make up for missing a lot of frat activities. You’ve only seen him in passing, nothing to fill the Soonyoung shaped hole in your heart. But today that will change. You will celebrate together and you will tell him how you feel. And then… you have no idea. 

It’s just Soonyoung there’s nothing to be nervous about. Too bad your body doesn’t agree with you. Every nerve stands at attention, jumping at the bell that rings when the door opens. You don’t worry when Soonyoung doesn’t get to Barb’s by 8:30 like he said he would. Even at 8:45, you aren’t worried. 

It’s only at 8:55 that you really start to wonder where he is. Maybe you should have picked him up. Knowing him, there’s a 50% chance he’s lying in a ditch after a failed attempt to recreate an impossible stunt from Fast and Furious. At 9, you call him. Between each silence in the ring, you wait for his voice but it never comes. He uses the automated voicemail, so you don’t even get his voice telling you to leave a message. 

The anxiety turns to fear while you wait. The door rings and you see a fluff of bleach blonde hair and jump up. But though you recognize the face, it isn’t Soonyoung. 

Chan, one of the younger members of the frat, with Mingyu and a guy whose name you forgot. They all have the same look in their eyes when they see you, far too much like pity. 

“You’re YN, right?” Mingyu asks. “You’re supposed to meet Soonyoung?” The two guys with him, easily identifiable as frat members between their unkempt hair and sweatshirts plastered with Greek letters, stop mid conversation and glance at each other. 

“Is he okay?” You ask, still standing in the awkward position in the booth. 

“He’s got his score back,” Mingyu says. 

“We were supposed to–” 

“Yeah, I know,” Mingyu says. “It was a 167. You should really talk to him yourself.” He pauses, glancing at his frat brothers but they shrug. “He’s at the house. See if you can talk some sense into him.” 

You’re too afraid to ask any other questions so you just watch Mingyu and the other two walk past, and pretend that they aren’t whispering and stealing glances at you. 

Going to a frat house was never on your bucket list but your feet travel without guidance. You find yourself in front of a rather nondescript house. No bodies hang out from windows, no one is passed out in the yard. Then again it’s a weekday. 

You pause at the door, wondering if you should knock. You tap your hand on the door and it slides open, the latch bolt pushed completely in. You step inside tentatively, peeking around but it’s quiet. You turn the corner to find an open room and Soonyoung sitting on a couch, glass with a bright liquid in his hand. He doesn’t even look at you. 

“Are you seriously drunk right now?” 

Soonyoung just shrugs, taking another sip from the glass. Even from here you can smell that it’s more tequila than fruit punch. 

You shake your head, crossing the room sitting beside him even though he didn’t invite you to sit down. He was considerably cuter the last time you saw him drunk. You’ve gotten used to the power of Soonyoung’s facial expressions, his smiles, his frowns, the way his eyes glaze over when he’s bored, the way they gleam when he daydreams; they’re as precious to you as Soonyoung himself. But his face is a clean slate now, not a smile, not a frown, just a blank stare. 

“You know a 167 is still insanely good, right?” 

He shakes his head. 

“Soonyoung.” He doesn’t look at you, so you grab his drink. Any other day and you would have failed miserably but his alcohol-impaired senses make him slow enough for you to get a hand on the half-empty glass. He glares at you but you don’t yield, tightening your grip and pulling the bottle even harder. 

“Let go,” you growl. “Talk to me like a normal human.” 

He shakes his head, pulling on the glass so you yank back, except you overestimate how weak he is like this, and the glass flies out of his hand, the contents spilling all over you. The red liquid sinks into your blue sweater, soaking you through all three layers. 

“What the hell?” Soonyoung says. 

“That gets your fucking attention? Spilling your drink?” You say. “You know, I really thought you were different.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You’re acting like a child. So you didn’t win the bet. Who fucking cares? Do you know how hard it is to get higher than a 160? Soonyoung, you are smart, and you worked so hard for this. You could go to law school with that score. You could graduate above a 2.3 if you stopped acting like a stereotypical fuck bro and actually studied. 

“You know, you could actually be something if you wanted. You don’t have to get a degree and work at a corporate job that sucks your soul away until the Soonyoung that actually matters is gone. I know it’s easier this way, but if you actually tried to dream, you could do something. I don’t get it, honestly. Because everyone thinks you’re an idiot you act like one? Is that what it is?” 

“You don’t have to pretend like you don’t think the same thing.” 

You snort. “I don’t, but clearly you won’t believe me. You think that if you have to work for something then it’s not worth it when you could be so much more.” 

“Why do you even care?” Soonyoung asks, looking you in the eyes for the first time. For a moment, you think you might actually be wrong, because all you see in his eyes is pain. A physical force that constricts your heart and makes you weak in the knees, Soonyoung looks at you like he’s been fighting a war you never knew about, like he’s been suffering in silence for a lifetime. He looks at you like you’ve broken his heart. 

Why do I care? You could scoff. Because I’ve been in love with you ever since you fell asleep on my shoulder. I’ve been fighting this stupid crush for so long that I don’t know who I am without it. I don’t know who I am without you. I care because every day the world proves that we aren’t worthy of this planet, that love can’t solve all problems yet you make me question it all. You don’t just bring light into my life, you make it glitter. And I can’t tell you any of this. 

“I don’t know.” The lie tastes bitter but it’s still sweeter than rejection.

“Then why are you here?” Soonyoung looks away. Without his eyes pinning you down, you can breathe again, but every inhale still drags against your heart. You stand up. Afterall, you don’t have an answer for him. 

“I take it back. You are an idiot,” you mutter over his head as you walk past him. You make it to the corner of the street before the tears finally spill over your cheeks, and all the way back to your room before you can’t breathe. 

.

.

Without the distraction of finals, you are left with your own thoughts, your words and Soonyoung’s floating around your head. You have always been something of a hermit but you’ve become J.D. Salinger himself, only leaving your room to sneak into the kitchen and scrounge for scraps of junk food that Jihoon hasn’t thrown away yet. You watch so much reality TV that you start to dream about it. 

Every episode the people, a family living on a homestead that just happens to dress in brand name clothes and drive a Benz, fight and cry and make up. You yell at the mother when she forces her daughter to change because she didn’t think polka dots are appropriate and cry along with the daughter when she starts to sniffle in her confessional, wondering if her mother would ever approve of her choices, whether it was clothes or the people she wants to date. 

You bet your confessional would be a hit if it was ever filmed. Tears run down your cheeks as you practice it in the mirror, choking out an apology for calling him an idiot and telling the whole world what you aren’t brave enough to tell him. 

Jun calls but you can’t answer. He leaves three voicemails: an apology, a goofy one telling you he’ll be back soon, and a final one, yelling at you to pick up or at least let him know you’re alive. You text him an apology you don’t know if you mean. He says thank you anyway and doesn’t call again. 

You have no plans to change your schedule (wake up, steal food, cry, sleep) but on the third day you run out of goldfish and can’t find anything in the kitchen that doesn’t make you nauseous. To make matters worse, despite the fact that it’s seven in the morning (the earliest you’ve woken up since the Fight), Jihoon catches you. 

You’ve successfully avoided him and his inevitable lecture, slamming your door shut and ignoring his knocks but he catches you off guard today. He sneaks in from his morning workout wearing a black t-shirt and slides that he somehow manages to walk stealthily in, scaring you when you close the fridge and find him standing where the door was. 

“Are you done hiding?” 

“I’m not hiding,” you mutter. 

He folds his arms. 

“Fine,” you say. “I’m not done hiding.” 

“Well too fucking bad,” Jihoon says. You try to step past him but he holds his arm out. You’ll never beat him in a physical fight so you step back, shaking your head. 

“Have it your way. Go ahead.” You wave your hand. “Get it all out. Yell at me or lecture me or whatever, I don’t care. You’re going to tell me that I’m an idiot? That I shouldn’t be so afraid of rejection, that I’m blind to how he feels? 

“Or are you going to tell me that I shouldn’t trust someone like him? That I shouldn’t be crying over a goddamn frat boy, I’m better than this, I’m better than him.” You choke back a sob, not sure what words are coming out anymore. You wipe at the tears in your eyes and are so focused on trying not to cry that you don’t notice Jihoon walking away. You do see him come back, blurry shape coming into focus as you blink away the tears. He holds something in his hand, a navy blue square. A throw pillow from the couch? 

He shifts it in his hand until he holds the corner with the zipper, swinging it a couple times back and forth. Then he yanks his arm back and arcs the pillow in a wide loop, landing directly on your head. 

“Ow!” You cry but Jihoon just swings again, hitting your arm this time. He hits you so hard it knocks you off balance, sending you to the floor. Jihoon doesn’t hesitate, swinging the pillow into you again and again, every inch of you. 

“You. Are. An. Idiot.” He grunts out each word with a blow. “You really think you’re better than him?” 

He finally pauses, not even breathing heavily. You shake your head to answer him. “Of course not.” 

“Good,” he says. Then he hits you again and again and again. 

“Ow, Jihoon, what the hell?” You bury your head in your knees and hold your arms over you, trying in vain to protect yourself. 

“I’m not your babysitter,” he says. “I’m not your father, or your brother, or any of that shit. I’m your best friend and you’re being an idiot and I’m not going to stop hitting you until you get some sense knocked into you.” He freezes, as if realizing exactly what he said. “Wait, no–that’s not what I mean, shit, sorry, but–” 

You peek out from your arms and find Jihoon opening and closing his mouth, trying to figure out what to say. He looks like a fish out of water, and it occurs to you he is a fish out of water. He’s never had to comfort you before, probably never had to comfort anyone. No wonder he’s so bad at it. 

You wouldn’t laugh at him and borderline abuse, but your emotions are beyond fried, and he just looks so funny standing over you with a pillow raised, still sputtering half apologies. You try to stop the laugh before it comes out but it turns into a snort and then you can’t stop laughing, tears that you tried to push back falling freely. You lay back on the floor and laugh until your sides hurt, only vaguely aware of Jihoon laughing above you. Eventually he joins you on the floor. 

“You know what I meant,” he says. The pillow rests on the floor between his legs, all the fluff on the far end from the one-sided pillow fight. 

“I knew what you meant without the pillow.” 

“Too bad,” Jihoon says. “I’m tired of listening to the theme song of that god awful show. You could at least watch something like–” 

“I swear if you bring up an anime, you’ll feel exactly how hard that pillow can hit.” 

Jihoon laughs, patting it a couple times. “I saw him the other day. He looked tired.” He pauses but you don’t dare speak. “We didn’t speak. I don’t even think he saw me. But it doesn’t matter because I’m not the one he needs to talk to.” 

“I know,” you say. 

“Then why are you still on the floor?” 

Because you’re scared. Because it would be easier to just give up now, for once to ignore putting in the hard work and just let it pass. But just because it’s the easy option doesn’t mean it’s the right option. At the very least you need to apologize to him. 

“What if he hates me?” 

Jihoon snorts. “Then he’ll get some pillow violence too.” He pauses. “He doesn’t, though.”

“It doesn’t mean that it will turn out okay.” 

“No, it doesn’t,” Jihoon says. “But no matter what happens, you’ll deal with it. And even if it absolutely sucks in the moment, eventually it will be over, and it sure as hell will be better than that stupid fucking show.” 

You nod, setting your chin on your knees. Your stomach turns in anticipation for what you will have to do, but he’s right. It’s time to stop running. Tonight is the Christmas party, and you were never formally uninvited. Somehow you doubt Seungcheol will throw you out. It’s time to get off the floor and get ready. 

“Have you ever thought of being a life coach?” 

“Hell no.” 

.

.

What am I doing here? You fake a smile at Seungcheol and swallow the shot as fast as you can, grimacing as the vodka burns everything from the inside of your mouth to the depths of your stomach. You should have just stuck to your mixed drink only policy but Soonyoung always has you breaking your rules. Even when he isn’t with you. 

Seungcheol disappears as soon as you take the drink, and you don't see anyone else you are comfortable enough to chat with, though that list is quite short. You do a turn of the house, which looks marginally better than the last time you saw it ,the benefit of bad lighting. It’s already crowded with more people than you’ve ever seen on campus. You make your way through each room on the lower floor, finding more than a couple bleach blondes. None are who you’re looking for. You stop in the living room, where you saw him last. 

“He isn’t here.” You turn at the voice. An unfamiliar boy stands next to you, holding a half-empty Smirnoff Ice. “He went to visit family or something.” He pauses, looking you up and down. “At least that’s what he said.” 

You nod. You find it doesn’t surprise you that he seems to know who you are. You suppose you’ve grown used to it, just one of the side-effects of being close with Soonyoung. Though it’s still strange, it doesn’t make you uncomfortable anymore. Or it wouldn’t, if you didn’t think this stranger is implying that it’s your fault Soonyoung isn’t at the ‘Party of the Year.’ 

You can’t stand his gaze so you make your way back towards the drinks, grabbing the first bottle you could find and chugging half of the lukewarm drink. It tastes like a fruit you can’t recognize and carbonation and the more you drink the harder it is to swallow but you force it down. 

You came to apologize. He isn’t here, so why do you stay? Because you promised him? Do you really miss him that much? That you would come here and suffer through all this chaos, just for the memory of him? It doesn’t make any sense but you think that might be a side effect of the alcohol. You get another drink just in case you’re still sober. 

.

.

Your head pounds, the aching feeling of the stage between drunk and sober. Normally you’d like to be sound asleep by now, or at least in the comfort of your home, but you can’t bring yourself to leave. It’s hot and sweaty, the music is way too loud, and you can’t find water anywhere, but you stay anyway, because you’re an idiot that fell in love. 

You curl up on the couch, opposite of a couple making out as if the room isn’t full of people, waiting for just a glimpse of him that will never appear. Even drunk, you think it’s pitiful, but you can’t stop. 

You didn’t think you could fall asleep in all the noise but you open your eyes when you feel the world tilt sideways. You’re vaguely aware of the arms underneath your legs and back, cradling you against someone’s chest. No, not just someone. 

Because you aren’t enough of an idiot, you can tell it’s him, his sweet scent, maybe even just his arms. Soonyoung carries you out of the living room and up the stairs, the blaring music fading only slightly. 

“I thought you weren’t here,” you mumble. 

Soonyoung frowns down at you. “You okay?” 

You shake your head, suddenly realizing there are tears in your eyes. No, I’m not okay, I love you, you want to say. He squeezes you a little tighter, trying to hug you while still carrying you. 

With your head resting against his chest, you can fully appreciate his beauty. His hair is black, which suits him even though he looks nothing like your Soonyoung anymore. You reach up and trace the lines of his face that are unchanging, the sharp straight line of his jaw, the gentle curve of his nose, his soft eyebrows. You drop your hand when you realize he’s staring at you, belatedly realizing you never got to his lips. You can only imagine how soft they’d be, soft like Soonyoung himself. 

“You’re crying,” Soonyoung says softly. You can’t tell if he’s talking to you or not. He pauses in front of a door, struggling to open it without dropping you. Finally the door swings open and he sets you down on a bed, taking a deep breath and sitting beside you. 

He brushes the tears from your eyes, as Soonyoung as ever. Sweet as ever. Sweet and Soonyoung. They should be the same word. You make a mental note to email Merriam-Webster’s dictionary and make the suggestion. 

Soonyoung doesn’t say anything, just watching you with those perfect eyes. His hand rests on your face even though the tears are long gone, thumb tracing shapes on your cheek. 

“You swore you’d do anything for me,” you say. 

“Anything,” Soonyoung repeats. 

You turn to the walls, knocking his hand off your cheek, not daring to look him in the eyes. Even drunk, you are a coward. He’s put up pictures on his wall, a couple Polaroids but mostly printed pictures, with the frat, some childhood pictures, and one that you recognize. The picture of the two of you at the beach that you thought you didn’t send, where you are looking at him with all the love in your heart. You trace his smile, blinding even in paper form. 

“Could you maybe try loving me back then?” You mumble. Your eyes feel heavy between the alcohol and the tears and you’ve said what you needed to say, so you let them take over, closing your eyes and letting the blasting music from downstairs drown out any thoughts. And because it’s so loud and you’ve already drifted off to sleep, there’s no way you could hear his answer. 

“I already do.” 

.

.

The first thing you do when you wake up is throw up. You make it out of the bed but not to the bathroom, mostly because you don’t actually know where it is. You grab the nearest bucket-shaped item, which happens to be a mostly empty trash can. You lean away as soon as you’re done, breathing through your mouth and looking away from the mess. Belatedly, you realize someone is patting your back, brushing hair out of your face. 

“Better?” Soonyoung asks. His knees rests against your lower back, one hand resting on your back, the other caressing your face. Thank god you already threw up because looking at him makes your stomach twist again and if there was anything in you, it would come up again. If you could throw up your heart, you would. As it is, the organ is trying to climb its way up your throat, whether it’s guilt or heartbreak you don’t know. 

 You nod in answer to his question, letting him help you up. Your head pounds and though you know you won’t throw up again, your stomach flips. Right, your policy of mixed drinks is definitely reinstated after this. 

“Sorry I threw up in your trash can,” you say. 

“Believe me, that is not the worst that trash can has seen,” Soonyoung says. “Wait, that sounds bad, I didn’t mean it in a weird way, I just mean–” He stops himself, shaking his head. “It’s a frat house.” 

“It’s your room,” you say softly. With sober (albeit heavily hungover) eyes, you take in the room again. It’s tiny, one bed pushed against a wall with a desk set right next to it. Unsurprisingly, it’s stacked with protein powder and a pile of frat flyers, laptop balancing off the edge, not a paper in sight. Except for the one next to his bed, the walls are bare, an ugly shade of beige except for a circle filled with white plaster that looks suspiciously like the reformed crime scene of a fist going through drywall. It must be from whoever owned the room before Soonyoung. 

The wall next to his bed is covered in pictures. You remember being amazed by them last night. Your eyes zero in on the picture of the two of you, right next to the pillow that’s still dented from your head. 

“Did I steal your bed?” You frown except the movement hurts your head. 

“I slept in Johnny’s room since he’s decided to disappear off the face of the planet instead of accepting the fact that he graduates next semester,” Soonyoung says. “I actually just came in here for some clothes, which reminds me.” He rummages through a drawer, pulling out a wrinkled t-shirt and handing it to you. “If you want a change.” 

You glance down and feel like throwing up all over again. Your favorite shirt is covered in stains, alcohol, vomit, and something you definitely don’t want to name. If you weren’t feeling so terrible already, you’d cry that Soonyoung is seeing you like this. 

“I’ll get you a toothbrush, too,” he mutters, disappearing and leaving you to scramble to switch shirts. The white dri-fit is meant to be a workout shirt, though it’s clear that it would be oversize on Soonyoung. Either way, the soft fabric is gentle on your skin, much better than the jeans you slept in. Too bad you’re stuck in them until you get back to your apartment. 

You could run away right now. Soonyoung probably wouldn’t be surprised. But he’s being nice to you, so much nicer than you deserve. Sweet and Soonyoung. But you came here to apologize, and though last night got derailed, you can’t keep running from it. Besides, it’s not like the morning can get much worse. 

So when Soonyoung comes back proudly brandishing an unopened toothbrush that he may or may not have stolen from Seungcheol’s bathroom, you accept it gratefully. You stare yourself down in the bathroom, fighting nausea and an impending migraine because you have a mission to achieve, a real mission unlike last night. It’s still a haze, but you don’t think you’ll ever forget how gently Soonyoung cradled you against his chest, the brush of his fingers on your cheek. If he didn’t show up this morning, you’d think it was a dream. 

Soonyoung’s door is open when you finish but he isn’t in his room. You grab your bag from the floor and venture down the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing. There’s a couple people passed out in the living room, and one person snoring softly in the kitchen, head folded in his arms in a position that must be incredibly painful for his neck. But it’s where you find Soonyoung, digging through the fridge and finally pulling out a water bottle. He hands it to you, along with a bottle of pills. 

“Thank you,” you sigh, not even bothering to check the label for the brand. You take a couple and chug half the bottle, gaslighting yourself into believing that it will instantly revive you (it doesn’t work and your head still pounds). 

“Are you hungry?” Soonyoung asks. He opens the fridge again, this time wide enough to show the shelves that are filled with beer, vodka, and White Claws. There’s a pizza box and some eggs, but not much else. 

“How are any of you alive?” You ask softly, glancing at the snoring person on the counter. 

“Yuta can sleep through an apocalypse, don’t worry about him,” Soonyoung says, waving his hand. He closes the fridge, leaning against it. “And most of us keep our actual food in mini-fridges. I just cleared mine out for break, so I don’t have anything in it.” He doesn’t say anything else about vanishing. 

“I’m pretty sure that pizza has been in there since the start of the semester and I’ve never seen eggs in here before though, so I don’t think you should risk any of this,” Soonyoung says. “McDonald’s fries are a far superior hangover cure, they’ve never failed me.” 

“There’s a McDonald’s nearby?” 

Soonyoung grins, pulling keys out of his pocket and spinning them around his fingers a couple times, except they fly off and clatter on the floor. The man asleep on the counter, Yuta apparently, stirs but doesn’t move. You can’t help but smile as Soonyoung scrambles to retrieve them from the floor. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was flustered. 

“There isn’t one,” Soonyoung explains, leading the way to the door. “But I have the keys to Seungcheol’s car.” 

“I’m not really comfortable with grand theft auto,” you say, though you don’t stop following him to Seungcheol’s giant white Jeep. 

“He gave me the keys last night when I walked in,” Soonyoung says. “Something about owing me. He was pretty drunk.” He darts around to the passenger side before you can, opening the door for you. He waves his hand when you frown at him, as if you’re the one acting strange. Thinking with this headache is too hard so you just get into the car and strap the seatbelt on. 

“I can’t believe you thought I’d steal a car,” Soonyoung says. He turns the engine on and scans the front of the car before finally settling his right hand on the gear shift. 

“You have driven this car before, right?” 

“Of course,” Soonyoung says a little too fast. You grab onto the door handle and hope that your stomach really is empty. 

Soonyoung’s driving isn’t the worst you’ve ever experienced; that title goes to Jihoon, who was banned from touching car keys after his Mario Kart driving. That said, you think he’s a good second place. He slams on the gas and the brakes too hard and drives altogether too fast. He blasts the radio and sings along purposefully off key. You should be terrified but it’s the most fun you’ve ever had riding in the passenger seat. 

“I’m never riding with you again,” you say, breathless from laughing. He pulls to a stop at the red light, the Golden arches of your destination still one light away. “You know yellow lights mean slow down right?”

“I stopped at this one!” Soonyoung says. “I’ll have you know I haven’t been in an accident.” He pauses. “Since I was nineteen.” 

You nod, pursing your lips to stop yourself from smiling fully. “That’s what I figured.” You peek at Soonyoung and he’s smiling too. 

So different from the last time you saw him. You don’t deserve this. You shouldn’t be able to laugh and joke around with him so easily, not when you still haven’t apologized. And Soonyoung shouldn’t be looking at you like that, genuine fondness in his eyes. 

“The light’s green,” you say. His smile fades a little when he turns his head and drives ahead, stepping lightly for once. You’re so close now, but a car going straight in the right lane prevents him from turning. 

The pain medicine must have kicked in because your headache is slowly fading, replaced by heartache that no medication can cure. 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You blurt out. 

The blinker beeps a steady rhythm in the empty silence. “Isn’t it obvious?” 

“Nothing’s ever obvious with you, Soonyoung,” you say softly. 

“Oh.” The light turns green and he guides the car slowly into the parking lot, stopping in a spot instead of pulling up to the drive through. As soon as the car is in park, he turns to face you. There’s a crease in his forehead that you recognize from the rare occasions that he would actually talk to you seriously. “YN, I genuinely thought I was being clear about this from the beginning, but if you still really don’t get it, then I’ll say it straight up: I like you. I’ve liked you since the day we met and then I fell in love with you. 

“Did you know you’re the first person that’s ever genuinely believed in me? I mean, I know I have friends, and my family means well, but they always get this look in their eye whenever I talk about trying for things, like it was cute that I was trying, but they never actually believed in me. And I started to believe them too. I started to believe that I couldn’t believe in myself.” He frowns. “That makes no sense. The point is, you are the reason I started to believe in myself again. 

“No one’s ever looked at me like you do. No one’s ever told me to get my shit together–well, they have, but you’re the only one that told me it was because I could be better. 

“You say it wasn’t obvious, but I’ve tried to tell you a thousand times. I flirted, I tried to ask you on a date so many times, and I finally accepted that you’d never see me like that, so I was a dick. I told you off, even though you were right. I’m so sorry for that, and I’m sorry I ran away, and I’m sorry it took me so long to apologize.” 

“Stop,” you say. Soonyoung’s eyes widen, tears welling up, and you realize he thinks you’re rejecting him. “Stop apologizing!” His brow creases in confusion, an adorable frown. Summoning all your courage, you reach out, resting your hand on his. “I’m the one that’s sorry. I didn’t have any right to judge you and the choices you were making, and I shouldn’t have yelled at you when I knew how much the bet meant to you.”

You squeeze his hand, closing your eyes. “And I think I was a little oblivious on purpose. I’m not the kind of person that has crushes, let alone crushes that like me back, so I freaked a little and missed all the signs.” You open your eyes and grin at him. It’s easy to feel brave when he smiles back at you. “But I like you, Soonyoung. I like you so much, I don’t have enough words to express it. My whole life has been about my future, my career, and it’s exhausting, but being with you makes it all exciting again. Like, no matter what happens, if you’re with me, it won’t just be okay, it’ll be fun.” 

Soonyoung beams. “Really?” 

You squeeze his hand. “I like you.” Like the first time you took the LSAT, you can’t think of a single word, except instead of damning your future this feels like the start of it. Soonyoung sits across from you and you don’t need words. 

You don’t know how long you sit there, but reality sets in when your stomach growls. You glance outside the window and remember where you are. “Did you just confess to me in a McDonald’s parking lot?” 

“Better than drunk in my own bed.” 

“I didn’t!” You let go of his hand to hide your face. 

Soonyoung grins. “You were cute!” 

“I don’t remember it, it doesn't count!” 

“Whatever you say,” Soonyoung says, leaning over the center console. He gently pulls your hands away from your face, hand circling your wrist gently. You instinctively hold your breath, though you don’t lean away. Soonyoung leans a little closer, forehead resting against yours. 

“This okay?” He whispers, breath kissing your lips, and you remember that less than an hour ago, you were throwing up. Your head still aches and your stomach is still queasy and your whole body feels disgusting. 

“We are not having our first kiss in a McDonald’s parking lot,” you say, leaning back. Soonyoung sighs, but he sits back in his chair, settling for grabbing your hand and interlacing his fingers with yours. 

“Fine,” Soonyoung says. He rubs his thumb back and forth, and when you meet his eyes, you see a familiar glint of trouble. “You know I’m still sworn to you. Whatever you want.” 

The words go straight to your heart. You could live a thousand lives and never meet someone as genuine as Soonyoung. You know that he means it, heart and soul, that he’d do anything for you. And it should be terrifying that he’s willing to bear his heart for you, that you are willing to do the same. But it’s Soonyoung. It’s easy to trust him with it, because even though he breaks half the computers he touches and can’t hold onto a pencil for his life, he won’t ever drop your heart. 

I love you. One day you’ll be able to say it, one day you’ll scream it like you so desperately want to. But until then, you settle for his certified brilliant smile and the gentle brush of his lips on the back of your hand, only letting go to turn the engine back on. 

“Let’s get you some fries,” he says. “Then kisses?” 

You shake your head and laugh, slipping your hand back into his. 

Before he can put the car into gear, his phone rings. He stares at the screen for a moment, frowning like he can’t decide whether he should answer it or not. Finally he slides the green across, turning on speaker. 

“Hey Seungcheol, I’m with—” 

“Where the hell are you? And where is my car?” Seungcheol’s voice is somewhere between angry and concerned. “You think it’s okay to vanish and then show up only to steal my car?” 

“First of all, you gave me the keys,” Soonyoung says. He glances at you. “And I’m at McDonald’s because YN desperately needed a hangover cure.” 

“Hey,” you say so Seungcheol knows you’re there. 

The line is quiet for so long you think Soonyoung’s phone has finally given up on him but eventually he says, “You’re with YN?” 

“We talked,” he says. “And we’re good.” 

You snort. “That’s how you’re going to describe it?” 

“Are we not good?” 

You glance at your hand still intertwined with his, the Soonyoung Sparkle glittering back at you when you look him in the eyes. Good? There’s not a word to describe how you feel right now. 

“We are beyond good.” 

.

.

“Are you crying?” You whisper. Soonyoung shakes his head, chin brushing against your head but when he inhales again, he sniffles. You reach up to pat his cheek and are entirely unsurprised when it’s wet. On screen Elle Woods continues her speech, for once not wearing pink. 

“She’s just so cool,” Soonyoung says. You lift your head off his chest so you can look him in the eyes. The temptation to tease him is hard to resist but he pouts his lips and you see another tear slip out. You kiss his cheek, out of habit more than anything. Strange how much can change in two weeks, how something you’ve never imagined doing has become natural. But being with Soonyoung is just like that. New and old at the same time, the kind of comfort that has you planning how to make this last a lifetime. 

Soonyoung wraps his arms around you tighter, so you nestle back into his chest, turning away from the end of the movie to close your eyes and breathe in his cologne. 

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen this,” you whisper, lips brushing against his neck. “The whole bet was based on a movie you haven’t seen.” 

“You’re missing the end,” he says. His voice rumbles in your ear, drowning out his heartbeat. 

“I’ve seen it before.” Your bed really isn’t built for two people to lay down together. You are laying more on Soonyoung than the mattress but it’s not the first time. From the way he holds you, you doubt it’ll be the last. 

The credits roll too quickly, but Soonyoung still doesn’t let go. He pulls you up so that your head is next to his, nose centimeters away from yours. 

“So am I officially qualified to go to law school?” He asks. 

“You are Elle Woods certified,” you say. “But you’re sure that’s what you want?” 

“I mean I have to get in. But I figure if I’m going to waste away at a desk, I might as well do it for something I believe in.” He pauses. “With someone that believes in me.” He presses a kiss to the side of your neck, breath tickling the sensitive skin. You can’t help but sigh. 

“That doesn’t mean it’s what you want,” you say, after several heartbeats of struggling to think. 

“I want…” His words “To be with you. However you’ll have me.” His arms loosen, hands sliding down to your waist. 

“Still not answering the question,” you breathe out but you can’t even remember what the question is, not when he’s shifting to lay on top of you, lips inching their way up your neck. He kisses your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your lips, then stops, pulling away and meeting your eyes again.

The Soonyoung Sparkle. The grinch has nothing on you–your heart swells so large it feels like it’s going to explode out of your chest–Alien style. Does he know what he does to you? How he’s made everything in your life shine? How happy you are when he’s with you? 

“I love you,” you whisper. 

Soonyoung blinks at you. “You…” 

“I love you,” you say again, this time with more confidence. “I really, really love you.” 

Soonyoung grins, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours, moving like the world outside has stopped. He makes a bubble around you again, or maybe it’s your own heart; either way the only thing that exists is the way his hands inch up your shirt, the way his lips begin to press harder against yours. You give up on coherent thoughts, settling for wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. 

“I love you, too,” Soonyoung whispers between kisses. “If that wasn’t obvious.” 

Soonyoung who always treated you like you were enough already. Soonyoung who does everything with 100% of his heart. Soonyoung who has always been sincere with you, from the first day you met him. Soonyoung, who you are so lucky to be loved by. 

You don’t know how to say any of this in a way that makes sense so you let his fire melt you until you are putty in his arms. He pulls away, and the Soonyoung Sparkle burns, your personal stars flickering back at you.  

“You want to–” Soonyoung starts to say, but the door slams open. Then Soonyoung falls on you, pillow rolling off his head. 

“I’m taking this back!” Someone shouts while you hear Jihoon cursing. 

“Read the room, idiot!” Soonyoung pushes off of you, sitting up and pulling your shirt down as smoothly as he can. You sit up, trying to decide if you should be embarrassed or angry. Facing Jun, frozen midstep with his jaw hanging open a little and Jihoon in the doorway with his arms folded, shaking his head slightly, you opt for the latter. 

“Does no one knock in Colombia?” You frown at him. “And when did you get back? Why didn’t you call?” 

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” he mumbles, staring at his feet. “And you were supposed to be alone, according to my sources.” He glares at Jihoon. 

“YN didn’t say he was coming over,” he says with a shrug. 

You turn your frown to him. “You walked in halfway through the movie, I literally shouted ‘Soonyoung’s over.’” 

“I had my headphones on,” he says, though he’s avoiding your eyes too. Typical of your friends, never claiming responsibility for their actions. 

“So this is Soonyoung,” Jun says, turning to face him. Soonyoung moved to the edge of the bed, too far away for your taste but probably an appropriate distance for your friends, especially compared to what they walked in on. Jun tilts his head. “You dyed your hair.” 

“Yeah,” Soonyoung scratches the back of his head. “Spur of the moment thing.” You miss the blonde, surprisingly fitting considering it isn’t his natural color. But the black suits him too, and probably will help him with law school interviews. Then again, knowing Soonyoung, this color won’t last long either. Good thing there isn’t a color you don’t think suits him. 

“We should do this properly,” Soonyoung says. “Go out for dinner or something.” 

“Hey, I didn’t get dinner,” Jihoon says. 

“You want to get dinner with me?” Soonyoung perks up. 

“No, I’m protesting unfair treatment.” 

“It’s not unfair, I’m just clearly his favorite,” Jun says. 

“Can you guys stop fighting over my boyfriend?” You say. 

Jihoon and Jun stare at you. When Soonyoung turns to face you, he grins, eyes sparkling. 

“What?” 

“You just called him your boyfriend,” Jun says. 

“Well… he is.” You feel your cheeks flush. “Why are you guys making it weird?” 

“It’s not weird,” Soonyoung says. He scoots closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “It’s cute,” he whispers in your ear. “Adorable.” This only makes you flush even more. 

“Well, I don’t want to interrupt, so I’ll just grab this and you two can get back to… whatever.” Jun takes a step towards your bookcase. You grab the pillow that he threw at Soonyoung and nail him in the chest, earning a laugh from Jihoon. 

“Don’t even think about it.” 

“The book is mine, Soonyoung never fulfilled the bet!” Jun says. You stand up, blocking him from your Pride and Prejudice. 

“Hey, I followed through!” Soonyoung says. “We’re dating!” 

“I remember the bet stating that you had to ask YN out after you took the LSAT.” Jun turns to him. 

“And I did,” Soonyoung says. “You never said it had to be right after.” 

Jun eyes him. “That’s cheating.” 

“That’s being a lawyer,” you say. “And I think he’s going to be really good at it.” 

Jun glances between you and Soonyoung and shakes his head. “Whatever, I’ll get my book back another day.” 

You step closer to Soonyoung and he links his pinky with yours. You glance at your friends. “Are you going to stand there forever or are we getting dinner?” 

“You two don’t want to get back to what you were doing?” Jihoon asks. 

You slip your hand into Soonyoung’s. He meets your eyes and he’s only been your boyfriend for two weeks but looking at him is like looking home. There’s no need to rush. 

“Sounds like someone doesn’t want to pick where we go.” 

“We should make them pay, too,” Soonyoung says. 

You grin at him. “You are the smartest person I know.” 

[tojjist]

“At Least” S. Gojo

☆ genre: angst to fluff (kinda)

☆ pairings: Gojo Satoru x f! reader

☆ summary: After Geto left, nothing has been the same. Especially not your relationship with Gojo Satoru. Once you decide to move to Kyoto for good, Gojo is less than pleased. But fate does not seem to want to let you go.

☆ cw: mentions of sex, depressed gojo, not spoiler free, hopping between timelines but like i added non-canon events, smoking, drinking, getting drunk, high school Gojo being a high school boy, cussing, mentions of drunk sex but it doesn’t happen, mentions character death (from the anime), gojo satoru (yes that's a trigger warning).

☆ wc : 5.6k

☆ a/n: this has been in the doing for so long? I've been waiting to have the chance to upload it for maybe a year now smh. Also was originally written for an irl of mine lmao

“Oh my god,” you emphasize each word, pushing the wooden chair away with your knee. “Satoru, is it yours?”

His black pupils, lined with iris the color of morning skies, study your figure from behind the shaded glasses, pink lips quirking slightly upwards in approval of your attention.

“Nah, it's only staying with me for a week,” he stated, watching nervously as you strode over to him. “His owner is away for some business.”

Your attention remained fixed on the pet in Satoru's long, long arms. Your face lit up when a bark escaped the infant animal. “Can I hold it?”

Satoru watched over you carefully, pleading eyes coming in line with his blues. You make it hard to say anything other than an immediate yes, but he tries to stretch out the conversation to his best ability.

“It's 400 yen for 10 minutes,” he muttered, sarcasm dripping from his words. He earned a look of amusement from you; a small victory. He then braced himself for the next part. Satoru bent down, meeting you eye-to-eye, and noticed your breath catching in anticipation. “Or... you can shorten your skirt.”

Your face took no time to grow hot, not giving any verbal answer besides the blank expression you stare at him with. For a second, Gojo let himself think he's the victor of this little challenge he started in his head. But he soon came to realize how grave of a mistake he's made.

You're not flustered, you're angry.

“You're such a fucking pervert,” you fume, eyes glaring daggers. He dares not move, noticing the way your eyes flutter over his face.

“You're truly unbelievable,” the shorter male chuckled, making sure he didn't bump into Satoru's now-bruised arm. “What were you even thinking?”

“I thought it was funny, y'know?” He huffed in response. Gojo's fingers ran through his own bright locks as he took a seat on the wood hung up by metal chains. "Besides, has she always been this strong? Physically, I mean."

Geto stared into the reddish sky of dusk, placing himself into a swing in turn and kicking the air so the swing would start moving. "I don't know. Girls are really full of surprises.”

He never thought, not in a million years, things would come to this. Ever since Gojo's last encounter with Geto after he, well, changed... Gojo became unable to face anyone quite the same way he did before.

How did he get here? How did things escalate to this? Thinking about it, Geto had shown signs of a change in his heart and mind. It was Satoru's fault, was it not? He should have done better. He should have noticed. How could he not have? wasn't he the strongest? Wasn't that his job? How could he be so bad at everything?

How could he fail everyone like this?

“Gojo-San?”

Your feminine voice cut his train of thought. He almost forgot the situation he is now stuck in. He's been doing that a lot: losing himself in thought, mind almost immune to the outer world until he temporarily lost his sense of self. Nothing felt quite the same any more. It was like the world had lost its color.

“Sorry- What's up?” He turned to you. Gojo-san, you called him. When did you stop using his given name? What's with the '-san'? Gojo hadn't realized that losing one person was the first step, and now he found himself deep in the road of losing everyone.

And now he's stuck in the elevator with the girl he had liked for so long. He couldn't find it in himself to say anything to you, to push your buttons like he always did or joke around. When did the world become so heavy? He does not know.

“Are you okay? You seemed off.”

Your face is devoid of any genuine emotion, seemingly expressionless. But your voice is laced with concern. Gojo could only guess you didn't want him thinking you pity him or anything of such. But if that isn't the case, he wouldn't know. He's too tired to bother thinking about it.

“Yeah, yeah. I'm fine,” he smiled in assurance, “Just bothered by, well, this-” he threw his hand in the way of the control panel. The elevator doors have been stuck for almost twenty minutes now. How pleasant.

“uh huh,” you sigh, turning back around. How did you turn so cold?

When the silence stretches, you start a conversation, hesitant at first. “By the way, I got accepted as a helper in a nursery in Kyoto,” you mutter, gaze avoiding his own. “they're expecting me to start work right after spring break.”

Spring break?

Holy shit. It hit him like a truck. That’s barely a week and a half from now.

“Spring break? Why so soon?”

“That’s when the students file back in,” you mumble, fiddling with the watch placed around your wrist. You pause to read the time, then turn to meet his eyes. “I’m leaving in four days to get settled.”

“Oh…” His breath caught, “Train?”

What a stupid question. He knows. Satoru has never been unintelligent, especially in conversing. But now his unintelligence shines through as if it’s his only trait. He’s glad you don’t question it.

“Yeah, I have no other form of transport really.”

“Well, uh…” He hates himself. He hates himself for not doing anything. He hates himself for being so weak and  cowardly, for being unable to keep his friends around him, for shutting everyone he holds close out. But now, he especially hates himself for being unable to feel happy for you, or to congratulate you on the opportunity, “come visit us every once in a while, yeah?”

Your mouth remains shut, only staring at the tall man before your eyes. The silence stretches between the two of you once again, and you don’t find it in you to speak of how you feel.

“You.. you know you could have died, right? We all could have b-but you…” You trail off, thoughts splattered like a spilled pot of ink. Although you seemed unfazed, in your mind you were anything but. Haibara, Riko, and all the losses that trailed and every event that followed has been stressful and nerve-wrecking. And even in the quietness and silence of the general atmosphere, it has been nearly impossible to find peace within yourself.

“Well, I didn’t. What happened had passed. Can you change that? I doubt so. No point in ‘if’ and ‘could’ve’.”

Before you could respond,the lights flickered back on. You grow unsure if you’ve struck a nerve, but that wasn’t what you meant. Gojo’s response had nothing to do with what you said, you were sure he knew exactly what your words were meant for. Why is he so scared of confronting it?

You don’t know. You could never hope to know because you and Gojo Satoru live in different worlds, the man who was only Satoru some time ago. You were worlds apart, yet  Satoru loved to play pretend that he lived in the same world as you, even when he stuck out like a sore thumb. But he was no longer. Ever since Geto left… it’s safe to say everyone has been changing slowly, deforming from their previous lives and personalities. But Satoru flipped, like the head and tail of a coin, he got himself a new face. He turned into Gojo Satoru; the strongest. A soul unalive. A broken boy in an ever growing body. A stranger.

Two days later you find yourself still roaming the campus , searching so desperately for something. Anything. A reason to stay, perhaps? You don’t find it anyway. You have no attachment as this place holds nothing but misery. Or that’s what you told yourself over and over as you packed your things.

Your steps were graceful, walking so cautiously as if careful to not wake someone up. Your fingers find rest on the old, dusty door frame, pushing yourself into the room that hadn’t been used for a good month or so. The classroom looked the same as it always did. Except for the shadow that loomed over it; a gray shade that sent chills down your spine. Or maybe it’s just your imagination. 

Then you spot something rather out of place. You’re sure you’ve never seen it before and although you know it’s none of your business, the way it tugs at the strings of your curiosity is undeniable.

It’s red, poking out of what you’re sure is Gojo’s desk. The gloomy classroom was no fit for paper with a color so vibrant. 

Your heart skips a beat when you glimpse the seat next to Satoru’s. You do your best to avoid looking at Geto’s desk any further. You busy yourself with the task at hand, reaching out for the mysterious paper hidden in the wooden desk. Shivers run up your arm at the texture of the scrunched paper.

You attempt to straighten it to your best ability, strained by his hard work of crumbling it with obvious frustration. you can barely make out the letters of your name in the middle of the paper, outlined by a messy circle. How Gojo of him. A few lines stick out of the ‘circle’, one of them has the name of a steakhouse somewhere in Tokyo. Another has a date, reading somewhere along February. It’s near impossible to make out what the small combination of letters say, especially when Satoru’s handwriting is closer to symbols than a comprehensible language.

The thought of it was so funny it didn’t feel like him at all. Satoru never planned anything. Every breath he took was based on pure impulse. Never would it have occurred to you that he thinks through things, let alone brainstorm.

The thought makes you smile. But the realization that he never asked you out because he changed his mind or everything that happened getting in his way makes your stomach churn unpleasantly. 

You decide it’s probably for the best to never bring it up. It would only make matters worse for both of you. Life ran its course; who are you to try and change it?

“I apologize, but my answer remains. I refuse to take part in this,” you spoke in an even tone. “I have a job and a life away from jujutsu. I’ve made it clear sorcery is not a part of my life anymore.”

"That’s completely understandable,” the old man argued, his voice hoarse with age. You’re pretty sure you hear anger further straining his voice, “but your technique is quite strong. That strength could be of great assistance if put to use.”

“Thank you, sir,” you dip your head, maintaining eye contact with the decaying man. “But I truly apologize. The decision is final.”

“If you ever do change your mind, please let us know. We’d be more than happy to hear it.”

You almost let a sigh of relief escape. Finally he gave up. You end up only nodding your head in response gratefully, retreating from the old man. As soon as you're safe and out of sight, you let your posture drop, eyes rolling back in annoyance. These guys are truly as relentless as ever.

You stopped upon a familiar scent catching in your nostrils. Lifting your head up, your eyes roam around, scanning the room for your friend.

“You look troubled,” Shoko approaches you, taking the cigarette out from between her teeth. “What’s with the face?”

“How is that man even alive,” you look at her, “he’s ancient.”

Your comment earns a light chuckle from the brunette. “I’m glad I never have to get caught up in this bullshit.”

“Blissed aren’t you,” you roll your eyes as you speak. “I shouldn’t have come in the first place, I knew they were going to do this.”

“It’s alright, you’re all done now. Here-” Your friend then lifts the cigarette up, putting it near your mouth. When you don’t show any resistance she, being the bad influence she has always been, proceeds to place it between your lips. You waste no time, making quick work of the drag you inhale, bringing the familiar cloud of toxic chemicals and tobacco into your lungs. Your expression relaxes, shifting into one of relief. Shoko scoffs playfully, muttering that you’re dramatic under her breath before she pulls her cigarette from you, taking in a drag.

“Satoru’s here, by the way,” Shoko didn’t need to look at you to guess the way your eyes snap towards her. She bites back a smile. “He’s calmed down. He’d even seem the same as long as you don’t squint too hard.”

“Good for him,” you mutter, trying to seem as unbothered and nonchalant as your accelerating heart rate would allow. You avoid looking at Shoko, trying to seem disinterested. You know she’d pretend you weren’t gawking at her the second she said his name.

“He’s trying, you know. He’s just as nervous as you are.”

“‘M not nervous,” you scoff, “For god’s sake. It’s been ten years already.”

Satoru is stressed. He's nervous, as Shoko put it. He’d spent so long trying to ignore the past, pretend the past wasn’t at all. He couldn’t confront it. He didn’t want to. Satoru knows what he’s done, he's aware that he hurt you the last time you two had interacted. And that was ten years ago. He even let you leave without so much as a goodbye. How could he look you in the eye and pretend nothing has ever happened?

Gojo didn’t want to face the consequences of what he’s done. More so what he hasn’t. So many things were left unsaid in the elevator that day. They’ve been hanging over Satoru ever since, weighing his heart down and wearing it out.

What if he’s met by another woman? Ten years change a lot as is. What if the eyes that meet his aren’t yours? What if he finds himself talking to a stranger that carries around your name and features? Of all the horrors Gojo Satoru had faced in his life, nothing caused dread to pool in the pit of his stomach like this thought does.

Shoko seems to find something beyond you interesting. You don’t bother to turn to see as the brunette has always been a little in her own head. She’s probably just dozed off.

“Hey, think you can hold this for me?” Shoko muttered once Gojo crossed her sight. She stands facing you, averting his gaze. “I’ll be right back, nature’s calling.”

From his distance, Gojo couldn’t make out what the two of you were saying. He watched as your shoulders shook, presumably in laughter. Shoko then made her away from you, barely sparing Satoru a glance.

Every step he took felt heavy, weights landing on his shoulders as he moved towards you. He watched smoke emerge from over your head. He didn’t know you smoked. And even though he’s not completely sure what you do for a living now, he’s not expecting any nursery to accept a smoker in their team.

His long strides finally arrived, opting to remain a step behind you. Close enough to make his presence known.

The aura was unmistakable, almost as if it could be physically sensed. You freeze in place, the cigarette remaining a few inches from your lips. Even after he changed his perfume to one a lot more manly and appealing, and clearly grew taller judging by the shadow he cast over you, his presence still had the same strength as it did before. If not stronger. Anyone else would say it’s intimidating. But you find surprising comfort in it.

“That’s going to kill you,” his hand  reached from over your head, making sure to not cause any unnecessary physical contact. His fingers slip the burning cigarette  from your grip. You find yourself unable to make a single move in response, only watching his actions unfold.

He took a step, moving closer, dimming the light from the roll by rubbing it against the metal bars, then throwing it off the balcony. “You’re too young to kill yourself like that.”

“That bitch Shoko set me up,” You hiss, regaining your composure. “Will you look who showed up. You’re killing the ecosystem by throwing waste like this, Gojo.”

Although you haven’t glanced his way yet, You were every bit sure his mouth was quirked in the same smug smirk he wore so much when you were younger. You could even hear it in his voice as he spoke, “You haven’t grown at all, have you?”

“Oh shut it,” you chuckle. “You’re still as immature as ever. How you could be a manchild at 27 is a wonder to me.”

27… It felt so weird to say it out loud. Weren’t you just 17 a few days ago?

“Oh, how you hurt me,” he says in exaggeration, his voice conveying anything but the hurt he claims to feel. “That isn’t very nice of you.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” You say. He laughs a little, you do too. But the silence that follows is not that of a joke. He knew what you’re referring to. Maybe he underestimated your last encounter’s effect on you.

The silence speaks for itself. It’s louder than any conversation you’ve had before. What now? What have we become? Is it of any use to try anymore? Neither of you had an answer to the question that began to surface with this interaction.

The questions remain hung in the air, dimming the atmosphere around you. Was this fate’s doing? Or his karma? Gojo has always been told he’s a god, but how could he be a higher form of life when he struggled so much to hold a conversation?

He’s about to speak again when you cut him off, muttering “here-” as you push your hand down the coat you wore. Your tongue pokes at the inside of your cheek as you search for the anonymous object.

You pull out a worn out paper, grown from what could have been a bright red to an orangish shade. His eyes study as you shove the paper in his  direction, eyes avoiding his gaze at all costs.

Seeing your bashful expression made him rather curious, the contents of the wrinkled paper piquing his interest. He hesitates before he pulls the paper from your hand, half-expecting you to bite him.

The letters were scribbles, almost like they’re straight out of some cult’s ritual,  that with the wrinkles of the worn out paper making reading it next to impossible. Still, he could make out just enough to realize what this paper is. His eyes widened behind the blindfold. It didn’t take much to remember this paper, trivial as it may be.

“You found this- how did you even…?” he trails off, confused.

“I guess I did,” You confirm. He’s unsure if you’re proud of yourself for your rather… interesting discovery. It’s bold of you to pull this out ten whole years later. But he can’t deny the relief he feels that at least this means you don’t completely hate him. For once, he’s truly at loss for words. 

But he wouldn’t let a perfect opportunity like this slide.

“Oh, so you’re in love with me? You’re so obsessed with me that you kept this for so many years, what a loyal fangirl.”

Before he knew it, a weight so crushing landed on his foot. He turned off his infinity around you as a sign of trust. But he soon came to regret his rather unsmart decision. Your foot stomped and crushed his toes. It makes him groan in pain, bending slightly forward.

“Tomorrow, at Narisawa in Minato city, 5:30. I’m leaving for Kyoto in 3 days. Don’t waste your chance again, Gojo Satoru. You’re not getting another one.”

“I take it you’ve been in love with me ever since?” He leans forward, elbows on the table. “Say, did you fascinate about me?”

“Hmm..” you hum softly at his childish question, “only a little.” You show no signs of interest in his tactics as you sipped the wine in your hand. Undeniably, Gojo is taken aback by your lack of reaction. He hasn’t known you to be so reserved and smart at keeping him on edge. He couldn’t help finding your new behavior enticing.

Is there anything else you’d like to have?” You nodded your head towards the plates sitting on the table, some empty and some half-full. “Or do you wanna do something else before I go back to the hotel?”

“Hmm? Maybe I could join you at the hotel, actually. Surely it’ll be a lot less lonely with me around?”

You’re tempted by his offer, feeling the heat pooling in your stomach. He looked strikingly handsome today. Maybe you were just really lonely and touch starved, or maybe it’s the way his lips quirk as he teases you that makes your brain a little hazy, inappropriate thoughts floating through it and send jolts to your core. Yet, you set your mind on refusing his advances. You haven’t had a decent conversation since high school, for god's sake.

He keeps his eyes set on you, shining before him. You looked glamorous. He’d lie if he said there wasn’t a certain allure to  your matured looks. The years that flew by changed a lot of things about you two, but his breath still catches in his throat when your eyes meet his dreamy blues. The feelings rush back, memories clouding his train of thought. 

He’s sure he’s going to pay. He didn’t mind it at all, what a small price for getting to spend an evening with you. But you surprise him when you bring up that you had already put your card down, courtesy of having been the one to ask him out. Or maybe this was your way of telling him that you are in pretty good condition, living perfectly well without needing sorcery.

“How’s working as a jujutsu teacher?” you quip, smiling softly. “Utahime says you’ve got some interesting kids in your pack? Two special grades, too. You’re sure a favorite attraction for wonders.”

“You’re still in contact with her too?” he dodges talking about his students, not meeting your gaze. “That’s ironic. Weren’t we friends too?”

A hoarse chuckle emerges from him. But nothing about it leads back to amusement, as it was a joyless sound devoid of life. Almost as if he were mocking you. The dark lenses of the shades sitting on the bridge of his nose served as a shield. He curses himself for being so weak. He's almost thirty but somehow you’ve got him acting like he did when he was 17. 

“You didn’t try to contact me either,” you shrug, not willing to take the blame for your lack of contact. 

“You could have visited then. Even Yaga talked about you every once in a while,” he isn’t too happy and it’s showing.

“All good things, I hope-“

“Don’t change the subject,” he frowns, an uneasy edge outlining his words. “He was enough. You didn’t have to go ahead and leave too.”

“I had to move on, Gojo,” the name felt like a jab every time you used it. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything about it. This is how you drew your boundaries. Calling them by their last names gives you a false sense of satisfaction, convincing yourself that your sorcerer friends are past figures now. Mere acquaintances. 

“-I couldn’t remain hung there forever, I valued my mental health. You grew distant, the atmosphere was growing uneasy every day. I had to cut ties with Jujutsu before I couldn’t recognize myself anymore.”

“Yet you’re here now. Back to square one,” his playful tone was long gone, now replaced by an even, stern one. “Whether you moved away or called us by our last names. It’s a curse you can’t escape. you’ll always end up back in the palms or jujutsu.”

His words held some truth. You know that. But just as he refused to confront this past, you repulsed the idea of your reality. You truly want to believe that you could escape this part of yourself and live a normal life. You couldn’t come to terms with your inability. You held onto your hopes as if your sanity completely depended on it. Another thing that won’t change no matter how much you grew.

“I'll be okay as long as I refuse to interact with this world.”

Once you leave the restaurant, you find yourself wandering through the rich streets of Minato city. It felt as though the night was pulling you further into its welcoming embrace, with nothing rushing you.

“He was only thirteen,” you chuckle, arm linked in his. “It’s unbelievable how bold kids nowadays are.”

“I would’ve done the same thing, honestly,” he smirks, his gaze fixed on the stores around.

“Of course. You’ve got the brains of a thirteen year old.”

Satoru grins at your remark, pulling you into a clothes store. 

“What’s this?” you look around in confusion, noting a woman in a suit welcoming you. The place looked a little too fancy, judging by the display of the items and the lighting of the place.

“It’s a western brand,” Satoru answers. Looking over at him, you can’t help but smile a little. He looks good tonight. His fancy outfit gave the impression that he’s a model to strangers. “Louis Vuitton, I think,” He furrows his brows, trying to remember the name of the brand stores he’s been to with Nobara and Shoko.

“Prada, sir,” The lady in a suit corrected him. “Can I help you?”

“We’re just browsing, thank you.” It’s a phrase he heard from Kugisaki countless times whenever they wandered into a store. His response makes you chuckle, watching as the lady takes a few steps backwards politely.

You’re soon comfortable, searching through the expensive coats and bags. Satoru watched tenderly. Even though the ten years that passed with no contact whatsoever definitely propose a wall between you, he's glad you're able to feel free. You might nit on the same page, but you two can work with what you have.

You stride back to the “S” shaped velvet couch sat in the middle of the checker-carpet store, where Satoru sat. But he was nowhere to be seen.

You walk around in hesitance and confusion, completely aware of the lady walking always a few feet behind you. Surveillance, you guess.

You find him standing in front of the white counter, taking a black bag with the brand’s name printed onto it in golden letters from the man standing behind the counter in a white shirt with the brand's logo on it.

“Gojo,” you call him, confusion fused into your expression.

He extends his arm to you, trying to suppress any sourness at you calling him Gojo. “Let’s go?”

You nod, eyeing him suspiciously before you link your arm in his. You make sure to flash a grateful smile at the woman by the door as you walk past the reflective glass door.

You almost forgot how busy the world outside is. It felt as though the glass building of the store was sound proof. Now you have to adjust to the noise of the full streets again.

Satoru remains silent for the most part. It’s not awkward, rather just neither of you knew what to say. He expected you to ask about what he bought, which you have considered. You decide against it though as you feel it’s none of your business. You’re not too surprised anyway as Gojo has always been a wealthy man. He could buy the entire Prada chain with half of his monthly spending.

“What do you wanna do now?” He asks. “Wanna go somewhere else?”

You think about going to the club to give the night the best closure. But neither of you were dressed for it anyway. You contemplate your choices. Then you grin at him, and Satoru knows it’s best to fear what comes after

You’re well aware that he has a high alcohol tolerance. While you would be wasted a few shots in. Yet you consumed so many drinks recklessly, thinking that maybe you could beat him in a drinking game.

That’s why he’s stuck to your side now, helping your sleeping body out of his car. Satoru is glad your hotel card was so easy to find in your purse, taking it out as he gets into the lobby.

A few people eye the man, glaring at him and at the way he held you in his arms. But he couldn’t bring himself to think too much about it. His mission is to get you to bed now.

“Satoruuu~” You whine, rubbing your face into the pillow once he sat you on the white bedding. “Stay with meeee”

And Satoru is nothing if not human. Despite what everyone else says. It’s proven now that he had come to face a human flaw like this. He is weak, and you are all but practically seducing him.

“Stop crying,” He mutters. He finds himself smiling sheepishly at the unlikely scenario he found himself in. Tucking you in bed, your face hot due to the drinks you had. He really should have stopped you. “I’ll stay the night, so sleep already.”

He convinced himself it’s for the best. He should watch over you for tonight. No funny business. Deep inside he knew he was just finding a reason— any reason to stay around you for a little longer, heart yearning for the lost years. But he ignored the pathetic feeling, convincing himself it’s for your sake instead.

“But I’m uncomfortableee,” you whine again, hands running down your body. “The dress...”

Did you have to make it so hard on him? Satoru is tempted to kiss you, eyebrows knitted in the space between, eyes looking around the room for any sort of aid.

This is probably a form of invading your privacy, but he sees no other choice. He’ll have to hold it together for tonight.

“nngh..”

Your groan came with an impending headache. Your body moves against the rich covers of the bed, sunlight illuminating your physique.

He stopped in his tracks, feet bare against the gray carpet.

Your form is beautiful, one to compete with statues of goddesses. The rays of light complimented every inch of skin in all the right ways. Satoru had to physically shake his head to stop the flowing perverted thoughts in his head.

Your flinch when you catch him standing near the door, heart beating slightly faster. You thought that you’re alone. You don’t think much of it anyway, muttering a “holy shit” under your breath.

“Good morning,” he casually greets, brushing off the mutual shock, albeit for different reasons. “I made coffee, if you wanted some.”

“Oh... thank you,” you mutter, rubbing your eyes as you sit up straight. “Did you eat anything yet?”

“Not yet, no,”  he says, holding his overly sweet coffee in both palms. “Thought I’d wait until you woke up.”

“You’re a real sweetheart, Satoru,” you yawn. His name slipped past your lips before you could stop it. You busy yourself with stretching your arms. “What a doting housewife God has blessed me with”

His response is only a chuckle, rolling his eyes as he sighs on the edge of the bed. “Well, at least I wasn’t begging a man to spend the night with me”

“Huh?”

You couldn’t remember anything of the prior night. Nothing that occurred after you sat at the bar, specifically. But then you begin to realize, eyes widening at the revelation. You feel dreadfulness landing in the pit of your stomach a little too late. 

He’s shirtless, wearing only his suit pants. And even though you wouldn’t mind the sight any other day, the fact that you are in your pajamas isn’t helping at all.

“Did we...” You trail off, expression darkening. Your eyes meet his own, fear implanted in your pupils. You watch as his expression drifts from confusion to an awkward hesitance. Unsure how to break the news to you.

You don’t know what to expect, not realizing you’re holding your breath. 

“I-I’m sorry,” He sighs, gaze faltering as his eyes look away from you. Your eyes widen further, oxygen becoming hard to consume.

What have you done?

“But- don’t worry. You know I’m not some asshole...” if anything, he sounded chivalrous. “I-I’ll be accountable for my mistake. When do you want to hold the wedding?”

You gasp, face feeling hot. “You piece of shit-“ You groan as your foot reaches him, forcefully pushing him off the bed. “As if!”

He breaks into a fit of laughter, the sound full of genuine delight. “I can’t believe you fell for it,” He manages between the laughter.

“Fuck you, Satoru,” you mutter, a smile of relief breaking across your face. “I can’t believe you pulled something so childish.”

“Why are you so down?” He climbed back onto the bed, reclaiming his spot on the edge. “Are you disappointed? You know it’s never too late to just as-“

“Fuck off,” Your heart is pounding as you send him another kick, less forceful this time. “Say one more word about it and I’ll make sure you don’t make it out of this room in one piece.”

He laughs, asking you to pass his coffee. You reach for his coffee from the bedside table. Your fingers lift the glass mug to your lips, sipping at the hot beverage before handing it to him.

Your face scrunches up at the horrible taste. Too much sugar. Too much milk. It’s a lot worse than you might think.

“Your coffee should be criminal,” you push the mug his way, frowning. Satoru hums in response. 

There’s no awkwardness between the two of you, and he can’t help but cherish it. He feels content, enough to sit a little closer, at least.

Enough to lean in towards you, mouth closing over yours in an ever awaited kiss, at least.

[hanafubukki]

I Suddenly Became the Mother of the Red-Rose Tyrant?!

Summary: Well, fuck, somehow you isekaied and became the mother of Riddle Rosehearts

Characters: Riddle Roshearts, Reader, & Clover Family.

Notes: I have been reading way too many isekai Manhwas/Mangas. Not only that, but I saw a fanart of little Riddle and his mom and was inspired right away. This is a long fic, it’s been awhile since I wrote something so long so I am proud. 💕🥰💜

·      When you had opened your eyes one day, you had woken up in a bedroom that definitely wasn’t yours.

·      The room was…meticulous, and that was putting it lightly.

·      Even your bed, while comfy, had a feeling of order to it; daring anyone to mess it up.

·      You should probably be more anxious over your new surroundings but waking up well rested in a while just mellowed you out.

·      That is until you got up and looked at a mirror, finally seeing the truth of the matter.

·      Well, fuck, you really did isekai to another world.

·      Maybe reading all those manhwas and mangas were not a good idea.

·      You glance at the mirror one more time and this time your appearance caught and held your attention.

·      You reached up and pulled at your…bangs.

·      They looked to form two heart shapes.

·      It was kind of cute.

·      The person whose body you had, well, she looked tired and stressed.

·      Lady, you need to relax once in a blue moon.

·      Wait…a minute, no, no, no. Heart shaped bangs? The only character you knew that had heart shaped bangs were...

·      “Mother?”

·      You turned around and right at your door, dressed prim and proper, was a tiny Riddle Rosehearts.

·      Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

·      You were isekaid into Mrs. Rosehearts.

·      After you had gotten your bearings, you had told Riddle to go study and you would prepare him food. He had simply nodded and did as you asked. No protest against studying so early in the morning or any mention of hunger. You knew his past, of course you did, but seeing it firsthand was another experience all together. Seeing his response to the request you made? It burdened your heart even more.

·      As you made his breakfast, you had some time to yourself which you used to sort out your situation and feelings. Your memories before coming to Twisted Wonderland were still intact; you just didn’t remember how you ended up in this world, let alone in Mrs. Rosehearts body.

·      Of whom, her memories you had full access to as well. it was as if you lived two lives together. If it wasn’t for little Riddle in the next room, you would be tearing your hair out because, of course, you would be in this situation.

·      Looking through her memories, you can see why Mrs. Rosehearts had turned out the way she did. Generational trauma and unrealistic expectations seemed to run in the family. Which in turn led to her actions towards Riddle, and of which, led to Mr. Rosehearts walking out of their lives. He didn’t even fight for custody of his own child, the influence of Mrs. Rosehearts being too great.

·      Generation trauma that you could have prevented from continuing, Mrs. Rosehearts, but now it’s up to me.

·      You ended up taking a tray of food to little Riddle, with enough food that a child his age would eat and then some. At least with these memories retained, you also knew everything Mrs. Rosehearts did, and unlike the MC in Twisted Wonderland, you also had her powers as well. Which, given the game’s events, would come in handy in the future.

·      Right now though, as you opened the door to the study, you would do your best to raise your son right and well-loved.

·      One of the first changes you made was decreasing his study time and allowing him the chance to play.

·      It didn’t go as well as you expected…Riddle had frozen and started shaking to your horror. Mumbling about doing better and how he could handle extra studies if you wished it of him. You had a feeling that he thought it was to test him and his dedication.

·      You had to calm him down and prove otherwise.

·      Giving him a dedicated set time to study, and just as much time to play. You would even join him. Drawing with him, putting together puzzles, and even playing in the backyard. You had even gone out and bought him a ball that you two threw at each other.

·      What warmed your heart the most was when you baked him a strawberry tart and gave it to him with a warm glass of milk. Your tart wasn’t the best with the crust crumbling, and you should have probably let it cool a bit more, but the shining eyes and wide smile from Riddle was more than worth it.

·      You patted him on the head as he scooped another piece into his mouth.

·      You loved your son.

·      The next step in providing a healthy lifestyle for Riddle was making sure he had friends.

·      Which meant, you had to repair the relationship Riddle had with Trey and Che’nya.

·      It wasn’t easy, especially having to muster up the courage to look into Trey’s parents’ eyes and apologize for actions you did not commit.

·      But you were determined to give Riddle a good childhood and that meant him having friends his age and hopefully lowering his chances of overblotting in the future.

·      Riddle was quiet on the day you both went to the Clover’s bakery.

·      But you took a deep breath and patted him on the head.

·      “Everything will be alright, sweetheart.”

·      Riddle didn’t say anything and just nodded.

·      You had chosen to meet Trey’s parents at closing time, and you had given them a call ahead of time.

·      When you met them, you could tell they were nervous and bracing themselves.

·      Little Trey looked ready for a fight.

·      You had to hold your smile in.

·      You ended up bowing to them and apologizing, which you could tell freaked them all out.

·      Riddle was surprised and grasped at your dress, worried.

·      “I am very sorry for the way I treated you all before. I know my words might not make up for my past actions, but I do hope you will forgive me in time.”

·      Mr. and Mrs. Clover looked at each other before tentatively accepting your apology.

·      “Mrs. Rosehearts, might we ask why the sudden change.”

·      It was Mrs. Clover who had spoken up.

·      You smiled and put a hand on your son’s head.

·      “I have been trying to raise Riddle the only way I knew how. I had let my past and expectations I have lived through blind me. I realized that was wrong, and I want to change that. I want my son to be happy and loved like he deserves.”

·      The Trey family seemed to relax after hearing your reasoning, but you could tell they were still on guard.

·      You didn’t blame them, but you hope in time, they will trust your words.

·      You crouched down to Riddle’s level, looking at him with a gentle look.

·      “I want to show my little one that adults can be wrong, and they can change. I want to show him that I love him, and I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. I love you and I hope you can forgive me too.”

·      Little Riddle was trembling, and tears were dripping down his face.

·      You opened your arms before he rushed into you with all the force his little body can muster.

·      You hugged him just as tight, holding your own tears in.

·      You got up with Riddle in your arms, rubbing his back as he cried and clutched on you tighter.

·      You bowed your head to the Clover family once again before looking at Trey.

·      “I hope you, you other friend, and Riddle can be good friends.”

·      Trey looked a bit nervous before nodding slowly.

·      You thanked them before returning home.

·      Humming a song to little Riddle and kissing his head.

·      You were determined.

·      You would make sure Riddle Rosehearts grew up loved and happy.

·      And as thoughts of the Twisted Wonderland plot came into mind.

·      You would make sure he was safe.

How did you all like it? Would love to hear your thoughts 💕☺️

Tag List (open): @justeclem44​ @coraldelusiondaze​n @h0n3ysgh0st​ @thatdazaikin​ @strawberry-pie-thoughts​

[anincompletelist]

[ vol i | vol ii | vol iii | vol iv ]

happy january friends! :D

there have been a crazy number of wonderful fics that I have had time to catch up on this month, and I've saved a few for next month's rec as well!

as always, please remember to leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed the fic or show support in other ways, and be kind! mind the tags and if you come across something you dislike, please kindly (and quietly) move on.

this turned out to be a bit of a long one! I hope everyone has had a wonderful start to the new year so far, and happy reading y'all! <3

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it's a kind of magic | Jaistiel | E | 82k

Henry, the man who had asked if Alex's magic hurt him before asking if he used it for evil things. Henry, the man who seemed terrified of his magic, but also held a level of awe and wonder about it. Henry, the man who was likely scared out of his mind to share a tent with someone capable of the things Alex could do, but was offering anyway. "Alex." He watched as Henry's eyes widened with shock, his jaw dropping open just enough for his full lips to form a small, perfect 'o' shape. "If you're asking me to share your tent and your blankets, I guess you should at least know my name."

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you can see it with the lights out | weathersriley | G | 3k

"Alex thinks of the water. Of feeling like he might never reach the surface, might never reach Henry. But Henry is here; Alex remembers falling asleep in the glow of his presence, and beneath his shaking fingers, Henry’s chest is warm and his heart is beating steadily and Henry is here. Alex is afraid, but Henry is here."

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Dream A Little Dream Of Me | @affectionatelyrs | T+ | 9k

They’re no longer in the garden. There’s no grass, no flowers, no fireflies. Only stars—hundreds upon hundreds of them in an otherwise vast sea of darkness, dazzling and twinkling and here. “How—” “They came here for you,” Alex says, his voice light. “It’s what you desired. So, I asked them to come and shine. Just for you.” “But won’t the world need them?” Alex shrugs and simply says, “You need them more.” [Or, Five times Alex visits Henry in his dreams during his dark days, and one time he does so in the real world (and stays)]

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if I do not have (your) love, I am nothing | @read-and-write- | M | 9k

The church says that sin keeps you away from God. Your disobedience is to remain hidden and only admitted during confession. The greater the sin, the greater your penance should be, and God, as the loving God he is, will forgive you. Because God is love, and he’s the greatest expression of it. Love thy neighbor is the greatest mandate of all. Yet, when Alex loves, his love is seen as perverse, impure. The greatest sin he has committed was to fall in love with another man, who has lain by his side during countless nights. But when Alex looks at Henry, he finds nothing reprehensible, nothing unclean. Instead, he finds the truest form of worship held between his arms, trailing fingertips that climb up Henry’s spine as a litany of words spill out from his mouth. A room consecrated by each whisper of God’s name, said so reverently that no one would dare say they have taken His name in vain. [A character study of Alex, religion, divinity and love.]

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sea of endless hope | acastle | E | 65k+

Henry watches Alex, the man he adores and loves so ardently, and the moment is palpable, delicate, and yet too large for even the sky to contain. He watches Alex, and in that moment, he wants to be his husband, the ache and urge of it almost unbearable. “Daddy!” Nena takes Henry’s hands, and he looks down at her, the angel who had saved him, and he smiles at her, quiet with emotion, letting her lead him into place. He would follow her, follow Alex, anywhere. (Henry, Alex, and their daughter, and the first years of coming home, forever.)

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I wake up with your memory over me (and that's a real fucking legacy) | @coffeecatsme | E | 21k

The ski instructor stops in front of him, takes off his goggles, and Henry about stops breathing for another reason. “Hey,” Alexander says with a grin, his face distinctly lacking in wrinkles Henry was expecting from a renowned instructor. There’s a bright grin on his face that rivals the sun, rich brown curls spilling out of a red beanie, and Henry realizes he’s absolutely fucked for a whole other reason than his inability to figure out how to stay upright in skis.  [Or, the one in which Henry is hopeless at skiing despite his family's aspirations, and Mary hires Alex as an instructor to amend that.]

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Praise and Supplication | @nocoastposts | E | 3k

Alex is always moving, always going, always seeking. He is defiance and brashness tinged with anxiety, but not in these moments. Henry pins him down with a gaze as heavy as his touch, and all of Alex’s motions cease. He is calm, he is obedient, he is pliable. He knows he’ll be broken apart piece by piece, sending waves of heat deep into his core. [When Alex gets stuck in his head, Henry helps him let go.]

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Room for Rent (Sex Dungeon Not Included) | @everwitch-magiks | E | 19k

When Alex comes, he only knows two things: that he’s good, and that he’s Henry’s. And that’s all he needs to know. Alex’s housemate has a sex dungeon. It’s pretty much exactly what you’d expect; whips and bondage gear and a chair that looks like something a gynecologist would have use for. Alex, being the chill, sex-positive guy he is, is of course extremely cool with this. Totally normal about it. Enthusiastically supportive, even. But as Alex watches Henry invite a steady stream of men into his dungeon, he develops one tiny little issue with the arrangement: he desperately wants to take their place.

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stolen glances with a string attached | @wordsofhoneydew | T+ | 6k

Henry’s eyes widen, his body tensing up in sheer humiliation. That’s when he sees a sly smirk make its way to the man’s lips, and it only makes the embarrassment course through his body more rapidly, feeling all the blood rush to his cheeks. The man then spins around in his office chair, reaching for what looks to be a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbles on it for a swift moment before pressing the paper up against his office window. The paper reads, “TAKE A PIC,” written in sloppy, bubble-like handwriting just barely legible enough for Henry to read. The man grabs another paper and writes for a moment longer, this time reading, “JK” with a winky face. Henry cocks an inquisitive eyebrow in his direction, the embarrassment slowly morphing into curiosity as the man turns the paper over for Henry to read the other side. “ALEX.” [An AU in which two men fall in love through their office windows]

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two is better than one | @bigassbowlingballhead | E | 8k

“You’ve thought about being with two of me, baby?” Alex teases, “Are you sure you can handle that?” he smirks. “I can’t say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.” Henry says matter of factly. “Not that it’s even fathomable.” “What if it could be…”

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love left a permanent mark | @hypnostheory | E | 10k

Henry clears his throat and answers again. “I’m a bit nervous. About the needles.” “Thank you for telling me,” Alex says, voice dipping low. Henry wouldn’t move from his spot on the couch if the apartment was on fire. “People aren’t afraid of the needle. They’re afraid of the pain. But you’re not scared of that, right?” [Henry decides to get a tattoo. It comes with more than one kind of aftercare.]

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Grounded In Fact | @england-would-fall | E | 5k

When Georgetown grad student Henry's and Alex's flights home are cancelled for bad weather, they secure the last room at a nearby hotel. Henry Fox, facing the prospect of sharing a bed with his roommate/love of his life/friend he has never confessed his feelings to, enters into an epic state of Gay Panic (tm). Come on in and watch as Henry Who Is Experiencing The Greatest Tragedy Since The Burning Of Alexandria navigates this very real and not at all in-his-head crisis.

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kitchen confidential | @dumbpeachjuice | T+ | 4k

The NDA is approximately a mile long. “Jesus fuck,” Alex splutters. “What, is their favourite film The Menu or something? Am I gonna come out of this one alive?” [Or, the one where Alex is hired to cater a private dinner party for Prince Henry and his friends, and it does not go as he expects.]

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Newton's Fourth Law | dilfpickles | E | 26k

In which Alex meets his new very attractive roommate through Reddit, downloads Grindr, and discovers some things about himself and his roommate in the process.

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Knowing me, knowing you | phlebotinxm | E | 8k

It wasn’t like the thought crept up on him by surprise. It had come in waves, like white salty water spread upon the shore and leaving little bits of foam and dust for people to see, like an idea Henry couldn’t quite shake that seemed to bleed into every era of their lives. It stayed at the back of his mind as he got up in the morning, and pulsed against his temple when he fell asleep. [In which, upon discovering something he’d never imagined about his father, Henry realizes that he is ready to take the next big step in his and Alex’s relationship.]

+

All the Lonely Starbucks Lovers | @kiwiana-writes | E | 5k

“That floor doesn’t look like it’s very comfortable on your knees, is all.” Henry leans forward, scooping out a piece of brownie that got under the counter, somehow. “I wouldn’t worry about that—my knees are quite used to it, I assure you.” A ringing silence follows this pronouncement, during which Henry focuses very hard on opening a trap door directly into hell with the power of his mind. [Or, five times Henry puts his foot in his mouth in front of his customer crush, and one time he puts his dick in his customer crush's mouth instead doesn't.]

+

The Consequences (Of Our Actions) series | @anchoredarchangel | E | 78k+

"I sort of came out as bisexual to both Nora and myself when we were watching that fucking snoozefest of a Royal Wedding years ago, and I told her with no hesitation that you were on my list.” Suddenly, Henry looks very present in this previously one-sided conversation, eyes boring into him even if he sounds a little choked as he clarifies, “I was on-” “My No Consequences sex list,” Alex confirms brazenly, “Yeah." [Or: During an inadvisable spot of dating years back, Alex and Nora made a game out of making extensive lists of celebrities they could hook up with without it being cheating. One breakup and several years later, Alex meets someone on his list for the very first time at a charity gala and decides it's appropriate to tell him all about it.]

+

Burnt Offering | justice fortheJ14magazine | G | 9k

He just needs to get through washing his hair. Simple. Except washing his hair has never been simple. It’s the polar opposite, actually. The more he thinks about the task set out in front of him, the more daunting and impossible it feels. His limbs feel like lead and the weight of the hot water pouring over him makes his head buzz. But Alex can do this. He’s done it before. A shower after a long lacrosse game or that one time he had the flu and had to stop three times to sit under the water and collect himself. He can handle a little finals week exhaustion. He has to. [Or, Alex’s hair care routine is elaborate, he struggles to let Henry help him, and he learns some important things about receiving love through service.]

+

Ho for the Holidays | @whimsymanaged | E | 6k

“Listen, don’t worry about this,” Henry says quickly, already mentally crafting the passive-aggressive text he’s going to send Pez. “Better luck next year. I’ll just be off—“ “Hold your damn horses.” Alex stops Henry with a fast, surprisingly gentle hand to his wrist. His eyebrows furrow. “What did you put on your questionnaire?” Henry’s ears go hot. “That’s none of your business.” Alex scoffs and leans in closer. “Baby, we matched. It’s safe to say we have at least some interests in common. Be honest—was it because you confessed to having a secret desire to slap me?” [Or, Pez organizes an event called Ho for the Holidays, and these two idiots get paired up.]

--

see you all soon! :D

sarah / anincompletelist xx

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Do you have any dialogue prompts for a person who doesn’t speak much?

In literature, we can find characters who are generally quiet. Some of them are perhaps so because it's innate, whilst others may not speak much due to certain events (e.g., a traumatic experience). Maybe some quotes from these quiet characters could serve as dialogue prompts. Below are just two examples I chose.

In Louisa May Alcott's Little Women, Beth March is known as a quiet, introverted character:

...We’ve each got a dollar...‘I planned to spend mine in new music,’ said Beth, with a little sigh, which no one heard but the hearth brush and kettle holder.

‘I used to be so frightened when it was my turn to sit in the chair with the crown on, and see you all come marching round to give the presents, with a kiss. I liked the things and the kisses, but it was dreadful to have you sit looking at me while I opened the bundles,’ said Beth, who was toasting her face and the bread for tea at the same time.

‘Serves me right for trying to be fine. I wish I’d let my hair alone,’ cried Meg petulantly. ‘So do I, it was so smooth and pretty. But it will soon grow out again,’ said Beth, coming to kiss and comfort the shorn sheep.

‘I saw something I liked this morning, and I meant to tell it at dinner, but I forgot,’ said Beth, putting Jo’s topsy-turvy basket in order as she talked.

‘I like that kind of sermon. It’s the sort Father used to tell us,’ said Beth thoughtfully, putting the needles straight on Jo’s cushion.

‘I wish I’d known that nice girl. Maybe she would have helped me, I’m so stupid,’ said Beth, who stood beside him, listening eagerly.

‘Jo talks about the country where we hope to live sometime—the real country, she means, with pigs and chickens and haymaking. It would be nice, but I wish the beautiful country up there was real, and we could ever go to it,’ said Beth musingly.

...so that is my favorite dream.’ ‘Mine is to stay at home safe with Father and Mother, and help take care of the family,’ said Beth contentedly.

‘If something very pleasant should happen now, we should think it a delightful month,’ said Beth, who took a hopeful view of everything, even November.

‘I don’t see how you dared to do it,’ said Beth in a tone of awe.

‘My head aches and I’m tired, so I thought maybe some of you would go,’ said Beth.

‘I’m so full of happiness, that if Father was only here, I couldn’t hold one drop more,’ said Beth, quite sighing with contentment as Jo carried her off to the study to rest after the excitement, and to refresh herself with some of the delicious grapes the ‘Jungfrau’ had sent her.

In Maya Angelou’s novel-like autobiography I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, the protagonist becomes mostly mute after a traumatic childhood event:

When we still didn’t force ourselves to answer, she asked, “You want me to tell Santa Claus to take these things back?” A wretched feeling of being torn engulfed me. I wanted to scream, “Yes. Tell him to take them back.” But I didn’t move. (An example of internal dialogue)

It occurred to me that she expected a response. The sweet vanilla flavor was still on my tongue and her reading was a wonder in my ears. I had to speak. I said, “Yes, ma’am.” It was the least I could do, but it was the most also.

“What you doing sitting here by yourself, Marguerite?” She didn’t accuse, she asked for information. I said that I was watching the sky. She asked, “What for?” There was obviously no answer to a question like that, so I didn’t make up one.

Stunned but trying to be well mannered, I said, “Hello. My name is Marguerite.”

“What the hell is this?” He hunched himself up on a hip and brushed the pants. His hand showed red in the porch’s cast-off light. “What is this, Marguerite?” I said with a coldness that would have done him proud, “I’ve been cut.”

The lie lumped in my throat and I couldn’t get air. How I despised the man formaking me lie...The tears didn’t soothe my heart as they usually did. I screamed, “Ole, mean, dirty thing, you. Dirty old thing.” Our lawyer brought me off the stand and to my mother’s arms.

Sources: 1 2 3 4

Hope this helps inspire your writing. Do tag me, or send me a link. I'd love to read your work!

More: On Mutism

[tiramissyoucake]

Hidden Bride

Sae itoshi x reader, royalty x commoner marriage au, characters are 18+, Sae is a little ooc, reader is female, Shidou being gross cameo, reader has a considerably younger sibling, approx 2287 words

CW: none, maybe very VERY slightly suggestive towards the end? No proof reading

Note: I’m so sleepy waaa blew off studying to finish this lol sobs, not super proud of this but I was gonna explode if I didn’t write prince Sae related thingy so enjoy !!

news spread like wildfire in the kingdom when the Royal family announced their oldest son was looking for a bride, everyone had assumed that Prince Sae would marry a woman of similar status however he had refused any offers and suggestions of who he should marry and insisted that he would choose the woman who would become his bride. 

His parents tried talking him out of it, they introduced him to a wide selection of women who were of age to marry and yet Sae didn’t spare them a glance, most girls were either after his family’s wealth and status or they had fallen for his mysterious nature without actually knowing a lick of information about him to which he found pathetic. No matter who was presented, he would be filled with irritation and would discard the suggestions with a disgusted frown.

Sae’s denials echoed in the palace hallways to anyone who dared mention the topic to him, insisting that if he’ll marry a woman then he’ll make sure she’s worthy of him and not just because of the coincidental similarity of their blood being royal.

No one knew what method he would go about for choosing a bride, his routine consisted of finishing his daily responsibilities and he would head out with a single guard (a hand-picked guard he decided was fitting to stand with him after monitoring a training session, although he could do without his blabbering and lewd comments), the guard had told him his full name but he’d only caught ‘Shidou’, not caring enough to remember his full name.

For weeks, Sae would follow his usual pattern of searching: walk around the marketplace, study the civilians who would sell, purchase or just peruse and then go home unsatisfied. His search would be unsuccessful every time he went left, no one displayed behavior that promised an obedient queen, all he saw was nonchalant faces or slack-jawed surprised expressions at his presence, as if his people couldn’t believe he’s a real person and not an unreachable deity of some sort.

Every time he returned to the palace, Everyone around him nagged him that he can’t just stare at civilians and hope to magically find a bride, to which he’d always reply: “as if you have the capacity to understand”, these advisors, his parents, no one understood the vitality of the issue. He believed his parents’ marriage was sheer luck, that their marriage and the fact that they loved each other was the outcome of some bored wager made by fate. As for his advisors, what do they know anyway? They were all old men that cupid himself would be repulsed by, either divorced or destined to die alone.

The one time he leaves palace walls to unwind in the fields beyond the town borders he finally saw a chance of ending these foolish theatrics of bride hunting.

Sae walked down the path trying to think of his current options, either continue his needle-in-a-haystack search for a bride or accept some air-headed rich girl. His main goal out of wedlock was to simply produce an heir and mold them to perfection, he figured he should be able to find a tolerable lover to make this burden less bothersome.

before his mind could even reach a conclusion, he felt something hit his back, he froze in confusion and slowly turned to find… a child? with what he assumed was an angry face, the child’s attire seemed to imply it was from one of those families that preferred to stay on the outskirts of the territories for god knows what reason, the fabric and cut looked different than the ones civilians would wear deeper in the town. A wooden carved toy was on the ground near him, so that’s what hit him.

“Go back to your dumb palace, royal scom!”

‘Scom’? …Did it mean to say ‘scum’? Sae’s guard, Shidou who had been quietly following behind him approached the child with an irritated expression telling him to back off, he was almost tempted to stop his guard to see what this child was raving on about.

Sae knew there were people who opposed the ruling family but he hadn’t known that the influence would reach kids like this, how did this child even recognize him? Before anything could escalate, he saw another figure approach

The figure looked to be near Sae’s age, their features and clothes matched the child’s save for the fact that her features were more feminine and her outfit was best described as a common everyday dress, one that a family with decent savings would give their daughter. He watched her hold the child’s hand and reprimand them softly yet sternly, at least that’s what he assumed from her expression and whatever words his ears had caught

“Where did you go?! You know better than to run off!”

“But he was-“

“No buts! You’re in big trouble! Do you know who this is..?!”

Her voice was laced with concern, she didn’t have the cruelty to be angry at a child for their simple curiosity yet she couldn’t let this child frolic away from the situation without proper lecturing. Sae stopped his over-analyzing as his eyes met hers, Shidou moved forward.

“Listen missy, get that kid of yours on a leash! Or else-“

“Shidou, back off.”

The prince stepped forward, he approached the girl and as he did, the child lifted their small fists as if ready to fight, the girl immediately ushered the child behind her legs stuttering excuses.

“Its.. an honor to be in your presence like this, your royal highness! I apologize for my sibling’s behavior- they’re very wary of strangers.“

‘Sibling’? So this isn’t her child, Sae assumed that she was unmarried then as usually commoner families children would not be married off at this age, unlike royal families that rushed to build family trees and secure heirs.

“What is your name, maiden?” He examined her as he spoke, she acted like a cornered wild animal, worried that she and her sibling would receive punishment for the child’s careless words. She responded with her name.

“I see, I’d like to have a word with your parents.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Your parents wouldn’t believe you if you told them the prince himself was in the fields outside town, its a good thing he’d insisted.

Your mother pulled you aside to help prepare a meal for the prince even after he assured he wasn’t hungry, you could hear your father try to interrogate him discreetly and Sae replied smoothly to everything he threw at him. You could feel Sae’s calculative stare as you tried keeping busy assisting your mother at preparing the meal.

You were called over by your father, you mentally thanked the gods for their discussion ending, you could not have prepared yourself mentally enough.

“Your daughter possesses the proper attributes to be my wife, I will be marrying her.” the prince’s utterance sounded more like a command rather than a question.

Your heart fell to your stomach, immediately a look of shock was evident on your features, Sae didn’t know whether to laugh or awe at it. Your father had a look that did not hide the murderous intent, he wanted you to hear this directly from the supposed ‘honorable prince’.

After your parents took a moment to discuss this seriously, the prince waited outside your home ignoring his guard’s rambling about you. Your family decided to allow you to choose, they didn’t want to throw you to the prince however they were worried about what would happen if they denied him a bride. 

You thought about how this position as the prince’s bride would help you help your family directly, at least you would be able to live in the town instead of making those exhausting back and forth trips, even if the prince would move the small home you lived into town as it is you would be happy.

Opening the front door after your parents had a tearful last discussion with you, the prince turned away from his guard.

“And I’m telling you- those hips? perfect for-“

“Shut your mouth, horny demon.”

The prince swiftly silenced the guard, you suspected what they were talking about given the smug look on the guard’s face but decided against thinking about it. The prince approached you, waiting for your answer.

“Well, maiden? What is your answer?”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You felt out of place, like a doll made of wood among porcelain figures, Sae had hired trainers and tutors for anything and everything he deemed necessary for you to learn as his wife. An etiquette consultant for dinners, dancing instructor for balls, to top your busy days off the tailor regularly visited you in your quarters to drop off dresses and such you were expected to wear around your husband or in the ‘comfort’ of your new home.

The change was exhausting to deal with and even now, a month after the overly extravagant wedding, you found yourself struggling to keep up with Sae’s expectations although he seemed lenient enough towards you.

Speaking of your husband, he rarely showed you any affection at all. he had small ways of showing you he did care but it takes a sharp eye to notice.

on your wedding day Sae kept his hand over your shaking one as a silent way to comfort you, in a moment of privacy during the wedding he had whispered to you lowly and smoothly as if you were an antique fragile doll: “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you”

he would reprimand your instructors if he received word of them being cruel to you, Sae was usually calm and collected but you had wondered what happened for your ballroom instructor to apologize so earnestly to you the next time you had a lesson.

The last thing you can think of that reminded you of Sae’s genuine feelings was his cool gaze, if his eyes were to sweep a room and briefly stop at you- you could feel it. an enveloping feeling overwhelms you whenever he stared at you, even if you were in your deepest sleep you could feel it. You never felt threatened or scared of his observance; it made you feel safe in this foreign setting, as if a constant reminder of your wedding day.

Another day in this royal hell has been completed, you recently bid farewell to your tailor who had dropped off the final batch of clothes for you, the newest garments were nightgowns soft to the touch made of the smoothest silk Sae could find. as you examined one of the many nightgowns you felt flustered at how revealing they are, some were translucent others were a bit short- you had no idea how royals were able to indulge in these.

You heard the room door open and close, turning away from the clothes you saw your husband removing his baroque-patterned vest allowing his white shirt to flow off his chest, you heard him putting away the vest while you were putting away the nightgowns and that familiar feeling would wash over you; he was examining you.

The room was quiet and you could hear him slowly approach, Sae took his sweet time examining the view, you looked adorably clueless trying to act oblivious to his movements until he settled his hands on your shoulders. He had to hold back a smile at the way you squirmed at the feeling of his cold hands contact your skin.

“They look lovely,” he muttered, looming over you to examine the clothes. He leaned down to your ear as if to coax you out of your shyness that you harbored so closely when you were around him “would you like to wear this for the night?”

“.. Are you sure? Is it not too revealing..?”

“Nonsense, you’re my wife and I am your husband, I would love to see you in any and all appearances.”

His suggestion made you more flustered than you already were and yet for some reason you found yourself nodding slowly, he took the liberty to help you out of your dress unable to keep his eyes from wandering across any newly exposed parts of your body. He found you divine, a hidden gem in this cave of boring rocks who weren’t even worth a second glance.

You knew your place, he loved that about you, you kept your head down when you needed but you weren’t completely submissive to the point of being pushed around easily by equals.

Removing the dress fully, he took this chance to glide one hand down from your shoulder to your arm and slipping to your waist, pulling your back to his chest as he let out a sigh that made your heart quicken.

“You’re radiant, whether fully dressed or completely bare.”

The nightgown he chose from the collection showed off your shoulders, he landed a kiss onto your exposed shoulder, his hold on your waist returning after he’d helped you slip on the silk comfortably. This is the first time he’s been this openly affectionate with you, the stress of his search and the relief of finding a bride were the only two things he could think about right now.

He kissed at your neck, featherlight kisses tickling your skin as he resisted the urge to continue, he didn’t want to force you into intimacy so early into your marriage as to not scare you off. he snapped out of his lustful haze when he felt your hands settle over his that were around your waist as if to assure him that you’re here, his bride, his queen.

This night would bestow another sound slumber to the newlyweds.

[mikoyamisheadcanonblog]

Hi! I'm a huge fan of One Piece and I was wondering (if it's possible) that you can write Yandere HCs for the admirals? I'm a big admiral fan. Thanks!

OMG of course no problem. This is the second time I got requested to write the admirals it is such a fun concept and difficult characters to write, I hope I did them justice for you

Ex Admirals

☀️Borsalino (Kizaru)☀️

☀️When he first meets his S/O he seems uninterested in them but in reality, he is studying them and watching them. He sees what his S/O is interested in and lures them slowly to him as he finally gains control over them.

☀️He is more passive with his S/O but that is all a ruse for his S/O to feel more comfortable with him. Let them wander around on the island shop but little does his S/O know he is in complete control of the people his S/O talks to, to where his S/O goes.

☀️He will watch his S/O from a safe distance, sitting on the roof watching them as they chat with someone and making sure the conversation is what he had ordered.

☀️He will train his S/O if they listen and don’t wander too far or stick to the route, he has planned for them he will give them gifts and praises but if they don’t listen to him and talk to someone they aren’t supposed to. He will give them cruel silence and indifference till his S/O comes to him.

☀️If his S/O is in danger or unhappy with someone he will capture said person and punish them. Using his power and influence to torture them and such and using the said person’s family and friends till they understood his power.

☄️Issho (Fujitora)☄️

☄️He first gets interested in his S/O seeing the kindness they have, when their first reaction is to help him when he drops his cane or helping out someone. He starts getting vastly interested in his S/O playing the helpless man.

☄️He starts getting more invested and interested in his S/O the more they are around him and will play the helpless blind man whenever his S/O starts to wander off. He doesn’t like his S/O wandering too far from him as there are dangerous crooks and pirates out there who would take advantage of their kindness.

☄️While he wouldn’t hurt anyone as he does value human life, he isn’t against manipulating his S/O to stay close to him. Or anyone else to keep away from his S/O as his. He is so charming that a lot of innocent people will fall for his charm and help manipulate his S/O.

☄️He never lets off on the innocent blind man. As he holds his S/O to him and never allows them to leave his side. It does come off as a surprise when his S/O finds out how powerful he is it would be already to late for his S/O to get away as everyone around him would manipulate them to stay with Issho.

☄️While he wouldn’t hurt his S/O or innocent it doesn’t mean pirates and other crooks would get his generosity. He is much harsher to pirates that dare hurt his S/O giving them a full extent of his Devil Fruits ability.

🌳Aramaki (Ryokugyu)🌳

🌳He gets obsessed with his S/O  the first time they meet. It could be his S/O said a certain praise he really enjoyed or how his S/O looks either way his S/O is now very interested in them and he will do everything in his power to capture their heart.

🌳At first he is a bit charming if not a little rude and crude with his words insulting his S/O and belittling them but also belittling people around them and giving himself praises so his S/O understands that he is giving them attention that is what makes them special.

🌳If his S/O isn’t impressed with him, he will put his S/O in danger so he can save them and as a form of gratitude, he would demand his S/O stays with him and go on a date and once again he will turn on the charm till his S/O finally does give in and gives him their heart.

🌳He becomes a bit controlling with his S/O wanting them to have the same practices as him but if his S/O can’t live up to them. He will just have them in his presence all the time even on dangerous missions he will have his S/O tied up and on the side thanks to his Devil Fruit, so his S/O isn’t in danger but he also knows where they are at.

🌳If his S/O thinks about getting away from him or asks anyone for help there will be consequences for their actions and those who do help. He loves his S/O and will do everything in his power to keep them by his side even using his Devil Fruit to keep them up tied up tree branches and roots and always be by his side.

[ciel-yuu]

Hello!

I really loved the last post that you posted "Can I draw on you?" And I was wondering if you could draw it for Diavolo too..

You can ignore this if you don't feel like writing, I don't mind! 🙀🫶🫶

Don't forget to drink lots of water, and know that you are loved 😋💞

Hello! Thank you for your lovely greetings ^^ I don't mind writing it because I plan to write for the side characters too so dont worry :D I hope you enjoy this version too, have a nice day! o(≧▽≦)o

--

"Can I draw on you?"

Scenery: You have a habit of drawing doodles on your notes or sometimes your hands when you get bored. One day while you're sitting next to him, you get bored and after turning both of your arms into paintings full of random doodles, you start to turn your attention to his arms. And so after a while of staring you decide to ask him. "Can I draw on you?"

Pairing: Side character x gn!reader. Warning: None

==

Diavolo

He invites you to visit him at the student council office after he's finished his day's paperwork and has been given Barbatos permission to rest for a while.

"Hmm? Draw on me? What is that?"

He doesn't understand what you mean because the idea of drawing something on him makes him think more about makeup or tattoos. Seeing this you extend your hands so he can see the colorful little drawings on it and explain how you like to do doodles in various places.

Extremely excited and agreed to let you do it with a big smile on his face. Watching you draw cute little drawings on his hand attentively because he has never seen this before and no one dares to do this with him.

Take a picture and send it to Barbatos and Lucifer's chat group to brag all week.

Enchanting the drawings so they don't fade despite Barbatos' objections to keeping the image of a prince, he promises not to pull up his sleeves and reveal the drawings in public so Barbatos couldn't force him any further.

Let you draw on him whenever you want. Also wanted to draw on you and was extremely happy when you agreed.

Barbatos

You visit him after he ask you to came over to try the new cake he just created. He's fixing the recipe after you've tried it so it can be perfect, he wants you to try the best.

"Hmm? Do you really want to do it now?" nodding with puppy eyes "Haiz, I'll take this as your reward for coming to help me try the cake today then."

Smiling helplessly at your request but not refusing, he loves that you enjoy doing things with him.

Hold out one hand for you so you can get creative with the pens on his arm, while he perfectly do all the baking steps with one hand and his tail. He was used to getting multi job done at once as a butler, working with one hand was not something new to him.

Compliment your work once you're done with a gentle smile and decide to decorate some cookies in your drawing style as a gift.

Also enchant your work so it doesn't fade and enjoy looking at it as he does errands by himself. It makes him feel like you're with him.

(Of course no one knows this because he is also covered from head to toe like Lucifer.)

Will always let you draw on him every time you ask no matter how busy he is, he always has time in his busy schedule for you.

Simeon

You visit him in the Purgatory Hall during a group study session or, more accurately, you are the one studying while he is finishing a manuscript for his latest work. It makes him feel more motivated to write, especially when you're with him.

"Draw on me? Of course, here."

He holds out his non-dominant hand to you with a gentle smile and goes back to writing. Simeon doesn't mind you wanting to use his hand for something, sometimes you hold his hand or fall asleep on his shoulder during your time with him so it doesn't make him feel inconvenience or anything.

After finishing the work he carefully looks at your lovely works in his hands and gives you many compliments for them. He especially likes the doodle of a puppy with a beret because he knows you drew it after Luke.

Also took a picture and sent it to Lucifer to show off but his photographic ability was of course not very good so Lucifer didn't understand it at first until he explained what it was.

Keeps your work perfect for a few days and doesn't mind showing it off, he even took off his gloves so it wouldn't be hidden.

Alway let you do it again everytime you want, he sometimes asks you to draw the demon brothers on his hand to tease them.

Solomon

You are in Solomon's room after completing another sorcerer study with him. Solomon is currently researching an ancient book for a new experiment, he just found it so he's excited to try it out.

"Drawn on me? Like on your hand?" Nod. "Hmm… Okay, how could I refuse a request from my lovely apprentice."

He agrees with an amused smile and then holds out a hand to you so you can do whatever you like. Actually usually his hands will have a lot of pact marks on it so he always wears long sleeves but since you wanted to draw he purposely made it disappear so you have room to do it.

Pretend to keep reading, but he's actually still staring at you as you continue to doodle on his hand. Giggle when he sees you draw a picture of him with a star wand beating little demons.

Compliment your drawings with a hint of teasing and say that he and you are now has matching drawing on hands like a couple.

Showing off to everyone with a smirk, especially the demon brothers to the point where Mammon almost bit off his arm.

Allows you to draw on him whenever you want, especiall like it when you draw it similar to the drawings on your hand at the time.

==

master list | the demon brothers ver | thank for reading ^^!

[yallthemwitches]

Film Studies

The transfigured projector pours light onto Lily’s face, creating a glow akin to moonlight. Every time he is able, he steals a glance at her, loving how her eyes are always wide with wonder despite already knowing what is going to happen. Her gaze dances around the screen, trying to take in every small detail until, finding something that interests her, she leans in just enough to whisper some arbitrary fact in his ear, as precious to him as a prayer.  He wants her to look at him the way she looks at those images: full of awe and a love purely born from happiness. But sitting next to her, on his bed, not touching, is currently the best he is going to get.

I wrote this piece for @jilytoberfest as a double prompt for Day 21 "Let me distract you" and Day 23 Indulging in Hobbies, as I originally had no intention of writing a piece a day, but now that I've miraculously kept up with the prompts, I feel a sense of duty to continue my daily streak..I guess we will see.

AO3 Here

 “Are you scared yet?”

“Not particularly.”

On the projection, an elevator chimes and golden doors open. A wave of blood rushes towards the screen, jump cutting from the whoosh of the fluid to a close up of a screaming child, mouth open but mute. 

“--Now?”

“If you keep asking Evans, I might never be.”

Lily makes a pouting face and it coils under James’ skin, itching to turn his head and kiss it away. Instead, he keeps a safe, friendly distance from her like always. It's an unspoken barrier neither of them dare to cross—but Merlin does he want to.

 At this point he could write a rulebook about being with her: shoulders can rest together side by side, but never overlap. Feet can touch, but only in the shifting of bodies. Arms stay firmly at the sides, behind the head, in the lap— never NEVER reaching across the small distance to feel her, so close yet absolutely out of bounds. 

He has being friends with Lily down to a science—but it doesn’t mean it isn’t absolutely torture. 

To be fair, it is mostly by his design. He had been the one to suggest Muggle Movie Mondays (he is proud to say he came up with the name) and he suggested using his dorm to do so. In theory, it was a brilliant idea, if he had thought through the finer points…like the fact that the only comfortable place to watch a film was to share space on his bed.

And despite what all of his mates say, he really hadn’t created the idea to make passes at her. He was honestly interested in the films she talked about. Being able to spend quality time with her was a perk, but mostly he loves the way her face lights up when he asks about a certain aspect of muggle movies. It brings out a light in her that nothing else did. She always becomes so animated, lost in her own thoughts when going on about a particular director or how something was made (“It's called a shot because it clicks like a gun—you do know what a gun is right?”). It reminds him of himself with quidditch: there are just some things that make the world feel livable.

The transfigured projector pours light onto Lily’s face, creating a glow akin to moonlight. Every time he is able, he steals a glance at her, loving how her eyes are always wide with wonder despite already knowing what is going to happen. Her gaze dances around the screen, trying to take in every small detail until, finding something that interests her, she leans in just enough to whisper some arbitrary fact in his ear, as precious to him as a prayer. 

He wants her to look at him the way she looks at those images: full of awe and a love purely born from happiness. But sitting next to her, on his bed, not touching, is currently the best he is going to get.

A shot of a bathroom. Walls painted a muted shade of lime green with orange trim. The camera perfectly framed at a bathtub accentuated with a white gossamer curtain. It cuts to the main character, his eyes wide, lower lip quivering with either fear or desire—intentionally unclear. The camera cuts back to the tub and behind the gossamer is the form of a woman, fingers crawling to pull back the curtain…

He took it as a joke earlier, but Lily was right to say movies are like magic. In one moment, he could be laughing about the complete ridiculousness of muggle imagination then the other be completely enraptured. Watching as a nude woman slowly prowls towards the foreground, he feels his mind start to go fuzzy, wincing in an anticipation he didn’t expect from something as distant as a projected image. 

A shot of warmth curls around his arm, making him jump. His mind still jumbled from the scene, he looks down to find her holding onto his forearm with both of her hands. Her body is curled towards him, face lowered like a cowering animal. Her eyes juggle between wide concentration and tightened shut and a voice floats up to him, small and shaky. 

“I hate this part.”

Any interest he has in the film is gone. He does his best to steady his breath, hopeful that Lily will read his quickened heartbeat as a reaction to whatever is occurring on screen. Her hands are clenching harder now and her face shrinks down against his shoulder, pressing one eye into his shirt while the other continues to be mesmerized.

Against better judgment, against all of his little rules and invisible walls he has created to keep this platonic friendship with her afloat, James pries Lily’s hands off his arm just long enough to wrap around and pull her into his chest. 

At first, she doesn’t seem to register it, still using his body to half shield the film from her eyes. She settles into his embrace and their legs intertwine. Maybe it was more out of the necessity of comfort than anything else, but the feeling makes James’ body vibrate. He thanks the dark enclosure of the four poster bed for hiding the flush of his skin and he pushes forward, curling his other arm around her, holding her tighter in a protective embrace.

“Are you scared yet?” His voice comes out lower than he intends, but the teasing is evident. Lily looks up at him with squinted eyes, their faces dangerously close. 

“--And you're not? You arse. I’m never showing a movie to you ever again.”

“Oh, don’t be like that Evans,” he murmurs, giving her body a small squeeze. The pressure of his arms around her makes blood rush to her cheeks. 

Something else flashes across her face and her eyes dart between holding his stare and looking down at his lips. He can still feel her heart pounding against his, but now he is unsure if it's because of the horrific looking woman on screen or him. 

“You’re distracting me, Potter.” 

Her voice sounds inviting, no longer riddled with the nerves of fear that it had earlier. 

“You seemed like you wanted a distraction. I hate for you to be scared on my watch.”

Again, the same expression. Her lips start to part, and he feels the tug of her hands on his torso, still grasping at his shirt from her moment of fear. 

Then it passes, as quickly as light itself. She pushes her cheek back against his chest, not removing herself from the embrace, but averting her eyes back to the curtain.

“Watch the film.”

But he can’t, not with her like this, and it seems like she can’t either. He starts to keep a running log of every move she makes. When he adjusts his position, she moves with him, careful not to break free of their hold. When something jumps on screen, her leg snaps up, hooking against his thigh and not moving back to its more modest place beside him. When a character is being chased, she presses her whole face into him, her breath creating condensation on his shirt, a small squeak of fear sighs into his chest. 

Neither of them give attention to it: a new unspoken agreement. 

He can tell she is still afraid. Even he can admit the film ramped up the horror in the last hour and in some twisted way he enjoys it: her heartbeat frantic against him, fingers contracting as the tensions on screen rise.

It is bliss. Horror filled, tortuous bliss. 

As the credits roll and the world comes tumbling back into the confines of the bed, James waits for Lily to stir in his arms, but she remains frozen against him. He lifts his hand and gives an experimental caress to her cheek, savoring every second his thumb skims across her warm skin. Her eyes close at his touch. 

“Did you die of fright?”

He can feel the muscles of her face curl upwards into a smile. 

“Piss off, don’t act like it wasn’t scary.”

“I’m not.” Emboldened by his first attempt, he moves his hand back to her cheek, resting it there to cradle her face against him. She sighs into his shirt again, his chest erupting in warmth. 

“So Godric Gryffindor—thoughts?”

“A very relatable cautionary tale about not taking shit jobs in haunted hotels.”

He feels Lily’s laughter rumble against him.

“You have personal experience?”

“Oh yeah—it's a long story though, maybe another time.”

Another giggle. He likes the way it vibrates into his bones. 

She peeks her eyes up at him from his chest, round and a brilliant green from the light of the projector.

“Promise you won’t take the piss out of me, but I actually think I’m scared enough to not want to walk back to the girls' dorm.”

He knows she can feel his heartbeat quicken under her, but he doesn’t care. He tries his best to sound natural.

“Do you want me to walk you back?”

She hesitates, the hand that has been clenching a part of his shirt tightening its grip. 

“Hmmm. Can I just stay here?”

He stares down at her, mouth gone slack as she looks up with innocent eyes. If there was any question before, he is now completely convinced: film is magic, or at least magical enough to make Lily Evans, THE Lily Evans, the one who he has pined over and slaved to forge a platonic friendship with, want to sleep in his bed. 

“Yeah, of course.”

He wants to flip her over, push their bodies together and kiss her until they forget the world entirely. Every possible scenario flashes through his head from worst to best. Is there even a worst case? Lily Evans is effectively about to sleep next to him, presumably touching, presumably sharing the same air. 

Lily extricates herself from his arms for the first time since she entered them and wiggles into a lying position. James transfigures the projector back into a spyglass, then adjusts in the darkness, trying to find the perfect balance of body language between we are just friends but if you want, please sweet merlin, let me hold you forever.

Thankfully, she takes charge. As he settles onto his back, she immediately curls herself around him, resting her head back where it had been during the film. Her leg edges against his, threatening to take the quick jump to slot around his thigh. 

“Hey James.” 

She never says his first name, at least never to his face. It sounds reborn coming from her mouth, like a song he could listen to for ages and never get tired of. How did she plan to end her sentence? I am endlessly in love with you? Can you shag me into the mattress? Can we never be apart for the rest of our lives?

“No one has ever put up with my stupid muggle movies like you have—not even Marlene or Snape.”

Her tone brings him back. The comment is raw, a broken piece of herself. He immediately feels like the worst version of a teenage boy, imagining all the ways the night could go, not thinking that maybe Lily just needs someone to be just close to her for once.

“Sounds like all your friends are arseholes.”

She picks up her head from his chest, her face close to his now. Even in the dark her eyes somehow find light to glimmer from. 

“Well, it means a lot to me.” She murmurs.

“You mean a lot to me.” 

She searches his face and his nerves run rampant. They have been crossing all sorts of barriers today but putting words to it? That might be the most unforgivable. A smile forms before her lips press against his cheek, warm and soft against his skin. A wave of relief flashes over him and his arms instinctively curl around her to keep her in place.

“I know.”

Pulling away slightly, she hovers herself back over him, so close her breath tickles, and rests her head inside the crook of his neck. A small, hot hand reaches down and finds his, giving it a squeeze. 

He can’t believe he does, but he finally drifts to sleep, feeling her heartbeat slow against his, her breath hot on his neck. In the morning he wakes and she is still there, not some phantom made by his design, but flesh and blood and Lily. 

From beyond the curtains one of the boys slams the bathroom door and the distinct wail of Sirius’ singing crashes like cymbals into the room. She jolts awake, pressing both hands into his chest.

He bats his eyes open, pretending to be lulled from a dream rather than ripped completely from sleep just like she was. He looks up. Her eyes are beautiful and round and completely filled with terror. 

“Oh my god.”

Another slam, another screech, this time from Peter. The stern, ennui riddled voice of Remus pierces through the curtain. 

“Oi, Prongs. You promised me you’d help me study this morning. What are you doing in there?”

James can’t help but feel a grin crack on his face from the absurdity of it all. Lily stays frozen against him, eyes closed as tight as possible with a face twisted into some form of embarrassment and shock. 

He can’t help himself. He reaches up and presses his palm against her cheek, letting his thumb dare to skim against her jaw. 

“What is it Evans? You scared?”

[hopefulidiocy]

Your Arms

Professor Snape x student reader

Warnings: suggestive but mainly a lot of fluff

Word count: 950

I do not own the Harry Potter characters.

Context: you suffer from night terrors and chronic nightmares, waking up to only want to be in the arms of your favourite Professor.

A/N: all characters are of age :)

⛅️I recommend listening to “Luminary” by Joel Sunny⛅️

Fear. The first thing you wake up to is fear. You clutch at your chest, your heart beating faster and faster as your eyes search around your dark dorm. Everyone is asleep soundly, without fear, around you. You notice the clock ticking towards half three in the early morning and you groan inwardly, sitting up and wiping the beads of hot sweat away from your hairline. You suffered from night terrors regularly but this is the first one in two months, you curse yourself for finding comfort in your sleep after so long. With your heart still beating, you lift the covers off your slick body, your feet landing on the cold wood as you tip toe towards the bathroom. The full moon drips in from the windows as you run the faucet, ice cold water splashing on your face finally brings you back to yourself but your breath still hitches, your shoulders heaving and you grip on the sides of the porcelain sink, breathing deeply through your nose and feel your lungs fill open with some difficulty. You wipe your tear eyes with the back of your hand and know there’s only one thing, one person, who can help you out.

You throw your Gryffindor robe around your shoulders, clipping it so you don’t look so lewd in your silk night dress that stops only at the knees. Tip toeing out of the dorm, your fluffy slippered feet land softly on the stone steps into the common room. There are some students bent over candlelight nose deep in books, too obsessed with studying to see you. You sneak away, closing the portrait behind you, careful not to wake them. Filch is wandering around with his ugly cat, you hear him whisper to himself and know that you’re in for the best sneaking you’ve ever done in your life because the walk to the Slytherin dungeons is difficult and far. The shadows become your best friends as you hop into each shadow, your feet playing against the moonlight until you reach Professor Snape’s office. Suddenly, your heart screeches to a halt. Something stops you from knocking on the door, and then you realise it’s your anxiety talking; worrying that he would turn you away from his door. His moods often swung from one extreme to the other and it’s not something you can predict. You breathe, as best as you can, fighting away the demons in your head and the pain from your night terror, trying your best to ward them off. You bring up your hand, balling it into a fist and knocking faintly but loud enough for him to call.

“Who is knocking at this time of night?” He asks sternly, the door muffling him but the angry tone evident.

“It’s me.” You whisper shout, tugging your robe at your wrists.

“Enter.” He says, still stern. You open the door, trying to minimise the creak, you pad softly into his office. Closing the door behind you and standing against it, your head slightly hanging in humiliation as you look at him through your long eyelashes. He was sitting at his wooden desk, a quill in his hand and marking essays, the candlelight flickering next to his elbows; his robe draped over the back of the chair. He doesn’t look up at you, his face falling into perplexity as he marks a particularly hard essay. He shakes his hand, putting down the quill for a moment, he always does this when his wrist grows tired from the writing. You wait by the door, not daring to inch further to him, your heart bumping hard against your chest as you relive those frightening moments your night terror gave you; a stray tear falling down your cheek. You thought this was a good idea, to be spoken by the one person who understood but maybe it wasn’t. Still, you can’t find the movement in your legs to walk out of the room.

“Um.” You clear your throat, he doesn’t seem to notice. “This was a mistake. I’m going to go.” You say uncertainly, slowly turning to the door.

“Not. So. Fast. Miss L/N.” He says, his voice still down at his essays. You rest your back against the door, breathing in through your nostrils.

“I’m sorry to bother you.” You whimper. He doesn’t say anything for a moment. He stays looking at the parchment beneath his nose, sighing as he marks something. You let all over your weight fall against the door, tears falling down your cheeks quicker. Once you sniff, he looks up. His black eyes at first angry and then soften when he watches a drop fall to your feet.

“What’s going on, Y/N?” He finally sets down his quill, clasping his fingers and resting his chin on them.

“I had a night terror again.” You wipe the tears away from your cheeks.

“There’s no need to cry, y/n. You’re alright.” His voice is laced with a mixture of concern and frustration. “You’ve come at a very bad time.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, unable to speak properly, the tears fall freer now.

“Come here, y/n.” He pushes his chair back, still sitting but giving you space to stand between him and the desk. You stand, sad and embarrassed in front of him. Embarrassed to be crying over something that isn’t real. “I… apologise for being grumpy.”

“You’re always grumpy.” Embarrassingly, that makes you cry more. He chuckles softly, reaching out to hold your cheek, his thumb caressing the skin just under your eye.

“Do you want to sleep here tonight?” He asks seriously, removing his hand and suddenly that space is burning for his touch again.

“Please, sir.” You sob, burying your face in your hands. You both know it’s a bad idea, the chances of people finding out about your… situationship is dangerous but right now you don’t care, you just want to be in his embrace.

“Okay, but you have to be out before breakfast.” He almost orders it, worry laced in his words. “Come here, sweetie.” You collapse your legs over his lap, you’re not straddling him because this is not the time, and your head rests gently on his shoulder. His arms drape over you, one arm around your shoulders and his other arm lying loosely over your knees. His hand rubs circles on your shoulder which he knows calms you down, his lips softly pressing against your temple. “Tell me about your night terror.”

“I don’t remember it. I just woke up sweating, I was whimpering and crying and I was so wet everywhere. My heart hasn’t even stopped hurting.” You sniff, two tears dropping onto his shoulder. He leans back slightly, wiping the tears away with his thumb, the touch so soft it eases your heart.

“I’m sorry, y/n.” He kisses the crown of your head. “I’m here.” He soothes as his arms move tighter around you, guiding him to his hard chest. You settle into his chest, going quiet as he continues marking the work in front of him. He hums a tune under his breath as his quill works fast over the parchments. Your eyes begin to droop, but not before you snuggle further into him. “Do you want to go to my bed?” He questions quietly, his focus completely on the essays.

“I’m quite happy here. Unless you want me off your lap?” You say, your voice dripping with exhaustion.

“I’m happy to have you here. As long as you feel safe.” He reaches down, pressing his lips against yours and you favour that gentle kiss, holding onto the beautiful intimacy you two are currently sharing - unlike many of the other times you’re on his lap. “Always happy to have you on my lap, in every way.” He slightly teases, trying to make light of the situation. You giggle, wrapping your robe further over your legs as they begin to shiver. “And I’ve seen that night dress. It would be nice to see it another day.” He chuckles lightly, bending his neck over his essays. You laugh in response and then exhaustion takes over, your head lolls on his shoulder and you are swept into the world of rest in the arms of the one person who makes you feel safe.

[clickoly]

O'Knutzy Week - Day 2

Part II of Starboys, a Cubs Formula One AU

Characters by @lumosinlove, for @oknutzy-week-2024

Prompts: Changes, Racing

Links to: Part I, Ao3

Here comes Nutter Butter 🌻

•••

Endless weekend on a wave 

FormulaNews24 @formulanews24 (1d)

Eyes on the track as we witness history in the making! Silver Racing unveils a new bold addition to Tremblay's strategy team. Meet 22 year old Leo Knut, the youngest race engineer in F1 history. 

#ItalianGP #SilverRacing #LT10

"Loops!" Finn shouted. His curious eyes darted over the picture of a smiling blond man on the X For You page.

Qualifying was about to start and Finn was killing time, trying to calm his nerves before jumping into the car. 

The fireproof undershirt felt suffocating, and his cherry red racing suit lay unfastened and loose around his hips, in a hopeless attempt to beat the sweltering heat. 

Finn locked the phone's screen and pulled up from the desk he was leaning on, scanning the noisy garage. Remus was sitting on a stool, one leg shaking nervously on the footrest, lips pinched between long, bitten fingers. His full attention was caught between too many monitors at once.  

"Loops." Finn moved closer. 

Remus didn't bother to acknowledge him, he just pointed to a sheet of data on screen. "Here," he said. "You're braking too early over there, before the chicane."

"By how many–"

"Two hundredths," Remus was always one step ahead. "I've been up all night studying the numbers, Harz," he turned to him, looking resolute. "This is your only chance to get the pole." 

Finn blew out a long, deep sigh. "I know it is." 

"And I know you can do it." 

Can I ? Finn couldn't help but wonder. 

"Aw, Loops," he cooed instead. "You're gonna make me cry." 

Remus just shook his head affectionately. 

Starting from the front row on Sunday wouldn’t be enough. Finn wanted the pole position. But weighing down the load of an emotionally tough week were the expectations of too many people he couldn't disappoint. It was the Scuderia's home race, after all, and all eyes were on him and his teammate Kasey. 

Right now, however, Finn couldn't bring himself to think about numbers, times, and strategies. Together with his team, he had discussed all the details a hundred times that morning, right after the third and final free practice session. Because Logan had set the fastest lap. 

Finn knew exactly what to do and how to do it. He just wished he could escape that oppressive weight on his shoulders, the intrusive fear of failing—a bitter consequence of the events of the past week.

So he dared a topic switch, if only to avoid giving himself and his concerns away. 

"Hey, where's Black?" He asked casually. 

Remus eyed him suspiciously. "How should I know?" 

"I understand that you want to be professional," Finn arched one of his dark red eyebrows. "You know, being friends with the enemy," he pretended to whisper. "But honestly, you two are as thick as thieves." 

The veil of pink that brushed Remus' pale cheeks betrayed him. "You're the one to talk," he grumbled back, then pretended to check the time. "Green light in five, Harz. Go get ready." 

"You're no fun, you know that, right?" 

"Yeah? Want to trade me for your bff' s new race engineer?" Remus' grin was teasing. 

"No need to get defensive," Finn scoffed indignantly. "And that's why I asked about Sirius, by the way." 

"Meaning?" 

"I'm curious," Finn shrugged. "I thought he might have told you something about their new acquisition." 

Remus went back to the screens. "He didn't say much. Just that Knut's young and talented. But rumor has it he's a real hothead."

"Well," a familiar voice chimed into the conversation. "He sure is hot." 

A sharp elbow hit Finn's waist and he found himself shoulder to shoulder with a smirking Natalie Darcy.

"What's up Loops?" 

"Hey Nat," Remus laughed. 

"What?" Finn asked, confused by her amused face. 

"Were you blushing, O'Hara?" 

"No. I... I'm," Finn stuttered. "What? I wasn't blushing." 

"If you say so," she smiled smugly. "Sorry to interrupt, guys, but I need Freckle here," she gestured toward Finn with the camera in her hands. "Gotta get some shots for the qualy posts." 

"Better do that in the car," Remus suggested. "Harz, radio check in two minutes." 

"Copy," Finn nodded, then spun on his heels to go grab the rest of his equipment. 

"We should do another close-up with the helmet on," Natalie offered as Finn stepped into the car. "Fans go crazy for those big eyes, you know?" 

"Yeah?" Finn tried to act casual as Natalie nimbly captured his movements from different angles. 

"Yep," she twisted the lens again with a smooth flick of her wrist. "But I prefer Kasey's." 

"Of course you do," he chuckled, then finally pulled down the visor. "Wish me luck," he said louder as the engine roared to life. 

Natalie patted his helmet. "You won't need it."

–

There had always been a moment before a race when Logan would simply close his eyes and breathe deeply. A peaceful silence would permeate his mind, leaving out the deafening noise of twenty rumbling engines ready to run, and the roaring crowd, ecstatic and impatient for some action. It was a much-needed release to make room for concentration and nothing else, right before the emotional rush that washed over him every time the countdown began.

That Sunday, Logan was starting from P2. To his left, perfectly positioned on the first grid slot, was Finn's car. The crimson livery shone brightly in the few rays of a timid sun. The pattern of red and yellow lines on Finn's glossy black helmet, partially hidden behind the halo, reflected the afternoon light perfectly, drawing a slightly curving 17 on top of his head. 

Logan had tried to be mad about it. He'd wanted the pole, he'd put in a fantastic lap, and yet Finn had overqualified him by three hundredths of a second. He'd really meant to be upset, if only for the sake of appearances. But as soon as they'd climbed out of their cars, sweaty and out of breath, the glow that had brightened Finn's face at the crowd's loud cheers had instantly tamed Logan's furor.

On the other hand, the hint of disappointment in Leo’s voice had also been a hard pill to swallow. I’m sorry , he’d said over the radio at the end of the Q3 session, as if it had been his fault. But Leo had done a perfect job. He’d been confident and meticulous, showing his professionalism to everyone in the pit wall, and to Logan as well. He didn’t want Leo to feel guilty about that. Sharing the front row with Finn was a good starting point for a thrilling battle for the win. 

Still, Logan understood his concerns and the impulsive urge to prove that he was worthy of the responsibility he’d been given, despite his young age and all the rumors that had made their way to the paddock. 

Now, feet ready on the pedals and hands tight on the steering wheel, where gloved fingers brushed over the shift paddles, Logan looked out at the clear track in front of him and felt the first wave of adrenaline run down his spine. 

"Mode A on," Leo’s voice came through the earbuds. "Lights out in thirty seconds." 

"Let’s bring this home, Nut," Logan grinned to himself. "And tonight we're going to celebrate together." 

The next second, his eyes were locked on the starting gantry, intent and alert. Somewhere near the end of the pit lane, the hand of a clock marked two o'clock, and the five lights ahead of him began to turn on in sequence.

One.

Two. Breathe.

Three. Focus.

Four.

Five. 

It’s lights out and away we go here in Monza! Amazing reaction time for both men in Red, with Logan Tremblay still in between, contending the lead with O’Hara and Winter down to turn one. Here comes O’Hara first, then Tremblay, and James Potter goes to the inside, but Winter has the power to hang on to third position, as they all make their way through the first chicane. 

It wasn't until Turn 3 that Leo realized he was holding his breath, caught in his dry throat. He scanned the monitor, looking for anomalies, the back of his pen clicking insistently on the full page of notes in his journal. Everything seemed fine. 

The live feed showed Logan darting away from Kasey and rushing behind Finn, waiting for the best chance to overtake him.

"You all right, Knutty?"

Leo lowered one of the earpieces of his headset and faced Sirius, nodding briefly and giving him a polite smile.

"Good, you're doing great," Sirius smiled back, and once again Leo couldn't believe his luck. 

How many times he'd imagined this exact moment, he couldn't say. Late, sleepless nights spent over books. Endless days of training, split between work at the factory and research for his thesis. Leaving New Orleans, his family and friends, and moving to England to fulfill his dream. It all finally made sense, because this was where he was meant to be. 

He could be grateful for all the risks he'd taken, all the sacrifices he'd made. And on top of that, he'd been assigned to Logan, Silver Racing's star driver, to assist him in one of the greatest battles for the world championship ever witnessed.

Leo reached for the radio console with one hand and held the boom microphone to his mouth with the other as he spoke. "DRS is enabled," he told Logan. "Right now you're 0.4 behind."

Logan's voice came back scratchy, slightly static. "I'm trying," he panted. "He's too fast."  

As a fan of the sport, Leo had followed both of them throughout their careers. Finn was an incredibly gifted driver, and Leo remembered the struggle of the past few years, trying to get the best out of a very problematic car that had allowed him only a few wins. Logan was just as skilled, born to speed through tight corners and sharp hairpins. Lucky to drive an exceptionally fast car that had rarely been beaten in recent seasons.

Watching them race against each other had always been astonishing, an emotional experience like admiring a masterpiece of art. So it shouldn't have surprised Leo to see them battling for the lead, showing off technical offensive and defensive moves that were driving the crowd crazy.

Until something unexpected happened just before the start of lap thirty-five.

"Shit, look at that," Sirius nudged him, pointing to his laptop.

Leo watched as the track map on screen slowly filled with patches of different shades of blue.

"Heavy rain expected in ten minutes," he heard Sirius tell James over the radio, before looking back at him expectantly. It was then that Leo noticed the dark clouds approaching rapidly with the increasing force of the wind. 

A strategy. They needed a new, effective strategy. Quickly.

"Finn has fresh medium tires," Leo began, twiddling the pen between his long fingers as he spoke. "They're going to pit Kasey first, 'cause he won't have any grip for a full lap with washed hards."

Sirius kept humming as he followed his train of thought.

"And they might be expecting a red flag, or maybe a safety car if someone slides off the track. But if we call Logan in for inters as soon as it starts raining harder..."

"What if they don't want to wait?" Sirius said. 

"We'll pit him anyway, just follow plan A. Same strategy as the leader," Leo explained. "But if we manage to get Logan in before Finn, he could easily end up leading the race."

Sirius rubbed a hand over his dark stubble, his icy grey eyes telling Leo he was thinking a mile a minute. "Okay," he breathed. "But James is coming in with him."

Leo nodded. "It's going to be chaotic, but it'll work out."

Please, I need this to work out.

At the other end of the pit lane, the mechanics rushed to grab two sets of new intermediate tires. Then they took their positions in the pit stall, helmets on, ready to spring into action.

Leo felt the smell of rain first, the strong scent that the contact with the hot asphalt released. He spun around in his chair to hold a flat palm over the canopy, where a gentle drizzle wet his hand, the intensity increasing by the second.

He locked eyes with Sirius again as they silently agreed to proceed with their plan. A single, confident nod was all he needed.

"Box, box," Leo chanted over the radio.

"What? Already?" Logan protested.

"Yes," he insisted. "Please Logan, confirm the pit stop."

Now, this is unusual. Silver is calling both of their drivers to box on this lap. That's Tremblay coming into the pits, followed by Kasey Winter and, wow, it's getting crowded out there. It's going to be a real mess with the intensity of this rain. 

O’Hara stays out, and with a quick look at the data I can tell you he’s slowing down considerably to keep the car on track. 

With a 2.2 second pit stop Logan Tremblay leads the way out of the pit lane, Winter and Potter on his tail. And isn't that brilliant? They're coming back right behind the nine cars being called to pit right now! 

Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new race leader. 

The whole grid held out for eighteen laps in wet conditions, and despite the downpour, Logan managed to gain a considerable advantage over the others. Finn made his comeback to second place, overtaking car after car in almost zero visibility—a true racing masterclass that had sent a thrill up Leo's spine.

But Finn couldn't reach Logan, too far away, now engaged in navigating the infamous high-speed parabola just a few meters from the checkered flag. 

"Leo," Logan shouted into his ears. He could picture some kind of delirious grin on Logan's lips just from his voice.

And wasn't Leo delirious himself.

He stared, heart in his throat, as the GPS signal of Logan's car crossed the finish line. Only then did he realize what had just happened.

Leo didn't know what face he was making when Sirius clapped a strong hand on his back. His smile was euphoric, so wide it began to hurt a little in the corners. But he held himself still, enough to look composed if a camera caught him.

"Well done, Logan." He smiled into the mic. The radio message would certainly have been broadcast on tv. "A well-deserved win. You did a fantastic job today."

"I want you on the podium," was Logan's reply, a little breathless. Leo swore he could faint right then and there. "This one is yours as well." 

If this was a dream, Leo didn't want to wake up, ever .

Sirius had dragged him to the cool down room to wait for the top three drivers before the podium ceremony. He'd also insisted that Leo should be the team representative to accept the trophy for their victory. And as if that wasn't enough, Leo's mind was blown the second he spotted Logan and Finn walking together to their assigned posts, soaked from head to toe—their hair a complete mess from the helmets.

"Looks like I have a new nemesis," Finn greeted him with a teasing wink.

"Oh, you better be careful out there," Leo bit back, unable to stop himself from giggling when Logan rolled his eyes—a shade of green that stood out perfectly against his black racing suit.

"Not tonight," Logan said. "Tonight we're having fun."

"Yeah?" Finn sounded surprised. “What are you up to, Tremblay?”

Logan looked mischievously between them. "You're going to find out. Hey, Bliz," he turned to Kasey, who was busy chugging a bottle of water in one go. "You with us?"

"Sorry, guys," he panted a little, then smiled. "I promised a date to a fancy Italian restaurant."

"And you? What do you say?" Logan playfully shoved Leo. As if he could ever say no to something like that.

"Sounds fun." He crossed his arms over his chest, a mocking grin on his lips. "But wherever we're going, I am driving."

"No way," Finn and Logan chorused back, and a carefree laugh broke out of Leo's chest. He felt blissful.

And maybe it wasn't, but this all felt like a crazy dream.

[welcome-to-puppet-hell]

Ring! Ring! (Part 2) - Wally Darling x Puppet!OC (Character Study)

Content Warning: Paranoia, Wally's ambiguous motivations, Disturbing Imagery, Mind Control (HEAVILY implied), Mind Reading, Creepiness in general

[Direct sequel to this]

I’m still screaming as my eyes snap open, my body jolting up in my bed. My eyes dart around desperately, seeing the brightly painted wallpaper that has slowly become familiar and then the ceiling that had been painted like a night sky full of glowing green stars. Sobs then began to wrack through me, almost drowning out the patter of the heart that still managed to beat beneath felt and fabric. My hands press to the place where it must be, a weak attempt to repress it.

When my breathing and sobs begin to calm, that’s when I become aware of the sound blaring through my bedroom. The sound of a phone ringing.

I blink, my tears blotting to drip down my cheeks. A phone call in the middle of the night? That never happens, not in the Neighborhood. 

Despite my anxiety, I slowly get up and walk to the stand. Then I pick it up, once again blanketing the room in silence.

“H-hello?” I say with a swallow. When there’s only quiet, I clear my throat. “Who is this?”

“Sorry, I…I’m just so happy you finally picked up the phone.”

My eyes blink, then I turn to give my phone an odd look. What…? Hang on, I know this voice.

“…Wally?” 

Why would he be calling me? He never speaks to me, hasn’t said one word since I walked into this neighborhood weeks ago. For the most part, whenever he’s shadowing Barnaby or any of the other neighbors, he only stares at me with his big eyes and even bigger smile. It’s pretty unnerving, honestly.

So…why?

I’ve gotta know.

“I—”

“Don’t speak,” he says, voice suddenly cold. “Go to the bed, right under the covers. Don’t move until I tell you.”

My frown deepens. I open my mouth to speak again, but then I hear a sound outside that chills me to the bone. The sound of feet dragging against the ground. Huge feet. Right near my window.

“Jamie, now.”

Wally’s voice—like ice and full of…anger?—springs me to action. Dropping the phone to the floor, I run back to my bed and throw the covers over me, turning to look at the wall. My hands tremble as they clench around my blanket, my breathing becoming shallow the closer the feet outside become. Despite the phone not being in my hand, I still hear his voice whispering in my ear. As if he’s curled around me. 

“Stay quiet. Don’t even breathe.”

Shaking, I place my hand over my mouth and nose, leaving just enough give so I wouldn’t suffocate.

Suddenly, a light blares through the window, much like a spotlight. I freeze when I sense the light behind me, see the hint of it on the wall. Then, as it starts to shift from side to side, I realize what it is. 

An eye. Just how giant is this thing?

…Actually, I never want to find out.

My eyes squeeze closed, all sound becoming this low yet piercing hum to my ears. It hurts, but I dare not move, do anything. Except maybe pray. Just let this end, soon. Please.

I don’t know how long I remain there. Part of me worries that I’ve fallen asleep, considering how closed my eyes are, how deafening the silence is.

Then, finally, spoken from the dropped phone:

“Okay…it’s all okay now, Jamie. You’re safe.”

The breath I’m holding finally leaves me in a rough exhale. My hand goes to my chest as I try to calm my breathing, but I still feel so dizzy. What was that? What’s going on? And Wally—

Wally. How did he know…?

My eyes dart to the phone still on the floor. He’s still there. I don’t exactly know how I know—he’s not breathing or making sounds like it—but he is. Would he answer if I asked?

Only one way to find out.

I get up slowly from the bed and walk back over to the phone. Once it’s to my ear, I drop down to crouch away from the window. Then I clear my throat, but my voice stutters out anyway.

“Wally, w-what was that…that thing?”

Pause.

“A nightmare,” he replies, his tone dim. “One I hope you never meet.”

…That’s not really an answer. 

Then again, I should know better. From the few conversations I’ve had with him, Wally has never been really direct when it comes to certain things about the neighborhood. He can say anything about the other Neighbors…but questions like, “What state are we in? Why does Home sometimes stare at me for so long? Who owned my house and my shop before me?” Usually, at those questions, Wally’s eyes cloud over as he stares at me with his frozen smile. And then, he shrugs.

Still. He’s telling me more than I expected. And maybe…I don’t want to know the answer to this question.

I’ll just…add this to my list of newly discovered mysteries in the Neighborhood. A list that has been growing and growing. Not sure what kind of sign that is.

But still, something is bothering me. And while I have him on the phone—well. Can’t hurt to ask, right?

“How did you know I’d be awake?”

“Oh! I didn’t.”

My eyebrows draw downward as my mouth twists. Yeah, that sounds like an absolute lie, straight from a goddamn liar. No matter how neutral he keeps his tone, I’m just not—

“It’s the truth!”

…the fuck? I pull the phone away and stare at it, my heart thudding like a drum inside my chest.

“To be fair, Neighbor, I’ve been trying to call you for a long time. I didn’t think you’d ever pick up the phone.”

My throat goes dry. Ever since moving here, I’ve been having these—weird dreams. Dreams of not only you, but also dreams of this ringing. Ringing from a phone, from within the depths of my mind. Like a memory I kept at the back of my mind, one I can’t seem to remember. Images from those dreams keep flashing through my mind’s eye, particularly of a phone surrounded by dark. A plastic toy phone with dials, much like the one in my house. A phone that always seems to ring.

“What the hell does that mean?” 

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says, still sounding too innocent. “And you happened to be the first neighbor I called!”

I lean back against the wall near my window. “Did you know it’d be there? When I woke up?”

“No,” he says, his voice hinting at a tremble. “It doesn’t always show up. But I know it doesn’t like when we’re awake.”

“…W-what does it do when we’re awake?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Suddenly, I feel so cold all over. I wrap the blanket around my shoulders and squeeze it, trying to get the warmth of the wool to bleed into me. God, this neighborhood just keeps getting weirder and weirder. My only mistake was thinking all the weirdness was coming from the neighbors alone, and that the weirdness couldn’t really hurt me.

It all makes me so tired. How am I supposed to do this…? I just wanna go home. I wanna go back to you, to the life we had. Are you even looking for me? Is anyone…?

I don’t realize that I’ve started crying until Wally speaks again. 

“…Jamie?” His tone is shaky. Scared? But why? “Are you okay?”

“No. I’m so tired, Wally. I can’t do this anymore, I can’t be here,” I croak out, leaning forward with my hand on my forehead. “I just wanna go home. Please, let me go home!”

“But Jamie…you are at Home.”

My hands go to my nose, pinching the bridge with my pointer and thumb. I can’t do it anymore. I’ve never been good with mind games. And I hate being toyed with. And I get the feeling that Wally, he doesn’t want to hurt me. Not really.

“You know what I mean. I know you do. Please, Wally, don’t lie to me…”

“…”

I wait for his response, my eyes sliding closed. Doing this is risky, I know. I still don’t even know what to make of Wally. Is he a friend? An enemy? Part of me wants to believe he doesn’t want to hurt me, based on how he’s behaved since I got here. But I know for certain now, that he isn’t as oblivious as the other neighbors, no matter how monotone or innocent he sounds.

Whatever is going on here, he isn’t just on the level or in the know. He’s not even caught in the middle. He’s neck deep in it.

“…That doesn’t mean I can give you what you want,” he interjects, not unkindly. “It doesn’t mean that I’m in charge.”

I swallow. Who is, then? Or, perhaps, what?

Wally doesn’t answer that question, but he does continue to speak.

“I think that’s enough excitement for you tonight, dear Neighbor. It’s time for you to sleep.”

Something about his voice freezes me in place, making my mind feel all fuzzy. Suddenly, the exhaustion I feel isn’t just emotional. It’s a weight on my eyes, on my shoulders—on my whole body. I’m filled with an intense desire to go to bed, one that I acknowledge in a floaty sort of way.

“Yeah, you’re…you’re right,” I say, my voice sounding so foreign to my ears. So empty, vacant. Is that really what I sound like? I feel my body start to sway in place, almost weightless. “I’m so tired…”

“Get into the bed, Neighbor. Things will be better in the morning.”

(Will it?)

“Promise?” comes out of my mouth instead, my voice almost childish.

“I promise,” Wally says, his voice soft but emphatic.

…Yeah, that feels enough for me. I’m too exhausted to fight anyway. 

So, finally giving in, my body sways to one side and I end up falling back into my bed. A giddiness bubbles from me the second I land. How did I get here so fast? It was at least a few feet away, no? 

Oh, well. It doesn’t matter. The pillow below my head is so soft and the bed is so warm. What even happened? Did I actually see something? Why was I so worried? Why did I even have that nightmare? I’m safe here. 

(Am I?)

Yes. Yes, I am.

My eyes flutter a bit before finally shutting. And as my breathing slows, darkness takes over once more—but this time, as a comfort.

Not long after, my blanket lands back on my body, engulfing me in warmth. Then someone whispers in my ear.

“Sleep well, neighbor.”

==

Wally lingers at the window, his eyes glued to your house. Staring straight into the window of your bedroom. His hand is lifted in the air, lingering with all his fingers spread and bent, like a puppeteer handling strings. He stares and he waits, his expression like stone and his eyes never blinking.

Finally, with a hum of satisfaction, he curls his fingers back into his palm and lowers his hand to his side. Then he folds both hands behind his back.

“Good,” he says. “That was a close one, no?”

Frantic creaks of doors and cabinets echo through the walls of Home. Wally turns slightly from the window to look behind him, wearing a blithe smile.

“Don’t worry, Home, I know what I’m doing. When they wake up tomorrow, they won’t even remember what their nightmare was about. Or our conversation.”

More creaks. Some clashing of dishes from the kitchen. Wally isn’t offended though, instead he only nods in understanding.

“If you must tell him, just report that I’m only doing what I’m told. Keeping an eye on the neighbor, making sure they follow the rules and that they’re following the script given to them. That’s all.”

Another creak, this time in warning.

Wally turns entirely and stares up at Home, his expression stoic. And then, with a squeeze of his eyes being closed—only for a moment—he starts to laugh, the sound hollow as it reverberates through the house.

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha…”

When his eyes open, Wally’s gaze remains sharp as he regards Home’s ceiling. His hands unfold behind him and rest against the window sill as he leans back, keeping his body right in front of the view towards your house—towards you. 

“Home, please. I’ve been doing this for long enough. You don’t have to remind me,” he says, his voice cold in its shrewdness. “I know where my loyalties lie.”

[starsstuddedsky]

What? Like It’s Hard? [teaser]

gn reader x soonyoung

summary: With the help of a little bit of bleach, Soonyoung is certified legally blonde–complete to last minute-dedication to scoring as high as Elle Woods on the LSAT. While he has no interest in law school, he’s notorious for never turning down a dare. So how does a frat bro in serious danger of failing his senior year get a 179? He asks the smartest person he knows. 

Or, studying for a law test has never seen this much chemistry.

genre: fluff, angst, non-idol au, uni au, friends to lovers, opposites attract

warnings (full fic): swearing, drinking, food, arguing, refusal to acknowledge feelings, what's the word for beyond oblivious????

teaser wc: 1.7k

full wc: ~20k

a/n: hello my lovely readers!! i heavily debated posting this because there's always a chance that i just. never finish it, however i really love this story, so i don't think that will happen. that said, i have no idea when the full fic will be posted. (to my delight) my summer is extremely busy and i fear the fall semester will be as well, but i toil away slowly at this fic and one day it shall be posted <3 i hope you enjoy and are as excited as i am for the full story!

another teaser bc writing this is taking a while :)

want to join the taglist? just send an ask <3

“Nope.” You grab your backpack, shoving your laptop inside, but he gets to your water bottle before you can reach it. 

“Come on.” Soonyoung pouts his lips. 

“I won’t do it,” you say. 

Soonyoung hugs your water bottle hostage against his chest, dark blue against the pale pink sweater he wears. It’s an unusual choice for him, normally clad in baggy jeans and loose t-shirts. Still, the color highlights his hair, blonde bordering on white. Knowing Soonyoung, it was probably a dare. 

“Please! I’m desperate!” He cries again, stepping closer, though he keeps a firm grip on your water bottle. You never should have told him how emotionally attached you are to it; you should have known it would be held against you. 

“No,” you say. You sling your backpack on, just in case he gets any other ideas. You’re starting to attract attention from the people in the library who are actually there to study (which included you, until Soonyoung arrived). So you grab him by the arm, rolling your eyes at how he jerks his water bottle out of reach. 

“Walk and talk, we’re not doing this here,” you say, folding your arms over your chest. 

“Come on, how hard can it be?” Soonyoung asks. “It’s just a test.”

“Just a test?” You snort. “Soonyoung, you are aware that most people that apply to law school don’t do it on a dare?” 

“I don’t have to get into law school!” He says. “Just get a 179 on the LSAT.” 

You shake your head, trying to plan how to get the water bottle from him. Maybe you should consider it a lost cause and just swing by the bookstore to get a new one instead. But that water bottle has butterfly stickers that survived freshman year and a dent from the time Jun tried to use it as a weapon in a fight against Jihoon (that was declared a draw when the bottle busted open and doused both of them equally); it holds memories better than water and you’ll be damned if you let Soonyoung hold it hostage. 

“That’s actually harder,” you mumble. From the corner of your eye, you can see him tucking the blue bottle under his right arm, farthest from you. He won’t make this easy, especially since you saw the poorly disguised thirst trap of him and one of his frat brothers at the gym: those arms are not to be underestimated. 

“I’ll pay you!” 

“With what money?” 

Soonyoung pauses. You’ve reached the exit by now, sunlight warming you through the glass doors. He turns to the sunlight, and you know he’s pretending to be a main character from an artsy film. He takes a deep breath, as if he already regrets what he has to say next. 

“Okay, I’ll offer you the only services I have.” He turns his head to face you, eyes on the floor. 

“Oh my god Soonyoung!” You shove his shoulder. “You are not selling your body for a test!” 

“But it’s all I know!” He says. He pokes your arms. “You could have so much muscle if you lifted just twice a week.” 

“Oh.” You blink at him. “You meant working out?” 

“Wait what did you think I meant?” 

You feel heat rush into your cheeks. You push the door open, praying Soonyoung doesn’t notice. “It doesn’t matter,” you say, not daring to check if he’s following. “I don’t have time to workout.” 

“Then what do you want?” Soonyoung asks. He stays just out of reach, adjusting his grip so that the water bottle hangs from his hand. “Please, I’ll do anything!” 

“Why do you need me?” 

“Because you’re the smartest person I know.” He says without hesitation. In the three years of your friendship, you’ve learned that the only time Soonyoung isn’t serious is when he flirts. 

“You are,” he insists. “Plus you’ve already taken it, so you’re my best chance. My only chance, it’s not like I have a good track record with tests.” He gives you a lopsided smile as he tries to pretend like he’s joking. But Soonyoung has always been easy to read. You can see the sparkle in his eyes dim, and you remember freshman Soonyoung, when he failed the midterm and holed up in his room in the frat house for two full days, not even venturing out to party. It’s that damn sparkle that gets to you. He isn’t paying attention anymore, water bottle hanging loosely from his hand, but you can’t bring yourself to snatch it. 

“You can pass it,” you say with a sigh. “It’s about studying correctly.” 

“I don’t know,” Soonyoung says. “I’ve never really studied.” 

“Well, that’s what I’ll teach you.” 

Soonyoung freezes, grabbing your arm. “Seriously?” When you turn to face him, his smile is so bright it warms you from the inside out, hotter than the actual sun on your skin. He throws his arms around you, wrapping you in a hug so tight he lifts you off the ground. Your heart does this strange thing where it hops into your throat. Your arms come up as a reflex but his embrace is too tight for you to even hug him back.  

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He shouts. He doesn’t let go, even when he sets you back down. He loosens his arms just enough to look at you, the full force of his smile directed at you. “I swear you’re welcome at the frat house any time, I’ll buy you anything you want when I have money, I’ll drive you wherever you want if I can get Seungcheol’s car, I’ll do whatever, just thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

You know you should answer, or say something, but thinking is too much when he’s so close you can smell the strangely sweet combination of laundry detergent, cologne, and sweat. You push out of his arms, snagging your water bottle on the way out. 

“It’s whatever,” you mumble. Though his arms aren’t around you anymore, you feel strangely hot, like your blood is boiling, and your heart still pounds. 

“It is not whatever,” Soonyoung declares. “I swear, whatever you want, I’ll do it.” He holds a hand over his heart and if it was anyone else you’d think they were joking but it’s Soonyoung, which means he’s deadly serious. 

You can’t handle his gaze anymore, turning to study your beat up sneakers. “Really? You’ll get Jun to return my first edition copy of Pride and Prejudice?” 

“I’ll get that book back.” He glances at you. “It is a book, right?” 

“Yeah,” you say. “Though there’s been some good adaptations.” 

“That’s the one with the zombies?” 

“Zombies?” You frown. “Oh my god, do you mean Pride and Prejudice and Zombies?” 

“That’s not the original book?” 

“No,” you say, laughing. “The original is my Jane Austen, in the 1800s.” 

“Oh,” Soonyoung says. 

“I’ve actually never seen that one,” you say. “It’s the only adaptation I haven’t seen.” 

“How many movies are there?” 

“Well, there’s the 1940 adaptation, the BBC series that’s widely regarded as the most faithful adaptation, the 2005 Kiera Knightley movie that stands iconic, plus the Lizzie Bennet Diaries, which is a vlog-style Youtube adaptation. Then of course there’s Jane Austen’s other works, like Persuasion, which, the new one, for the record, was a terrible adaptation.” You stop when you realize you’re dangerously close to going on what Jihoon calls ‘an Austen tirade.’ 

“I liked the movie,” he says after a pause. “I don’t know if it was that good, or close to the books. But it was fun.” 

“I’ll have to watch it, then,” you say. “I know it’s the obvious choice, but Pride and Prejudice really is my favorite Jane Austen novel. Good luck getting it back from Jun though. He’s studying abroad this semester.” 

“He’s the friend from your history class?” 

“No, that’s Jihoon, my roommate,” you say. “Jun was in my language class.” 

“I thought you hated everyone in that class.” 

“Oh believe me, I do,” you say. “But Jun is friends with Jihoon, so he sort of just became my friend too.” 

Soonyoung hums, saying nothing else. You don’t recognize the song, though you tend to mostly listen to classical music when you study or whatever Jihoon blasts from his room, so it’s not that surprising. The melody is nice, though. Well, Soonyoung’s voice is. 

“I really am grateful,” Soonyoung says. “I know I was begging, because I don’t think I can do this without you–well, I don’t know if I can do it with you, but you’re my only hope and–I’m rambling again.” He flashes a smile. “The point is, thank you.” 

You shrug, feeling shy under his gaze. “It’ll help me study anyways,” you say. “You learn a lot when you teach.” 

“I thought you already took it?”

“I only got a 150,” you say, sighing. “I need at least a 165.” 

Soonyoung nods, forehead creasing like it always does when he’s lost in thought. “Thank you anyway.”

“Well, you swore to do whatever I tell you,” you say, desperate to change the subject. “Don’t think I won’t abuse that.” 

“Oh, YN,” he says slyly. “I’m counting on it.” He even winks. 

You cough, choking at the outright flirting. Soonyoung hasn’t tried a line on you in so long you thought he’d used them all. He isn’t serious, it was engraved in his DNA the second he became a fully fledged member of Sigma Beta Tau but it’s not like many people flirt with you, so it’s hard to stop your heart from jumping. 

You check your phone, unable to look him in the eyes. It’s 2:18 now, prime naptime if you can get back to your apartment before Jihoon gets back. But if it’s past two, unless he lied to you at the start of the semester, that means Soonyoung should be in his data ethics class. “Hey, don’t you have class right now?” 

“Shit.” Soonyoung takes off. He sprints across the grass, dodging three picnics and narrowly avoiding getting rocked in the back of the head by a frisbee. He pauses at the edge, turning back around to wave wildly at you. 

“Thank you!” He shouts. The picnickers glance between you and him and you can feel the blush returning. Soonyoung doesn’t notice all the eyes on him, waving like a goofball one final time before sprinting off again.