#still thinking of that one person at the art party who straight-up announced how much they loved seeing heulwin on here

[dalennaugw]

Thinking about it, there are actually a BUNCH of nice screens that I've taken and shared on Discord that I never posted here.

I've gotta sit down and do an inventory through my screenshots tag so that I can figure out what's missing and correct that.

[serafilms]

FIRST DATE, KINDA NERVOUS

part 2 of the golden quartet

art donaldson x reader, slight tashi duncan x reader, slight patrick zweig x reader

summary: the story of your first kiss with art donaldson in a hotel room, and your first date in a diner. cute, fluffy, healthy, a tiny bit suggestive but not really. group polyamory dynamics hinted at. (play: so high school by taylor swift). wc: 3.5k

“What do you think?”

You shrugged. “They’re cute, they seem nice, and your backhand is like, a million times stronger than theirs, so I reckon you could take them in a fight.”

“What, you wouldn’t help?”

“Please. I’m too weak for that,” you said, shaking your wrist limply in Tashi’s face.

She rolled her eyes at you and pushed it out of the way. “Whatever, fine. We’re going.”

She ran her fingers through her hair. After showering, the straight hair from the party had disappeared, giving way to her natural waves. You always thought she looked prettier this way. Softer, somehow.

“Yay,” you said simply. “But just remember that my parents placed my safety and care in your hands, so if we get, like, murdered or something—”

“Oh, shut up,” Tashi groaned, a laugh bubbling out of her mouth, “you were just endorsing them.”

“Yeah, well. I’m indecisive.”

The smile that slowly spread across Tashi’s face told you all you needed to know. Ten seconds later you had grabbed and shrugged on your jacket and the two of you were climbing your way out of her bedroom window.

Now, you’re sitting on the floor of a hotel room, Tashi on your left and Art on your right, Patrick laying comfortably across from you, propped up by his elbows.

The beer in your hand is pretty shitty, which is a fact you find odd considering you can only assume it was either stolen from one of their parents, or paid for using a bribe, and in both of those cases, wouldn’t the beer be better?

But maybe that’s not what you should be focusing on right now, you think, as Patrick leans forwards to take it from your hand. His fingers brush yours as the can crosses over. For the last hour or so, the four of you have gone through eleven cans of beer, each consumed one at a time, being passed around like a bong.

Your eyes linger on the way Patrick’s mouth engulfs the opening of the can, right where yours had just been, and the way he passes it right to Tashi, who does the same as she takes a sip. The flush of heat in your face and belly are hard to ignore, and you’re not too sure how much of it can be attributed to the alcohol.

There’s a stutter in your chest as Art nudges you with his elbow. “So what are you planning on majoring in?”

His cheeks and ears also look flushed, but you think that might just be a consequence of the story Patrick told earlier. It was a sweet story; you assured the boy next to you of that when he’d buried his face in his hands, but he still seemed a little perturbed.

It was a sweet story though, you muse. Tashi said that they seemed like brothers, but you thought they seemed like they were an old married couple.

You’re brought back out of your thoughts as Tashi hands you the beer. “Oh, um. I’m not too set on anything yet, but I think maybe journalism.”

Patrick lets out a whistle. “What, not physiotherapy or sports medicine?”

You shrug, and before you can stop yourself, you say, “Just because I was a tennis player doesn’t mean it’s my whole personality.”

Immediately, you wince. Wrong place, wrong time. You steal a quick glance at Tashi, but she seems unaffected. Right. It’s Tashi. The last thing she feels is insecure. She simply looks at you.

But for good measure, you add, “I mean, I can still do sports news, or something.”

Against the better judgement of your burning stomach and your sluggish thoughts, you take another swig and then pass the can to Art.

“Journalism suits you,” he comments quietly as he takes it. You give him a small smile. He takes a small sip of the beer, and you can’t help but watch the way his Adam’s apple shifts when he swallows.

“I need some ice,” announces Tashi. She rises from her position on the floor.

Patrick wastes no time in scrambling up too. “I’ll come with!”

Tashi gives you a look like she’s exasperated, but you know better from the way she waits for Patrick to grab his key and open the door for her. She doesn’t look back as she walks out, but Patrick calls out a teasing, “See you guys later,” before the door closes fully.

When you turn your head towards Art, you see that he’s looking right at you.

“You sure do that a lot,” you mumble.

He smiles in a way that seems endeared and a little confused. “What?”

“Stare.”

“Sorry, I just—”

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s nice. I- I, uh.” Your thoughts are racing, everywhere and nowhere all at once, as you struggle to find the words. The way Art looks at you sends a buzz of something in your abdomen, and your mind becomes all the more scrambled. “I need to stand up.”

You stand quickly, maybe too quickly, and immediately stumble.

“Whoa, you okay?” Art’s quick to jump to his feet. His hands find their place on either side of your waist to steady you. Now you really can’t focus.

“Yeah,” you hear yourself say, “I think I should sit down instead.”

You’re very aware of the fact that his hand stays on your waist as you bumble over to the edge of the bed and take a seat.

There’s a pang of disappointment when his hand leaves your waist, and another when he stands unsurely in front of you. You pat the spot next to you.

“Sit. Please.”

He complies. Perched on the edge of the bed, hands in his lap, he’s much closer than when you were sitting on the floor together. You fiddle with your hands and steal glances at him every now and then.

“I wanted to ask you,” Art breaks the silence, “do you ever miss it?”

You don’t need to ask what he means by ‘it.’

There’s a moment where you gaze off, eyes wandering towards the door, before they return to the boy next to you and you shake your head.

“I don’t, not really.” You bite the inside of your cheek in thought. “It was fun for a while, and I liked being good at something, but I think I just fell out of love with it after a while. Like my whole life became just tennis, and thinking about a future in tennis. If I’m being honest, the injury was like a miracle to me.”

Art looks thoughtful at that. “What’s so wrong with a life of tennis?”

“Well. I mean, nothing, I guess. It just took a lot more time and effort than I would’ve liked. And there’s all the things I had to give up for it.”

He looks at you like he’s waiting for you to continue, so you do. “Cheeseburgers, sleeping in. Love.”

The bed dips closer to you as he shuffles a little closer. It prompts you to look back up at him.

The curls on his forehead hang low, just over his eyes. His hand rests just next to your thigh, and he rests his weight on it to lean just a bit closer. “You don’t think you can be in love and play tennis at the same time?”

Art’s presence has a magnetic effect on you. There’s a gravitational pull that has you angling your body towards him and moving ever so slightly closer to him.

“I don’t know. Do you?”

His eyes dart down to your lips. It’s an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by you, and you feel the corners of your mouth twitch upwards as you do the same. You can almost feel the warmth of his exhale as your faces draw closer and closer.

“Can I?” Art whispers.

“Please,” you respond.

His hand comes off the bed to rest on your cheek, and then he’s kissing you. It’s soft, gentle, but there’s an urgency in the way his tongue teases the entrance of your lips, and the way he moves even closer towards you, almost as if he’s chasing you.

Your hands find themselves at the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. His other hand moves to rest on your waist. Then your thigh. You let out a hum as your stomach does a little leap. Then, he pulls away for a fraction of a second to take you in, before his lips are on yours again. It’s electric, when he tilts his head slightly to the other side, when the hand on your cheek slides down to your jaw to bring you closer, when you hear a low groan in the base of his throat as his hand slides to the inner part of your thigh.

Then you hear the key at the door, and you both jump apart.

Tashi has a cup of ice water in her hand when she surveys the scene in front of her.

Your bodies are still angled suspiciously towards each other and your hands both rest awkwardly in your laps. Little is left to the imagination. You can still feel the butterflies in your stomach and the racing of your heart when Patrick raises his eyebrows at the two of you, a grin on his face.

“So,” he begins, “what have you guys been up to?”

Art and you speak at the same time. “Oh, you know, nothing much.” “Just chilling.”

Tashi’s face is thoughtful, as she looks at you and her lips quirk up in a smile. She nods her head to the door behind her. “Well, it’s late. We should go.”

Your eyes dart back and forth between the three people in the room. Slowly, you stand, giving Art an awkward kind of smile as you brush past him.

“Wait,” Patrick exclaims, “can I get your phone number?”

She shrugs back at him, holding the door open. “Play some real tennis tomorrow, and then I’ll give you my number.”

“So like, if I win?”

“You don’t have to win to play well.”

You’re not sure where this leaves you and Art in the mix, but Tashi is looking at you expectantly from the doorway, and you fear you don’t have the time to decide now. With an apologetic look and a wave, you mutter, “See you guys,” and then you’re out the door.

In the end, Patrick does win. He gives a flourishing bow as Tashi shrugs and applauds him. She turns to whisper something in your ear, but the words make no contact with your thoughts. As Art looks dejectedly at his racket, then at his best friend across the court, you stand abruptly. Tashi looks at you, bewildered.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, I was—”

Whatever her next words are, they die in her throat as she sighs and watches you thread your way through the stands and go down the stairs to the side of the court.

“Hey!” you call out. Art’s head perks up and his eyes search for the source of the sound until they land on you. He jogs to meet you.

“Hi.”

“Um,” you say, feeling suddenly like your foot has been shoved into your mouth, “you did really well.”

Art looks at you deadpan, but a smile starts to show in his eyes. “I lost.”

“Still, you were really good.” Your eyes glue themselves to the floor as you start to regret coming over so hastily without planning what to say.

“Well, thanks. Really. It means a lot coming from you.” Looking back up, you see him scratching the back of his head nervously. It’s an odd look, considering he’s also drenched in sweat, and his glistening skin makes him look even more nervous than he is. “Look, uh. I know we didn’t make a deal or anything, but do you think I could get your number?”

Maybe this wasn’t such a mistake. “Yeah, I think I could make that happen.”

SIX WEEKS LATER.

God, you’re stressed right now. The hem of your top has fallen victim to your incessant fiddling as you tug at it, scrunch it up, release it and repeat.

“You’re acting like it’s your first date ever,” Tashi says, rolling her eyes. There’s a smile playing at her lips that tells you she isn’t trying to be as mean as she sounds.

“He’s cute, okay? I’m nervous.”

Tashi comes up behind you and you meet her eyes in the mirror. A shiver runs down your spine as she tugs at the collar of your jacket, knuckles brushing your neck in the process.

“You should take this off.”

“What? Why?” You stare at her reflection. “I know it’s still summer, but it’s nighttime, so­ like…” Her deadpan expression has you trailing off. “What?”

“You can wear his jacket instead.”

There’s a hollow silence as your mouth forms an ‘o’. Your fingers move to tug at the sleeves of the jacket, gaze averted from hers for a moment.

“You think he’ll offer?”

Another eye roll. “The guy’s like, obsessed with you. Of course he’ll offer. Doesn’t hurt to throw in a little shiver either.”

“What if he’s not wearing a jacket?”

“Oh, he’s wearing a jacket.” She waves her cell phone in your face. “Patrick texted me an update.”

You grin and shrug off the jacket as you turn to face her. “Who knew Tashi Duncan was such a sucker for clichés?”

“I’m just trying to make sure your date goes well,” Tashi scoffs as she snatches the jacket from your hands. “You’re the one who swoons every time you watch a romcom.”

She’s right about that one.

Tashi smacks her lips as she hangs your jacket back up in your closet. “I still don’t get why you’re so nervous. I thought we broke all the ice at the hotel.”

“Well, I can still be nervous. Just because you and Patrick had sex two weeks ago doesn’t mean I have to be as confident.”

She sighs because you’re right. Tonight is your first date. With Art. Not your first date ever. But you sure do feel nervous enough to pretend it is.

You and Art have been texting nonstop for the last six weeks, but between the odd part time jobs you’ve picked up over the summer and his tennis training, you haven’t had any time to hang out, unless your best friends who managed to squeeze in their first date, first time and first sleepover together all in one go. But Tashi and Patrick are much more go getter than you.

Tashi didn’t give you shit for your lack of fervour in pursuing whatever relationship you and Art had, but you still felt a little perturbed when she called you the day after her night with Patrick, and told you that he’d asked about you guys.

(“Does he not talk to Art about it?” you asked.

“He said Art’s happy, but he wanted to know how things were going on your end. Since you guys have only been texting.”)

So now you feel pressured. Like somehow your relationship is linked to Patrick and Tashi. Like they’re waiting for you guys to catch up.

But you don’t say any of that. Because you want things to go at your own pace, you keep quiet. Because you don’t want to speak it into existence, even if Tashi will roll her eyes and call you ridiculous for it because she knows your life is yours and hers is hers, despite the way she keeps trying to push you in certain directions.

When the doorbell inevitably rings, you and Tashi exchange looks. She gives you a nod. It’s more firm than comforting, like she’s sending you off to play at Wimbledon and she knows you’re going to win.

Your parents aren’t home for the next few days, which is why you strategically planned your date for tonight, because God forbid they use their last few weeks with you living under their roof to embarrass you in front of a guy. You almost expect Tashi to answer the door for you as if she’s your mother, but instead, she shoves your bag in your chest, says, “I’m using your shampoo and eating all your snacks,” and pushes you out of the bedroom door, then closes it.

One last check in the nearest reflective surface, and you’re ready.

Art is dressed casually, like you, in jeans and a polo. Tashi was right in saying that he would wear a jacket. In the light of your front porch, he looks especially gentle, the warm light threading through his hair like a halo.

The smile that lights up his face when you open the door has the potential to end your whole bloodline, you swear. The way your heart rate picks up feels like some kind of fight or flight response, but you’re willing to ignore it all for him.

“Hey,” he says. His voice has a comforting cadence, you think. It’s been six weeks since you’ve last heard it, since you were always too scared to call him. But it’s a sound like coming home.

“Hi,” you speak softly.

There’s a bouquet in his hands, which he holds out to you, one hand tucked in his jeans. “I brought these for you.”

You take them gingerly, trying to fight the grin that threatens to split your face in half. He’s so cute. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

You put them on the table just inside. Tashi will eventually make her way downstairs and put them in some water for you. Closing the door, you turn back to Art, who holds his hand out to you. It’s such a strangely innocent gesture that you almost catch yourself giggling like a schoolgirl.

“Shall we?”

You take it, grinning like a madman. “We shall.”

“I never got to hear what you want to major in.” The fry in your hand is currently being waved around as though you’re conducting an orchestra.

“Oh. I don’t know,” Art averts his eyes to his plate. “I haven’t thought about it much.”

“I won’t judge,” you prompt gently.

He looks contemplative, and wets his bottom lip with his tongue briefly before looking up at you. “Okay.”

“Okay…” You gesture your fry towards him.

“You promise you won’t judge?” He asks, bobbing his head questioningly at you

You lean towards the table with your hand over your heart. “I swear it.”

“Physics. Or engineering.”

Sitting back in your seat, you survey him.

“That suits you,” you say genuinely. After you’ve said the words, you’re reminded all too well of the night in the hotel room again, and your cheeks warm.

“Thanks,” Art says, gazing at you. “Patrick says that too, before he calls me a loser.”

“I’m guessing you’re more studious than he is.”

“You’d be right.”

Another sip of your milkshake. “I think it’s cool. Maybe we’ll even have some classes together.”

Art smiles his eye-crinkling smile across the table. “Yeah, maybe we will.”

You don’t even need to pretend to shiver. The second you’ve stepped out of the restaurant, Art’s jacket is slipped onto your shoulders. It’s warm, and smells faintly like sandalwood mixed with laundry detergent. You resist the urge to inhale the collar. Instead you smile shyly, and take his hand. There’s a knot forming in your chest at the thought of the night being over, but when the two of you reach his car, Art doesn’t take out his keys. He turns and leans against the side of his car, hand still entwined with your own.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” he says simply.

Your lips quirk up in amusement. “So did I.”

He hums. Your hands are swung from side to side as he looks down at them. You can’t help the laugh that escapes you as you step closer.

“What are you thinking about?” you whisper. You know what he’s thinking about.

He looks down at you, and does a one shoulder shrug. “I’m thinking about how much I want to kiss you.”

Your heart stops and gets jumpstarted again in the span of about six milliseconds. God. You knew it was coming, but you still couldn’t prepare yourself.

“Not asking anymore, are we?” You grin, chest thumping like crazy.

“Oh, come on.” With a tug on your hand, you’re pulled flush against him, chest to chest.

Art leans in to your ear, and whispers as if divulging a well-kept secret. “May I please kiss you?”

The tickle of his breath over your jaw sends a zap of electricity through every single nerve in your body. Your breath hitches. “You may.”

You’re not sure you’ll ever get sick of Art Donaldson’s smile. The curve of his mouth as he leans in, brushing his nose to yours before your lips meet.

Your computer pings.

Patrick Zweig sent you a friend request.

You raise an eyebrow and hit ‘accept.’

A minute later, there’s another notification.

Patrick Zweig wrote on your wall. “Congratulations on a successful first date with @Art Donaldson! 😘”.

[maatryoshkaa]

between the lines | lee minho

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒!𝐀𝐔

✑ Late fines, shared lockers, and a missing love letter:

In which a frantic search for an overdue library book leads to you finding other things that are...long overdue.

✑ PAIRING: student librarian!minho x bookworm!reader

✑ GENRE: retro!high school au, slow burn, slice-of-life romance, slight enemies-to-lovers shenanigans

✑ WORD COUNT: 9.7k

✖︎ TAGS/WARNINGS: fem!reader, mild language, bullying themes, skz are all around the same age. mc is insecure and a bit of a valentine's day grinch. minho is whipped but too hardheaded to admit it. also, an embarrassing amount of classic literature/pablo neruda references.

Ah, Valentine’s Day.

Call it the most romantic day of the year if you will, but in the treacherous hallways of Levanter High, it meant a minefield of hormonal couples, crushed chocolate boxes, and supermarket rose bouquets. Clutching your backpack with a grimace, you narrowly dodged a pigtailed cheerleader as she leapt into her jock boyfriend’s waiting arms. Turning into another hallway, you plugged your ears to block out a senior boy’s cold rejection of a freshman’s nervous love confession.

You finally caught sight of your locker and breathed a sigh of relief. Levanter High’s lockers were split in half lengthwise—one top row, and one bottom row. You dropped to a crouch to wrench yours open—you’d lost your lock a couple of weeks ago—trying to block out the early morning commotion as you rummaged for your English books.

“Hey, watch ou—”

The locker above yours opened with a screech, and you looked up just in time to see a pink avalanche of cards and chocolates raining down on your head in a painful, deafening crash. The student who had called out the warning was frozen with a comical look of shock on her face. You swore the entire hallway fell silent, blood rushing to your cheeks as you slowly raised your gaze at the person who had opened the locker.

Lee Hana—head cheerleader of Levanter’s pep squad, and in your humble opinion, the spawn of Satan herself.

“Ohmigosh,” she exclaimed, raising one hand to her mouth in mock horror, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there.”

The crowd around you was beginning to snicker and point, and you felt your face growing redder by the minute. “What are you doing here?” You asked tersely, motioning towards the locker above yours. “That’s not even your locker.”

Hana smiled and held up a small, glittery package. Oh. You didn’t have to look closer to know that the envelope was a love letter, elaborately tied to a box of expensive chocolates—the kind your parents would probably have to work overtime to afford. “My Valentine—for your locker buddy,” Hana replied matter-of-factly, then added, “Not that you would understand, hm? Since you’ve never received one yourself, and all.”

A smattering of laughs erupted from the crowd that was building around you. Biting back a retort, you looked down at all the other Valentine’s trinkets that had spilled around you. Of course—you should have gotten used to it by now. After all, your locker was right underneath the one that belonged to the student librarian, school heartthrob, and the absolute bane of your existence, Lee—

“Minho!” Hana exclaimed, and you looked up to see him shuffling through the crowd, his eyes briefly falling on yours. You immediately turned away as the pretty cheerleader skipped up to him, and shoved your books into your bag. Slamming your locker shut—twice, because Levanter’s damned lockers always jammed before shutting properly—you snatched up as many of Minho’s fallen Valentine’s Day trinkets as you could before shoving them back into the now-emptied top locker. The metal door was still swinging wide open. You’d overheard Minho complaining to the boy who always did the announcements—Han Jihyun? Han Jisung?—about how he kept losing his own lock. Both of you seemed to have a habit of misplacing things (not that you liked to admit to that similarity).

Out of the corner of your eye, Minho was still watching you over Hana’s shoulder, his lips tilted in a half-smile. Your gut twisted unpleasantly. Four years and counting—that was how long you’d ended up with a locker right under Minho’s.

“You’re so lucky!” Lia—your best friend—had gushed, while you had scoffed in utter disbelief.

“Oh, sure. Just my rotten luck.”

“Come on, y/n. Are you still hung up about that love letter from freshman year?”

Yes, you had thought sourly. “No way,” you had snapped, and Lia had giggled, unconvinced.

It wasn’t like you’d always had a personal vendetta against Minho. In fact, in ninth grade, you’d been head over heels for him, just like the rest of the student body—to the point where you’d even slipped a small love letter into his locker on Valentine’s Day, too. It had been one of those gaudy 99-cent corner-store cards, and you'd saved up your pocket money just to buy a matching pack of candy hearts. Then you’d spent the day with butterflies in your stomach, anxiously waiting nearby his locker to see his reaction.

But when he hadn’t shown up, you'd shrugged and begun heading home—and that was when you had caught sight of Minho, throwing all the love letters he’d received straight into the Dumpsters in the back parking lot.

Talk about a reality check.

As if that hadn't been traumatizing enough, you’d been forced to face him nearly every morning for the following three years. To make matters worse, being Minho’s involuntary locker mate also meant that all the girls—and guys, for that matter—saw you as little more than a stepping stone to him, always asking you to relay party invitations or trying to curry favour with you to get to him.

“We’re not close,” you’d insist to his persistent admirers every time, but it didn’t help. Minho, on the other hand, you thought bitterly, seemed to think he was too good for anyone—he didn’t even respond much to Hana’s advances, and she was drop-dead gorgeous. There was no way he’d even look twice at you—you’d been firsthand witness to that. You finally gave up trying to clean up the fallen Valentines, and stood up with a sigh. Throwing him a death glare, you pushed past the crowd just as the bell rang and students began scurrying away.

What did it matter if Lee Hana was trying to get with Minho? If anything, they were a match made in heaven. Or hell. With a decided huff, you plopped yourself down at your desk just as your English teacher began class.

“We’re starting the poetry unit today! Remember, you’ll be writing a love poem of your own for the final project—so I suggest you all get started on reading!” You teacher had winked and clapped her hands excitedly while a collective groan had swept through your class. A few couples had nudged each other meaningfully, already promising to write their poems about each other, and you’d thrown up a little in your mouth.

Romance was a bit of a touchy subject for you— now, you didn’t hate the notion of love, per se, you’d just always been somewhat...wary of it. After watching your friends fall in and out of disastrous relationships and fleeting feelings from the sidelines too many times to count, your own defense mechanisms had skyrocketed, and now you found yourself trying not to roll your eyes at every piece of romantic writing you read. Still, this inexperience only made you more determined to get a head start on the topic— and so, once the last bell had rung, you made a beeline for the school library. You would tackle love the only way you knew how to—by hitting the books. Pushing open the door, you overheard Hana and her friends muttering in disappointment and immediately recoiled.

“You said he’d be in here!”

“Well, I thought I saw him! Let’s wait for a bit.”

You peeked over the librarian’s desk, and sure enough, it was vacant— save for a tray of half-shelved books and stamping cards. Maybe Minho left early today, you thought, shrugging. That’s a relief. Then you shook your head quickly. What’s it to me whether he’s here or not? You tried to ignore Hana’s disdainful glance at you, heading straight towards your favourite nook at the back of the library instead: a cozy alcove tucked behind the last row of shelves. With a deep sigh, you pulled out the first book of poetry your teacher had assigned—Shakespeare’s Complete Sonnets—and sank into the bean bag chair.

‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May…’

A couple lines in, and the Englishman’s words were already making your head spin. You grimaced, massaging your temples. ‘A summer’s day?’ Seriously? You could swear you’d seen something less cheesy on a dollar store card. After a couple of pages, you could already feel your treacherous eyelids beginning to droop, fighting to stay awake as you tried to make sense of Shakespeare’s verses. But thy eternal summer...shall not fade...nor lose...possession…

“The library’s closing.”

You jolted awake, hands fumbling blindly before you could even force your eyes open. The library came into focus first—the lights had been dimmed, the flickering EXIT sign from the empty hallway casting a warm glow through the panelled window across the room. A dull headache still throbbed in your temples.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes groggily. You had to practically peel your cheek away from the Shakespeare book, fingers gingerly feeling the dent the cover had left in your cheek. “I-I’m so sorry, I must have—lost track of time studying.”

A familiar chuckle sent your heart plummeting to your stomach. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

When your eyes finally adjusted, your expression automatically soured into a glare.

“Now that’s more like it.” Smirking, Minho crossed his arms, leaning back on a bookshelf. He glanced down at the book in your lap—the book that you clearly hadn’t been studying. “Didn’t know you were one for Shakespeare.”

“I—” You threw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m not. His writing gives me a headache. It’s like it’s all in another language or something.”

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Old English. Why are you reading it, then?”

“We’re doing poetry in class—and our final project is to write an actual love poem, based on the poets we’ll study. Shakespeare was just first on the reading list, so…” you felt yourself trailing off, flustered. Why were you even bothering to explain this to Minho, who probably couldn’t care less? “Nevermind.”

You felt his piercing gaze on you as you shoved your books into your bag, glancing outside at the nearly emptied parking lot. If you squinted, you could spot a couple—Seo Changbin, judging by the male’s iconic leather jacket, and his lover—making out under the bleachers. You shook your head incredulously. Valentine’s Day. Love poems. Hormonal couples galore. It was like the universe was playing a long, cruel joke on you: Ha-ha, look who’s spending Valentine’s Day studying in the library alone.

Well, alone except for a student librarian with whom you had a mortifying history. Not much better. Eager to leave, you got to your feet, only to see Minho flipping through a smaller book he’d pulled off the shelf next to him. “If you want some real inspiration,” he began slowly, pushing up his glasses, “I’d suggest you start closer to our time period.”

You looked down at the book he was holding up, brow furrowing as you read the title out loud. “Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair. Pablo Neruda.”

“The best Chilean poet of the 20th century,” he nodded. “‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving but this.’”

It took you a second to realise Minho was quoting a poem, and you were suddenly grateful that the dimly lit library hid the flush of red that had betrayed your cheeks. Clearing your throat, you mumbled, “That actually sounds...kind of pretty.”

He didn’t look up, but you thought you saw the corners of his mouth shoot up ever so slightly. Maybe the shadows were playing tricks on you? Flipping through the book, Minho fished out a pad of sticky notes from his back pocket and marked a few pages. “Here. ‘The Song of Despair’...‘Tonight I Can Write’...‘Here I Love You.’ Those are good.” Clamping the book shut, he held it out towards you.

You almost thanked him, but the words faltered on your tongue as you took it from him suspiciously. “What’s with the sudden helpful attitude?”

He shrugged. “It’s my job.” You raised an incredulous eyebrow, and he smirked. “Consider it my apology for this morning, then.”

That left you at a real loss for words, and for the first time, you struggled to find a retort. “That’s...considerate of you, apologising on behalf of your girlfriend and all.”

“Hana’s not my girlfriend.”

You breathed a small laugh. “Soon-to-be, then. Don’t break her heart.”

Minho scoffed, bringing the book to the front desk and scrawling your name on the sign-out card. He stamped the dates, then held it out at you before glancing out the window. Dusk had fallen, the empty football field lit only by rows of flickering lampposts. “You can get home safe?”

“Screw off, Lee Minho.” You eyed him warily, shoving the book into your bag before practically running to the double doors. The strange atmosphere that had suddenly built up in the library felt terrifyingly foreign to you, and your first instinct was to be rid of it as soon as possible. In the hallway, you spotted a janitor dumping a bin into a trash bag. A familiar avalanche of pink envelopes and gifts caught your eye, and you felt a wave of humiliation. Just the memory of Minho throwing yours out—after reading it and having a good laugh, no doubt—made you want to ram your head into the lockers all over again. You’ve got no chance with him, y/n, you thought blearily. Right when you’d thought you’d finally come to terms with Minho’s brutal (albeit unintentional) rejection, here he was again: crashing back into your life like some...cat-eyed, pointy-nosed meteor.

“Oh, y/n! One more thing.”

You’d already had one foot out the front door when Minho called your name again, making you jerk your head back in surprise. Minho had his bag slung over one shoulder, a pile of books in his arms as he waved to get your attention. His smile looked almost...genuine in the warm shadows, his round glasses softening his usually sharp gaze. Despite yourself, you felt your heart skip a beat.

Then Minho made a wiping motion over his face and grinned. “You’ve got drool on your chin.”

Your face reddened, and you slammed the library door shut, earning a glare from the janitor down the hall. Smacking the heel of your palm against your forehead repeatedly, you stormed out of the school muttering curses under your breath. Typical Lee Minho.

To your surprise, you practically devoured the poems in less than a week, taken aback at how much you genuinely enjoyed them. It was the first time you didn’t find yourself cringing at romance—and sure enough, in a couple days’ time, you found yourself reluctantly standing back in front of the double doors of the school library once again.

Carefully, you craned your head to peep into the panelled window, scanning the room for Minho. As per usual, a gaggle of girls were huddled on the other side, blocking your view.

“Looking for someone?”

Flinching, you nearly tripped on Hana’s long legs as she came up beside you. Before you could respond, she fixed you with a withering look. “You’ve got some explaining to do, Little Miss Perfect.”

“I—sorry?”

The cheerleader rolled her eyes, sneering. “Don’t act all innocent with me, you sneaky b—”

Sighing, you pushed open the doors before she could finish. Hana followed you into the library, still sputtering angrily. Her hand snatched your arm, French manicure digging painfully into your cardigan.

“The Valentines,” she hissed, and it finally clicked.

She’s talking about the love letters, you realized. The ones Minho throws out every year.

Gut twisting, you looked up to see all the other girls crossing their arms and looking back at you expectantly. “None of you...got a response?” You asked incredulously, already knowing the answer. This happened every year: Expectant admirers showered Minho’s locker with gifts, Minho wouldn’t even glance at them— and then, for some reason, you were left to take the blame. A twinge of annoyance shot through your chest.

“You stole them from his locker, didn’t you?” Hana continued accusingly, pupils shaking. “You sneaky, jealous bitch— of course you did.”

He threw them all out, you wanted to scream back at her, but the words wouldn’t budge from your tongue. Somehow, saying them out loud felt like tearing off the stitches of an old wound; a painful reminder of your personal humiliating memory. And—though you hated to admit it—a small part of you still didn’t have the heart to throw Minho under the bus just yet, even after all that he’d done.

Feeling defeated, you sighed and turned towards her. “Why would I want to do that?”

Hana scoffed, tossing her chocolate curls over one shoulder. “Oh, please. We all know you’ve had a massive one-sided crush on him since ninth grade.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks, the other girls’ snickers at your reaction drowning out any of your protests. “That’s not—”

“Not true? Then—is it mutual?” Hana sneered mockingly. “Don’t make me laugh. He wouldn’t be caught dead with the likes of y—”

“Can I help you with anything?”

The small crowd fell silent as Minho appeared from one of the aisles, eyebrows raised slightly in his usual nonchalant manner. A chill of panic rushed down your spine, palms growing clammy with cold sweat. H-how much did he overhear? In your peripheral, Hana was practically batting her eyelashes at him, but Minho’s mild eyes were focused on yours expectantly.

“I—uh. Well,” you stammered eloquently, your entire body suddenly paralyzed. Hana’s cherry red lips were twisted in a smug smirk, clearly waiting for you to embarrass yourself. “The book,” you blurted, immediately rummaging for the poetry book in your bag and holding it out to him.

Minho took it from you, fingertips grazing yours slightly. They were surprisingly warm. “How’d you find it?”

“R-really good, actually.” Then, you hesitantly added, “I...like the way Neruda uses imagery—he’s precise without being plain, and artful without deviating too much into purple prose. I think I liked Tonight I Can Write the most— y’know, ‘Tonight I can write the saddest lines...’” You swallowed, then instantly began regretting having ever spoken. Great job, y/n, now you sound like a full-blown nerd.

But Minho nodded, his eyes gleaming. “‘I loved her, and sometimes, she loved me, too.’”

“That’s the second verse,” you muttered automatically, and his lips twitched.

“It’s one of my favourite lines.”

The other girls had begun to awkwardly shuffle out of the library, their absence easing your racing heart. With just a few mildly spoken words, you noted, Minho had managed to make you feel as though you had blocked out the rest of the world. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Hana glaring daggers at you, and the small smile dropped from your face.

“Do you need something?” Minho asked her blankly, his gaze trailing down to Hana’s hand, which was still painfully latched onto your arm. With a roll of her eyes, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the library.

As soon as she was gone, you breathed an audible sigh of relief. Minho was peeling the sticky notes off from the poetry book you’d returned, eyes still watching you intently. Giving him the side-eye, you deadpanned, “She’s pretty, you know. Maybe you should go talk to her sometime.”

There was a small smile on Minho’s lips. “Does she like Chilean poetry?”

You could only give a short—slightly too shaky for your liking—laugh in response, ruffling your own hair as you tried to calm your frazzled nerves. Don’t forget, y/n. One, that he’s out of your league. Two, how this was all his fault to begin with.

“Is that all you came here for?” Minho’s voice broke into your thoughts again, making you jump. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes. He finds this—me—amusing.

“Well…” you looked down at your feet, then grudgingly nodded at the poetry book you’d just returned. “Do you...have any other recommendations?”

Minho’s face broke into a shit-eating grin, and you bit back a groan. before your pride got the better of you and you changed your mind, he was already heading towards the back of the library, sliding books out as you struggled to keep with his pace. “First of all, Dickinson. Hit-or-miss, but you never know. Then there’s Sylvia Plath, some Emily Brontë…”

Before you knew it, you’d been whisked into a world of verse and metaphor, flying between numerous time periods and continents as you and Minho perused the shelves. Just like the time when you had accidentally fallen asleep in the library, the library seemed to grow cozier, quieter, more peaceful during moments like these, as if the entire world was holding still as you lost yourself in pages upon pages of books. Soon, you found yourself heading to the library nearly every day after school. Despite yourself, you found yourself looking forward to that sunset hour, the fleeting period where most students had left, and the entire library would glow warm as though it were blushing under the swathes of golden light. And in these same fleeting moments, you found your gaze lingering more and more on Minho—the way he would push his silver glasses on, furrowing his brow in concentration whenever he searched for a book, or run his long fingers over their worn spines whenever he was lost in thought—

“Like what you see?” With a flinch, you realised Minho had begun walking back towards you, a crooked smirk on his lips as he set a new pile of books down at the desk you were sat at.

“No!” You snapped, too quickly. “Just—spaced out for a bit. Too concentrated on the project.”

The smirk hadn’t budged from Minho’s face, and you resisted the urge to throw a copy of Emily Dickinson’s Selected Poems at his long, pointy nose. “Mm. You seem to be coming here a lot more often.”

“That’s because the due date is coming up.”

“No. I mean, you seem to be talking to me a lot more.”

You rolled your eyes, snatching a book from the top of his pile as you muttered, “Screw you, Lee Minho.”

His eyebrows shot up in wicked mischief. “You’re more than welcome to try.”

With a cry of exasperation—and surprise at having been heard—you hoisted your book bag onto the table, building a makeshift wall between the two of you.

You didn’t catch the way Minho’s laughter slowly faded as he rested his head on one hand thoughtfully, quietly watching you read. Your lips were pursed in concentration as you muttered your notes under your breath. Cute, he couldn’t help thinking.

Minho had always been good at memorizing things, but he couldn’t remember exactly when you’d begun disliking him so much. You had always intrigued him—what with the way your locker always seemed to be overflowing with books, or how you used to lend him your copy when he forgot his, back in ninth grade. That Valentine’s Day, four years ago, your name had been the only one he’d hoped to find as he rifled through the cards he’d received. But he’d come up empty, and so he’d thrown them all out. And for some reason, you’d been cold to him ever since.

Minho had assumed that you were probably annoyed with all the letters that would fall out of his locker and onto you, and so every year he tried his best to get rid of the Valentines as soon as possible. Nevertheless, you only seemed to be getting more and more annoyed with him.

And now here you were, right in front of him, four years later, and he still couldn’t bring himself to ask you why. Confrontation had never been his strong suit—his words always seemed to come out too blunt, too cold, too soon, and so he’d always avoided bringing it up with you again. Minho sighed, raking a hand through his hair. Written words—that is, books—had always been so much easier than people.

He did, however, remember when he’d started falling for you.

Tenth grade, literature studies. He’d begun arguing against your thesis during one of your presentations, and the two of you had ended up bickering the entire class—pulling out quotes from nearly every chapter of Pride and Prejudice before the class president had to intervene, and your teacher had sent you both to detention.

You had glared at him once, and he’d fallen head over heels.

These violent delights have violent ends, he’d mused in his head back then—Romeo and Juliet—and with the murderous stare Minho sometimes caught you fixing him with, he was willing to bet that you were wishing a violent end on him, too.

He couldn’t pen a love letter to save his life, either— and so, he resorted to pettily glaring at any admirer that approached your locker like Gandalf—you shall not pass—until they backed off. Minho didn’t think you would appreciate him revealing that, either. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous his actions seemed—and like a poorly written plot twist, you had ended up stumbling back into his life again. Never in his life, however, did Minho think that Pablo Neruda would become his wingman. Glancing down at his portrait on the back cover of the book, Minho could almost imagine the Chilean poet pointing his pen threateningly: “Don’t screw this up.”

“Hey, Minho?” He snapped out of his thoughts to see you waving your hand at him from the other side of your book bag. “You were right. I don’t get any of Dickinson’s poems.”

Your words took a moment to register, Minho caught off-guard by the soft golden hour light illuminating your pretty features. You waved your hand in his face again, and he blinked, breath caught in his throat. Almost tripping over his tongue, he finally quipped, “How on earth are you passing AP English?”

You glowered and smacked his shoulder, the near-silent library ringing with Minho’s laughter once again.

With a week left to the deadline, you were planted at your desk in your room, the wastebasket littered with crumpled up half-sheets of notebook paper. To your dismay, none of the words seemed to be coming out the way you wanted them to. Gnawing the back of your pencil in frustration, you dumped the contents of your book bag onto the desk, and spotted your latest library book—100 Love Sonnets, by Pablo Neruda. Inexplicably, out of all the poets Minho had introduced to you, you always found yourself coming back to him.

Flipping through the well-thumbed pages, your fingers stopped at one titled Sonnet XVII. “I love you without knowing how,” your eyes scanned the verse curiously, “or when, or from where. I love you simply…”

It was the poem Minho had quoted that evening in the library, you realized, heart skipping a beat. “...without problems or pride / I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving / but this, in which there is no I or you / so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand / so intimate that when I fall asleep, your eyes close.”

With a sigh, you buried your head in your arms, lying face-down onto the desk. Maybe the reason why you instinctively disliked reading love poems so much was because of the sheer sincerity of them all. You envied their ability to put feelings into words—with unabashed, unapologetic ardour, and be celebrated for it, to boot. Eyes scanning the verses again, your mind wandered to the way Minho’s eyes had lit up as he’d explained the lines to you, his brow furrowed in focus.

At Levanter High, you had grown used to being pushed around and out of the spotlight. It was either the popular girls and their backhanded compliments, or the boys who spoke to you condescendingly just to a) get you to do their homework, or b) get in your pants. But Minho had always taken you seriously, albeit while driving you half-insane with his infuriating remarks. And as much as you hated to admit it, that same fiery look in his eyes whenever he got worked up—so different from his usual reserved facade in front of the teachers and swooning students—had always made your heart skip a beat. In tenth grade—back when he seemed to pick a fight with you nearly every English class until Bang Chan had to hold the two of you back from killing each other—you’d thought you’d successfully quashed your feelings for the mild-voiced, hazel-eyed librarian. Yet every time he spoke, he left you feeling vulnerable, disarmed, and you were back—though you refused to admit it—to square one.

“‘I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul,’” you whispered, fingers tracing the words on the paper. Feeling a sudden surge—of confidence, or simply exasperation, you weren’t sure—you seized the pen and began scribbling on a new piece of paper. For years, you’d been afraid to face your feelings, terrified of the humiliation if Hana—or anyone at school—found out. But if getting them all out in one cheesy, hot mess of a love letter could give you some closure, you thought tensely, you were more than happy to oblige. You would write it all out under the guise of a love poem, and then it would never have to see the light of day again.

Words began coming to your head like a floodgate had been thrown wide open, and you began scrawling onto the page. “‘I love you as the plant that never blooms, but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers,’” you quoted thoughtfully as you drafted your own poem. In a way, it felt cathartic—you could get all your feelings out, pass it off as an assignment, and never think about the forbidden fruit again. For all you knew, it was a win-win situation. The pen kept wobbling, ink spilling out haphazardly and skipping, but you relaxed slightly. Maybe this assignment wasn’t too bad, after all.

Head filled to the brim with poetry, you set the pen down and dozed off.

“You’re not coming to the football game?” Lia flashed puppy eyes at you, and you smacked her hand playfully, swiping a french fry from her plate.

“Lia, since when have I ever gone to one?” The two of you had dropped by the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe for a quick pick-me-up during lunch hour, but one smile from the cute waiter—Yang Jeongin, if you remembered his name correctly—had dazzled Lia into ordering an extra burger combo, complete with a plate of fries. “Sports and crowds—not my thing. And I have an English project due the next day.”

She pouted. “Oh, come on! Knowing you, you’ve probably already finished it by now.”

You grinned, thinking back to your love poem and fighting the urge to cringe. You’d read it the morning after, and it had taken every fibre in your being to hold yourself back from ripping it to shreds. Piercing, catlike eyes, you’d written in one line. Silver spectacles. Long fingers on dusty pages. Shuddering, you’d stuffed it into the Neruda book before banishing them both to your locker and going about your day. Love poems are supposed to be cheesy, y/n, suck it up. It’ll only be this one time. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone other than your teacher would ever read it.

When you dropped by the library after school, you spotted Hana’s familiar figure by one of the cubicles. As she tossed her hair over her shoulder with a laugh muted by the plexiglass windows, you saw that she was talking to a grinning Minho.

“Are you sure you’re not coming to the game on Thursday?” Hana was whining as you pushed open the doors to the library. She patted his arms playfully. “You could be on the football team if you wanted to, you know! Why don’t you try?”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not that quick on my feet.”

“Well, tell you what. They’re having a party at Hyunjin’s place right after—his parents are out of town. If you don’t feel like coming to the game, at least join us at the afterparty to loosen up a little—have a little fun.” She blew him a kiss and stood, throwing her purse over her shoulder and spotting you. You instinctively froze, bracing yourself for whatever slew of insults she had for you today, but all Hana did was beam and wave at you.

As she passed you by the door, she threw you a knowing wink. “Have fun on your little study date!”

Her words made your ears grow hot again, but to your surprise, there was no trace of venom in her voice — only a lighthearted teasing, as if she had been your friend all along. Hana really did look sweet when she smiled genuinely, and you could see why she had so many people easily wrapped around her finger. Maybe people do change. Or she’s just in a good mood. Before you could shrug and turn away, you sensed Minho’s presence behind you and yelped.

He held his hands up in mock surrender, and you could swear he was suppressing a laugh. “Here to work on your project again?”

Hana’s strange exchange with you on her way out had left your mind reeling, and you scrambled to form coherent sentences. “No, I, um—I actually finished it last night. I just…” Thought I’d just drop by to say hi. But your pride turned the words to mush before they had even formed, and you ended up trailing off awkwardly.

“Really?” There was a flash of disappointment in his face, then Minho’s gaze landed on the book-borrowing register on the front desk. “Right—your book is due today. Did you want to return it?”

Your eyes widened, silently cursing at your own forgetfulness. “Um—yes,” you lied, pretending to search in your bag before giving an awkward laugh. “Yep. I think it’s in my locker—let me go get it.”

After jogging to the other side of the school, you flung open the bottom locker, making another mental note to replace your missing lock. Still catching your breath, your hand sifted through the notes and textbooks before coming up empty. Where is it? You could swear you remembered putting it there, unless—

Breath catching in your throat, you shut the locker with a mortified bang. The English classroom. You practically sprinted down the hallways, earning another dirty look from the janitor as you raced past. Bang Chan looked up in alarm when you nearly crashed into the English classroom door. The entire room was empty, save for the class president, who looked like he was helping to file the teacher’s papers.

“Where’s the fire?” He asked jokingly as your eyes frantically raked the room.

“Have you—seen a book, by any chance? 100 Love Sonnets. Pablo Neruda.”

Chan frowned. “We shelve all the books after class, and if it’s one we don’t recognize, we keep it until the students come back in the morning.” He shrugged. “I don’t remember seeing anything.”

Your heart sank, and you saw the corners of Chan’s mouth lift bemusedly.

“What’s the hurry, anyway? I thought you hated love po—”

With a groan of frustration, you left the baffled class president staring after you as you turned on your heel and back into the hallway. Your mind was racing, panic making your ears buzz. The love letter’s in there. Where the hell did I put it? You sprinted to the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe next, but only got an apologetic shrug from Jeongin even after you’d scoured every nook and cranny of the diner. The sun was already beginning to set as you trudged, defeated, back to the school. Spotting the library’s dim windows in the distance, you wrestled with your options — if it weren’t for that cursed love letter, you could’ve probably just told Minho you’d misplaced it. But now the book—along with everything you’d never dared to tell anyone, crammed onto a sheet of notebook paper—could be anywhere, and there was no way in hell you were going to stop looking until you found it. Heart heavy with dread, you did a full 180 and began walking home.

It was no use. You’d practically pulled an all-nighter tearing your room apart searching for the book— and then, the better part of the following day running around town. But no matter where you looked—the record shop, Blockbuster’s, or even the laundromat—you came up empty.

It’s like it’s disappeared entirely, you thought as the lunch ladies piled your tray with a few sad-looking burritos. The cafeteria was buzzing with teenagers jittery with caffeine and sugar, and you had to duck as a boy chucked an apple at another across the room. You passed the cheerleaders’ table, trying to avoid eye contact, but their giggly conversation carried over the chaotic commotion.

“Did you see how cute Hyunjin looked today on the field?”

“Are you sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend? Maybe Hana can talk to him for us—if he doesn’t fall for her first.” The blonde cheerleader that had spoken nudged the older girl insistently.

“Me?” There was a smile in Hana’s voice. You could feel her eyes on you as she mused, “Oh, I don’t know, Hyunjin’s not my type. I much prefer boys with—how should I put it—catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long fingers perfect for turning dusty pages…” She clasped her hands together in mock adoration, and her friends erupted in giggles.

“What the hell was that? Sounds like a cheesy love poem.”

You had frozen stiff as soon as she had uttered the words, stunned eyes finding Hana’s only a couple feet away. She gave you a winning smile—the same one you’d deemed friendly just a couple days ago—and winked.

“Give me my book back.”

You pulled her aside after the last bell had rung, voice shaking. Hana only tilted her head innocently, eyes round as a puppy’s. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Before you could spit a biting retort back at her, the taller cheerleader tapped her chin thoughtfully with one bejewelled nail. “But I might think harder if...I got a little something in return.”

You grit your teeth. “What do you want?”

“Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party as my date,” Hana beamed, “and tell the office you want to change your locker.”

“You’re crazy,” you blurted, and her face immediately darkened. Dropping her voice, she leaned in closer, until her voice was right beside your ear.

“Oh, I can be even crazier. What would happen if I made copies of this little letter on Monday, hm? Or published it in the school paper for everyone to read? I’m sure Han Jisung would love that—”

Your eyes trailed down to the slip of paper she’d pulled out of her purse, the sight of your own familiar handwriting making panic surge through your veins like ice. Snatching it from her hand, you quickly began tearing it apart before noticing the calm smirk on Hana’s face.

“Photocopy, silly,” she giggled in a sing-song voice as you peered more closely at the shredded pieces, hands shaking. “Oh, all right, don’t cry. If you want the original so badly…” she leaned in again, cruel smile on her lips. “Then you might want to look in the library.”

Eyes widening, you immediately pushed her away and bolted for the stairs. “Don’t forget the deal! Thursday night,” Hana called after you, and you broke into a run.

Most of the classrooms were already empty, their dark windows reflecting your own face back at you as you hurtled past them. Your heart pounded in your chest as the library finally came into view at the end of the hallway, but you nearly came to a screeching halt when you saw that the lights had been turned off. Had Minho gone home early? Chewing your lip anxiously, you peered past the plexiglass. Aisles empty, books all shelved neatly, chairs stacked. The library was quiet as a tomb. Desperately, you tried the knob—and to your surprise, the door creaked open. Maybe he forgot to lock it. You had nothing to lose. Holding your breath, you slipped in.

Even the faint click of the door closing again sounded deafening. You rifled through the front desk first, dropping to a crouch as you inspected the carts and borrowing-bin. To your dismay, they were all empty—they must have all been re-shelved already. Heart sinking, you began tip-toeing through the shelves, fingers trembling as they ran over the laminated Dewey Decimal labels. Please, please, please…

You reached the poetry section at the back of the library, eyes squinting to try and read the spines of the books under shrouds of shadows. Poets— Nash. Naidu. Nemerov…

“Neruda,” you gasped, eyes falling on the book you had practically gone through hell searching for. 100 Love Sonnets. Almost sobbing in sheer relief, you reached out to grab it—just as another hand shot out from beside you. Your yelp of surprise broke the still, dim quiet, and you didn’t have to look up to know who the warm, pale fingers belonged to.

“Care to explain what you’re doing here?”

Spectacles glinting under the twilight, one hand in his pocket, nonchalant as ever, was the boy that had gotten you into this mess. Lee Minho.

As you stared back at him, mouth slightly agape, you felt as though your entire world was balancing precariously over a yawning abyss— as if one wrong move would send everything you’d spent the last two months—no, the last four years—repatching. You swallowed hard. His hand had landed a split-second later than yours, holding both you and the book in place, and you tried to ignore the feeling of his warm fingers on your chilled skin. Forcefully, you yanked the book from the shelves and out of his grasp. “The—book. I-I realised I still needed it for the project. It’s due this Friday, you know.”

He raised his eyebrows, unconvinced. “Today’s only Wednesday. Why not come back tomorrow morning?”

Shit. “I, um, promised Lia I’d go with her to the game tomorrow,” you fibbed, flipping through the book quickly, ready to grab any stray piece of paper that flew out. Nothing. “So I—need to finish the assignment today. Could you renew it for me?” Trying to plaster on an unbothered smile, you flipped through the book again. Still nothing. Had Hana lied to you?

In your peripheral, you saw Minho slowly shift his weight, crossing his arms as he mused, “Well, I’m not too sure about that. We’re getting...careful about letting students borrow books for too long. People tend to leave some...strange things in them.”

Your eyes snapped up, fingers freezing on the fluttering pages. “What—then did you—see anything? S-strange, I mean.”

A flicker of amusement passed through Minho’s eyes, and then it was gone. He cleared his throat, humming thoughtfully. “Why? Do you have something in mind?”

The strange intensity of his gaze seemed to corner you into the shadows, and you swore your heart was pounding so hard it seemed to echo through the room. “Nothing,” you stammered, throwing your hands up in exasperation, “I mean, I just—accidentally left—” Kill me now. You shook your head rapidly. “N-nevermind. I’m heading home.”

“Y/N—”

“Oh, one more thing.” You turned, remembering Hana’s sly words to you back in the stairwell. “You’re invited to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, after the game on Thursday.” Then, hoping you sounded more convincing than you felt, “Hana’s really counting on you to be her date.”

Minho chuckled. “You know I go to parties as often as you do.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no malice in his words, only that same, airy indifference Minho always carried himself with. “Please? Hana—I mean, it would make her really happy if you went.”

“Would you be happy?”

The strange question caught you off guard, making you look up again. Minho was no longer smiling. His hand was still resting lightly over the missing space the book had left on the shelf, and his expression looked strangely lost under the twilit sky.

“Would it make you happy if I went?” He repeated, and you felt your mouth go dry.

Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, and I won’t publish your little love letter for everyone to see on Monday. You nodded firmly, laughing in an attempt to ease the strange atmosphere that had settled over the two of you once again. “Y-yeah. Ecstatic.”

You turned on your heel, breath leaving your lips in a shaky sigh. If the poem wasn’t in the book, where on earth could it be? Option one: It had fallen out somewhere along the way, and hadn’t fallen into anyone’s hands. The best case scenario. Option two: Hana had been playing with you again, and she had had the original all along. Option three…

“By the way, Hana told me not to give this to you.”

You whirled around in surprise, and your eyes landed on a horribly familiar piece of notebook paper dangling from Minho’s fingers. Option three, damn it all. Mortified, you snatched it from his hand, crumpling it into your fist as he laughed lightly.

“It’s a very good poem.”

“Shut up, Lee Minho,” you wailed, wishing the ground would just swallow you up and bury you six feet under for all of eternity. “It’s a cheesy, cliché wreck.”

He hummed in amusement. “What were you writing about?”

Paralyzed, your eyes flickered towards the window before sputtering, “The—sunset. Figurative approach, you know? Emily Dickinson-inspired—”

“Mm. Then what was that quote about—” He tilted his head in thought, fingers snapping. “Catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long—” He stopped when you plugged your ears instinctively, eyes glowering at him in disbelief. If looks could kill, Minho was sure he’d now have died more times than the characters in a Shakespearean tragedy. “—was that about the sunset, too?”

“Of course,” you snapped, your voice a tad too pitchy for your liking. Damn Lee Minho and his knack for memorizing things. “Haven’t you ever heard of extended metaphors? Rest assured, Lee Minho—I will never, ever, ever—have feelings for you.” You crumpled the sheet of poetry into a ball as you spoke with a note of finality, jamming it into your back pocket for good riddance.

Minho looked unfazed, the light curve of a knowing smile playing on his lips. After a moment, he took a step towards you, making you stumble back in alarm. “‘You can cut all the flowers,” he mused, glancing down at the crumpled love letter, “‘but you cannot stop spring from coming.’”

“Wh-wha—”

“Neruda quote. Tell me if I’m making you uncomfortable, and I’ll stop,” he murmured, eyes growing serious for a moment before his lips twitched with mirth, “but something tells me I deserve to hear more about that sunset from your poem.”

Gulping, you felt hot tears brimming in your eyes, and suddenly wished you were anywhere but here. This confrontation had been your worst nightmare, what you had always wanted to avoid. Your pride’ll be the end of you, y/n, you remembered Lia remarking when you’d sworn up and down that your feelings for Lee Minho were a thing of the past. And it was true—your pride had always gotten the better of you. You were a hypocrite, and a terrible one at that—always telling yourself you had gotten over that stupid, ninth-grade heartbreak, before unravelling into a nervous mess whenever Minho so much as threw a glance at you. And now, you could feel everything you’d feebly repressed for the last four years caving in. Crashing down on you like an avalanche of cheap supermarket chocolates.

“It was about you. You, alright?” You hissed, voice coming out more wounded, rather than venomous like you’d intended. “There. Are you happy now?” You were glad the shadows hid the humiliated tears beginning to roll down your cheeks, and wiped at your eyes furiously. Damn it all. So much for not crying.

“Then why didn’t you—”

“Say anything?” You breathed a short laugh. “Because I didn’t want to see you just throw it out again, okay?”

The silence that met your words was deafening, and when you finally mustered the courage to lift your gaze you saw that Minho’s look of disbelief mirrored your own.

“'Again?'”

Damn Lee Minho and his two-faced ass. Had he already forgotten? “In ninth grade. I left you a—stupid love letter in your locker, with all your other Valentines. Then I s-saw you throwing them all out, behind the school.”

“But I read every name on the cards,” Minho insisted, running a hand through his tousled hair. I left you—a stupid love letter in your locker. Your words sent his head spinning, and he felt his flustered cheeks heat up as he mumbled, “I’ve never—seen yours on any of them.”

Now it was your turn to blink in confusion. Minho’s brow furrowed in vague recollection. “But I did see Hana pulling an envelope out from my locker that day. She said that—she’d heard someone had been sending chain mail on Valentine’s Day, so she was helping the principal clean them up from people’s lockers.”

Hana? Your mind flashed to the missing locks, and the cheerleader that always seemed to be hanging around your locker, and suddenly everything dawned on you. “What did the envelope look like?”

“A corner store card. With—”

“Candy hearts. Right.” You muttered, watching Minho nod slowly. Your anger faltered slightly, feeling a slight shame wash over you, but you weren’t willing to give up just yet. “That still doesn’t explain why you dump out all the gifts you get every year.”

He sighed. “Look. Why would I keep love letters from people I don’t like? That’s just...narcissistic. And I don’t...like chocolate, either,” he added as an afterthought, and you couldn’t help exhaling a short laugh at his ridiculously blunt sentence. Another silence fell between the two of you, the angry tension in the air replaced with an almost childish awkwardness.

“I really did like the poem,” Minho spoke tentatively after what felt like an eternity, and you buried your head in your hands.

“Shut up, Lee Minho, oh my g—”

“And I wouldn’t have thrown it out.” The soft edge to his voice made you stop, peeking out of your fingers to look at him questioningly.

“Why not?” You asked, swallowing hard. “You said keeping letters from someone you don’t like would be narcissistic.”

He was barely a foot away, and the sheer proximity of his face from yours made your stomach flop—with irritation or butterflies, you weren’t sure you wanted to find out. Nonetheless, a tiny voice at the back of your head told you that you were heading towards the latter.

“You know, for someone who reads so many books, you sure are dense,” Minho murmured, shaking his head.

“Wh—”

“I throw out all my Valentines every year because I never see your name on them, alright?” His expression was as careless as ever—that cool, calm facade he wore like a suit of armour—but you didn’t miss the slight tremor in his voice, the flicker of apprehension in his eyes. Lee Minho, you realized with a jolt, was nervous. “I...only ever wanted to receive one from you.”

Your eyes widened, hands lowering from your face in shock. The book tumbled from under your arm to the ground. “But—Hana always told me about how much you hated me.”

“Hmm.” He dropped down to pick it up before fixing his piercing eyes on yours. “Funny. She’s been telling me the same about you. How you’re a two-faced, back-stabbing...such-and-such,” he smiled at the indignant look on your face before his face grew serious. “You’ve always let people walk all over you, and you never retaliate. It’s both admirable and frustrating to watch.”

“I’m not good at confrontation,” you mumbled, still shifting your weight from one leg to the other nervously. “Every time I think I’ve finally got the guts to try and say something back, I...I get all terrified that the words’ll jumble up and I-I’ll start to cry like an idiot again—”

“You’re not an idiot,” he interrupted sternly, “You’re probably more clever—and genuine—than everyone in our grade combined. Your thesis was brilliant.”

You snorted incredulously. “Then why did you keep attacking it every class?”

“It was the only time I could get you to talk to me.”

“Weirdo,” you muttered, but you couldn’t find it in you to make the word sound insulting anymore. Minho chuckled, hand grazing yours as he handed the book back to you. You didn’t move your hand away, and neither did he.

“It is weird. I must be out of my mind. Whenever you look at me, it’s like the whole world stops, and suddenly every cheesy line of poetry I’ve ever read just seems to make sense.”

Your heart was pounding so hard you were more than certain Minho could hear it. The way he was looking at you was nearly overwhelming, stomach fluttering with a feeling so strange and foreign it terrified you. Never in your wildest dreams had you thought that you would be here, in this delicate, unreal moment, and you felt all your insecurities threatening to swallow you up again. Out of everyone in the school, he likes you? A voice snickered at the back of your mind. Don’t kid yourself.

Shrinking away, you mumbled, “Y-you—don’t have to say stuff like that, you know. I mean, i-if you feel bad because of the letter and everything, you don’t have to pretend you lik—”

There was a flash of an exasperated smile on Minho’s lips. Before you could finish, his hand reached to pull your chin towards him again, and suddenly his mouth was pressed flush to yours. You froze, lips parting in surprise, but the kiss was light—barely even a brush of soft skin, and bringing with it the faint scent of vanilla and old books. Minho pulled away almost as quickly as he’d pulled you in, stammering, “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

That seemed to send what was left of your hesitation crumbling into dust. You grabbed the collar of his dress shirt to pull him back in, and the library fell silent again.

Minho kissed the way he talked—soft but firm, and always leaving you struggling to catch your breath. Each touch had the growing intensity of something long overdue, starting out careful—as though you were treading over the newly shattered, four-year-old misunderstandings of one another—before your hands instinctively tangled in his hair and Minho pulled you in impossibly closer. You could feel his heartbeat pressed against yours, the crumpled poem and Neruda’s sonnets long forgotten on the carpeted ground.

The click of the library door opening sent the two of you flying apart, Minho hitting his head on the shelf with a comical thud. The kiss left you dazed and out of breath, and Minho���s face was flushed as both of you whipped around to see a livid Hana at the front of the library. Mouth opening and closing in silent fury, she shot you a death glare before storming out the door, leaving both you and Minho blinking after her.

Several moments passed, the whiplash of the unexpected interruption having sent both of your heads reeling. Then, the two of you broke into stunned laughter, slowly sliding down to the carpet as you doubled over in giggles.

When you finally stopped laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, Minho’s gaze was fixed fondly on your face. You poked his cheek. “You’re blushing, asshole.”

He didn’t respond, eyes falling to your lips again, and you felt your own face flush. “W-what?”

Minho grinned. “And you have drool on your chin again.”

“Hey, Minho! Minho, you won’t believe this!”

That enthusiastic voice belonged to none other than Han Jisung—voice of Levanter High’s morning announcements, and notorious school gossip. He hurtled down the bustling hall towards you and Minho, hunching over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“Shit, ‘sung—did you kill somebody?”

The dark-haired boy shook his head rapidly. “Did you see the school newspaper?”

Your mouth went dry, Hana’s lingering threats still ringing clear in your ears. Jisung continued excitedly, “Two people submitted anonymous love poems over the weekend—at the same time! Can you believe it? I’m supposed to cover it on the announcements in a bit!”

Two? You peered at Minho, who hadn’t looked at you, and glimpsed a knowing glint in his eyes. “W-who submitted them?”

“Well, Lee Hana was handing out copies of the first one to everyone first thing this morning. But when I showed her the other one, she refused to tell me who the first belonged to.” He pouted.

Minho looked like he was trying hard not to laugh. “Do you have a copy of the paper, ‘sung?”

The dark-haired boy grinned. “Yeah, ‘course! You guys can have mine. See ya!”

As Jisung disappeared into the crowd of students, you turned back to Minho. He had been in the middle of putting a new lock on your locker, and was now setting the combination on his own. “They’re matching,” he’d pointed out when you’d gone into town together to buy them, and you’d groaned.

“Gro-oss.” The old, PDA-hating you would have probably thrown them away on the spot, but now the sight made you smile like a dork. If you can’t beat em, join ‘em.

You looked down to read the papers Jisung had deposited into your hands. Sure enough, on the left column, you spotted a photocopy of your own love letter. But on the right, there was a completely new one—and you had a sneaking suspicion you knew who the anonymous writer was.

“You know, Minho,” you deadpanned, “I don’t think either of us are cut out to be poets.”

“I stayed up all night writing that love letter, you know!” Minho exclaimed indignantly, and you just shook your head laughing. “But you’re right. I could feel Neruda turning in his grave.”

“You’re going to be the end of me, Lee Minho.”

His face broke into a mischievous grin at that, pinning you playfully to the lockers and stealing another kiss as you yelped in surprise.

“Can it be a happy ending?”

[writingfics-passingtime]

Playing the Part

~8300 words of steamy Loki tickle fluff

PG13 for this one, kids. Lots of making out.

CW: some swearing, suggestive humour, mentions of murder/death, alcohol consumption

Every job has its ups and downs, and every employee their good days and not-so-good days. You’d hardly classify yourself as an employee because you didn’t get a paycheque, your entire occupation was a hazard unto itself, human-resources was punching it out on the sparring mat and your boss was either a 100-year-old super soldier or an eccentric billionaire, depending on the day and who was wearing what suit.

Wait… should I be getting paid for this?

Looking around your room that you paid no rent on, in a multi-billion dollar superhero compound, you decided that wasn’t a question you were ever going to ask. The question of the hour was which dress would best conceal your thigh-holstered gun.

Today, your job entailed one of those tasks that could be fun if you decided it would be, or hell if you had a bad attitude about it. You prided yourself on always being up for any mission, so that answered that question, though infiltrating some black-tie gala undercover was never as exciting as fighting alien forces.

You gave up feeling guilty about being a little excited when Earth faced threats long ago; no one had to know that impending planetary destruction was your favourite kind of mission to help out on.

Selecting a red strapless dress from the middle of your mission closet (which was differentiated because most of these dresses were bulletproof) you slipped it on over your underwear and thigh holster. A knock came at your door as you were reaching behind yourself to zip it up.

“Come in!”

“Agent, we- oh… Oh.” Loki’s featured turned from surprised to playfully smug in a matter of seconds.

“Can you get this zipper?” You winced at the stuck metal. He nodded and approached, you turned and held the fabric up. Before he even made it halfway to you he gave a brief wave of his hand and used his magic to unstick the zipper, bringing it to the top.

“Thanks,” you smiled, familiar with that particular kind of help from Loki. “Can you see my gun?” You did a little spin and he shook his head. “Great. You look nice," you commented, gesturing to his impeccable black suit.

“As do you.”

“Ready?”

”I suppose there are worse charades to play on a Saturday evening. Ones that don’t include fine wine and the prospect of a tussle with a Midgardian security man.”

You shot him a look as you two walked towards the garage together. “You said no Midgardian wine could be classed as fine.”

“Save for one region in Italy, I’ve discovered.” Loki shrugged, tightening the fastener on his cuff link.

You gave him a mock look of shock. “Are you telling me… you were wrong?“

“Smugness is not becoming, Agent,” Loki playfully warned.

“Hmm,” you narrowed your eyes. “Looks like I’m spending too much time with you.”

You bickered and bantered good-naturedly as you entered the garage, which was more like a hangar but only for cars. This mission would be you, Loki, Natasha, Sam and, strangely enough, Tony wanted to drive the van. He gave some excuse about wanting to test some new equipment and spend time with his team. Though you knew it was because Pepper wanted him to attend her aunt’s seventieth birthday, and Tony had a long-standing feud with that particular aunt ever since she went on a forty-five minute tirade about how much she hated Led Zeppelin. You weren’t sure if it was the sentiment behind it, or the fact that she could talk for forty-five minutes straight without the awareness to stop. Either way, Tony was on the job tonight.

“Black Widow is already onsite,“ Tony handed you three some photos as you entered and took your seats. “Your names are on the door, fake ones obviously, here they are.” Tony pulled up some information on the screens and then commanded the self-driving van to go with a few taps at a holographic control centre.

You went over the plan, the objective, who to avoid at all costs, where the gun was supposedly hidden. There was a gun used in a murder of a journalist - the employee of an old friend of Tony's, a young guy working on an exposé of a filthy-rich family dynasty in New York City. The journalist was sure the McDane family money came from arms dealing, but he was found dead just a few short months after he started investigating. The following week, Charles, the charming and likeable newly-married eldest son of the family, announced his run for mayor.

Whether Charlie McDane ordered the murder, or if he didn't even know it happened, Tony's source said this family kept trophies of their victories and the murder weapon would most definitely still be in the house.

On the face of it, it was an unusual assignment for the Avengers. If you didn't think that hard about it, you could have just sent Nat in alone. However, the McDane family was even more powerful than they loved to show on the surface, and this wouldn't be a simple theft. Hence, a small team was going in to avenge the fallen journalist.

Natasha had been planted on the inside, posing as an event manager for a soirée the family was hosting to celebrate Charlie’s birthday and, since he’d invited everyone in the political and social scene, it was the perfect chance to enter the mansion; there’s no way he’d know who each and every person was and should be.

As you walked down the road with your arm slotted through Loki's, you eyed the metal detectors at the front entrance. You gripped his arm and slid your hand into the pocket of your dress, but the pocket was hollow and only existed as easy way to grab your gun. Wordlessly, you passed it to Loki and he concealed it with his magic in the exact same way you planned to smuggle the murder weapon out later that evening.

Maybe it was Loki's elegance or your years of training that started when you were very young, but the way you two could instinctively weave around each other's thoughts, ideas and actions without so much as a glance was something special you didn't take for granted. You both had keen senses, but there was some kind of unexplainable energy that made them align perfectly.

You never let your mind wander on nights like these. On missions. Perhaps if you were less professional you'd take a moment to fantasise about what it would actually be like to go to a party with Loki. If the way he led you through the room with a gentle hand at your waist was more than a ploy to look like an adoring couple, or if he knew your favourite wine because he cared, instead of just having heard you order it a million times before.

He kept things light with jokes and little jabs, never once crossing a boundary when fake-flirting with you, but it wasn't lost on you that it was unusual to have this kind of working relationship that had all of the chemistry with none of the awkwardness. It was almost as if it was second nature now for him to pull you a little closer when you were in a nice dress, considering you'd only worn them in front of him on missions. And so he did pull you closer as you approached the bouncer to give your names.

You spied Nat at the front, leaning around a security guard's shoulder to point to something on his list. She always played her parts so well. She stole a glance at you and Loki through her fake glasses and that was it. No indication she knew you, no special treatment, no way she'd do anything to blow this. She walked up the outdoor staircase as you gave your aliased names to the guard and flashed fake drivers licenses that were pretty much real, considering the government had created them.

Loki declined the arrival champagne for the both of you, immediately leading you to the bar. You looked at him as if to remind him that you weren't here to drink, and his subtle smirk replied that he didn't care. He ordered two glasses of a merlot from the one region in Italy that'd won his respect, passing the glass to you once it was laid on the bar.

"To the finer things," he cheers'ed your glass and you scoffed with a laugh, taking a sip of the wine. The rich flavour burst through your mouth. It was dark and deep, spiced with... with... "Cedar," he offered, reading the analysis on your face. "Rosewood, cedar and some sort of stone-fruit."

"Nectarine."

He smiled and took another sip. "We don't have that on Asgard."

"This wine is good," you nodded as you two turned and deconstructed the room and all of its guests.

It made you kind of sick seeing all of these wealthy people in one place pretending to give a damn about Charlie McDane's birthday. It's not that you liked the guy, not at all, it just felt weird to know that every person in here was the exact kind of person you hunted down. Power-hungry. This mansion may as well be a lion's den. But full of naïve lions, who had no idea two apex predators just walked in.

Just when you started wondering how many people in your line of sight had also committed murder to protect their wealth and power, you saw Natasha give a subtle signal of which way the room with the safe was. Loki saw it too.

It was upstairs, but there wasn't much cover to get upstairs. The great foyer's ceiling was three stories up, the two floors above the ground floor you were on had square balconies that let the people upstairs peer downwards into the masses. Nat's fingers adjusting her hair told you that the room was on the second floor. Thankfully, there were guests on the second floor. Under the guise of admiration for the architecture and a desire to explore the great house, you pointed out works of art to Loki as you ascended the stairs together. When you walked past Natasha she smiled politely, like a good host, and asked if you were enjoying the wine.

"It's most divine. Though, I believe my beloved may be in search of a room to powder her nose."

You would have rolled your eyes at his usual choice of asking for information if you weren't aware that security's eyes were everywhere. Even on the event manager.

"You might find what you need up the stairs, down the first hall, third door on your right."

The way her hands were motioning didn't match her hushed description, so you followed the instructions in her voice instead of the way her hands were telling you.

You allowed Loki to lead you upstairs, down the first hall. When you two were certain there were no eyes, he concealed you two with his magic. The hallway was darkened. He pressed his hand against the lock and unfastened it with an unseen pure magic and you two slipped inside. It was a large office with grand mahogany furniture, decorated exactly as you'd expect Old Money Americans to decorate their office. Right down to the bear head above the fireplace and the first edition novels sitting proudly on the shelf, probably unread by their owners. That also made you a little sick: great words sitting unread as trophies.

Scanning the room for any obvious signs of the safe, your eyes settled on a panel in the wood on the side of the desk. There was a slightly smaller gap in the wood on one side, indicating hinges. You held your hands up to Loki and he conjured thin gloves to grace your fingers, then you pressed gently on the wood to engage the latch. The panel swung open to reveal the safe. Shifting out of the way, Loki took your place and placed a gloved hand on the dial. In less than three seconds, it spun rapidly in each direction before clicking open.

"We should really consider robbing banks," you whispered as the black metal door swung open and you were met with stacks of paper and envelopes.

"Need I remind you I am a Prince? If it's gold you want, darling, say the word."

"Eh," you shrugged, feeling around for the gun. "I meant more for the thrills."

Loki chuckled as your fingers found a familiar-feeling package. You pulled the envelope out and peered inside before showing Loki the sight of a small pistol. He nodded and took it from you carefully, then concealed it in some unknown magical space close to him.

You closed the safe carefully and then your gloves disappeared. Moving quietly back to the door, you listened for several moments to make sure no one was coming. Then, you both slid out and began walking down the hall like a loving couple.

Suddenly, a guard appeared at the end of the hallway. Thinking fast, you opened the closest door to you and pushed Loki inside. There was a shout you vaguely heard before you shut and locked the door again.

"Shit," you hissed. You were in someone's bedroom. Or maybe it was a guest room, considering how clean and un-lived-in it looked. There was a fireplace, like in the office, and a large four-poster bed against one wall. In the middle of the room were two plush couches that faced each other and were side-on to the door. You two walked over to them to get the vantage of being in the centre of the room and quickly searched for an exit.

"I'll cast an illusion," Loki whispered, ready to wave his hands and make it look as if you two weren't here.

"No!" You whispered, eyes wide. "They already saw us come in here. If we disappear, they'll know something's up and lock the place down."

"Then what do you propose?" He held his hands out, annoyingly unbothered by the prospect of blowing a mission. The doorknob twisted and you both snapped your heads towards it, then back at each other.

"Sit," you hissed and shoved him back onto the sofa right behind him. He stumbled and fell with a small indignant noise of surprise. You heard the tinkling of keys and your heart beat in your chest.

"Agent?"

Knowing the security team was about to enter, you acted fast. "I'll never hear the end of this," you mumbled before sliding forward to straddle his lap. His eyebrows shot up his forehead as you wrapped your arms around his shoulder and looked at him with nervous urgency. "Kiss me."

Loki didn't question it, and he certainly didn't need to be told twice. His hands found their place. One at the small of your back, one firmly gripping the hair at the nape of your neck. Then, he pulled you in for a fiery kiss.

You barely heard the door open as you lost yourself in the strength of his hold, the steady and eager grasp with which he held you. His hands found their places as if they'd been there a thousand times before, as if he knew exactly how you'd feel the safest, feel the most desired. You pulled him deeper by the back of his neck and could have sworn he made a small noise of satisfaction.

Oh no.

He kept kissing you, you kept kissing him, even after the head of the security team had cleared his throat a number of times. As much as you knew you'd already sold it, and boy you sold it well, you couldn't bring yourself to pull away. Were all Asgardians this good at kissing, or was it just Loki?

Oh. No.

"HEY!"

The sudden loud command pulled you away and, much to your internal mortification, you didn't need to feign how flustered you were.

"O-oh my," you squeaked and looked up at the man, blushing profusely.

Okay, the squeak was fake, but it felt almost real.

You stayed put where you were straddling Loki's lap and grimaced when you saw Natasha, still in character, entering the room. "What's going on, I need you downstairs to- oh!" She looked a little taken aback by your position atop the prince who, you were fuming to see from the corner of your eye, had the audacity to be smirking.

"My apologies," Loki drawled in his growly regal voice, trailing his hands around to your sides. "I simply couldn't control myself, seeing my queen in this dress..." He punctuated it with an "Mmph" and a firm squeeze at your hips. You flinched and squirmed a bit under the ticklish touch, trying to keep your composure but letting a small giggle slip out. Then, catching the pleased and mischievous glint in his eye, you dug your nails into the back of his shoulder to warn him off trying that again.

"This room's off limits," the guard tilted his head towards the door and you made to move your way off of Loki's lap. Instead, with his incredible strength, he stood with his hands still at your hips, lifting you to your feet before turning and wrapping an arm around your waist.

He looked the guard up and down, "Of course, good sir." You bit your lip and blushed, cowering in Loki's hold as you exited the room together. Nat smirked at you and winked before proceeding to fall back into character and tell the guards there was a belligerent drunk man downstairs needing to be kicked out. That man would be Wilson, who was playing his part as tipsy distraction.

Loki led you down the hall and you rounded a corner, then you broke off from him and held a hand to your chest. "That was too close," you breathed deeply once, then met his eye. You glared when he saw him smirking at you.

"Do I have lipstick on my face?" He asked, feigning worry.

"Oh, shut up," you swatted his shoulder. "I did what I had to do."

"I never knew you had the passion in you, Agent," Loki smirked again. You glared once more and peeked around the corner, only to jump and hold in a yelp as Loki's pinching fingers found your hip. "I also never knew you were so ticklish."

"That's not something people advertise- cut it ouhout!" You swatted his hand and squirmed away from him as he prodded his fingers into your side. "We have the gun, let's get out of here."

"Tsk, you're no fun," Loki scoffed.

You exited the party and made your way down the block towards the van, knowing that Nat's glasses had broadcast at least the last part of your little tussle with Loki. Steeling yourself as you gripped the handle, you reminded yourself that you were a professional, and this was sometimes a hazard of the job. You needed to play it cool when the eventual teasing came.

"Hey, lovebirds," Tony quipped the second he saw your faces.

"Hey," you chuckled, stepping inside and removing your heels the second you found your seat. "We got it."

"Here," Loki closed the door behind him and pulled the enveloped gun from the magical space he'd hidden it. "So you saw the Agent's display of passion, did you?"

"You wound me, Loki," you deadpanned. "I thought we had a mutual connection."

Perhaps those words were a mistake considering all the truth behind them. However, all the best lies were founded on truth, and for now you needed to convince everyone in the van that you weren't totally freaking out because you'd felt the most passionate attraction you'd had in years with a former villain. I mean... how predictable.

Loki looked at you suspiciously as he took his seat, but something in his gaze told you he wasn't going to prod deeper on this. Not right now, at least. Not in front of everyone.

Nat and Sam joined the fray five minutes later and you all got a move-on back to the Compound. Nat poked more fun at the position she'd found you two in, and you laughed good-naturedly at all their jokes. Loki was uncharacteristically silent, and seemed to always be looking at you when you laughed and instinctively checked to see if he was laughing too.

The jokes shifted to Sam and the wine he spilled down his shirt, then the conversation shifted to the next steps of what to do with the gun, then you all arrived back.

Tony got to work dismantling his rig, declining your help, and so you took your field weapons over to the cabinet to put them back in their places. As you were unclipping the magazine from your pistol, you felt a presence behind the door. You peered around to see Loki.

"What's up?" You raised your eyebrows and snapped the case shut, then closed the door.

He looked at you meaningfully, quizzically, but didn't say anything.

"Okay..." you chuckled uncomfortably and put the latch on the door in place. "I'm going to shower."

You made to walk past him but he grabbed your upper arm, stopping you by his side. Facing different ways, he leaned in a little closer and spoke quietly. "I can spot a lie from lightyears away."

Turning to look at him, you'd probably have been caught off-guard by how close his face was if it hadn't been for the events of earlier. You shrugged, pulling your arm from his grasp. "I didn't lie."

He scoffed and also turned to look at you, eyes flitting once down to your lips, then back up to pierce your gaze with his. "You know what I meant."

You were proud of how composed you kept yourself when you shrugged again and kept walking, swallowing hard.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Never one to waste water, you took an uncharacteristically long shower. Haphazardly smearing face wash over your skin to scrub the makeup off, scrub away the flustered energy. But no amount of scrubbing could help you forget the feeling of his kiss, and shampooing the hairspray from your head only made you remember the feeling of his fingers in your hair.

You reminded yourself that it had been a very long time since you'd kissed someone. You were probably just desperate, definitely a little touch-starved in general, so the fact that it was Loki didn't matter as much as the fact that it had happened.

That's what you told yourself over and over as you threw on sweatpants and a soft long-sleeved shirt. It was cold and the marble floors could be unforgiving, so you thought it best to go for fluffy socks, but then pulled some slippered boots over the top. You didn't bother brushing your wet hair, letting it fall where it wanted as you made your way to the kitchen.

"That smells good," you commented as Nat pulled some dish out of the oven.

"Mmm," she agreed with an excited smile. "Nico is my favourite," she admitted slyly, referring to one of the chefs Pepper would call in to prepare a bunch of heatable meals during busy periods. Delivery app drivers would probably cancel the order if you tried, thinking it must be a joke that a super solider was asking for a Big Mac to be delivered to the Avengers Compound. Besides, by the time it was scanned and made sure to not contain a deadly poison, it would be cold and stale. "There's enough for you too," Nat said, pulling out another plate and serving you a steaming slice of vegetarian lasagne.

"Thanks," you smiled, still a little distracted. Of course, with someone as perceptive as Nat, that wouldn't be allowed to slip by.

She leaned against the counter and poked at her meal, not meeting your eye to keep it less direct. "You alright?"

"Hmm?" You looked up, and so did she, then you looked back down to your food and shrugged. It was no use lying to her. "I think I'm lonely," you laughed humourlessly, nervously, sadly.

"The kiss got to you," she said knowingly, placing her fork down to give you her full attention. You didn't return the favour, nervous about what you'd say if you were really talking about this. Which, as long as you were here eating dinner, you weren't really talking about it.

"It's not like I haven't kissed a fellow Agent before to keep cover," you sighed a little, shaking your head. "It's just been a while, I guess, since I've had... anything... or, someone."

"I get that," she nodded, picking up her fork again. You two ate in silence for several moments. "This is really good," she declared through an extra-large mouthful. You chuckled and nodded, swallowing another bite. After several more moments, she said quietly, "It's okay if you felt something."

That made you choke a bit. Noticeably, unfortunately. You shook your head, but didn't deny it. "No. It's not okay."

"Why not?" She asked as if you were crazy.

"It's not okay," you repeated firmly, stabbing your fork again at the lasagna. "It's not."

Before she could attempt to pry for more information, Thor and Loki entered the kitchen together. Great.

"Good evening," Thor beamed a toothless smile.

"There's more in the fridge if you're hungry," you looked up at them in an attempt to not seem as regressed in on yourself as you felt. Thor looked at your plate and nodded in approval, opening the fridge. Then you looked at Loki, fully expecting to see some kind of calculating stare as before, but his expression was soft. He looked you over, probably noticing your out-of-character hunched posture and the way your head hung a little lower than usual, and he gave you a look that was subtly laced with sympathy.

Now that made your blood boil. Who was he to feel sorry for you?

He seemed to notice the way your jaw clenched under his gaze, and opened his mouth to say something but Thor spoke first.

"There's a film Stark wants us all to watch this evening."

Nat chuckled, finishing off her dinner. "You say that like he's showing us training videos. He's just trying to bond the team over some cheesy nineties movie." She looked at you and nodded to your clothes. "You look ready for a movie night."

Before you could explain that you'd rather go to bed, Thor beamed again. "Excellent, then! We'll all be there."

Thor was always kind to you, so you didn't want to disappoint him over something so inconsequential. You smiled warmly at him and nodded. "I'm gonna go claim a good spot," you excused yourself, aware it was almost time for it to start. You quickly did your dishes and left the kitchen, making sure to get a seat on a large armchair so you made it clear you'd rather have some personal space right now, even though it was the exact opposite of what you wanted. Maybe it would be good for you though, to remember that you were alone for a reason. That this life you chose wasn't kind too love.

Gods, love. Why did you think of that word, of all the ones out there. You were spiralling. Sentiment, you corrected yourself with a swift reprimand. Sentiment, loneliness, desperation.

You busied yourself chatting to Wanda as people filtered in, taking note of how she seamlessly wove herself in and around Vision as they sat on a two-seater next to you. Determined not to look at or think of Loki or romance or kissing or anything like that, you trained your eyes on the screen as the movie started.

But you spiralled.

There were these two main characters in the movie with this undeniable bickering co-worker chemistry that reminded you of Loki, the jokes he’d whisper into your ear during meetings, the harmless mischief he’d pull to make you laugh, the way his hand felt at your lower back- NO. You couldn’t think about that.

Wanda and Vision were in your line of sight from the corner of your eye and you saw her fingers lace through his, you then saw him place a silent kiss on the crown of her head. Biting down on your tongue, you remembered Nat and Bruce, Pepper and Tony, Thor and Jane, Clint and Laura. All those people who seemed to find love, even temporary love, in the midst of all this madness.

So maybe it wasn’t this life. Maybe it was just… you.

Biting your tongue a little harder, you reminded yourself how powerless you were compared to all these super-people. Sure, many of them were human like you, but all the other humans seemed to have someone who loved them.

It felt hopeless, knowing the only person in this room who you wanted close was so extraordinarily out of your league. He was a god. You were a human. Your life was a flicker compared to his, of course he’d never waste time indulging the likes of you.

But it felt real.

Halfway through the movie you decided you couldn’t sit there and see these buddy-cop characters fall in love. You couldn’t watch Wanda and Vision so enamoured with each other. What you needed was to hit something hard, and then go to sleep. So you excused yourself without a word or a glance at anyone. It was late, anyway. You weren’t even the first one to leave.

A turn of a black-haired form told you that Loki noticed you leaving, but the lack of footsteps behind you as you walked down the silent hall told you that he hadn’t followed you.

Slipping into your room and then into some workout clothes, you jammed your headphones into your ears and put on some classical music; you weren't sure you could stand to hear any words right now. You laced your shoes a little tighter than normal and practically sprinted to the gym, very unwilling to have anyone notice you were gone and decide to come check on you.

Hitting the bag felt good. It was the perfect consolation prize for what you'd actually prefer right now, but with every crushing of your knuckles against the thick canvas you found it easier to forget how it felt to have your fingers looped through his hair. The sweat dripping down your face replaced the feeling of his breath against your skin when you'd broken the kiss, and the aching in your obliques from your tensing and turning to hit the bag took the place of any memory of his hands at your waist. The aching was here, and he was almost gone.

After a half-hour of interval sprints, it was just past midnight and you were exhausted. Not knowing how you felt about no one coming to check on you, you traipsed back to your room in silence. The faint echoing of your footsteps through the hallways made you quiet yourself further, stepping as lightly as you could to prove to yourself that you were still a good spy. Good spies don't get caught up with feelings. Your footsteps fell, dead quiet, and you regained some confidence.

Your muscles stung the next morning but in a delightful way. You'd treated yourself to another hot shower when you got back to your room, so this morning it would probably be best to have an icy one.

As the cold water hit your skin, you felt okay again. The boxing and running last night had really shaken everything out of you, only the smallest lingering of lonely desire remained and it could easily be ignored. Of course, that was easy to say. The second you walked into the kitchen to see that Loki had heard you coming and poured you a coffee you felt a tug at your chest.

His hands closed around the mug to pass it to you and you remembered how his fingers had closed around your waist. He smiled good morning and you remembered how his lips felt against yours. Holding it all in, you smiled and took the coffee, then proceeded to have a short conversation with him like a normal person would. He made jokes about last night, but not about that, and you chuckled at them. After perhaps too short a time for how long you usually chatted, you excused yourself to go do some paperwork. You caught the way his brow furrowed a little, but he didn't question you.

The next few days were more or less like this. You'd try to engage with Loki normally but spiral a little more, convincing yourself that the more you continued like you always had, the more normal things would be again. But he was just so... beautiful. Everything about him was beautiful and now you couldn't help but notice.

One evening, nearly a week after you'd kissed, you were having a bit of a vulnerable day and you walked into the kitchen for some ice cream. Loki had just finished cleaning up after his dinner and turned to say hello, but you couldn't do it. You just turned and walked right back out again. He called after you but you didn't stop. It's not like you were going to cry in front of him, but you just couldn't do this right now.

Seeking refuge in your bedroom, you shut the door and slid down to the floor with your back against it. An immediate soft knock frustrated you, especially knowing who it probably was. You sighed and stood.

“Hey,” you greeted Loki with a nod when you opened the door, immediately turning away to make it look like you were about to do something else. “What’s up?”

Loki stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, which made you stop and give him your attention. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied.

He squinted for the faintest second and smiled a little sadly. “Light years,” he reminded you how he could spot a lie without harshly calling you out. It pained you that he didn’t. That his lack of sarcasm indicated that he saw you as a bit fragile right now.

You sighed a little and ducked your head to the side, conceding the point. “I’m a little haywire,” you admitted. “I think I need to get some stress out and go to sleep.”

”What troubles you?”

Ah. What a question.

You didn’t want to shut him out, but you certainly didn’t know how to explain that one simple kiss undercover had brought a massive crashing wave of insecurity and anxiety that made you feel completely unlovable. Or... maybe you could just say that?

You were silent for so long that Loki spoke again.

“I’d like to offer my apologies,” he said very diplomatically. “If I overstepped the bounds of our relationship.”

“I’m the one that made you kiss me,” you winced. “I should be apologising.”

”I didn’t mean that,” Loki shook his head. “I meant after, when we returned. When I cornered you.”

You had to laugh. “You didn’t corner me, Loki. I appreciate you wanting to make me feel better but you have nothing to apologise for.”

”Very well. But you didn’t make me,” he replied firmly.

“I know, I know…” you rolled your eyes. “A god submits to no one, I just meant that I put you in a situation that I shouldn’t have. Believe me, I’m paying the price.”

That last part came out a little faster than you’d intended it to. In fact, you didn’t really mean to say that last part out loud at all. Or maybe you did. What a perfect Freudian Slip. Quickly collecting yourself, you spotted your headphones and went to pick them up but noticed that Loki was taking slow steps towards you.

”Paying the price?” He asked carefully. You stopped and folded your arms, shrugging.

“People poke fun, you know.” You bit your tongue. Then, you saw him smirk a little. Ah. Lightyears.

“I thought we had a mutual connection,“ he raised his eyebrows, teasing you with your joke from That Night. You gave him a firm stare, but couldn’t help but notice he wasn’t that far away now.

“Loki, that was-“

“A thinly veiled truth,” he interjected, leaving no room for debate. He also left very little room between the two of you. You opened your mouth to respond, seemed to not be able to, and he smirked at your speechlessness.

"Y-you can't." You shook your head. "There's no way."

"There's no way, what?" A smiled tugged at his lips at the way your eyes widened when he took a strand of your hair and wrapped it once around his finger.

"... Mutual?"

“Now that we won’t be interrupted…” he brought his hand up next to his face, flourished it, and you heard your door’s lock click shut. You held your breath as a mischievous grin graced his lips.

Oh gods, you were looking at his lips. You couldn't seem to look away.

He lowered his voice to a gruff whisper. “Might we finish what we started?”

With the smallest nod of your head, he immediately ducked his head to press his lips against yours. Your small noise of surprise made him pull away for a second and grin, before he playfully growled and lifted you from the ground. His eyes stayed trained on yours as he walked a few steps and firmly shoved your back against the wall. Your breath hitched as his hand found that place at the back of your neck, and this time, you kissed him. Eagerly, hungrily, feeling so overwhelmingly euphoric that this was even happening.

It had to be a dream, you thought as his lips trailed along your jawline, his hot breath hit your neck and his strong unwavering arms kept you above the ground and level with his gaze. He kissed you not just like a god or a great lover - he kissed you like he wanted you. Like he‘d also been waiting to do this for an unspeakable amount of time. It felt like relief.

Pulling you both back from the wall, Loki's lips didn’t relent as your fingers tangled once again in his hair. He walked backwards and found his seat on the end of your bed, sitting with you in his lap as he had at the party.

“Gods, you enrapture me,“ he pulled away, a little breathless. He grinned and his eyes were hazy. He looked at you intensely before looking back at your lips, subconsciously slipping out his tongue to wet his own. Before you could respond, he was kissing you again. You could have melted into his touch. In fact, you were fairly certain you just might.

He leaned back and you both fell onto the bed, you on top of him. You laughed at the sudden impact and you pulled away for a few seconds to catch your breath. You looked at his adoring gaze and blushed. “I never thought someone like you could want someone like me.”

He furrowed his brow, unsure if you were about to reference his nefarious past.

”You’re so… mighty. You’re a Prince, a god, you’re wickedly smart and powerful and… and I’m just a human.”

“Watch your tongue,” Loki scolded somewhat seriously and held you a little tighter. “Don’t speak of yourself as if you’re insignificant.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled, giving him a look. “You know what I mean.”

“Of course I do, I’m wickedly smart,” he smirked and you playfully swatted at his chest. He smiled contentedly and ran his hands firmly down your sides to settle at your hips. It was an innocent romantic gesture, one to position you for further making-out with Loki, but your eyes widened at the memory of his discovery the previous weekend and the assumption that the God of Mischief was about to turn the tables.

Unluckily for you, your flustered expression rendered it a self-fulfilling prophesy.

“Loki…” You warned as you saw the glint in his eye.

“That’s right…” His smirk widened to a devilish grin.

”How about you keep kissing me, huh?” You laughed nervously and leaned in closer. Loki laughed and nodded, bringing his hand up to cradle the back of your neck as you pressed your lips to his. Once your arms were around his neck, he deepened the kiss and rolled over, putting you underneath him. Still on the edge of the bed, your feet barely skimmed the floor. Then, he suddenly became the classic Loki you knew.

“Mmmhmhm!” You whined and giggled a little into the kiss as the fingers belonging to his arm around your waist started ever so gently scratching at your side. “Mmnnoho!” You broke away and gave him a pouting look. He lifted his head and smirked.

Gods. He’d never looked so unspeakably hot.

Messy curls framing his face, that look he gave you that said You’re In Trouble in his distinct Loki way, mixed with the desire in his piercing blue eyes; you’d gladly endure his torture if it meant he looked at you like that.

But maybe that’s because you had no idea what was coming.

“Darling,” he cocked his head and kissed your cheek before kissing just below your ear. “I am the God of Mischief….“ he kissed your neck in a way that you were sure was intended to tickle. You giggled and bit your lip. “And now that I've got my hands on you, you simply cannot expect me to not exploit this little weakness to its fullest extent.”

“L-Loki!” You blushed at the very real threat and he chuckled.

“How about you guide me, hmm? Where should I start?”

“I’m not playing this game,” you laughed nervously, squirming a bit underneath him and resting your hands on his shoulders to push away the ticklish kisses.

“Aw, come now,” he lifted his head and that same beautiful smirk made your heart beat quick. His hand behind your neck slid down under your shoulder blade until it sat at your upper ribs. You stole a glance down to where it may be, even though you couldn’t see it. He cocked his head again. “No? Alright, I’ll choose.” With a wink his thumb slipped around the side and up into the hollow under your arm.

“LOKI!” You gasped, clamped your arm down from instinct and immediately started squirming and giggling, even though his thumb wasn’t even moving. He grinned again and kissed your lips once more.

“You've been down all week, love. Let's have a bit of fun,” he whispered, then sprang his hand at your waist into action, scratching and grabbing at the soft skin hidden beneath your shirt. You gasped again and started laughing softly, then squeaked when his thumb started wiggling into the hollow under your arm.

"NOHOHO!" You shut your eyes and then squealed loudly when his fingers underneath you began clawing into the back of your uppermost ribs. Damnit, you thought he may start easy on you, not go for three different places at once. You were already in a desperate cackle, bubbling incoherent pleas spilling from your lips as you writhed underneath his amused self.

"I'm honestly delighted you're so ticklish," Loki teased with a chuckle. "It's adorable, really. So professional all the time, yet..." He finished his sentence by intensifying his touch and speed at all three sites of attack, drawing a small shriek from your laughing lips and a jolt from your body. "Has it always been this easy to undo you?"

“OHMYGOHOD!” You shrieked, throwing your head against the bed and trying to buck your upper body against him to no avail. He paused his torture and kissed you deeply again, lips curled into a smile as he pressed his lips to yours. You shook your head and broke away, still laughing. “Youhou’re ridiculous! We were hahaving such a nice moment and y-you ruined ihit,” you whimpered. He kissed to again to silence your complaints.

“What did you expect?”

“I-I expected a nice romantic moment!” You laughed and brought both arms between you and him to shove at his shoulders. “Now,” you gave him a stern look. “Do you want to tickle me, or kiss me? You can only choose one.”

He scoffed. “I don’t do ultimatums, darling.”

“You do now.”

“Bold.“ He stuck his tongue against his cheek then ducked his head to the side in consideration. He then looked at your face, which you’d been attempting to hold in some semblance of a firm glare. He lowered his lips to your ear and you heard him chuckle once. “Far too bold for someone so ticklish.”

He whipped his arms out from under you and pressed his weight down again, trapping your arms between your bodies as he clawed into the front and sides of your lowest ribs.

“NOHOAHAH!” You immediately fell into desperate belly-laughter as his fingers drilled and clawed into the spaces between your bones. Your feet kicked helplessly, merely grazing the ground as laughter kept spilling from you. “NOHO! NO! LOKIHI I CAHAN’T!” He shifted his hands further up your ribcage and snuck his fingers around to dig in at the back and, after one more shriek, your laughter went silent. It was trapped in your chest as his squeezing and vibrating fingers found every sensitive space on your ribs that made you want to melt into a little puddle. You were gasping for air by the time he halted his attack, squeaking and wheezing as you tried to regain your breath.

It was torture, but you hoped he wouldn’t ask you if it was worth enduring to have him this close. If he could spot a lie from lightyears away, how much easier could he spot it when he was close enough for you to see the flecks of green in his eyes.

”You’re… you’re gonna kill me,” you hiccoughed. He smirked and leaned in for another kiss. “Nuh-uh,” you pulled your finger up as much as you could from where your arms were trapped. “You made your choice.”

He grinned and slid his hands down your sides with a wink, "Oh? Then I'll gladly continue."

"W-w-wait! I dihidn't th-WAHAIT!"

His thumbs drilled relentlessly into your hips as Loki joined in with your loud laughter. You finally managed to wiggle your arms out from where they were trapped at your chest, shooting them down to grab at his fingers. Your feet having no traction and his near entire weight pressing you to the bed made it impossible to buck or lift any part of your torso, so you were completely trapped with nowhere to go as he gripped and grabbed at the skin of your hips, kneading at the pressure points that made you squeak and squirm beneath him.

When he tired of your fingers trying to grab his, he did a devilish swift lift of his own body and slotted his hands between the two of you, settling them palms-down over the majority of your belly. You made a huge gasping noise and started frantically giggling and squealing even before he'd moved his hands. You shook your head and begged for him to kiss you instead, nervous high-pitched giggles interlacing your words.

"N-noho, Loki just kihiss me, kiss me plehease! PLEASE!" You squeaked, cupping his cheeks and gently pulling him towards you. He chuckled and grinned, gently digging a few fingers in just once. You thrashed and renewed your struggling and squealing efforts. "Dohon't you DAHARE! I won't kiss you agahain if you do this!" You threatened. He cocked his head and leaned in a little closer to look deep into your eyes. Then, he grinned and whispered:

"Lightyears."

You thought for certain you'd pass out from laughter when Loki's fingers sprang into action and rippled against your hypersensitive stomach. You laughed loudly, completely powerless to stop his fingers from digging in wherever they pleased. After not much time at all, your laughter went silent and you weakly batted at his shoulders, sides, face, anything your hands could find for themselves since your eyes were shut so tight. Any words your brain even began to think of forming got lost as laughter ripped through your chest from the electric intensity of his fingers against your body.

When your hands finally found both sides of his face, you used all the energy you had left to press your laughing lips against his and, finally, he relented. You fell back with a loud gasp as he retracted his hands with an amused chuckle and took his weight mostly off you, propping himself up with a hand planted either side of your head.

"Alright there, darling?" He teased as you coughed weakly and wiped the tears of mirth from your cheeks. You gave him a scowl, but he found it adorable.

"Thihis isn't fair," you crossed your arms defiantly.

"No?" He smirked. "Pray tell, my love. What isn't fair?"

Oh. My love. His love.

That took any breath you'd managed to get back in your lungs.

"Y-you... you..." But your words were lost in the bliss of being his. He seemed to quickly understand how his words touched your heart, and it softened his teasing demeanour, and softened his smirk into a smile. "You found my worst spots so soon," you managed to murmur through rosy cheeks.

"Was only a matter of time."

"But now you have the upper hand."

"Dear heart, this isn't a struggle for power," he laughed heartily. "I do not seek to rule over you. Anything you ask of me, anything in the Nine Realms, I will give to you."

"Tell me where you're ticklish."

He chuckled and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips before falling down beside you. He hummed in contentment as he wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you as close as you could be.

"Anything but that."

[ellewords]

i would LOVE to go to a party with the seijoh 4 oh my GOODNESS i know there’s that one official art of them in a karaoke room and i want to do that with them like just singing (although at this point it’s almost straight up yelling) the lyrics to songs and sharing food that they ordered with them.....if you have a crush on one of the boys and the others are aware they not-so-subtly try and get you to sit next to the guy you like or something

this is based off of a personal experience around two years back when some cousins came over to visit during summer break—one day we were bored so we decided to boot up the karaoke system my parents bought and sing fergalicous and we ended up getting a really high score (like 95 out of 100 i think?) and there’s a video of us just YELLING AND LOSING OUR MINDS once the score showed up on the screen and later that night we went on an evening boba run!! anyways this would TOTALLY happen with the seijoh 4 with songs they all know i just feel it......love these 4 idiots so much—🌸

— from elle ! party with the seijoh 4 ?? oh gosh that would be so much fun,, the banter?? the pure chaos?? i haven’t seen the official art of them in a karaoke room but oooh i need to start looking for it ;-; anyways a little scenario based on your karaoke story (so cute aaa !!) thank you sm for this <3

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

“here’s the deal, none of us are going home until all of us get a hundred points on karaoke.” oikawa grinned, eyes alight with mischief as you, iwaizumi, makki, and mattsun groaned in response.

the rest of the team had already gone home, saying their goodbyes before the clock had even struck ten. all that’s left of iwaizumi’s living room was a bunch of empty pizza boxes, emptied out juice pouches, and the five of you trying to figure out how to end the night — well, except oikawa who was just trying to extend it.

“crappykawa, it’s almost midnight.” iwaizumi spoke, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“on a friday, so what’s your point?”

you sighed. truthfully, you didn’t want to go home either. but you didn’t want to give oikawa the satisfaction of being right. “let’s just get this over with.”

he clapped his hands together, “that’s the spirit, yn! besides, don’t you want to spend more time iwa-chan?”

if looks could kill, oikawa would have been dead on the living room in two seconds flat. but he just looks at you with the most teasing smirk, knowing that he had struck a nerve. makki and mattsun snicker from either side of you, not even bothering to hide it. 

you shut your eyes, trying to keep your breathing even despite oikawa’s continued teasing.

“stop it oikawa and pick a song, i still have to drive all of you home.” iwaizumi groaned, you send him a grateful smile. which did not go unnoticed by makki or mattsun, taking everything in them not to call you out on it. 

__

makki and mattsun immediately got a hundred on their duet of britney spears’ toxic, complete with dance moves. part of you couldn’t help but wonder when they had time to practice choreography when they spend most of their time on volleyball. either way you were impressed, genuinely applauding them once they reached the end of their performance.

“we know, we’re amazing.” makki grinned, shrugging his shoulders like it was no big deal.

mattsun nodded, still trying to catch his breath, a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead. “you can pick your jaws off the floor now.”

oikawa got a hundred on his second song, queen’s don’t stop me now. he’s jumping around the living room, and you’re surprised that his vocals remain somewhat stable considering that iwa and mattsun tossed throw pillows at him while you and makki laughed on. 

the three of them somehow convinced you and iwaizumi to do a duet, mostly because you figured that the night would end faster if you and iwa just did one song. it took a few tries, but you eventually got a hundred on your fourth song: taylor swift’s you belong with me.

oikawa, makki, and mattsun spent the entirety of the song giggling on the couch, wondering why you hadn’t caught on to the other’s feelings yet. 

“now, for the penalty for taking the most tries before getting one hundred.” oikawa stood up as soon as the song ended, like he was a king trying to make some sort of announcement.

“we didn’t agree on a penalty!” you screeched.

“too bad, as winners, there is one now.” makki nodded, going along with their plan.

“there’s a new twenty-four cafe nearby that serves boba, we’re craving some.” mattsun smirked, taking delight at the look of complete shock on your face.

“what? n—”

“fine.” iwaizumi agreed, much to your surprise.“but at least clean up the place while we’re gone.”  

the other three exchanged high-fives as soon as you and iwa exited the door. 

__

iwaizumi has one hand on the steering wheel, the other held your hand, a very small smile on his face as he complimented you. “amazing acting as usual, yn.”

“don’t you think we should just tell them we’ve been together for a month now?” you shake your head, thinking back to all the strings your friends have pulled just to get the two of you alone.

“I want to see how long it will take for them to figure it out,” iwaizumi chuckled, bringing your hand to his lips to press a quick kiss on your knuckles, “besides, how else am i going to spend time alone with you?”

well, you can’t argue with that, can you? 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

a question: what are the hq characters like at a party?  |  written on the margins masterlist

taglist : @haikyuutothetop @crystal-lilac @tobioespresso @sushijimawakatoshi @itsmeaudrieee @pantherhappy @jesssobs @mysticstrawberryballoon @cloudedsky_29 @sakusasimpbot​

join my hq taglist here. <3

[theprologues]

SUBMISSION - Grammys performance symbolism, part two

So, with those reservations safely out of the way, and a warning to readers NOT to hurt themselves by getting their hopes up again … 

What aspects of Taylor’s Grammy’s performance made me think there might be light at the end of the tunnel for Kaylor? 

First, Taylor’s blue and gold performance dress. “Deep blue but you painted me golden” is a line from Dancing With Our Hands Tied, a song that is widely assumed to be about the night of Kissgate. It’s a song where Taylor talks about how miserable (“deep blue”) she was after the collapse of her relationship with Diana and her public reputation in 2013. She describes how her new lover, Karlie, brought her back to life and lit her up with the glow of a new, true love. She painted her golden. But then they were caught in an intimate moment at Kissgate, and Taylor panicked. Her fears and anxieties threatened to drown her, and though she and her new lover tried to dance through the catastrophe, they eventually came to realize they were doing so with their hands tied. They had no hope of swimming to the surface together and breaking free. They could only have done so if Taylor had stood firm and owned their love in the moment, instead of setting in motion the bearding contracts that would change everything. (This is what she means when she says that “if I could dance with you again”, she would “kiss” and “hold” her lover, instead of presumably backing away. If she could do the moment over, she would claim Karlie as her lover, and hold her hand for the world to see, through hell or high water.) 

Though it’s a depressing motif in DWOHT, Taylor has, interestingly, returned to this imagery of a golden tie several times in other songs, painting it in a much more positive light. Most recently, the Willow music video explores this, visually representing the “single thread of gold that tied me to you” which Taylor sings about in Invisible String. Both IS and Willow are happy songs, which describe their lovers as being tied together by fate. “Wherever you go, I’ll follow,” Taylor sings in Willow. In DWOHT, the lovers followed each other to a place of deepest blue. The bottom of the ocean, under the waves, where they couldn’t breathe. In Willow they follow each other to freedom.

That freedom is represented in the Willow music video by the open cabin door the lovers step through at the end of the video. Taylor incorporates this door into the Willow section of her Grammy’s performance, performing first in the open doorway and then stepping through it to perform with her band out in the open. 

But returning to the blue and gold dress. This is not only a very Karlie motif which keeps recurring in her art (often to postitve effect). It’s also a representation of Taylor finding happiness WITHIN the closet. It’s talking about how her partner’s love helps her to bear the depression being in the closet, and fearing exposure, causes her. The fact that Taylor chooses to wear this dress throughout her performance, with no costume changes, suggests a) she is still in the closet, and b) she is still with Karlie, and still considers her love to be such a lifeline. 

If Toe was real and Taylor was happy with him, she could have chosen to wear an all-gold dress for the occasion. If Kaylor was over and she had decided to return to the closet, she could have communicated that by wearing all blue. If Kaylor was over and so far in the past she had moved on with someone new, there was no need to evoke the motif at all. She could simply have laid claim to another color, or worn another prairie type dress to fit the aesthetic. And yet, she didn’t. Why not, if not to communicate what I said above? 

What else is worth considering, in Taylor’s medley? Well, there’s the cabin setting. Taylor and Karlie famously took a trip to Big Sur forest and stayed in a cabin together in 2014, where Karlie was the first person to hear 1989 in full. They took many photos on the trip, including one captioned with “on the way home” (a lyric from You Are In Love, which talks about hearing love in the silence) and one of the two of them looking up at a fallen tree. A VERY similar looking tree appears in the Cardigan music video, and the slanted, moss-covered roof Taylor opens the medley lying on also looks a lot like this tree. Again, curious that she would call back to this if she and Karlie have separated.

Moving on. Taylor opens the medley singing on the roof, looking straight up into the camera. When we pull back we see the stage around set to that of a starry night. Taylor is thus cast as the romantic, the star-gazer. She also calls back to another lyric Kaylors have previously tied to Karlie - “up on the roof with a schoolgirl crush”. It’s been repeatedly tied to Karlie and Taylor’s attendance at the Victoria Secret show after-party. Again, why evoke imagery so tied to the early, happy days of this relationship? 

We then move through a progression of events that sees her hiding inside with friends, before eventually stepping out into the light. That all reads like a visual interpretation of her relationship with Karlie, from her early loneliness and lovestruck dreaming, to the happiness she finds within her little hideaway, to her eventual decision to step out of it and claim her lover. The medley ends on a repetition of “that’s my man”, seemingly hinting that Taylor’s freedom is tied up in her ability to finally say those words. 

What else? Well, there are the Ivy allusions. Taylor’s cabin covered in greenery can’t help but evoke the lyrics of Ivy - “my house of stone, your ivy grows, and now I’m covered in you”. Ivy is widely interpreted as a sapphic song about two women finding love despite their commitments to men. Another line in the song “he’s in the room, your opal eyes are all I wish to see, he wants what’s only yours” is alluded to in Taylor’s choice of opal jewelry on the night. What a weird thing to draw attention to, if you’re not secretly in love with a woman while parading a beard around in public. We’re also told in the song that “he” (possibly the same man, possibly another) wants to burn the house of the Ivy lovers down. Jerk just so happened to announce the baby’s birth on this night, in what felt like an attempt to undermine Taylor’s joy. Hmm. Curious. 

You know what else is curious? Taylor’s choice of outfit for the Grammys red carpet. Not only is the floral dress very reminiscent of a floral ensemble Karlie wore to cover a June (pride month) issue of Spanish Vogue. (Cover subtitled, “flowers of change”.) It’s also by the designer Oscar de la Renta. Taylor and Karlie famously attended one of his shows together early on in their relationship. They sat in the front row looking very cozy, while Taylor refused to answer questions about why she was there and reportedly giggled “my publicist will be mad at me”. Hmm.

Taylor has also worn Oscar de la Renta on numerous occasions while out with Karlie, including most famously at the Met Gala. That iconic pale pink gown that she was buried in the Look What You Made Me Do music video? That was an Oscar de la Renta. There are many interpretations of the scene in the video, but it’s worth noting that Taylor is buried alive in it (which could be interpreted as a metaphor for being closeted) and that in a video all about her various revenge fantasies, she depicts herself crawling back up out of this grave. She views coming back to life and walking away from the flaming wreckage of her past with Big Machine as the ultimate revenge. At the end of the video she clips her own wings while all the past iterations of her argue amongst themselves. This would seem to suggest that she can defeat her enemies but she can’t defeat herself, because she can’t outrun her past, and until then she will always be doomed to self-sabotage. Nevertheless, this Taylor (lurking in the background bedecked in peaced-out palm tree print) is in a much better position than the Taylor who opened the video as a zombie corpse. She’s on the surface and has some hope of freedome, at last. This is a theme we see carried through in the following video, where Taylor goes one-on-one against herself and eventually breaks free.

Long story short? Taylor wearing such a floral, literally blooming dress from THIS designer, of all people, suggests she may finally be about to rise again. The aborted coming out apparently planned for the Lover era (and thus seeded during the Rep era) may finally be a go? 

Again, I’m very reluctant to get people’s hopes up here. But it’s hard to look at this dress and not think of that June (Pride month) floral magazine cover. Or of the Spade riddle, “Why worry? She blooms in June.” Or of the fact that Taylor’s stunts are often loudest before the end. She acknowledged Calvin and hugged him at an awards show before he was booted out of the narrative and Tom H appeared to replace him. (Something like ten days or so after the “split”, if I remember right?) And the inconsistencies of the Toe timeline speak for themselves. There was speculation - unpopular though it was - among Kaylors in the Rep era that guessed Taylor wouldn’t come out until 2021 / 2022. It seemed a world away at the time but who knows? Maybe this was always the plan. Maybe this is all “part of the fucking story”, even the parts that seem ugly or counterproductive. A lot can change in a couple of months in Hollywood, and with Taylor in particular. By June, it’s possible we COULD be looking at a vastly different landscape. Maybe this was one last hurrah for the Toes. Many of them are just harmless fans taking Taylor at her word, after all. 

Only time will tell, and I don’t blame Kaylors for checking out. This isn’t healthy, especially for those of us who are gay ourselves, and can’t help but feel a personal connection to Taylor’s journey out of the closet. We know what a big deal it would be. But for those who still want to hope … It’s just possible Taylor has a plan, and this is the dark night before the dawn. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Pro: I added the photos and the bolded parts. Love symbolism. This was truly a spectacular performance. Awesome submission anon!!

[maladaptive---daydreamer]

No more secrets

(This is set in 6th year, no voldemort being back business)

Sunlight filtered through the dormitory windows onto your sleeping form. You had asked your older brother to teach you a charm to bewitch your windows to reflect the weather outside, growing tired for the green murk courtesy of the black lake. You fluttered your eyes, blinking the sleep from them and rolled over to check the small clock at your bedside. Despite it being the weekend your body still woke you up at 7 am like clockwork, causing you to groan in frustration and smack your bedsheets

“Some of us are trying to fall back to sleep, you know” Daphne grumbled from her bed, beside you.

“Seize the day miss Greengrass” you replied, deciding you might as well get out of bed and follow your own advice.

You kicked your sheets off and made your bed before gathering your things and heading to the prefects bathroom for a shower. You returned to the dormitory with clean hair that smelt of your apple shampoo dressed in some comfy muggle clothes you purchased. Despite their shortcomings, muggles really knew how to dress comfortably. You had stumbled across Piccadilly Circus while trying to get to Diagon Alley during the Christmas break in your fourth year while on your own. In one of the shops you had seen joggers folded on a display and just had to purchase them, they were warm and soft, perfect for cold days.

“My, my what would your pure blood ancestors say if they saw you dressed like a muggle” Daphne teased from her bed.

“Someone has to be the family disappointment don’t they” You replied, putting your clothes in the laundry basket.

“I highly doubt you’re the family disappointment, Y/N, you’re top of the class in basically everything, you’re the first prefect in your family too!” Lily said. She was easily the most positive witch in Slytherin house and hated to see you bring yourself down like that

“Well, Granger is all those things and she’s a mudblood, our parents don’t care about academics as much as you’d think they do” Pansy interjected

“Pansy, no one asked you. As I recall this was a conversation between Daphne, Lily and myself” you snapped, knowing she was attempting to remind Lily of her half-blood status.

Pansy scoffed and rolled her eyes, over the last few weeks she had really been struggling to hide her dislike for you. It didn’t bother you, Pansy was a bitch to put it quite plainly. You wondered how someone could be so venomous and be content with their life.

You began to gather your things to head to the library after breakfast. 6th year meant you and your classmates were inundated with homework from all your classes. You hoped you could get ahead of your work so you could keep Sunday free.

“It’s literally Saturday, why are you voluntarily doing work?” Daphne asked, her head barely visible from under her duvet cocoon.

“If I didn’t, who would you run to at 11pm on Sunday evening because you forgot to write your charms essay?”

“You are a true friend Y/N Y/L/N”

“Hey, Y/N,” Pansy hollered

You looked at Pansy and waited for her to speak

“If you see Draco at breakfast, you mind telling him I’ll be a bit late?”

“I don’t think he’ll care Pans” Daphne replied for you

“Oh but he will, we’re going to the library to do out potions work together”

You were about to frown but stopped yourself, Draco had promised you that the two of you would write your 3 feet of parchment together. Lily caught your eye knowing how you felt about the platinum blond.

“Sure thing Parkinson” You said, with a sickly sweet smile.

You turned on your heel and went down the stairs into the Slytherin common room, despite it being only 8.30 on a Saturday morning, the common room was densely populated with slytherin students of all ages. A small group of second years were sitting on the floor playing gobstones in your path. They looked up and paled, scrambling to move out of your way.

“Scaring second years now are we Y/L/N” The voice of your friend Blaise Zabini asked.

“Me? Of course not, Zabini, I’ll leave that to you and your friends” you replied waking out of the portrait hole

“It hurts me that you think so lowly of us” He feigned hurt as he began to walk alongside you

“I apologise for hurting your feelings”

“What would your father have to say, hearing you apologise to a half blood”

“Here’s me thinking you knew me better, you already know I don’t care for the purity of blood”

“Where are you headed to after breakfast”

“The library, I’ve got a ton of homework to do”

“Have you heard about the party the 7th years are planning?”

“Nope, not that I’m interested anyway”

“This is coming from the girl who managed to get half the quidditch team drunk off fire whiskey the last time we had a party”

“What can I say, academia looks better on me”

“I can’t say I disagree with that. You should still come, bring your friends along too, it’s been a while since we all got together.”

“I’ll see if Daphne and Lily want to come along.”

The two of you had reached the door of the Great Hall

“There you are Zabini, we’ve been waiting for ages” Draco yelled from across the room

You and Blaise walked to your normal spot on the Slytherin table. He took a seat and you stood behind the bench.

“By the way, Malfoy, Parkinson said she’ll be late. Have to do the potions essay you promised you’d do with me a bit later”

“Y/N I-”

You rolled your eyes and opted to grab some sliced of toast wrapped in some tissue and go straight to the library rather than listen to whatever excuse Draco had planned to spew out.

You settled yourself near the fireplace pulling your textbooks out and laying them around you. You managed to write your charms essay, aswell as your Defence Against the Dark Arts essay and some reading for Transfiguration. You looked up at the big clock in the library and noticed it was past two, your stomach rumbled, clearly upset at the measly breakfast of 2 slices of buttered toast and some water. You gathered all your books again and stuffed them back into your bag and headed to the kitchens. The house elves were well aware of what you preferred to eat for lunch and handed it to you wrapped in a gingham handkerchief, you settled yourself by the window eating your lunch enjoying the view over the grounds.

“Y/N”

You looked up to see the face of your academic rival.

“Hermione”

“Do you mind if I take a seat?”

You shook your head and she sat down next to you.

“I was wondering if you could help me”

“Wow the great Hermione Granger needs help? From me?”

“I- nevermind it was silly of me” She got up feeling flustered and began to walk away

“Lighten up, Granger, it was a joke”

“What would you do if you liked someone, but they had a girlfriend and probably don’t like you back?”

“You’ve finally admitted you like Weasley huh” You patted the window sill next to you, prompting her to sit down

“What? No! Ron-“

“You do know Lavender has been slipping him love potions right?”

“But that’s against the rules! She could get expelled for that”

“She doesn’t care Hermione, if I were you I’d slip a bezoar down Weasley’s throat and see what happens after that”

“How do you know? That she’s been making him drink love potions?”

“I saw her buying some in hogsmeade”

“Well thank you for your help” 

“Can I ask why you thought I’d be the best person to come to for this advice?”

“Well to be quite frank, I don’t know myself. All my other friends are Ron’s friends too, I didn’t want them telling him anything. And we’ll you’ve been the kindest to me, and I would like to think despite everything you respect me. So thank you for your help” With that she got up and began to walk away

“Hey by the way, Granger, he’d be an idiot to turn you down”

Hermione flashed you a true genuine smile before returning to the Gryffindor common room.

You finished the remnants of your lunch and headed back to the dormitory. Daphne and Lily hadn’t left their spots on their beds.

“Who’s up for a party tonight?” You asked the both of them, a wide grin across your face.

After some further information from some 7th year girls, you, Daphne and Lily found yourselves standing outside the room of requirement at 9pm. Despite being a small, debaucherous get-together, in true Slytherin fashion the three of you were still impeccably dressed. You wore a thin silver satin blouse with a plunging neckline, a blouse he bought for you over the summer, along with some fitted black paper bag trousers and a pair of Chanel flats.

The door opened to reveal a room that looked exactly like the Slytherin common room only the table in front of the fire was covered in alcohol and snacks. Blaise, Draco, Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle were sat in a small group off to the side. Draco’s head snapped up when he heard the door open and he looked as though his breath catched in his throat. You knew he was trying not to stare but it was like he couldn’t move his eyes off you. You’d be lying if you said this wasn’t the effect you wanted to have. Daphne ran off to a 6th year boy that she had been flirting with and you and Lily headed over to your friends.

“You made it!” Blaise exaclaimed getting up to hug you.

You saw dracos knuckles whiten even more as he gripped his butterbeer. You hugged Blaise back, after all, it was Draco who wanted to keep the two of you a secret. Blaise hugged Lily too and the two of you sat down. You made a point to sit directly opposite Draco, forcing Blaise to sit on the arm of the sofa with his arm resting on its back. A butterbeer had been forced into your hand which you sipped every once in a while whilst making conversation with your friends. You had noticed Pansy almost sticking to Draco’s side. She’d laugh overly loud at any small thing he said, even if it wasn’t funny, and failed to get Draco to dance with her numerous times.

After a while the 7th years announced the commencement of a drinking game. They placed an empty bottle on the floor and spun it, if it landed on you, you had to choose a truth or a dare, if you didnt want to do the option you selected, youd have to take a double shot of firewhiskey. You chose to sit it out, standing on the outside of the circle only a few steps away from Draco, who coincidentally also decided to sit out.

“I like the blouse” He commented, taking a swig of his butterbeer

“Thank you, it was a gift” You replied, folding your arms together to accentuate your cleavage. 

“Would have preferred you wearing it with just the two of us. Goyle won’t stop staring at you.”

“Well if you offered to take me to a nicer place than a broom cupboard or the empty classroom on the fourth floor, then maybe I’d wear it”

“I was told you were talking to Granger today”

“And? Am I not allowed to speak to people?”

“Not that filthy mudblood”

“Does it really hurt your feelings that bad that she’s smarter than you despite being muggle born that the ONLY thing you can comment on is her blood status?”

“I don’t want you to be seen talking to her again”

“Newsflash, you can’t tell me what to do. I’m not Parkinson, I won’t obey you like some lost dog.” And with that you moved further away from him leaning on a column in the corner of the room. 

So far people had only chosen to spill truths, some choosing to take shots instead of their truths. Daphne and her little boyfriend had been dared to enjoy 7 minutes in heaven, made possible by a random broom cupboard supplied by the room of requirement, it had been more than seven minutes and you were sure you’d get a detailed play by play back in the dorms. The empty bottle of fire whiskey landed on Charlie, he joined hogwarts in 5th year after being in America for the last few years.

“Truth or dare Charles?” Blaise asked, rubbing his hands together

“Truth”

“Who do you think is the most beautiful girl in this room?”

“Oh that’s easy, Y/N”

The whole group turned to look at you. You could see from the corner of your eye that Draco had tensed up. He himself slowly turned his head to look at you

“I have to admit, Charlie, you have great taste. You’ll go far in this world” You said, smiling.

“I’ll go as far as you want me to”

This caused the whole group to laugh and return to their game. You checked the clock and saw that it was getting close to 1am. You tapped Lily’s shoulder and she got up.

“Leaving already girls?” Blaise asked from his spot infront of the fire

“It’s getting late, parties aren’t Y/N’s scene anymore anyway” Lily replied smoothing out her skirt

“I’ll walk you back to the dormitory, I’m rather bored here myself” Draco offered, finally getting free of Pansy

“No need, Lily and I are big girls, we can get ourselves back without Filch finding us.” You replied cooly

“I insist”

“No no, Draco. Stay, enjoy the festivities”

You and Lily snuck out of the room of requirement and returned to the dorms undetected.

“What was going on with you and Draco?” She asked while the two of you were getting ready for bed

“Nothing”

“It sounded like the two of you were having a tense conversation”

“You know how Draco can be, always trying to one up everyone”

“Did you hear about Pansy and Draco?” She asked once she was comfy in her bed.

“No” you put your hair brush back in the drawer and got under your own covers

“I heard from Marietta in the year above that Parkinson was bragging about how her and Draco went on a date today. Apparently he took her to the black lake for a picnic”

“Well good for them, I hope they’re happy”

“I know you like him but maybe now she’ll stop being such a raging bitch”

“Maybe, goodnight Lily”

“Goodnight Y/N”

You weren’t crazy, you knew Draco wasn’t stupid enough to even attempt to cheat on you. Your family was just as affluent and your father was just as influential as Lucius for him to know that a cheating scandal between two of the oldest pure blood lines would not turn out well for him. Yet it did nothing to stop the anger bubbling up inside you.

You and Draco began to get closer during your 5th year. You two studied together often and you both were prefects, made to patrol the corridors at night. It was inevitable for the two of you to strike up a bond. You didnt expect your bond to become so strong that an owl would end up dropping a letter on your bed one rainy summer afternoon, with a letter from Draco enclosed about how bored he was over the holiday. The two of you sent letters back and forth, he even floo’d into your bedroom when your parents were out. On the first hogsmeade trip of the year, he asked you to join him and he asked you to be his girlfriend. However, he wanted to keep your relationship a secret. He knew that people would talk and both of your parents would find out, it would lead to talks for the future, something he was not ready for. You saw where he was coming from and agreed, you just didn’t think it would end up like this. In the beginning he tried, he really did, he’d leave cute notes in your bag, he’d hold your hand under the table, save you a seat at dinner, even sneak you into his dormitory, but a few weeks ago, it all suddenly seemed to stop. But you were sick of it. You deserved to be treated better than you were being treated right now.

You awoke on Sunday feeling slightly less angry than you did when you went to sleep. Sunday’s were the day you and Draco would lock yourselves in an old empty classroom on the fourth floor and finally get to be yourselves. You went down to breakfast and sat in your usual seat, waiting for him to make his way down. You were half way through a bowl of cereal when you noticed him walk in with his boys, and Pansy. You dropped your spoon into your bowl causing milk to splash everywhere

“Merlin’s beard Y/N!” Daphne yelled, scooching to the side

You and Lily grabbed some napkins to clean up the small spillage.

“I’ve suddenly lost my appetite” You deadpanned

You got up and walked past draco, purposely bumping his shoulder on your way out. It hurt you more than it hurt him but you still had a point to make.

“Jeez Y/L/N, watch where youre-” Pansy Scoffed

“Oh fuck off pansy” 

“Y/N!” 

You ignored him and carried on walking out of the hall. You heard his footsteps behind you and he managed to catch up to you, grabbing you by the wrist.

“What is the matter with you?” He demanded

“Me? What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothings wrong with me you’re the one acting crazy”

“Firstly, I don’t like your tone. If you’re going to shout at me I refuse to listen to another word.”

“I’m sorry but I don’t understand what the issue is”

“My issue is YOU”

You ended up raising your voice to a volume too loud for Draco’s liking and he pulled you into a nearby storage cupboard.

“This is my problem draco, being forced to hide everything. Arguing in a fucking broom cupboard for fucks sake.” You sighed

“Y/N, you know how-“

“No, I am tired, Draco, sick and tired of hiding, of keeping secrets, of not being able to come and collapse next to you when I’m upset”

“You can still do that,”

“No I can’t, you always surrounded by one of your posse members. If it’s not Crabbe or Goyle then it’s fucking Parkinson. Did you know she’s going round telling everyone you took her to the black lake for a picnic?”

“She said what? I didn’t even see her yesterday, Blaise and I went to the quidditch pitch after breakfast.” He had a face of visible disgust on his face at the thought of people thinking him and Pansy were a thing.

“Well yeah now the whole school thinks you’re going out with Parkinson and you’re not going to say anything to stop those rumours”

“You know why, princess”

“Yeah you don’t want to think about the future. But if thinking about a future with me really scares you so much Draco, why are you still with me? Surely if you just kept yourself single, you’d have no future to worry about and no girlfriend breathing down your neck”

“You know that’s not what I mean”

“Then what do you mean? Because -” you cut him off, you were starting to get annoyed and he could sense it

“If you stopped interrupting me, I’d be able to explain my thoughts” He said calmly, placing both his hands on your cheeks, forcing you to look at him in the eye.

“Speak then”

“Yes I don’t want to think about my future. I don’t want to think about what ministry career I’ll be forced into to keep up my family’s reputation, who I’ll be forced to call my friend for the sake of appearances, what I need to name my first born child. I don’t want to think about all the skeletons in the Malfoy family wardrobe that I’ve yet to discover. This, me and you, it’s so innocent, so pure. You get me, you see me for more than my family name. And I want to protect this. I don’t want our parents getting involved and tainting what we have.”

“It’s the only way we-”

“Interrupt me once more and I’ll hex you.” 

You closed your mouth and decided to listen for just a short while more.

“However, if the key to your happiness, and the future of our relationship, is for everyone, including our parents, to find out about us. Then I will walk straight into that hall and stand on the table and announce it to the whole school.”

“You really mean that?”

He nodded

“So if your father sent you an owl tomorrow that says we have to get married in the summer...” you linked your wrists together behind his neck, swaying slightly as you looked up at him

“I’ll marry you. I would sacrifice my own life if it meant I could see you smile.”

“Bit dramatic there, Malfoy” you laughed

“You taught me well, Y/L/N”

“I’d rather you didn’t embarrass the both of us by getting up on the table. You can hold my hand though.”

“Anything for the Slytherin princess.”

You smiled and gave him a quick kiss before getting out of the broom closet. Draco took your hand and held it firmly in his as you both walked into the great hall.

He started to think out loud about his breakfast but you watched for the reactions of your peers as you made your way to your table, no one was really shocked, most of them looked up and smiled excitedly before chattering to their friends, you walked past the gryffindor table and heard the words ‘bet’ and ‘owe’ get thrown about. Once you got to your friends Draco waited for you to sit down, right next to Pansy, before sitting on your other side with his arm around your waist.

“Y/L/N and Malfoy? I never saw that one coming” Blaise laughed, the sarcasm evident in his voice.

“Well get used to it, Zabini, cause you’ll be seeing it a whole lot more” You responded, moving closer into Draco’s lap.

Long gone were the days of hiding, as well as the days of Pansy Parkinson thinking she could steal your man. 

[4haechie]

spell it out

➵ request: can i request for a (light-ish) angst w/happy ending (or like fluff but w/ jealousy idk does that make sense?? for 6 + 1 + 17? thank you so much!!! -💙

➵ lee donghyuck x reader | fluff, comedy (?), hogwarts au, enemies to lovers au | 2,773 words | “you’re the single most annoying person i’ve ever met.”

➵ warnings: swearing (shouldn’t even be a warning anymore. i curse like a sailor)

➵ a/n: ur the sweetest little bean, 💙 anon! i hope u like this <3 also, this is written in donghyuck’s pov :D

want to request? check this post out!

“i don’t know what’s so great about him, anyway. like, okay, he’s taller than me. maybe even a little stronger and buffer? but he doesn’t know the first thing about y/n.”

renjun groans for the nth time during lunch. “donghyuck, my dude, let it go. it’s not like they’re dating.” he butters his croissant before adding, “and it’s not like you two are dating either,” with a not-so-subtle wiggle of his eyebrows.

donghyuck glares daggers at his best friend. “shut up, huang!” then, he goes back to sulking.

it’s been like this for a few weeks now, ever since you became all buddy-buddy with one of the students from the visiting school. donghyuck is not jealous, don’t get him wrong. he’s angry because he’s your one and only enemy. but here you are, competing in all sorts of lame contests with the new guy when that’s something you and donghyuck do–or did.

he watches from the other side of the slytherin table as you and the new guy compete to see who could fit the most number of marshmallows in their mouths. donghyuck rolls his eyes, “losers.”

renjun’s ears perk up, “if you’re so pissed, then maybe do something about it? do you know how annoying it is to watch you complain loudly?”

“do you know how annoying it is to watch someone steal your enemy away from you?”

“yeah, i was pretty mad at y/n for stealing you away from me when we were twelve.”

“exactly my point!”

renjun flicks his friend’s forehead and gets up to leave for the next lesson. “c’mon, loverboy, it’s potions time.”

/

donghyuck reads the instructions, once, twice, three times, before tossing the necessary ingredients into the cauldron. today, the wizards are required to make any potion of their choice, test to see if it works, as well as say why they chose it.

donghyuck chooses to make liquid luck, just because he’s made it before and is confident in brewing it. he stirs the mixture in the cauldron, making sure it’s perfect, before scooping some up and pouring it into a flask. he labels it with his name and house, and raises his hand.

“yes, mr lee?” the professor says.

“i’m done with my potion, sir,” he says a little smugly and glances at you, at the front of the class. you’re already looking at him when you mouth ‘fuck you’.

he smirks; bet you don’t do that with your new “friend”, do you?

“may i know what you have brewed over there, mr lee?”

“of course, sir. i made felix felicis,” donghyuck announces proudly.

“wonderful! now, test it out to see if it works,” the professor says.

“um, sir, i can’t exactly–” donghyuck protests.

“oh, that’s right...its effects won’t be seen immediately. but i know you’ve probably done a good job since you’re not new to felix felicis. tell me why you’ve chosen it, mr lee.” the professor tugs on the string of his reading glasses hanging around his neck.

“oh, yeah, of course. um, i just have the most confidence in making it. i’m not new to it like you said.” donghyuck says.

the professor sighs. “very well. who else is done?”

“i am!” you beam, with a hand raised.

donghyuck watches keenly as you finish stirring the liquid in your cauldron.

“what have you made, y/n?” the professor inquires.

“amortentia.”

the class goes pin-drop silent. no one ever brews the love potion unless they want to confess to their loved one or check to see who loves them. why did you decide to make amortentia? donghyuck prays to all the gods out there that you didn’t make it for the new guy. donghyuck has known you since you were both twelve–he knows pretty much every single thing about you (the new guy doesn’t, but that’s irrelevant), but he has no clue why you chose to brew amortentia. he definitely can’t ask you right now. he figures you’ll tell the professor some lame excuse, and he’ll have to find out by asking you while everyone’s distracted.

“i beg your pardon?”

“amortentia, sir. the strongest love potion in existence,” you say confidently. donghyuck now, for sure, knows you’re up to something.

“i’m not going to ask you to consume it, as that would simply be too risky. why have you made amortentia, young wizard?” the professor walks over to you and takes a look at your potion. he seems to be satisfied by its appearance and aroma.

“i’ve never made it before, so i wanted to give it a shot. i added all the necessary ingredients and stirred it the right amount of times. i think i did well, professor.” you insist.

the professor nods and goes over to examine the other students’ potions.

donghyuck gets up, brushes his hands over his robes and walks towards where you’re seated. he gives the new guy, who’s sitting right beside you, a look of pure loathing, but gives you a slight upturn of the lips. “hey, y/n.”

you give him one look and start writing your report. the class is noisy and the professor isn’t paying donghyuck any attention. “why did you make amortentia–really?” he bends down a little so that he’s eye level with you.

you glance at him again, “why do you care?”

donghyuck rolls his eyes, “y/n, i want to know.”

you exhale. “because i needed to know something.”

“know what?”

you push your chair out and stand up to face donghyuck. you’re nose-to-nose now, and donghyuck has a perfect view of all your features. not that he cares. he also catches the scent of your sweet-smelling lip balm–again, not that he cares.

“donghyuck, what do you smell?”

“what kind of a question is that?”

you clench your fists and huff out a breath. “you’re the single most annoying person i’ve ever met,” you say as if that clears up everything.

the professor, upon ensuring every wizard performed well in potions, dismisses all of them back to their respective common rooms. even though donghyuck leaves you alone after that, why can he still smell the sweet, annoying scent of your lip balm all the way here, in his room?

/

“i’m going crazy, man.”

renjun shoves his friend away from his desk. the moon shines brightly outside their dorm room’s window, the sky is a navy blue colour, and renjun is busy working on an assignment for defence against the dark arts. but of course, donghyuck isn’t going to let him without ranting about you first.

renjun takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, counts to ten, and spins his chair to face donghyuck, who’s sat on the edge of his own bed now. “i’m gonna go out on a limb here and say this is about y/n.” donghyuck nods sadly and renjun almost feels sorry for the guy. “is this about what happened in potions earlier? look, you know y/n’s obsessed with that lip balm. maybe it’s really strong-scented? you don’t have any proof that it’s because of the amortentia.”

donghyuck groans at the sound of the cursed potion. he didn’t even ingest it, but just standing next to it was enough to fill his stomach up for a lifetime.

“i guess you’re right. y/n always wears that lip balm, but it was super strong today,” donghyuck falls on his bed, closing his eyes as if in deep thought. he gets up suddenly, “wait! if y/n made amortentia to check something...” he trails off, lost in thought. donghyuck groans again and paces around the room.

“donghyuck, do you really hate y/n?” renjun asks.

donghyuck doesn’t have the courage to answer. he simply sighs and crawls into bed, tucking himself under the covers. he falls asleep watching the shimmering moon that night.

/

“today, you’ll be learning the disarming spell! it’s very commonly used in battle, so it’s a useful skill, nonetheless,” the defence against the dark arts professor says, walking on the small runway situated between the two rows of students. “the spell might seem simple, but you have to concentrate. you have to focus on your opponent’s weapon only. it’s very easy to get distracted while trying to disarm the other, so focus, and you shall be victorious.”

donghyuck glances across the runway and his eyes find yours in the crowd. you raise an eyebrow and point at him with your index finger, before retracting the same hand and jutting the thumb out, dragging it across your neck threateningly. donghyuck scoffs.

“now, watch closely, students. huang renjun, come up here. he’ll be my example.” the professor beams at renjun and pulls out her wand, renjun following suit. he stands his guard as the professor chants, “expelliarmus.” she points her wand at renjun’s and it goes flying out of his hand. renjun lets out an airy laugh, and upon receiving an okay sign from the professor, he collects his fallen wand and goes back to his place in the crowd.

“ten points to slytherin! oh, and you’re going to work in partners.” the professor says, smiling brightly as if this is a party and not a magical defence class. “you may challenge someone to a duel or–!”

“i challenge lee donghyuck to a duel!” you shout, your voice echoing in the defeaning silence that follows your sentence.

donghyuck winces, but manages to regather himself and nod at you. “bring it on, y/l/n.”

you chuckle and gesture at him to join you on the runway. the professor steps down as donghyuck climbs up. you stand a few feet in front of him, in position, wand raised. donghyuck doesn’t even have time to blink before you cast the spell. “expelliarmus!” you chant without hesitating, and his wand gets knocked out of his hands, clattering against the floor of the runway. you smirk and blow air at the tip of your wand.

donghyuck looks at you sheepishly before grabbing his wand and heading straight to renjun. his eyes drift to where you’re standing again, but this time they see the new guy closer to you than ever. he’s saying something, whispering something in your ear, and you’re laughing. laughing because of what he said. donghyuck grinds his teeth and glares at the floor.

“what the fuck was that?” his friend shoves him.

donghyuck groans, “i don’t know!”

/

later that day, donghyuck runs into you at the common room.

“oh, hey, y/n.” donghyuck glances around the room. no new guy in sight. that’s odd since you've been joined at the hip with him ever since he arrived. you guys must’ve been surgically separated, huh.

“he’s not here. he’s leaving tomorrow night, so he wanted to check the school out. you know, explore and stuff.” you say, making him widen his eyes in surprise.

“who?”

“don’t play dumb, lee. i know you don’t like the new guy.”

he feigns a look of hurt and clasps a hand over his mouth in a silent gasp, “why would i ever hate that guy?”

you roll your eyes and walk to lean against the back of the leather couch. “i don’t know? but i’ve seen the way you look at him. it’s okay, by the way. i don’t care. he’s nice, but he’s...not my type.”

he takes a few steps and stands in front of you. “then who’s your type?”

you look into his eyes as if trying to communicate through them. “donghyuck,” you pause, and for a second he thinks that’s your answer, but you continue speaking. “what did you smell? when i made amortentia?”

donghyuck gulps, “i–uh, peach lip balm.”

the corner of your mouth lifts to a smirk. “do you know anybody who wears peach lip balm?” you inch closer, decreasing the proximity between the two of you to mere centimetres. donghyuck’s eyes momentarily flicker to your lips before meeting your eyes again.

“i–!”

“what are you two doing up so late?” renjun enters the scene with an amused expression on his face. he looks at you two like one watches a tennis match, and his lips are drawn to a smug upturn. “what’s going on here?”

when you don’t answer, donghyuck clears his throat, “we were just talking about–uh, what we learnt today.”

renjun doesn’t look impressed. “right, and i was discussing strategies on how to become headmaster with mark at the library. no, seriously, it’s almost midnight and it’s just the two of you here.”

donghyuck glares at the boy, “fuck off, renjun!”

renjun throws his hands up defensively, “alright, alright. but hurry up, okay? i need your help with the potions assignment.” he’s about to leave when you call out his name.

“renjun, what were you doing here so late?”

he whips his head around, “well, i was at the library with mark. but we weren’t discussing strategies on how to become headmaster. we were just looking at some ancient spell books,” he says, and walks away to his dorm.

you cross your arms over your chest. “so, where were we?”

donghyuck presses his lips together for a second. “i asked you who your type was?”

“nice try, lee. but, seriously, do you know anyone who wears peach lip balm?”

donghyuck clenches his fists. “y/n, fucking hell. you! you wear that stupid peach lip balm. you made that stupid amortentia and i smelled your stupid peach lip balm. you probably smelled whatever cheap cologne the new guy wears, anyway. so why does it matter?” donghyuck heaves a sigh and is about to back away from you when you tug on his sweater.

“wait.”

donghyuck glances at you, “what?”

“i, um, didn’t smell anything that’s to do with the new guy.” you tug on your lower lip, unsure of how to put your thoughts into coherent words, but donghyuck focuses on the fact that you’re calling the new guy “new guy” instead of his name.

“then?”

you’re tongue-tied, but you manage to sputter out a few words. “i smelled lavender-scented fabric softeners and chocolate.” you look up at him through your eyelashes.

his heart stops beating. his brain melts into a puddle of goo. his organs stop working, his nerve endings go haywire. he’s frozen, a block of ice. he’s not even able to comprehend your words. you...smelled...him?

donghyuck’s favourite fabric softener is scented with lavender and his favourite food is anything chocolate. he makes sure to use the fabric softener for his uniforms, sweaters, pants–pretty much all his clothes. and he’s pretty much always munching on those blasted chocolate frogs whilst trying to collect all the best cards.

“y/n...” he says. that’s all; just your name.

you remove your hand from his sleeve and use it to push your hair back. “yeah,” you whisper. “it’s getting late. i better get to bed,” you step away from him.

“no, wait!”

you turn back around, eyebrow raised.

“what does this mean for us?”

you exhale, “it means whatever you want it to mean. you smelled my peach lip balm. i smelled your fabric softener. it’s a lot for me to take in. but that’s amortentia, i guess. tells you what you’re really feeling, without even saying anything.”

“y/n, i want it to mean this. i want it to mean that we can be together. we don’t have to be enemies any more. i...i like you, y/n. and seeing you with that guy, all happy and having fun–it made me,” donghyuck closes his eyes, “jealous. i’ll admit it, but if that’s who you wanna be with, then i can’t decide–!”

“you idiot! you absolute loser!” you exclaim, taking angry steps and landing in front of donghyuck. you push him back, causing his lower back to crash against the back of the sofa. “you’re so fucking annoying.”

“gee, uh, thanks...”

“shut up! god, do i have to spell it out for you? fine!”

donghyuck’s in a pure state of shock when he feels your soft lips on his, slowly kissing him, while also trying to knock some sense into him. he doesn’t waste any more time; he kisses you back just as slowly and carefully. he smiles when the familiar peach scent embraces him. you pull away first, but your angry demeanour seems to have washed away.

“thanks for spelling it out for me,” donghyuck circles his arms around your waist.

you reach to loop your hands around his neck and smile. “you’re most welcome, lee.”

/

(donghyuck’s hand never leaves yours the entire way to quidditch practice.

“what the fuck are you guys doing?” renjun gawks at your interlocked fingers.

“what does it look like we’re doing?” you ask, tip-toeing to press a kiss against donghyuck’s cheek.

“i could’ve gone my entire life without seeing that.”)

[thiswasinevitableid]

87. you’re a P.I. my parents hired to investigate my fiancee and you completely ruined my engagement party with the dirt you found but I want to know all the details right now

Sternclay, sfw or nsfw, please!

Here you go! I went NSFW and set it in the same universe as this Indruck fill. The orc designs are once again inspired by @kriskukko, whose art everyone should check out

The air is grey and chilly, and his best coat is still a bit too plain for this affair, but Barclay can’t help but glow. His husband to be is using this engagement party to invite him into parts of society he’s only glimpsed from behind kitchen counters or through windows on his way home in the early hours of the morning.

He didn’t even have to cook the table of delicacies and warm punches, which is usually his entry fee into any social space not hosted by Mama or his other friends back at Amnesty Lodge.

“Are you alright my dear?” William touches his shoulder. He’s the height of fashion from the new stud in his nose to the cut of his suit. Barclay looks at their linked hands, marveling at how his tattoos and calluses contrast with the smooth, unmarked green of Williams' skin. It’s wonderful to know he can be part of such an unlikely match.

“I’m fine. I just wish Mama and them could be here too.”

“Barclay, I know you care for them, but they agreed with me that this is not a party they’d feel comfortable attending.”

If memory serves, Mama’s word choice was “enjoy” not “comfortable” but he’s distracted from this detail by the orc currently in a hushed conversation with William’s parents. His accent is American, the same as Barclay’s. He knows William has no friends or family on the other side of the Atlantic, and he’s too well-dressed to be an attendant. When William’s parents fervently shake their heads, the newcomer turns and strides across the floor, right to the happy couple.

“Mr. Cobb” he offers Barclay a slight bow, shows no deference to William, “My name is Joseph Stern. I’m a private detective hired by your fiance’s family. They hoped I would find reason for him not to marry you. I have.”

“I, I don’t understand. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“No, you haven’t. The reason I suggest calling off the wedding is that he” Stern indicates William, “is not the least bit interested in you. He chose you because he knew his parents would disapprove of the match, which would in turn make it easier for him to call off the engagement two months from now and, three months after that, propose to his lifelong friend, Albert Rothby.”

Gasps and whispers fill the room. Barclay looks to William for reassurance but can’t find any; William’s too busy trading alarmed glances with Albert.

Stern continues, “His parents would be all too happy to accept the orc they once rejected for being from a slightly less well-off family after the shock and scandal of him almost marrying a nobody cook.”

“Hey!”

“His words, not mine.” The detective turns to the hosts, “You don’t need to pay me for my time, since I didn’t give you what you wanted. Good afternoon.”

A thoroughly baffled servant hands him his coat and hat as he exits, the room overflowing with chaotic accusations behind him. William doesn’t say two words to Barclay, choosing instead to shout at his parents. Barclay pulls off his silver engagement band, shoves it into his now ex-fiance’s hand, and storms out of the room.

He intends to make straight for the train station, hide his tears and humiliation until he’s safe under Amnesty’s worn shingles. But when he spies Stern on the corner handing coins to an errand boy, his foolish hope gets the better of him.

“How do you know?”

“Excuse me?”

“How do you know that’s really what William planned?”

Stern hails a cab, motions for Barclay to join him inside it. When they’re seated, he reaches into his coat and removes a bound stack of letters.

“Albert’s arrogant and sloppy; all it took was five pounds to get one of the maids to fish these out of his wastebasket.” He passes the notes to Barclay.

Each one he skims is like slicing his finger with a meat cleaver. Not a single piece of his personality or appearance remains unmocked by the time he’s done.

“I was just a game to him.” He stares at William’s signature, the same one that dots a pile of letters he’ll burn when he gets home. When he looks up, Stern’s face is full of sympathy.

“I considered not saying anything. That even if the engagement ended, you might be able to tell yourself it was a true love that wasn’t meant to be. But the longer I trailed you...I saw that you deserved better than being a pawn in someone else's trivial chess game. I offered his parent’s the chance for me to have the conversation in private; they doubled down on their insistence that you must be secretly awful to have lured their dear son to you. Ruining their party seemed fair.”

“I guess.” Barclay’s lip trembles. What was it William wrote? That he was as tender and devoted as a lapdog and twice as fun to kick around?

Stern produces a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket, holds it out to him, “I’m sorry. I know ignorance is bliss but, um, wasting your heart on someone like him strikes me as hellish.”

Barclay wipes his eyes, but the tears insist on flowing, “No you’re, you’re right, it just, I, I really thought he loved me.” He lets out a bitter laugh, “I really am more brawn than brain, just like he said.”

“No, you’re not.” The cab slows, and Joseph’s blue eyes pin the pieces of his crumbling heart together, “and even if you were every single thing he said you were in those letters, that wouldn’t justify his treatment of you. You’re a good man, Barclay” he smiles for the first time, “someone will treat you how you deserve one of these days.”

The driver announces they’ve arrived at Barclays hotel. He glances at Stern, surprised.

He opens the door for Barclay with a wink, “detective.”

-------------------------------------------------------------

Fall arrived on the first of September, meaning the business at Amnesty dwindles right along with leaves. They won’t see another flood of visitors until the winter holidays, when everyone travels up and down the country to meet with family. Barclay fills his days with work and tries not to think about how happy he was a year ago.

Dani has a cold, so he’s working the lobby counter until it’s time for him to start dinner. A chill and burst of nickel-tinted light announce a guest. When the orc approaches him, he drops his pen.

“Hello, Barclay. It’s nice to see you under happier circumstances.” Stern removes his hat, runs his fingers through his black hair, “would it be possible to rent a room here indefinitely? I’m on a case and I have no idea how long it’ll take.”

“Yeah, of course.” He pulls out the register to check which rooms are open, which would be easier if his eyes didn’t insist on flicking back to the orc in front of him. He’d noticed Stern was handsome before, in the same way he noticed the sky is blue or a piece of fruit was ripe. Now it’s all he sees; the cut of his clothes suggesting a trim, capable figure beneath, his clean shaveness showing off the angles of his jaw and cheeks. His tusks are the same size and not chipped like Barclays own. The cook wants Stern to sink them into his skin and not let up until he sobs for a kiss instead.

“Uh, here” he retrieves a key, “I can put you in number twelve. It’s upstairs, last door if you take a left.

“Great!” Stern takes the key, lifts his two bags, “thank you for accommodating me.” His gaze slows as it moves up to Barclays face, “I think I’m going to enjoy my stay.”

---------------------------------

Joseph hates the days where he has to wait for telegrams before proceeding with his investigation. It makes him feel like a dog gnawing its tail out of boredom. At least, it used to. Now that he’s at Amnesty, he’s never bored. It’s hard to be when the best looking orc he’s ever seen likes to talk with him while cleaning tables or making breakfast.

William Ashby is a fool. Joseph knew this when he watched him forgo a kind, interesting orc who was built like a god and had eminently kissable lips for the sake of some uninteresting upper class nobody. But now that he’s eating Barclays’ cooking every day, the opinion is twice as strong. No one should be able to make potatoes a divine experience, but his friend manages.

“No running around stuffy offices or abandoned houses today?” Barclay sits down across from him.

“Not until I get a telegram from that solicitor in London. Black or white?”

“White. Well, that’s good news for me, I get a chance to beat you.” He’s smiling, the firelight dancing in his eyes and off the copper in his beard. Joseph wishes he could mimic the light's path with his hands.

Instead, he grins as he lays out the chess pieces, “In your dreams.”

An hour and a half later, Barclay whoops, “checkmate” and Joseph falls even more in love.

-----------------------------------

“Barclay? Since it’s not raining I thought you might like to…” Joseph falls silent at the sight of Barclay sitting on his bed, facing the window with a defeated set to his shoulders.

“Sure, as long as we’re back before dark.” He shrugs and doesn’t so much as look over his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” Joseph settles beside him, notices the handkerchief with his initials on it clutched between his hands. The tears on it are fresh.

“Nothing. Just, uh, just….this is the anniversary of when he proposed. Of when I thought someone loved me that way, of when I thought that, that...fuck, it’s gonna sound so silly.”

“You don’t have to say it but I, um, I hope you know I won’t judge you for whatever it is.”

Barclay twists the fabric, “I love my life here at Amnesty. I love Mama, all my friends, I love being a cook. But I’ve never been wealthy; Mama and I faced lots of hard times before coming here, especially when my folks died and she took me in. The Lodge does well but there’s always the fear that one day it won’t. I can be happy without fancy food or nice clothes or nights out but, uh,” he clears his throat, “that doesn’t mean I didn’t really like having them. I don’t miss him so much as I miss this feeling of being able to want without worry. Of, of thinking I’d get to do that forever.”

He lists to the side, rests his head on Joseph’s shoulder. He’s both taller and broader than Joseph, which adds to his charms, but right now the detective wishes he was smaller so he could gather him in his arms and protect him from the disappointing world. Give him what he’s missing.

An idea buzzes to the front of his mind. He rubs Barclays shoulder soothingly, “You have to go into London for some orders, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“I have to go in to deal with this case and check to make sure nothing urgent is waiting at my office. Do you want to go together?”

Barclay looks up at him, brown eyes glittering like precious metal, “I’d love to.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Barclay knows Joseph has wealthy clients; he’s starting to suspect he has even more of them than he lets on. They’re in London for two days, and every moment not spent sleeping or working is filled by Joseph taking Barclay somewhere. The meals are by far his favorite, but Joseph bought them tickets to the opera their second night. When Barclay worried he wouldn’t be well dressed enough, Joseph decided they could both do with new clothes and bought everything without blinking at the bill.

Now, Barclay is in a private box, belly full from their stop at Simpson’s and Joseph’s shoulder resting against his own. The music is beautiful, the staging intriguing, but he’s struggling to keep his eyes open, too warm and comfortable from the company and the darkness.

The port they had after dinner probably isn’t helping.

He rests his head back, let’s his eyes flutter closed. After a moment Joseph laughs softly and whispers, “A bit too full from dinner?”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“That’s okay. The whole point of tonight is for you to enjoy yourself. If that means happily lazing like a dog by a fire, that’s what you should do.”

Barclay tenses for a second, then relaxes. It’s not like when William kept referring to him as a dog; in Joseph’s voice it’s fond, like a master who knows he indulges his hound but doesn’t care.

“That’s me. Just a spoiled pet.” He murmurs.

Short claws trace across his upper thigh, “As it should be.”

His eyes flutter open; Joseph watches him in the dark, expression attentive and possessive. His fingers don’t move even a centimeter until Barclay nods. Then they finish curving over his thigh to stroke his cock through his pants.

No one can see them, but even so his eyes dart side to side before shutting once more.

“Good boy” Joseph sighs, “sweet boy.”

Barclay nods, squirms as the touches stay teasing.

“Don’t rush. We have a whole other act to go. Just keep quiet; you’re a big, sweet beast, I’d hate to have to” he presses his palm down, “discipline you.”

He bites his tongue to keep from groaning; when they’re back at the lodge, he’s going to misbehave so much.

Joseph keeps up his steady, calculated teasing, Barclay never moving past half-hard. He falls into an almost sleep-like state, feeling weightless and far away from himself yet completely safe in Joseph’s care.

Then swift fingers undo his trousers and a handkerchief wraps around his cock. He throws a palm over his mouth as Joseph jerks his hand up and down.

“It’s almost over.” The detective murmurs, chuckles when Barclay crumples to hide his face in his neck, “that’s it, be a good boy and---oh, oh good lord.” He stifles a sigh in Barclays hair while Barclay cums into the cloth, saturating it embarrassingly fast. William once compared him, unfavorably, to a centaur in that regard. Joseph simply kisses his forehead and tidies him up. By the time they exit, the only sign of their dalliance is Barclays wobbly legs.

He fully intends to return the favor, but sex-drunkeness and general exhaustion drag him to sleep before Joseph is even in bed.

Their morning is a brisk packing up of things followed by a trip to the train station. Once they’re in their cabin, Joseph looks over the notes he made during his research.

“I just can’t shake the feeling Mr. Newton is in danger.”

“Giant cursed hound will do that.”

“I’m not so sure that’s it. I’m not ruling out the supernatural, but there are elements of this that feel distinctly orcish and very much alive in their threat. I’m glad he brought that friend of his with him; were he in Beacon House alone, he could be in serious trouble.” He closes his small notebook.

“I still can’t tell if he’s more than a friend.”

“They might not know. The few times I’ve run into Mr. Newton or Mr.Cold, they seem to be in stalemate, neither willing to make a move.”

“Good thing you don’t have that problem.” Barclay winks, then realizes he might be reading the other orc wrong, “I, uh, I mean, not that last night has to mean anything.”

Joseph unbuttons his coat, “I, um, I hoped it might.”

“Thankfuck.” Barclay slumps back, “me too.”

There’s a click of the lock, then Joseph stands and begins undoing his pants, “speaking of which, it seems to me a good boy would reward me for last night.”

“Yes, oh fuck yes.” He scrambles to get his cock out, stroking it frantically as Joseph rolls up his sleeves.

“You’re so eager to please, it makes me want to give you everything you ask for.”

“Please?”

Joseph, now bare from the waist down, bends to kiss him, “Please what?”

“Please let me fuck you, let me mppph!” His moan slips straight down Joseph’s throat as he sinks onto Barclays cock.

“Ohhhhhyes, ohmylord” the tips of his ears twitch as he rocks his hips, “you feel so good”

“Y-you’re one to talk, fuck, Joseph can I touch you?”

“Anywhere you waAAnt” he tips his head back, whisper threatening to break as Barclay drops a thumb down to rub his cock. He sets his hands on Barclay’s shoulders, “we, we don’t have much time, and I do need to review more of the case before we arrive, so be a good boy and let me ride you hard and fast?”

“Yes, yesfuck, ohyeah” A laugh catches on his tongue as Joseph, his dignified, debonair detective, sets to bouncing up and down on his cock with the kind of abandon he only witnessed when he used to serve drinks in a brothel.

Joseph grins, kisses him messily as their grunts meld with the rumble of the train. Barclay glides his free hand around to grope and paw his ass, savoring how it tightens with the effort of riding, of taking Barclay again and again. Curious, he gives it a light slap, wishing he could see a little pink bloom on the green there.

“Careful, sweet boy; if anyone’s ass is getting bruised it’s yours.”

“Tonight?” He smiles hopefully at Joseph’s flushed face.

“Yes, Barclay tonight. Tonight I’ll, ohlord, strip you down, let you rut on the bed like the needy beast you are while I turn your ass tender and red before fucking it, oh, ohshit, Barclay.” He smashes their lips together as he cums, Barclay whining with pleasure at the fact that he got him there. The detective doesn’t break the kiss as he pulls off, simply uses his strong legs to keep straddling him as he jerks Barclay off with one hand and rucks his own shirt up with the other. Barclay moans helplessly as he cums in large, white droplets all up his stomach and chest.

“You’re wonderful.” Joseph kisses his cheek.

“So are you.” Barclay holds him close, giggles adoringly when Joseph starts concocting theories while half-naked and cuddled in his lap. By the time they reach home, there’s no sign of their dalliance.

Except for their linked hands and matching smiles.

[raichijin]

⋆͛♡⋆͛ the hangover; mirio edition.  ❥ a one-shot.

━━━━━ 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐉𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. (tba)

preface; writing this was honestly so painful. a testatment to why i should never 1.) do collabs ever 2.) write long things. i am drained.

word count; 5k words.

starring; mirio, mina, shinsou, denki, unnamed boyfriend.

summary; after your boyfriend forgets about your anniversary, you spend some time with friends to forgive and forget about what happened. then it gets worse.

warnings; reader gets called some nasty names towards the end of the fic. watch out for that.

you were supposed to be spending this weekend with your boyfriend. at a resort, poolside, on vacation, or on a beach, or where ever he’d fancy peeling off the nice (read: expensive) swimsuit he’d gotten you for your five year anniversary.

he was kind, is kind, but not as committed to your relationship as he was to his job. not even a call as the clock struck midnight, almost an hour past your reservation, but a text the morning after with a short apology, and the sudden announcement that he’d be working late. again. you didn’t cry. wouldn’t, because shedding tears would cause a mess and a headache, and self-doubt is what’s tucking you in at night, telling you that maybe for tonight, tomorrow and the day after your feelings don’t matter.

cause his job is the one keeping you afloat. (your interest in the arts is cute, to him; like a hobby. nothing you could stay afloat with. it’s too risky, he insists, so to you, it became nothing. to others? it became offhand remarks at his high-end office parties. a joke to your in-laws. a breathed sigh of relief from your parents.) so more time is what’s best for the both of you.

that has to be it.

your friends figure out something might be wrong when you go ghost for days, bordering on a week.

you mention how it’s easy to lose track of time when you’re by yourself as you are, but they don’t buy it. say you need to loosen up, take a vacation of your own even when you say you don’t need it because you’re not working, give you sharp glares whenever you object. you don’t know why you thought you had a choice in the matter — especially when mina’s sugar mommy gives her enough money to afford 2 full suites at one of the most expensive hotels in the area.

denki also tags along, just cause, and brings his boyfriend; shinsou, with him.

if they know what’s going on, they never mention it. 

and it’s a little easier to cope that way.

you dip your toes, ease yourself into the night, before you’re being pulled into the deep end and your mind’s been left at the door, but your body is having a field day.

you should’ve blacked out two margaritas ago.

you think you did.

you’re too drunk to recall all of the rash decisions you made, or whether or not you maxed your credit card, but you’ve must’ve gotten separated from your friends somewhere along the way, because when you wake up, you are distinctly not in your bed, not in a tastefully decorated room, not in a hotel.

and mina, shinsou, denki? unless they’re in the adjacent room, they’re not here with you either. you’re still in your clothes from last night. your shirt is missing a button and you don’t have your shoes on, but beyond that, you’re perfectly fine.

a scraggly bed head lies next to you, who is, notably, more nude than you are.

he has no shirt. no shoes. no pants. his blonde hair is unruly and you’re so shocked you actually start to wake up. your eyes widen and you’re sitting up so fast you’re a bit dizzy from the sudden motion.

the room is spinning and you feel sick, the headache behind your eyes making you want to grind your molars into dust. and just as quickly as you sat up, you lay back down; shaking the bed with the force. the guy next to you isn’t as heavy of a sleeper as you hoped, though. he blinks open tired eyes, showing you the most exquisite navy blue, and the little bit of drool dripping down his chin might’ve been cute if he wasn’t a complete stranger.

though you can’t stave off the creeping anxiety, the silence as he comes to his senses doesn’t feel wrong, and you’re more confused than scared.

he rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm, and gives you a criminally bright smile, and though his voice is wrecked when he says “...g’morning, sunshine.”, you doubt yours sounds much better. 

the nickname makes you feel fuzzy, if only for a second.

“i, uh … good morning?” you sound awkward, but the guy manages to find humor in your predicament when he chuckles gently, sitting up without so much as a second thought. you can see more of his body when he does so, and when his hand comes up to ruffle his hair, you can catch the glint of a silver band, resting on his ring finger. 

then everything clicks into place.

did you cheat? was he cheating?

all of the things you’d been beating yourself up over settle thick over top like smoke clouds and a raging fire. you feel like you’re suffocating, and don’t realize you’re freaking out until a strong hand is wrapping around yours, which, in your panic, you squeeze.

you spot a matching ring on your hand, that you know for a fact wasn’t there before,

and you think that’s when you pass out.

you wake up (again) to a room with tacky but charming decor, the smell of breakfast, and considerably less of a headache than what you started with. now more lucid, with the strength in your body to walk and think, your first priority is finding your phone. you tap your pockets, check the bedside drawer and tables, under your pillow, in the cracks of the bed, under the bed.

no cigar. you’re digging through miscellaneous memorabilia, trinkets and clothes that aren’t yours for at least a minute before the guy you were laid up in bed with comes back to just to see you picking through the corners of his bedroom, banana in hand.

he stands in the doorway and clears his throat. he has clothes on this time, pants. “you’re awake? are you feeling any better?”

you startle, straighten your back and stand upright, your arms falling to your sides. “um, kind of. i — have you seen my phone?”

he shakes his head, offers you the banana. “you should have this though! it’ll fix that hangover, i think.”

“i … thanks.” standing and eating a banana in someone else’s bedroom is certainly … a time.

“i made some breakfast,” he says when you’re halfway finished, “if you want some.” he ends with a smile, and you feel those 3 shots of serotonin go straight to your brain.

granted, you shouldn’t be that happy.

he takes the lead and turns around, leading you down a narrow hallway into a quaint kitchenette with a lovely beach view and all the good summer vibes condensed into a single, small room. it makes your heart hurt even more when you realize you have someone home, someone expecting you to come back.

to a hollow apartment, a cold bed, a lukewarm welcome.

you have to force your brain to be quiet to even hear a fraction of what blondie is saying.

“alcohol basically just dehydrates you. the potassium stops that, gets you all your minerals and stuff back. i heard it works with beer, so i was thinking it works for other stuff too!” he sounds so chipper that it brings your mood up just to hear his voice.

so bold and sure, warm and kind.

“but if it doesn’t clear up in 30 minutes, i have some advil i can give you! don’t want you having a headache all day now.” he’s sitting you down at his small table and sliding some pancakes in front of you, some orange juice. eating feels like a chore, but you know you have to, or that you should try at least.

while you push around your food, blondie chatters away, and even if you just met, he has you entranced by the way he speaks. smooth like the butter on his toast as his stories flow effortlessly into one another, how easily he can chat you up is amazing; getting you from gentle chuckles to full blown belly laughter before you can get your first bite in.

there’s lulls in the conversation if you count the moments he takes to actually eat, but he keeps you on your toes with his personal anecdotes, and questions about yourself, forcing you out of your shell, little by little.

the thought of your boyfriend pushed back into the depths of your mind.

until you broach the topic of your friends.

you learn quickly that he’s a good listener, completely silent unless prompted, asking questions or making jokes only when you’re finished speaking. when he asks, you tell him about the ones that got you here, shinsou, denki and mina.

his eyes flash momentarily, a look of recognition, or maybe understanding, passing over him. he hums gently, head swaying as he does so.

“they’re a little rough around the edges but they’re like family, you know?”

“i get what you mean. they were very nice when i met them. especially at our wedding!” he sips his coffee.

“i — are you alright? you’re choking!” that you are. the guilt you felt when you first woke up and the rising panic ram into your gut like a freight train, and suddenly, you don’t want to eat anymore.

"what do you mean we're married?" you rub small circles into your forehead as this idyllic morning goes right back to being cruel hell. 

"yesterday, at the chapel," he twists his wedding ring with warm familiarity that makes your stomach churn. "i can't really believe it myself, like maybe we were meant to be? i know the universe works in strange ways like that."

you're sorry to burst his bubble, but you save the happily ever afters for fairy tales, not real life.

you pinch your forehead and heave an exasperated sigh.

"i have a boyfriend." you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to seek lost comfort. "and we don't know each other to begin with. can't even remember your name, i was so drunk."

you cradle your face in your palms, feel his stare bore into the top of your head.

"togata." you perk up.

“what?”

“my name. it’s togata. mirio togata.” 

“oh.” you rub your cheeks, pull them back with the heels of your palms.

“that’s a nice name.” an uncomfortable silence washes over you both before someone speaks up. mirio.

“so what do you want to do?”

you answer a little bit too fast in response. “i don’t know. i … i should call my friends. i still need to find my phone—” you stand up, ignore the onslaught of nausea, and look around the kitchen.

“help me look? and then … and then we can figure out all the other details later.” mirio carries both your plates to the sink, and busies himself with dishes for a brief moment, allowing you to find the bathroom nook and reorient yourself. you fix yourself up a bit, straighten out your shirt and fix your hair up. no time to take a shower.

you cup a hand in front of your mouth, breathe and sniff. eugh. 

“hey, uh, togata; got an extra toothbrush?” his heart might’ve lept when you called him by his given name.

“um! yeah!” rushing water obscures his voice a bit, but if he shouts he’s loud enough to hear. “check under the sink? i should have some there.”

“thanks.”

you rummage around in his cabinets, and in that time he’s managed to clean up the leftover food and put a shirt on. 

your phone having gotten lost or being stolen becomes more of a possibility the longer you think about it. you doubt you came back to his house to do anything but sleep. how many places could you have dropped it? you come out of the bathroom to mirio sitting back at the kitchenette table, holding his phone in his hand.

“hey togata … do you think you can call me?”

“i mean, sure, but i don’t know if i have your number...”

your anxiety makes you a bit snippy even when you don’t mean to be rude, but you can apologize when you get your phone back.  ”just give it to me then. i’ll do it.”

it rings a few times before someone picks up, which is a step up from going to voicemail, and the situation goes from okay to great when the croaky voice of shinsou answers, worn out and tired, but awake enough to make a greeting.

he says you’re not here to pick up the phone right now, you interrupt and say that this is you, and that you just borrowed togata’s phone to figure out where yours was.

“togata? who?” 

“my, my um. husband.” gingerly said, you can see mirio tense up in the corner of your eye.

“oh,” someone’s snickering away from the mic. denki probably. you can’t help but roll your eyes. “mirio?” you’re upset that he can remember his name but you couldn’t. “how is he?” you shoot mirio a look, he gives you a thumbs up.

“good. so, uh, where are you guys?”

two hours away. they’re two hours away by car and mirio’s pickup truck is exactly what you’d expect from him. it’s big, beat up, it’s blue, and it’s his pride and joy, even if it’s slow to start up. if anything, it feels a bit humbling to hear the low hum of the buzzing engine. brings you back down to reality, out of the lap of luxury.

reminds you of the way mirio laughs with his whole chest. that gentle, rumbling purr.

you’re sinking into the crunchy leather seat with a groan, then a laugh from togata; to which you swat at him. you give him the address so he can set it up with his gps, and get going. he messes it up a bit and then it’s your turn to laugh, much to his displeasure. he blushes from the embarrassment, and you pat his shoulder, still chuckling. it feels natural. waking up together. having breakfast together. unofficial road trip to meet back up with your friends because you got blackout drunk and are 100 miles away.

oh, right. you sigh softly and mirio looks over, thinking to comfort you by turning on the radio, greeted by soft pop and slow guitars.

the silence carries.

fifteen minutes into the drive, he thinks to ask about your boyfriend.

“what’s he like?” togata drums his fingers on the wheel with an air of anxiety almost, though you can’t imagine why he would be — unless he thinks you won’t react well to his question. you don’t mind however, and sate his curiosity without as much as a glance.

“oh, he’s nice,” your statement lacks the enthusiasm you’d expect when someone talks about their significant other. it seems sincere, yet exhausted.

“buys me whatever i want, when i want it, loves his job to death, and … we were supposed to be celebrating our anniversary this week.” dejection is visible in the way you slouch your shoulders, interest waning. mirio can’t help but exercise a little concern, filling in the gaps while he’s at it..

“and you couldn’t, because you came here?” you shake your head.

“what? no. i came here because he was too busy, and my friends thought i could still have some fun on my own. his job is important to him.”

“and your relationship isn’t?” your eyes narrow, glaring at him from the passenger's seat.

“the fuck’s that supposed to mean mirio?” 

“well, an anniversary is supposed to be more important than some job— don’t you think he should just take a day off? it wouldn’t hurt.” you lean against the car door, shoulder propping your head up as you peer out the window.

“i mean, i guess. but he’s keeping us afloat, so i can’t really complain.” togata’s eyebrows shoot up.

his tone is incredulous. “what, you don’t work?”

seeing you cringe away out of the corner of his eye is what makes him back track almost immediately.

“i’m so sorry! i’m — wow, that was completely out of line,” your embarrassment lessens when he apologizes, and you inhale sharply. 

“don’t worry. it’s, it’s fine.” you can’t help the way your fingers dig into the flesh of your arm, gnawing the inside of your cheeks, afraid of getting laughed at. mirio wouldn’t laugh at you, would he? 

“i, i used to make music. i was in a band in highschool, actually.” though mirio’s forced to keep his eyes on the road lest you two crash, you can see the way his smile reaches his ears, the silent ‘wow’ of awe making your cheeks heat up. high brow company doesn’t have much use for your talents unless it’s the violin, or something else that fits their lame-ass agenda. your bass chills in the back of your closet, a relic of the past, but a neat decoration.

you shake your head, too caught up in your own train of thought that you didn’t realize togata was speaking.

“i’m sorry, what’d you say?”

“oh! i was just curious, i asked if you sing?” you snort, then full on laugh, though mirio doesn’t seem to get the joke.

“oh, hell no. i don’t have the voice for it, nor the patience to do vocal training. i just played bass! thought it was easier than guitar because it only had 4 strings. i was wrong. maybe i could … show you sometime? i mean, it’s been a while, but i think i remember a few songs: have you heard of seven nation army?”

you talk with mirio about music at length, and learn that he’s a pretty big enthusiast himself and while he’s never played an instrument, he’s been interested in learning guitar. he brings up your band, and the memories of your senior year come flooding back; mina and denki convincing you to audition, your stage fright, recruitment later in spite of it. 

mirio can see the stars in your eyes when you speak, speaking so animatedly with clear adoration at the topic at hand, and he starts getting a creeping suspicion that back where you’re from, you don’t get to talk about this as nearly as much as you like. he realizes in the same breath that he doesn’t mind indulging you. he participates enough so you don’t feel like you’re chatting his ear off, but quiet enough to hear you fill in the empty space.

the way your hands move as you tell stories is adorable and so is your enthusiasm, he could hear you ramble for hours and never get bored. and he nearly does, it’s been an hour and you’re still talking — but then you take a breath, and apologize for no good reason.

he squints at you, confused.

“what’re you apologizing for?”

“i’ve been talking waaaaay too much. i’ve barely heard a word out of you for the last thirty minutes!”

“i thought you were having fun! i know i liked listening. besides, it looks like that you don’t get to talk enough about the stuff you enjoy. i’m willing to listen, so talk all you want!” the assumption makes you furrow your brow, and you hate that you feel like he’s right. 

your boyfriend either talks about his job, your friends, his parents, or nothing at all. no interest in music. no time for it. your friends enjoy reminiscing on occasion, but you don’t speak enough to them to get all nostalgic.

it’s … nice that he takes your feelings into consideration. you smile to yourself, saying nothing in response.

“we’re getting closer to the hotel — it’s 30 minutes away now.” it gets quiet again, before all the sounds you hear are the other cards and the slow hum of low volume music you’d forgotten about, coming from the radio. you turn towards the window to take in the scenery while mirio catches glimpses of you in his periphery, surprised at how adorable you look, doing even the most mundane of things.

mirio couldn’t remember much from the night before, well, can’t remember anything that wasn’t you. you weren’t completely out of it when you met him, but he could’ve misjudged, considering he wasn’t quite in his right mind either. didn’t know if it was the alcohol that made you so bold, but everything about you was so charming. 

from something as simple as your smile to how easily you chatted him up, despite his tendency to be a tad overbearing, you would take him and his attitude in stride. running around town, dipping in and out of nightclubs with your friends close behind, getting kicked out of said clubs, dancing and laughing together in another—

he huffs, pouting to himself. your boyfriend was so damn lucky.

he steps on the gas and starts going a little faster. you don’t seem to mind.

the rest of the trip was silence, and it wasn’t until he parked and stepped out of the car and said something.

“wow.” he whistles, low and long, until you pinch his arm to stop from attract the stares of passerby. “you guys could afford this? gosh. that’s like, three of my paychecks, maybe.” you chortled as he helped you out, quick to clear up any confusion.

“not me,” you walked in the lobby with him, going straight to the elevators after checking in with the front desk. “i could barely afford it! mina’s … uhm, girlfriend, paid for a room for all of us.” he arches a brow at the emphasis on girlfriend, but if he has any objections, he holds his peace.

“mmh. wonder what it’s like to be rich.” 

you laugh as you’re carried up a few floors, specifically to the more expensive suites, at least 12 floors up. “me too dude! mina is lucky.”

you’re barely knocking on the room door before denki is throwing it open and screeching, ushering you both in. they remember mirio from last night, which is upsetting, considering they don’t remember anything else: not how you got to mirio’s house, not how they got back home. not how they found your phone in the bathroom either, apparently.

“speaking of bathrooms, i’m gonna take a shower. keep mirio company, i guess." 

you have to look through your luggage for a change of clothes, and find your phone on your bed in your room, charging and you don’t think about going through it until after you’re clean.

coming back to nearly forty notifications from your boyfriend wasn’t on the agenda, and quite frankly, might’ve been a sign. some were calls but most were all lower case texts, each more foreboding than the last. holding your towel up with one hand, you scroll through your messages with the other.

 what the fuck is wrong with you?

 who the hell is this guy?

beneath it, a video of you and togata. your pupils dilate, and a deeply rooted sense of dread clutches your heart. it looks like a screen recording off of denki’s instagram account, of you two dancing. not overtly scandalous, but too close for comfort.

have you been cheating on me? 

for how long

how desperate are you? i say i have a business trip and you take it as an excuse to slut it up somewhere else?

you’re fucking pathetic.

heart slowly sinking, threatening to beat out of your chest, you can’t find it in you to scroll through the rest. you barely have pants on before you’re calling him up, frenzied and feeling out of breath. the phone barely rings twice before you’re going to voicemail and hearing the beeping tone. 

fuck. fuck fuck fuck.

you hang up, and try again.

this time, he picks up on the first dial tone.

“baby?” you nearly yell into the microphone, while the other end remains silent.

“what is it.” his voice is hollow, not even asking a question; rather making a statement. you choke on your words, are quiet for a few seconds at most before he’s barking at you. “i don’t have all day. i’m busy.”

“t-that video. it wasn’t, it wasn’t anything—” something slams in the background that makes you flinch, and he takes it as a good opportunity to cut you off.

“so the wedding wasn’t shit either? the way he was holding you, looking at you like that, like some lovesick fucking puppy?”

“w-what? what’re you talking about honey? it’s nothing like that—”

“don’t get fucking cute with me. i’ve seen the photos. that girl mina doesn’t know how to not publicize your life.” you feel like dying. 

“i knew i should’ve never settled for you.”

“you don’t mean that—”

“shut the fuck up.” there’s more shuffling on his end, a deep sigh. you’re too shaken to speak. “i wasted so much on you. gave you a house, a home, just for you to repay the favor by being a two-bit whore, sit on your ass all day and complain, and waste my time with those stupid fucking hobbies of yours.” what’s more terrifying is that his voice doesn’t wane or waver. he means it.

“... honey, please. please just let me explain!” you hadn’t even noticed the tears until you’re wiping them off your cheeks, your sniffling getting louder until you’re full on sobbing.

“there’s nothing left to explain. get your shit out by tuesday. we’re done.”

the line goes dead after that.

you don’t realize how much time has passed since you went to go shower initially, only that it’s been a while, considering how urgently mina starts knocking on the door.

“baby, are you alright? you’ve been in there for half an hour!” you can’t find it in you to respond. all it results in is choking on your own words, coughing and sobbing and tears and this fucking headache.

you don’t want to be seen.

mina announces that she’s coming in, and conversation behind the door quiets down until you can’t hear it anymore. just your own thoughts. she opens it and finds you in the corner, your knees to your chest while you’re just barely dressed, hair soaking wet. crying feebly until she rushes over and asks what happened.

you show her your phone. the texts.

she wraps her arm around your back and helps you up. hands you a towel so you can finish drying yourself off, and picks out some clothes for you to wear. when she turns around, she’s greeted by the concerned faces of your friends. mirio.

her face morphs from a look of concern to pure rage.

“what the fuck!?” she all but snatches your phone away from you, to which you pull your hands back and cradle you legs again. “who the fuck does this asshole think he is?” she looks down at you just then, and sees the red in your eyes, the tear tracks that stain your cheeks and a few drops dripping off your chin. you need your help more than you need her rage and half hearted insults. 

“you yelled.” shinsou states plainly. “is everything alright?” mina approaches them and ushers everyone out, closing the door, presumably to give you some privacy.

you dress slowly, the few minutes feeling like an eternity before you’re reaching for the door handle, clean and feeling like shit, for different reasons other than a hangover.

when you emerge from your room, mirio gives you a hug.

a hug that you melt into. one that you weren’t expecting but squeeze him back just as hard, tears that didn’t quite make it out seeping into the spot where you press into his shirt. his arms are comforting and strong, rubbing and patting your back gently, until the room is silent beyond your heartbeat and your sniffles, your friends milling about in the background.

“he said i have to move out.” your fingers dig into togata’s shirt. “pack up all my stuff and leave but i don’t know where i’m supposed to go—”

there’s a smaller hand patting your back when mina speaks up.

“d-don’t worry.” you can feel her hugging you too, a special warmth blooming in your chest. 

“we’ll figure something out.”

while you’re leaving the hotel, mina makes a call to her girlfriend camie to explain the situation, and by the time you’re back in mirio’s pick up, she said that camie offered to rent you an apartment in her name. the earliest she can get it was by monday, so she offered to let you spend the night for a couple days as well. denki says that he and shinsou could help you with things around the house: shopping, redecorating, etc.

togata is the one who offers to help you get your stuff. you arrange the date for monday, actually exchange phone numbers, and meet up at 8.

it makes sense; his car has enough space in the back, you don’t have much of your own stuff, but you nearly regret accepting the offer in the first place. something about moving out with your … husband in tow doesn’t sit well with you. almost seems like it’s too soon. 

but mirio’s charming enough to make the whole ordeal seem less like a fever dream. you’re beaming at him by the time you’re all done, laughing and smiling and so infectiously happy. by the time you both wind down you’re out of breath, wheezing in the front seats of the car.

he smiles fondly at you.

you can feel your cheeks heat as you return the sentiment.

then both of you are back on the road. the musics louder this time, and you get to show him how shitty you sing; which he insists isn’t so bad after all. it’s after twenty minutes of this that you’re suddenly struck by the irony of it all. 

“i can’t believe our first date with you was me moving out of my exes apartment.” mirio chokes on his spit, cheeks bleeding red as he does a double take, eyes flitting from the road, back to you, back to the road.

“wait.”

“that was our date?”

𝔱 𝔞 𝔤 𝔩 𝔦 𝔰 𝔱 ;  @mitsusuri​ @okayshin​ @tamasoft

[iwanthermidnightz]

*As usual, below I’m sharing excerpts from this article that are noteworthy*

What may come as a surprise to the band’s fans is the news that T.J., 36, is gay. This isn’t a recent revelation for him; he’s known since he was young, and he’s been out to family and friends in his tight-knit Nashville community for years. In some respects, he says, coming out publicly is no big deal. “I’m very comfortable being gay,” he says later, in a quiet room at the office of his management company. “I find myself being guarded for not wanting to talk about something that I personally don’t have a problem with. That feels so strange.”

But his reservations are understandable, given that country music remains a bastion of mainstream conservatism in American arts and culture. If liberal Hollywood is notorious for pushing a progressive agenda, country has historically been its counterpoint—a safe haven for traditional “family values.” Never mind that many country artists, like Nashville as a city, lean blue: They know that their primary market, like the state of Tennessee itself, skews red. The country music business is lucrative, generating $5.5 billion to Nashville’s economy alone, according to RIAA; if artists speak out, they run the risk of alienating listeners, particularly in an era when even anodyne statements of support for a cause can be misconstrued. The tale of the Chicks, formerly the Dixie Chicks, who were exiled after criticizing the Iraq War, looms large over country music. Taylor Swift even cited the band’s ouster as a reason she remained publicly apolitical for so long: “You’re always one comment away from being done,” she told Variety in a 2020 interview.

With this news, T.J. becomes the only openly gay artist signed to a major country label—a historic moment for the genre. He’s had predecessors, of course: Other openly queer artists, from Grammy-winning singer-songwriter Brandi Carlile to masked cowboy Orville Peck to viral hitmaker Lil Nas X, have found success by integrating country influences into their genre-defying music, and country artists including Chely Wright and Billy Gilman have passionate fanbases. But T.J. may be the first to come out with his feet so firmly planted in both the sound and machinery of mainstream country, in the full bloom of his career.

He is worried that coming out will look opportunistic, or attention-seeking. “People will ask, ‘Why does this even need to be talked about?’ and personally, I agree with that,” he says. “But for me to show up at an awards show with a man would be jaw-dropping to people. It wouldn’t be like, ‘Oh, cool!”

What happens next remains to be seen. “I don’t think I’m going to get run off the stage in Chicago,” he says. “But in a rural town playing a county fair? I’m curious how this will go.” The professional risks he’s taking in coming out feel worth it, both for his own happiness and because, well, it’s time. Country music is about storytelling, and that means T.J.’s identity is inextricable from his music. Maybe, T.J. says, country isn’t the most popular genre among gay people. “But is that just because they’ve never had the opportunity to relate to it?”

But being closeted was painful. “It was so lonely and isolating,” T.J. says. “It made me resent people.” A first heartbreak in his early twenties crushed him all the more because he felt like he couldn’t tell anyone. “I was mad that no one knew why I was hurting,” he says. He channeled that anguish into his music. One song he wrote about that relationship, called “21 Summer,” has become a fan favorite, and you can see why: It’s a big, nostalgic singalong with lyrics about cutoff jeans and hair blowing in the breeze. It’s still tender for him—not just heartbreak, but how alone he was going through it. “There are so many times I’ve sung that song and wanted to cry,” he says. “People love that song, but the emotion of it is deeper than they even realize.”

As Brothers Osborne’s career grew, they made gestures toward inclusion, starting with the video for single “Stay a Little Longer,” which featured gay and interracial couples. For the most part, the response was overwhelmingly positive. “And then,” T.J. says, “there were people who were like, ‘Faggot lovers!’” This kind of reaction was especially discouraging for T.J., even amid the affirmation he had received from his family and friends. But staying publicly closeted was suffocating too—not only for him, but for the guys he dated. “Saying, ‘Hey, don’t hold my hand. Someone I know is in here, so can you wait in the car?’” he says. “Rightfully, they would feel unwanted by me.”

The months spent in lockdown due to the pandemic forced some introspection, and he realized the perfect moment to come out would never arrive; he had to create it for himself. “I want to get to the height of my career being completely who I am,” he says, then stops. “I mean, I am who I am, but I’ve kept a part of me muted, and it’s been stifling.”

But there’s also a chance that T.J.’s openness will widen the field for new fans to feel welcome. “Others will now feel invited to the country music party for the first time,” says T.J.’s close friend Kacey Musgraves, the singer-songwriter whose progressive-minded storytelling has helped earn her a mainstream fanbase. “Country music deserves a future even more honest than its past.”

When Ellen DeGeneres came out on the cover of this magazine in 1997, it was shocking to many—both the act of coming out, and how visible she made herself with it. Now, the tides have turned toward quieter declarations of identity, particularly as young people embrace more fluid expressions of sexuality and gender. For high-profile people, a high-profile coming-out has mostly fallen out of favor; a public figure might be as likely now to mention their queerness offhandedly on social media as they are to make a formal announcement. It’s a way of both controlling the message, and also, maybe, of minimizing it.

Even amid calls for greater inclusion, the homogeneity of the top artists in the genre is still striking. “Any steps that have been taken have been purposefully kept small enough to not ruffle feathers at country radio,” says Musgraves.

So I ask T.J. a question, which is: What if there is nothing to move on from? What if being gay is a gift, and your gayness is not something to be tolerated but something to be celebrated, and even if untangling the shame and confusion of growing up gay in a straight world takes a long time, it’s worth doing so you can use your voice, not only to sing songs about cutoff jeans and hair blowing in the breeze but to say, clearly and unapologetically, that this is who you are? What if there are a lot of gay boys in small towns who haven’t figured it out yet and feel overwhelmed by snarky TV sidekicks and glittery pop stars bellowing self-empowerment anthems, and what if those gay boys in small towns got to have an avatar of their own—if they knew that someone like them was singing that song about cutoff jeans and hair blowing in the breeze on the radio? Isn’t that why we spend so much time talking about representation, because as much as it’s a burden, it’s also the only antidote to the loneliness of being different? And—not to tell him how to feel, which is, of course, exactly what I’m doing—but isn’t this occasion, of owning who he is in a place where some people might prefer he didn’t exist, something to embrace instead of something to endure?

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 106: The Sorting Hat's New Song

There was so, much, pink. Nobody could blame Sirius screeching and covering his eyes or Evans looking like she was hard pressed not to start color changing everything in sight just to give their eye sores a break.

The couch was royal pink with gold embroidery. The carpet was piglet pink and so fluffy you could die on it or mistake it for cotton candy. Even the walls were decked out in a rainbow shade of pink. There were pale pink doilies on every wooden, pink-stained end table, only the book sitting open and waiting with its white and black pages broke the scene. James could barely recall a time it had been so visible, let alone open for them, like it wanted out of here as bad as them.

They appeared to have interrupted some tea party, a hot pink kettle was still smoking and strawberry pink scones were assorted neatly on an orchid pink tray.

"Whoever owns this house must be blind," Alice said slowly, turning carefully on the spot and spotting a hallway leading off to this sitting room. She took a slow, careful step towards it, still remembering Mad-Eye's house and what happened when they'd appeared in there, but nothing attacked her.

Frank followed her every step. They were definitely in some woman's house, an ugly toad-looking person who was in every picture along the hallway shaking hands with assorted people in cherry blossom pink frames. The new DADA teacher, they'd all have to assume judging by the chapter title, though why the Sorting Hat's New Song would be memorable in comparison they found hard to believe.

Peter had to take a piss but honestly feared what the bathroom would look like if this was the sitting room. Regulus was prodding his wand curiously along the scones waiting for something to happen, but finally he snatched one up and popped it into his mouth.

James was reading about Harry's trip up to the school with the same concern as Harry, where was Hagrid? Why was that Grubbly-Plank woman back? It was certainly a much more pressing issue to him than those creepy horse things Harry could suddenly see, but Peter and apparently other students had also been seeing them for years and they didn't seem to hurt anybody so he really was brushing past that, even as Remus was muttering at his side and peeking over his shoulder like he was hoping the book would give a visual.

If Harry's guess was right and he was still out convoying with the giants, then that didn't bode well for his health.

James had everyone's attention now when he announced the rest of the staffing changes going on, the toad-faced woman from Harry's trial being at the staff table.

Their suspicions may have been confirmed, but it cleared up none of their confusion. What was someone from the Ministry doing being a teacher there?! This had never happened as far as they knew, the Ministry didn't interfere in Hogwarts! Had Fudge's tyrannical behavior really come so far so fast?

Peter finally lost the fight with his bladder and took off after Alice Smith and Longbottom into the hallway in search of a bathroom as Prongs began merrily singing the new sorting hat song at the top of his lungs.

The rest of the house was just as ghastly, they really were going to go blind before they got out of here. He spotted the kitchen, with pink tiles and even stained glass pink windows, along with cherry-pink cupboards the other two were going through.

The first door he tried though mercifully led him into what must be her room, a queen-sized bed for such a squat lady with fairy hangings draping it, but his eyes locked on an adjacent door with a pink diamond handle and he went to quickly relieve himself. The toilet hummed a tune he didn't recognize and he loathed the salmon pink hand soap he had to use. Even the ruddy water she'd enchanted came out with the same tinge, it was like a nightmare!

By the time he was done James had read past the students' reaction to the hat's song, which had sounded nothing new to any of them, and the feast had begun. Peter let his eyes trail curiously about the room instead of rejoining them, eyes landing on several things. There was another door leading off to a closet, a jewelry box as large as he was prominently between that door and the bathroom one, and yet more plaques and awards. There seemed to be absolutely nothing about this woman that he did not dislike.

When Dumbledore unequivocally announced that Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic was to be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Remus winced and tried to step behind James. There were theories, and there was confirmation, and his stomach gave a nasty twist at the idea of someone working for the Ministry also a teacher at his school. He wasn't even sure if the Ministry was aware he attended Hogwarts, and he certainly didn't want to find out!

Sirius finally stopped pretending to gouge his eyes out when he saw that and went over, throwing an arm over his shoulder and looking around to spot Evans and Regulus were still in the room. He knew he didn't need to anymore, but he still kept his voice low enough they shouldn't have been able to hear, "relax Moony, nerdy guy like you, they'd be mad to throw you out just because of your furry little problem."

Remus did marginally relax. He only had two years of school left though, what exactly was next for him with the Ministry looming over him was an ever-pressing problem he couldn't ignore much longer.

Lily noticed the exchange but didn't give it much thought, she'd spent far too long ignoring the Marauders to give a care what they still had to whisper about. She'd been tempted to follow Alice and Frank to explore this Umbridge woman's house, but was now glad she hadn't, attention fully on the book now as she listened avidly to the speech she gave, overriding Dumbledore's own.

Regulus watched as Potter got twitchy with boredom trying to read said speech, but he took in every word with an uneasy frown. He watched as Sirius grabbed the wrist of his friend who wasn't reading and pulled him out of the room with a glazed over expression, and the werewolf certainly seemed happy to get as far away as possible from all this. Potter watched them go with a grumpy look like he wanted to bolt from this as well before glancing at the Muggleborn Evans and droning on with his shoulders a little straighter, like bolstering himself to finish was impressive or something.

Sirius had him into a little dinning area that looked sickeningly like a tea party for a five year old and the wide, oak doors stained pink shut before James had even finished the first of Umbridge's very long sentences. He didn't immediately start snogging him this time though, just put one hand on the door for some kind of bar and ran his hand up and down the inside of his leg and slowly rutting against him as he whispered in his ear, "you ever given a blow job back?"

"No," he quietly admitted, a bit shamefully too.

"That's okay," Sirius' breath was so warm as it fell over his cheek, "I don't mind being your guinea pig, everyone's got to start somewhere. Just, rule number one, mind the teeth," and he nipped his ear, causing Remus to laugh hard.

"That's not a problem with me Padfoot," he assured, pleased to hear his voice almost steady that time.

"Don't think we have time for it now though," Sirius was still breathing improperly onto him and it was taking everything Remus had not to seize him and start snogging him. "Just, if I don't, feel free to bring it up next time we get a chance." He squeezed the inside of his thigh again but left his hand there with plenty of pressure. "I'm starting to feel like I'm harassing you. You're clearly enjoying this," he rubbed his hand up purposefully where his obvious pleasure was building and wrapped it around then to pinch his ass, "but you've yet to try getting me alone."

"Just, dealing with a lot," Remus panted, one hand pressed firmly against Sirius' back so he couldn't go anywhere, the other just trembling uselessly at his side as he half lied, and rather than admit the rest, redirected. "So have you, if you'd admit it."

"Where's the fun in that?" he pulled back just enough to grin at him in the hazy pink lighting, but that reasonably could have been his brain this time. "Bottle it all up long enough and it comes out sweet, I'd swear it," and he squeezed hard.

Remus couldn't stop himself then and finally let his other hand pull Sirius to him by his shirt, kissing him with everything he had and knowing he'd regret it later for missing his chance to talk to him and his reward was Sirius grinding so hard against him he couldn't think straight. They could hear the pause though, they'd definitely waited too long to get an alone moment, and both of them actually whimpered in disappointment as they forced themselves apart and stood there for several long moments panting at just within arms reach as they were zapped away.

When Potter had finished it was pretty obvious he hadn't taken in a word, he had to give himself a shake to even realize he was talking about his own kid again and Hermione's critique of said speech.

Her explanation for it though certainly caught his undivided attention. James frowned to himself as he played the speech over in his head again, even going back and rereading some of it without Hermione's repetition. His skin crawled at the idea, what was the Ministry playing at? No matter how much they didn't like Dumbledore's truth, surely they couldn't do anything too radical, right?

He glanced up and saw the drawn expressions of Sirius's little brother and Evans, and didn't see either of them looking much happier at the idea.

James paused and ran a miserable hand down his face when Harry's two friends went off to their prefect duties and his boy was left alone to stew in the school's attitude about him, and the whole thing continued to grow worse when he made it up to his tower and even his dormmates seemed to be talking about Harry. What he would give to appear at his side like he would for any of his friends, offer a good joke for the laugh needed for that long trek up to the tower. He absolutely did not like this recurring pattern of Harry feeling so alone recently.

He saw Evans twitching out of the corner of his eye, but by the time he looked up she was frowning at him same as ever, or glaring at the book. Either way he grinned at her to let her know he knew she'd been feeling the same way. For a moment he was tempted to try and get her to admit as such, but instead decided he'd do for her what he wanted to for Harry moment's ago. "Don't worry Evans, I'm sure just because that woman dresses like a toad every day they won't enforce that upon the rest of us. The other students will realize that in no time!"

It actually worked for just a moment, she cracked a smile he'd swear it, but then she flicked her fingers at him to keep going and he did with pleasure that only lasted long enough to realize Harry's own dormmates were in fact going to start an actual fight over this. Harry and Seamus were about to draw wands on each other before Ron intervened!

James glanced up and around to find himself once again the lone Marauder in the room, and as he read the last lines of the chapter, he knew exactly how Harry felt.

[mithranqueersmusings]

The Night Before VIII

Chapter: 8/15

Rating: E

Summary: Ringo hangs around after the club closes and meets a stranger.

Tags: Smut, Slow Burn

Pairing: George Harrison/Ringo Starr (Background McLennon)

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

Ringo had barely opened his mouth to speak when George was already moving, grabbing Ringo around the waist and pulling him in close. George's mouth went straight to his neck, pressing slow kisses against the skin. Ringo's head was spinning, gladly allowing himself to be grinded on as the girl's face curled up in shock and disgust, turning desperately to her friends for support.

George didn't stop there, his hands roaming down to Ringo's arse to suddenly lift him up onto the kitchen counter, pressing his tongue inside Ringo's willing mouth. Ringo could feel several eyes on him, but he didn't care, he was surprised by how turned on the whole display made him. He buried his fingers into George's long hair, moaning into his mouth as he deepened the kiss.

"Get a room!" Someone shouted from amongst the throng of people, causing many to laugh.

George pulled away briefly, his face still pressed close to Ringo's "I'm down if you are."

Ringo nodded eagerly, already missing George's contact when he pulled away, but his fingers loosely wrapped around his wrist was enough for now. They returned to the same empty room, receiving a few wolf whistles as they pushed through the crowds, there was little speculation about what they were about to do.

The door locked behind them, George waited before pouncing "You're sure about this? I don't want you to think I'm pressuring you."

Ringo silenced him with another kiss, pressing him hard against the door. George welcomed the roughness, moaning as he peeled off Ringo's clothing as best he could without pulling away for too long. They clumsily moved over to the bed, Ringo falling backwards onto the mattress, making quick work of undoing his trousers and shedding them to the ground. George's gaze was focused elsewhere for a moment, he moved around the bed and bent down to pick up a flimsy scarf from the floor; he held it up with a questioning look, wrapping the ends around his hands and pulling the fabric tightly.

"This'll do nicely." George announced, climbing onto the bed and turning Ringo around so he was aligned with the headboard.

Ringo watched George as he straddled over his hips, lifting Ringo's arms above his head and tying the scarf around his wrists and through the metal shaping of the bed. Excitement was pulsing through his body, he was already rock hard when George removed his boxers eagerly. George similarly stripped down, his slender body looking achingly beautiful in the soft light of the room.

"You got a condom?" George asked, pumping Ringo's cock idly.

Ringo nodded "In my coat pocket." He gestured with his head and George went off in search of it.

"Let me guess, you bought it for tonight especially." George teased, returning to his original position with the wrapper in hand.

"Well, thank goodness I did." Ringo retorted, inhaling sharply with the sensation of the plastic being rolled onto his hot skin.

George wasted little time, spitting onto his hand and pressing two fingers inside himself forcefully. Ringo couldn't help worrying that it hurt, but the pleasure erupting over George's face set him at ease. The helpless feeling of being tied up was certainly thrilling, something Ringo hadn't experienced for a long time.

Ringo forgot all about the party outside that room, his mind solely focused on George and how gorgeous he looked as he slowly lowered himself onto his cock. They both moaned loudly, Ringo fought against his restraints momentarily which only seemed to spur George on further.

"So tight, fucking hell." Ringo breathed, clenching his teeth as George sank all the way down the base without too much resistance.

"Still not the tightest you've had?" George grinned mischievously, his cheeks flushed.

"Perhaps I misspoke." Ringo smiled back, a moan escaping from deep within him as George lifted himself back up teasingly slow.

The longer George rode him, the more Ringo cursed the restraints around his wrists. His stomach and thighs tensing beautifully, his hard cock bouncing as he moved. George clearly knew how appealing he looked, pulling desperate faces and moaning loudly every time Ringo squirmed.

"Fuck you feel good..." Ringo breathed, sweat forming on his forehead.

"Yeah? You like it when I ride you?" George slammed down hard, demanding an answer but all he received at first was a long groan.

"Yes, yes!" Ringo managed to get out, his eyes not knowing where to look, attention being drawn to every part of George's body.

"You fill me up so good, Ringo." George moaned "Stretching me out with your big, fat cock."

Ringo could hardly take much longer, but he fought the urge to finish so soon, although the words spilling from George's filthy mouth weren't making things any easier. He quickened his pace, thrusting down rougher each time before he wrapped his own hand around his cock and starting playing with himself. If there was one sight Ringo could solidify in his mind, it would be this. The cacophony of erotic noises was almost too much to bear.

"I'm getting close." George announced, rolling his hips "You wanna watch me cum on your cock?"

Ringo nodded enthusiastically, far longer than necessary as he tried to thrust upwards into the heat of George. It was pure art, the soft moans that passed George's soft lips as he fucked himself harder and deeper, jerking his aching cock, chasing his orgasm desperately.

"Tell me how much you love fucking me, Ringo, I wanna hear it." George pleaded shamelessly, barely able to keep his eyes open.

"I can't get enough of your tight arse, George. I could fuck you all day and still want more." Ringo's voice had grown rough "I can't wait to finally cum inside you; deep, deep inside you."

"Oh fuuuck!" George moaned almost pornographically as he twitched his hips forward, shooting cum onto Ringo's chest and stomach.

Ringo wasted no time, fucking up into George's sensitivity as ruthlessly as he could until he was coming too. George's noises had grown so high pitched they were hardly audible, screaming out as Ringo finished. He flopped down onto Ringo's chest, lifting himself off of Ringo's cock and exhaling deeply. They both lay there for a few moments, catching their breath and waiting for their minds to return.

"You're absolutely criminal, George." Ringo chuckled lightly, pressing a tender kiss onto his forehead.

"You're the one tied up right now." George replied with a smile, sitting up on the bed and untying the knots in the scarf so Ringo could finally move freely "Now go and find me some wipes or something."

Ringo nodded, taking a few more minutes to recover before heading over to the door and poking his head outside. The stairs were no longer packed luckily, Ringo only hoped it wasn't because of how loud they were being but he couldn't deny that the thought thrilled him, so he could creep into a bathroom without being seen. Fishing around for wipes, he cleaned himself up first then made his way back to the room. He could hear a commotion downstairs, not thinking much of it until he heard someone shout.

"Police!"

He stopped for a second, then hurried back to George who was lying lazily on the bed.

"George, the police are here." He announced, suddenly panicked.

"Shit!" George sprung into action, snatching the wipes from Ringo and cleaning himself up hastily.

"There's nothing illegal going on is there?" Ringo asked, dressing himself sloppily.

"Well I'm not about to stick around to find out." George pulled on his boxers, socks and trousers, grabbing his coat on the way out as they sped down the stairs.

Authorative voices could be heard further inside the house, expelling almost every single person through the back and into the garden. George seemed far more collected than Ringo, heading straight to the garden fence and throwing himself over it. Ringo didn't pause to worry, to think at all, following George's lead and sprinting off into a random direction for as long as they could. It was a humorous sight, a sea of young people running as if for their lives into the cold night.

Eventually they came to a stop, needing to catch their breath and assess the situation. Ringo hadn't felt so alive in a long time, his body a mixture of pleasure and adrenaline. The two of them shared a glance and burst into laughter, George leaning against a garden wall and lifting himself onto it.

"I left my shoes and shirt behind." He announced, still laughing "Why the fuck did I do that?"

Ringo seated himself beside George "Because you're insane?"

"Oh yeah, that must be it." George pulled his coat on tighter, suddenly cold.

Ringo didn't think twice, pulling his own coat off and wrapping it around George's shoulders. He accepted it gladly, still shivering a little as he looked up at the night sky.

"Now what?" George asked, kicking his shoeless feet playfully.

"Well..." Ringo began, questioning his words at first "I've got a shirt back at mine with your name on it."

George turned to him with a grin "How did you know my real name was Rolling Stones?"

Ringo tried to resist laughing but failed, shoving George lightly "So stupid."

They sat in silence for a while, the sound of people fleeing from the party could still be heard distantly. It wasn't too long of a walk back home, but Ringo didn't want to assume that George wanted to head back with him.

"That shirt's starting to sound real appealing." George chattered his teeth.

Ringo smiled "Well, I could give you a piggyback ride if you want... You might step in some glass or some shit." He knew it was a ridiculous request, but he couldn't deny how fun he thought it'd be.

George looked at him blankly for a moment, then a smile spread on his lips "Why the fuck not?"

Ringo couldn't help laughing, shifting off of the brick wall and squatting down in front of George so he could slide onto his back. He was unsurprisingly light, Ringo could lift him with ease. George let out an excited whoop as he was lifted, not realising the reality of Ringo's strength until now.

"Who thought I'd be riding you twice in one night?" George chuckled as Ringo began hurrying down the street.

They must've looked quite the sight: Ringo ducking down as he sprinted down the street ridiculously quickly as George screamed out excitedly. Ringo felt like a teenager again, the cold night air doing nothing to sober him up.

He was happy, he just hoped the feeling would last.

[madeofitzits]

In honor of the impending return of Brooklyn 99, here are 99 reasons that...

1. He was precocious enough to know, at 5 years old, that he wanted to change his name (x)

 2. He has a bunch of nicknames: Sandy Amberg, Young Sandwich, etc. but the most endearing one is 'Droidy', his family's name for him (x) 

3. He is still super close friends with people he's known since: Elementary School (Chelsea Peretti) (x)...

4. Junior High/High School (Kiv and Jorm) (x) 

5. … Summer Camp (Irene Neuwirth) (x)

7.  ...and Film School (Chester Tam) (x)

8. Before he met Joanna, he dated other famous ladies but - out of respect - he never discussed it/them (x) 

9. He loves turtles and tortoises. When he was a kid, he had a pet turtle that he named 'Squirt' because the first time he held it, it peed on him. His Mom, Margie, accidentally killed Squirt when Andy was at Summer camp... (x)

10. … Maybe this is why, when shooting 'Popstar', Andy fell hard for Maximus (Conner 4 Real's turtle). He says they "had a good thing going" and that he wanted to adopt him. In the end, he decided against it because there are a bunch of coyotes in his neighborhood and he was worried the little guy wouldn't be safe. (Popstar: DVD Commentary)

11. Speaking of his Mom, despite being a super private person, he appeared on 'Finding your Roots' so that he could help her track down her birth family (x)

12. When he succeeded he cried (although we never got to see it on camera) (x)

13. That's because, like all good boys, he loves his Mama which is why - as part of the same episode - he said "My mom is basically the kindest person I know… and many people would corroborate that" (x)

14. Andy's Sisters, Hannie (Johanna) and Darrow, used to make him wear diapers and put his hair in pigtails until he was 5 years old. He says he didn't mind because he just liked that they were paying attention to him (x)

15. That's why he sees his identity in comedy as being 'America's kid brother'. When he was young, he would annoy his sisters until they laughed and he claims to have been replicating that approach to entertainment ever since

16. Although a bunch of his characters have 'Daddy Issues', Andy definitely doesn't. He's super close with his Papa (Joe) and has said "he's a good man" and "the best Dad in the world" (x) 

17. Joe was Andy's youth soccer coach and in one scene in 'Hot Rod', Joe's favorite photograph can be seen in the background. It shows a very young Andy posing with a soccer ball, after "scoring the winning goal against Mersey" (x)

18. He's been a loyal Golden State Warriors fan since he was a little kid, living in Oakland (then Berkeley) and, in 2010, he correctly predicted that they would "win a Championship in my lifetime" (x) 

19. The proceeds from his Umami Burger ('The Samburger') went to a deafness early detection program in Berkeley. This cause is close to his heart because Margie uses hearing aids and used to work in the special needs program, teaching deaf kids (x)

20. He, Kiv, and Jorm have made multiple donations to their old school district, including $250 000 to its theater program (x)

21. On the subject of The Lonely Island; Andy always goes out of his way to make sure that everyone knows how much he owes to his buddies. For instance, he told Marc Maron, during his WTF appearance, that "I get a lot of credit for what Kiv and Jorm have done" (x)

22. He makes this face when he knows he’s said something naughty…

(Gif credit: @andrewsambags)

23. During his 'Wild Horses' appearance, he said that he can't watch scary movies because they freak him out too much. He told 'Complex' that he's still scared of 'The Shining' (x)...

24. … Similarly, when he was at UC Santa Cruz he worked at the Del Mar movie theater and he had a hard time coping with screenings of 'Species 2' (x)

25. He fell in love with Joanna, the moment he met her, when she greeted him by addressing him as 'Steve the C**t' (x)

 26. He listened to 'Ys', everyday for a year, before he and Joanna started dating (x)

27. He bought the original portrait that was used as the basis of the cover art for 'Ys' and gave it to Joanna as a Christmas present, so that she could hang it in her music room (x)

 28. He loves birds and goes hiking and birding with Joanna (x)

 29. Every new comment he makes about Joanna becomes an instant contender for 'most beautiful thing a person has ever said about their spouse' (x)

30. For example, he readily admits that Jake's iconic heart eyes are the result of him thinking about his amazing wife (x)

31. There are many stories about how incredibly romantic Andy and Joanna's wedding was and Jorm has said that it featured "the most magical vows I've ever heard" (x)

32. The Newsombergs now live in Charlie Chaplin's old house (x)

33. On the Emmys Red Carpet (2015), the year he hosted, they took a momentary break from posing for the world's press to whisper 'I love you' to each other (x)

34. At last year's Vanity Fair party, Andy carried Joanna's purse for her so she could grab a snack (x)

35. He was a semi-permanent fixture in the audience for her recent run of shows for the 'Strings/Keys Incident' tour, even officially confirming his status as the 'President of her Fan Club' (x)

36. He used his Golden Globes monologue to call out the government for framing and murdering the Black Panthers (x)

37. On the Carpet for the Guy's Choice Awards, he called the event "a ridiculous farce", adding that "men already have it so easy - it's insane that there's a show that celebrates them". That makes sense when you consider that he, Kiv and Jorm have made an entire career out of parodying toxic masculinity (x)

38. He once said that only "idiot-ass men" think that women aren't funny (x)

39. He’s been wearing glasses since 7th Grade and he has the most heartbreakingly cute habit of nudging them up his nose, (especially when he wears his Sol Moscot frames) (x)...

40. ... and of rubbing his eyes under them (x)

41. He barely ever wears glasses for roles but he also avoids contacts (because he doesn't like touching his eyeballs) which means he's almost always 'acting blind' (x)

42. He has worn his glasses in character a few times - as 'himself' ('Lady Dynamite'), as 'Paul' ('I Think You Should Leave') and during a very small number of SNL sketches (e.g. during his one appearance in a 'Gilly' with Kristen Wiig) (x) 

43. He can't tolerate glare and when that makes him squint it's a sight that's too cute for words (x)

44. He owns about six outfits and has been rotating them for well over a decade (x) 

45. He barely ever breaks during shooting/while performing, so when he does it's aggressively adorable. (x), (x)

46. He's a grown ass man who persuades people to come with him to the bathroom because if he goes by himself he'll get lonely (x)

47. He didn't announce he was leaving SNL, until after his last appearance, selflessly choosing not to detract from Kirsten Wiig's huge and emotional send-off (x) 

48. He undertook a quest to smell like Lorne Michaels (x) 

49. He's ageing like a fine wine (x)

50. To protect their daughter's privacy, Andy and Joanna never announced that they were expecting. They've never released their little girl's name or date of birth and most news outlets still report that they became parents in August 2017 (even though that's inaccurate) (x)

51. Although he's careful not to talk about his daughter often, sometimes he can't keep from gushing about her. For example, when asked about his first year of fatherhood he said: "It’s been the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Just like a beautiful, incredible dream. It has surpassed every expectation I ever had. It’s definitely been very blissful" (x)

52. After their daughter was born, Andy and Joanna spent the first 40 days at home with her (in a practice known as 'confinement'). He's described it as being "a really special time". (x) 

53. Andy is famously mild-mannered but, when asked about what triggers his 'Dad claws', he admitted that if anyone attempted to touch his daughter, without permission, he'd "probably sock them hard in the face"…

54. ...Characteristically, he went on to add that he hopes that never happens, since he hasn't been in a fight since 6th Grade (x)

55. Cyndi Lauper was his first celebrity crush and he plays her record ('She's so unusual') for his daughter all the time. (x)

56. His is the very definition of a precious laugh (x)...

57. It's made even more wonderful by the way it makes his voice go high-pitched (x)

58.  … and the way it causes his eyebrow to rise involuntarily  

59. It's impossible not to smile at his impression of his Mom (x)

60. And laugh at his impression of John Mulaney (x)

61. He was so convinced he wouldn't win the Golden Globe for Best Actor in a Comedy or Musical, that he didn't prepare a speech. Instead, as he explained to David Letterman, he "just went… and started drinking". The resulting list of improvised 'thank yous' was perfect in every way (x)

62. As producers, Andy, Kiv and Jorm have given life to some amazing projects ('Alone Together', 'Brigsby Bear', 'I Think You Should Leave')...

63. … and gone out of their way to support women in comedy ('Party Over Here', 'PEN15') (x)

64. As well as being a comedy legend, he's a super-talented dramatic actor, who gave the performance of a lifetime in 'Celeste and Jesse Forever' but, after the movie wrapped, and it was time to do press for it, he was straight back to goofing around (x) 

65. His lip bite should be illegal (x)

66. Even though he wears the same vanishingly small number of outfits, over and over, he has a vast collection of the most excellent socks (x)

67. He always gives 'editing notes' during his own interviews (x)

68. He has a super sweet and sincere way of thanking interviewers when they compliment him (x)

69. He adjusts his hoodie constantly (x)

70. The two most perfect Jake laughs in b99 are actually real Andy laughs 'https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=W38A_xuXaeg https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=sVm9nYrTWRQ

71. Virtually everyone who has ever worked with Andy has talked about what a wonderful person he is. This explains why so many of them have been involved with more than one of his projects (x)

72. It's not only his colleagues who talk about what a delight he is (x), (x)

73. This lovestruck fool wore his own wife's merch when he went out to dinner (x)

74. No one else uses the word 'dinky' quite like Andy (x). The same goes for 'snacky' (see point 70)

75. He does this with his tongue (x)

76. He still likes to play soccer but his eyesight is so bad that he has to keep his glasses on for it

77. When he lets his gorgeous floofy hair grow a little it sits perfectly over the arms of his glasses (x)

78. He gifted the world with Jakey's little curl (x)

79. At the James Franco Roast, he couldn't bring himself to be mean to anyone except himself (and Jeff Ross, a little!) (x)

80. In fact, he's always been willing to laugh at himself (x) and he still is (x)

81. He changes b99 scripts to make them more feminist (x)

82. Despite their humble insistence that they just benefited from 'good timing', the reality is that Andy, Kiv and Jorm (along with Chris Parnell) revolutionized digital media, when 'Lazy Sunday' popularized YouTube, increasing its traffic by 85% overnight (x)

83. He once attended the Vanity Fair party because his Mom told him to (x)

84. He has an amazing way of subtly but firmly shutting down inappropriate questions, like when this interviewer suggested that Holt being gay was something that could have been played for laughs https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=idQsYQfkR5o

85. He auditioned for SNL at the same time as Bill Hader. Hader thought he'd blown it because Andy had a bunch of props and Bill had none. In the meantime, Andy thought he'd blown it when he saw Hader and realized 'this guy doesn't need any props' (x) 

86. His bromance with Seth Meyers is one for the ages (x)

87. Every single second of this video is proof of why Andy, Kiv and Jorm deserve the world (x)

88. He once dragged Mulaney up on stage for SNL Goodnights, even though writers weren't allowed to join in (x)

89. He has a hilarious phobia of pooping anywhere except his own bathroom (x) 

90. His beautiful, beautiful, face: His smile (radiant), his eyes (caramel - hella disarming), his ears (adorably asymmetrical), his nose (perfect), His chin (the dimple… *swoon*), his jaw (could cut glass), The 'Sambeard' (another amazing layer of pretty) (x)

91. His body: His butt (x), his thighs, (x) his soft lil tummy (The ‘Sambelly’) (x), his hands. (x), his arms (x), his hips…

(Gif credit: @amystiago /@badpostandy on Twitter)

92. All signs point to the fact that, like Jake, Andy uses his glasses case as a wallet (x) 

93. Jake's "cool-cool-cool-cool-cool-cool" is an irl Andy-ism that the writers worked into b99 scripts. What's even better is that Joanna does it, too (x)

94. He has a really good arm and is low key competitive, which is super hot https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=e32K_nBDy3Q

95. He's one half of the cutest Red Carpet pose of all time (x)

96. He barely ever seems to get mad but if angry Jake is anything to go by, maybe he should... (x)

97. He's a huge nerd, who geeks out over GOT, LOTR, 'Star Wars', 'Alien(s)' and anything relating to time travel (x), (x)

98. He has a gorgeous speaking voice, especially when he’s tired or a little sick. (Bonus points for any time he uses the word ‘correct’. See point 30) (x) 

99. He’s still so committed to his b99 fans and fam, even after all this time and is as excited as the rest of us that...

[tetrakys]

Sweet Elite - chapter 10

I finally played the episode on both my active accounts, review below the cut.

The episode starts with Scholar reminiscing the Halloween party and finally openly admitting to themselves they have a crush on the person chosen in the previous episode. As you probably remember I’m currently on Tegan’s and Axel’s routes.

Tegan:

Axel:

I... am destined to suffer with this game.

After this realisation we decide that the most important thing is to focus on our studies to be sure we’ll be able to remain at the academy. After studying we go to the cafeteria to have dinner and we find there the person we are in love with, we have a lovely dinner together 

Axel:

They talk about school for a bit

(Babe I forgive you only because you are cute, and also because you are teasing, your file says that math is one of your strengths, so cut the crap. )

Then he talks about him leaving school to go on tour.

(LMAO his face)

(!!!!!!! YES PLEASE!!!! but admit you’d do it because YOU want to see ME day and night 😏)

[...]

Ah! Someone who understands that scholarship students are brighter than the average Arligton student. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out... I mean... someone would have to be veeeeery stupid and close minded to think the opposite... wouldn’t they...  🙄

Funny but... I’m sure we can come up with another form of punishment 😊😏

Tegan:

There’s not much to show about the dinner with Tegan, as I said multiple times until we literally jump on him we’re going to get nowhere with him.

SCHOLAR SHOULD I REMIND YOU THAT YOU’RE IN THE MATH DEPARTMENT TOO?? 

Then he makes his back crack and Scholar gets spooked and they talk about being weird and true to themselves.

I’m a bit sad that in all the cute moments with Tegan you can rarely tell if they are flirty or just friendly. I know they reflect his personality, but it’s disappointing.

At the end of the dinner we agree that we had fun and we should do this again after the exams.

And this is where the episode ends.

......

Okay, no, I’m jooooooooking

This is where most interactions with our crush end and Karol/Neha’s arc begins (still not sure if the arc is only about Karol or both, I’d say both). 

Someone took a picture of scholar hugging Tadashi to console him during his arc and it got viral for some reason, so now Arlington’s sweetheart is again getting attention and the school board has decided to use the free publicity to raise the school’s profile in people’s eyes, so scholar is going to be one of Faxion’s judges. Scholar and Tadashi are called in Lady A’s office to talk about this, but they have to keep the secret until it’s publicly announced.

There is a very funny group chat scene where people try to get information out of Scholar and Tadashi, the picture comes out and we get no reaction from Tegan (he is the one who shares the link, so he might have at least brooded about it for a bit I hope), but we get a small cute scene with Axel

(Also, apparently he’s a dog person. Nice.)

Scholar, my child, could you try to use a bit of this sass with Tegan? You’re gonna die alone if you don’t.

After this, Faxion is announced and Scholar’s role too. You would guess that the smart thing to do is to treat well ALL the people who are going to to judge your work, right? Right? With respect, like any other human being deserves at the very least. But noooo of course not.

I’ve tried really hard to like you Karolina. I really did.

But you are a bitch.

Someone who defines people’s worth by how much money their parents own is even less than stupid. 

She even tries to show she has some higher moral ground respect to another model who is just as an asshole as she is. I can’t see much of a difference between the two.

What’s the difference with Karolina? I see none.

Scholar tries to make peace with Karol and be an impartial judge. We meet the other judges, among them there is a Luis Vuitton knock-off who is apparently friend with lady A and knows things about both Scholar and Neha. They are really fishy. In fact they out Neha as a scholarship student in front of the whole school. This is where things go to shit. Up until this point Neha and Karol where a great team and way ahead of everyone else, but now Karol can barely stand Neha’s sight.

I see how Karol can be hurt that Neha has lied to her all this time, but it doesn’t justify the shitty way she treats her at this point. Also, try at least to be smart and civil until the competition is over instead of actively sabotaging everything because now that you know Neha is not rich her ideas are worth less in your eyes. But no, why be smart when you can be completely stupid.

In all this we also find out that Karol is anorexic, which we suspected since episode 2, and that Neha is in love with her, which we knew since episode 1. We talk to Raquel, Claire, Tegan and Neha about Karol’s eating disorder and the episode ends with the winners about to be announced (Karol and Neha of course) but Karol faints in front of the entire school.

A few comments:

- I appreciate when the writing is solid enough to make the reader see where the plot is going, instead of pulling things out of nowhere for pure shock value. Surprises are good only when they are well planned.

- I also liked that Scholar had an active role. I didn’t expect them being a judge and even if it’s a bit of a stretch I liked seeing that we are not a secondary character in our story. However I’m still turned off by the fact that scholar’s department makes no difference in the story. A scholar in the fashion department can’t be considered the “general population” vote. I know that the excuse for them not being in the competition is that they don’t have a ranking yet, but it makes no sense in my opinion. Even blaming it on the school board is a stretch. But this is not the only instance something like this has happened, a scholar in science needing someone to explain them the science lecture. A scholar in math teaming up with Tegan and Ellie to only end up shopping for computer parts online. I wish these things were better thought.

- I’m calling out whoever in the dev/art/writing team has a CLEAR preference for Neha. She is the only one we can raise the meter this episode. In my gameplays the only one we got a romantic interaction in one of the past episodes. The only one we have an extra solo illustration with. And I assume we have a 1-1 illustration with her here because this is her arc (same as what happened with Tadashi), so I’m expecting a 1-1 illustration with Karol next episode. However I feel the bias for Neha, same as what I felt the last episode with Axel, and no one can change my mind.

- This episode made me dislike Karolina a lot. I assume I should be nicer with her because she has an eating disorder, but her being a bitch has nothing to do with her anorexia. The two things may come from the same issue, her needing to be perfect for whatever reason, and I’m sure we will get a teary explanation at some point that will make me forgive her, but still... she deserves take accountability for her own actions. I hope she looses the award.

- Neha doesn’t deserve to loose, she is talented and works hard, she deserves to find another partner. Don’t worry Neha, there are lots of people who can walk in a straight line in the world, there’s no need to attend an elite school for this. However she is also quite spineless, but there’s still hope for her, I understand why she has been lying all this time if she was trying to build a business in such an elitist world. I hope this serves her as a lecture and she learns to stand up for herself and others when such things happen.

All in all I liked the episode. It’s not perfect but as a character arc episode is thousands times better than Tadashi’s was. I just hope we’ll be done with Karol quickly and move on to better things.

[ktheist]

wizard’s oath [2]

synopsis. instead of dancing with jungkook at the party, you end up dancing around the mercenaries that decided to infiltrate your village tonight of all night.

muses. wizard!jungkook x dragonslayer!reader x knight!jimin

words. 1.9k

chapters. previous | next

x

“one night,” you sigh, shaking your head, “i decide to leave my sword at home for just one night and that’s when the best mercenaries come to gather in our village for an illegal faery smuggling.”

the muted pleas of the winged creatures almost drown from the boisterous yelling and laughing of the group of men in the streets. subdued light shines from underneath the poorly blanketed boxes in the cart, no doubt cages where they keep the captured faeries.

“don’t worry, ___.” jimin smiles, brown pupils disappearing beneath his crescent shaped eyes, “i’ll protect you.”

he raises the silver sword in his hand, the royal family’s dragon crest peeking from his grip on the handle.

“no, you won’t need to protect her.” jungkook chirps in heatedly from your other side, “because that’s my job.”

“as i recall, ___ wouldn’t put her trust on magic to save her life,” the smile, if anything, widens just the tiniest bit, “just an observation, of course.”

before the wizard can form another retort - and you know you’ll never see the end of this if you don’t put a stop to it, you quickly speak over the hushed silence, meeting the eyes of the villagers that are cramped in old hedrick’s slightly-smaller-than a villa abode.

“don’t worry everyone, these two may appear unreliable but one is the king’s personal knight and the other is the brightest wizard of the century.” you offer them a tight smile, not because you don’t believe what came out of your mouth but because it’s the absolute, honest truth yet they are doing nothing to assure the people of their capabilities than argue who to play knight in shining armor.

if we’re talking about technicalities, then technically, jimin is exactly that.

“fear no more! i shall put a stop to the atrocities happening right in the streets of our homes.” jungkook rises from the ground, hands planted on either sides of his hips but it’s short lived when you pull him back down to hide underneath the window you’ve been peeking through.

“stay down. we don’t know if they have any enchantments or if there are dark wizards among them.” you hiss underneath your breath.

it’s a moment later that you hear a grating voice call from outside, “you there! hiding in that hideous house! come out!”

old hedrick looks like he’s about to leap out and prance at whoever insulted his home - the only thing stopping him is your hard stare that makes him cower behind his second wife.

“let’s go.” you’re the first to rise to your feet, patting off the dust from your dress that your sisters almost got into a fight about when choosing what color would match your eyes.

“stay close to me.” jungkook murmurs under his breath from next to you while jimin lets out a brief laugh just before you stop a good ten feet away from the men who seem to stiffen at the sight of jimin.

“what’s so funny?” the same man whose called you out steps forward, eyes burning holes inside jimin’s chest where the ghost of the dragon lies upon his armor, “you think you’re so tough? huh, knight?”

“no, not at all.” the aforementioned knight shakes his head, a cheeky smile adorning his features, “but supposedly, the wizard does.”

and just like that, all eyes fall on jungkook. “wizard, huh?” the man grins, golden tooth and all.

“y-yeah. you know it’s illegal to capture to magifolks, right?” he starts off with a stutter but takes one brave step forward, “if you walk away now, i’ll let you off the hook this once.”

they burst into laughter, almost as though it was a baby who said such threats.

“i’d probably believe that nice lady you’re with if she said that than you, boy.” the man towers over in laughter, slapping his knee.

“will you?” you ask in the midst of the subsiding humor.

“what?” one of them questions while swiping a tear off the corner of his eye.

“walk away. if i told you to.” you don’t know if it’s the ice cold tone you’re using or if it’s the way to stare at them, but their shoulder line begin to straighten as each of them begin to size you up.

“why don’t you come here and whisper it to my ear, yeah?” the man’s lecherous grin returns but there’s a sort of restraint that tells you he’s no longer perceiving you as the damsel in distress.

for one, there isn’t a single line of frustration on your forehead.

“oh, i wouldn’t do that if i were you.” jimin warns them but it’s already too late. you’re already walking in a straight line towards the man and before you know it, a familiar heat courses through your veins, focusing in the fist that you’re swigging towards the man.

a loud crack cuts through the night as the man’s gold tooth falls on his lap as he slouches against the broken wood of the card. for a moment, everyone and everything stands still.

“too late to walk away now.” you nonchalantly inform, meeting the eyes of the mercenaries one by one.

the first warrior-cry breaks through the night as one of them charges at you with a dagger, loomed with the shadow of the dark arts. you step aside, tripping your attacker and sending him leaping across the ground, right in front of jimin’s polished metal shoes.

you catch the man’s devious grin before he hits your attacker’s head with the hilt of his sword, sending the man unconscious. it’s then that they begin to charge all at once, bearing weapons much sinister than the last. jungkook helps thwart the weapons out of their hands so you can beat them to a bloody pulp with your own two hands without having to be wary of the enchanted daggers and swords grazing you.

they soon learn that they have to go for the wizard in the back to actually dismantle you and jimin.

“a little help here!” jungkook yells over the throng of mercenaries out to kill him.

“bit busy!” jimin yells back somewhere a few feet away,driving the hilt of his sword in the face of one of the mercenaries that was charging at him when he had his back on him “and quite literally, don’t care if you die!”

you shake your head at their banter, piling up your own body counts, ducking and sending blow strong enough to knock them out at once. it’s some time after your 13th hit that a morning star misses you by a inch.

the wielder is burlier and taller than the average men and sports a nastier frown as he gazes down at you like an annoying little fire ant that refuses to go down.

“___, catch!” jimin calls for you, just before he tosses you his sword and uses the same hand he’d held the sword to sucker punch the man who’s halfway blacked out as he claws at jimin’s wrist to release his shirt.

“thanks!” you grin when you feel the solidity of the dragon engraved handle and measure its likely weight with your own elven sword.

the burly man grunts when he misses you again by a hair’s breadth. eye twitching when you gesture for him to come to you with your free hand. when he does, you go for his forearm, slashing the sword through it and sending the weapon skidding on the ground while he growls in pain, clutching onto his decapitated arm. the heat warms up your entire body as you leap forward, smashing the hilt of the sword into his face, knocking him out.

“___, are you okay?” jungkook’s wide, round eyes are captures your own for a split second before they wander to your tattered dress, inspecting if there was any wounds.

before you can even say anything, his arms band around you and traps you in a bone-crushing hug. you have to take twice to make sure it’s still the same wizard that’s watched you slay dragons for the last seven years.

“i’m fine. the dark magic infused in their weapons weakened my powers a bit but i’m not all brawn, you know?” you chuckle, patting his back with your free hand while your other still grips jimin’s sword a little too tightly.

somewhere behind jungkook, you hear someone clear their throat. the wizard appears to be less perplexed when he turns around to face old hedrick and the rest of the villagers that poured out of their homes upon your victory.

the priest approaches you with a grateful smile, “dragon slayer and wizard, you have our humblest gratitude.” then he gestures for jimin to come closer and he does, sending you a cheeky grin when he stops to stand next to you, “you too, knight. there is evil lurking in every shadow but the three of you are what makes the world a better place.”

“it was part of my duty.” jimin lowers his head, arm crossed over his chest while you shift your weight on your feet.

“i just live here so.” you shrug.

it’s jungkook that steps forth, enjoying the fame and attention, “as long as i, your friendly neighborhood wizard, and my dragon slayer sidekick,” he gestures to you before announcing with his whole chest, “are around, you have nothing to fear. it is my wizard’s oath.”

you join the bouts of cheers and applause from the villagers, shaking your head at his antics. less inclined to worship a magical entity the way they begin to crowd him like an ant crowding a cube of sugar, you disappear into the shadows where you know the familiar route will take you back to your home. but before you get far, jimin falls into pace with you, his metal armor clacking in the dark.

“allow me to walk you home, my lady.” with the sources of dark magic gone, you’re able to use your powers to see his cheeky grin even in the dark.

“ladies don’t wield swords like a savage.” you remark, returning your own grin.

“they come in many forms.” he replies too smoothly, “but they all bleed blue.”

you feel your body freeze, step coming to a stop. “how do you-”

“the prince,” he offers, as though it’s the answer you’re looking for before he continues, “sends his invitation to you for dinner in three night’s time. that’s what i came here to tell you before the mercenaries begin to pour in.”

he doesn’t ask for your permission when he slips his hand under your stone cold one, bringing it to his lips. your tongue is tied but your throat itches to say something - to ask more about the dinner but before you can, you hear jungkook calling you not too far away and when you look back to where the knight is supposed to be, all you see is darkness.

“i can’t believe you’re leaving me to go home when we promised to watch the stars together.” jungkook huffs, lips pursed just the slightest bit.

“jungkook, how well do you know the prince?” you finally say after breaking away from your stupor.

“the prince?” he blinks, the remnants of his sulking now disappeared into thin air, “he’s a spoiled brat. whenever i get hired to escort him to one of his crusades, all he does is boast about anything and everything to the royal families whose castle we were staying at.” the wizard scrunches his nose, as though willing a bad memory away. “why?”

“he just invited me to dinner.” you inform, watching as his facial complexion drop and his hands grip your shoulders tightly.

“you can’t - mustn't go, ___.”

x