#realistic Pin would just. run over Pencil

[wowieeitsisa]

Post that does not follow the ‘me posting art from months ago’ program

Leafy and Pin gijinkas, GO !! (+pincil moment)

[http-mianhae]

AMORTENTIA ; joshua

view the whole series here!

DESCRIPTION ᝰ The first time they met was when she reached for a chocolate frog which he helped her reach and after that, they’ve been seeing each other everywhere. A story of how a Slytherin became undyingly soft for a Hufflepuff

WARNINGS ᝰ unrequited love, slytherin!reader x hufflepuff!joshua, one beat up scene, y/n is a sexual assault survivor!!!!, themes and trauma of sexual assault

PAIRING ᝰ hong joshua x fem!reader

WORD COUNT ᝰ 16.7k words

BEFORE YOU READ:

this ends in a cliffhanger but i'm unsure of what to do after it. so i wanted you guys to decide whether you want me to make a part 2 immediately or just continue the series and upload jun's part next.

the poll will be at the end of the story and i'll pin it to my page too! i'll tag you in 24 hrs and tell you guys what i'll do.

anyways, enjoy!!!

A Quaffle passed your sight as you cascaded from the great height. Home is when you’re meters off the ground, ass on a broomstick and pride worn with the Slytherin Quidditch uniform. 

Eric and Sunwoo were hot by your side, but their skill couldn’t compare with yours. You sent Sunwoo a minute smile at the furrow of his eyebrows, all his concentration on the Quaffle. Even the goggles he wore didn’t protect the falter as he caught your gaze, wondering why you were smiling at him despite your cold shoulder most of the time. 

Only it couldn’t be helped when you saw the underclassmen trying hard, pride pleasing you that he was working hard to beat you.

You sighed, turning back around and speeding on your broom. Hands steady and easily finding the Quaffle again, Eric’s hands nearly at it. It was moments before he would meet with utter distress as you swept through the air. A whistle let you know it was game over.

“Aw, man!” Eric yelled grumpily.

You let the Quaffle drop from your fingertips, not bothering to watch it touch the ground. Yuna, one of your managers, had quite the liking for wanting to catch the falling balls. You glide to the ground without another look, the others in your team following suit. You kicked your legs off your broom, the stick tumbling to the ground.

“That was one-hundred-fifty to eighty, I believe.” your main manager, Lia announced, her hands with a clipboard and a pencil, tapping her chin thoughtfully. Disappointment aroused the younger members of the team.

“It’s not fair, you guys always win!” Sunwoo argued.

You looked at him, his face contorted into a pout and a glare.

He really wanted to win...you liked that competitiveness. Then only, in a real game, he would play his best. He was a Chaser after all.

“Hey, we gave you guys Ryujin this time.” Jun, the vice-captain of the team, answered.

“Yeah. We gave you a chance to find the Snitch but you guys didn’t. Who’s problem is that?” you asked them. The younger members couldn’t say anything.

“You can’t deny. Jun and Y/N alone are a powerful duo for this team. If you guys lose either of them, it would be the end for the team.” Yuna bantered, holding out the crate of water bottles. Hands attacked it mercilessly, everyone going for their individual water bottle.

You didn’t say anything about what she just said, but you did accept it silently. Jun was an excellent Beater and you were Chaser, Captain and realistically, the ace of the team. Without one of you, the team would be at stake.

“You hear that, Y/N?” Jun nudged you playfully by the elbow. He loved hearing those types of compliments reeling from others’ mouths. Almost as much as compliments honouring your looks and honestly, you didn’t know what to say to that. It was like you grew up enduring his over-confidence. Though, if you weren’t the leader of this team, you couldn’t even begin to see in your head how the team would’ve turned out. They all would’ve been little servants of Junhui, the Beast Beater.

“Guys, guys!” You all turned your heads to see Wonyoung sprinting down, her hand high in the air. How she looked that beautiful while running, the secret remained with her genes but it would be a lie to state that everyone didn’t stop for a second to cherish in the angel’s running. Wonyoung, the currently benched first-year Beater, stopped at last in front of you all, looking like she was going to spur her words out but couldn’t because of how much she was running.

“Where did you run from?” the Keeper, Kevin, as if it was any much of a good time, asked.

“F-From the back of the—does it even matter?” the tall girl questioned, her eyes squinted as she gave Kevin a querying look. He had the energy for asking questions that surely didn’t matter. Sweat glistened her forehead under the light atmosphere. “They’re gathering to leave to Hogsmeade in ten minutes. If you want to pack up and leave, let’s go!”

The idea of going to Hogsmeade at a time like this sounded surpassing. You had quite some stuff to do before even thinking of doing so. You looked over at Jun for ideas but the third-year Vice-Captain seemed pretty chill about it.

“I say, we go. How about you, Y/N?”

You looked to your team where pleading eyes abode to convince you. For starters, you weren’t a very lenient person to please nor convince so this was the most they were doing without getting on your nerves. You gazed through each individual staring back at you with cutesy eyes and a sweaty face, belatedly feeling the tiniest bad that your efforts as Quidditch Captain were going to dissipate if you weren’t fit to treat your team at least humanly.

So you gave a little smile. “Fine, but here’s the plan...Lia, Yuna, Wonyoung, Kevin and Eric start packing up the stuff. The rest of us will get changed and then we swap in five minutes, so that Wonyoung, Kevin and Eric can go get changed. Then, we run. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

And just like that, you and your group of green dispersed in the foggy fields getting to your designated locations to do your things.

After packing up the equipment and changing, you were running towards the back of the school in a hurry to find yourself in McGonagall’s annoying nearness within no time, or more like, near late time. Fortunately enough, McGonagall was the type to not see differences in houses even if she took the Gryffindor’s pride to her heart. Unlike Snape who was always on your side no matter what. But if she saw you even a second late, you wouldn’t be excused and she would always wave you with: “Should’ve been here five seconds earlier.”

Had she been a dark witch, you would’ve told your auror parents to get rid of the woman.

Though, luckily enough, you were able to get there quick enough to find her just taking out her clipboard. She gave you and your Quidditch team a stern look in between.

“May I suggest that you make sure that your extra-curricular don’t clash with the times we’re not at school because it would be unfortunate for you to miss out on this. It’s a good way to relax for you students,” she said. And the group of students gathered around her agreed simultaneously.

You didn’t understand if it was a tactic to hinder your team from training more or actual advice, but you willingly wanted to listen to that piece of advice anyways. Maybe you should push Quidditch a few hours earlier on Saturdays so that you can go to Hogsmeade.

“We will be leaving now and no being bad, especially you, Weasley twins!” The woman turned around with a chuckle from Fred and George Weasley, walking down the icy path. Your team took in the snow environment as you cascaded down the group of students to bake in each other’s proximity and relish in your time together.

If you were being true to yourself and for once, not relentless nor greedy, you and your team had a stabler connection with each other than the school's other teams. Which not only made you feel superior but gratified. Because the team you had strived strong together and even the managers and the benched member felt like family, you were simply reliant on each other to the point that you were more than friends. You were all like family.

You could see it in the way you didn’t mind that Tzuyu would link her arm around yours or that Ryujin was hitting Kevin for twerking in the middle of the street and the how you all laughed in harmony together while another man stares. To which, Junhui replied: “Whatchu looking at?”

When the other person floundered away, supposedly an average citizen of Hogsmeade village, another laughter rocked through the members of the Slytherin Quidditch Team. You hit Junhui as he barked with laughter.

“You’re so rude, oh my God!”

Junhui yelling at the old man obtained you to apprehend that you were messing around so much that you didn’t come to the realisation that you were already treading into the village Hogsmeade. It seemed that the younger members were already finding themselves looking around, wowing at the Christmas decorations amidst the village. It shocked you too that they were already getting ready this time in November. However, you were amazed at certain decorations that were better than others. People didn’t fool about Christmas at Hogsmeade. Preferably no one jokes about Christmas in Hogwarts too. It was pretty huge over there as well.

From the delicious banquet to the present-opening morning in which you trade and replenish the air with gratitude.

“Please, please, please, can we go into Honeydukes?!” Lia asked, coming to your free side and taking over your arm.

She pleaded with her eyes. You remembered it like it was just yesterday—how she used to be so scared applying for her position as manager and here she was, for once, acting like you weren’t a ticking time bomb close to exploding. You allowed her to link her arm in, thinking about the thought of Honeydukes. It felt nice to be in the lead sometimes.

“Sure, why not? Where else would we go anyways?” you asked, leading the two girls in the direction of the infamous candy shop. The boys, Tzuyu, Ryujin and Wonyoung were just behind.

It was going to be bustling with students in the miniature candy store. You were precise in your estimate as you entered the store. It was mobbed with Hogwarts students, sprinting around the cramped scope to bestow to their friends what tricks their candies can do and it was no astonishment. Every Hogsmeade visit, the students would infiltrate Honeydukes as it was where the primary consumption of serotonin was—candy.

If you wanted to pay Honeydukes a visit, you had to get there early. That’s what you discovered over the years.

You managed to shake loose Tzuyu and Lia, forming your way within the crowd on your own exploit of confectionery. 

It was surprising someone so cold-hearted would intrigue themselves in something as lovely as the taste of sweets. This could be said again at the end of the story, but this tale will point through a wondrous roller coaster of emotions comparable to tasting Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans in the sense that it would end with relief that the candy was over.

Subsequent to the wandering around the shop, you found yourself in front of your favourite chocolate. A small smile found its way to your lips. You’ve always liked this type of chocolate. Its gold-flared wrappings to the elegantly ripped taste of cocoa brought you to heaven and back for two Galleons and a Sickle.

The chocolate made you wriggle in serotonin, made you feel as if you were bouncing in the clouds of heaven. 

It had been a while since you had it too so you had to get it.

Just as you were about to bandage your fingers around the golden wrapping of the box, another hand reached through and got it. It appeared to be the last chocolate box stacked on the shelf too, so a broad disturbance sank your heart like quicksand that someone else also had a desire to get the final box of your favourite chocolate.

You whipped your head around, meeting a face that felt familiar. Kind eyes faced you. You backed away from the box but the boy stretched it out towards you.

“You can have it,” he told you.

“No,” You looked away, not aspiring to look at him for too long. You noticed the colour of the robes straightaway. 

Yellow stained your sight, disgusting you because you never experienced talking to a Hufflepuff face on. It was always through someone. This was the first time in all your years in Hogwarts a Hufflepuff has actually approached you and that alone said a lot about the type of person you were.

“Have it,” you told the boy. He must’ve been in the same grade as you because he looked more mature than most of the students in the shop.

“I insist. I didn’t really want it anyway, I was just taking it because you were—“

You squinted your eyes, wondering if you were certainly hearing stupidity or it was just you. Suddenly, a hand made contact with you. Whipping your head to the right, you made out the face of your best friend.

“What’s going on here?”

“I was just leaving.” A small smile covered his lips. The obscure Hufflepuff pushed the box into your hands and swung around, shouting out to what resembled to be his friends and followed to merge with his group. You looked at him.

You were staring so hard at the back of his head you didn’t realise that Junhui was blabbering about something—probably nonsense again. You weren’t sure.

“Hey, Jun,” you said, interrupting whatever he was talking about. “Who was that kid?”

“Pfft,” he replied, widening his eyes and getting saliva all over your face.

“Yah, Junhui!” You wiped your face desperately, not noticing the stares you were suddenly getting. The saliva luckily rid your face as you were alarmed to be scarred by his spit forever. Only one of the many perks of being Jun’s best friend, you accepted it as a rare privilege, in fact. You loved being spat in the face—sarcasm involved. “Why would you do that?”

He laughed, slapping your arm. “My bad.”

“Get to the topic.” you glared, delivering a glance at the Hufflepuff. “Who is he?”

“You don’t know him?”

“No, I don’t. Why would I ask that then?”

“Oh my God, Y/N.” Jun fake-sighed. “You don’t pay attention, geez. He’s Joshua Hong, does that ring a bell?”

And it felt like a thousand bricks crashed your head. You remembered who it was. The familiar kind eyes came into view again as you marked the prior vision of him accepting a badge fixed on his chest fled into your mind. You recollected that night as the same night when you got your Prefect badge. He got his Prefect badge and Head Boy badge.

Not only that, he was in your dull History of Magic class and Potions.

Now it made sense that he was giving you the chocolate box.

It was not only because he was a Hufflepuff but additionally for the reason that he was a Prefect and Head Boy, he had to keep his kind status up since he was liable for his entire house.

“So he just gave you that?” Jun asked, eyes wide when you told him what happened.

“Yeah, he did. Weird.”

“Yeah, but no. He’s known for doing that around the school. Maybe you should keep your eyes out in case he does anything else…remotely kind…exclusively to you?” Jun suggested. You didn't discern the tease in his voice.

You exhaled and then linked your arm around him even though the touch of another male's skin made you remotely disgusted. It was just too exhausting to think about. You rather go about your day without having unnecessary things in your head.

“Y-You’re holding me.”

“Right I am, Junhui. Let’s go pay for this.” You waved around the box of chocolates, putting an end to the conversation prior to him questioning anything else.

Junhui didn’t question anything else, knowing this was one of the times his best-est friend was actually revealing skinship. Instead, he walked you towards the counter, passing by Joshua’s group of friends. Your eyes managed to wander into the group unwillingly, filled with students from other houses with the exclusion of green robes.

To find that he was already looking at you. 

Was there a possibility that he did something to the chocolate—

No, he doesn’t seem the type.

He smiled.

I’ll never know.

You glared his way and rotated your head back, presenting a grin to the sweet old woman who worked at Honeydukes Sweet Shop, ready to buy your candy.

“Don’t forget, you owe us butterbeer, Captain~” Eric sang into your ear.

―

The dead have too much to say.

That’s what you concluded by the next History of Magic class. Because the teacher you had was an annoyance to the society of wizards and witches. Like, go rest or something? You rather catch Peeves the Poltergeist around the school than deal with Professor Binn’s shenanigans.

You flipped through the pages of your workbook, not really focusing on the class. No one was, no one ever did. In fact, every one of his classes you had attended made you want to drop your head to the table and sleep. Junhui not being in the class made it more vexatious as there was no one else to talk to. The other Slytherins already had friends and were sitting with them, talking and having a good time, leaving you singly at the back of the classroom.

You searched around the classroom, seeing if there was anything interesting to even lay your eyes on. Nothing.

It was peculiar how Binns’ classroom was set up, it was different to a standard Hogwarts classroom. It was one of those classrooms that had rows and rows in an ascending manner in the shape of a semi-circle, so it was easy to fool around and not have the ghost catch you when you were off task. 

As you were busy scanning around the classroom, your sight landed perfectly on something you hoped you never saw again.

Alas, there it was. The same kind eyes you were trying to avoid since the commencement of the class.

How Joshua Hong had been looking at you, you didn’t know but what you did know was that you didn’t like it one bit. 

You looked back at the teacher, aspiring to find more enthusiasm in the lesson than the Hufflepuff but it was painful as the teacher tended to slur his words into a hybrid of saliva. And then you were inquisitive about Joshua again so in a matter of seconds, you were glancing across the classroom to see if his eyes were still on you.

They weren’t—they were back on the teacher, thank God. A breath of relief slipped through your lips, only to be caught by you again. Suddenly, he looked at you. Your stomach drove itself in nervously, determining the situation awkward because you were never the type to be accused of making friends with Hufflepuffs. Nowhere near that behaviour.

You didn’t have time to shift your eyes too because he caught you into a smile.

It annoyed you—his face, the way his eyes would crinkle when he smiled at you. He appeared so punchable with that smile like he had some authority over you that you were hesitant of. That was the last thing you would let a Hufflepuff have of you, it'd be like someone striping your dignity off of you.

And because of that, it made you smile back, sarcastically.

“So, when did the witch trials happen, L/N?” Your smile was revoked. You whipped your head around so fast as did everyone to look at you to answer the question. Binns was looking at you with the same straight face.

Since you were just so out of focus, the first thing that slipped out of your mouth was a: “Your mum.”

Ugh, Jun! You need to stop saying that around me. 

Your face heated up. You felt yourself drown in your own misery almost instantly that you looked down at your textbook for some sort of virtuous support. Inanimate objects don’t give that, do they?

It was worse in a second. Because before you knew it, inhumane wails sought the class. You’ve never heard such blues leave a human before and it concluded that it wasn’t a human. You felt your disgrace pass more profound with the race of your heart as you looked at Professor Binns.

“M-My mother died in a terrible Muggle accident! How could you bring that up, L/N? I am so offended!” This was the first time that you were seeing Binns so expressive but that was not the point―at all. You had a problem that you did not want to be dealing with.

Someone save me. Anyone, anyone.

You closed your eyes, not wanting to see any of your peers looking back at you with humour lit in their eyes. Not only did you make yourself a fool to your classmates but no one was stopping the crying ghost either. It was an eventful day and it was only your third period. You felt your breath clog up in your chest and it was held there for several seconds until the bell rang.

A soundly sigh escaped you as you practically rushed to pack up before anyone in the class could move an inch. “Apologies, Professor Binns. Didn’t know your mother died. I hope she, um, rests in peace or whatever.”

Binns was in another round of tears at the completion of your apology and you were hurrying out of the class, acting as if you didn’t hear his crying. The last thing you wanted to do was comfort a teacher. Your reputation was far more influential than a dead man.

So as you cleared your books off of your desk, you mourned in the fact that the Binns’ situation may have scuffed your standing a bit. You were speeding off to your next class not stopping by any familiar faces that would only give you a run for their money—tease you, your roommates would relentlessly taunt you for the fool you made out of yourself.

You ran out of the classroom, practically wanting to fly.

“Y/N!”

You turned back around, realising that you left the sweet Wonyoung behind at the entrance of your classroom. She seemed to be waiting for you.

“Hey.” you greeted your benched Beater.

She grabbed your shoulders authoritatively, pushing you away from your classroom door where you were in the way of others coming out from the History of Magic class you wished to have forgotten. It was typical for the towering Wonyoung to do so, her generosity was regarded as the taste of honey.

“You seem a little feverish,” she said as she furrowed her eyebrows worriedly. Once again, worrying over her dear Captain that benched her for all she was worth.

“I’m fine. What is it? You should be going to your next class.” you told her dismissively.

“Ah, it’s nothing much but Jun told me to tell you that he wasn’t in class because he skipped.”

You nodded, knowing that was the case anyways. “Okay, get to class now.”

You sauntered down the hallway, requiring to go to the dungeons for your Potions class. Wonyoung tailed on casually, her face peeking between your shoulder. There was a suggestive consideration coming from the girl as you walked down the employed halls. As a Prefect, it was an anchored duty for you to be punctual. You couldn't be messing around here with your underclassmen.

“Did anyone tell you how beautiful you look lately?”

The compliment didn’t even slit through the outer part of your softness (was there even any?). But you knew exactly what her intention was. You glanced at your underclassmen, furrowing your eyebrows, though not showing much agitation at the same time.

“Is this your way of running from the benches?” you asked blankly.

The beauty jutted out her bottom lip at you, her eyes becoming more doe than they seemed to be a few seconds ago. She was good at using her charms.

“Please.”

“Sorry, Wonyoung. I would love to have you not be benched but we already have two remarkably strong Beaters. I know it’s hard on you...” you told her in an attempt to comfort someone. You didn’t do this often, she should appreciate it as much as she could.

“You have no idea.” the girl replied and the once sugarcoated words were drawing out with grief you’ve never seen from her. She was the happiest on the team, the hype woman for everyone and you seeing her this vulnerable had to mean that the girl was fading in her sweet ways, one by one, slowly.

“If it helps, I used to be benched too.”

Wonyoung’s eyes widened. You smiled softly at her.

“Seriously? I don’t believe it.”

You looked away from her intriguingly sparkling eyes. It was a big insecurity of yours and as much as some members of the team knew about the past preceding their arrival of the team, you would never speak on it, requiring the situation to stay succumbed in the happenings for your individual mental health.

“Ah, long story. But the captain was bad, Jun and I made a plan and overthrew him. He was a perverted little shi —“

Before your words could come out themselves, something hard bumped into your back. You jumped, turning around to see what it was.

For once, you were so within talking to another human being that wasn’t Junhui that you didn’t know the crash would make you cross. You were trying to talk to your underclassmen heart-to-heart, who would be so ignorant to destroy that dainty time?

Joshua Hong would.

You glared at the boy as he picked up some books that got knocked down.

Fury rested inside you, finding yourself try to maintain stability for the sake of comprehending his excuse. The last time you checked he was assaying to make eyes with you in the class not even ten minutes ago and now this? You were so close to just grabbing him by the throat and shaking him until his head popped off and wheel down the hallway.

“So sorry, Y/N! I wasn’t watching where I was going and I—“

“Save it.” you seethed.

Joshua stared at you, unbelieving of your response, as if. He better start believing it because you weren’t falling for his nice guy scheme. Whatever this was, you wanted it to stop. You didn’t like it.

Just looking at the way a few strands of black scattered across his forehead, messily and his stupid, sorry eyes made you annoyed.

You couldn’t stand him.

Grasping Wonyoung’s wrist, you tugged her towards you. “Let’s go, Wonyoung.”

—

Were you hard on Joshua? In your fine opinion, absolutely not. The guy had it coming for him, why would he even try his chances with you? Nevertheless, like every human, there was this slight conscious asking you if what you did was moral? As in, what if it really was an accident? Your attitude or personality couldn’t fall for such idiocy. Which was why you let the Joshua situation slip between your finger like quicksilver and by the next morning, it was like he didn’t even exist.

You did your usual morning routine from showering and putting on your school robes, answering questions from younger dormmates and breaking up fights, as a Prefect should. You weren’t one to mess with when coming to fights and the students who encountered you felt the same.

You left for The Great Hall beforehand, without Junhui as you didn’t have the same first period together. Times when the two of you weren’t in the same class, Junhui would lay back with other friends and you would too but no one was going to the dining hall as early as you, so you were all along among your travel to The Great Hall.

It wasn’t until you entered The Great Hall, the early morning chirping dwelled inside your eardrums, awakening you. You walked down the pinched gap between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin table after recognising a group of familiar girls near the front of the table to sit with. Students here and there avoided the contact with your shoulder, giving you free way nonchalantly as you walked, so you weren't paying attention to your surrounding as much as you should have been.

And then, it all happened so quick.

CLINK!

A little pot, it must’ve been the size of your palm, spilled gravy all over your uniform. Your eyes widened, the light brown colour denting the white and green on you.

In brief, you couldn’t differentiate the fine line between time actually stopping or if everyone was just scared for your reaction.

You slowly looked up, your mouth agape with offense. You found big round eyes looking back at you, widened like you. Like they made the biggest mistake ever. You examined the face, finding familiarity from the glasses to the neat Ravenclaw uniform. Sixth year, Xu Minghao, Prefect and an absolute genius one. You’ve heard about his marvellous expertise in academic work, yet didn’t care for who he was until now.

Your face churned, small chatter picking up slowly around you.

"Oh no, is she going to curb stomp him?" 

"Poor Xu Minghao. I pity him."

"Rest in peace, Haohao."

Even the teachers paused to watch. You heard an: “Oh!” from McGonagall who was making her way towards you. She was far away though. 

If you grabbed your wand now and hexed this Xu MInghao who was looking at you blankly, your rage would compensate. Your hand made its way to your pocket and—

Someone grabbed you from behind and when you looked back, your anger only furthered at the face of Joshua.

“Hong, get off me right now. I might punch the both of you in your manhoods.” you threatened lowly but grateful to the quietness in the hall, it seemed that the Gryffindor table could hear it from all across the room but not the teachers.

“I don’t think you’re in the position to when you have all that trickling down you.” he began.

You wanted to lean back and punch his face.

“Go, Joshua!” you heard a Lee Seokmin say from a distance, the insolent Gryffindor who you had once collided into after practice and being pestered by your teammates. He got one hell of a lecture from you, you weren’t sure why he was talking like he had it easy from you.

But you weren’t able to even get your word in about this mistreatment because before you knew it, you were being dragged out, out of your own will. A spell? You didn’t know, neither could you meet the eyes of McGonagall anymore because she was lashed into a conversation with Dumbledore. And this was the accurate cause why you shunned all the teachers in this school except Snape and sometimes, Hagrid.

Joshua was in lead, your body somehow hexed and following. All that flooded your mind was how wrong this was. Because it looked like you were the one that was following him despite the desperate looks from your body to him.

“Let me go and you’ll have less of a problem.” you seethed dangerously between your teeth.

Joshua smiled back at you as the two of you exited the dining hall like it was nothing. “You need help.”

Did he not get it? You didn’t want his stupid help, neither did you want to see his stupid face. “Hong, I will scream.”

“And I’ve already hexed you so I don’t see your point of trying.”

This was trivial. Joshua was acting like a whole different person. A badger once dripping with honey in his words and actions was now the one to drag you up the stairs without a question from everyone else. You were barraged with the sheer lack of care the people had around you. Did no one dare blink into the troubled face of yours and thought of helping you? That seems not to be the case.

When Joshua was pushing through the students (nicely) with his Head Boy privilege, you could tell where you were going. The one place where you had more advantage than most of your dorm—the Prefect bathroom. You saw students around you sneaking glances as Joshua entered the Prefect bathroom and you entering after him, sadly, with no choice. 

Now they wanted to stare. Oh, did the anger in you wanted to burn the whole school down.

“What the hell was that about?!” you roared when the door slammed shut behind you. Your limbs felt free, you could only assume that he took the hex off. And it was later confirmed when you saw his wand clutched in his grip.

Joshua’s eyes finally widened and you could see the fear slip into them. You weren’t falling for it. “I really wasn’t expecting you to know who I was.”

“Oh, of course, I didn’t know who you were until Mr Gentleman here decided to give me a run of his money. Last time I checked, Hufflepuffs stayed in their place.”

Joshua was quiet.

He didn’t say anything, his eyes reached the floor before a smirk sculpted his lips. Your mouth was agape at the audacity. Not once had you encountered such a Hufflepuff.

“I keep warning you—I won’t hesitate.” Your fingers found your wand tucked in your skirt, the slippery consistency of gravy between your fingers. And the vividly distressing memory of being humiliated was back.

“Okay, Y/N. Gravy is spilling between your legs, you look like a mess, and I’m the one who currently has the Slytherin girls’ spare uniform...you make the decision.”

You had been far too patient. Balling your fist, you did not hesitate in having a good run-up and punching him right in the stomach.

“You set this up! I’m seriously gonna—“

“No, wait, listen—“

“Why should I listen to a pervert who is obviously trying to bargain me into taking my clothes off in front of him after getting someone to spill gravy all over me. Do you think a Hufflepuff could ever get in with a Slytherin? And me, out of all people?” you spat, furrowing your eyebrows in disgrace.

You punched him.

Joshua clutched his abdomen, doubling over from the pain. You could feel the throb roam aimlessly within your knuckles as you retrieved it. You tilted your head sharply so the crack from the root of your neck would resonate in the bathroom. It was a known fact between the Prefects that the bathroom had a reverberation throughout.

“Stop, okay? I’m sorry. Mingyu helped me set this up. He thought if I was more upfront with my feelings, it would help me land you.” he told you, eyes sincerely drawing into yours

You seized him by the collar and pulled him inevitably closer. And with that move, it felt like Joshua’s whole body stopped working. But he let his words flow warmly.

“Land me? What do you mean by land me?”

“I have a crush on you and Mingyu planned this whole thing where I would take you out of the cafeteria and help you out and he gave me this huge script thing and I-I believed him instead of—“ His eyes could only accept fear into it.

“You expect me to believe this bullshit?” you questioned him, feeling mocked he would mess you with something like that. How low.

“Yes? Why would I lie about this? And to you? You will never find me doing that.” he challenged

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to say I like you a lot and this whole thing was a bad idea, I shouldn’t have pulled moves on you because it was wrong to you and set a bad example for my underclassmen. I’m sorry for getting in your way.”

Joshua saying he liked you had no effect on you. In fact, you were fairly ashamed. How could he take a careless word from an underclassman when he had girls upon him constantly? He should’ve known what to do. Your clutch loosened on the boy, letting him from your fury grasp.

“You should be. I don’t want this crush nonsense anymore. Stay out of my way, if you know what’s good for you..” you threatened him.

Joshua couldn’t even look at you. He must’ve known from the way you were no one to be fooled with. After all, you were known for your malicious words and merciless tendencies. For him to even attempt was an exceptionally brave and stupid thing to do. You wished he never tried, you would’ve been less stressed about your day.

“Understandable…the uniform is in the third bath cubicle, have a good day.”

He doesn’t blink into your face as he left, leaving you in the Prefect bathroom alone. You let out a loud sigh, feeling the inside of you collapse from the stress. He was just hitting on you and it failed horribly. You shook your head, unleashing the tight furrow on your eyebrows. The longer you thought about it, the longer it would have an unneeded effect on you.

Right, you were merciless and angry but you had a rationale conscious. You sighed and decided to go into the third cubicle, where a huge bath was already bubbling, surprising you. You figured it must’ve been Joshua’s doing.

This is the bare minimum.

You squatted right at the edge of the concrete where the sumptuously built bathtub was and dipped the edge of your fingertips of the water. It was warm. How?

Undressing, you wondered how the boy managed to keep the bath still warm. You had to have been in the Great Hall for a good five minutes and to get to the Prefect bathroom was almost ten minutes. Dipping yourself into the bath, the water welcomed you cordially. The foam covered your nudity from above and there was no doubt in your mind that Joshua must’ve got someone to do this minutes before you hypothetically entered—the only explanation that could be offered. If there was a spell, he would’ve had to go back into the third cubicle and take the hex off.

So that meant that he went super far into planning this.

He’s genuinely interested in me…

Who cares?

A booming “woooo~” scared the living daylights out of you. Your thighs clenched tightly as you backed to your dirty robes where your wand remained in case of danger.

It was nothing to be afraid of though.

Moaning Mrytle came from under, her body loose next to you so suddenly your body paralyzed for a whole second.

“Bathing so late in the morning, are we? Classes start soon.” Her eyes lowered a little. You pushed the soapy foam closer to you despite her seeing you from under anyways. There was something about Mrytle perving on you from above that made you generally awkward. She never hid her lustful tendencies as a spirit.

“If it wasn’t for an idiot, I wouldn’t be here, would I, Mrytle?”

“Badger boy~! Oh, he’s so incredibly handsome! Ah! I don’t understand why you wouldn’t fall in love with such a heartthrob.” she said, pouting at you. She perched her face on her hand, sighing heavily. “If I was still alive and in this generation of students, I would’ve had a huge crush on him or his incredibly handsome friend.”

Something little quipped in your heart at her words. You let the sound of the Moaning Mrytle's legs kicking her legs under the water sit a little. Gears were working in your head, finding a solution to that feeling. Why were you feeling that? It was like you could coincide with what she was saying. 

But finding Joshua conventionally attractive didn’t mean you liked him like that, in fact, it was the opposite. But Mrytle must’ve known what was going on, at least more than you did. You might as well dig for more information.

“Mrytle, did he come in here earlier?”

She smiled. “Whyyyy~?! Do you have a crush on him?!”

You were afraid that the question was going to come up, but you defended yourself nicely.

“Well, it must be every girl’s inquisition if a boy has a crush on her. You would know that Mrytle, you’re such a gem!” Being nice was definitely not your forte, but you had to try to get the truth out.

But she smiled, taking it which made it all worth it. “Oh, stop it!…well, he did bring that incredibly handsome Hufflepuff Prefect in here and they were discussing something about you. I heard that older boy say that he was in love with you and it hurts liking you. They were talking about something about you but I wasn’t paying much attention. The other one’s face was such a distraction, honestly!”

No one has talked about you that way. You felt empty.

Your thoughts were getting nowhere. All you could describe was shock at the situation that was ducked. Never once in your life have you heard about another person talking about being hurt while liking you.

Your heart felt as if it was weakening, but you retained quickly, remembering that he brought you into this current situation with his stupid action plan, thinking it would make you weaker. And that instantly made you fed up. The aggression wasn't as strong anymore and you wanted for it to be badly. 

He couldn't just do that and expect to win you over, that was beside the point.

He was messing with you.

Joshua Hong was trying to distract you.

—

The moon had always captured your eyes. It was like the big glowing circle would enlarge whenever someone fed it attention and admiration, becoming more beautiful. You couldn’t help it, indicting it on the divine sight the library had of it. Nonetheless, you couldn't let go of a certain topic knacking you on the back of the head—a bigger inquisition than the merit the moon offered.

"Do you think what Moaning Mrytle said was true?" It was a day following the event at The Great Hall.

Your best friend slid to your side. He grabbed a pebble on the windowsill and flung it back, letting go at the fit angle. The rock wheeled through the gaps of the circular window frame and into the atmosphere for a stable second, awarding unneeded silence to answer your question. Both of you paid attention to the rock's adventure until it decided to stop midair and drop down at an increasingly fearful speed. 

Junhui let out a sigh and then turned around to you, leaning his figure against the window frame. 

"I mean, I don’t know. It seems like anyone would be dedicated if they were planning to embarrass themselves in front of their crush. I wonder if Mingyu bribed him.” he stated.

You could hardly see it. Even on the court, Mingyu was too much of a good sportsman. It was beyond his abilities.

“I doubt it..." You leaned against the window frame like your best friend, giggling a little."Funny how I know nothing about him and he’s confessing.”

“Okay, but what do we do now that everyone thinks he brought you into the Prefects bathroom to screw?” he asked you. It was a question he ached to ask for so long, you could see it since this morning in which he gave you the most bewildered face when he learned that the rumours were totally muddled up. Students must've thought otherwise when they saw you and Joshua on the way up to the bathroom.

“I don’t really care what they think. I just hope he doesn’t come to mess around with my breakfast times again.” you shrugged, a small smile on your face at the recollection of humiliation on Joshua's face. You felt embarrassed for him, you couldn't begin to imagine how he was feeling.

"Oh if I was him, I would be scared to death.” 

"As he should be...should we go back? I wanna sleep so bad," you suggested.

Jun pressed his lips tightly together and nodded, agreeing with you. "Me too and we have practice tomorrow too."

"That we do."

You collectively exited the library, not forgetting to wave Madam Pince a 'good night'. Jun and you made your way down the many stairs from the library, engaging in a humorous conversation, distant from the drama in your life that had been missing for a while. It didn't seem like it but Junhui was a big gossiper. You would hear everything from him before it would come from anyone and it was because of how he was always able to be at the scene of the crime. All the time.

Of course, except yesterday when Joshua was dragging you out of the Great Hall.

You felt a little uneasy on the ground floor, knowing that the two of you had to go past the Hufflepuff dormitory on the way to the dungeons. It was a pain honestly and it showed that the event affected you more than it should've.

"Not you thinking about him already."

"Boy, shut up," you told him as you took the lead into the hallway, guiding towards the dormitory to show that you weren't anywhere near thinking about Joshua.

It hadn't even been ten steps.

Your breath hobbled in your throat as you came to an instant stop. Jun knocked into your shoulder from behind.

“No, Momo. You’ve had too much to drink. Go inside, I’m gonna go get something from the kitchen and I—“

"NoOoO, I wanna see her now. She’s all I think about Joshua, she’s all I—“

Joshua was holding up a girl, trying to get her to stand upright on the wall and from the looks of it, it was something scandalous. Her eyes were dull, somewhat trying to find their way into slumber. She was drunk. Drunk as hell.

His back was facing you so there was no way he would see you. How would you slip by without him noticing? What if he sees you? Questions waved in your mind, all of 'the avoidance'. Whatever it was, you didn't want to be dealing with anything involving Joshua.

"Oi, Hufflepuff. What happened?" Jun asked loudly, leaving you flabbergasted. 

What is he doing?!

Joshua turned around, hands busy holding the girl's shoulders. He looked back at Jun and his eyes widened a little. It was moments before his view fleeted to you. You wanted to scream with frustration. Your best friend—

You were betrayed.

He didn't look at you for long, his glance gliding towards an allegedly helpful Jun. It was the truth that he was only doing this because he wanted to get on your nerves somehow.

"She drank something the sixth years gave her and now she’s drunk. I don’t know what she drank though,” he replied.

It was surprising that a situation like this would arise for a Hufflepuff. Nevertheless, you paid no mind to them conversing. You could feel Jun's eyes penetrating through you as you shied your eyes to the ground that was far more interesting than what they were talking about. The drunk girl let out yet another groan of disobedience.

"Stop, Momo," Joshua said sternly. 

Without a second after his words, you felt yourself being thrown forwards. Pushing back Junhui's hand, your jaw clenched. It took everything in you to keep your mouth shut from the words you wanted to spew out.

"Y/N here happens to be an alcoholic at a young age—"

"I am not!" you interrupted at the out-of-proportion lie. You only drank a couple of times and he knows it was for family events. The snarky smile on his face made you want to punch him.

“What I’m trying to say is she’s good at sniffing out drinks, why don’t you let us in and we can help you out?" Jun suggested casually.

Jun was in big trouble for sure. Any second now and he was going to find himself in a headlock.

"I don't know....that's not allowed." Joshua's chin tilted downwards, rejecting Jun's offer.

At least the goody-two-shoes himself wasn't letting you in anyways.

“Yeah, Jun.” you pressed, glaring.

Jun spoke up though, “Oh well, it’s your loss, really, Hong. You’ll have no idea what went into your friend’s body and you’ll have to go to the teachers and ask them if she has some kind of reaction. And won’t that be an embarrassment for you to have to tell, as Head Boy, that your underclassmen were messing around with alcohol under your nose? But I guess, it’s your decision.”

Junhui being snappy instead of being full-on aggressive was a rare scene, meaning that he was farming a lot of force to embarrass you. Of course, he was. Sometimes your misery was his happiness.  

Joshua's stare followed to the ground, yielding you relief that you weren't going to deal with him or the drunk girl. You felt a little bad for her but anything for your rep, right?

"He doesn't want us, let's go." You grabbed Junhui's wrist and dragged him down the hallway without another look. After this, you planned on having an early night so that you would have enough energy for tomorrow's practice.

“Joshua, please. I want to see Dahyun, I have to apologise to her. She’s the only reason I’m living. I—"

“Fine.” His voice stabbed in the hallways and it was plain that Joshua was aching in the drunk girl's antics. Chills ran up your body unexpectedly. He did not agree, did he?

"You heard our boy, Y/N." Jun reversed your positions, grabbing your hand instead to drag you down the hallway excitedly. A million-dollar smile was cemented on your best friend's face and dumbfoundedly, you were led by him down the hallway, helpless to understand it. There was no way Joshua, the Head Boy and Prefect and above all, Hufflepuff was letting you into his dorm. 

You clung onto Jun's hand for dear life, his clutch so loose that he would probably let you cluster to the ground if he were to let you go. 

Momo's half-shut eyes blinked into yours, reaching you right in the abdomen. She was drunk, you didn’t know what went into her body. What if it was poison? What if something horrible happened to her? God damn it.

You couldn't leave now.

Her eyes would haunt you forever then. This wasn't for Joshua, it was for her. The sudden change of heart was noticed greatly by Jun as you swayed his grip off of you. As much as you were doing this, the touch of men, you were disgusted by.

Joshua told his password in front of you and got in with the girl and with you and Jun following. Neither you and Jun were scared of basically infiltrating another house's dorm being rebellious students already but the way Joshua was worrying his lip between his teeth didn't pass you.

His lips are so plump—oh my God, what the hell am I thinking?

Your eyes widened at the side of his face, ensuring Momo that everything was going to be okay. That's how you were able to see his lips perfectly, excluding the gloom cast atop the dormitory. The thought shook you on the inside, you disliked it. Why would such a thought pass you, in the first place? Were you losing control?

“Guys, calm down. They’re just here to help Momo out. There’s no need to look at them like that. Seungkwan, take her.” Joshua announced to the many eyes staring back. You felt no astonishment to them.

A boy walked out and helped Joshua wrap an arm around Momo and bring her to comfy armchairs by the fireplace.

“If this keeps happening, we’re going to have to discuss with our companies—I mean, school. I mean, school. Why the hell did I say company?" Seungkwan patted her head slowly as she lulled her head on his shoulder without a care in the world.

"Where's the drink?" Jun asked from your side.

Joshua picked up a glass from a small table in front of him. He passed it to you. The remains of the drink were still evident on the bottom of the glass and you hoped hard that no one changed the glass while you were gone. You looked at the remains for a second before sniffing the drink, the smell already familiar to your nose.

"It's just regular ale, nothing bad will happen to her," you declared. 

The tension in the air dispersed. Joshua exhaled with relief as you put the glass back onto the table. 

"Let's go," you said to Jun, whining slightly. The longer you stayed in here, the more you wanted to die from embarrassment.

"Um, excuse me?" Joshua asked you and the desperation in you grew. Did he not understand? "How do I, um..."

"Sober her up?" you questioned. The yellow started to feel like a perpetual blot to the eyes and a steadfast reminder that he was within few feet of you.

You reached into your robes quickly and pulled out a vial that was the size of your palm. You couldn't believe you were giving away your last vial, but there was no choice. Gazing at Momo as you pass the concoction to him, sorry flooded you. Poor girl—

"Just make sure that...she doesn't drink anything handed to her."

You couldn't hold back the tongue of empathy clawing you, tormenting you. The ends of Joshua's lips quirked up slowly and you couldn't help but know exactly what that meant. The nice boy in him was going to spurt with gratefulness. Deciding quickly that it was time to go, you grabbed Jun and turned to head down the way you came.

However, a persistent word of gratitude slipped from between his lips anyways. "Thanks, Y/N!"

Disregarding him, you were beholden to find your palm on the door with a very giggly Jun on your side. As soon as you were in the hallway again, you let Jun move away from you before you punched him harshly in the chest. Even though you were doing this for Momo, he was still to blame for dragging you into it in the first place and making you blink into her face and feeling sorry for her.

To your surprise, the boy didn't flinch at all.

You almost forgot. The Beast Beater, what were you expecting?

"What was that about?!" you yelled at him.

He threw his head back, laughing at the glower you had. Was it funny? Was it really entertaining to him that you were suffering? The boil in you was proceeding to the edge as a hand weaved through your robe. Your wand was seconds away from meeting your grabby and desperate hand.

"Just teasing you..." Jun said, waving his hand dismissively. He walked towards the Slytherin dorms. You followed him, still heated but you let go of the wand for the reason that you didn't want to hex him so bad that you would get into trouble. There you went with your rational conscience again. "But hey, he's not a bad lad, you know? You could do with someone like him."

"What's that supposed to mean?" If you were to know everyone in the whole wide world, Junhui would still be the person to hate Hufflepuffs the most. Overly to the extent that some of the bitterness rubbed off on you throughout the years since the two of you were practically inseparable.

“It means that you need water for your fire, an eggplant to your peach, a—"

"Jun, I'll hit you!" 

He ran away before you could even get to him.

—

The Gryffindor teacher yet again had a lot to say. With a hand clutched onto the parchment with your excellent grade, you exited the class with heat radiating on your face. She had a problem with your continuous obsession—as the woman labelled it—with talking about her when her back was turned. You had no response for once because you had no idea she could hear you.

You could assume a student told her but then again, she's McGonagall.

You let out a sigh, looking down at your Transfiguration test. 

"Good job on the test though. You must've studied hard, L/N."

You pushed the test down, unable to look at it as you strode the halls with quick, angry steps. Was there a second where you weren't mad? It was a side of you that was always growing whether you liked it or not.

It relinquished within a second when you found the show of a familiar figure by the entrance of the school. She peeked her head out tentatively before rolling her heels back in the shadows, tending her back against the wall. Her eyebrows knitted in. 

You walked up to Lia suspiciously, crossing over a bunch of first-year Gryffindors who let you go first. They whispered harshly to each other in what you could assume was talk about the person you were. Not that it mattered—everything was interesting to the first years.

You were curious about Lia's behaviour since she was meant to be at practice right now and not wandering around the castle.

"You're supposed to be at practice."

She jumped, her hands flying to her chest. "Oh, it's just you."

"What are you doing here?" you asked.

Lia avoided your eyes.

"Well, tell me." you pressed on.

"Ugh, fine," she groaned, stamping her foot on the ground. "I fake-confessed to Eric because it was a dare from Ryujin and now he thinks I'm for real. He won't stop talking to me, even during class. It’s so annoying."

She scanned your face for your reaction.

"Why would you do that, stupid?" you said, holding in a small giggle.

Lia smiled a little subsequent to your light heart towards her reason. "I don't even know. I just wanted to prove myself, I guess...but! It's whatever now. I can go with you, Captain."

She linked arms with you, notwithstanding another second and led the way through the exit of the castle. The breeze felt a little heavy. It was an overcast day, murk weaved in between the students on the late Wednesday afternoon. It was an exhausting week already and for the students to keep going felt like a burden in the disguise of an obligation.

Lia glimpsed down at your test paper on your other hand.

"Ninety-five per cent?" she questioned, an impressed hum leaving her. "I thought you hated McGonagall."

"I do. But I have parents to make proud of," you answered, walking uphill.

"Don't all Slytherins?"

The slash of green and red from a distance didn't allow you to continue your conversation with Lia. As you were on top of the hill, you could see the anger on Ryujin and Sunwoo's faces, sensing something was wrong as they were meant to be getting ready to practice.

"Gryffindors? But we booked the field!"

"That we did, kid, but we know that Bradley Ainsworth is a little persistent, isn't he?" you dangerously chided under your breath. You drew Lia with you as you stomped determinedly downhill and towards the merged teams in an obvious fickle.

But something else hit you as you got there.

"Where's Jun?" you asked.

"He's in detention," Yuna replied to you prior to looking back at the Gryffindor Captain."We already booked the field. You guys can’t just come and interrupt our practice time like that.”

It was impressive that she could talk like that even though she was only the assistant manager. You felt proud that you taught your managers well and not to take shit from other people.

"No, you didn't. Check again. We booked it today and swapped you out for Sunday." Bradley looked at you with a smile. 

What a pain to look at.

You felt your frustration reach its peak.

"Are you kidding me?! No, you didn't!" you shouted as you ditched Lia's hand aggressively. The test paper in your hand was getting scrunched with every second of your talking.

"Hoshi," Bradley demanded, smirking. Their Chaser, Hoshi, picked up a piece of paper that was apparently worth millions and above all, proving his point. Indeed, you were swapped out for Sunday, but that would mean no break for your team on the weekend. You would already spend four hours practising on Wednesdays and Saturdays. For you to practice eight hours over the course of two days would take a toll on all your bodies.

"Ainsworth, you can't just do this stuff without telling me!"

"I'm sorry, L/N. But we have practice to get to," he said and was about to leave.

“Stop. Because you know that you’re not supposed to book the field out on my day unless you have special permission! This is absurd.”

"Absurd, she says." Fred and George mimicked and Hoshi laughs loudly.

Bradley was going to get it from you today whether he liked it or not because you weren't a fan of letting you and your team not practice when they were all already changed.

"Ainsworth, I suggest kindly that you all leave the field before I tell Snape about this and land you all in detention. Oh, and won’t that be your fifth detention from Snape this quarter? Doesn’t that mean a suspension?”

He pursed his lips tightly. As expected, all Gryffindors had intimidation towards Snape as a teacher. You never fully understood it until you actually came to Hogwarts where he treated his own house better than any other house. 

“Wait…why don’t we ask outside our own perception of this…um,” Bradley looked around nervously. You scoffed, finding this aspect of him different from how he usually acted. He would act all high and mighty all the time, he walked like he owned Hogwarts, he was such a tryhard with girls too. 

You smiled back at your team.

Until he did something unexpected.

“Hong! Get over here!”

Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach. You hadn't seen Joshua Hong in two whole days and you were praying not to have to bump into him. But there he was, walking around with Momo, supposedly going to the lake.

“You are so not asking a Hufflepuff right now,” Sunwoo stated as Joshua and Momo walked over. She was looking a lot better today, you noted.

“Do you see any other alliances Slytherins have?” Bradley asked.

He was foul-mouthed and the steam of outrage touched the edge. You whisked out your wand, bringing it near his button nose. Bradley froze, brazen words leaving his mouth one second ago, all disappearing within the nanosecond. Kevin immediately pushed your hand down before things got too violent. You breathed out sharply, glaring at the Captain of the opposing team.

“You can’t just speak to our Captain like that!" Ryujin shouted at him, furrowing her eyebrows.

Bradley let out a small chuckle. “Oh, wow. Your team actually respects you, L/N. I remember what happened last time when you got—“

Triple homicide—Eric’s fist met with his abdomen, Tzuyu kicked him right in the knees and George, surprisingly, kicked him from the back. It was unexpected he was defending you but you appreciated it regardless. 

Bradley fell to the ground, his eyes widened at the abrupt fighting. Your fist was shaking as you drew it back, rubbing it slowly with the other. Tears threatened to follow down your face from the shock. 

You never really got over it...he had no title talking about you like that, you had no control over what happened then. The way his team didn't say anything and the twins glaring at him for his actions proved that he deserved it.

"What was that for?!” he had the audacity to ask

“How could you bring that up here?! You are seriously an asshole if you think we’re not going to do anything about this!" Tzuyu yelled at him.

Joshua held a hand out at the fallen Captain to your astonishment. "Calm down, the two of you. Why are we yelling here?"

Momo pulled Joshua back, letting the Gryffindor fall back to the ground with a thud. Joshua was persistent, pushing back Momo with a shoulder shrug. You felt like you should've punched him too.

“Joshua, stop—"

“No, I’m not going to stop! It can’t just suddenly be okay for her to push Ainsworth just because she wants the field.”

Tzuyu placed a hand on your shoulder, an attempt to calm you down but all you could do was push it off as a tear slid down your face. Joshua's mouth fell agape slightly at the sight. It was like he could capture every detail of you. Then he should've known what he was sticking up for, especially when it was about you.

“So it’s okay for Ainsworth to bring up how I got sexually assaulted in front of everyone?! Wow, thanks, Joshua. I can really see which side you’re on.” You left with tears, not wanting to see his face again, although, his eyes intruding when you ended your first sentence was stuck in your head. The amazingly graded test paper flew from your grips too, abandoned on the grass.

“Good job, Hong. Good fucking job.” Ryujin spoke up and you apprehended the steps of your team following you, guarding your back against a backstab you didn't expect from a person who pleads his case of crushing on you.

Was it all a lie?

—

"Where is she?" you heard Jun ask from outside the bathroom.

“She’s in there,” Eric answered and there was a moment of silence. You basked in it, letting the girls cling onto you like you were spending your last few moments with them. In truth, the younger ones didn’t know what was going on at all but Tzuyu and Ryujin knew for sure. Tzuyu was on the team at that time which was why she was the prime caretaker when Junhui wasn’t there. 

The tears just wouldn’t stop—not even when Wonyoung was wiping them away, not even when Lia was stroking your back with her soft palm, not even when Yuna was holding your hand and not even when Ryujin was laying on your shoulder. Until, of course, the door burst open with the presence of the Beast Beater.

The girls jumped in surprise.

“What did bloody Ainsworth say to you?” Jun asked, showing no action to the girls. His eyes were stuck on you defensively.

“It’s nothing, Jun.”

You didn’t understand how vulnerable you were at that moment. 

Jun’s fingers reached his temples in frustration before he grunted. He walked over to you and the girls, letting his hand reach the shoulder that wasn’t occupied with your Seeker. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there but I’m here now.”

His genuineness closed the crevice where your tears poured mercilessly—you felt enlightened by Jun and in no doubt were you going to handle the circumstance yourself as you did before. You were going to talk.

Looking at the girls hopefully, they caught the message. 

“We’ll be guarding the entrance, okay?” Yuna said.

You nodded, the weight of them leaving you in a matter of seconds. They left through the tattered dark door of the second-floor lavatory in an orderly fashion, Lia peeking over at you, her eyes smiling at you lovingly. You nodded at her. She smiled and then closed the door behind her, enabling privacy between you and your best friend.

“Now, explain everything,” Junhui said, putting his hands on his hips. 

You sighed, then, you explained everything. In full detail. He nodded, taking in your words as this was the first time that Wen Junhui wasn’t at the scene of the crime. Actually, second because of the time with Joshua at The Great Hall, he was slumbering in the dorms. Junnhui listened carefully unto you told him what Joshua said.

“Hong did that?!” he exclaimed.

“Yeah, he did that.” you sniffled, the tears about to come back. You were about to lose it, remembering his eyes and the understanding that hit him then. Again, it was on Joshua, himself. He messed up, you couldn’t go around feeling bad for him. But you felt so bad when he realised. He was only trying to diffuse things and not let anyone get hurt.

But he didn’t have to glare at me like that.

“He was defending him all it was worth. I’m just disappointed,” you told Jun.

“Why?!” he questioned.

“I mean, I helped him out and he just accused me of something. He doesn’t even know how shitty of a person Bradley is,” you told him.

“I’m more worried about Bradley. I think we need to show him what Slytherins are about.”

You knew exactly what that meant but you didn’t want him to do anything bad that would result him in getting in trouble.

“Don’t get in trouble for me.” you smiled through a blurry sight of Jun.

“What else can I do?”

—

“This is your final warning. Next time, I’ll actually murder you..” Jun pushed him again against the sacks of flour behind him. It was impressive how he was madder than you about this. You admired his attempts in beating Ainsworth up and you also admired his bloodied knuckles with his fine set of rings which were inherited from his great grandfather. Jun bounced back, tilting his head to the right, a crack heard clearly in the room of working House Elves.

They paid no mind to you guys beating him up, they were profoundly focussing on their work for making dinner for the thousand students that attended Hogwarts. In fact, you were sitting on one of the benchtops, enjoying a tall glass of milk and iced cookies made by the elves for you. It had been long since you knew that Dumbledore had House Elves working beneath him than the food being magicked up itself. It was an easy way for you to beat Ainsworth up in here because you threatened the elves that if they were to tell anything to old man Dumbledore, they would find themselves in a little accident—or more or less, a kitchen fire. Not that Dumbledore would ask them anyways, you would make sure that Ainsworth kept his pretty mouth shut about this after.

“Do you think it’s funny to make fun of someone’s trauma?” Sunwoo yelled, kicking him right in the abdomen. This was beyond evil but he didn’t leave you with any other choice. Ainsworth was there when you were ushered into the hospital wing for immediate care, he watched you with his eyes that were half-awake because of the drug you were under.

Tzuyu bent down to her knees into a squat, grabbing Bradley by the collar. She pushed his face into his and smirked. “It hurts now, doesn’t it?” 

Bradley whimpered.

“God, that was hot.” Junhui cleared his throat.

You all looked at him expectantly. He rubbed his knuckles in his other hand, looking at the details of the ceilings, far from realizing that you were all looking at him. Excluding, Tzuyu, who just slapped Bradley in the face. He looked back at you and you beamed slowly. Did he like Tzuyu? 

“W-What? I said it was hot in here, you know? Because—”

He was so dumb, it was literally freezing in the kitchen, you didn’t know how the elves wielded in such harsh living conditions. You shook your head and then joined Tzuyu down on the floor, squatting right in front of Ainsworth. Holding him up by his blonde locks, drenched in sweat and little specks of blood, you smiled at him. You already had your time with him before, in fact, you were the first to land an excellent kick in the groin.

“Now you know to not mess with me again, we’ll leave you to tender your wounds, how about that?” you asked, crinkling your eyes as you smiled at him. You stuffed a cookie into Bradley’s bloody mouth as he whimpers in fear. You patted his cheek gently, his eyes exhaustingly peeking into yours. “Guys, let’s go now.”

“Righty-o, Captain.” Eric began making his way through the gaps between the short countertops made especially for the elves. You followed through, a satisfied feeling closing you with a breath of relief. Sunwoo opened the door for you, letting you go first as a way to show his pride in your wondrous bravery. 

You wished you didn’t go.

The smile that was on your face disappeared within a second. You relaxed your face and walked towards the left, a dire desire to leave.

“Please, Y/N. Let me explain myself—” 

“How many times are you going to apologize, Joshua? Actually—how many times are you going to mess up? You know what? Don’t even talk to me. If I look at you any longer, I’m actually going to start feeling sorry for you.”

Joshua’s eyes were big and sad, “I—”

Jun pushed him with his shoulder, making it to you. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder. “You heard her.”

You turned around and walked off with Jun.

Guilt swarmed through you, you felt that you were too harsh, you knew that yourself. The sorry in his eyes were prominent, so prominent that they shouldn’t be ignored. He was genuine—it was an innate characteristic of the Hufflepuffs and he wanted to make up for his mistakes. 

Why were you such a bad person? 

He’s a Hufflepuff.

“God, is it bad that I feel bad?” you asked under your breath, moving Jun’s hand away from you.

He smirked, nudging you with his shoulder. Nevertheless, you appreciated that he kept his voice down as your teammates fitted nicely into their own conversations. 

“Look at you being soft…no it’s not. He shouldn’t have reacted like that regardless. He basically minimized your problems.” 

How, though? You wanted to ask. How did Joshua minimize my problems when he was only trying to diffuse the heated problem between Bradley and I and was trying to make sure that no one got hurt because, in truth, that was the best for all of us? Plus, he didn’t know about my circumstance, that’s not his fault.

The realisation of your self-acceptance of the situation only made you want to bang your head on the nearest wall.

—

When Ainsworth came through to Ghoul Studies class the next day, you had to bite back a smile that was coming onto your face. There was no Jun to nudge and talk to about how his fingers were cuffed in bandages.

“Oh, Ainsworth. What happened to you?” the teacher asked, a frown settling on her lips.

“He fell off his broom during practice. It’s horrible, isn’t it?!” one of his many fangirls asked the teacher. You put your hand on your mouth, seeing how dejected his excuse was. So that was the excuse he gave to others? Ainsworth didn’t acknowledge you at all, taking a seat rows in front of you so that he couldn’t see your face.

You leaned back against your chair and smiled to yourself slightly for the rest of the class. When the class had finished, you were off on your feet swiftly to find Jun. But there was no seeing him come out of his Transfiguration class at all. You decided to pop in, at last, seeing McGonagall packing her things up with her wand. You couldn’t hold back your words at your least favourite teacher.

“Using magic for selfish needs, hm? You’re always telling us not to do that.” you scolded pretendingly, crossing your arms together across your chest. Her books nearly dropped her books down to the ground at you being in her class.

“Merlin’s beard, having you in this class four times a week is already a hassle but having you here for another day is just too much.” she sighed, shoving her wand into her robes. Abruptly, she smiled, causing you to do them. As much as you didn’t like her as a teacher, the woman reminded you of yourself at some times—the way she scolded students and her comebacks that were so blazing. They almost proved you wrong too but if it wasn’t for your own cunning remarks, you and McGonagall wouldn’t be in this puddle of disagreement and sharp words that pricked your flesh like a broken mirror.

And not to mention, there was a point in time where you were close to her. A dark time for you.

“Mr. Wen, I presume?” she asked you, walking out of the classroom. You followed her towards the door, getting there before her so you could open it wide for her. She had some things in her hands. “Thank you.”

“Of course, always. Where is he?” you asked. “Or did he skip again?”

“Ah, not this time.” the teacher told you. “I let the class go a minute earlier so I assume that he’s already feasting in the Great Hall. Very fidgety, something to tell him? Confess?”

“Oh, professor!” you exclaimed, putting your wand that you were playing with into your skirt. The teacher’s smile was not to abstain, she was undoubtedly amused at your behaviour, although, she got the wrong message. You were only excited to tell Junhui the message of Ainsworth behaviour in class that was amusing. “It’s nothing like that! Jun…please.”

“Well, the two of you seemed to be very close. One could only think so,” She was going to turn right and meaning she was going to the staff room because of the number of books she had. “Eat well, I’ve got to go drop these books.”

You couldn’t believe you talked to her nicely after these past two years.

You nodded. “You too. Bye, professor. Have a good day!”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. Though, there was no regret in them, only slight embarrassment that you would be soft around the Gryffindor. Oh, you couldn’t help it. She’s done many things for you, you could only do the bare minimum. McGonagall’s face softened. She didn’t say anything back, so you turned around and kept walking down the hallway, the aroma of food filling your nostrils quickly.

“L/N.”

You whipped your head at her. She was rooted in the same spot, her hands holding the books as if she was going to put them on the floor right then. There was an unreadable expression on her face that even you couldn’t decipher for the life of you. It was like McGonagall was questioning everything at that moment until she covered the look with a smile.

“Yes, professor?”

“If you ever need to talk again, I’m always here for you.”

You blinked a couple of times.

The nights of crying in her office were soon brought back, clenching your heart tightly. That was two years back but it felt like a lifetime away from the warm sense of her office. She was so kind to you and all you’ve been was a rude student. 

You still remembered not being able to sleep and going to hers or Snape’s office to sit there for a while just to bask in their safe presences before they would accompany you to the dorms again. It was crazy how you let it all go like it was nothing when in truth, every moment filled you with delight that someone was there for you besides Jun. 

And then, you looked at her for the house she was in. That she was just a Gryffindor, that she was not worth your care or respect.

It was a betrayal at its finest.

“O-Of course, professor. I’ll see you tomorrow for class.” Your heart pulled itself as you stepped away, walking towards The Great Hall, the aroma no longer satisfying your senses. Instead, all you could do was drown in sorrow. That was the first time in years that you spoke to the woman like another human being. You still remember being in Dumbledore’s office the day after it happened. 

FLASHBACK

“How can you let this happen, Professor Dumbledore?! How could you let such an occurrence happen to my daughter?!” your mother yelled as you held your father’s hand tightly. It felt like shame in there, you felt as if this was all your fault. Being sexually assaulted earned this trauma on you—one you couldn’t decipher then, but all you knew was that the worst came out of it and it brought the weakest side of you out. You hated it and you hated everyone. There was the thought that it could happen again.

“I apologise dearly, this shouldn’t have happened at all,” Dumbledore spoke calmly.

“Is this how you always handle situations like this, professor?” Jun’s father asked.

“Putting him in juvenile and serving time in Azkaban for a few years is not enough for you, Mr Wen?” Dumbledore questioned. “I have expelled him, he has no future at all now.”

“Her Quidditch Captain raped her and now you’re not offering anything to her. Counselling is the least you can do.” your mother yelled again. Tears pricked her eyes, drowning your heart in your stomach. Seeing her cry took a toll on you, one that felt like the worst burden in the world. You grabbed her wrist and pulled her to sit down beside you. It was quiet for a second.

The night was cold on October—it was evidently fall and the hushed breeze let in by Dumbledore’s window aroused the hairs on your skin to come to standing. 

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry that I couldn’t protect you.” Your mother’s hands shook as she held your face. It was sadistic—the way that guy was making you all feel, the trauma he put you and your family through. An empty hole formed inside of you, destructing you painfully slow. The sobs that reeled from you didn’t feel enough. Nothing would feel complete, nothing felt right.

“It’s not your fault, Mum.” Your hand weakly grabbed hers as you looked into her eyes. She simply pulled you into her chest, letting the two of you sob. She knew how broken you were from it because for once, you were genuinely crying sad tears in front of her. “It’s not your fault, don’t cry.”

“I know but you didn’t deserve that. At all. You’re the sweetest girl I know and you got—I can’t even think how traumatic that could’ve been.”

“It is truly such a thing nobody deserves—getting their body taken advantage of without permission. I am extremely sorry you have to receive such pain, Ms L/N. We have offered your daughter counselling. She has rejected it kindly.” Dumbledore continued.

“You rejected it?” your father asked. “I demand you go.”

“Dad, I can’t,” you said, looking back at your father. Talking about it would only make you feel pressured and labelled.

“I don’t care, Y/N. You have to go—”

“Don’t force her. She doesn’t have to go if she doesn’t feel comfortable.” your mother said. “But—you have to, at least for two weeks, okay?”

Your breath hitched in your throat but you nodded. You had to do it for her and maybe, you might be able to cure. You had hope.

“I assure you Madam Pomfrey will take great care of her,” McGonagall told, nodding at your parents with a small smile.

“I hope so, Minerva or else I’ll have to be filing a complaint to take Hogwarts down.” Mrs. Wen started. She was definitely a force not to be reckoned with, she was powerful among the Ministry of Magic. Even in her own house where she demanded what she wanted when she wanted it. You’ve witnessed it yourself.

“Also, the teachers are always here so don’t feel burdened to go tell them what you’re feeling at any time.” Dumbledore told and your family seemed to have taken that bit a bit too seriously.

—

“Severus, I don’t care what you think but you need to be taking extra care for her. My daughter is everything to me.” your mother said.

“You have my word, Mrs L/N. I will watch over her, no doubt.” 

“We’re serious, we’re depending on you for her journey to better mental and physical health—oh, come on, Severus. Look at what that boy did to her, look at her bruises.” your mother pleaded.

You stayed silent like she had told you to be.

“If you are asking me to take special care of her, I, unfortunately, cannot do that for you. She is like any other student to me, I—”

“Please. Give her some lack for a few months and take good care of her. I assure you that’s all she needs.” your father interrupted, his eyes glowing.

Your bloodline ran with Slytherins and above all, your parents and Snape went to school at around the same time. 

Snape looked over at you, his cold eyes unfailingly bringing light into you. They had convinced him.

“Don’t worry about her.”

FLASHBACK ENDED

You roamed the halls with the reminder of those days, your shoulders weighing heavier than a minute ago.

“Hey! Hey! Wait! Wait up! Pretty Slytherin Captain, WOAH—!” A scream rang through the empty hallway. Before you could turn to see who it was, they thudded into you on the left corridor, causing you to almost knock over to the ground. 

“Man, what the—”

You stopped when your eyes met with Hirai Momo’s.

“What do you want?” you asked, putting on your blank face. Momo seemed jumpy, considering your thoughts into if she was drunk or not. There was no scent of alcohol this time so it gave it away. You were wondering what she was doing here instead of being at The Great Hall where she would be with him.

“I just- I just—damn, that was a long run,” she said, puffing out large breaths as she located her hands on her knees.

“Alcohol damages the lungs.” you slipped out smartly but you didn’t expect her to let out a giggle at your words.

“Thank you for that by the way. Sniffing my drink.” Momo stood up fully, something folded in her hands. Her smiled weaved you in like a distraction.

“I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” you said, shrugging.

“Uh, I don’t really remember, remember?” she laughed, an attempt to reduce the tension in the space between the two of you. 

“Why are you here?” you asked straight away.

“Right!” She passed you the folded parchment but it hung from her grip as you didn’t try to take it from her. You found it a waste of time to be talking to her when you knew exactly what it was. Could he have been dumber than to think you would accept such a thing?

“What is this? An apology letter from Joshua?”

She laughed again. “Oh my God, no! It’s your test paper! You dropped it the other day. Although, an apology letter would be too far.”

You were enlightened, grabbing the parchment at your wrongness. You didn’t expect a Hufflepuff to be so easygoing—but since when did you know? Just now. Thanks to the fact that you never mingled with others in different houses. Even those who opened their hands for you. Like McGonagall.

You never realised how much of a pain-in-the-ass you were until that moment. Momo treated you kindly and you refused to even look into her eyes for a second longer because it made you seem weak. It did not. You were just discriminative of other houses.

“I agree,”

“Honestly, I thought you would be scarier to approach than this. Was everyone lying to me?” Momo asked, her smile brighter than the Sun. The way her eyes crinkled made you think that she was in fact completed of natural beauty. 

“Yeah, well, I need to go tell my team to jump on you for even thinking about talking to me after this. So don’t be surprised when it happens,” you told as you folded the test paper. You slipped in into your Ghoul Studies textbook, silence flying from Momo’s side. You would sort it out later when you go back to your dorms. 

You wondered why and then you realised what you said. She had to have been scared.

“Joking,” you said blankly and then continued walking down the hallway. The girl followed you, laughing. 

“Please. I thought I made the biggest mistake of my life, I was so scared!”

“Yeah, your soul left you.” you agreed without an expression.

“It felt like it…! Hey, I just wanted to apologise—“

“For what?” You looked at her dead in the eyes. She didn’t falter one bit.

“Come on!” she exclaimed, dropping her smile as she stamped her foot charmingly on the tiled floor. “What Joshua did was so not cool! You know, he doesn’t shut up about you in the dorms but he doesn’t even know the inkling details about you?!”

Your stomach felt like it was full of butterflies—something you took seriously. Because when Momo said that, you didn’t feel like yourself. You heated up at the thought of him talking about you a lot. 

“I tried to stop him that day but he was such an idiot and—“

“I know, I saw,” you interrupted her.

“I just hope you know, he’s extremely, super-duper sorry and I’m sorry that I didn’t slap him when he said that. He won’t stop looking at you from a distance and he’s just not himself these days.” Momo stopped at the entrance of The Great Hall, just at the side of the door so no one could see the opposite houses talking to each other. You respected her for doing so.

“Yeah, sure…he can come to me and apologise to me properly and I’ll think about it.” What a liar—you just want to talk to him again. No, I don’t—

Her eyes lit up. “Seriously?!”

“Does it look like I’m joking?”

“No, no! I was just making sure! Oh, thank God. I’ll tell him later tonight if I happen to bump into him, if not, tomorrow! Thanks so much!” Momo opened her arms.

You pursed your lips together. She quickly noticed, pulling her arms back together. “Right, you don’t do hugs. Ah! But thank you, I’ll see you around! Have a good day.”

“You too.”

Momo entered The Great Hall. 

You tilted your head slightly, finding yourself going over the conversation in your head as you leaned against the brick wall. You felt light talking to the girl, she radiated the vibe that you could tell her anything and she wouldn’t judge you for it. You smiled. Maybe you should get to know the other houses and possibly, Joshua too. 

And what the hell is this thing I have for Joshua? I know I am not falling for his ass.

—

He managed to weave into your dreams in the dead of a full moon night. How did your mind let it happen? It felt so calm and this dream soothed your mind into relaxation you never felt around the boy. It felt like the discrimination between Slytherins and Hufflepuffs didn’t even exist. Like you were away from the real world, just the two of you basking each other’s warm presence, fulfilling each other with comfort.

Joshua laid in your lap in a meadow of tall sunflowers, sun rays dawning on you two, too bright to be real. The two of you were sitting on a picnic mat with food set aside, seemingly have eaten already. 

You couldn’t feel anything. No sadness was felt, it was like everything was going right for once in your life. However, there was a slight difference in you.��

Scars...your old scars that used to make you feel disgusting. He took your hand and kissed them. One by one. Slowly. While smiling at you. And then, you shot up in your bed.

“Fuck—” You grabbed at your scalp. Sweat beaded your forehead as you frantically looked around your room, your heart racing from the dream. It felt so real, so real you had to look around to blink back the reality in front of you. The boy had easily milked his way into your dreams—how? How?!

You thrust yourself off your bed, quickly finding your slippers beneath on the dark oak floor.

“Ssh!” one of your roommates said in her sleep. You didn’t mind her, leaving the room immediately. You went down to the luxurious common room your dormitory had to offer. A few students were still awake, not to your surprise, other seventh years. You looked at the time. It was two in the morning.

You nodded in acknowledgement at one of the seventh years prior to leaving the dormitory. It wasn’t permitted, of course. But you didn’t care at this point, things were going too far. It seemed like even when you were trying to console yourself that this wasn’t real, that it wasn’t happening for real, the rush of the possibility of having feelings for Joshua would always beat it. Truth be told, you still had the slight anger for him because of what he had done in the past and that included the chocolate situation from the beginning. You didn’t like how he was so easygoing around you but then again, why did he need to be scared of you? You guys were classmates, he didn’t need to cower in your presence. 

Ahhh! I don’t know! Why am I like this?!

The darkness welcomed you once again as you sauntered the hallways aimlessly. The coldness brought you in like a friend you didn’t like and you started to regret not wearing something to cover you. You were only dressed in a nightdress, silky and soft to the touch.

“Lumos,” you whispered, ignoring the harsh words from the prior-sleeping portraits. Your mind was finally clearing a little.

“L/N? Is that you, young lady?” a cold voice asked. You stopped in your tracks, feeling the hairs on your skin rise. You reached your wand outwards a little, meeting Snape’s face.

Screwed.

“You know the rules. No roaming after hours. Come with me to my office for your detention slip.” he said.

You sighed. “Come on, professor. You know me!”

“Minerva is in the next hall. It’s either you get it from me or receive multiple from her and points off the house.” he whispered,

You didn’t answer back, you just followed him to his office. Detention seemed to be no remedy to your problem, however, a walk to Snape’s office was one because you felt like your head was clearing even more. Maybe you couldn’t come to a conclusion to this cluster of feelings but you were at least feeling like you got fresh air in your lungs.

Even though a detention slip was now in your hands because of your careless actions. 

You sat in front of him, the slightest feeling of dissatisfaction nagging you at the back of the head still. The thought of his lips on your skin kept playing on repeat in your head, an aimed loop to make you fragile.

“What do you think about a Slytherin falling for someone else who isn’t a Slytherin?” you asked suddenly. Silence occupied the space, Snape’s eyes sparkling into yours. His office already felt empty as it was with no fire lit up to warm it up and only moonlight shining inside. You were sitting in nearly utter darkness. “You know what—“

Snape sighed. “I obviously don’t get paid enough for this. How bad are we talking about this crush?”

You gasped. “Crush? No! It’s just— I had a dream that I and he were together and it’s really bothering me. It’s so weird of me telling this to a teacher, right?”

“You have no idea how many confessions I got from Pansy herself this week about her obsession with Malfoy itself. Who is the kid?”

You felt the inkling of curiosity from Snape.

“Joshua Hong...”

You expected no reaction from the teacher but he raised a brow and that in itself was a lot for you. It felt like he was really taking in what you were saying and you knew you were lucky to be on his good side. Though, a teacher is always a teacher. “A Hufflepuff? Hm, work out your own way.”

You weren’t going to get anywhere with this, especially with Snape. He was too closed off for your own good, you rather have a girl-to-girl chat about this with another teacher whom you were comfortable with. Though there doesn’t seem to be a teacher that you could talk about this to. Which is why you got up, letting the chair skid back a little.

“Fine, professor. Have a lovely night.” 

You exited his office with the detention slip in your hand. “Lumos.”

Walking down the hallway, you felt a little heavier. The dream was still fresh on your mind and it messed you up so bad on the inside. Obviously, you were not used to this kind of dream, especially from a Hufflepuff. If the dream was rather about Jun or another Slytherin, the two of you would laugh about it. But the dream had to be about him. His lips, were so plump and soft when they touched your skin. It was like you could feel it. 

Was it just admiration for his beauty? Was a question that remained unanswered. Although having his lips pressed against yours was something you wanted to feel too, did it answer the previous question? 

A figure was walking down the hallway, causing you to shine your wand at the person. You gulped immediately. How was this even possible?! 

You had to be seeing things! 

Seeing him as a hallucination could also prove to be just as bad. But you didn’t want to believe it.

Joshua jumped back. “I’m only here to see Professor Sprout! I came here with permission!”

“Why the hell are you up so late?” you asked

Joshua was shocked least to say that you were standing there in front of him. You were too, you were also better at hiding it. He paused for a second, gawking into your eyes. Dressed in simple striped blue pyjamas, his black hair slightly tousled, you were brought back to your dream. His divinely heavenly smile, the way the sun sparkled in his eyes, how you looked at him like he was the entire world—

He avoided eye contact as you welcomed his sincerity through. Joshua was just a package of sincerity in himself. He was not one ounce of bad blood but you treated him like he was.

“I had to deliver a complaint from a student…” he explained quietly.

“This can’t be a coincidence.” you pressed on. You didn’t mean anything bad when you said that, you were rather talking to yourself because of the dream you just had. His lips looked just like they did in the dream.

“Oh, come on, L/N. I’m not stalking you, okay, I just—“ You acted out of instinct, suddenly cornering him against the wall. You forced your eyes to look at his pretty face, letting the butterflies come in and settle in your stomach. There was no way you had him cornered against the wall right now but you had to see this for sure. 

“it seriously can’t…this really can’t be.”

Joshua was red under the grip of your wand as he looked to the side. It was like you were contradicting what you said earlier about him touching you. But you could tell Joshua Hong liked it from the redness of his face and his completely relaxed figure against the wall. So you continued.

You pushed a knee beside his left thigh, locking him in place.

“I’m not—“ 

“Be quiet,” you whispered, drawing his face closer with one hand, examining it in full detail. Whether this was a hallucination or not, you only started accepting the fact that this boy was actually pretty. Your heart was speeding just looking at his face. You forgot about the problems you had with him as your eyes followed his nose, lips, hair and back to his eyes, all defined and sculpted by the heavens to fit him. If someone had told you he was an angel from heaven, you wouldn’t question it one bit.

Finally getting a hold of yourself within the lost maze, you threw his face to the side, your fingers slightly piercing his cheeks. You moved off of him. 

Joshua furrowed his eyebrows at you. “What was that about—“

“Your mum.” You left.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: u got to the end!!!

here's the poll as promised, i'll make my decision in 24 hrs

TAGLIST: @just-here-to-read-01 @lixiel0ver @tyongf-sunflower99 @09yyeol @17milktea @meltinghershey @xxxxrvexxxx @violets-are-you @amethyistheart @yourfavoritefreakyhan @ddaengpotate @mythicalamphitrite @kkooongie @wooziwooziwoozioioioi @blissedjoon @raevyng @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @marvelouslimelight @xuimhao @ti--red @sevenpersona @renjunphile @ak6ko @sbnchaos @seungcheolswife

[randomquietkid]

Surfboards and Sketchbooks

JJ maybank x shy artist y/n

You see JJ walking to the water with his friends and find him a great person to draw. So that's what you do, you'd love to give it to him but your too shy. Your friends have a different plan

(Hope you enjoy. Honestly don't know how i came up with this idea, pretty sure I came up with it in the shower...this y/n was based off of me so sorry if she is a little biased. As always if you enjoyed it please don't be afraid to send in requests <3 there is a pinned post on my page of all the characters that I would write about. I really like how the story ended and would totally be okay with leaving it like this but if you want a second part I have ideas)

Enjoy <3

Trigger warnings: none. If I missed any please let me know :)

Y/n POV:

While I was sitting down on a towel while my friends put sunscreen on I saw this guy with blond hair and a surfboard running to the waves with what I'm assuming were his friends. "Do you guys see that guy with blond hair running to the water with a surfboard" I questioned. My friends were always supportive of my artistic expression, I normally always had a sketchbook with me and I would always stop us so I could draw a random person I saw that looked interesting. "Umm yeah" Ginny said Teddy looked in the same direction as Ginny and nodded as an agreement. "I think he looks interesting, I'ma draw him" I said as I got my sketchbook and pencils out, yes I brought a sketchbook and pencils to the beach. "Well are you going to show him" Ginny questioned, Teddy was barely paying attention to our conversation about my new muse as she got out a sandbox to build a sandcastle. Yes she is 16 and yes she is building a sandcastle. "Who do you think your talking to" I said surprised she was still trying to convince me to give my drawings of random people to the random people. Ginny just rolled her eyes. "Yeah whatever. I'm gonna tan" I mumbled an okay as I started my sketch.

"Do you think it looks good" Teddy asked me as she pointed to her sandcastle that she just finished ironically just as I finished my sketch of the mysterious blond boy and just when Ginny woke up as well. "Yeah. I'm impressed how much detail you could get in since it is sand" I said truly impressed by her sandcastle. Teddy mumbled a thanks as she finished off some final details. "So how's your sketch going" Ginny questioned as she got up off the towel and walked over to me so she could see my sketch. "It's good. The guy and his friends got out the water a little bit ago so I could make out his face better which helped. But other than that I'm done" I smiled proudly, as I got older my portraits got better and more realistic and this just looked amazing. Normally I don't like my drawings but today was something different. "You know who would like it" I asked who she continued as I put my signature in the bottom right corner "the actual guy who you sketched this after" "you know I would never go up to some random person and be like" hi I just drew you" I can't do that. I can barely talk to my teachers without getting anxious" I told Ginny. "Well it doesn't mean I can't" I was about to ask what that meant but in a blink of my eye she took the sketch from my hands, grabbed Teddy for emotional support and started walking to the guy and his friends. OHH MY GAWDDDD. I'm literally going to kill her when she gets back. No way I'm going over there now that she's actually talking to him.

Author's POV:

Ginny was dragging Teddy by the hand over the the guy and his friends to show him the picture her friend drew of him. No way she would let

y/n ruin another opportunity to show people how talented she was just because she was shy and gets anxious talking to new people. "Why are you taking me with you Ginny" Teddy questioned "cause it will make this easier" she answered. Though Ginny was way less shy around new people than Y/n was she still liked when there was another person she knew with her. As Ginny and Teddy approached the group of friends they turned around to look at the two with confused looks. "Umm can we help you" she turned to look at the girl who said that. "Yes. What is your name" Ginny asked as she pointed a finger at the blond boy. "JJ" the blond boy now known as JJ answered. "Cool. Well my friend over there" and she pointed towards y/n "she drew this. She saw you and your friends going towards the water and thought you would be a great person to draw so she drew you" she said as she handed JJ the drawing of him and he and his friends looked at it. "Wow this is amazing, why didn't she want to give it to me herself" JJ asked as he looked over at the girl that drew him. "She's really shy and gets anxious around new people she always has, whenever she sees a person that she wants to draw out in the world she draws them and never gives it to them and I'm tired of her talent not being recognized so I stole it from her and now gave it to you" Ginny finished looking at JJ. "Well she's really talented" the girl who first greeted them said. "Yep. Well we better get back to her before she leaves us" "it was nice meeting you" Teddy said and waved goodbye as they walked back over to their friend.

"Wow I've never had anyone draw me before, this is amazing" JJ said admiring the drawing again. "Yep, looks like someone might have a little crush" John B teased as he saw JJ's bright cheeks. "Nah dude" JJ said breathlessly as you and your friends made your way to y'all's car. Who was this girl? JJ wondered. Would he ever see her again?

[poguestvff]

Used To The Cold — S. Cameron

In which Sarah Cameron comes to a realization after her girlfriend moves across the country.

taglist | main masterlist | 2.0k words

warning(s): none, fluff, i heart sarah <33

Have you ever lost something that held either so many memories or brought a sort of happiness that just warmed you immediately even at the sight of it? Most people have something like that. Such as for children when it comes to losing stuffed animals or action figures that were a source of comfort, they missed it like hell. Said children grow up and look for a new source of comfort. Some teenagers found it in weed and alchohol, others in sports. For Sarah Cameron, she grew out of the beautiful pink blanket her father had gotten her as a toddler. As she grew into a teenager, she found a new solace.

Her girlfriend.

Sarah made it very apparent to show her love to her girlfriend who, at one point, was just her best friend who she could hardly even bare to be away from. Sarah had known she'd loved Y/n before they even got together by the way Sarah had never felt claustrophobic in the friendship that she held with the other girl. She said the three words within the first six months of being with her, words she had never spoken to another being other than her family. It was a word she, personally, took seriously. For her to say it to Y/n showed the amount of trust she held within her. Trust to not feel so closed off with Y/n.

At the beginning of the relationship, Sarah was glad that not much had changed between the two of them. That Y/n let her have her space whenever she needed it without the dependent need to be together all day though it quickly became backwards. Sarah grew even more clingy to Y/n, hardly able to deal without her hands being stuck to her girlfriend like glue. Whenever they went out to lunch, Sarah played a one sided game of footsies that only brought a smile upon Y/n’s features, one of Sarah’s favorite traits about her. Sarah loved the idea of always having a person to call her own, Y/n seeming to be the one person who could bring out her newfound touchiness. Though, sometimes she pondered on whether Y/n herself was even handling it or if she just ‘put up’ with it. If she did have an indifference towards Sarah’s actions, she surely never showed her disinterest in it.

Though the last time Sarah had held on to her girlfriend felt soul crushing and gut wrenching. As the two of them stood on the creaky, wooden dock just before the ferry, Sarah felt drained. Between the amount of crying she’d done in just the past few days had been enough to make her want to sleep forever and the comfort of her girlfriends arms around her hadn’t helped that feeling. Tears held a steady stream down both of their faces though Sarah was the one who was unable to contain her sobs. People passed around them, solemn looks given to the two of them as they listened in on the sniffles and soft wails.

Y/n didn’t need to be a genius to understand that this was twice as hard for Sarah as it would be for her. Y/n was leaving, miles away that Sarah couldn’t even pin on when the next time she’d being able to hold on to her would be. All she knew was that this embrace that Y/n held on her would be the last one for months and there wasn’t a thing that would be able to make up for it between now and then.

It evoked an indescribable sort of fear within Sarah but she knew it was immutable. If Sarah could, she'd even drop her whole life within Outer Banks to follow her girlfriend across the world. There wasn't much Sarah wouldn't do and there wasn't much Y/n wouldn't do for Sarah either, including the moving date having already been pushed back a month because of Y/n's several arguments with her parents.

"I don't want you to go." sarah whispered as y/n kissed her neck. She could hear the blonde's pained and wavering voice, how affected she already was even as Y/n hadn't even stood on the boat yet.

"I know, lover." the y/h/c girl spoke in a low tone, only sarah able to hear her words of affirmation. Y/n was first to pull back, placing her hands on Sarah's cheeks. The sight of Sarah with puffy eyes and a quivering lip made y/n's heart throb and a guilty feeling blanket over her like a raising tide. "i'll visit. Every chance I get, you know I will."

"It won't be the same." she lamented. Y/n placed her lips against Sarah’s, delicately as if the blonde were made of porcelain. When Y/n's parents had called for her and Ward and Rose had called Sarah away from the dock, Sarah only seemed to want to cling further, fingers pressing further into the thin jacket Y/n worse, but their time had finally run out. Even after weeks of pretending that they had all the time in the world, like nothing could pull the two of them apart, it had happened.

The first few weeks, the whole Cameron house had known Sarah spent most of her nights crying herself to sleep and the entire Y/l/n house knew Y/n was not going to be speaking to them for a little while due to their newest decision. Both groups of parents hadn't known that pulling the duo away from one another would become such a quagmire for each of them.

When Y/n did finally decide to talk to her parents, it was usually to say she was leaving to explore the area in which she refused to get to know the first few days. With a driver license, it gave her just a bit of freedom from her parents who's impromptu decisions had still caused for a tearing in their familial relationship.

Y/n sat in her parked car, a hot beverage in hand to adjust to the cold in which she'd just stood in for five minutes. All of it for a drink that wasn't even that good in her opinion but she dealt with it. With the hand not holding the steaming drink, she opened her phone, smiling immediately at the photo of her and sarah as her background. She unlocked it, scrolling around to find Sarah's contact and setting her phone up against the dashboard. While it began to ring, Y/n situated herself to begin to drive. "Hi, Y/n/n!" Sarah shouted excitedly the second she'd answered.

At her tone of voice did Y/n laugh. The enthusiasm was no surprise but it was funny to Y/n every time. "Hi, baby." She replied, fhe smile remaining on her face as she looked towards the screen. Sarah sat at her desk, her hands under her jaw though a pencil between her fingers. She had focused all of her attention from the papers in front of her to the driver on the other end of the phone. "What are you doing?"

The sound of whizzing paper had made Y/n glance to the phone seeing a math sheet now replacing Sarah's face before she placed it back down, a frown appearing on her features. "Math."

"Didn't you just start like two days ago?" Y/n asked, taking a sip from her drink.

"Yes and this teacher is an absolute bitch. You're just lucky you don't start for another week. You would hate Mr. Henley."

Y/n let out an awfully dramatic gasp. "Um, hello, Mr. Henley was literally my home room teacher last year, I'll have you know. Show some respect." She said, almost missing Sarah's chagrined look as she smiled.

"You're supposed to be on my side here."

"Sorry, i don't believe in biases, Sar." She joked for sarah to let out a small snicker.

"So tell me, how's minnesota?" Sarah asked, trying to spark up a conversation even if the distance was the same thing she wanted to keep her mind off of.

"Oh, it's so great. So many hot people." she remarked.

"You're not funny, no one has ever found you funny." Sarah replied though unable to hold in her laugh along with her girlfriend. "I'm serious. we haven't talked much about it and i don't want to like... avoid your new life now."

Y/n sighed, looking towards the phone to see Sarah looking back down at her work in front of her. "Fine. Well, it doesn't particularly suck. The no surfing part definitely does, though, but what can you do. And the coffee here... no, its just so bad, babe. granted, i only had one, and it's in my cup holder right now but it's gross."

"My coffee making is better, right?" Sarah asked as Y/n gave a hefty nod.

"So much better, even if it is the only thing you're good at making." Y/n laughed and Sarah attempted to refuse a smile, her cheeks quivering from trying to keep it down. "But the weather dropped today, randomly. It was seventy yesterday, fifty today but i think i'm getting used to the cold."

Sarah lifted her head back to the phone, watching Y/n focus on driving, her eyes diverting on places away from the screen. Sarah but at her inner cheek, drumming her fingers against the white wood that rested under her forearms. "Used to it?" Sarah asked. She knew Y/n's move was permanent at least until she was eighteen but something about those words made it seem more realistic. She was getting used to a place that wasn't home.

Y/n hummed. "Yeah, i'm probably being dramatic. I saw a guy walking around in a tank top and shorts while i'm wearing double pair of socks right now." she grinned at her own comment though picking up on Sarah's sudden discomfort when she replied with a small 'wow'. "Lover?"

"Yeah?"

"What's going on?" Y/n asked, the car slowing to a stop at a red light.

Sarah quickly shook her head. "No, it's nothing. Just... the work. Keep your eye on the road."

"Sarah." The blond recognized the tone of voice quickly.

"Just... I just fully realized how permanent this is. I won't see you until, what? December? That's a long time, Y/n! And, i get it, it's your home now and i can't do anything about it but—"

Y/n was quick to cut her off. "I never said this is home. Sure I live here but it's just a couple walls and a roof. It's not home, Sarah." Y/n began. "Home is you. And trust me, i've been missing home the second i got on that ferry."

Despite them having to look at one another through a glass screen the feeling—the connection between the two of them was still felt. Sarah could feel the normal warm feeling she would've gotten whenever Y/n would simply hold her hand or brush her hair over her ear. she held that much of an effect on Sarah in person and somehow even thousands of miles away.

Sarah hadn't even realized she had been staring for a total of twenty seconds until a singular tear fell down her blushing cheeks. she quickly sniffled, recomposing herself as she wiped it away. "Are you seriously making me cry right now?" She muttered with the way the atmosphere had become though relishing in the way Y/n laughed in response.

"Yes, thank you for ignoring everything i just said, lover." Y/n put the car back in drive as the light went green. Due to the steets being relatively empty in her new small town, she took the time to look back over at the phone to Sarah. "I love you."

Sarah's smile widened in thag very moment, pursing her lips before pushing them out. "I love you more."

"And don't worry. I won't get to used to it. I'll be back home, to you, before you even know it." Y/n took a small glance to the phone, enjoying Sarah's gaze that showed even with the distance put between the two of them, they'd be fine.

[obeymeluv]

The Bros and School Headcanons

I have other stuff in mind but this is something short I can put out for now.

It’s my headcanon on the types of school/college people the bros are. I guess you can consider it college AU?

Lucifer

The Type-A asshole everyone probably hates

Doesn’t originally start out that way, doesn’t mean for people to hate him. Soon LIVES for it. Seriously, it’s like his coffee.

Prideful AF. MUST be top of the class!

His motto: “Do it right, do it once.”

Runs on an insane amount of coffee and just as insane (read: little) amount of sleep

The type to remind the teacher about assignments that were due in class if it seems like they’re going to forget about it

Asks about extra credit on day one

If people ask repeat questions that were LITERALLY just answered, he gets pissy and silently suffers

Ends up a little sad and burnt out, wondering if the grade was worth skipping out on other opportunities

Says he’s not going to do it next semester, but gets addicted to that grade high

The “friends” he makes in class are usually fellow rivals and they have a hot and cold relationship that somehow works really well

When he drops the grade-chaser stuff, he’s actually really nice to be around. He has really deep, interesting conversations that are between philosophical and educational (you just have to pull his head out of his ass first)

Mammon

Some people wonder how he got into the class, some people wonder how he’s passing it

Mammon is the dude who looks like he doesn’t know about the subject but is an absolute FOUNTAIN of knowledge

Always has sunglasses on and has some kind of drink within arm’s reach. Usually a very big coffee with lots of espresso

Constant bedhead (even if he says he fixed his hair)

Tried sitting in the front row the first week, kept getting sleepy. Now sits in the back row towards the doors.

He’s either early or late. Never on time.

The one that brings a notebook and a pen to class. Nothing extra.

Usually falls asleep or cat naps. Says he learns through osmosis

This asshole is really good at auditory learning and gets by recording the lectures

Blows through exams like they’re nothing. He’s a good BS’er and gets C’s, minimum. Usually low B’s.

This guy laughs at the Type-A stresser’s and enjoys his minimum studying

Can be suckered into group studying fairly easily but most people won’t study with him because he turns study sessions into anything BUT studying

Knows people who know people. Could probably get his hands on old tests and stuff. If he can, it’ll cost you. A lot.

Levi

This poor baby has testing anxiety hella bad when it comes to subjects he’s not super interested in or that he’s already struggling in

If he likes the subject and feels confident in it, there’s no testing anxiety.

Also brings a drink to class. It’s an energy drink.

Always comes to class early and is usually in a pair of wireless headphones, browsing on his phone

A great visual learner.

His notes are written sloppily and kind of sporadically but they’re decently organized with notes in the margin and things like that

Doesn’t like asking questions out loud. Will either email the teacher, ask after class, or make a friend that isn’t afraid to ask them for him.

If he’s having a good day, he’ll try to make jokes that only make a few people laugh. It’s usually bad timing and he’s a little sad.

MUCH BETTER AT DRAGGING PEOPLE! It’s not something he thinks about. It just slips out! Before his face can overheat, he realizes people are laughing and he kind of basks in it for a while.

Has coordinated stationary; is probably animes he’s into or colors he likes

If he has a laptop, it’s absolutely smothered in stickers

The BEST guy to have a study session with. Something about being in a library or quiet area ramps up his focus and he’s like a second-hand teacher.

Very different from his in-class persona, but is often spot on with ‘If I were the teacher, I’d put this on the exam.’

Want to be friends? Comment on his merch. He’ll start a conversation if he sees a shirt/pin/bag/pencil or anything he likes. It helps if you offer Starbucks or snacks in exchange for being tutored

Satan

Takes pride in his grades but doesn’t go out of his way to make people hate him

Will casually drop his grades when asked, but won’t own up to being the top grade. Very vague (”I did okay. Just like I expected.”)

He more or less enjoys the satisfaction of seeing a good grade come back to him after all that studying

Prone to over-thinking

Probably the first one done, but he’ll do 2 or 3 look overs to check everything before turning it in

Low-key exhausts his professors with written assignments because he gives them a fucking book. It’s all technical and correct but, really, it was only supposed to be three pages!

The one that will yell at the obnoxious people interrupting lecture. Will throw things at them if they’re in reach.

Super protective of his books and class materials. Has a hoarding/scooping reflex when messy people spread out their stuff or unwrap food. The books are not to be desecrated!

If an obnoxious eater/drinker is beside him, he thinks about strangling them to the point where it distracts him from lecture

Usually reads ahead and works ahead

If he gets points off of something, he’ll want an explanation. If he feels the points were taken away unnecessarily, there will be words

If he gets too overstimulated with noises or just hits a point of being fed up, he’ll leave lecture

Rarely brings food or drink to class but can be found at the Starbucks on campus before class. Maybe after. Some days it’s both.

Best notes around. Very technical and perfectly organized. Not colorful or anything, but definitely the envy of people.

Sells his notes/study guides each semester for money

Asmo

That guy who can slide into any friend group

Socially sharp. Can tell who the most prepared are and has an instinct for who the strongest class partners will be

Makes friends with the TA’s before the professors.

Totally convinces that TA to give him hints about the upcoming exams

People either love him or hate him. Most people love him, some people hate them because they can’t be him.

Almost always has a drink and it’s rarely the same. Usually a healthy smoothie or one of the cute juice drinks from Starbucks.

The type to bring in outside food and pick at it while he listens to lecture. Tries to listen, anyways.

Really easily distracted. Gets bored with monotonous voices and HATES teachers who just read off of a powerpoint.

His notes are very colorful and aesthetic but may not be the most informative

Does his best to stay on top of assignments but usually has 2 or 3 big screw ups a semester

Somehow always gets his ass saved. Boy has good karma in stock

This is the guy that things ALWAYS seem to work out for, and they fall in his lap

Proposes cute/semi-extravagant study dates. They are rare and exclusive. Extended to a few choice people (no, it’s not to sucker anyone into giving him class notes.)

Aim’s for C’s because anything more is just a bonus. D’s and F’s are unacceptable.

Will drag a bad partner in a heartbeat. If they didn’t help in the group project, their name isn’t going on it.

Beel

Also one of the types that doesn’t look like he belongs, but he does

Is a fountain of random knowledge

Very strong memory, but not perfect. The type that needs a little push before the absolute WALL of information comes out.

Really strong test taker

Brings tons of snacks to class

Once brought a whole-ass meal to class. He ate it one-handed and took notes with the other.

The guy that somehow gets roped into favors by other people. It’s usually quick stuff and he’s good about setting boundaries to make time for himself and his studies

Want him to study with you? Mention about splitting a pizza or something.

Your hype man. Good guy to reassure you before tests if you get test anxiety

Sick and skip class? He’ll check in on you AND send copies of his notes

Doesn’t always get assignments in on time. Only late once or twice a semester. Either eats the point difference or convinces the teacher to give him an extension.

Will take you out for post-test fun errands

Belphie

Does he exist? You won’t find out until it’s time to take an exam.

Belphie does a lot of research before he signs up for a class. Would like to go 100% online but knows that isn’t realistic, so he combs teacher reviews to get nice, easygoing professors

Has a photographic memory, so all he really needs are the powerpoints and to check out reference copies of the textbooks from the libraries

Tries to take the same classes as his brothers so he can swipe the textbook for a bit

If his only option is a morning class, he DEFINITELY picks the same one as one of his bros to make sure he gets up and goes

More of a night owl

The one that’s addicted to caffeine, stays up all night, and somehow gets 7 assignments done. Has periods of intense focus then it’s back to not knowing what day it is. He just wants sleep.

Usually seen with Beel or Satan. Tends to show up at events with free food.

Loves finals week when they bring in dogs and pets.

Has wireless earbuds and is always listening to a podcast, Tedtalk, or something soothing

Catnaps through class. Even if he’s woken up from a dead sleep, he can answer whatever snarky question someone asked

Takes advantage of the meditation classes and alternative therapy walk-ins promoted by the Mental Health Clinic. He really likes guided meditation with singing bowls.

[ghosttotheparty]

like a wildfire burning up inside my lungs (i'm burning up)

also on AO3

Sometimes we break so beautiful And you know you're not the only one

Sander has never broken like this before.

He’s never felt his heart break from the inside out, like there’s a pressure pushing it open, like cracks spreading over ice. He’s never ached like this, like his body is longing for something that he can’t find. His arms feel too light, like they’re going to float off at any minute, his legs feel too loose, like he’s going to collapse on the ground in a pitiful heap.

Which he does.

He doesn’t sleep, even though he has his sleeping bag spread on the ground. He ends up curled in on himself next to it, his arms wrapped his legs, forehead pressed so hard to his knee that he can’t even feel it, one hand gripping his other wrist until his nails dig into the skin, almost drawing blood. He can’t feel that either. 

He stays there for hours, crying until there are no tears left in his eyes, until his face is sore and his lips dry and cracking. He stays there until his back hurts so much he can’t move, even when he wants to. There are ink stains on his fingertips and charcoal under his broken nails.

His throat is dry from hyperventilating. 

It hurts to breathe.

He feels like there’s something missing from him. Something important, like his lungs, his heart, something vital has been ripped from him with no warning. He feels like the only thing in the universe, like he’s all that’s left after the world has ended, even though there’s a blanket of feeling draped over him like a net. He can’t get it off, he gets tangled in it with every breath he takes, with every movement of his arms, his hands curled into tight fists, his shoulders hunched up high by his ears, his eyes squeezed shut tight. 

But I only have myself to blame

'Cause I'd still love you just the same

He doesn’t remember when last he ate. 

He thinks it may have been at the hotel, a plate of pasta that he shared with Robbe, the taste clouded by weed smoke and mania, washed down with glasses of champagne. He didn’t eat the hospital, couldn’t make himself. Even as his stomach growled and ached, the sight of food made him feel sick. Still does. But he doesn’t have to worry about it here; it’s not like he brought any with him. 

He also hasn’t bathed or changed his clothes. Every time he runs his hands through his hair it sticks up and stays. He wonders if there’s charcoal or ink caught in it, a stark contrast against the slowly darkening white. As he lays on the floor, night cast across the room like a blanket, he tries not to think about how much he wishes he could wash it, how much he wishes he could take a shower and go about a day like anyone else. But he barely has the will to roll over. When he finally does, he can hear his joints and back crack from disuse. He shuts his eyes. But he can’t sleep. 

There’s too much happening in his head. He remembers every little thing he’s done, hasn’t done, needs to do, wants to do. He remembers surprising Robbe outside the hotel, remembers the way Robbe smiled and laughed. He remembers every homework assignment he hasn’t completed, every portrait and study he hasn’t even started, and he feels guilty for spending every second he could spend on those on drawings of Robbe. But he can’t imagine doing anything other than drawing him. When he finally can move, can make himself move, he ends up in the chair he spent hours in the day before, a backless chair that he sits on the edge of as he bends over the desk in front of him, his eyes only on the paper atop it. 

He took some time the day before, maybe an hour, maybe four, carefully taping and pinning his drawings to the walls of the room. Above the desk, pencil and charcoal portraits of him, closeups of his face with those beautiful eyes Sander loves so much, a drawing of the two of them laying in Robbe’s bed, an overhead shot that Sander imagines the scene would have looked like if they were in a movie. (He wishes sometimes, that they were. Then Robbe would show up, his night in shining armour, and Sander would be fine. Everything would be. But that’s not how real life is, and if he thinks about it too much, if he lets himself fantasize, he gets himself hurt. So Sander stays realistic.) He has photos of Robbe too, pictures Robbe had taken the night they broke into the pool, pictures Sander had snapped of him when he wasn’t looking, just because he looked so perfect. 

There are drawings around the room, too, messy sketches that Sander hates because they aren’t quite right, messy scribbles of black ink that don’t look like anything but felt good to get out of him, like the ink was flowing from his mind and heart to the end of the brush. He stumbles around glass jars and wooden shelves as he puts them up, leaning over old radiators that don’t seem to be working anymore. 

For the love, for laughter, I flew up to your arms

Is it a video?

When he finally can text Robbe, he does, but he doesn’t know what exactly it is. Not an apology (though there’s one burning in his mind that he longs to say), not an excuse. A warning, a deterrent. As much as he wishes he could kiss him again, as much as he wishes he could hold him, be held by him, he can’t let himself do that to Robbe. He doesn’t think he can handle seeing Robbe’s reaction to seeing him in this state. Just the thought of it, of seeing the pain in Robbe’s eyes, the horror, the disgust, makes him feel sick, makes his stomach lurch and his head feel light. 

“Everything I do is Chernobyl. I can’t protect you from the fallout.”

The hint isn’t intentional. It’s just the only way he could think to explain it. 

He cries when he sends it, tears fogging his vision of the screen, the brightness blurring until he can’t read Robbe’s response, and he tips his head back, letting the tears fall from the corners of his eyes before looking back down and telling Robbe that he’s somewhere safe. Part of him just wants Robbe to know just that. That Sander isn’t out on the street. But he supposes later, when he thinks about it, maybe a part of Sander’s subconscious wants Robbe to find him. 

And he does. Of course.

He’s so gentle with Sander. Even as Sander pushes and shoves at him, tells him, his voice broken with unshed tears, to leave, to stay away. Robbe reaches out to him, trying to catch his arm or his sleeve, his arms still outstretched when Sander storms away back to his desk, hiding his face, and he knows Robbe is looking around the room. He’s embarrassed, he can feel his face on fire, every nerve in his body screaming at him to leave. But he doesn’t. And neither does Robbe. 

He comes closer, even though Sander feels like there are a million reasons he shouldn’t, and he crouches on the floor next to Sander. Sander can feel his eyes on him, and he doesn’t look back. Robbe reaches out, his voice so quiet he’s almost whispering to him, across scattered drawings and sketches on the desk, and touches him. 

remember me

remember me

remember me under the sun

Sander is tense. He doesn’t let himself turn his hand over, twist his fingers into Robbe’s, pull him in and bury his face in his neck. 

“I thought you’d…” 

Sander hurts. 

He wants to collapse, to fall to his knees and sob, to let himself break once and for all, to let Robbe see it. Maybe it’ll scare him off for good. 

“Look at me. Look at me.” 

There’s a slight smile on Robbe’s face, his eyes are wide and his gaze intense. He looks so small. But when Sander finally looks at him, looks him in the eye, he can barely look away. Robbe looks so desperate, so hopeful. He should be in school right now. 

Sander almost tells him, but Robbe’s eyes say that he wouldn’t care. 

Robbe says he loves him. 

And Sander doesn’t know how to respond. 

He’s heard it before, an I love you that fades, an I love you with a terms an conditions. 

But somehow at the same time, he believes him. There’s just the faint remainder of doubt, and then Robbe tugs at his hands, pulls him up, murmuring soft “Come on”s, until they’re standing in front of each other. 

He knows what Robbe is going to say before he says it, the little “Minute by minute.” It’s like it’s been said to him before. 

O helga natt, du frälsning åt oss gav

Robbe kisses him. 

Sander does his best to tell him everything he’s wanted to tell him, everything he could never say with words, everything he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to say with words. 

And he lets himself break.

And Robbe holds him together, whispering to him as Sander’s legs give out and his hands clutch at him. 

This isn’t their first time loving each other. 

And it won’t be the last. 

But Sander doesn’t have to think about that right now.

I breathe you in so sweet and powerful

Like a wildfire burning up inside my lungs

I'm burning up

[homesoutofhuman]

Locked in- Duncan Vizla/Reader one shot

Request for the fanfic trope challenge- Trope 1: Locked in a Room, Trope 2: Unexpected virgin. 

Pairing: Duncan x female librarian! virgin reader

Warnings: explicit sex, swearing 

a/n: I’m not a big fan of ‘it’s her first time but five minutes in she’s riding him like a mechanical bull trope’ so I tried to make it more realistic, forgive me.

"Is anyone in here?” calls a deep male voice that resonates through the stacks and almost makes you drop the box of books you’re holding.

“Yes I am but just don’t let the door…” you groan in dismay as you hear the heavy metal door slam closed “...shut.”

Peeking out from the shelf you see Duncan rubbing his moustache and looking at you guiltily. “Sorry, I didn’t know it would lock like that.”

“Yeah it’s for security.”  you answer ruefully, walking towards him feeling awkward now that there are just the two of you in a small room. Duncan is so tall he takes up a lot of space, and his chest is broad...damn, it’s getting hot in here.

“For the books?” he looks so confused, scanning your face with apologetic puppy eyes as if to see if he’s going to be scolded.

“Some of them are precious.” Grabbing one of the shelf you show him a first edition of Alice in Wonderland. Duncan bends his head next to yours and gazes at the vibrant fresh illustrations. You feel his eyes on your profile as you turn the pages.

“I see, yes, beautiful.”

You look at him sharply and find his eyes fixed on your lips.  You press them together self-consciously and his eyes grow warm, flicking down your body to where the top of your blouse has come undone as you strained to lift the box to a high shelf. He lets out a sigh so heavy it brushes your cheek and gives you some welcome relief from the growing humidity in the room.

“If I had to be stuck in a room with someone I am glad it’s you.” he murmurs, suddenly and unexpectedly gentle.

You are a little stunned, having got to know Duncan casually over the last few weeks since he’s been teaching his class, you greet him every morning and say goodbye every evening, but you were unaware he’d even noticed you, never mind treasured the small conversations you’d managed to snatch in the faculty lounge, usually about books, sometimes about travel and all the different places he’d visited. Truthfully, you are in awe of the man, he has seen and done so much while you’ve been stuck in a small town, loving your job and your responsibilities, but never really quite living in the way he has.

“Yeah.” he answers in a heavily accented voice you can never quite pin down. You love his voice, so deep and alluring, but now it’s giving you issues, reminding you of all the secret fantasies you have about him when lights are out and you touch yourself, it always starts with him talking to you, looking at you just how he is right now.

Duncan notices your erratic breathing, your hardened nipples through your blouse, the way you’re looking at him like you’re starving and he’s some really good food and he finds he cannot control himself any longer. He grabs your arms and pushes you up against the stone wall between the stacks, towering above you, at least twice your size. You feel like a helpless animal in the clutches of a predator. He bends down and just takes your mouth, kissing you like he has every right to do whatever the hell he wants, but gentle at first, testing your reactions, seeing how you whimper when he licks inside your top lip, how you groan when he bites the bottom one.

Affected despite himself you feel him pressing against you, hard and solid and so warm. Duncan flicks open a few more buttons on your blouse and presses his mouth to the exposed skin, sucking hard. Your eyelashes flutter as you look down at him, lost for words, your knees almost buckling beneath you. Duncan lets go your arms, gently grasping your chin between his thumb and forefinger so that you are forced to meet his eyes.

“Look at me” he commands almost sternly “do you want this?”

Holding his gaze bravely you nod in affirmation “Yes Duncan, I want you but…”

Duncan pauses, his jacket half off his shoulders, looking at you questioningly. You smile at him fondly and help him take it off, pushing at his roll-neck in frustration, you want to feel his skin. “But you should know something. I...never really did anything like this before.”

Distracted by your words, Duncan lets you continue to undress him, so you get to run your hands over his bare chest and down to his pants before he stops you, his large hands capturing yours as you attempt to undo his belt. ”Wait, you’re teasing me. You really never…?”

Shaking your head you feel a blush moving across your cheekbones and down your neck. You want to sink into the ground at his feet. How can you explain that living in such a small town you never found the right person? That everyone was either too old or too young, how they wanted to go to sports games and drink beer and didn’t understand you- your craving for culture, for stories, for wisdom of the world. Until Duncan appeared in your life and brought everything you didn’t even know you needed.

“Shit.” he mutters under his breath. “Guys in this town really are stupid.” He rushes at you then, kissing you passionately, winding his hands in your hair to tilt your head just right, hardly letting you breathe between each long, hungry kiss, stealing your breath and making you shake in his arms. His hands move down your pencil skirt and squeeze your butt, bringing you closer to him with a groan.

“Your first time really shouldn’t be here though, but god knows I want it to be with me.”

Stammering you quickly try to reassure him. He’s got you so crazy you know there is no way you want to turn back now. You feel like you’ll die if you don’t have him, and some of your desperation seeps through into Duncan, so he nods, dropping to his knees in front of you. “If you’re very sure?”

Nodding so hard you almost wrench your neck you gape as he rolls up your skirt, exposing your stockings underneath. He raises his eyebrow and gives you an amused look. “Little minx.” then pressing his lips to the top of your thigh, his fingers tracing patterns down the backs of your legs, helping you out of your shoes.

“Lie back little one.” he murmurs, and without your heels you do feel even tinier beneath him. Duncan smooths out his jacket to give you some protection from the cold floor and resumes his place between your legs, kissing up and over your underwear, his eyes dark and focused, so much you’re scared to disturb him from the trance like state he seems to be in, but when he pushes aside your panties and puts his mouth on you, you cannot help it and let out a loud whimper, your hands shyly caressing his hair and down his neck as he licks at your sex, his tongue gentle but insistent against your clit. It makes you feel hungry and you squirm against him, wanting, needing more. He pushes the tip of his tongue to your entrance but doesn’t breach it, and you moan incoherent words, begging and pleading with him.

“You’re so wet gorgeous.” he informs you, raising his head with a fond look in his eye, and you see to both your arousal and your shame that his facial hair is glistening with your juices. “I’m so glad I’m the first one that gets to fuck you, it’s a crime that you’ve been left wanting so long.”

You realise his dirty talk is turning you on further, and you’re almost writhing on the ground by the time he’s finished teasing you. It seems to go on for hours, you almost black out as Duncan keeps you on the edge of orgasm, working his fingers inside you gently and gradually, so you won’t feel too much discomfort. For his part Duncan has never been so hard in his life, he wonders briefly if it’s possible to die from blue balls, and if so if it’s a technique assassins should add to their arsenal. Still, he doesn’t get off on causing people pain, and no matter how much he wants to just shove himself inside you, make you scream, he repeats a mantra in his head to keep the animal contained, you are precious, you deserve everything.

Sometime during the sweet torture, Duncan’s got you naked, and when he stands to finally undo his belt he looks down at you, your neck covered in red marks from his teeth, your nipples dark and erect from his mouth, your cunt dripping wet onto his coat. Duncan swears if he dies in this fucking locked library heaven could not be sweeter than the sight in front of him. You see his eyes tracking over your body and you do not feel shy anymore, you move your own hand between your legs, watching him pull his boxers down, his hard cock spring out. It’s even better than you imagined in your dirtiest dreams, thick and dark just like the rest of him. It’s big, looks like he’s going to split you in two. You realise our desire for him is so strong you don’t even care if it hurts anymore, but that doesn’t stop the slight shiver of fear at the bottom of your spine as he lines himself up with your virgin entrance.

“Fuck beautiful…” Duncan swears under his breath watching you touching yourself as his dick touches the wetness of your pussy lips, he tips back his head and takes some breaths. You stare at him wondering why he looks like he’s in pain, and realise his reluctance to damage you.

“Duncan please…” you whisper, deliberately seductively, wiggling your hips and speeding up your fingers on your clit “need you.”

He gives you a look that’s at once loving and despairing, and pushes his way inside you gradually, but not stopping until you’re completely joined. The pain is nothing you haven’t felt before and you feel yourself bearing down on him, wanting to show him you’re okay. Duncan watches you, his eyes barely open, his mouth hanging agape as he watches you fuck yourself on him. He grabs your hips to still you, shaking his head.

“I’m glad you’re okay but let me show you how it’s done baby girl...let me have this privilege.” His soft words surprise you enough to let him take back control and he starts a steady but slow rhythm, thrusting into you, groaning with every movement, and his words grow less gentle as he feels you clenching so tight around him. “Let me fuck you…”

“Yes Duncan…” is all you can say to reassure him, but it seems enough. He bends over you, lifting your legs up gently so he can deepen his movements. You enthusiastically wrap your legs around his waist, wanting to please him. Duncan gives you a deep kiss as reward.

His movements inside you start to feel less uncomfortable and more pleasurable as time goes on, and despite everything the fact that’s you’re so intimately joined with him makes you dizzy, makes it all worthwhile. You can tell he’s getting close, his handsome face screwed up with concentration, his hair damp on his forehead, but his thrusts inside you do not falter, as if it would kill him to stop.

Grabbing his hand you place a kiss on his palm before pushing it between your legs, letting his fingers replace your own. Duncan moans in reply, and the sound is more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard him. He bends his head to suck at your breasts as he continues to rub at you while thrusting a little more sloppily inside you.

“Wait, I want to come with you inside me…” you beg and he gives a shudderingly hard thrust in reply. You start to convulse, feeling the heat coil from your hips up your body and making you shake against him and release, crying out his name.  Duncan groans, his mouth on your nipple as he finally gives in to his own pleasure. Realising that you probably don’t have a birth control method set up he reluctantly pulls out and finishes, pushing himself between your thighs, looking down at you possessively.

You feel overwhelmed, and are vaguely aware of Duncan laying down next to you, covering your body with his own. Your eyes run up and down, taking in his athletic, graceful build and you lean to caress his lower back. Duncan gives a little jump, his dick stiffening slightly and you look up at him in awe.

“Already?”

Duncan shrugs, cuddling you tightly “Seems you have that effect on me liebling. Are you all right?” he asks, solemnly, but without pity. It is the enquiry of an equal, and you appreciate it.

“I need to go take a shower but other than that I’ll be fine.”

Duncan looks down between your thighs. “Sorry.” but his dick twitches again and you hide a smile, he enjoys making a mess of you.

You doze a while in his arms, but are awoken by him shaking you gently. “The school janitor will do his rounds in a few minutes, you should dress before he arrives.” Duncan helps you into your clothes and buttons your blouse right up to the top. You blink at him questioningly and he shrugs. Scoffing, you undo one button and watch him sulk slightly, amused that he is so territorial so soon. The janitor frees you both, to your blushes and Duncan’s awkward explanations, you see him just rolling his eyes and sweeping the floor as you lean into Duncan’s side and giggle.

He laughs in response, a loud sound you’ve never heard from him before and hope rises in your chest that this wasn’t just about sex. You leave him at the school gates where he tells you sternly to call him when you get home safe. You’re barely inside the doorway when your phone starts to ring and when you answer it you hear a familiar voice on the other end- gruff but somehow soft.

“I was thinking we could get ‘locked in’ my cabin this weekend, what do you say?”

“As long as you’re gentle with me Duncan” you reply, moving to the bath to soothe your aching muscles.

“I can’t promise that.” he replies, as you sink down into the hot water you shiver with anticipation for all that’s to come.

=========

[starker-endgame]

Hello! I think it would be epic if there was a fic of Starker where Peter is trans and got hurt because of it being in a place where he wasn’t able to defend himself and tony comes to the rescue and it’s just great hurt/comfort and all the gorey bits would be great! I love really heavy angst

Yes to this! Beautiful prompt! 

Notes: I am not trans nor do I know anyone close to me who is, so I had to do a ton of research. I am so sorry if I got anything wrong or if something isn’t right. Also, a HUGE trigger warning. Please do not read if you are triggered by violence and transphobic slang.

Warnings: Transphobia, discrimination, violence, bullying.

Word Count: 1.9k words!

Request prompts here!

Polly Parker and Tony Stark have been life-long friends. They’ve been glued to the hips for practically their whole lives, thanks to both of their mothers being best friends.

They told each other everything– there were no secrets between the two– or so Tony thought.

They were in their first year of high school when Tony figured something was up. Polly started dressing differently, always wearing loose or baggy clothes that were way too big for her, and started distancing herself from her other friends. She was close to pushing Tony away, as well, but Tony wasn’t going to let that happen. 

“Polly Pocket, please tell me what’s wrong,” Tony pleaded one day while they were sitting in Tony’s backyard, both of their backs against a tree as Tony read and Polly sketched.

“There’s nothing wrong, Tones,” Polly huffed out. Tony watched as she took her bottom lip between her teeth, something she normally does when she’s not telling the truth. She continued to sketch, and Tony watched for a good few seconds as her hand move gracefully across the paper, before sighing. 

“Polly, you know you can tell me anything. Remember in, what fourth grade when we vowed to never keep secrets from each other?” Tony said, a frown playing his lips. Polly hates when he’s sad, because it makes her sad. And Tony knows that.

Tony watches more as Polly sets her pencil down and then closes her sketch book, taking a deep breath before looking over at the boy she’s been friends with since diapers– the boy she’s loved since fourth grade. 

“Anthony… I– I’ve just been feeling… different. I don’t really understand it fully… but…” She drags on, and Tony cocks an eyebrow at her. He knows where this is heading, and his eyes turn sympathetic. 

“Polly! If you’re feeling this way, it’s totally normal. You’re not different. Do you know how many lesbians go to our school? Everyone is so accepting of it and–” But Polly cuts him off.

“Oh, God, no! Tony stop, that’s not it! I– I like boys… It’s just… I feel more like I am a boy, too.”

And, oh. That’s definitely not what Tony was expecting. It took him a minute to process fully what Polly was saying, but after a minute, a smile broke out on his lips.

“So, you’re what, transgender?” 

“You could say that, yes.” 

Tony was right by Polly’s side when she went to get her first hair cut. Her once long, brown hair that went down to her mid-back was now styled in a fluffy pixie cut. Tony would never forget the way her eyes brightened and filled with happy tears when she looked in the mirror for the first time. 

Tony was right by Polly’s side when she went shopping for more masculine clothes the first time. He was there to help her figure out what style of clothes she liked best. Tony would never forget the way she stood in complete admiration as she stared her body up and down the body-length mirror.

Tony was right by Polly’s side when she came out for the first time after Tony to both of their mothers, his hand holding her’s tightly as they all cried silent tears as she spoke how she felt. Tony will never forget how broken her voice sounded when she asked everyone to call her Peter and to start using he and him pronouns. 

Tony was right by Peter’s side when his first chest binder came in the mail. Tony would never forget how Peter cried in his arms for what seemed like hours after he tried tried it on for the first time. ‘It looks so… Flat, Tones… Like a boy’s chest.’ 

But Tony wasn’t by Peter’s side when he got beat up for the first time.

“If you want to be a boy, you have to fight like a fucking boy,” Flash snarled, pinning Peter up against the lockers in the quiet hallway. The final bell had rang, and Peter was already running late as he scrambled to his books. He wasn’t expecting Flash to be on the other side of his locker door when he shut it.

“Flash, please,” Peter said brokenly, his eyes pleading for Flash to let him go. Ever since word got out about Polly Parker being transgender, Flash and his group of minions started giving him a hard time. 

“You used to be so pretty, Polly. Oops, I mean Peter,” The bigger boy spat out venomously. “It’s just too bad you have to be a fucking shemale or tranny or whatever the fuck you are,” 

And then Flash released him, and Peter let out a sigh of release. It’s over, he thought. He was just saying stuff. Nothing more. But then, a fist comes colliding with his jaw. Peter’s eyes welled up with tears at the pain because fucking hell that hurt like a bitch. 

And they just kept coming. Flash threw fist after fist until finally Peter fell to the ground. The hurt boy was sobbing now, curling in on himself as he tried to make himself as small as possibly.

“What’s wrong, tranny, can’t take a little heat? You need to fucking man up.” Flash growled, and that’s when the kicks began. Flash kicked hard at Peter’s legs, at his chest, at his stomach. And every time foot made contact with Peter, it burned. Peter could feel the blood dripping from his mouth and nose, and choked a bit on the liquid from sobbing. 

“Look at you, you’re fucking pathetic,” Flash said, spitting down at Peter’s face. “So fucking pathetic, what a waste of space you are.” 

And then the kicks stopped coming. And the words stopped being said. And then footsteps were being the only thing heard throughout the hallway. However, Peter could barely hear them over the ringing in his ears. 

Peter laid there, sobbing, for a few more minutes before finally lifting himself up off the ground, groaning as the pain made itself more noticeable. Blood continued to drip from his nose and mouth.

And that’s where Tony found him. 

Tony had to piss. Bad. So, he raised his hand and asked to be excused to the bathroom. He was grateful when his maths teacher handed over the pass, and quickly made his way out of the room. 

He hummed a bit as he walked the familiar hallways to the bathrooms and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Peter. His Peter. And holy shit, Tony’s never seen him look so bad. 

Tony rushed over to Peter’s shaking figure, running his fingers through that soft, short hair as he used the sleeve of his sweatshirt to try and stop the blood from Peter’s nose. 

“Oh, God, Pete, what happened to you? Who did this to you?” He asked, voice trembling. Peter didn’t reply and just continued to stare straight ahead.

Tony ended up carrying him out to his car, and taking him home.

It took Tony approximately two days to figure out who did this to his Peter. Flash Thompson, a senior and best football player on their high school team. And fuck anyone who thought that Tony Stark was just going to let him get away with this without any consequences.

So, once the final bell rang and school was dismissed for the day, Tony waited outside by Flash’s car, twiddling his fingers and biting his tongue as Flash made his way over to him.

“What’s up, Tony? Can I help you?” Flash said innocently, as if Tony didn’t know what the fuck he did to Peter. Tony couldn’t even speak, but instead let his fists do the talking as he swung fist after fist, just like Flash had done to Peter.

Flash fell to the ground, and Tony followed, not holding back, even when his knuckles made a crack! sound. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he continued to abuse the boy below him. 

And Tony only stopped when his body physically couldn’t handle it anymore. He stood up, admiring his work as Flash laid there, now being the one crying. “Huh? How pathetic. Looks like you need to man up.” Tony spat. “Don’t ever come close to Peter again. And if you do, it’s going to be ten times worse.” And with that being said, Tony made the trip back to Peter’s home.

Tony was right by Peter’s side as he bruises healed, offering his support and getting the icepacks when Peter asked. He’d never forget how bad the boy’s bruises looked or how long it took them to fade away.

Tony was right by Peter’s side as they walked into the school’s office for the first time after the incident. He sat between Peter and Flash, placing a comforting hand on his boy’s thigh as they listened to what their principal had to say. ‘Flash and Tony, you’re both in the wrong. We’re going to have to suspend you both for a week.’

“Thank you for sticking up for me, Tones,” Peter said as they sat against their tree. “It means the world to me.”

Tony looks over at him, taking in the view of Peter Parker. It was hard to believe that it was only a couple months ago that Peter came out to him in this exact same spot.

“I’d do anything for you. You’re my best friend, Pete.” Tony shrugged, eyes lingering another second before turning their attention back to the book.

“Yeah, best friends forever.” Peter nodded, returning to his sketch. Tony smiled and glanced over again, catching glimpse of what Peter was drawing. Tony scooted closer to get a better look. His eyes widened a bit, and a smile broke out on his face.

“Is that me? Pete, it’s looks so realistic!” Tony complimented. Peter’s head snapped up, not realising how close Tony had actually gotten to him. They were face-to-face, and Tony couldn’t force himself to look away from Peter’s brown, doe eyes. “Peter, have I told you how handsome you look?”

“You’ve mentioned it a couple times here and there..” Peter whispered out, a blush spreading across his cheeks. Tony brought a hand up, running his thumb over the soft skin of Peter’s face. There was still hint of a bruise there, and Tony frowned as Peter flinched a bit.

“Can I… Can I kiss you?” Tony asked after a moment of silence, and Peter sat in shock. Tony Stark– his basically life-long crush wanted to kiss him? He had to be dreaming. Right? 

But he nodded his head anyways, and Tony finally closed the distance between them. It was most definitely not a dream.

Tony was right by Peter’s side when they graduated high school together. Tony would never forget how lovely Peter looked in his black cap and gown– the colour that the boys were wearing.

Tony was right by Peter’s side when he started testosterone. Tony would never forget how much deeper his voice would get throughout time, and how facial hair started forming on his once smooth skin.

Tony was right by Peter’s side when he got his top surgery. Tony would never forget how Peter squeezed his hand right before the surgery, and how he cried happily after the surgery was done.

Tony was right by Peter’s side as the two boys walked down the pier at one of New York’s harbour. Tony would never forget how Peter’s eyes lit up and eyes got watery as Tony got down on one knee and asked for his hand in marriage.

Tony was right by Peter’s side as they shared their vows with each other. Tony would never, ever, forget how handsome his boy looked in his white suit as they shared their first slow dance together at their wedding as husbands.

fin.

[vampwrrrmistresslist]

Winter

Rated 18+

“Mmm, Yixing…” Zhang Yixing looked down in dismay, watching as you lovingly faked your way through another orgasm. You were very good at it—soft and sweet, and imminently realistic. No glass-shattering screeches, or siren-like banshee wails. In fact, if he hadn’t been inside of you when it happened, he would have sworn that it had been real. His pleasure greatly diminished, he rolled over onto his side, and pulled your body tightly against his. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing the length of your body to him. He could sense the tension strumming through you, so he gently stroked your smooth, curving bottom until you relaxed. 

Your face was buried in his neck, his hand still tangled in your hair. He knew that you loved him, just as he knew that you were aroused by him. But here you were, on the last week of your three-week honeymoon and, to his knowledge, you had yet to have an orgasm. At first, he wasn’t surprised. You had been a virgin when you married, so he knew that the first few times would be an adjustment for you. However, now he was starting to worry. You didn’t dislike sex…he knew that as truly as he knew his own name. He knew that you loved being with him almost as much as he enjoyed you. Within three weeks, he had seen you blossom from shy, sweet, eager virgin, to generous, willing, sensual lover. Yixing couldn’t understand why you had yet to climax. You had done a number of things…in a number of positions…in a number of places, but within several days, he started to suspect that you weren’t reaching your peak. Unlike you, Yixing was no virgin when you wed. He had never been too wild, but he had been in a few sexual relationships—enough to know how it felt when a woman came on his cock. He remembered feeling dry-mouthed at your wedding reception just thinking about your sweet little butterfly flutters moving up and down his hard shaft while you softly breathed his name in his ear. He sighed. He just didn’t know what was wrong. You had yet to say no to any of his advances—in fact, several times, you had seduced him. While you were together, your body told him that you were aroused. The flush under your bronze skin, your tight little cinnamon nipples, your dilated pupils and darkened irises, your accelerated breathing, your elevated pulse, your writhing, trembling body, not to mention the delectable wetness that literally dripped–dripped–from your swollen sex, down your soft thighs, all told him that you wanted him. Yixing was a biology professor at Duke University, whose Ph.D from Tsinghua University had been on human sexual response. He knew what arousal looked like. You had been a law student when you two met, though you both waited until you had graduated before seriously dating, in order to quell any rumours on the surprisingly small campus. The first few times that you had been in each other’s company, he had thought you cold and methodical. Upon seeing you more and more however, he realized that, though you were methodical, cold couldn’t have been farther from the truth. Once you opened up, you were charming, loyal, conscientious, and…as he had learned in the last two weeks, exceedingly passionate. Yixing kissed your warm shoulder, while you purred, and snuggled closer, breathing slowly regulating into that of sleep. He didn’t know why you weren’t reaching your release, but he was going to find out before the honeymoon was over, and real life came between you. ************************************************** Yixing awoke to the enchanting sight of you bent over, plump caramel buttocks, courtesy of a Kenyan grandmother, peeking insouciantly out of your cream-coloured lace boy-shorts as you reached between your legs to attach your garters to your silken stockings. “Good morning to me,” he slurred in a sleep-roughened baritone. You glanced at him from between your legs, then slid a hand under your long, thick, wavy, warm chocolate brown hair to help flip it back over your shoulders as you straightened. Smiling invitingly, wearing nothing but a matching creamy lace bra, panty, and garter belt set, and pale, golden, finely worked silk fishnet stockings, you slowly crawled up the bed to him. Straddling his hips you slowly stroked your hands up and down the sides of his chest. “Good morning to you, lover,” you responded, leaning in for a kiss. Yixing turned his head and stilled your arms. “Ehhh…not before I’ve showered. You smell amazing,” here he inhaled the warm, humid air that still held notes of your blood orange whipped bath soap, “and I’m chock full of morning breath, and fresh urine.” You wrinkled your nose and laughed, gracefully removing one leg and letting yourself fall on your back beside him. “Oh, Dr. Zhang, you always know just what to say.” He lasciviously grabbed a handful of smooth, soft thigh, and squeezed before rolling out of bed, and sauntering to the bathroom. “A gentleman knows never to touch a lady while he’s unshowered, unbrushed, and still covered in questionable substances from the previous night.” He turned in the bathroom doorway to face you. “I’m filthy–” You rolled quickly and easily to your knees, hands planted on the bed, looking for all the world like something straight out of his most fevered transition year fantasies. “I like it when you make me dirty, Dr. Zhang,” you purred dulcetly, in your husky Southern drawl. He laughed, delighted. “Behave yourself, you impertinent young chit! I’m a man, not a sex-machine!” You fell back on the bed, rolling with laughter, while Yixing affected a long-suffering expression, and went in for his shower. When he emerged, you were fully dressed in a figure-hugging cream wool pencil skirt, five inch black leather heels, and an iridescent golden-ebony silk button-down shirt. He held the towel negligently around his narrow hips, water still dripping from his raven hair. “I just don’t know, darling,” he started, shaking his head sadly, while his black eyes twinkled. “Are you sure that I’m not overdressed?” he finished, indicating his lack of clothing. You turned, your large hazel eyes widening at the sight of his bare torso, water trickling slowly and lovingly down his sleek frame. Giving a breathless little laugh, you rejoined, “I’m sure that no one would have the temerity to complain against such a well-tailored ensemble.” Yixing grinned, letting his towel slip casually from his hips as he walked over to pull clothing from his suitcase. Tossing the towel over his shoulder into the bathroom, he savoured the feeling of your eyes on him, as he took his time dressing. Oh, no…whatever the problem, a lack of desire from you were not the cause. A sudden knock at the door startled Yixing from his thoughts. He turned to you and raised an eyebrow. “Room service,” you explained. “I know how much playing with me tuckers you out, old man.” He grinned. Though he was only five years older than you, it was your running joke that he had robbed the cradle while you were busy robbing the grave. He walked over to the door, and opened it to a bright young bellhop who wheeled in the brunch cart. Yixing tipped the bellhop, who playfully saluted him and left, whistling cheerily. Lifting the silver lid from the various dishes on the cart, he looked at you in delight. You shrugged. “You worked pretty hard last night, Yixing-mine. I thought that you deserved something more than the usual croissant and coffee this morning, so I asked them to make something a bit more substantial for you.”

Yixing happily eyed the fluffy herbed omelette, steaming croissants, rich hot chocolate, and strawberries arranged artfully over creamy yogurt. “Oh, I knew that there was a reason I married you.” “What can I say?” you asked, sitting on his lap and putting a cool, sweet strawberry to his lips. “I give good room service…” ************************************************** Stepping out onto the streets of Paris a short time later, you walked arm in arm on your way to go exploring. You had spent each week in a different French city, culminating your honeymoon in the City of Light, and though you knew that you probably should do the culturally relevant thing, and see as many museums as possible, you were really enjoying just finding whatever you could discover on your long walks. This morning (okay, afternoon) however, you had an appointment to take a boat ride on the Seine. Yixing watched your swaying bottom, as you made your way up the gangplank ahead of him. He suppressed the animalistic urge to drag you under his body and thrust into you until your body had no choice but to give you an orgasm. He shook his head to clear his mind of those thoughts. If he kept thinking like that, he’d embarrass you both. The boat ride passed happily for you two, with you laughing in delight as the wind made short work of your previously artful coif. Shaking your head in surrender, you removed the pins holding up your hair, and let the wind tangle it around your face, making you look like a gamin little fairy. Yixing just watched you. He loved looking at you. Your artless delight with life never failed to make him want to protect you, and join you, in equal parts. It didn’t help that you were a neat foot shorter than he. Though he logically knew that you were well equipped to take care of yourself, having studied krav maga at your father’s knee, there was a primitive part of him that wanted to shield you from the depredations of the world. He sighed and watched as the wind blew your hair straight back, making you look like a wild siren. After your boat ride, you took a stroll down the Rue Montorgueil, so that you could explore its open-air market. Yixing purchased a wicker basket for you, and then held it as you flitted from stall to stall, slowly filling it with various vibrant fruits, freshly baked pastries, and rich cheeses. You took a meandering walk to the Parc Monceau, found a secluded spot, and shared a leisurely picnic. Yixing loved to watch you eat. He felt like a secret pervert at mealtimes. You were just such a sensual eater. He didn’t think that such a thing existed until he met you. When you bit into something that you particularly liked, you’d purr, or sometimes give a little soft moan, and close your eyes. Also, in the absence of silverware, if something dripped onto your fingers, your quick little pink tongue would dart out and slowly lave the offending digit, looking like nothing so much as a serious little cat. The best part of it was, you were totally unaware of this behaviour. He’d seen you do the same things when you didn’t know that you were being watched. He cleared his throat, surreptitiously adjusted himself, and sighed, wishing that you were back at the hotel. You looked up quizzically at him, sensing his mild distress. Yixing smiled reassuringly at you, and took a hearty bite from his crispy, still-warm croque monsieur. You went wandering around the boulevards, stopping to watch interesting street performers, or to peer down dark, narrow streets like nosy children. At the entrance of the first bookstore that you found, you stopped and sucked in a breath like a child on Christmas morning. Yixing looked around, seeing nothing but stacks upon stacks of dusty old tomes. You moved easily through the claustrophobic shelves, chattering gaily in French with the shopkeeper. Yixing finally leaned against a wall and just watched you as you traced your fingertips over the spines, occasionally stopping to open a book and briefly read what was inside. You ended up buying several first editions of various children’s books for your sister. He grinned as you left the store. “Fiona just had the baby. He won’t be able to read English for years, let alone French.” You peered at him haughtily over your tortoise-shell spectacles, your hair unbound and wild, and several dusty smudges on your face. “I’ll have you know that my nephew is a genius. While I was playing with him at the wedding, I asked him what the cat says, and do you know what he said, Yixing? He said, ‘Miau’. Does an ordinary three month old know that? No, unless you are as perfect as Aubrey, which is highly doubtful, as he is the pinnacle of everything that a baby should be.” Yixing stopped you as you started to brush by him, resting his arm above your head on the building behind you, and said low, “And you don’t think that you’re just a little bit biased?” You looked up at him, smiling beatifically. “No!” “Should I be jealous?” he smiled down at you, ebony eyes alight with good humour, his fingers gently stroking your jaw. “Mmm…maybe,” you flirted. “You know that I’ve always had a thing for short, chubby, bald men!” Laughing, you slid past him. You spent the next few hours flitting through dusty old used book, and ephemera shops. After the last little antique shop, where he had bought you a coquettish little fan, and you had purchased a heavy set of silver and garnet cufflinks for him, he followed you from the store, catching hold of your hand. Smiling at one another, you leisurely made your way to Le Cordon Bleu for an open dinner demonstration. ************************************************** You sighed wistfully as Yixing knelt before you, removing your shoes, and gently stroking your calves. “Who knew a knife could move so fast! And the designs that he carved into those carrot shavings were so intricate! They looked like filigree! Oh—and that rosemary smoke that he infused into his tuna sashimi amuse-bouche was a transcendent experience, both visually and olfactorily…” You drifted off as you realized that he wasn’t saying much, just looking up at you indulgently, one hand around your right ankle, thumb stroking it gently. You smiled ruefully. “I’m babbling, aren’t I?” He smiled lazily up at you. “I like to listen you talk.” He traced his fingers slowly up and down the front of your left leg. “You have the cutest little accent.” “Me?!” you gasped in mock surprise. “Your accent is cuter.” He grinned mischievously up at you. “I don’t have an accent.  I just speak in italics.” You ruffled his hair playfully. He wrapped his arms around your left leg and leaned his cheek against it. He began placing slow, gentle, sweet kisses on the outside of your knee. “Baobei,” he started softly. “Hm?” you responded, savouring the feel of his soft lips against your leg. “I want to talk to you about something, lovely,” he said, his voice low and caressing. “Hm?” you said dreamily. “I love you,” he started. “Love…” you trailed, stroking his hair. He could feel the heat of your arousal warming his cheek as he knelt at your feet. He smiled, hiding his lips against the outside of your knee. You were terrifyingly articulate. You had a savage intelligence that at times awed him, and you were a mistress of debate, and rhetoric. When you were aroused, however…your level of verbal communication nosedived. During the first week of your honeymoon, while you were making love, he had slid his hand down to your curls, his fingertips questing for your tight little bud. You had squealed, and then sighed, “Hacienda….” “Hacienda?” he had queried, bemused. “A Spanish estate plantation?” “Oh, I don’t know! Don’t know!” you had moaned, arching under him and practically ripping the sheets from the bed. You didn’t even speak Spanish. He forced his mind back to the present. “I love you,” he repeated. He slid his right hand slowly up the back of your left leg, cupping the back of your knee as he continued to place soft kisses on the outside of it. He slid his left hand up under your skirt, slowly stroking your right hip. “I love you, and I want you, and I know that you love me…that you want me…” “Mm-hm,” you nodded in artless agreement. “I am yours. All I want is to spend the rest of my life making you happy, which is why…we need to discuss why you haven’t had an orgasm when we make love.” He kept up his caresses, watching your face. A small frown line appeared between your eyebrows. Your head tilted, as if you were contemplating some difficult problem, and then twitched. Your head twitched again, and you slowly shook it, as if to clear yourself of a mental fog. “No…no…” you said softly, your body trying to scoot away from him. Your eyes opened, and you looked confused. He pulled you closer, not allowing you to move away from him. You made a little sound of distress, and he slid his arms around your hips, and pulled you down into his lap. Nuzzling your ear, he whispered, “Please, baobei…talk to me…” his accent thickening. You whined, and then turned to him, burying your face in his neck, arms wrapped around him. He stroked your hair and slowly rocked you. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “No—don’t ever be sorry. There’s no need for sorry, you haven’t done anything wrong. However, this is something that we need to talk about before it goes any further.” He rubbed his jaw against your hair. “Before we were married, you told me that you used to masturbate…did you finish then?” You nodded miserably. “Okay…okay. Have you done it since we were married?” “Oh, no!” you protested, backing up to look into his eyes. “I haven’t needed to do that—you keep me satisfied.” He smiled ruefully, “Thanks for that, but something is awry, and we need to figure out how to take care of it.” He placed a finger under your chin, gently stroking the soft skin. “You don’t want to go the rest of your life without having an orgasm with me, do you?” “Well…no…” you replied slowly. “And isn’t it better to take care of it sooner rather than later?” he cajoled. “Yes?” you said uncertainly. “Alright, then,” he said comfortably. “Do you want me?” You looked up at him, speechless, eyes wide in shock. Then you set your jaw and said, “Zhang Yixing, if you actually think that I don’t want you, why then you’re dumb as a post! Want you?! I can’t stop thinking about you! Your scent, your touch, the sound of your voice, the way you taste… Sometimes we’re out and it’s all I can do to not drag you into a dark alley, climb on top of you, and ride you like Seabiscuit! Would I have married you if I didn’t want you?” He chuckled. “Fair enough”, he said, hands raised in surrender. “Just making sure that that’s out of the way.” You harrumphed. He grinned. “So, we know that you’re not sexually indifferent, we know that you want me, am I…” here he paused uncertainly. “Not…good?” You melted in his arms. ”Yixing…you make me tremble.” You looked down shyly. “You make me…writhe and whimper…you make me tingle…all over…. When I’m with you…I lose language. All I can think of is you, and the feeling of your warm breath ghosting across my skin. The feeling of your hot hands stroking me…caressing me… everywhere. And your voice…it’s so soft, but powerful…it makes me want to do…everything with you…” You finally halted, staring down at your hands, cheeks flaming. He cleared his throat, momentarily nonplussed. He had been told that he was a good lover before, but never in such an open, vulnerable, honest way. He brought your wrist to his mouth, gently placing a kiss on the warm, delicate inside. Softly, so as not to make you defensive, he asked desperately, “So then…what is it, baobei?” You shrugged mournfully. "I don’t know. I honestly don’t. I could blame it on nervousness, but I haven’t been nervous since the first time. I thought, maybe because it was because you made me so wet…too wet. But extra friction didn’t help, either.” He nodded, thinking. “Let’s do an experiment.” You perked up, pressing your breasts to his chest. “Down, little girl—not that sort of experiment!” he laughed. She pouted charmingly. “But I love playing naughty mad scientist!” “You love to play, period.” he retorted. You nodded, grinning mischievously. “You’re not wrong.” Yixing smiled. No, disinterest was not the problem, here. “I’m going to shower first tonight. You stay out here and…” here he slowly walked his fingers up your inner thigh, and gently tapped at the apex of your thighs. You raised an eyebrow at him and he grinned. Climbing to his feet, with you in his arms, he set you on the bed and began loosening his tie. Walking backwards to the bathroom, he said, “Let’s just see what happens. See you on the other side.” He closed the door, and left you to your personal playtime.

When he exited the bathroom in a cloud of fragrant steam, he found you sitting on the side of the bed, looking thoughtful. “Well?” he gently queried.

You nodded, blowing out a breath. “It worked.” He sat beside you, not even bothering to put on a towel, and you leaned against his warm side, uncaring of his intermittent dripping. “So, what does this mean?” you asked.

“Well,” he sighed, “it’s not physical.”

You were silent. Then your face crumpled. “I just want to be good for you!”

“What?” he asked, bemused by your outburst.

“It’s so frustrating. All I want is to please you, and I can’t even do that!” you said bitterly.

“What do you mean, ‘please’ me?” he questioned.

“I want to keep you aroused,” you answered haltingly.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“I don’t know,” you said dismissively turning away.

“Yes you do,” he coaxed, wrapping his arm around you, and laying your head against his shoulder. “Talk to me, love.”

“I don’t want to bore you. I just don’t understand why my body isn’t cooperating.” You bit your lip.

He was silent. Then, he said slowly, “I think…I think that we’ve just discovered the problem.” You lifted your head to look at him questioningly. He began to slowly rub your arm. “You don’t have to…perform for me. You are my wife, not a contracted…porn star. I think that you’re…so worried about looking, and sounding good that your mind is keeping your body from taking over.” He pulled you into his lap, and wrapped his arms around you.

“Baobei…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Sex isn’t entertainment. It’s about loving and giving, cherishing and adoring another person, while you reciprocally love and give, cherish and adore.” You stared at him in shock as he went on. “It’s a physical representation of unconditional love that is supposed to be given exclusively between two people.” He paused to give you a chance to respond.

“I would be inclined to agree with you, but…” You sighed, blowing a stray tendril from your face. You gathered your courage, then plunged on, “Studies have shown that during sex, about the only time a man experiences a surge of oxytocin is during orgasm. After orgasm, a man’s oxytocin levels return to his normally relatively low levels. Conversely, not only do women produce oxytocin during sex, orgasm, and post orgasm, but you also produce higher levels of oxytocin during each stage.” It was his turn to stare at you. “What I’m trying to say is that…sex will not necessarily make you bond with me emotionally, but I know that if I can keep you sexually interested, then you’ll be more inclined to stay because you’ll want to keep having sex with me.”

Silence reigned after your little speech. Your face flushed redder and redder as Yixing continued to stay silent. When he finally spoke, his voice was very soft. “I think that the casually graphic that way sex is portrayed in modern media, has caused you not to regard it as communication, but to instead adopt the idea that it’s primarily for recreation, or even sport. What was lost in the translation was intimacy.” You turned away in embarrassment. He took your hand, and gently stroked your ring finger. “Fifteen days ago, with this ring I thee wed.” He kissed your tawny little knuckle, then stood with you in his arms. Carrying you into the bathroom, he whispered into your hair, “Tonight, with my body I thee worship…”

He stood you next to the tub, and began to gently remove your clothing. When you realized what he was doing, you moved to help him, but he brushed away your hands. “No, baobei, tonight I want to take care of you. Will you let me do that?” You nodded hesitantly while he finished pulling your shirt from your skirt, and patiently undid all of the tiny pearl buttons. He lifted your left wrist and undid your cuff, kissing the round little bone at the outside of your wrist, then moving to the other. You smiled a grateful smile inside when he tossed your shirt into the hamper. Yixing was so neat. It was one of the things that you loved about him. He leaned into you, slowly stroking his hand down your side, brushing it over your ribs and caressing your hip. Bringing his hand back up, he slowly undid the zipper at your side, and let the skirt pool to the floor.

“Step out of it, please,” he asked politely. After tossing it into the hamper, he wrapped his long arms around you, slowly sliding his hands up your spine. Yixing deftly undid your bra, sliding your straps down your arms without moving back, so that the tips of your nipples brushed his chest as you breathed. You leaned forward, nuzzling his neck, and he tilted his head to nuzzle your cheek. Before he became lost, he took a step back, and knelt at your feet, to undo your stockings and toss them with the quickly growing pile. He slowly slid his hands up your naked, sensitive legs, cupping your bottom, and pulling you forward, so that he could bury his face in the soft warmth at the top of your thighs. He breathed deeply, scenting your arousal, and feeling your wetness against his lips. He looked up at you, wearing nothing but your garter belt and panties, your hair framing your face as you looked down at him.

He hooked his fingers into the sides of your panties, and slowly uncovered your curls, placing soft, reverent kisses on them as he dragged your panties lower. After you had stepped out of them, Yixing brought them briefly to his face, inhaling the salty, light scent of your arousal, while looking up at you. Your mouth had fallen slightly open at the sight of your husband at your feet, with your panties held to his face, so he gently placed them in the hamper, resisting the urge to really scandalize you by suddenly letting his tongue slide up your slit.

Yixing stood, leaned into the stall, and turned on the shower. He helped you into the shower, positioning you to stand with the steaming spray running over your front, while he stood behind you, warming your back, one arm around your waist, his erection nestled between your soft cheeks. Taking a sponge and dipping it into the pot of whipped soap, he began to slowly lather your body from head to toe. When he reached your intimate areas, you made as if to take over, but he stopped you, whispering seductively in your ear, “No, baobei. I take care of what is mine…” You gasped as he slid a warm, soapy cloth between your legs, leisurely cleaning you there, then slipped the cloth between your cheeks. You blushed as the roving cloth slid over your tightly furled rosebud, but you didn’t stop him.

By the time you left the shower, you had been thoroughly bathed, with great attention having been paid to your more…sensitive areas. Yixing wrapped you in a warm, fluffy towel, brushing it over your skin to absorb the shower water. When he was satisfied that you had been thoroughly dried, he gave himself a quick once over with the towel, to rid himself of any extraneous water. Tossing the towel into the hamper, he started for you, his engorged cock insouciantly bouncing from thigh to thigh. You giggled at the sight, and he grinned, briefly making it dance for you.

He stalked toward you again, and you backed toward the bed, sitting with a sudden plop. He grinned again as he moved forward, forcing you to climb backward on the bed, until your back hit the headboard. Yixing wrapped an arm around your waist, and pulled you down onto your back, climbing on top of you. You started to wrap your arms around his neck, but he took your hands from around his shoulders, kissed your wrists, and then drew them over your head. “Lie here, just like that,” he said. He left to procure two of his ties, then returning, used one to deftly bind your wrists to the headboard. You looked up at him, hurt, and he said, “This is to make sure that you don’t drive me mad with those questing little hands of yours. As soon as you put your hands on me…I lose control,” here, he brushed his mouth over yours, continuing, “You make me crazy.”

Mollified, you lay back and let him finish tying you securely. Yixing gazed down at his sweet little wife looking up at him so trustingly. “Close your eyes,” he whispered.  Smiling, you did so, and he used his other tie to blindfold you.  Looking over you, he gave you a slow, crooked grin, as he whispered, “I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.” Your eyes widened behind the blindfold as you recognized the opening line to one of your favourite Neruda love poems. His mouth descended on yours, and you shivered as he gave you a thorough, probing kiss. His firm lips slid against your soft ones, his tongue rhythmically plunging into your mouth, brushing your tongue, sliding across your teeth, tickling along the seam of your mouth. You groaned low, and Yixing felt a jolt shoot down to his cock as you involuntarily arched, and nipped him, sinking your sharp little teeth into his sensitive bottom lip. He smiled against your mouth as he felt you squirming slowly beneath him.

He dragged his lips down to your throat, placing tender kisses against the delicate skin. Your head fell back as his warm mouth teased the sensitive skin of your throat, making you squirm even more. His hand was buried in your hair, fingertips stroking your sensitive scalp.

He moved his mouth lower, rubbing his cheek along the curve of your right breast. He murmured, “Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.” Looking up to watch your face, Yixing opened his mouth over your breast, and gently bit. His flickering tongue laved your sensitive nipple as his teeth sank into the soft flesh of your full, warm breast. You released a high pitched whine, as your face contorted in pleasure. Sucking hard, his tongue lapping around your puckered areola, he brought his strong left hand to your other breast, palming it a little roughly as his tongue gently stroked. He caressed your breast, brushing over your insistent little nipple with his thumb, even as his hot, wet mouth was busy with its twin. You jerked as jolts of pleasure shot from your breasts down to your swollen clitoris, which was peeking out of its wet little red hood, begging for a soft kiss.

Yixing switched his mouth to the other breast, latching on and sucking powerfully, as he brought his right hand to your left breast, to gently pinch and twist your now-wet nipple. Your mouth worked silently, as he lavished attention on your breasts, his loving ministrations leaving them flushed, nipples hard and sensitive. He moved his head between your breasts, cupping them, so that they brushed against his face as he leisurely kissed, licked, nibbled, and suckled his way back up to your neck.

Against your throat, he hoarsely whispered, “Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.” You sighed as he opened his mouth over your throat, letting his teeth graze your soft skin. He reverently placed small, sucking kisses against your throat, moving to the exquisitely sensitive place along the side of your neck. Growling roughly, Yixing let go and sank his teeth into the softness beneath him. A tortured whimper filtered past his inflamed senses, as your little body softened beneath his, and he smiled inwardly.

His mind idly drifted back to the immense sense of satisfaction he had felt when he learned that you loved being bitten. And you loved to bite… you were the one woman that he had ever met that didn’t care if he left marks on your skin. When had once repeated the question that previous girlfriends had asked him, namely, “What will people think?” to gauge your reaction, you had responded with a neat, dry, “They’ll get over it.”

Yixing opened his mouth, and slowly ran his tongue over the small indentations his teeth had left, while you slowly melted, boneless, into the bed. He began placing slow, suckling kisses down to your collarbone, then dragged his warm mouth over your sternum to your belly, nipping and suckling at your soft, fragrant skin. He rubbed his jaw over the smooth skin of your tummy, like a cat marking his territory, covering you with his scent.

He briefly paused, fantasizing, before being distracted by the slow rolling of your hips underneath his chest. Softly, reverently kissing his way to your right hip bone, he slowly dragged his tongue along the sensitive hollow between your hip bone and the side of your curls. You purred, then arched sharply, as he sank his teeth into the soft flesh. He lazily traced his lapping tongue down, where your thigh met your sex, using his long, veiny, gentle hands to slowly open your legs.

He could feel the anticipation thrumming through you as his warm breath ruffled your curls. He chuckled to himself, deep and low, before moving his face to nuzzle the curving hollow of your left inner thigh. You relaxed under him, your left calf resting against his back as he nuzzled, kissed, and stroked his way over the soft skin. He slid his warm palms slowly up your thighs, up your hips, as he switched his attentions your right thigh. Just as he sensed your complete relaxation, he struck, closing his mouth over your skin, his sharp white teeth sinking deeply into the flushed, warm flesh of the inside of your thigh. Your reaction was immediate and satisfying, as you threw back your head, arching and panting. Yixing loved teasing you like this. Building you up, letting you relax…and then building you up again. It made you wild, transforming you from a cool little logician into a panting, writhing, arching slave of his ardent love.

He transferred his mouth to your other thigh, nipping and suckling the soft skin, rubbing his warm cheek over you. He could smell the scent of your arousal, salty and clean, and he had to shut his eyes tightly against the insistent pulse in his groin. He looked up at the shining wetness, coating your swollen lips, and dug his fingers roughly into the side of your thigh. He let go when you moaned, realizing that, in his distraction, he was gripping you too tightly. Though you liked it when he lost control, when he gripped you too tightly, and kissed you too roughly, tonight he would control himself. At least…for now… He made his way down your body with soft kisses along the insides of your thighs, your knees, your calves. He lifted each delicate foot, and pressed soft, loving kisses against your ankles, adoring every part of your exquisite little body.

He crawled slowly back up your body, briefly sparing a longing look at your inviting sex then, removing himself from temptation, draped himself over you. Running his hands over your waist and hips, he moved lower, to slide his fingers behind your knees. He gently massaged the backs of your knees in slow circles while you opened your legs and artlessly moved your hips against him, panting lightly. Yixing had discovered this little erogenous zone of yours on your third night together. He pressed his chest tightly to yours, as he ran warm his palms over your rounded calves, cupping them as he gently massaged. You relaxed, as he glided his hands back up your thighs, up your hips, up your waist, up your delicate ribs, and up the soft, sensitive insides of your arms.

He took his time, gently tracing his fingertips along your soft, pale skin of your inner arms, as he kissed and suckled your shoulder. “I hunger for your sleek laugh, your hands the colour of a savage harvest, hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,” he whispered against the side of your throat. He climbed to his knees, and let his mouth follow the path that his left hand had taken, suckling the sensitive skin of your inner arm. He ran his tongue in slow circles against the crook of your elbow as you softly sighed and squirmed at his thorough attention. Yixing nipped and suckled his way up your arm until he could lavish your delicate wrist with the wet, suckling heat of his open mouth and tracing tongue.

He transferred his mouth to your other wrist, nipping down and licking against the almost translucent skin. He slowly made his way down the inside of your arm, pausing to treat the inside of this elbow to the same slow, wet, warm affection as the other. As he continued his way down, his mouth open and suckling against your underarm, he slid his hand up your arm and used his fingertips to gently stroke the soft, private skin between your fingers.

He nuzzled close to you, deepening his voice as he purred in your ear, “…I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.” You moaned at this pronouncement, writhing under his hand as he slowly ran it between your breasts, down your warm belly, over your soft curls, only to let his fingertips lazily explore your wet little slit. He rested on his side, pressed tightly to yours, as he leisurely stroked up and down your slit, his fingers spreading your slipperiness over your full, pink and golden lips. He slid his fingertips to your opening, circling it slowly, agonizingly as he placed gentle kisses along the shell of your ear. You shuddered as you felt him stroke his fingertips shallowly into your wet heat, teasing the slick flesh of your opening. He rested his palm against your curls, your swollen bud rubbing against his hand as he petted you, teased you, stroked you. He slid his tongue into your ear, making you tremble uncontrollably as he licked. He moved his mouth to your earlobe, dragging the tip of his tongue around the edge, and then sucking it into his mouth, as his clever little fingers slid inside and firmly caressed your G-spot. He had discovered that little sensual surprise on your tenth night together.

As your hips rolled and writhed under his hand, he whispered in your ear, low and hot, “I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body, the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,” You could feel the tingles in your body, slowly coalescing into an insistent throb. You were so close, but not there, not yet… Yixing removed his hand from your wet, hot, soft sex. Your eyes opened wide behind the blindfold, and you sucked in a small breath, as you heard the slow, wet noise of him sucking clean every single one of the fingers that had just touched you so sweetly.

He lay against you for a while, panting into the crook of your neck, his arm wrapped heavily around your waist, as he willed his clamouring body to calm. He softly stroked your waist and hip, gently lulling you. His hand drifted to your face, tracing the bone of your nose, stroking your cheek, gliding along your jawline as he hoarsely whispered, “I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,” his hand cupping your jaw as his thumb caressed your moist, plump lips.

Gathering his willpower, he climbed back over you, opening your legs gently, but firmly, as he kissed his way slowly back down your body. Yixing brought his face in line with your sex, swollen and open to his gaze, the glistening hood thrown back from the plump pearl, the inner lips rosy and inviting. He swallowed hard, looking up at you, at your face framed (given his position) by your plump, almond-tipped breasts, and breathed, “…and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight, hunting for you, for your hot heart, like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.”

You relaxed at these last words, a satisfied smile lighting up your face. He smiled at you, though you couldn’t see it, then slowly lowered his open mouth to your waiting lips. At the first burning kiss, your hips rose sharply, and your thighs clasped his head. “No, no, baobei,” he instructed, pulling your legs over his broad shoulders, and caressing your thighs, “Keep your legs open…”

He brought his lips back down to your waiting wetness, and slowly licked the flat of his tongue from your perineum to your hood, smiling as he heard you trying to stifle a moan. He used his soft tongue to trace your opening, then gently lapped at your inner lips, his lips never breaking contact with your hungry sex. He could feel the warm, slippery, swollen flesh sliding over his mouth, over his tongue as you tried to push yourself closer, ever closer. He smiled against you, reveling in your desire for him. His eyes were closed, as he poured all of concentration into kissing you, licking you, teasing you. Your hips were moving rhythmically against his mouth, and he used his lips to nibble your juicy, warm hood.

When he gently used the top of his teeth to tickle the top of your clit, you arched so sharply that, if he hadn’t had a firm grip on your warm, soft thighs, you would have bucked him off onto the floor. He shuddered against you, his excitement mounting as he realized just how excited you were. He felt his control slipping as he rested his cheek on your thigh, indulging in your clean, spicy aroma, like an animal scenting his mate.

Clenching his jaw to supplement his control, he moved back. Moaning against you, his deep voice sending vibrations through your most sensitive places, his slid his hands up to your hips, pulling you closer to his mouth, as if he couldn’t taste enough, smell enough, lick enough to satisfy him. You let out a broken moan, and he realized by the frantic writhing of your hips that you were close. He pulled up himself beside you, and sank his teeth into your neck, as he slid his fingers inside your hungry sex, roughly massaging your G-spot as his thumb firmly massaged your clit. Your stomach muscles clenched, and for a second, you didn’t move, you didn’t even breathe. A breathless, high pitched wail broke free as your first orgasm with your husband crashed over you. “I…I…I…I’m falling! Help me–XingXing–I’m falling!”

“I’ve got you; you’re safe baobei, you’re not going anywhere,” he rasped in your ear, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, the other holding still between your legs, letting you ride out your pleasure on his slick fingers. He could feel you clenching his fingers deep inside, and he growled with satisfaction.

You strained against your bonds as your head lifted, then fell back, body still tightening around his fingers. He put his lips to your shoulder and stayed still as your frantic movements slowly lessened. An almost overwhelming sense of accomplishment washed over him as he listened to your halting whimpers.

He slowly pulled his fingers out of you, pausing each time you whimpered, crooning in your ear, “I know, baobei, I know it’s sensitive.” Once his hand was free of your body, well…he couldn’t resist such a perfect treat. He brought his hand to his nose and breathed in the clean, heady aroma of his satisfied woman. Closing his eyes, he gave into temptation and slid his fingers into his mouth, licking off the sweet remnants of your pleasure. Feeling a little dizzy when he finished, he moved to untie you. Your hands fell to his shoulders, deceptively delicate fingers gripping him tightly, as he pulled in off your blindfold, uncovering your seductive eyes shining up at him, lids heavy with satisfaction.

You laced your fingers behind his neck, urging him closer, “XingXing…”

“Mm?” he murmured, busying himself with kissing your arms, your breasts, anything that his mouth could reach. You undulated against him and he stiffened.

“Yixing…” you said again, your voice husky.

“Shhh,” he murmured against your breasts. “I’m not finished with you, yet. I’m going to work you all up again, lovely.”

You slid a warm, moist thigh over his hip, caressing his body with yours. “Want…” you whispered.

Yixing was busy nuzzling your neck, patiently intent on slowly coaxing you back to the edge. “Mmm,” he breathed against your neck. “Not yet, baobei…”

Your hands wound through his hair and you tugged it, sending a pleasurable hum through his scalp. Your hands were wandering everywhere, gripping, caressing, clutching, scratching, and as he had predicted, it was becoming harder to think. “Want…” you breathed again, raking your fingernails over his sensitive nipples. You seemed to try to gather your wits, and said, “Yixing, if you hurry, I think that I can finish again.”

He froze against you as that simple statement shot straight to his hindbrain. He paused to try to understand it, but then you wrapped your hands under his arms and raked your nails sharply down his back and he was lost.

He moved between your legs, your hands on his taut cheeks, nails digging in, urging him. You wrapped your thighs around his waist, and his mind stopped thinking. All he knew was that his body was telling him that you wanted it, to give it to you, to thrust, thrust, thrust, until you gave him what he wanted. In one last moment of clarity, he looked into your eyes, the smoky combination of satisfaction and anticipation driving him wild. He pushed inside of you, inside of your tightness, your heat, your wet, slick, grasping body. Your mouth opened wordlessly, as you felt yourself stretch around his thick cock, but you kept your eyes on his. You wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, and buried the nails of the other into his waist, spurring him.

Yixing groaned, desperately trying to go slow, to give you the slow, hard, steady strokes you needed.

You pulled his head down to yours, and he lay on your body, feeling your soft breasts and tight little nipples grinding into his chest. “Yixing,” you purred. “Faster.”

He paused, taking a moment to let your imperious little order sink into his conscious mind. Then he grinned. Sliding his left arm under your right knee, he pulled it up so that your thigh grazed his ribs. Then, clenching his jaw, he lost control. Growling, thrusting, nipping and licking at your collarbones, at your shoulders, at your neck, he gave himself over to you. Your body jerked involuntarily, each thrust sending a mind-numbing electric shock of pleasure through you, and you held onto his arms as if he were the only thing in your world. Your breaths shuddered in his ear, and that drove him mad. Pulling you roughly closer, as close as he could, he thrust deep into you, his powerful hips slamming demandingly against you, drumming home just to whom you belonged, even as you clutched him closer, and took what was yours.

You were close, but when your husband changed the angle of his hips so that his body was now grinding against your exposed clit, it pushed you over the edge. This orgasm was even more intense than the first, and it ripped a rough, raw cry from your throat. When Yixing felt that first, firm, insistent clench of you around his cock, his eyes rolled back into his head. This is what he had wanted, this is what he had been dreaming about for months, years. His hips thrust into you one last time, and he groaned as he finally let go. A hot lick of fire shot down his spine, and through his balls, as he could almost feel them pumping you with his thick, creamy cum. He felt each clench and rippling pull of you around his shaft as he shot load after load into you, filling you up, giving himself completely to you. “Mine, mine,” you whimpered, your hands running up and down his back, pulling him closer, closer.

“Yes, baobei, I am yours, all yours,” he groaned. Finally his orgasm let him go, and he relaxed on you, boneless and panting. He could feel you still clenching around him, milking his cock with the last vestiges of your orgasm. You wrapped your arms and legs around him, and just held him, your small body slowly moving under his. Ruefully, he realized that you were trying to rock him, and that he should probably move, lest he suffocate you. Yet, when he braced his arms to do so, you held onto him tighter.

“No. Stay. I want you just like this. Hold you,” you said, your breath coming in ragged pants.

“But baobei, I’m too heavy,” he protested.

“No, you’re not. You’re mine. Stay. I like you here. I can take it,” you breathed.

He compromised by sliding down your body, making sure that the bulk of his weight was off of you, as he laid his head against your breasts, and wrapped his arms around you. He listened to you as your breathing normalized, and eventually deepened into that of sleep. Yixing nuzzled his cheek against your soft breasts, relaxing into the safety of your arms, as he fell asleep to the sound of your heartbeat.

A/N:  If you want to follow me, then please do so on my main blog @vampwrrr, as I always update there, first.

[smollandtoll]

HC: Crosbeauty AU OT3

Listen, we know we’ve done a Crosbeauty AU before, but this one has OT3 so it’s totally different. Right? right! LET’S GO! 

This HC was a lot of general ideas and moments so I did my best to make a plot out of it? 

Imagine if you will, young Sid attending school for stage makeup in Toronto. He spends the majority of his money at Sephora and on rent for a tiny downtown apartment that he splits with Flower. Living the dream!

(Sid and Flower originally met in first year while doing their tech theatre practical courses -  Flower couldn’t make a makeup bruise look semi-realistic to save his life and Sid couldn’t get his legs to stop wobbling long enough to climb the scaffolding to change the gels - so they traded favours all semester.)

Whatever is left over goes to food or camera equipment. Although it hasn’t been bad at all lately, his youtube subs have been climbing steadily, past the point of making a little side money and into the area where he is shakily not doing any work other than school and making/editing his videos.

(It helps to have a CBC darling hanging around their apartment and willing to be in his videos as a model as often as he wants. Tanger is such an attention whore, and only gets to wear full suits on the period piece he stars in - so any chance he can get to be seen in his chic clothing and any excuse he comes across to look beautiful is one he jumps at)

In any case the story really begins while Sid is WATCHING his usual youtube roll in the morning - friends, acquaintances, people he’s a fan of, whatever strikes his fancy. It’s then that he sees that Anna - a Russian beauty vlogger in her own right -  has updated her channel with a new personal video: THE BOYFRIEND TAG.

Sid is stoked because the video looks like it’s in English - not all of Anna’s are which forces him to use youtube’s dodgy translation closed captions OR just leave emojis in the comments. He also has been kind of dying to see who could possibly get to date Anna, she’s absolutely impossibly beautiful, and funny, and kind of evil. They’ve chatted online before (exchanging tips and giving each other compliments) and her boyfriend - Evgeni (a name in which Sid is unsure he even knows how to pronounce properly) always sounds like a very kind and generous man.

The thumbnail just has the title and a pair of clasped male and female hands so Sid’s interest is instantly PIQUED. He has been so curious about Evgeni and now FINALLY he gets to see.

So of course he loads up the video and does what everyone does and skips to the part where Geno actually comes in and sits down looking flushed and awkward, hat on backwards, waving stiltedly to the camera while Anna positions him exactly how she wants him in the frame. Sid thinks he’s beautiful - not in a traditional way but he looks kind, and has a mobile face, made for emotions. He doesn’t look chiseled or like an instagram model, he looks like a real person who loves Anna very much - enough to appear on a video for the world to see even if he seems a little uncomfortable with the idea. Sid guiltily scrolls into the comments to take the general temperature of the reactions to her boyfriend and find the predictable mishmash of supportive comments Anna has liked and trolls - pretending to be helpful or no - telling Anna she could definitely do better.

Sid would restart the video and watch it properly then, learning Evgeni has a warm voice, heavily accented, and often forgets words in english and looks to Anna with puppy dog eyes to aid him. They seem to have a lot of inside jokes, they seem in love. Sid thinks they are wonderful and probably hopes reverently that one day he might have something like what they’ve created together.

So anyway he definitely sends her a heart eyes emoji and then follows it up with another message: “.......OK UR MAN THO 👀.”

Much later he gets a reply from Anna that is a long string of blushy emojis and the simple:

“You like? He like your video. Always ask if watching ‘boy with mouth for sin’. 😜”

Sid: Am I being invited to a 3way on a different continent?

Flower: I deal with the amount of shit you have in our bathroom I'm not dealing with whatever the fuck that is.

(Flower is a liar though, that shit in the bathroom is half the reason Vero puts up with him sometimes. Sid always lets her pillage whatever she needs when she stays over last minute - also his ring light is A+++.)

Meanwhile Anna is telling Sid about how she could never get G to do a lip exfoliant and apply chapstick regularly but she showed Sid's video to him and then he was like RELIGIOUS WITH HIS BLISTEX. All mouth activities have gotten like 500% better.

Anna: we owe you at least bj.

Sid: I’m definitely getting hit on.

Anna: you also teach him how to style hair, his same as you, but very thin in spots

Sid: oh, I have tips for that!

And then they definitely all meet at vidcon. Girls are like SWOONING over Tanger of course. He and Sid are sharing a booth (how does vidcon work? I’m not doing research for this, I’m going to pretend it’s like every other convention and popular makers have booths to sell merch and meet people???)  and Flower is there to like get food and water for them, take photos and some video, and awkwardly wave at people who recognize him from the background of some of Sid's videos.

(usually he shows up as just his disembodied voice yelling in french about whatever he's just burnt and Sid freezing on camera and being like "...................................FLOWER." and Flower's voice just like "....shit sorry Sid!" - youtube commenters who speak french relish in translating what he’s saying in the comments, a particular fan favourite was the time he tried to make a chocolate souffle for Vero’s birthday and could be heard muttering on and off through the whole video, so much so Sid added a disclaimer at the beginning that his roommate was being very loud and worried about his girlfriend and that the viewers should all take pity on him)

So, anyway we’re sure Anna SWANS over, just all intensely long legs, super high heels, hair flowing EVERYWHERE looking like she just came off a runway or a movie set to just EMBRACE Sid in a cloud of delicate perfume and soft hair and cheek kisses. Sid of course freezes like a deer in the headlights while Anna greets him excitedly and apologizes for her shitty english that is sounding like ….pretty great to Sid.

It’s then that Sid notices she’s towing a mildly blushing (and plushy lipped) Geno by the wrist. He’s incredibly tall (although some of it might just be an optical illusion enhanced by his long thin limbs) and looking a little freaked out by the crowd - but when Sid catches his gaze he looks happy and hopeful and maybe a little surprised.

"Oh you're the boyfriend." "I'm big fan." THEY SAY AT ONCE PROBABLY.

Anna: Sid, Zhenya. Zhenya, Sid. (introducing them like she hadn’t just met Sid herself a moment ago) Boys are going to get along so well, can just tell.

Then, so much blushing.

We want Flower and Tanger knowing SOMETHING was going on but not exactly what...just watching with dawning beautiful comprehension, eyes pinging back and forth between these statuesque russians and their clumsy awkward darling Sid.

Okay so at some point G and Sid are going to get left alone together, in a hotel room above the convention centre. Probably Sid’s, probably for a nap or something ridiculous like that, or maybe Anna just slips out to go get her curling wand, because while Sid has a lot of beauty products his hair is pretty much wash and wear.

Anyway, somehow Sid ends up giving G a once over with his kit. It probably comes up naturally, like while Geno was poking through his entire makeshift rig Sid set up in the best lighting of the room. Humming thoughtfully at the stacked palettes of eyeshadow, running curious fingers over the fluffiest brushes. Sid inquiring about Anna’s supplies, if Geno ever ends up in her makeup like this, if she’s ever pinned him down and dealt with his eyebrows (Sid guesses no by the state of them, even though the wild & natural look is in right now). Geno would mumble about how he doesn’t let her - she does crazy things, looking like a mermaid one afternoon or a frosty queen the next - he doesn’t want to look like that.

Sid: What do you want to look like?

Geno: *deep self conscious shrug that mostly only conveys that he’d probably like to look not like what he currently does*

And then before Sid can really think about it he’s offering to try, nothing outlandish, something basic, to highlight his warm eyes maybe, clean up the lines of his mobile mouth. Basically the Tanger special - scratch that, even less than Tanger, Tanger likes to look carved and flawless like a Kardashian.

There’s always a gentle intimacy about doing someone’s makeup, focusing intently on the features of their face, feeling the down on their cheeks against the heel of your hand, touching their hair for stability. They’re quiet together as Sid works, just the sweep of his brushes and the click of the compacts, a quiet instruction to look up or down, to pout and smush. Normally Sid talks through doing makeup on others, explaining to them or to his viewers what he’s doing, but this moment seems sacred somehow.

Through it all Geno’s eye contact doesn’t waver. It’s strangely, deeply intimate, and Sid tries to recall if it felt like this when he did Flower’s makeup before, his hapless guinea pig. Tanger was always on his phone, or instagramming the whole thing live and his attention was diverted, and Sid never felt this out of control even as he was the one holding the pencil against someone elses’ eyeball.  It’s an unwavering, magnetic kind of eye contact, and as Sid leans close and smudges under one eye with his thumb, other hand bracing the back of G's head/neck that’s when Anna probably returns and they spring apart like she’d just caught Sid giving her boyfriend a lap dance.

But after processing what she’s seeing she flings herself onto the bed excitedly: "YOU GET RID OF DARK CIRCLES? I ALWAYS TRY, HE NEVER LET! WHAT ARE YOU USING?"

He and Geno probably share a meaningful look before looking away shyly and that’s the start of a beautiful friendship, relationship, throuple or something. Anna being there breaks the tension, but there’s still something hovering in the air every time they hang out. It’s probably all very torrid at first, Sid talking to Anna on a level like friends but separately talking to Geno about other deeper things - worried it might be crossing a line, worried it’s already crossed the line long ago that he feels a lot of attraction for G - but like Anna is SO BEAUTIFUL. And Geno and Anna flirt around him all the time, even while Anna leans against him while they talk and Geno makes sweet, sincere eye contact and says startlingly vulnerable things.

Sid is confusion.

To Anna, it’s completely transparent exactly what’s happening. She’s completely in favour of making this twosome a full blown party. Sid is sweet and generous and quietly funny and can do a smokey eye better than anyone she’s ever met before. And it’s really cute watching Evgeni get all flummoxed and romantic - not that she doesn’t still make him like that, but it’s all new all over again, and he’d do anything for Sidney’s pout which Anna doesn’t have any problems with taking advantage of. Zhenya’s had a very sweet and quite evident (although barely acknowledged) crush on Sid for a while, poking his head in when she’s watching Sid’s latest videos, concentrating intently doing his first ever sugar scrub to Sid’s exacting instructions, suddenly paying more attention when Anna mentions a new comment from Sid. It’s all been very tame, but very promising, and in person Sid is even more of a joy.

We want Sid eventually -when they live in the same place, trying to make their dynamic work in the real world outside of extended vacations to visit each other- constantly doing little things for Geno's face, like a teensy bit of mascara and some foundation a bit of stippling to fill in his frankly sadly patchy beard hotness quotient up 100%. A few years later, the stippling extends to the temples.

Anna just looking on adoringly or like...Sid and Anna mildly squabbling over what look to do next while Geno just watching videos of animals snuggling and waits for them to be finished.

BONUS

Tanger was actually the one that got Sid into vlogging. Tanger loves looking at himself? and hearing himself speak? and ranting? so he like had a vlog already. It was kind of performance art, kind of show reel for casting agents at the time.

So basically he kept bothering Sid to give him touch-ups like on the day to day and Sid eventually was like "wtf man."

Tanger without bothering to explain further: VLOGS

So then Sid was like naturally interested in the makeup ones and there were no boys? at least no boys doing like chill guy makeup, and glam, AND theatre???? So he started Crosbeauty and the rest is kind of history.

[bxebxee]

Pine

Note: Every time I hear Jungkook talk about the height of his “ideal” girl, I lose three years of my life. This is for @fairyguks who is an angel and more. It was originally supposed to be a full fic that was Something Else and about 80% less pretentious. For readers who live in an area without winter (1) I envy you, and (2) suspend all climate-related disbelief and picture yourself neck-deep in a Christmas card.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (ish), feat. Namjoon Genre: Angst-ish, Romance-ish, college au Warnings: no external editing (rip) Word Count: 3363 Rating: I for Ish (T/PG-13)

***

“There now comes up a deafening crash to these rocks advertising you that even trees do not die without a groan. It rushes to embrace the earth, and mingle its elements with the dust. And now all is still once more and forever, both to eye and ear.”

--Henry David Thoreau

***

“You don’t really like me, do you?”

Your heart sinks when you look at Namjoon’s face when he catches you spying on Jungkook for the fifth time out of the corner of your eye. The handsome upperclassman pins you with a smile, and you feel like the worst human being on the planet.

Jungkook had just rolled up his sleeves to wipe down a few messy tables, effectively undoing any semblance of Chill you pretended to possess. His arms never failed to make you weak.

“I do like you,” you reply to Namjoon, wincing because it sounds like a lie even though it’s the truth. “But it’s just…” You pause, mouth partially open like a dumb fish as you search your mind for the right word. Complicated? Weird? Fucked Up? Nothing seems to fit.

Namjoon takes pity on you. If the “but” didn’t give you away, the “just” did. In his limited experience, girls only used the word “just” when they wanted to soften the blow of a rejection.

“I know you do like me, but you don’t like me.” There is a big difference.

But this is only a first date, and Namjoon is not too pressed to see you stewing over unresolved angst concerning your pretty-boy ex-boyfriend. Jungkook is objectively terrific, three for three when it came to looks, smarts, and personality. He’s heard bits and pieces from the grapevine, and he knows the breakup is still recent. Given all those things, it’s more than understandable why you would choose to have frozen yogurt in the middle of a freezing-cold winter if it meant rubbing it in your ex’s face that you’ve moved on to bigger and better things. Namjoon is somewhat flattered to be chosen as the bait for Jungkook’s benefit, but realistically he knows you probably only picked him for his height.

“You’re cold,” he comments, taking your hand and feeling your much smaller palm act as an ice cube. “Froyo wasn’t the best idea. A brave choice, but not exactly seasonal.”

“I’m really sorry,” you sigh, giving up and putting up the banner of mea culpa (mea maxima culpa). “Please don’t hate me.”

Namjoon lets go of your hand to reach out to your face, pushing your chin up to look at him. “Don’t look down,” he tells you. “You did nothing wrong.”

If you were a normal girl with a normal heart, you would have probably fell for Namjoon right then and there. Because Namjoon is looking at you like you always wished Jungkook would; he looks wise and hot and every bit like an understanding boyfriend who loves the fuck out of you.

“You are a glutton for pain,” Namjoon continues with a meaningful glance at the counter where Jungkook’s back was turned, “but keep your head up.”

This date ranks as a solid four in the Top Ten Most Mortifying Mating Rituals you’ve ever had the displeasure of experiencing. Namjoon being cool about your attempt at making Jungkook jealous only exacerbates the embarrassment you feel for being petty.

“Thanks.” Your throat feels woolly from you trying not to cry in frustration. That, or you’re getting sick.

The froyo-for-two date special that was shared with Namjoon is thrown away after it melts into a chaotic sea of chocolate and vanilla swirls. Your stomach churns as Namjoon continues his assault on your conscious by shoveling burning coals of kindness on your dumbass head. He takes your hand as the two of you exit, even slowing his steps as you pass Jungkook on the way out.

“Please come again,” Jungkook speaks up in rote, by-the-book cheerfulness. His eyes and mouth are carved out into an easy smile as he looks at you directly, pointedly. You never know exactly what Jungkook is thinking, but right now he seems to be communicating to you through psychic waves that he doesn’t give a shit who you’re with.

“Maybe in the spring semester,” Namjoon chuckles. (“Maybe Never!” you want to scream.)

And because you have no self-control or sense of self-preservation, you let slip a soft, “Bye Jungkook” before you can help it. Namjoon tugs on your hand, and you miss the chance to hear Jungkook’s response when the two of you are out the door in a flash.

“Bye Jungkook?” Namjoon repeats once you leave the store, his hand is still holding yours. “Bye Jungkook?!” The winter air is gust of Major Suck, and it gives you a good reason to tug your coat up to cover the bottom half of your face. “You have it bad.”

If Namjoon pitied you in the store, he pities you more now, your pathetic form looking slumped, small, and frozen as you trudge alongside him through the slush. He heads to the nearest coffee shop with you in tow. You have to trot in rapid steps to keep up, but the cold weather and self-pity keep you from questioning where he’s taking you. The christmasy scent of hazelnuts and cinnamon blended over roasted coffee overwhelms you when he opens the door, and as soon as you step in, the warmth makes your nose run.

Namjoon shoots down the half-hearted offer of paying for your own coffee as you wait on the long line, the two of you defrosting gently.

“You’re sad, and I can do this much,” he shushes you. “What d’you want?”

“Something bitter and hot,” you answer. You don’t even drink coffee.

He gets you something frothy, creamy, and sweet with just enough coffee added in for the base note. The cup is warm enough to hold comfortably in your hands as a miniature, portable heater.

“Thank you.” It’s a little bit perfect of him to do this, and your heart speeds up at the feeling of his hand on your middle back guiding you through the crowded store towards one of the empty tables near the windows.

There is a moment, a brief one, where things go absolutely quiet in your head as you concentrate with all your might on the man standing behind you to memorize the shape of his chin and jaw, his neckline and shoulders. You have to look up at him since he towers several heads over you. Namjoon stares straight ahead, alert to his surroundings as he steers you effortlessly through the crowd. The unconscious and automatic manner in which he takes charge, even in the smallest of things, sets your heart towards desire, and Namjoon inexplicably looks like he’s on the cusp of resplendency. 

In the grand scheme of things, this is an unimportant moment of a less-than-spectacular day that you’ll probably forget in a few hours. And the memory of this feeling, this unwarranted blooming of eros will be lost in the gray matter of emotions occupied with Jungkook.

“Watch your step,” Namjoon says, and the moment is gone. Your heart settles down as soon as you look away to pay attention to where you’re going, and when you take another glance back at Namjoon, he looks normal again.

You feel fortunate to have nabbed the cozy table for two as the store becomes progressively crowded. Namjoon stares at you over his coffee cup, the look in his eyes blatant but not at all predatory. He’s only thinking, and you happen to be in his line of sight. There is of course the residual discomfort of knowing that this was supposed to be a date, but it’s long since fizzled out. You sip your drink slowly because the guilt of using him and being found out hasn’t left your brain just yet. 

The humiliation bothers you less than the knowledge that you are the type of girl to use others to soothe your own wounded pride. You’ve become exactly the type of girl you used to make fun of when you were younger, and it makes you sick to acknowledge there’s no trickery involved - no ghost possession or spiritual hijacking of your body. No, this is one hundred and ten percent you. 

Before you can think of a proper way to apologize to Namjoon, he cuts through your misery with a single question.  

“You asked me out because I’m taller than him, right?” he asks with a knowing smirk. He single-handedly diffuses the tension with the grace of someone who’s not looking to crucify you.

You purse your lips and play with the cardboard paper lining the cup. “It’s not the only reason,” you mumble. You look down again, but this time you catch on to the motion and correct for it. Namjoon is almost proud.

“I want to know all of them,” he says. If you are intent on being hung up over Jungkook, he is going to milk this not-quite date for all its worth.

Namjoon has a way of surprising you pleasantly, disarming you with easy conversation that doesn’t carry hidden nails to trap you in a game of gotcha.

“You’re a good person,” you say after a pause, deciding that “good person” aptly describes the essence of the man sitting in front of you in the most concise, factual manner.

There is so much you can say about Namjoon, but he already knows the chronology of his achievements. It’s his life after all. And Namjoon isn’t exactly unpopular on campus. It’s a relatively small school, and word spreads quickly when one of their own writes the occasional article for a globally syndicated paper. He would surely go places most people only daydream about, but more than his many earthly accolades, he’s good because of all the things found outside of his CV.

“You’re so cool… with everything you know and everything you’ve already done… but you were willing to help me get through that hell class.” The upperclassman was penciled in your book as Mister Perfect, the guy on track to ruling the world with eco-friendly conglomerates backing him while paying his employees a decent wage. He had helped you adjust to the world of upper division classes while you were the lone freshman who gamed her way to upper division status through some creative credit claiming.

It feels good to get his ego stroked, and Namjoon wants to hear more.

“And?”

“And you’re kind of ideal,” you answer without too much hesitation. “Tall, hot, super smart - but not like a total jackass about it... Tall...”

“But I’m not him.” He means this in the kindest way possible, but your face falls anyway. “It’s okay. We don’t choose who we like.”

And if there was such a thing as cosmic alignment or destiny or a higher power, it was laughing at you because what were the chances of gazing out the window at this exact time and seeing Jungkook walking past the coffee shop looking every bit as carefree as you wanted to be? Your breath catches as you spot the unmistakable red parka you bought for him on his birthday. The warm puffs of air leaving his mouth are visible even through the mildly-smudged glass window. Jungkook has probably finished with his shift for the day, and your gaze follows him until he rounds the corner.

“I’m so sorry,” you speak into hands that cover your face when you catch Namjoon’s amused and pitying smile. “I’m a mess.”

“Nah,” he responds, shaking his head. “You’re just not over him.” 

Namjoon parts ways with you on friendly terms. His retreating form looks architecturally handsome as he makes his way back to his dorm room on the other side of campus after walking you to yours.

It feels empty to be in your room alone during finals week. Your roommate is long gone back to her home in the sunnier parts of the world while you are stuck on campus for another week because you’re the chump who got stuck with a final on the last day in the last time slot. And it’s the exam you have to take with Jungkook too.

Maybe if the two of you were less angry with each other and less in the “bitter exes” mood, you could even study together, calling a brief truce on feelings and focusing on the much-needed A. Hyper-competitive does not begin to describe your desire to do well; besting others is a given, and besting yourself is the real challenge. (The only person you’ve ever lost to was Jungkook, but he is in a different league of unbeatable - an exceptional exception.)

Your phone sits in front of you at your desk, taunting you to drop your pride and text Jungkook because he’s good at force feeding information into your brain. It’s also because you miss him. With a scowl and an unladylike grunt, you shut off your phone with vicious swipe at the screen and study until your eyes hurt. 

***

There is a fresh pile of snow you have to wade through on your way to the designated exam building the following evening. Snow is a lifestyle at this university, and there are quite a few students who have transferred out because of the unforgiving climate. You long for the sunny beaches and scorching sun of Home, but you grit your teeth and bear it. Mama didn’t raise a quitter, and this university was going to carry you to medical school.

The hallway leading up to the exam room squeaks from your boots and wet tracks left by other students who have already arrived. You see the huddled masses of students poring over review sheets just outside the entrance to the exam room. There’s still thirty minutes left to cram. 

Jungkook stands out from the crowd in his usual fashion, the red parka a dead giveaway as he leans against the wall. His eyes are closed with headphones fit snugly over his ears as an indication to the world that he was in Do Not Disturb mode. He’s the only one without his notes out. 

Maybe you were projecting, but he looks thinner than usual now that you’re looking at him without the distraction of a date. Jungkook’s chin looks more prominent than ever, and his jaw is set into a careless frown that doesn’t make him look any less handsome. You’re staring, and it’s almost sad how you lap at this opportunity to gaze at him without fearing that you’d be found out. 

But Jungkook opens his eyes shortly thereafter, as if he has his sensors for you turned on, and meets your gaze with one of his own that’s just as intense, just as searching. “Caught” doesn’t even begin to describe how you feel. You have the worst poker face, and Jungkook is excellent at reading you. 

You open your mouth to say hi, but he’s done looking at you right as you become ready to speak. Jungkook shuts his eyes once more and makes a show of fiddling with his phone, presumably to turn up the volume and tune you out decisively. If you were a braver girl with a bigger heart, you might have walked up to him anyway, unplugged his headphones, and greeted him with the steely determination of a girl set out to take what she wants without reserve. 

Instead, you wait outside the door like the other students, eyes glazing over notes you compiled the night before, your mind already blank and frozen. The door beeps ten minutes before the start of the exam, unlocking itself on a timer, and everyone files into the room in neat, tired lines. 

You glance back at Jungkook who’s taken off his headphones finally. He lets people cut in front of him like a good sport. Without stopping to consider how desperate you looked, you hang back on purpose to time your entry into the exam room to match him. 

“Good luck,” you tell him, hopeful. 

“You too.” It’s an automatic platitude, something said on reflex to any stranger.

Jungkook steps around you to take a seat in the far left corner of the room towards the back where everyone piles their wet effects. It’s the uncomfortable, damp section - the place no one wants to sit, and Jungkook happily takes his chair without a second glance in your direction. 

This is a bad time to discover that you’re about to cry. Try as you might, there’s no stopping the welling of tears in the corners of your eyes or the burn that singes through your nose as you hold back the muffled sobs that want out from  your trachea. The proctor gives you a pitying look when he puts down Version 2 of the exam face down in front of you, and you realize he must think you’re breaking down from finals stress. 

You have no energy left to pretend like you’re doing okay, and you take your final exam while wiping away your tears and blowing your nose religiously. You use up a whole packet of tissues much to the disgust of your neighbors. 

Jungkook is finished with his exam first to no one’s surprise, and when he leaves the room, just as quiet and unassuming as the way he entered, it finally hits you that he’s not going to wait in the hallway until you’re done with your exam. He will not play dutiful boyfriend bearing a vending machine snack and a smile to bring up your mood after a crappy test. The two of you are indeed strangers now, maybe less than that. 

The tears act up again, but you’re proud to say none of them landed on your exam to potentially fuck with your score. 

“Rough exam?” the proctor asks when you hand in your sheet and show him your ID card to prove you’re not a stand-in. 

“Yeah,” you reply, finding it easier to admit defeat to an exam than to your stupid emotions for a boy that doesn’t even care about you. “I tried my best though.” 

The proctor looks vaguely sympathetic. “That’s all you can really do.” 

You sign out and make your way back to your dorm room where a mountain of clothes awaits you for packing. 

“Let’s go home, girlie,” you tell yourself as you push open the front door of the building, your eyes closed and bracing for the cold.

***

***

***

***

It Actually Started Like This:

Jungkook held your hand for the first time, nearly shaking from the newness. He worried you’d be put off by his clammy, cold hands, but you paid no mind to that and threaded your fingers with his own. 

You were composed, much more than he was at least. The composure probably came from the smugness that followed after dismantling Jungkook’s theory about his inability to date Short Girls. But you had set him straight and proceeded to rip the metaphorical blindfold away from his eyes so that he could see the light. (You were the light.)

As he tried his best to calm his racing heart, you leaned in - a little bit teasing, a little bit saucy, completely his type - and while you weren’t even at his chin, you overwhelmed him with a personality that tore at his own.

“Wh- Th- I-” Jungkook was unable to speak. He cleared his throat, the sound adorable and borderline adolescent in its crack and pitch.

“There are so many benefits to dating a short girl, Jungkook,” you cooed, batting your eyelashes and looking down there. It was innuendo at its worst, and he loved it, craved it. He took in the blatant and gauche words like a sponge soaking up dirty dishwater before being wrung out. You were a bad influence on him, and he had picked up more than his fair share of bad habits because of you.

“Oh.” Jungkook’s mind was empty of intelligible thought outside of unbidden, suggestive images.

His mouth opened to say something else, something to impress upon you that he could give just as good as he got, but instead of cool words and a zinger, all that escaped his mouth was a hiccup.

Jungkook blushed.

***

***

***

***

And A Little Later There Was This

[clarketomylexa]

The Bucket List

Clexa Week 2018, Day 7, Free Day | read on ao3

Clarke grew up thinking she was fragile. She was too young to comprehend the look on her mother’s face when she had found the number, skewed and grey on Clarke’s ribs while scooping sudsy water over her in the bath. But she knew it wasn’t good because that night when she needed the potty her mommy had been crying in her daddy’s arms. She knew it was the same thing that had her teachers looking at her with that sweet, sad look when they read over her forms at school, the thing that had everyone careful around her.

Everyone but except Finn in the eighth grade whose number was seventeen and who she would have thought had a death wish if she didn’t know he was just living his to the fullest. It made her sad when he did these things, pulled these stunts like shimmying up the side of the gym or swimming out the deepest in the ocean on summer vacation. But it also made her like him. She was thirteen-years-old and love seemed like something for the adult Finn wouldn’t be, so she kissed him under the bleachers and held his hand when they went to the diner after school because he was nice and sweet, and he had something like a sad song in his eyes. He told Clarke he loved her in the summer between freshman and sophomore year, the day before he left to go to California and she cried.

They were a good couple, people told her in the months after. Good because their numbers were both young, Clarke knew. It was widely accepted that people with ill-fated destinies bonded the fastest, loved the hardest. Clarke hated the fact people pushed them together for the simple fact that it wouldn’t hurt for too long when one of them died. When Jake passed two years later, it was peaceful for everyone but Clarke. She told the school guidance counsellor to shove her condolences up her ass and didn't go for her remaining sessions.

She met Lexa in her second year of undergrad – majoring in art at the University of Maryland because Abby begged her not to go too far from home. The brunette with glasses on, standing in the corner of the pumping house party, engaged in a pragmatic discussion with her drunk foster sister. ‘No, Anya, you’re drunk, you’re not driving me home.’ ‘Take the stick outta your ass Lex, my numbers not up yet,’ she patted Lexa on the cheek lazily, ‘live a little.’ She slinked off into the crowd and Clarke saw her crowded against the upstairs bathroom door with Raven later when she went to attend to a throwing up Octavia but Lexa stayed rooted in her corner. She pulled out a dog-eared copy of Shakespeare's ‘Othello’ and sat on a keg in a way that made Clarke laugh out loud.

“Can I help you?”

Clarke snapped her mouth shut, teeth vibrating with the base of the music. “No ma’am,” she teased, tongue through her teeth. She sidled up to the girl and leant against the wall. “You have good taste in literature. Bad taste in glasses, though.”

Lexa took her glasses of an examined them, affronted. “They help me see, they’re not a fashion statement…” she left the statement open ended, clearly angling for introductions and Clarke shook herself to attention. “Clarke,” she hummed, “I’m Clarke.”

“Lexa,” Lexa replied. “You’re an English major?” She assumed.

“Art actually.”

“Ah,” Lexa nodded, “I see.”

“What do you see?”

Lexa smiled, “you have the look of a starving artist.”

“I’ll have you know I go back home every weekend. My mother feeds me up on home cooked meals, I’m far from starving.” But her smile, Clarke decided, despite the faux-degrading comment, was precious. It started slow, non-existent like a star during daylight when you knew it was there but lying unseen. Then, the left side of her lips quirked up and Clarke’s chest sung.

“But you are an artist?”

“Yes,” Clarke confirmed. She drew with whatever paper she could find and her notebooks – and Octavia’s notebooks – were covered in doodles. Kids payed her in middle school to draw ‘tattoos’ on their arms with permanent markers.

“Will you let me see your work?”

“Only if you let me see your…what do you major in?”

Lexa laughed, airy, like she didn't use it that much. “Poli-Sci,” she informed Clarke, closing ‘Othello’ into her lap with her thumb marking her page and waggling her eyebrows suggestively, “I can show you my notes on the American legal system?”

When Clarke made an unimpressed face, Lexa nodded in faux-sympathy. “I don’t blame you, it’s severely flawed.”

In a flash of boldness Clarke plucked a blunt pencil from the spilt mug of pens on the nearby surface and printed her number in neat writing on the back cover of Lexa’s book, thinking humorously that the dusty story could use some action. Lexa complained that the book was not hers, but a class copy from her English course and Clarke assured her that she could rub it off when it was in her phone.

Raven came by shortly after, pulling at Clarke because apparently Octavia had been roped into doing shots with Luna and needed to be given water and put into bed lest she down anymore alcohol and when Clarke looked back Lexa was giving her a small one-handed wave, holding the back cover of ‘Othello’ up in acknowledgement of the number, like a promise she would text. Which she did, three hours later when Clarke was in bed and sober, listening to Octavia stumble around the dorm room in search of water. She flipped the light on in the bathroom with little regard to Clarke and filled up a plastic water bottle at the bathroom faucet before returning to bed, uttering a sloppy, hushed ‘fuck’ as she stubbed her toe which Clarke laughed at.

[Text from: Unknown 02/07/18 2:24 AM] Do I still get to see your artwork?

Grinning into the fluorescent light of her phone turned low, Clarke saved the number under ‘Lexa’ and replied.

[Text to: Lexa 02/07/18 2:26 AM] If you want to

[Text to: Lexa 02/07/18 2:26 AM] You’d have to come over to my place of course

[Text from: Lexa 02/07/18 2:27 AM] Your place?

[Text to: Lexa 02/07/18 2:27 AM] My dorm

[Text from: Lexa 02/07/18 2:27 AM] University housing? You are a starving artist.

[Text to: Lexa 02/07/18 2:28 AM] Like you’re better Miss Residence-Hall-Across-From-Mine

[Text from: Lexa 02/07/18 2:28 AM] You’re not above stalking I see.

[Text to: Lexa 02/07/18 2:28 AM] I looked you up, I like to be thorough

[Text from: Lexa 02/07/18 2:29 AM] And have I met your expectations?

[Text to: Lexa 02/07/18 2:30 AM] To the letter

Lexa came over a week later when Octavia had left for class waggling her eyebrows and telling her to use protection and Clarke stood behind the brunette as she surveyed the quick sketches and hyper-realistic images pinned to her side of the room.

“Well?”

She watched Lexa, the way she sifted through the layers of drawings held fast with the same drawing pin, rough outlines of hands around coffee cups, a road leading to nowhere, a running watercolour on crinkling paper of the aurora borealis. “You’re a wonderful artist Clarke.” She tugged the watercolour gently so it slipped from its drawing pin and the paper next to it fell to the bed. Lexa studied the sketch – herself, with soft hair and round glasses, dog-eared ‘Othello’ in her lap. She grinned, smugly Clarke would say, laughter in her eyes. “What a likeness.”

Clarke snatched the sketch, hands covering her cheeks bashfully. “Shut up,” she scolded. “I like drawing you, okay,” she admitted, “you’re easy.”

“I’m easy?”

“You know what I mean.”

Lexa, Clarke found in the coming weeks, always knew. She saw things Clarke didn’t – even if she insisted the Clarke saw the world entirely in her own way, ‘artist eyes’ she said tracing fingers over collar bone on the sofa – and she quietly commented on them. The way the woman sitting behind them in the cafe off campus looked like she had a bad day, or suggesting they scratch their plans of a night out in favour of watching ‘Stranger Things’ because Clarke pulled an all-nighter the night before. She was everything that Clarke was and everything she wanted to be – soft where Clarke was soft and pragmatic where the blonde was violently emotional and together they would do things.

She was so sure of it – of them and their perfect cliché – when she was shucking the brunette’s university printed tee up her ribs a month later, breaths hot against kiss-chapped lips, that when her fingers raked over the skewed grey ‘23’ above the sharpest point of Lexa’s hip she wanted to cry. It was such a violent, sluggish feeling, like she was plummeting on a fairground ride but wading through glue. Revenant hands traced the mark, feeling it under the pads of her fingers like a sickening reassurance. “Lexa,” she whispered.

Lexa softened and curved, shoulders folding in semblance of defeat. She took the hem from Clarke and smoothed her tee down her body. “Clarke.”

They held each other's gaze, infinite conversations wrinkled into the atoms of their irises and Lexa reached out to bridge the space between them, stroking the pads of her fingers over Clarke’s collar bone like she did. “I wasn't sure,” she hummed and Clarke nodded. It was a tricky thing, your number; something so fragile yet the surest thing of your life and the blonde hated the way it was noted down on her documents like it was as unimportant as her city of birth. She swallowed Lexa’s words with a chaste kiss and took the brunette’s hand in hers, lacing paint stained fingers through Lexa’s to slip them under her shirt, dragging the hem up over her ribs. She pressed Lexa’s hand there, imploring her to understand and Lexa thumbed over the inch of skin with all of the sorrow in the world. “Twenty-two,” she recited. Twenty-two, Clarke remembered, two years left and half a life lived. Octavia was out, Clarke’s laptop was propped on her art history textbook and tilted to forty-five degrees where they could see it from her bed, their mindless evening watch forgotten when Clarke had professed her interest in other things and the blonde tucked herself into her girlfriend feeling fragile and resolute. The AC thrummed, she played with the frayed collar of Lexa’s tee. “It’s not fair.” Lexa hummed and Clarke felt it reverberate in her chest and Clarke’s fingers itched with the need to press themselves there and feel it. “I wish I didn’t know.”

“Isn’t it better to know, though?”

She looked up at Lexa, tracing the strong line of her jaw and her cheeks, her nose, her lips with her eyes.

“So that we can make our peace.”

“I don’t want to make my peace,” Clarke argued, she sat up, irritated and fussy, hot anger blooming like something toxic inside her. Lexa was the best kind of person, dutiful and kind, she religiously held the door for peers exiting their lectures and spotted the woman at the supermarket last week, who was short four dollars and calming her screaming two-year-old. She was realistic, pragmatic, she didn't take more than she needed and Clarke – what had Clarke done in her life that death had to be the equalizer? She thought of Finn, she thought of her father. In kindergarten, they taught her the meaning of fair. Sharing toys was fair, giving her peers turns on the swings was fair. Their numbers? They weren’t fair. “Fuck peace,” she decreed darkly, “fuck everything. I don’t want it.”

“Clarke –”

“Let’s leave.”  

“We can’t –”

“We can.”

They would. Abby had told her not to run from her problems when Finn left and she got angry, Jake died and she went hiding from the world, but god it was tempting. Aloof and untethered, it was the only thing she was sure of.  

“Two years, Lexa, do you want to spend it here? I can’t do it. I can’t get a degree I’ll never use. I can’t stare at the same ceiling every night and know,” she made an inarticulate noise, gesticulating wildly and refusing Lexa and her attempts to beckon her back into her arms. “I can’t, Lexa, please.”

Lexa relented it and they called it ‘The Bucket List’ – a sheet of paper pinned up on Clarke’s side of her dorm, permanent marker staining the wall beneath it from heavy handed additions. It took Clarke four days to get Lexa to reveal her personal must-do items but when she did she smiled, gingerly writing them down beneath Clarke’s ‘travel first class, ski in the alps, see the northern lights, bungee jump, visit Machu Picchu, go skinny dipping,’ in her neat, law-student print.

Their fall semester came and went in half-conscious actions and pressing close in their dorm room twin beds, scrolling through travel blogs and Lonely Planet suggestions, draining their savings, informing the university they wouldn’t be returning after winter break and telling Abby about their plans, their two-year bucket-list trip, destination unknown that they arguably couldn’t afford. Whoever suggested telling her over Thanksgiving dinner thought it was a good idea was stupid but Clarke was too hopped up on the anxiety of explaining why she had to do this to remember whether it was her or Lexa, especially since they were staying the night in Clarke’s twin bed before driving back to campus in the morning. She wouldn’t do it again, she vowed. But Abby smiled, hugging her daughter and she slipped a signed check into Lexa’s palm when they gathered on the porch the next morning, suitcases in the car, saying goodbye. It was enough to make Clarke burst into tears on the drive back to campus.

They went west in Lexa’s Jeep as per ‘take a road trip without a destination’ after the brunette took Clarke’s ‘enter work in an exhibit’ far too liberally, jimmying the front lock of an art gallery under the cover of darkness to hang the sketches that used to be pinned to the wall of Clarke’s dorm while the blonde sat in the car standing watch. It was the most rebellious thing she had done aside from punch Octavia’s big brother in the fourth grade because he was four years older and going through the stage where he thought he was god's gift to man and she was still laughing about it four days later in a crappy hotel off the highway in Albuquerque, tracing figure-eights into the taut skin of Lexa’s bare abdomen with the nail of her index finger.

“I can’t believe you did that.”  

“What?”

“Committed a felony.”

Lexa shrugged against the starch-white bed sheets, the curtains were stained and the mattress had curved in the middle like a sofa-bed but they had established the sheets were clean when they walked in even though the sink was clogged with strangers’ hair.

“It was on the list.”

“Is that going to be our thing from now on?” Clarke asked, hiding her smile in Lexa’s neck where things were soft and dull and smelt like something implacable, perfume and detergent. She feigned innocence and threw her hands up in a semblance of surrender, “‘the list made me do it!’”

“If you want it to be,” Lexa pressed lips to the crown of Clarke’s forehead and the blonde preened.

“I do.”

They made Joshua Tree National Park a day of straight driving later through limiting bathroom breaks and timing their stops at gas stations – Lexa filling the car while Clarke bought snacks with forty-five seconds to spare like something out of the John Green novel she read in high school. It wasn’t hot, but it was California and she helped Lexa strip down to her vintage tee, flinging her jacket into the backseat with her plaid shirt and their ill-packed suitcases, fed her girlfriend a sip of watery gas station milkshake and giggled through roadside landmarks. She felt light, like the wind. Lexa reprimanded her for spilling Cheeto dust in the foot well of the car and she stuck out her orange tinted tongue like the child she hadn’t felt like since Finn.

That in mind, they did Disneyland the next week. Clarke’s overt shock when Lexa wrote it on the list – which was thrice folded and stashed carefully in the glove box – was laughable but she was the perfect guide and when she slipped a pair of sequined encrusted black Minnie Mouse ears onto her head Lexa crowded her against the faux-brick facade of Disneyland City Hall and kissed her filthily.

“Have we found a new kink?” Clarke teased, fingering the collar of the vintage Mickey Mouse tee Clarke and swindled her into. It was tucked into the waist of her cut off jean shorts and if the five-year-old girl in a Cinderella dress wasn’t looking at them perplexed, she would have untucked it and raked her hands over Lexa’s stomach. Instead, she pressed her lips to the corner of Lexa’s quirked lips and pulled her in the direction of Space Mountain, paying a vendor for cotton candy and insisting throwing up was mandatory which Lexa frowned at.

Three days alternating parks and Clarke was suntanned – burnt – and giggly. She revelled in the way Lexa’s eyes lit when Minnie Mouse kissed her on the cheek, rode the Teacups until she was dizzy, did the Tower of Terror nine times and laughed at the ride picture when they passed the exit. They watched the fireworks from main street on their last night, the only place they could find a spot after waiting through the evening for the Indiana Jones ride Clarke insisted was worth it. It was, she maintained, but so were the fireworks. So was the way she stood clinched into Lexa’s chest, hands in the back pockets of her shorts, wearing her girlfriend’s plaid shirt so that the sleeves hung over her palms. So was the way Lexa was looking at her, like she was the happiest she had ever been and the happiest she ever would be.

Together they were a whirlwind. California taking them to Mexico on a first-class flight that they sipped sparkling wine through and made out in the larger than economy bathroom as per ‘travel first class’. They drunk cheap tequila and salt-rimmed margarita’s, and ate tacos from street carts. Lexa dip dyed her hair an outrageous pink, temporarily thank god, because it was a shoddy dye job that had her wearing a hat for a week before the dye brushed out but it earned another tick on the list which was becoming more and more travel battered with pen scribbles and stains. Clarke liked to look at it at night, morbid as it seemed. The paper, their plans, it gave her stability, grounded her to a place where is stray kind of existence her and Lexa were living felt purposeful – they were doing things. She ziplined yesterday and it was exhilarating.

A week later, central Mexico took them down to Tulum, where the water was the clearest thing Clarke had seen yet and Lexa showed so much skin in her bikini of choice Clarke nearly jumped her on site. She didn’t, but she did pull it off later that night when they skinny dipped in the resort’s white sand beach and left that morning before housekeeping could charge them for their pilfered towel robes.

South America found them at Machu Picchu, legs dangling over centuries worn stone and watching the fingers of cloud recede from the peaks of the Andes, Clarke’s playing with the belt loops on Lexa’s pants. She saw Lexa as something formidable, wind back centuries and the girl would be a warrior, swathed in battle garb and wielding spears, streaked with war paint. She could see it as plain as she ruins but here, and when the brunette went to pull lunch out of their bags, crossed legged on the verdant grass, Clarke drew it in scratchy lines of lead. Lexa blushed bashfully when she saw it but Clarke held the paper up next to her face, checking the likeness. She leant forward to press a kiss to her chin, her lips, her nose, her forehead.

“Am I a warrior now?” Lexa teased when she pulled back.

“The commander,” Clarke corrected. “You wouldn’t take orders.”

“I take them from you.”

“That’s different,” Clarke leaned into her. They were speaking in a low hum, something about the atmosphere up here that begged not to be touched, like if they remained here they would be immortalized in the mountains and strong stone. “I’m your girlfriend,” she ran a finger over Lexa’s hip over the material of her pants, “you’re contractually obliged.”

She told Lexa she loved her – wholly and irreversibly – in Kenya, where the greying clouds of a summer storm brew like a pressure headache above the savanna and the rain was hot. It drenched the gauzy white material of the linen dresses they had donned for the dinner of their luxury safari and while couples – finances and anniversary goers escaping children and life in the suburbs – fled to their tents around them with their swathes of mosquito nets and carved chess boards. Clarke inhaled the smell of dust and rain and wound her hands in the frizzing locks of Lexa’s hair as the brunette kissed her until she couldn’t breathe, until ‘be kissed in the rain’ in Africa turned to something else and Lexa kissed the skewed number on her bare ribs like it was a birthmark of little importance.

Europe, Clarke decided, was a realm unto its own. They acclimatised slowly, not straying from tiny towns inland in Germany, where Clarke took candid photos of Lexa smiling over bunches of wildflowers in cobblestoned provincial markets or village squares and they laid together in rented rooms in authentic Inn’s, eating local cuisine – strudel, Palatschinken and pretzels – as per Lexa’s ‘eat a dish from every culture’. They set their sights bigger eighteen days later, ‘go to the Musée d'Orsay’, ‘climb the Eiffel Tower’. The lock they fastened to the chain-link of the Pont de Arts was cheap, bought from around the corner, but Clarke traced their initials on with a steady artists hand and they scoured Rome and Prague and Milan in summer dresses and floppy hats in the days, sending thick stacks of postcards to Abby with tales of their adventures – of how Lexa left her passport in the safe in Italy and how Clarke couldn’t speak French to save herself despite four years of it through high school. And at night, Clarke would wait up on the hotel balconies, watching the outline of Lexa’s bare form in bed while Abby called, asking after Lexa – now her pseudo daughter – and reminding Clarke of how much she loved her.

They summered on the coast. On white sand beaches and illustrious lifestyles. No one knew them here. No one knew them in Mexico, or California, of Peru or Africa either, but this continent was the place they could life infinite lives through infinite lives and the anonymity made Clarke breathless. In Monaco, they were heiresses with hired couture and self-done makeup, escaping the suffocating grasp of their parents and high expectations for a summer of illicit fun. Lexa discovered an affinity for Blackjack in the casino tables and Clare rediscovered an affinity for Lexa.

In Santorini, they whispered to each other conspiratorially over the rims of expensive cocktails and lifting designer sunglasses onto their heads they watched the reactions of the other holiday goers, guessing whether the couple in the cabana thought they were wealthy divorcees, or celebrities escaping the paparazzi. Everywhere thought, they were in love with each other and it was beautiful.

August was in Tuscany, in a sprawling villa with property and vineyards, statues flanking the gravel drive – Lexa found a woman on the internet wanting house sitters for her month’s business trip to England and they crossed ‘rent house for the summer’ off the list – and they spent the month with the windows flung open in gauzy dresses or nothing at all, exploring each other in the most desperate and careless sense of the word. They didn’t linger on the numbers when they were naked at night and Clarke wasn’t anxious anymore. She didn’t want to rage, she wanted to live, like this, with Lexa, nowhere and everywhere because when they were like this, Lexa looked at her like she was the world.

Six days in, Lexa learnt to cook from the groundskeeper with crinkled paper skin and Clarke would sit on the kitchen counter and take pictures at inappropriate times to sketch later. She had a diary now, a leather bound, embossed one she bought in Rome that housed six months’ worth of sketches that she would tentatively show to Lexa when the girl was pink-cheeked and deep-breathing at night, when she would blush further at the drawings and tell Clarke she loved her.

Watching Lexa standing on the train tracks under the austere brick arch of Auschwitz-Birkenau in early November when the snow was light, was the most harrowing thing Clarke had experienced. She stood five paces back, tucking her hands into the thick coat she bought and swallowed, catching up to her girlfriend with brisk steps, distress winding itself into her spine. What had those people thought?

Lexa’s voice echoed in her head from that night back in Maryland, ‘isn’t it better to know, though?’ she had asked. Clarke shook her head. It couldn’t be. Peace couldn’t be made under duress.

She cried that night. She sobbed over the toilet in their hotel room until she made herself sick and when Lexa went to wipe the saliva from her chin she shoved her into the vanity and told her to go away and Lexa – sweet, stoic Lexa – did. It made her cry more. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and kicked the bathtub and wanted to know why the brunette was so okay with things but couldn’t find the answer. She would never understand the peace Lexa made with death.

A half-hour later she emerged into the room, pyjama clad and remorseful and burrowing so deep into Lexa’s arms – somehow religiously open even after what Clarke had done – she no longer felt like they were two people. They were one now, four legs, two bodies, one heart, and for the first time, she began to wonder how it would happen.

Clarke told Lexa she was scared in a glass igloo in Finland. Warmth seemed a luxury in a country seemingly made of snow, but there were feather down comforters curled around their bare bodies and light danced in Lexa’s eyes – great swathes of magic, verdant green morphing into pale pink and regal purple. It danced like candlelight, as fragile as too, like she could pull it into her hands but it would dissipate like Lexa’s breath on the arch of her cheek.

“Lexa.”

“Yes?”

She lay so they were reflections of each other and wanted to kiss the freckle on Lexa’s top lip. But the anxiety was back, the distress from Poland that didn’t belong there to taint something so beautiful. She was crying now, salty tears ruining the sanctity of their night with her head in Lexa’s chest and the covers drawn up tight so they might strangle her. Humming, Lexa hushed her with pretty words and soft hands until her chest wasn’t heavy so violently and her frame didn’t tremble. “It’s okay, Clarke,” she whispered, she repeated the words, breath hot in her ear, until finally it started to ring true.

She didn’t know when it happened. Somewhere between the white sands of Railay Beach, Thailand, and watching Lexa cradle a three-year-old orphan to her chest while the girl giggled and tugged on stray locks of her hair that frizzed under the heat of their week in Cambodia, she guessed. But early March brought with it skiing weather and Lexa coaxed her back to the alps, where snow held the Swiss mountains hostage and the altitude pinkened Clarke’s cheeks quicker than Lexa in a tailored snow-jacket did, and she woke up one morning dizzy and aching.

It was bound to happen. The country hopping, the climate changing meant getting sick was inevitable but the sun was softening the white glare of the snow and Lexa looked so gorgeous with bed hair and hands curling around the coffee mug the chalet provided that Clarke was petulant about it. She pouted and huffed, blocking Lexa out completely when the brunette put her on bed rest. ‘You’re not a doctor, what do you know?’ ‘You’re not a doctor either, Clarke, now drink some water, you’ll get dehydrated.’ Tongue out like a pre-schooler the blonde rolled over and took the comforter with her until Lexa let out a long-suffering groan and set her coffee on the side table, untucking Clarke from her cocoon to sift fingers up her torso dragging up her – Lexa’s – university tee to press kisses to the line at the waistband of her panties, up her stomach, her ribs, her chest, eyes placating. “Don’t start something you won’t finish, Woods,” Clarke warned darkly, she coughed and it rattled in her chest. Lexa grimaced. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she cooed, fingers soothing her skin and Clarke melted into the sensation, eyes fluttering. Something about the domesticity of their easy routine warmed her, the knowledge that whatever bed she found herself in, she could stretch her hand out and find her girlfriends lithe form next to her. It was the only grounding she needed now, their list lay dormant, fold-creased in the front pocket of her suitcase, more checklist than lifeline.

Lexa’s fingers stopped and Clarke whined. “Lex…”

“Clarke,” her voice was tilted with a hard edge the blonde didn’t like. She pulled at her. “Clarke sit up.”

“Ow,” Clarke huffed, but she did so at Lexa’s behest. “Pushy.” The headboard was hard and her head spun like a top. “What?”

Lexa smudged a hand over her ribs, harder than Clarke would have liked, like she was smudging off pen doodles or permanent marker. “Eighty-six.” She whispered.

“What?”

“Your number.”

“Huh?”

“It’s changed.”

Clarke scoffed. “Numbers don’t change Lexa.” People changed. Seasons changed. Feelings changed. Numbers didn’t change.

Lexa pressed her lips into a thin line, grim in ways Clarke didn’t want to comprehend, like the grey of a gravestone or a processional march. “It’s changed,” she insisted, holding up the hem of Clarke’s shirt for the blonde to see and the sight knocked the air out of her chest like a semi to the wall of her chest. “It,” she blinked – hard – twisted her fingers in the hem of her shirt so tightly they turned white, “it can’t.” She looked to Lexa, eyes wide. “Is – you?” her fingers went to the waistband of Lexa’s pants but the blonde caught them and pushed them back before deft fingers could slip below, eyes sombre. “No,” she whispered. If the human body had the capacity to implode that would be how Clarke described the searing, pulling agony on her chest.

The pink sands of Bahama beaches clinging to sun-kissed skin and Clarke wouldn’t release Lexa from her hands. Their sheets were cool, a starched white against the brown of Lexa’s skin, marred with white at the cut of her bikini line and dipping low over her backside. On better days Clarke would shimmy down her body and press kisses these, teasing and tripping, delving deliciously lower but today her hands were in the soft baby curls at the nape of the brunette’s neck and their lips were locked, an embrace that traversed lazy hours against cotton sheets while the sun stained the earth at its hottest time and children shrieked in their bare feet on the sand.

Clarke cradled the point of Lexa’s hip with reverent fingers, a thumb there always, brushing the skin like she could remove the mark but she couldn’t and her chest hurt with the knowledge – the knowledge she had lived with for the past eleven months, that their marks no longer matched and goodbye was real.

She felt utterly, disgustingly betrayed but she swallowed the curdled film on her tongue.

“It’s okay, Clarke,” Lexa hummed. The blonde had lost count how many times she had heard this from her girlfriend’s lips. The words felt acrid now, meaningless as cigarette smoke.

“You’re going to live,” Clarke stated, pulling back from tanned arms.

Lexa shook her head. “You don’t have to fight things Clarke, you need to let go.”

“Like hell I do,” Clarke sat up, mussed hair and kiss-swollen lips. “I’m not going to sit here and watch you die. You’re young,” she prodded at a bicep, “you’re fit,” at the taut stomach of Lexa’s abdomen, “you’re healthy. You have no reason to.”

“Reason means nothing.”

“Reason means everything. Fate is bullshit,” Clarke decided, “I make my own destiny, you have to make yours.”

Later, on white sand beaches and over Maryland Thanksgivings, Lexa would tease that it was the nagging. Clarke, kissing the aching smugness that perpetuated the brunette’s lips, would insist it was superior motivational speaking skills, but both would agree it didn't matter. Not when they had blood in their veins and air in their lungs and the astounding capacity to live.

[mawichandoodles]

Beloved Rival (RusAme/AmeRus fanfiction)

My super late gift for @purplepatchwork in the RusAme Secret Santa2017 exchange.

This is my first fanfic EVER. And it’s longer than expected, almost 5k words. I’m a bit nervous, but know I wrote this with all the love. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, Patch! 

I mixed prompts number 2 and 3 :

“2. Al and Ivan as two rivalling teachers whom all the students secretly ship, whether they find out about this and/or their reaction to it is optional, just go wild.“

“3. Ivan confessing feelings to Alfred while being drunk, can be human or canonverse, Alfred’s reaction is entirely up to you.”

Note: I don't know much about the school system in other countries, so I'm going with what I was used to see during my high school years. I hope it doesn't end up clashing too much with other people's idea of high school.

Note2: English is not my native language, so regardless of research and editing, there may be some errors I’m unable to detect. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's Friday afternoon, near the end of the Algebra class, but more importantly, it's the end of the semester. The group is only a few ticks of the clock away from winter break. The only sounds in the classroom come from numb-handed students scribbling on their notebooks, and the mellow humming of the one sitting at the old desk in the front corner.

They are writing a final essay about the content reviewed throughout the semester, what they learned, why it's important, why they liked it, and things like that. Alternatively, they could write a whole manifesto of hate to the teacher, to algebra, or the world in general, if they sowanted. The only things the teacher asked for was eight pages of text, and finished within the hundred minutes of class they had on Fridays, as designated by the group's schedule.

Raivis, sitting in the middle of the front row, looks up at the clock over the whiteboard, a drop of sweat runs down his forehead. He relaxes the grip on his pencil, cue the feel of pins and needles as he stretches his fingers.

"Five minutes," he mutters.

The teacher, seating on his desk in silence, stops humming, along with his calculation of the student's final grades.

"Five minutes!?" A voice echoes from across the room.

A collective gasp and muffled muttering fill the teacher's ears.

Raivis' sight is blocked by a towering figure standing in front of his desk. The figure leans closer, revealing the smiling face of the teacher, Ivan Braginsky.

"Are you done, Mr. Raivis?"

Chills run down the spine of the small student.

"I ju-just... two more left."

Mr. Braginsky kept smiling. He gently places a hand on Raivis' head, and looks him in the eyes.

"The clock doesn't care you're staring at it. Mind your own work, before time runs out, yes?"

Raivis bites his lower lip from the inside, and remains silent. He resumes writing his paper without looking up at the teacher again. Pleased, Mr. Braginsky pats his head and goes on to walk around the classroom, nonchalantly. He happily strokes his red and pink scarf as he walks, the part wrapped around his neck. Not one of Raivis' classmates dare turn their heads towards the teacher.

"Remember this is an optional task you can do, if you want (or need) extra points. Because I don't want failing students. This is my Christmas gift for you. That's why I will take no less than 10 pages of text, as a sign of your appreciation, yes?".

The glasses of the guy sitting left to Raivis fall off his face and on his notebook.

"You said nine!" Says, Toris, who sat in the right corner of the middle row.

"Oh, is that how you say 'eleven' in your native language?" Mr. Braginsky chuckles.

Everyone groans at Toris.

Mr. Braginsky takes the empty seat in the middle of the room, right among his students. He begins talking outloud, tapping his fingers on the desk. No one was sure if he was doing it to distract them away from the last precious minutes they had left or not. He could be testing their ability to focus, to work under pressure, he could just want to ruin their lives (as every teenager thinks about any teacher, ever). They were all too familiar with Mr. Braginsky's subtle "tests" of character. Although they share the sentiment expessed by Mr. Braginsky, they do their best to tune out his voice.

"Uff, it's getting suffocated here." He pulls on his scarf with two fingers. "Who though repurposing a storage room as a classroom was a good idea? Greedy people, trying to save money instead of making more buildings. No wonder you guys call it the 'the Rat Trap', huh?"

A rat trap indeed. Located, next to the chemistry lab, the two rooms were built together in a one-story building, separate but next to the main building for classrooms which blocked whatever sunlight could have gotten through. Thus the room tends to be low, yet suffocating at times. There was barely enough space for fifteen people, and had four 30cm x 30 cm stuck-closed windows on upper walls.  

"And the other teachers said 'You should be fine, you have the smallest group'. I'm sure in the next semester, the room distribution will be a total bloodbath. Mr. Jones will fight for the same room I choose, I bet. Regardless I'll make sure we get a better place for us this spring... Yeah, I will be your teacher next year too, hehe." He continues rambling.

The echoes of the ringing bell penetrate the walls of the Rat Trap. As soon as they hear it, most people put their pencils down and start packing their belongings. Some people sight in relief, others from exhaustion. Others shake their hands in the air to relieve the numbness and someone in the back corner starts crying. Meanwhile, Mr. Braginsky gets up and returns to his desk, without sitting down.

"Time's up, turn in your papers. Leave them on my desk here. I'll have them graded by Monday, and I'll send the final grades to you all via e-mail in the evening of the same day."

No matter what face the kids are making at him, with a fatherly smile Mr. Braginsky wishes merry Christmas to each one of them as they leave. One by one, the youths place their essays on the desk, not before stapling the pages together with the teacher's stapler, as they usually did. He put it there for the students after all.

"Brother," mutters Natalya, as she stands in front of Mr. Braginsky, adjusting her white ribbon. "Thank you for your hard work."

She hands a thick bundle of pages to Mr. Braginsky. With a gesture, she insists on him receiving it with his hands, instead of leaving in on the desk. He raises an eyebrow.

"Natalya? You don't need extra points at all. You could have gone home already."

"I wrote you a letter. I don't want you to read anyone else's paper first, it must be that one, okay?"

"Merry Christmas?" Says Mr. Braginsky, patting her sister on the shoulder as she turns to leave.

And so as the teacher begins to pack his belongings too, he notices a girl with pink flowers adorning her head, sitting at the bottom left corner. It is Mei, the youngest sister of Mr. Wang, who also teaches algebra. Hoever she chose not to have a relative as her teacher.

Mr. Braginsky gives her a puzzled look and approaches her. Mei seems to be focused on her notebook, moving her pencil with meticulous dedication. A whole two minutes have passed. By the time Mei raises her head, Mr. Braginsky is sitting next to her, leaning on the desk as he stares at her work with clenched teeth, hidden by a lips-shut smile.

"Don't your eyes get tired of drawing in a place with such bad lighting?"

Mei jumps on her seat and slams her hands on the notebook.

"Mr. B.!" Mei she raises the corners of her mouth in a dubiously successful attempt to sound calm. "You're still here?"

"I am the one locking the classroom door today."

"I didn't mean to make you wait, Mr. B., I'll go home right away."

"Did you take on the final task?" He says, fingers fidgetting, focusing on Mei's small black spot near her chin, probably a pencil graphite stain.

"My grade is fine, as you told me, so I didn't write anything".

"Is it too cold outside or something? Why didn't you leave early, like your friend Lien? Maybe you like my class that much?"

Mei looks down, without moving her hands off the notebook. Several seconds of silence ensue.

"Alright, let me see it."

Mei's eyes widen. Her hands press even more on the notebook.

"But it's nothing," she stutters,

"Yes, so let me see it."

"But..."

Mei sighs, her face turns red and quietly slides her graphite-stained palms away from her work, revealing the semi-realistic unfinished image of two men, suspiciously similar to Mr. Braginsky and Mr. Jones, engaging in what looked like "adult activities". Mr. Braginsky slowly extends his arm to grab the notebook, looking Mei in the eye as if to ask for permission to take it. Mei remains silent.  Mr. Braginsky then proceeds to inspect the drawing, now on his hands.

"I have to questions, Miss Wang."

An imaginary knot forms in her stomach. She closes her eyes and folds her arms around her abdomen, anticipating the scariest scolding of her life as if she was preparing to take a fist to the gut. And so she nods in silence.

"Number one: Is that Mr. Jones, tying me up with the candy cane-pattern scarf I got from my grandma?" He inquires, pointing at the goofy scarf he's wearing.

Mei nods again.

"Number two: Did you draw my nose smaller on purpose?"

Mei is unable to hold back her nervousness any longer.

"Mr. B. please the don't tell my brother about this, please don't show it to him! I'm really sorry, I'll accept my punishment but please don't-"

"Shhh Shhh...  Can I keep it?" He interrupted.

"Eh?" Mei stopped cold. "Do you... actually like it?" She stuttered.

"Well, no, but I can't let you keep it, much less actually finish it."

"I'm really sorry."

Mr. Braginsky chuckled behind his hand.

"Making a fuzz about this would be a waste of time, right? Just go home and don't draw these things at school. That's my Christmas gift for you, what do you say?"

Mei placed her hand on her chest.

"So, my Christmas gift for you would be letting you keep it?"

Mr. Braginsky chokes on his own breath.

"The gift is not drawing these things at school anymore. Now go, shoo shoo." Mr. Braginsky gestures, still smiling.

"Thank you, thank you so much! Merry Christmas, Mr. B.!" Mei exclaimed. She masterfully ripped the drawing from the notebook without damaging it, handed it back to Mr. Braginsky and hurried to pack everything. She then runs away from the Rat Trap more happy than scared.

Mr. Braginsky is still in the desk next to where Mei was, staring at the confiscated drawing, with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows. The rythmic tapping of his fingers echo across the room.  Soon the image blurs as his minds simply wanders off.

"But why with Mr. Jones?" He thinks out loud.

It wasn't that Mr. Jones was a man, just like himself. It was that wether in public or in private, they were seldom "nice" to one another, if ever at all. How did so many kids get the idea that they could "love" each other? He didn't understand. Did Mr. Jones say something he was not aware of? Did they do it as a form of mockery? Could it be they noticed something?

"Because I'm the best teacher ever?"

Startled and holding his breath, Mr. Braginsky folds the sheet of paper with the drawing and places it on his lap to cover it under the desk. He looks up to where the voice came, only to see Mr. Alfred F. Jones, the physics teacher. standing just past the entrance of the room, staring back at him. Mr. Braginsky exhales and shakes his arm in a dismissive "go away" kind of motion.

"Ivan, how's it going? Found anything interesting? Said Mr. Jones, with an intentional, emphasized mispronounctiation of the "I" in "Ivan" as "eye".

"Alf," Ivan greeted him, referencing the extraterrestial protagonist of the eponymous 80's sitcom. "What do you want?"

Alfred goes to Ivan's desk and casually grabs the other's suitcase.

"Do you have, like, a stapler?"

Ivan puts Mei's drawing in the pocket of his coat and returns to his desk. He yanks the suitcase away from Alfred's hands.

"Not for you. Besides, I think I ran out of staples after my kids used it just now." Ivan replied with a dry tone. "And I don't want you to lose it or break it with your clumsy gorilla hands anyway."

Alfred smirks.

"So you're admitting I'm stronger, after all?"

"Clumsy." Ivan replies, walking to the door. Alfred follows him.

"Come on, I forgot mine at home. I need to staple my student's papers!" He begs. "And some other documents too," he mutters.

Ivan stops walking and turns to Alfred.

"Show me the papers and I'll staple them myself."

"Ivan, do you really think I'm gonna break it?"

No response.

"Man, the mug incident was an accident, I'm not asshole enough to break other people's stuff on purpose."

Ivan stepps out of the Rat Trap and closes the door behind him, with Alfred still inside.

"Oh you did break something of mine and it was not just a mug," Ivan replies, making noises with the keychain as to make Alfred think he's going to really lock the door and leave.  

Alfred takes a deep breath and exhales. He rubs his temples then folds his arms.

"Then will you come with me to the teacher's lounge? I left them there. I have to present some of those papers real soon. I don't have time to drive home or look for one in a store, you know. I'll treat you to lunch if you want."

Ivan opened the door slowly, only enough to poke his head inside, like a shy little kid.

"I'll help, but I'll choose the meal. I don't want cheap trash-burgers get it?."

"F-- yes!" Alfred cheers and slams the door open. He runs outside, pulling a startled Ivan from the arm.

"Hey I have to lock the door!" Ivan complains. And so Alfred freezes on the spot, almost stumbling on his feet.

"Ah yeah, I forgot. Lock the door, then. It's just that I'm really short on time."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The lingering scent of cheap coffee floats in the air within the teachers lounge. The old coffee machine emmits a buzzing sound that everyone doubts is normal but no ones cares enough to actually check. Ivan and Alfred are sitting in the worn out but strangely comfortable couch next to the teachers' lockers.

Ivan had taken off his scarf, it was neatly folded and put on the couch, next to his lap. Under the beige coat he wears a wine-red turtleneck sweater, so his neck remains covered, as usual. Alfred had rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie for the sake of comfort.

They two of them were alone in the room as most other teachers usually tried to go home early at this time of the year. There was a small coffee table in front of the couch, where they placed a tall tower of paper sheets Alfred had been passing mini bunches of paper to Ivan, who carefully stapled them together and placed them in the opposite corner of the table. Within minutes they had picked a good rythm of work.

"So, how did your kids do this semester?" Alfred grabs the next bunch of paper sheets and hands it to Ivan after asking.

"Overall a few low grades but no failed students."

"Well my students didn't get anything lower than 80."

"In last week's meeting you complained that 'kids nowadays don't care about science,' I recall? You called them burger-flipping babies then."

"I was mad at the time," Alfred laughs. "And I meant just the neglectful ones... But okay, my kids got nothing lower than 70. There, I said it."

Alfred grabs a thick bunch of documents and sorts them out appropiately. As he inspects them he holds the documents in such a way that the contents can't be seen by Ivan. He gives the next batch to his helper and leaves the rest aside. A single sheet falls off from them and glides unceremoniously until it lands on Ivans feet. Alfred freezes. Ivan picks it up without thinking much of it until he flips the sheet and sees the other side of the page.

A drawing made with blue ink, maybe from a regular pen. The sheet has some tomato sauce stains, it seems. It features cutesy characters holding hands. A blushing, big-nosed character kisses a spectacled character on the cheek. The artstyle looks like what the quiet and mysterious school librarian would call "moe", as Ivan learned during their rare small talk. As "stylized" as the appearance of the characters is, he grimaces when he gets to figure out the character's identities and feels the earlier situation with Mei kind of repeat itself. All within the same hour.

Ivan glances at Alfred with a serious face, without saying anything, holding the cutesy drawing for Alfred to see. Alfred loosens his grip on the next batch of documents so much they fall to the floor. He immediately picks them up and rushes to take the drawing away from the other's hands.

"I confiscated that thing from a student who was not paying attention," he says after clearing his throat.

Ivan looks down on the mess of sheets on Alfred feet and notices at least three other similar drawings lying among the "normal" documents. After shaking his head from side to side, Ivan stands up and stretches his body.

"I'll get myself some coffee," he says, but when he tries to step away, his foot stumbles on the table's leg and the tower of unstapled sheets is collapses and is now everywhere. Alfred snarls and just throws the paper on his hands onto the table, blending in with the rest of the mess.

"Goddamn it, what a great help you turned out to be! Talk about clumsy!"

"It's your fault for being so disorganized!... And having weird things among important documents!"

"Weird things, you say? Well it's NOT my fault you're so delicate you get offended so easily. I bet you doodled things like this yourself when we were in high school."

"I bet you now wish I did!" Ivan raises his voice. He takes his suitcase and is about to rush out of the lounge, when Alfred talks back once more.

"Ivan."

And so he stops, but doesn't turn back to face him.

"Your stapler," Alfred says, holding the tool with a stretched arm, trying to get it to reach Ivan. Even though Ivan is not seeing, so he wouldn't know.

"It's yours now. Merry Fucking Christmas." Ivan grunts and storms out of the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"The asshole forgot his dumb scarf," Alfred muttered to himself. "No way in hell I'm gonna go give it back to him."

More than an hour has passed since Ivan left the teacher's lounge. Alfred is sitting alone in the couch. Four neatly organized piles of documents were placed on the small table in front of him. The stapler sits on his lap as though and he pets it as though it was a living cat. Not too ago he had finished sorting out the last batch of documents, All of them now stapled together. He leans back and beholds the result of his efforts.

The first pile of paper corresponds to his final reports on the class and its members. The second and largest one corresponds to the planned content to review in the next semester. The third one is made of student's graded homework that he couldn't return to them on time. The last one is a collection of assorted documents and other non-school-related curiousities that had found their way into Alfred's current paperwork.  

Alfred reached to the fourth pile. He grabbed it hole and placed it on his lap, not before putting his new stapler aside. The pile contained old tests, some postcards, wrinkly notes about past lessons, some letters from his students from years ago, some pictures, and, who would have though, more drawings like the one that sparked the short-lived argument an hour ago.

The cutesy drawing is the sixth drawing featuring him and his coworker that he confiscated during that semester alone. The first time he caught a student drawing or writing such material he was shocked, almost traumatized, he could have said at the time. However, somewhere along the way he began to find it amusing. Now he would only confiscate material and punish the student if it was being used as a distraction during class. Otherwise he'd even joke about it and keep the students guessing. It's not like other coworkers didn't make similar jokes about them from time to time.

Of course Alfred would have never let Ivan know about that guilty pleasure of his. Not after the things he had said in the past, and has come to regret now. But more on that comes later. Now as he beholds his secret collection he wonders, why is he even keeping those dumb doodles around? In his mind, most of them look like specimens of failed human experimentation, begging for the sweet release of death. And yet...

Alfred moves the fourth pile back to the table and rests his hand on the side. His hand lands on the still folded, abandoned candy cane scarf. He slaps it away and it comes undone on the floor. Alfred sighs lets his body collapse on his side onto the couch, like a ragdoll.

His stretched arm hangs from the couch. Before he knows it, he's grabbing the scarf again. He brings it back to himself and strokes the fabric. He starts to knead it back and forth with his fingers, similar to how cats do when they find a comfortable spot for a nap. The scarf is soft and way more fluffy than its appearance would indicate.

And so Alfred digs into his pocket and takes out his cell phone to start texting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A brief vibration comes from Ivan's pocket on his coat. He's at a grocery store, standing in front of a stack full of small potato sacks. He's looking for ingredients for tonight's dinner. The store is very crowded. He hopes the vibration of the phone is not something important enough for him to need to call back.

Ivan takes the phone out, it's just a notification from the app store, a pending update for one of those annoying preinstalled applications that he never uses.

"I thought I turned those off." Once he places his phone back on his pocked, he puts a potato sack in the shopping cart, next to the cabbage, the carrots, and the onions. He turns his head around, making sure there's nothing else around that he might want to take. He clutches his turtle neck, forgetting once again that he left his scarf back at the school. He had an habit of stroking it to keep his hands busy when he was nervous, anxious, or bored. Concluding the assessment of his surroundings, he moves on to the meat and fish section. It didn't take too long for him to find what he needed, but he now he has to wait in a very long queue just so he can pay for the groceries and go home.

So Ivan stands there, advancing mini steps each several minutes. All the while the speakers around the store are emit obnoxious Christmas carol remixes as dictated by modern tradition. In a way he thinks it's kind of nice. To be reminded that there are other things in life to be mad about, other than whatever spurs out of a dumb, old high school c...

"Hey, sir. Your turn for the cashier," Ivan hears someone behind him on the queue say.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alfred locked his car and made his way through the parking lot of the mall. Both hands are hidden on the pocket of his jacket to protect them from the cold. He is whistling the Ruldolph the red-nosed reindeer song. He was interrupted when someone called him from several meters behind him.

He turned back. It was almost 5pm and the sun had begun to set a while ago. The sunset glare hurts Alfreds eyes and obscures the figure of the person standing in front of it, calling Alfred. He can't quite make out the words the other person is shouting. As he approaches the figure gets clear enough for him to figure out it's just Ivan. He's next to his car, carrying a grocery bag on each hand. Now that Ivan too, has a clearer sight of Alfred, his neutral expression changes to that of disgust.

"What the hell are you wearing?" Ivan exclaimed.

"Excuse me?" Alfred was confused.

"Don't 'excuse me'. Why the fuck are you wearing my scarf?"

"Oh, that. Welp." Alfred shrugged. "It's warm."

The two of them stood in there for the longest ten seconds ever.

"Are you gonna give it back to me or...?"

Alfred clicked his tongue.

"Of course I will." He ripped the scarf off of himself and threw it at Ivan. "Take your gay-ass scarf."

Ivan catches the garment, making sure none of it is dragged on the ground. One of the bags almost falls off, but he holds them well. He doesn't put the scarf back on. Just keeps it under his arm.

"That says more about you than about me." He replies.

Alfred lowers his head, awkwardly scratches the back of his neck.

"Whatever. So uh, lunch is like, cancelled, I guess? Is dinner ok?"

"I'll cook dinner at home." Ivan says. he taps his foot as he waits for Alfred to leave. Now that he got back his personal property he can carry on with his evening.

"What are you gonna make?" Alfred is still there.

"Shchi."

Alfred squints, lips curled a little bit.

"It's cabbage soup, you uncultured swine."

"Eeew. You know, my pal's restaurant serves the best lasagna ever. He's from Italy, you know."

"Thanks, I know. I'll take my sisters there sometime soon."

Ivan opens his car. He shoves the grocery bags in the front passenger seat and gets inside.

"Okay then why the hell did you shout at me from across the damn parking lot if you are gonna be like this?" Alfred yells from the side of the car, knocking on the front glass.

Ivan lowers his window.

"I just wanted my scarf. Saw a red-pink dot in the distance. I more-less knew it was you. Wondered if you carried it with you, but didn't think you'd be actually wearing it. I may be messed up, but you're a total creep. Just go away."

Ivan turns the keys. The engine sounds like it's going to start but then dies off. Both men's eyes widen and turn their heads to the front of the car. Ivan tries to start the engine again to no avail. Alfred folds his arms, expectant, until Ivan gives up on the tenth failed attempt. Defeated, Ivan leans on the steering wheel, his head presses the honk button. Some bystanders a few cars away begin to direct their attention towards them, but Ivan doesn't care. Alfred leans on the car, laughing histerically.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "This is the kind of day that makes me regret being born." Ivan says as he chops fresh cabbage. The knife gets closer the fingers of his other hand and pokes the side of the thumb. Unsurprised, he leaves the knife and opens the nearest drawer to look for a band-aid.

"Look at it in a different way," says Alfred, who's turned back from him. "You got your scarf back, we managed to take your car for repair so you can have it back within the weekend. You don't need to drive to work for now anyway."

Alfred sniffs and grunts, trying to hold back the tears. "I even gave you a ride back to here, which is an hour away from where we were." He puts aside the onions he's chopping and rushes to get a napkin.

"I even volunteered to chop the onions you ungrateful piece of shit." He wipes his nose so the swearing gets muffled at the end.

"No one asked you to stay for dinner either." Ivan puts on a band-aid and resumes his tasks. "Besides, kids who complain about chores don't get dessert, you know," he jokes. He acknowledges Alfred has a point, though. His mood begins to lighten up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a while they managed to cook a decent cabbage soup. Alfred didn’t waste the opportunity to mock Ivan for eating "grandpa food", despite getting a second helping himself. Alfred was supposed to leave not long after dinner, but a couple of cookies and cups of sbiten later, the two of them are at Ivan's rooftop, simply chatting, gazing the sky at midnight. The roof was slightly angled, with blue flat roof tiles. And a thin layer of snow covered the surface, but none of that bothered them. It was also a one-story house, so they were not quite worried about falling off.

Alfred lies on his back. His arms are folded behind his head as a pillow. Sitting next to him is Ivan, hugging his knees with one arm, and hugging a two thirds-empty bottle of vodka with the other. Ivan tries to lie down on his back too, but is encumbered by another empty bottle behind him. He pushes it away with his free hand. When trying to lie down again. His head lands on the bottle, but he's a bit too drunk to care, he just stays like that. That's going to be his pillow. It is to be noted that while there are two open bottles, Alfred has abstained from taking a sip, knowing that he'll eventually have to drive home.

"You know, I kinda regret not studying Astronomy at all in university," Ivan said, biting the tip of the bottle. In the end he had gone for Computer Science.

"Me too," Alfred replied. "But a degree on Engineering for me wasn't bad at all. Not like I'm doing much with it, though."

Ivan reaches to Alfred and pulls his sleeve slightly to get his attention.

"Your telescope still works?"

"Pfft, that thing's been broken for years," Alfred replies. "I never got rid of it, though. I've been saying I'm 'fixing' it for years, but it's just gathering dust in my basement."

"Why cling onto old stuff, though." Ivan takes a sip of Vodka.

"It's not old stuff until it becomes irrelevant, right?" Alfred turns his body on its side to face Ivan. His head rests on one hand. "We still love space and stuff. Hell, we are gazing at it right now!"

"Yeah, even the other club members called us weird." Ivan gulps down the remaining contents of the bottle. "If you want, I could help you clean your basement after I leave the town."

"Oh that'd be... Wait what?" with furrowed brows, Alfred's eyes widen.

"What?" Ivan doesn't understand the reaction.

"What did you say?"

"I'd help you throw the trash." Ivan shruggs.

"What do you mean you're gonna move out of town?" Alfred drags his own body closer to Ivan.

"I'm thinking of it." Ivan plays with his hair, dodges his gaze. He clasps both hands together, doesn’t elaborate further.

"And your job?"

"Teaching has always been part-time stuff. I'm more established as a programmer now. I'm just waiting for a reply from any of the places I applied into."

"What the- Why didn't you tell me about it?"

Ivan turns his back on Alfred. He hugs the empty bottle of vodka like a teddy bear.

"That matters because...?"

"Then just... why?"

"I really want to get rid of the old stuff myself." Ivan replies with a hand his chest. "You know what I mean?"

Alfred stops making questions. He lies on his back again and sights. His breath is visible in the warm vapor escaping his mouth. His glasses become foggy so he takes them out. And so he finally notices that there's no moon to be seen anywhere in the firmament. But the stars were still there, still, beautful, The location of Ivan's home near the countryside made the precious stars even more visible on the darker environment. Even if visible, a full moon would not outshine them that night. He can almost hear them twinkle, if such a thing existed outside of cartoon sound effects. He turns to Ivan. He is seeing them too. They are reflected on his irises.

Alfred hadn't paid as much attention to space and the stars as he'd have liked after he started university. Even less so after his telescope broke down. It was the telescope Ivan gave him for his birthday, when they were on their high school's Astronomy club. Meeting Ivan again as a teacher in the same school gave both of them a chance to get back to those interests, after having to push them aside in favor of their new duties and obligations.

Though that came only recently. Right now they can to tolerate each other, yet at the time of their first encounter as teachers, after separation during university, Ivan wanted nothing to do with him. It was like their time as two territorial chimps posing as teenage nerds was the only relationship they ever had. As if they had never managed to become best friends before they had to part ways. And it was all his fault, he thought; for as early as that reencounter Alfred realized that just like the stars, Ivan too had become inaccessible after he smashed the telescope with his baseball bat.

"Dude, maybe you should go to bed, you know," Alfred sat up. "I should go home too, I guess."

"I'm not done with this vodka." Ivan declared, lifiting the bottle with force.

Alfred slaps the bottle out of Ivan's hands and it falls off the rooftop. The shrill sound of glass shattering offscreen leaves the state of the ground by the house's entrance to be imagined. Ivan glares at Alfred, a few veins seem to be popping out.

"It was empty anyway. Come on big boy, you drunk."

A grmbly Ivan lifts his arm towards Alfred. Alfred takes his hand and helps him sit up. Ivan stands up on his own, but as soon as he starts showing signs of dizziness Alfred holds him. He makes sure Ivan gets back inside in one piece. All the while Alfred is not even trying to hide that Ivan is a bit too heavy for him. But Alfred would rather place the blame on Ivan being "fat" instead of lack of strength or exhaustion due to the time.

At some point even before they left the rooftop Ivan's body decides without telling anyone that it will stop cooperating altogether. So Alfred has to carry him all the way back to his bedroom as well. Ivan's head and arms are perched onto Alfred's shoulder and the tip of his feet are being dragged on the floor.

"What the hell Ivan? You're effin' fat." 

"I'm big boned," Ivan whispers.

"Big-boned my ass!" 

Panting and grouching, Alfred grouches and throws Ivan on his bed. His legs are left hanging from the edge of the bed after he falls like the potato sack he bought earlier. He giggles from the slight bouncing on the mattress

"Really? I don't want to see and find out for myself," Ivan talks back and crawls his way into the center of the bed to fit his whole body in.

"Shut up. You're the fat one here."

"Don't worry, Alf. Softer bodies are cute too." Ivan makes squeezing motions with both hands.

"You say the weirdest things when you're wasted." Chuckling, Alfred slaps Ivan's hands then hides them on his pockets.

"Who's wasted?"

"You are wasted."

Ivan shakes his head left to right. Standing next to the bed, Alfred leans close to Ivan.  

"Come on, big boy, take off your shoes and go to sleep already." He says, patting the other's large chest. "Let's hope you don't wake up all hung over. I'll lock the doors well and turn off the lights, so don't worry, okay? Good night.

Alfred walks out of the room and closes the door. But Ivan keeps talking, seemingly not realizing Alfred is not there anymore.

"Say, Alfred. We didn't use to be like this. Do you still want us to remain as rivals? Even now?"

The door of the room is thrown open. Alfred knows the best would have been to ignore the other's rambling and leave, but he is overcome by a an impulse even stronger than him. His excuse is that he is just making sure Ivan's really saying what he heard or that he's not asking for help for whatever reason. He just stops and keeps listening, though. He is yet to step back inside.

"When I said I regret not studying Astronomy, I meant it."

Ivan is now lying on his belly. His face rests against a pillow, so his words are muffled, but Alfred is able to make out most of what he's saying with little trouble.

"We've been so childish. And it's my fault we are like this."

Alfred is uncertain about the point Ivan is trying to get to. Maybe is just pointless drunken rambling, but he wants to listen still.

He adjusts his glasses and leans on the doorframe.  Ivan turns his body again to face the window next to the bed and curls his body in a ball. Even his wide back begins to look small in Alfred eyes.

"I'm sorry for moving back to Russia instead of going for the University we wanted. I left you alone, and told you confusing, unwanted things too."

Alfred's heart becomes heavy inside his chest, his lips shut tight, curled downwards. He steps inside and returns to Ivan's side. He sits on his bed. Ivan face is still turned away from him.

"Since we met again I've been doing as you told me before I left. But it hurts, you know, going back to this after we got to become friends."

Alfred gets further in the bed and pulls Ivan's shoulder to face him. Ivan looks at him with squinty, glassy eyes. It is uncertain if alcohol is to blame for that.

"Don't touch me," Ivan whines. He languidly throws a pillow to alfred's face. "I'm sorry Alfred but what do you even want anymore? You rejected me then, but won't stop teasing me now."  

"Hey Ivan I want to..."

"I don't want to like you anymore. You're too much."

Alfred's heart becomes even heavier. So much his body alone will be crushed under its weight. He allows himself to fall on top of Ivan to wrap his arms around him. His glasses fall off his face and on his hand, but he tosses them away. Ivan lifts both knees together. He wants to curl up again, but is unable to.

"I'm the one who's sorry," said Alfred.

He puts both hands on Alfred's sides, but is hesitant to return the gesture. Alfred buries his face in the gap between Ivan's neck and shoulder. Alfred's cold cheeks against the warmth of his body sends chills down Ivan's spine. The skin underneath his clothes get goosebumps. He closes his eyes.

"I shouldn't have reacted like that when you told me." Alfred muttered to the other's ear.

He clings tightly to Ivan's body. His resistance is waning, but Alfred hugs tighter and tigther as he continues.

"I was a stupid kid just like you. I was confused, and sad... and I got angry."

A knot swells inside Alfred's throat, he jitters, his arms and legs tremble, but he wouldn't stop.

"It was easier to hit you and call you disgusting and a traitor, instead of saying "goodbye" and accepting that maybe... I felt the same for you too."

Alfred's lungs run out of air after saying that. He makes a pause to breathe. Ivan doesn't respond. He opens his watery eyes to see Alfred, but everything is blurry in his eyes and hazy in his head. He can't tell if he's dreaming or not, so he too, wraps his arms tight around the other. He runs his hands back and forth on his back. He wants to confirm he's holding the real deal and not an alcohol-induced hallucination.

"Ivan, I didn't want you to leave... I don't want you to leave again now. I like you too."

And like that, the thoughts weighting down on Alfred's heart escape through the air he exhales. Ivan turns his face in and goes for a kiss. He misses and smooches the corner of the other's lips. Smiling, Alfred cups Ivan's face on one hand and joins their lips properly. And it was all great until Alfred noticed the smell and taste of Vodka and remembered that Ivan was drunk as f...

"Wait wait wait. Stop."

Alfred gets up. Suddenly he doesn't feel as heavy anymore. He picks his glasses from the floor and fixes his jacket.

"No good. Let's... try again when you're sober," He says after clearing his throat. However, Ivan was already passed out.

After realizing Ivan's done for the night, Alfred begins walking in circles around the room at a pace so fast he's almost hopping like a rabit. He feels so energized he might as well do it. He cover his mouth to muffle what would otherwise be uncontrollable squealing.

After the euphoria wears off the events that transpired moments ago sink in completely. In a single day did they just sort out years of buried feelings and childish grudges? Oh boy, no. But they sure had one hell of a start.

Now A stream of questions flooded Alfred's mind. With what had happened, does that mean they are lovers now? Will Ivan even remember what happened? If he doesn't remember, will he tell him and explain what happened? Would Ivan believe him and/or confirm his confession?

He doesn't know if he should feel happy or scared. More importantly, he's thinking whether or not he should stay over tonight. It's not like he doesn't want to go home. However, leaving a drunk person alone is always dangerous, even when they are asleep.  

As carefully as he can, Alfred takes off Ivan's shoes and leaves them next to the bed. He turns Ivan's body on its side and puts him on a position to lessen the choking risk in case he gets nauseous; although so far Ivan doesn't show signs of sickness. His breath is calm and follows a normal pace too.

A bit hesitant, Alfred decides to check Ivan's pockets, only so he doesn't crush or damage anything under his weight or when rolling on bed. He takes out Ivan's phone and wallet out of his pants and leaves them on the night table. Ivan didn't seem to have anything on his jacket, but then Alfred pulls out a now wrinkly folded paper sheet. He opens it and the more he examines it the more flustered he becomes. Of all the weird erotic art of them two their students had made, that one was by far the most detailed and realistic-looking as of yet.

He could only wonder where did that thing come from. Leaving the drawing together with the other objects, Alfred goes to pull the thickest blanket he can find out of the closet and covers Ivan with it. He rushes out of the room to lock the house properly, makes a trip to the kitchen, and then returns to Ivan with a tall glass of water, just in case.

Alfred leans close to Ivan and kisses his forehead, an affectionate, loud smooch. He sits on the bed again, close to Ivan's legs. The wisest thing to do for now is to stay there and take care of his beloved rival. At least until he wakes up. Whatever comes next for them they will figure. After a day like that, It's not like he will be able to fall sleep anyway.  

The End.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Final note:

Writing this was one hell of a ride. This is my first fanfic ever, and I'm not a very good writer when it comes to prose. But I gave it my best shot, and wrote this with lots of love. I'm sorry if the overall tone or mood is too bittersweet or if the humour is kinda sour. I also hope Ivan and Alfred’s backstory wasn’t too hard or confusing to piece totgether. I'd still say the ending is a happy one, even if there's an air of uncertainty for the future haha. 

Thank you for reading and for your god-tier patience, Patch. I love your blog.

[bbalexb]

Evaluation

Evaluation – Alex Butler

Section One: Purpose/ Theme:

My Project for is about saving the arts (mainly theatre) industry through out 2020 as is has been affected massively over the whole globe using materials that are used in the industry to create outcomes visible in my book. Researched that helped me get a better understanding of my theme was researching into how much the industry contributes to the government and made it even more important to me why the industry needs protecting and saving not only to contribute to save millions of peoples lives and years of training to do their passion for a living. For development along the way, I initially had in mind to create illustrated, fine liner drawings based on the arts industry but the more I thought about what I could create, the idea of actually using materials often used in the theatre world became more prominent and sounded more interesting and challenging. My Purpose for my project/ concept is to showcase different skills involved in the industry e.g., make-up, costumes, design, lighting etc for the world to get a sense of how many different elements and teams of people are involved for each single show that is produced and running. Its personally important for me to showcase all of the different areas as there isn’t always enough recognition or appreciation of just how many elements are involved – leading on from how many people all across the globe work in each different department.  

My Target audience is focused on everyone in the world so they can see how the industry is being affected but also its for the global theatre industry to show appreciation and recognition for every person’s hard work involved. Also due to this project being a printed book with my outcomes inside, it ties in well with representing the industry for the audience as its fairly standard to have programmes for each production showcasing images similar to my outcomes. Some main problems I faced along the way was mainly the costume making element side of things due to some materials I had not worked with or using a different kind of stich on my sewing machine meaning having to sometimes complete restart some pieces in order to achieve my goal. Other minor problems I faced were drawing based art if I messed up on a particular section of a drawing but was always easily resolved with a rubber and starting again. My project took quite a smooth journey from idea to creation, a few minor problems here and there but nothing serious when reflecting back. I was slightly worried at a certain point if I would complete all of my outcomes in the time I had given myself but I surprised myself and completed it which made me feel successful. In regards to new learning, again it was going back to the costume making side of things due to working with new materials and process but it was achieved successfully in the end.

 Section Two: Media, Skills/Techniques, Practical Process

Materials and techniques I used throughout my project mainly revolved around hand-based techniques – hand draw illustrations with pencils, fine liners, posca pens, paper alongside print making in the onsite learning lessons such as lino printing using sheets of lino, lino cutter tools, inks and a press as well as screen printing using my own drawings, inks, a screen and a squeegee alongside etching design printing which involved aluminium 5X5cm plates, inks, acid, ink rollers and a press. The Materials I used to create my final outcomes for my book involved a range of different fabrics from cotton & lycra to faux leather either used with a sewing machine or hand stitches to create the costumes, thousands of glass crystals/ flat back shapes (large crystals formed into different shapes able to be sewn on glued on). 3 lace front wigs (used in the theatre industry allowing the lace to blend in with the actor skin with handtied hairs along the front to create more realistic hairlines) in which alongside these I used lots of hairs grips/ pins, hairspray and heated rollers/ straighteners in order to create the different styled hairstyles for each character. Make-Up was a big part of the transformations especially for my ‘Kinky Boots’ Drag creation alongside my Mrs Wilkinson from ‘Billy Elliot’ and painted the iconic theatre mask symbol on the face. For transporting these creations into my book, I used my phone camera to take to the photographs followed by Photoshop into order to render, retouch and add the final details to each page before sending the outcomes to be printed. One of the experiments/ new skills was learning to use lycra to make the leotard for the ‘Billy Elliot’ transformation. I had never worked with lycra before so it was defiantly a new challenge for to get my head around, always constantly making sure I’ve holding the fabric taught to ensure it was being sewn properly and would look how I expected when being worn. It took a few different attempts to sew the pieces and costume together before I fully got the hang of working with the machine and material together but overall, I am proud of myself and of how the outcome turned out.

Most of development/ journey is documented in journal but all uploaded on my online blog by creating documents/ images explaining the processes step by step to show how I achieved & created my outcomes. Personally, for me I feel like my project has met the purpose of what I had in mind and my message to come across successfully. An artist who I looked in conjunction with my work was Gregg Barnes who is Tony award winning West End & Broadway costume designers. I absolute adore his work and always inspires me to push myself to create costumes with lots of attention to details to hopefully come across as visually exiting like his work.

 Section Three: Evaluation Methodology

My strengths of my project definitely are visible in my theatrical outcomes e.g., costumes, make-up, wigs etc as these are my strong points and what I am most passionate about creating and showcasing. My weaknesses of my project are most probably in the areas of documentation and writing/ uploading work in which I need to be more consistent with in the future. For my final presentation, my main outcome will be my professionally printed book and my journal/ blog as well as my sketchbook presenting all of the work I have completed in this one project. During this project I have learnt to push myself in exploring new materials/ techniques to work with in order to create my outcomes as well as gaining confidence in print making and being pleased with the results. For the planning side of the project, I created a visual mock up of what my book would look like/ feature as well as explanation on how I was going to create each page. Feedback helped me to push myself in order to try my hardest in presenting who my audience is as it is such a big part of the project.

[solitudeatheist]

I miss orange candy ice creams and sunny summers,

I miss chalk and blackboard and those morning time school prayers.

I miss lunch boxes and discussions about colourful stones turning into which fairies,

I miss uniforms of the school and those English book stories.

I miss annual functions and classes we missed for music practices,

I miss science projects and love letters and those friends names carved on school benches.

I miss small functions we used to enjoy just because we could miss our classes,

I miss time table for exams and missing them for inter school matches.

I miss the innocent conversations and vows of friendship we used to make,

I miss the art and craft classes on the terrace and near the lakes.

I miss the tabs on my forehead during I was sleeping on my mother's lap,

I miss those days when I did not had to control my cries for the nightmares I had.

I miss the dances on the random places,

I miss the laughters on strangers faces.

I missed the head down in between of classes,

Pin drop silences in lectures and the giggles we passes.

homeworks and diaries, pen and pencil

not the era of laptop, but handmade greetings and letters.

I miss the small phones i used to share with my parents,

remembering the numbers to dial my best friend's houses.

I miss grandparents I never adored during my childhood,

I miss watering the flowers and eating with the mouth full.

I miss buying 10 things out of the change I had from the shopping,

I miss to eat sweets without thinking of the calories I will be adding.

when chocolates for all fun coming from cousins and relatives,

and not to come down because of period cramps and emotions.

I miss complaining to my teachers and mother and not keeping between the head and the heart aches,

I can't explain how much I miss the old school days I just feel terrible by the summer vacation got over within such small days.

I am miss everything and all of my friends,

I hope if I would have had been in touch with at least some of them.

It seems like yesterday was Saturday this is Sunday but how do I tell that I want to go school again on this coming Monday.

But this is worst feeling when you so desperately want to go back to your best memories of your past but you can't,

and all you can do is make it rhyme just so that it can last.

It is turned into a story I can feel running parallely in my world,

but the only difference is I cannot be there because now the past has been burned.

I am feeling I cannot rhyme anymore and maybe which is why I ended the story on the last page,

but I cannot stop myself from thinking about all the other things I am feeling and missing about the old school days.

I miss the fear of my chance coming next to read the next paragraph of the English text,

I missed the fear talking to my parents when I know my marksheets are coming next.

I miss parents teacher meeting, making them meet my favourite teacher and not the ones who use to scold,

I miss the feeling of warmth of the hugs I used to do with my friends and now all I feel is always so cold.

I miss my music classes, dance in competitions, handwritings and drawings, mixing random colours in getting compliments from the relatives.

I miss enjoying my hobbies and not being forced to be the best in them,

I miss taking the endless rides and eating the cotton candies and ruining my hands.

I miss being a irresponsible and not being accountable for anything,

how it easy it was to give your best and not in pressure for winning.

I miss playing recklessly with my Barbies and toys

and not collecting different shades of lipsticks for boys

I miss collecting random stuff and breaking expensive shits

life was easy when money was not under everyone's skin

I miss having selfless friends not just for selfies,

when jam butter and milk shakes where to eat and not for Instagram pics.

How I wish I could turn the wheel of time and enjoy every summer vacation to the fullest bit,

just so that I can know when the last one will come I had my life lived in every inch of it.

I wish managing lifestyle and money was that easy to have 10 bucks in piggy bank,

But not getting this fucking high score in competitive exams and touching the top 10 ranks.

I want to write more but I am tired of trying to feel that all again

Knowing how Disney cartoons were not real when those were all I believed in more than anyone else.

Heartbreaking it was to know my fairy world was just a dream but in real only the demons existed

Oh how a single promise was the truest form of loyalty that time but now nothing seems to be realistic

I don't know why my fairies and magic is no more in my head,

but only darkness and demons took over that.

I don't know why glitters, magic and fairies are hard to believe,

But not difficult for darkness and demons to exist.

I don't want to go on future make me live back in time,

Instead of growing up I want to grow down in life.

Down back to 21 to relate the heartbreak again

down back to 20 losing college friends.

Down back to 19 falling in love with a guy back to 18 feeling excited to start my college life

Going back to 17 to feel pain and pressure back to 16 to enjoy the hard work and passion

Down back to 15 with the strict class rules back to 14 and until down to 3 when I joined school.

go back to 2, start learn to speak again,

go back to 1 to walk holding my mother's hand

Back to my first day in the world just to feel the love and care,

back to nothing where all I knew was I had a family here.

go back to the day one, when everything will just start happening once again.

@solitudeatheist //Aarushi Sharma //

[dothewrite]

Can you write soulmates au with the matching tattoo? If yes then can you write a scenario where iwaizumi and reader-chan are best friends, knowing each other since they were childrens and our quiet and introverted reader slowly falls in love with him, but they aren't soulmates. And she doesn't believe in soulmates or true love, because of her parents. And iwaizumi secretly falling in love with her but he found his soulmate (sorry for being specific)

Iwaizumi’s such a cool cucumber all the time even though he’s like, perpetually fiery, so I just gotta make him stumble at something in life. This is 7k of undiluted shame and rambling, but I hope you like it. :) Thank you for waiting!

[Edit: I am SO SORRY that I completely forgot that it was supposed to be a matching tattoo instead of just a soulmates thing. I am an idiot. Tell me if you’d like to read what you actually asked for and I’ll write a drabble to make it up to you.]

You spoke in a voicelike pure-whiteporcelain… the smell of winter.Within my heart, asilently raging stormrose up, along thisdarkened path.Then twinkling starsfell down from overhead…So immersed in them,I was nearly broughtto tears.                      - orion, Yonezu Kenshi

In a world whereeveryone wants to know who they’re made for, or who’s made for them, you’re anodd specimen. There’s sexual orientation, and then there’s sexualorientation, and yours is ‘realist’. Your mother never lets up for a singleday, telling you that it would be lovely if a girl your age would bring a niceyoung man home for dinner once in a while- and it’s okay if it’s a girl! Itmakes you feel a little sorry about your state of affairs each time, and itstings your eyes when you have to tell her that you don’t want to rush things,despite the world’s certainty of its affairs.

She understands, andthere’s a soft sadness in her eyes that makes you rush in and hug her until sheforgets all about soulmates, or the emptiness of your fingers.

“Your father and Iwere a terrible match,” she used to tell you each night if you asked about thelittle red thread tied around your pinkie, and why hers is broken. “I mean, wegave it a go-” and then she’d look at you and press a wet kiss against yourforehead, “-that’s how we had you, my little gem, but it was never for us.”

“Why is it broken?”You’d still persist underneath the covers, and she’d sigh a long, weary sigh.

“Because we brokeit. And then I found your stepfather, and here we are.” She’d look at you withthat longing, hopeful expression on her face, and you’d stare right back withthe wide eyes of a child listening to a fantasy story. “You’re happy, aren’tyou?” She asked this every night before she left your bedroom, and each nightyou’d tell her the same thing.

“I’m happy, mummy.”You’d reply, and she’d start to smile with a loud sniffle. Then that was it,each night, you’d be tucked into bed without further ado and you’d drift offinto dreams about finding your own prince charming, just like your mom had.

Then, a few yearslater when you were all grown up and being led by the hand to your third yearof primary school, people started making fun of you. You didn’t notice all thatmuch, because it was a terrible year and you don’t even remember spending itanywhere with anyone. Young children, including you, didn’t understand exactlywhat having a soulmate meant, only that everyone had it, and it was a funnygame to see who could follow their line the fastest- you got bonus points ifyou were skipping class for it. You always joined in, and you were very proudof your record for being the one who had skipped the most classes, the one whohad made most of their friends laugh because you had that fearless look on yourface that wasn’t suited for searching for romance at all.

Then, third year came,and your thread broke. It started fraying in class when you pickedabsentmindedly at it, and then it got worse when you picked at it in the showertoo, and then when finally one day you had to run back to your house becauseyou forgot your pencil case, you realized that you weren’t connected toanything anymore.

You didn’t go toschool that day. Nor for the next few days to come.

There’s a buzzaround the air that only desperate, decomposing students can create in thenarrow hallways of a high school in Japan. You’ve just come from lunch in thevery crowded cafeteria after all your friends had abandoned you for some lastminute cramming, leaving you to finish your ramen alone.

“Why am I notsurprised to see you so damn calm?”

Once upon a time,you’d start to blush and lapse into silence at the mere sound of Iwaizumi’svoice, but time has done you wonders, like exposure therapy, and although youthink you’ll never quite get over that incredible growth spurt of his, he’s notquite as overwhelming as he used to be. You pull out your notebook from thebook slot on the underside of your desk and wave it lightly at him.

“I have my notesright here.”

His eyes widen,impressed. “Does this mean you actually studied for our quiz?”

“Nope,” you shakeyour head, and a small crease of a smile worms it way up to your cheeks, “butlife must have an end, and I will end with dignity.”

Iwaizumi’s snort isso loud it almost echoes, and you start giggling along with his grin. “Right,shogun. I’ll see you on the other side.”

“You might pass,Hajime-kun, don’t give up just yet.”

“Pass?” Iwaizumilooks at you confusedly, before going ‘ah’ when he realizes what you mean. “Oh,I’ll just be waving to you from the other side of the river of success.” Hisgrin widens, as it only ever does with you. “I’m going to pass, dammit. Ididn’t suffer through Shittykawa’s study sessions for nothing.”

“…Tooru?”

“Yeah,” he raises aneyebrow, “something wrong?”

You shake your head.That satisfies him enough that he gives you a nod and a thumbs up, and walksback to his seat with the traces of your conversation together still lining hiseyes.

It was a little odd.You hadn’t expected him to have studied with Oikawa, not when Iwaizumi hadalready found his soulmate. In his same class, even! Some people are just thatblessed, and she’s quite the beauty too. Most of your friends have alreadytaken to sneaking around, spending time with their soulmates if they knew them,and study sessions were the golden period of opportunity. Even for peoplewithout soulmates, because, this is high school, and everyone wants to date,and socialization is the lifeblood of youth, isn’t it?

The very thought makesyou blush and want to wither away at the same time, because your heart isn’tready for this at all. Not dating, nor the quiz. The class falls into amakeshift hush when your teacher finally strolls in with a mug of something inhis hand, a far too happy expression on his face, and you join in the suddenshuffle of notes being put away and prayers being said. You dare a peek atIwaizumi on the other end of the classroom and he catches you in the act- yourcheeks colouring instantly- but he offers you a crooked smile and you expire alittle inside.

All in all, youthink when you face the blank piece of paper with an equally blank expressionon your face, you think that any quiz is probably easier than being a teenager.

Things are always alittle easier with Tooru around. There’s something to be said about hisresilience against life’s trials, and although you haven’t quite shared thesame crib as him as you did with Iwaizumi (although he did with Iwaizumi too-it’s a weird infant love triangle, now that you think about it), you find inhim a different kind of comfort. You hope he finds some in you too, because yousee the exhaustion that lines his face when he thinks nobody’s looking, and allyou can do is offer a shoulder that you know he won’t lean on.

It’s after school,and luckily you’re on cleaning duty today and Oikawa has volunteered to staybehind with you, despite the fact that he usually goes off to practicevolleyball on his own whenever he has the spare time. You’re not quite surewhat’s changed, but you feel that something has, because you’re sittinguncomfortably underneath his stare as he perches on the edge of your desk, nota speck of shame in sight.

“They’re going tocome by and ask if you want to go for some shopping and karaoke this weekend,”he says without any context whatsoever.

You blink. “Are younot going, Tooru?”

“Of course I am,” herolls his eyes like it’s the dumbest thing he’s heard, “but I’m just giving youa heads up. I offered to invite you but you know Iwa-chan. Has to do everythinghimself.” You squirm in your seat when Oikawa pins you with that knowing lookof his, and he seems find the way your face flushes several hues of pink veryfascinating. “I know, by the way.”

“Know what?” Yousqueak.

“That you like ourIwa-chan.” He hops off the desk and instead drags another chair to sit rightopposite of you. “You’re terrible at hiding things from your face.”

“I thought I wasdoing alright,” you mumble, fighting the urge to hide behind your school bag,“Hajime-kun hasn’t noticed yet.”

“Yes, well, henotices very little,” Oikawa declares boldly, despite the fact that the both ofyou know he’s very wrong on this account. “It doesn’t matter, I’m not here tobug you about it.”

Squinting a little,you peer at him curiously. “Then what are you here for?”

He shrugs like it’snothing to him, and looks out the window with his chin in a hand. “Just to giveyou some company. His soulmate is coming with, if you’re wondering.”

Ah, now there wasthe fresh youthfulness in your best friend. Who in their right mind would skipout on a chance to get to know their soulmate more? Especially when it’s sorare anyone makes the discovery this early in life, you think it’s a terribleblessing and a curse at the same time. Anyhow, none of that is relevant to youanymore, no when you’re no longer privy to that exclusive group of individualswho are looking forward to the rest of their romantic lives, and here you are,having lived several years already knowing that nothing will make the brokenstring on your pinkie whole again.

No, that isn’t quiteit. You’re not being entirely truthful with yourself, and from the way Oikawais looking at you, you know he knows too.

“Do you believe insoulmates?” The question hits you out of the blue, and you gape a little.

“Nobody’s asked methat before,” you gasp.

“They should then,”Oikawa tucks his lip underneath a row of teeth and chews on it, “it’s stupid toassume that everyone believes in the same things. Some men still don’t believein menstrual pain, did you know?”

“I do,” you’regiggling now, and there’s a small tug upwards on his lips, “now only if yourfangirls heard you talk about such things!”

Oikawa shoots you agrin then, a rare one that appears less and less often the more time he spendson the opposite side of Shiratorizawa, and you discover belatedly that you’llmiss it if it ever disappeared. “All I’m saying is that the string doesn’tdictate your life. It shouldn’t, because then what’s the point in getting toknow other people? Idiotic notion, if you ask me.”

“Is that what youbelieve, Tooru?” And he looks down pensively at the crimson thread around hispinkie and his unknown stranger assigned to him by divine intervention. “Youhaven’t been looking for your soulmate.”

This time when helooks at you, it feels like looking into the endless darkness of the universeand in his hazel eyes holds a mystery of life that’s about to be unravelled ina single moment of sincerity.

“I believe that Ican fall in love with whomever I choose. If that person is my soulmate, then sobe it. If it isn’t, then so be it.”

It all comes up toyou in a swift moment, and you feel the choking truth scrabbling for purchaseagainst the sides of your throat and your chest suddenly shrinks from too muchair. Oikawa is still looking at you with those beautiful eyes, and quietly, heasks you again: “do you believe in soulmates?”

In another world,perhaps, you could learn to be half as brave as the man in front of you.

“I don’t want to,”you breathe, and it’s a heavy thing that sinks in between the both of you. “Idon’t want to.”

As such, you’reinvited and dragged along to the group-date on Sunday anyway, because there wasnever any hope of you saying no to Iwaizumi’s earnest face, no matter howgrumpy his brows are. It’s a slightly chilly day, and you’ve not quite dressedas warmly as you wish you had, but you’re ready to spend some pocket money on amuch needed emergency coat.

Shopping turns outto be quite the difficult affair when boys and girls want to look for verydifferent things. Or rather, boys crazy about volleyball and the rest of younormal humans have to roll your eyes and hand it to them- their enthusiasm isunrivalled, so strong that everyone gets barrelled along into shopping for newshoes for their upcoming tournament. You personally have never really been intophysical activity, and you find that part of you a sore point when Iwaizumicomes up to you more than once asking for your opinion, and all you can come upwith is a stuttered ‘the dark grey looks slimmer, I think’, instead of anythingsubstantial. He had looked satisfied with your comment, gratified even,but nothing could stop you from glaring at your own very un-sporty shoes inabject embarrassment for a few minutes afterwards.

Perhaps you had alldreamed it in your mind, his expressions, because when you all finally settledown into a massive booth that fits six people along with at least ten bags ofshopping, Iwaizumi hasn’t glanced at you once. It’s a small place famous forits tonkotsu, very popular with the younger crowd, and the buzz of noise anddishes around you makes you almost dizzy. It feels that there’s barely enoughspace in your head for your thoughts, let alone the sounds of fifteen otherpeople’s conversations.

“You alright?” Aconcerned voice pops up from opposite you and your head shoots up. Iwaizumiwatches you with his stern expression, tinted with worry although his hands arestill firmly pressed to his side. In a bitter moment, the thought that if hehadn’t spoken up at all, he’d look like he didn’t care. Yet as quickly as itcame, you brush the thought away, ashamed of your ungratefulness.

“I’m fine,” you tellhim with a reassuring smile, “it’s just a bit crowded in here.”

He nods slowly, eyesroaming the place. “A place this good is bound to have a full house on theweekend. I’m sorry about the noise. Did you want me to step out with you for abit?”

His sleeves arerolled up, and you can see the string tying him and his soulmate together bunched up like veins along his toned muscle. She’ssitting right next to him, an equally concerned expression on her face, and yourealize that in your wildest dreams, you couldn’t be as wonderful a person asshe could be. To be jealous of something fated- what a pitiful person you are!

“I-”

“-C’mon, let’s go.”Tooru interrupts you with enviable timing and drags you up with a firm butgentle hand on your arm. He bumps into the person on the other side of him, buthe waves the mutters off with an air of confidence. There’s nothing else youcan do but obey, stricken dumb by how right Iwaizumi looks with hissoulmate, and the steps you take feel more like stumbles out of the busyrestaurant.

It’s nearing lateevening and the hum of activity bleeds out into the open street from indoors.People with their bags, their books, hurrying to their next meals, groups offriends you recognize from the year below you laughing and bumping into eachother as they push their way out of the busy department store opposite yourrestaurant. Neither you nor Oikawa are leaning on anything, wary of gettingyour clothes dirty, but his hands are loose by his side and although he isn’tquite facing you, you can feel his undivided attention prickling at your skin.

“Better?”

“Yes,” you take afew experimental breaths, and yes, it is a bit more comfortable out in the openwith fewer people. “It was probably just the oil from the kitchens getting tome. Would you like to go back in?”

Oikawa doesn’tanswer, continuing to stare out at the bustling road and you join him in hissilence. You knew it was probably unrealistic to spend too much time out here,it wasn’t very polite on a group outing after all, but you can’t find it in youto pull yourself away from whatever peace and quiet you can find.

You’re surprised outof your reverie by the loud sigh that leaves Tooru’s mouth and you turn to seehis gaze on you, almost a foot higher than your head. “You two are really amess, aren’t you?”

“I-It’s just me, Ithink,” you stammer, confused as to how to proceed from this less thanflattering statement. Still, you know he’s right, and what’s more, you agree.You are a mess, everything’s a mess, and all you have going for you at thismoment is the hope that when you graduate, maybe you can forget about this messentirely.

Almost echoing yoursentiments, Oikawa announces into the air, “we’re almost graduating. I don’tknow what goes on in either of your heads but time waits for no man.”

“I wasn’t expectingit to…”

“So take it from me,the person who has never had enough time. If you’ve nothing to lose, why not gofor it?”

Nothing to lose?There was everything to lose- your friendship, the quiet trust built up fromsolid years of growing up, his life, and what about his soulmate? Therewas a circle in hell for people who broke two people who looked so wonderfultogether, apart.

What if it didn’twork? What if you’d never have anything more than a broken thread on yourpinkie, and the last chance of being happy had disappeared the day it snapped.

“Your mom would bereally sad if she knew.”

“…What?” You askfaintly.

Oikawa tuts andshakes his gorgeous head like he’s explaining something profoundly obvious to adullard. “You came running to me the day you came back to school, remember?When your thread broke. You were crying and everything- it was horrible, youalmost got snot on my new sweater- but you had that anger in your eyes when youtold me that you’d be happy anyway, thread or no thread, because your mom washappy without hers. So? Where did all that go?”

“I was nine!”

“And you were asmarter kid at nine than you are now at seventeen.” Oikawa replies savagely,and his accusation slaps you in the face with a nice dose of humility. Therestaurant feels a world away now, where you had been planning on lettingeverything be and getting through the years like Iwaizumi had never meant moreto you, and you just know that you can’t go back. You couldn’t bear to be aterrible person and sit opposite his soulmate, whose kindness and innocence youhad come to envy for no redeeming reason at all.

“Go home,” Oikawatells you a little more kindly now, and you nod wordlessly. “I’ll tell themthat you’re feeling sick.”

He doesn’t give youa chance to say anything else, because he spins on his heel and strides backinto the restaurant like he’d never been out in the first place, and slowly,your mind reaches your feet to take you in the direction of your home, step bystep.

Still. ‘Thankyou’, you tap into your phone, and a reply buzzes right back withinseconds.

‘I know’,is all Oikawa replies with, and it brings an unbidden smile to your face. You think that you must be a little blessed at the very least,with a friend like him.

It turns out thatwhen you successfully suffer through the majority of a social gathering only toleave because of ‘illness’, people are either incredibly suspicious, or veryworried. Luckily, your track record is stellar, and the only expression thatturns up on each person’s face as they ask you all throughout the day atdifferent times if you’re alright, is worry. You’ve never had to quietly andvery awkwardly assure so many people of your health in one afternoon before,but the break did you some good. Your mother had immediately sensed somethingwas wrong the moment you walked into the house, slightly miserably, but she hadleft you alone after a few deflected questions and offered you a small tray ofbiscuits as a peace offering. You’d made your way through it slowly as thenight grew later until you were almost suffocating underneath your blanketsbecause of what an idiot you’ve realized you were.

The thing is, theytalk about these things with such ease in stories- those childhood friends goon an adventure and find out the love of their life was right there all along!-but in reality, it’s quite a dreadful experience for you. The harder you try tosolve your stress, the worse Iwaizumi’s imagine in your head gets, and the lessyou want to say anything at all.

It was just a sillycrush, something you really thought was unfair and most likely to never workout, because he’s found his soulmate; you’ve yet to meet anyone your agewho wasn’t with their soulmate. Who were you break anything up?

Then the man of thehour inevitably shows up as you’re trying to make your way back to your desk asinnocuously as possible, and your own unfamiliarity with melodramatics thatkeeps you from gasping out loud in surprise.

Iwaizumi leanscloser to you at the noise, the worried press of his lips the only thing youcan recognize in your swimming vision. “Are you feeling any better? Did you eatsomething bad as a snack or something yesterday?”

It feels like hisworried face is all you see these days.

“Not really,” youanswer with utmost vagueness, growing more nervous with every passing momenthe’s standing in your personal bubble, “I’m alright now, I think I was justdehydrated.” He doesn’t look very persuaded, so you add, “that’s what my momsays, anyway.”

“Good. I trust yourmom more than you when it comes to your health,” he says, blasé, a challenginggrin teasing his mouth and the crushing guilt leaves you quickly at the sight.

Although, he doeshave a point, and the memory of many nights of denial brings an embarrassedblush to your face. Iwaizumi seems to squirm a little underneath your silence,and the bold grin starts to melt off his face until all that’s left is a quietfeeling of awkwardness. He clears his throat, and your eyes flicker up to watchhim underneath several wisps of hair that’s fallen in front of your face.

“I’m sorry to haveworried you,” you offer, unsure.

“Oh,” he looks amildly surprised and shakes his head a little strongly, “well, as long asyou’re fine.”

“…Okay.”

“I…”

Pigs must be flyingtoday for Iwaizumi Hajime to be flustered. He wasn’t even flustered when he’ddiscovered his soulmate, or when they confessed to him, or when he had shruggedwithout a moment’s hesitation. It’s dreadfully contagious, however, and soonenough you’re almost hopping on your toes from how flustered you are too.

When Iwaizumi triesagain in a pained tone, you startle. “Are you… Do you have time after schooltoday? Want to go… somewhere?”

He doesn’t add toit, but his expression is clearly regretting realizing the great irony ofasking you to hang out, the day after you got sick from hanging out. It makesyou almost chuckle, but you keep it firmly under wraps, otherwise it’d blowyour already terrible cover that perhaps you weren’t quite so sick after all.

“That sounds nice,”you reply softly, sounding a lot more confident that you feel. “I’ll wait foryou at the gates, maybe?”

Iwaizumi nods,relieved, and turns away reluctantly, because there’s really nothing much elseto do than to go to class once the conversation is so clearly over. You givehim a little wave to usher him on his way, and when you’re almost immediatelycrowded by a curious Oikawa, you don’t mention how there’s always volleyballpractice on Mondays.

The rest of the daygoes infuriatingly slowly for you, and without the benefit of a romantic windowseat, you’re left to your own devices of actually paying attention to class ina desperate attempt to make the clock turn faster. You think you’ve never beenquite nervous in your life, and the suddenness of his company does nothing tosoothe your nerves. Have you done something wrong? He looked rather like he’dnot do this at all, so it might be bad news. Or maybe he needs to tell yousomething he thinks you might not like.

You don’t know howmuch more tense things could be between the two of you. Unless he’s gettingmarried the moment he turns eighteen. In that case, yes, it could get worse,marginally.

Still, for how muchyou’d been wishing the day would pace itself at least faster than a limp slug,the end of the day comes rushing at you like tidal wave, and you find the bellringing long before you’re mentally prepared for a very awkward few hours.Perhaps he had been putting this off for a long time, perhaps he didn’t want todo this more than you did, perhaps it was just something to be done.

You change into youroutside shoes with the weight of dread pulling at your limbs until you feel asif your feet are dragging you along towards the school gates. There’s a quietcough that you realize is supposed to grab your attention, and you look up tofind Iwaizumi already waiting for you, leaning against the brick. You smile,and faintly realize that he’s grown up so fast you’d barely had time to catchup.

“Let’s go then,” hesays quietly, so you follow him, falling into pace beside him. You’re farshorter than he is, and it doesn’t help your heart when he suddenly glancesback at you and slows down to a speed you’re more comfortable with.

All you can hear isthe blood rushing about your ears, whilst your pulse drains simultaneously witheach block the two of you pass, and still you have no clue where you’re headed.

“Want to get somecoffee?” Iwaizumi asks, almost as if he’s read your mind.

You smile wanly.“Okay. That’s very American of you, Hajime-kun.”

“Right, that’s me,American man with a gun and my favourite food is hamburgers.”

“Now that justwasn’t funny,” you grin.

“Yeah? Then why isit every time I actually try, you’re cracking up and in tears?”

You’ve nothing tosay to that, because he’s right, and you’re so embarrassed you could die. Youdidn’t know it was that bad, that you were that obvious, and you wish that partof you wasn’t so incredibly see-through and flimsy like cling-film. If he noticesthe sudden redness to your face, Iwaizumi doesn’t comment on it.

Whatever he wants totell you, or has planned obviously doesn’t involve the walk to the café itself,and most of it is spent admiring nature and trying to ignore the awkwardness inthe air. Your introverted nature has almost ensured you a lot of practice withawkward moments and moments where you want to run away, but feeling this waywith Iwaizumi of all people is an utterly new experience. One that you wishdidn’t set your nerves on edge, and reprieve can’t come fast enough when thetwo of you finally reach the café, with at least a whole person’s space betweeneach other, and your step falters a little when he holds open the door for youand you can’t quite remember what to do after that.

His amused raise ofan eyebrow still does things to your heartbeat no matter how awkward you’vebecome. You try terribly hard to stop yourself from thumping at your chest tocalm down, which would require possibly a lot of reassuring that you haven’tlost all of your marbles.

“I’ll go get you adrink then. Latte with extra sweet, right?”

“Yes,” and all theblood in your body relocates to your face, “thank you.”

“No problem,” hethrows you an easy smile and you have to quickly sit down in your seat beforeyour legs start to dissolve into the air.

It’s a tense fewminutes alone at the table. If he’s putting so much effort into this meeting,it couldn’t be too bad of an announcement, right? If he’s still smiling, itcan’t possibly be earth-shattering. Your thumbs twiddle almost spastically. Ormaybe he’s just being extra nice because it’s terrible news. Embarrassing,life-changing news that will leave you to salt your coffee with your own tears.

Iwaizumi promptlysits himself down in the chair opposite you, and you immediately shut your mindup. Maybe you were being a little melodramatic. Maybe.

“So, uh, how wasclass?” He tries, clearly jumbled up, and it makes you feel slightly betterabout yourself.

“Terrible,” youlaugh, “I don’t know why I bother paying attention in class.”

“You aren’t laughingat me, are you?”

That man is far tooobservant when he wants to be. You shrug, but the smile can’t quite leave yourface. “Just a little.”

Iwaizumi makes anattempt at looking put out, but there’s a light in his eyes that doesn’t quitedim when it comes to you being cheerful. You wager he knows, what this is doingto your nerves, but he probably is too preoccupied with his own to do anythingabout it.

“I was thinking…” hefinally begins, but pauses abruptly when your drinks are finally brought to youby an amused looking waiter. There’s a terrible silence until the staff memberwaltzes too slowly out of earshot, and by then, Iwaizumi’s face is beet red andhe almost looks horrified at his own thoughts.

“You werethinking…?” You prompt, and he almost sighs disappointedly at something. That’sfor you to do, you think to yourself, but your lips remain sealed.

“I was thinking…would you… oh God this is worse than what Shittykawa told me but… would you, Imean- oh fuck it, I like you, okay?”

You’re not quitesure what Tooru has to do with anything other than the fact that he’s a generalbusybody when it comes to private affairs, but you nod, like to a small child.

“Of course, I’d hopeso,” you tell him. “We’ve known each other for so long, I- I hope you like me,at the very least.”

Good lord, maybethis was what he was going to say. To tell you that you’re still friends, buthe might be eloping. Or dying. Or telling you that he’s actually gay and hopingthat you won’t hate him. Nothing in this world could possibly make you hateIwaizumi, you admit to yourself, and that is probably not a good thing.

He, on the otherhand, looks like he’s about to implode. You’ve never seen him be anything moredramatic than ‘long-suffering’, so this is an incredibly novel experience.

“That’s- yeah, ofcourse I like you, but that’s not what I meant.”

“O-oh. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Itmakes you want to say sorry again, and Iwaizumi sees it on your face so hehurries to cut you off before you do. “I… I guess what I’m doing is confessing.Just… without the letter, or the chocolates. And this isn’t exactly a rooftopin the sunset either.”

He’s rambling, butit doesn’t matter. You freeze, despite the sudden spike of fight-or-flightresponse that bangs its gong in your head, and this is going all wrong.How- how is that he looks nervous, and you’re being confessed to; youcan’t help it, it’s another sort of reflex when your jaw locks into place andyour gaze jerks immediately to his hand Iwaizumi catches your shift inattention- he hasn’t looked away from you for a second, that brave soul- and hetugs at his sleeve reluctantly, trying to keep himself from covering it.

“I have a soulmate,yeah,” he says, rather redundantly in your opinion, because everyone who’sheard of Iwaizumi knows he’s found his soulmate, and the last time you checked,it still wasn’t you. “I just… do you believe in soulmates?”

“This again,” youbreathe slightly hysterically, and the thought that maybe Oikawa Tooru is thegreat puppet master of the universe crosses your mind several times inoverexcited laps.

“Huh?”

“No,” you respondmore clearly, “I don’t want to.” His expression falls a little, and you quicklyclarify, “I mean- I don’t.” You don’t need to glance down anymore to know thatyour thumb is already reaching towards your bare pinkie to rub at itself-consciously. Iwaizumi follows your movement, and in one heart-stoppingmoment, he pulls his hands off his mug and reaches to grasp your hand in thefirmest grip you’ve ever felt in your life. He gives your cold, clammy hand aconfident squeeze, and you feel the warmth of his palm squeeze your frail hearttoo.

His eyes are burninginto yours and it hurts- whether from the intensity, from your imagination orfrom all the insecurity he seems to be searing away from your soul into ashesthat fall around you like cherry blossoms, because he’s your childhood friend,your Iwaizumi, and if anyone can carry out miracles, it’s him.

“It’s hard to notbelieve in something everyone else thinks is common sense, huh.” He says withaching gentleness, lips curling into a woeful smile that shatters all the wallsyou’ve worked so hard at building, block by block. In just one sentence,without prompting, he has said what you thought nobody else would be able tounderstand. “It’s one thing to live against it, and another to just live…without it.” There’s a pointed silence, and his fingers tighten around yours;you know that instance he’s talking about all the times he’s seen your facetorn up because of your broken string and his intact one, the first gap in thegaping abyss that’s grown between you and the rest of your peers.

Of course, all ittook was for Iwaizumi to bare his soul to you, and the bridge falls andsuddenly, you feel like you can have faith in yourself again. Even if just alittle.

“I got used to it,”you say, voice smaller than you imagined. “Mom, and all. It wasn’t like Ididn’t know.”

The biggest questionis still unsaid when Iwaizumi nods with tender understanding. He’s keepingquiet, and you’re not ready enough to ask it of him yet. In case this is just adream, in case it wasn’t what you had been wishing for all this time.

Miracles, like yousaid. He performs another like it’s nothing, and the words come up without youneeding to spare a glance.

“I… I believed in itat first. Who doesn’t, in the day and age? But…” His voice begins to waver, andin a single historic moment of bravery, you turn your hand over so that you’reproperly holding hands, and you squeeze back too. You hear his breath hitch,and you’re more sure of this than anything else you’ve been. “I… I guess I justcame to love you, more and more. I didn’t realize it at first, because youweren’t on the other side of my string, and even though sure, it’s easy withher, like I barely have to try and we fit, but… you…”

You’re crying alittle. “You make me want to try to fit, even if we might not. Right?”

“Right.” And hesounds like he might be crying too. He isn’t, when you look away from yourjoined hands, the sure expression evergreen on his face, but his voice betrayshim.

“I don’t know muchabout love,” you murmur, “all that I do it’s from my mom or from books, butI’ve always found something romantic in the fact that you get to choose who youspend the rest of your life with. To love again. Who says that we’re onlyallowed one great love in our lives, and everything else will pale incomparison? Why can’t we have two? Three? As many as our little hearts tell uswe need, because we’re us, right?”

He’s silent, cuppingyour every word in his hands like the water of life, and for the first time ina long time, you’re not here with Iwaizumi, your crush. You’re with Iwaizumi,the only person you ever thought was for you, and would probably be for a verylong time. There’s no wealth in the world that could buy genuine understanding-and in a dizzying moment you feel so much more blessed than anyone with a red thread.Despite yours breaking, despite the odds of being born anyone else in theworld, you were born here, in a small town in Miyagi, and you met him.

You hope that heknows that no matter what comes of you two, you’ll forever think him beautifulbeyond compare.

“’Better to haveloved and lost than to have never loved at all’,” Iwaizumi says with a smile,“they used to say that a long time ago. I guess it doesn’t really apply whenwe’ve all got threads.”

“They just assumeyou love, don’t they?” You match his smile with your own, a bit watery but verytouched.

“I’d rather letmyself love who I want, than love what’s just there. Something I had to fightfor, instead of sitting there and letting it happen.”

If Iwaizumi tried topersuade you to jump off a cliff with that amount of earnestness, you would doit without a second’s hesitation.

“You’re making avery convincing argument, Hajime-kun.”

He laughs that richlaugh of his and you feel your cheeks colour again like normal. “It’s onlyconvincing if it works.” He leans forwards like he always does in that way thatsteals chunks of your lifespan. “So? What do you say? Want to give it a trytogether?”

“It’s…” you can feelthe edge of each syllable along the grooves of your tongue, ready to leave yourlips, but they just won’t come, “will it break? The thread. Will it come back?”

He waits, like it’sthe one thing he was certain to come from this whole conversation.

“You… will you beable to go back if you realize you’ve made a mistake?”

Iwaizumi answers youlike god answers prayers- with conviction and a love that can only come fromdeep within. “Maybe not. But that doesn’t change how I feel, and that doesn’tchange what I think. We can try and try again until we find something thatworks. If it doesn’t, I know that I’d never regret it having happened.”

This man is tooblinding, and you barely deserve him. Maybe a few days before and you wouldhave said something very different, but this time your ‘alright’ comes in awhole exhilarated rush and the moments where he pushes even closer to you topress his lips quietly against yours for a mere moment feels like heartbreak-already happened, so intense that nothing could possibly outdo this singlemoment ever again.

“I- we’re in acafé!” You hiss once your brain restarts itself successfully, but Iwaizumi onlyfalls back into his hair with a satisfied grin on his face that borders onsmug.

“Is PDA a no then?”

“No!”

“A shame,” hemurmurs lowly, and something alive curls in your gut from the way his voicewraps around his words like they’ve been coated in syrup, “I’ve always wantedto try that kissing thing that Oikawa always does with whatever girlfriend hehas.”

‘Kissing’ makes yourhead steam with embarrassment, and if you had your hand back to yourself youwould most definitely cover your face with it. “You’ve been spending too muchtime with Tooru.”

“Probably,” Iwaizumisays ruefully, “what’s done is done, I suppose.”

Indeed, it was, andon Iwaizumi’s finger, the red thread lies snapped, on the table, like it hadnever been whole in the first place. It only takes a short glance at yourexpression for Iwaizumi to fall back into sobriety and very slowly, as iftrying not to spook you, he gets up and gently pulls the chair from under you.“Let’s go,” he suggests, and you’re the first to pad out of the coffee shopwhile he gives the table a cursory look over for forgotten items.

The previousconversation falls into a lull, a comfortable one, that accompanies the dimmingsky. You feel like there should be more embarrassment, more nervousness aboutfirst-times after your lives have been flipped over in one single afternoon,but there isn’t. There’s only the feeling of comfort and companionship thattakes its place between the two of you and pulls you closer together likemagnets. There’s a smile on your face while you walk, and his is alight withanticipation for whatever is to come.

First, it’s yourshoulders that bump. Yet, you barely even pause when you feel Iwaizumi quietlysliding his hand over yours and he hooks his pinkie around your own.

“I love you,” hesays into the road ahead, like he wants to say it just once, in case he nevergets to again.

“I-I know,” youcan’t help but stammer, but the deep chuckle beside you emboldens you. “I loveyou also,” you try again, and he hums.

You might never know what it’slike to have a complete thread, to have a destined soulmate, but you think thatin any reality, having someone so wonderful understand you so wholly is theclosest thing on earth to finding one.