#supposed to pick between that n a painting class. and i do want to take a painting class. so. :/// ill do it later

[enhaloverss]

Do you hate me? pt. 2

After a dinner full of gossiping, laughing and stolen glances between the Gryffindor and I, we made our way to the dungeons to go to our dorms, me following Violet because I obviously didn’t know the way. While we were walking, she was telling me anecdotes about the castle and the classes we were gonna share tomorrow, which were potions and divination in the morning with students from Slytherin and Ravenclaw and after lunch (the moment I was waiting for the most) we would have flying lessons with the Gryffindors. Not the wisest choice if you ask me, I don’t think after having eaten like you do on Christmas Eve flying is the best option. What was actually cool is that we were finished with our day after flying, by four. Violet told me it was not usual to get that much spare time so we should use it wisely.

Upon entering the common room, I immediately thought it looked amazing. There was a big fireplace surrounded by wooden couches topped by hundreds of fluffy blankets and yellow and green colored cushions. I just wanted to throw myself onto one and stay there until the next morning. The room was illuminated by candles which gave It a really cozy vibe. On one of the walls was hanging a painting of a woman, holding a cup of beverage.

-Violet, who’s this?

She turned to me, before looking at the painting.

-This is Helga Hufflepuff my dear.

She said to me, while putting her hand on my shoulder.

-She’s the founder of our house.

-Yeah I kind of got that with the name you know?

She laughed before asking me how I thought the room was.

-It’s cool, I like it. The plants look amazing tho, do you use magic on them?

-Sometimes, but nothing’s better then just watering them every morning. We’re supposed to do it in rotations but I always avoid it.

-I could take yours if you want, I don’t mind.

-We’ll see if you still think that after being completely soaked ten minutes after you just woke up.

We were interrupted by our prefect telling us that it was time to go to bed since it was already ten, and we still needed to shower and tidy our rooms. And one thing was crystal clear, we needed to wake up at seven the next morning, breakfast was at eight and classes began at nine.

We entered our room and it looked like the common part but tinier and with more furniture of course. There was two desks, one bed for each person of course and shelves to put our clothes and stuff on it.

I was sharing the room with Violet and another girl from our year, Sarah.

I was finishing putting my clothes and all of my other stuff on my shelf when she talked to me for the first time.

-Hey, I’m Sarah, nice to meet you.

She extended her hand and smiled at me.

-Y/n, nice to meet you too.

She seemed like she wanted to say something else for a minute but maybe she thought she could save it for later, or not.

-Look, I know you’re Sam’s sister and I promise I don’t care about it, I just wanna be friends with you, you seem cool.

I smiled at that, maybe not everybody was gonna be interested in my status more than my person.

-Thanks, and it’s cool don’t worry, it’s not like my brother’s in Azkaban or something.

Violet showed me the showers and told me that I could use it in the evening or in the morning but not both, so I settled for the morning, I can’t go to class feeling dirty personally. The three of us changed into our pajamas and went to bed. It was only ten thirty so I decided to get a book and read for half an hour before going to sleep. I picked one about magical creatures that I already started a few weeks ago. I’ve always liked magical creatures, observing them in Beauxbâtons was one of my favorite things to do in my spare time. I hope Hogwarts has as much as my old school. One class I know I was gonna enjoy for sure was magical creature’s care.

The next morning I was woken up by Violet’s loud ass alarm, that I urged her to stop.

-Jeez Violet, did you enchant that thing? Why is it so damn loud?

-I don’t even know myself, I’ve been trying to get it to shut up for the past year but I don’t know how to turn it off.

-Why don’t you just smash it?

-It’s a gift from my mom she’d kill me if I do.

I groaned before getting up and heading straight to the shower and putting my uniform on, a plain grey skirt with a shirt and of course, the famous tie harboring the colors of my house. I decided to also put the high knee socks because why not and got out of the shower. When I came back in the room, Sarah and Violet were dressed and waiting for me. They were both night shower persons.

The temperature in the dungeons was really cold compared to the inside of the room but it got better as soon as we took the stairs to the Great Hall.

There were already a lot of students inside when we got here so we decided to quickly sit somewhere before there was no space anymore. I chose to eat some eggs and a slice of bread, despite the stares of Violet, who was way more of a sweet breakfast kind of girl.

-Seems like we really are opposites, between the shower and this.

I pointed out to her, while she smiled before telling me the corniest sentence I’ve ever heard.

-That’s why we’re made to be friends.

-Oh my god don’t ever say anything like that again.

We were bickering and going back and forth at each other while Sarah was holding her tummy because of laughing so hard.

-By the way y/n, you’re born in December aren’t you?

-Yes, 1st why?

-Oh so you’re the only one who’s still fourteen you baby.

-Hey, there’s only a few months left before I’m fifteen, don’t tease me like that.

-Kidding kidding, we’ll do something big for you birthday I swear.

-Why am I scared.

-With Violet and her weird ideas you should be.

-Hey!

Violet suddenly got up and started chasing Sarah in the hall, leaving me laughing like crazy at the table, but a bit ashamed at the same time that these two were my friends. I was finishing my plate when I noticed a shadow on the table, right next to me. I turned around smiling.

-You’re done chasing each other?

But instead of seeing Violet or Sarah, I met none other than Yang Jungwon, who was staring at me, his gaze once again piercing my soul.

-Hum, hello?

He just stared at me before furrowing his eyebrows and finally letting his eyes wander somewhere else, coughing a little bit when he probably figured that starring at someone wasn’t the most polite thing, and finally carried on to his table.

My eyes were fixed on his back, watching him go away before turning back to my plate, confusion written on my face.

Violet and Sarah came back running probably from having seen the interaction from the other side of the room.

-What just happened??? said Sarah.

-Yeah what the frick was that about?

-I don’t know, he just stopped here, looked at me very intensely and then just left.

-Man that’s weird.

-Yeah, you tell me about it Violet.

I said while turning around, seeing him at a table with his friends, his behavior completely different, laughing with the biggest smile ever.

We realized it was already eight forty five and we needed to head to potion class if we didn’t want to be late, which we definitely didn’t want to be according to Sarah.

-Professor Snape doesn’t like Sarah at all, explained Violet, she’s really bad at potions and blows a cauldron at least two times a week.

I laughed at that while Sarah was sulking.

-I’m trying my best Vi, you know that.

-Don’t worry Sarah, I’m also not that good at potions, we’ll cry together, both from the lessons and Snape.

I said while intertwining our arms.

The door of the classroom was already open when we arrived and we sat at a table with two other girls, both from Ravenclaw. We said hi to each other and got our stuff out.

Minutes later the professor came in and explained really quickly the lesson of today.

We were gonna do a common antidote. Or ‘try to do it properly’ said professor Snape while eyeing Sarah, who just smiled in return.

The recipe was pretty simple and I was actually surprised at myself for doing it right. Maybe I was just struggling in Beauxbâtons, or it was just a simple one and things were gonna get complicated, who knows?

Violet finished her potion in first and Snape allowed her to clean her stuff while he was checking on the other students. I finished mine ten minutes later and I felt like Snape analyzed my face more than my potion.

-Good enough y/l/n, but I must admit your brother was better.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise at his comment but nodded and got up to wash my cauldron, Violet in the background trying to hold back her laugh.

-Your face was priceless.

-Does this dude always get into personal stuff like that?

-Yep, once he told Sarah she was bad because her parents probably never told her about it.

I tilted my head to the side, not understanding.

-Sarah’s parents are muggles.

My eyes went wide at that statement and I whispered for nobody but us to hear.

-That asshole!

-No chatting in the classroom, if you are done cleaning your cauldrons you can go you are dismissed.

We waved to Sarah on our way out and told her we were waiting for her in the corridor to go to our next class together.

She nodded and continued her potion, hoping to finish on time. We waited a little further in the corridor for her and started talking to pass time.

-So, what did you think of your first class?

-I would’ve rather for it to be something else than potions but I’m glad Snape went easy on me.

-Next is divination, I hope you’re ready because this class is something.

-Do you need to be high to understand what the teacher is saying?

-If someone is high it’s her trust me. By the way, I think you were too immersed in your potion to notice, but you got someone’s attention.

She wiggled her eyebrows at me in a playful manner and I scoffed.

-Who?

-His name is Cole, a Slytherin, he is a third year like us.

-God it was already enough to have one guy’s attention on me.

-You should talk to him, he’s cute.

-Thank you for trying to be my wings-woman but you know sometimes being cute isn’t enough, take Jungwon for example.

She nodded before turning her head back at me.

-Wait a minute, you thing Jungwon’s cute????

-I mean, did you see the guy, he’s far from being unattractive and I know I’m not the only one that can possibly be thinking this.

-You’re actually right, he’s pretty cute.

-Oh my god, I’m free, FREE.

We turned around seeing Sarah running towards us while holding her book in a dramatic manner, repeating that she thought she was gonna die.

-Come on Sarah, let’s go to divination, you can sleep all you want in this one.

Her face lit up at that comment and she grabbed our hands to run to divination. Our next class took place in the astronomy tower, a beautiful aisle, the tallest point of Hogwarts. I was glad to finally be able to feel the air and breath, after an hour of class in the dungeons were it smelled like rotten carrots this was heaven. We took place in the middle of the classroom, Sarah complained that she couldn’t sleep well if she was to close to Trelawney, her sudden screaming bothering her.

Professor Trelawney was a weird lady, but quite interesting I must say, I don’t honestly know if she’s believing in what she says or just playing along.

She gave us the work of “reading in the crystal balls to see and try to understand each others future”. Sarah fell asleep pretty quickly, tired from Snape’s harassment and Violet and I were trying to understand whatever we could of this class.

-Okay Violet, I see, hum I see…

She nodded, interesting in what I was about to say, her eyes showing excitement.

-I don’t know I don’t see anything except weird smoke wandering inside that thing.

-I had hope in you! Come on tell me I’m gonna be drowning in money!

-Unfortunately, this might mean that you are gonna end up really poor Violet… Sorry for you.

-Man, it sucks…

We looked at each other briefly before laughing, waking up Sarah by the same occasion.

-Girls, my dream was good.

She said sadly, us apologizing a hundred times before getting back at laughing at whatever stupidities we were saying.

The bell rang and I was actually surprised at how fast students were getting up, not even paying attention to the poor teacher who was trying to give homework. This class really was the opposite of potions. As soon as we got to the Great Hall, my stomach was rumbling because of the delicious smell that was lingering in the air. We opened the heavy doors and found a table to sit at.

We didn’t waste a second and got up to fill our plates with delicious foods. I opted for a slice of meat pie and sweet potatoes. I then filled my glass with water and when I turned around, I noticed that Sarah and Violet weren’t next to me anymore, but a few meters away from me, saying goodbye to a boy I only saw the back of, but recognized the green and silver robe.

-Who was that? I asked as they approached me.

-Remember the guy from potion class, Cole?

Answered Violet.

-He asked your name, seems like he fancies you.

Continued Sarah, wiggling her eyebrows at me and giving side eyes to Violet.

-Don’t pull that face, I don’t even know the guy I’m not gonna date him.

-If you say so… I’m still hoping to see some romance tho, from one of you two!

Violet sighed at Sarah’s comment, before asking her when she was gonna find someone. The pair bickering once again. Seems like the great hall was their favorite place to do so.

-Anyways, we should eat guys, next is flying lessons and we’re gonna need some strength believe me.

We all agreed at Sarah’s comment and decided to dive in our plates and get our stomachs full, but not to much, it’ll be better if I don’t throw up and embarrass myself in my first flying class.

The training stadium was great at this time of the year, a little breeze was making our hair slightly dance and was bringing freshness. We each grabbed a broom and walked in direction of professor Hooch, ready to start the class.

-Okay everybody, welcome to your first class of flying of this year, I’m excepting you to behave as well as to stay focused once in the air since accidents happen quickly. We are gonna learn how to do a roll. Miss y/l/n, I heard that you already learned it in Beauxbâtons?

All eyes were suddenly focused on me from both Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs and it took me quite a second before focusing back on the teacher and answering her.

-Hum, yes, we’ve haven’t learned diving neither loopings but we did learn how to roll.

-Perfect then, can you do a demonstration and maybe help students who aren’t comfortable on their brooms?

-Yes professor of course.

I slowly advanced in front of the group, not comfortable myself in giving a demo, rolling was something I only did a few times last year and I hadn’t flown on a broom since then.

I sat and quickly breathed out, trying to ease my stress before launching. The roll was pretty quick to do and I thanked my muscle memory for remembering how to do it well.

I landed back on the ground, silence overtaking the class before professor Hooch started talking again.

-Wonderful y/n! You fly great, you should start thinking about applying to be in the Quidditch team, 10 points for Hufflepuff.

I turned around to meet the proud faces of Violet and Sarah, smiling at me like proud moms and showing me their thumbs. I went back to them before thanking our teacher, and the lesson started.

Some students started trying, failing most of the time on the first attempt which was normal. All except one. I was looking up the sky when I saw a Gryffindor failing once, before successfully doing a roll and landing on the ground. Yang Jungwon.

Professor Hooch felicitated him, also giving points to his house before also telling him to help the other. The hour went on with me trying to explain to Violet how to do a roll without her breaking her neck and she actually did! I jumped in her arms when she landed, proud of her. Sarah on the other side did her first roll twenty minutes ago and didn’t stop since then.

-Sarah!!!

Both Violet and I screamed from the floor. She came to us, her hair in all places and her cheeks as red as the Gryffindors ties.

-What?

-Stop going around like that you’re gonna throw up.

She laughed and came back down, realizing that we were probably right. Miss Hooch whistled and the class was dismissed and allowed to go. Violet and Sarah were ahead of me when I noticed my shoelace was untied, I crouched to tie it back, telling them they could go again and I’d join them in the library in a few minutes. When I stood up again, something hard crashed in my back, or rather someone. I quickly turned around to apologize, when I came face to face with none other than the dark haired Gryffindor boy.

-Oh, hum, I’m sorry, I didn’t see that you were coming.

He just looked at me with an expression I quite didn’t recognize before getting back to normal and continuing walking.

-Do you never talk?

I asked him smiling even tho he couldn’t see it. He stopped in his tracks, and mumbled something, probably choosing whether to answer or not. After a few seconds, he turned back to me and came closer.

-What exactly do you want me to say?

I don’t know how to explain it but he sounded exactly like how he looked, if that makes sense.

-I don’t know, anything. Are you just gonna stare at me and go away each time we meet?

-Do you want me to start a conversation, to be my friend? Because that’s not gonna happen.

-Ouch okay, hum rude. Anyways, pleased to meet you.

And this time I was the one to go away, passing him before muttering a quiet ‘shithead’ that I hope he didn’t hear.

When I arrived in the corridor, I realized that I actually didn’t know were the library was. I was about to go full on exploration mode when I noticed a familiar figure approaching me. I sighed and mentally cursed, before the person was right in front me.

-Hey, hum, y/n right? We share potion class, I’m Cole.

-Hum, yeah. Would you tell me where the library is please?

-Yeah of course no problem, I could take you there if you want.

He said smiling with a weird look in his eyes, and I wondered for a moment in what sense he meant it. I was suddenly not feeling really comfortable in his presence.

-No it’s fine I’ll go alone.

-Sure?

-Yes sure.

-Alright, it’s on the first floor.

-Thanks.

I continued walking when he stopped me, grabbing my arm. What the fuck. I tried to distance myself a bit for him to stop holding onto me, and he did, thank god.

-I was wondering if you wanted to hang out with me sometime, you know, get to know each other.

-I’m not sure I’ll have time for that.

I answered distancing myself again, trying not to sound like I was lying, even if I was.

-Or we could grab lunch together if you think-

-I don’t think she wants to see you at all Cole.

Interrupted a voice. I looked over Cole’s shoulder to see none other than Jungwon, leaning on the wall only a few meters away from us.

-Jungwon! Nice to see you again.

I honestly didn’t think I’d say that one day but I was actually pleased to see him right now. At least he knew how to read the room.

-Can’t you see the girl’s not interested?

-How would you know that? I believe you don’t have a lot of experience with girls.

-No need to have to understand she doesn’t want you unless if it’s five feet away from her. And if by saying that to me, you imply that you have experience with girls, sorry to break it to you but harassing doesn’t count.

Cole didn’t answer but just fixed him and I thought for a moment he was gonna punch him in the face, but the tension was broke when we heard footsteps approaching.

-There you are! We started getting worried when we saw you weren’t arriving.

Sarah said, before looking between the three of us, surely noting the weird atmosphere.

-On time. I said quietly only for me to hear.

I joined them and looked back one more time, seeing Jungwon going back to the stadium. I’m gonna have to thank him later.

-What was that all about?

Asked Violet.

-Why don’t we go to our room, we’ll go to the library after I explained you guys.

And with that, we were on our way to our dorm.

[nebula-nights-reblogs]

Thinking abt the time that some guy in my ninth grade art class says real artists don’t use mechanical pencils to his friend and I was so internally pissed abt it I started drawing in pen

[martysangel]

19:42 (Marty McFly)

There's a fine line between you staying awake and falling asleep in biology class. It's such a bore, especially when Mr Mommsen has a really monotone voice. He could be reciting the most exciting story and still manage to make it sound dull.

It's even worse when Marty isn't in. Don't get me wrong, you absolutely despise the guy, but at least his annoying antics are more entertaining than learning about leaves. This is the 3rd time he's late for school, and it's only Wednesday.

Your head is about to hit the desk, when the classroom door crashes open, and it's like a shot of caffeine.

"McFly, you're late. Again." Mr Mommsen says.

And in return, Marty gives his signature smirk and makes his way to the back of the class, and dragging a stool to sit right next to you.

"What's up, Bug?"

You have no idea why he calls you Bug, but every time you ask, he smiles and walks off. Yet another thing that irritates you.

"Between us two? Nothing." You glare at him in annoyance and sigh.

He nudges you lightly and tells you to 'lighten up' which is a lot harder with him around.

You completely and utterly loathe the guy. He's like an itch you just can't seem to scratch. Waking up a few minutes before your alarm goes off and missing out on a few more snores. The feeling when you just cannot remember what you were going to say. Just a lingering thing. A thing that pushes you over the edge. You're not actually sure why you dislike him so much, but he hasn't given you any reason for you to change your mind or heart.

Marty turns to you, with that look on his face meaning he's going to piss you off. Luckily, you're saved by the bell, signalling that it's finally break, and so you hurry out of class.

You thought that it meant you were away from him, but you thought wrong.

Just as you were sitting down at a bench to finish some homework, he comes up to you, hands in his pockets and a spring in his stride.

"What do you want, McFly? Can I not catch a break from you?" You spit.

"Nice to see you too, Y/N. I was actually just coming over to ask you something. But it doesn't matter, I'll see you later." He sluggishly walks off.

For some dumb reason, you actually felt quite bad for how treated him. You also had this urge to find out what his query was, so you call him back.

"Yeah?" He shouts back to you.

"What did you want to ask me?"

He seems taken aback by this, and a smile slowly paints over his face again.

"Do you want to go on a date? With me? It's okay if not! If you can't make it or you don't want to. It's just, I don't know. I was wondering. I was thinking-"

"I'd love to." You cut off his anxious rambling. "Why the hell not? Pick me up at 7?"

"Sounds good. I'll see you then, Bug."

- x -

Just as you were getting ready for this date with someone you never thought you'd be seen with, you realised you didn't know what Marty had planned. He gave you a call earlier, to tell you to "dress comfortably". But you didn't understand if that meant you shouldn't wear something nice. But then what if he was going to take you somewhere really nice and then you'd be underdressed. Or if you dressed really smart, and he took you somewhere and you'd stand out for dressing so fancy. And why are you even panicking?! You don't even like the guy.

You settle on a pair of jeans, a white top with a red collar, denim jacket and your red high top converse. You then applied some makeup, which consisted of a shimmering blue eyeshadow and some mascara.

Just as you were applying some pink lipgloss, your mum called up to you.

"Honey, when's your date supposed to be here?"

You look up at your clock and realise it's way pass 7, the time when Marty was supposed to pick you up. In fact, it's 7:37pm.

You'd been panicking about looking perfect, rehearsing lines over and over, rushing to make sure you were ready, and yet he hasn't even bothered to show up on time.

You run down the stairs in a haze, trying to distract yourself from the fact you'd gone through all this hassle for someone you don't even like. You look at your mum in upset, and almost immediately, she opens her arms to hug you.

"I don't why I bothered, Mum. He's so." You can't even finish your sentence, unable to think of the right word.

"He's a boy, honey. I knew many of them  before I met your father. He's a man. A gentleman. You'll find yours one day."

You look up at her and give her a weak smile.

"Seems more unlikely by the minute. I'm going to go upstairs and get changed."

Just as those words left your lips, the doorbell rang. Your mum shrugs her shoulders and walks into the kitchen, leaving you alone in the hall with the sounds of pounding on the door.

You open it, and are greeted with a sweaty and panting Marty, clad in jeans, a white shirt, and blue flannel.

"I'm so, so sorry Y/N. I-" he breathes out.

"It's 7:42 Marty. I thought you were going to bail on me."

"I know, and I'm so sorry. I just got caught up on a project with Doc- one of my friends. Please let me make it up to you?" You'd never expected to see McFly, the person who you despise most to be begging for your forgiveness. Darn those gorgeous aquatic eyes and gorgeous pearly whites.

"Fine," you say, crossing your arms and trying your very hardest to not show how delighted you were. "But you're paying for dinner."

"I was planning to, anyway." Marty voiced, winking as he did so.

- x -

You're both pulling up to a roller-skating rink, and you turn to face Marty.

"Roller-skating, eh?"

He chuckled softly. "Is this okay?"

"It's wonderful, but I've never done it before. My dad didn't let me, too worried I'd bruise my knees. So, I apologise in advance."

His mouth drops in shock, "Get outta town! You've never been roller-skating?!" He exclaims. "Damn, Bug. You're just full of surprises."

"Yeah, well there's more where that came from. Would you be able to help me?" You ask, wearily. You're nervous he's secretly judging you. But why does it matter? It's not like you're ever going to do this again, and you're most certainly not going to date him.

"Yeah, course. Okay, you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

Marty jumps out of his car and walks around to the passenger side, opening the door for you, and holding out his hand for support. You smile gracefully, put your hand in his palm, and step out.

You walk into the skate rink, and pay for some roller skates. You offered many a-times to cover it, but he refused, claiming that it's the "man's job". You pouted and promised to yourself you'd repay him somehow.

As you're tying the laces, he's skating around the seating area, testing the rollerblades. You slap your thighs, looking up at him, and signalling that you're all ready. He helps you over to the rink.

"Okay, so what you want to do is just glide. One foot in front of the other. Don't overthink it too much. And start by the edge so you can hold onto the barrier if need be. I'll be right by your side."

You do as he says, although slowly. But what can you say, it's your first time. You're wobbly a little here and there, but you're pleasantly surprised about how quickly you've picked it up. And it seems Marty is too, smiling brilliantly.

"Not bad, Y/L/N. Not bad at all."

You gleam back, and pick up your pace, becoming more confident. Perhaps a little too confident, and within a second, you're butt first on the floor. You internally cringe, and wish you'd disappear. Especially when you can hear McFly's chuckle.

He skates over to you, offering you his hand to help you up. You look down in embarrassment as you take his hand, trying to pull yourself up. But instead, you end up taking him down with you, the two of you on the ground, Marty's body blanketing yours. You both look into each other's eyes at the same time and giggle.

"Don't worry. It happens to the best of us." He reassures you.

You get back up and continue, and you find yourself enjoying it. And you're enjoying to be spending time with Marty, which is not a sentence you'd thought you'd ever say.

- x -

After about another 45 minutes of skating and another 15 on the floor, you're beginning to feel tired and achy, and decide it's time for a short break and give your bruises sometime to heal before painting more on, so you locate the nearest exit, and reach some chairs, Marty following closely behind.

"I don't know about you, but I'm knackered now." You announce, trying to catch your breath.

"What do you say we get outta here? I could use some food."

You agree, return the skates, and you're both back into his car.

"Fancy anything in particular?" He asks.

"Nope," you turn to face him and grin. "I'm down for anything."

"Okay, there's this really good place downtown that do really nice food. I think you'll like it."

He drives you to a 50s diner, and you instantly light up. You love the music and fashion from the 50s, just not the political sides of things. He snickers at the sight of your joyous image.

Marty guides you to the diner, placing a hand at the small of your back whilst walking to a booth, with pink and white cushioned benches, and you both take a seat, sitting opposite each other. You glance around and notice the black and white tiles, bright lights, pictures of 50s icons including Marilyn Monroe, Elvis Presley and Audrey Hepburn. You also spot a jukebox, which is currently playing 'Puppy Love' by Paul Anka.

"It's really nice in here," you meet eyes with Marty. "But I'd never expect you to like 50s diners."

"Let's just say I feel somewhat connected to the 50s, almost like I've been there."

You giggle, and see a waitress approaching the table.

"Hey y'all. I'm Stacey and I'll be taking care of you this evening. What can I fetch for ya?" She inquires, gleefully.

Marty looks at you, with a sparkle in his baby blues, and then back to the waitress.

"We'll have one strawberry shake, two straws. And then a burger?" He says, checking if you're okay with that, so you nod. "Okay two burgers and fries please."

Stacey trots off, leaving you and Marty, and the wonderful atmosphere of the diner. You're still staring around the place, so you don't notice him gazing at you, or the way his mouth is slightly dropped, and you certainly don't notice when he says 'beautiful' under his breath. He's always appreciated your beauty, but is too nervous to say anything, which is why he uses insults to cover his feelings for you. There's no way he'd actually dislike you. You're too kind, smart, bright and gorgeous. Doc would always push him to tell you his feelings, but he'd never found his confidence until now. And now he's regretting not asking you earlier, because he's had the most wonderful time, and he can't help but feel guilty, because he could've been having this wonderful time a lot earlier if he'd just packed away his anxiety, and put on a brave face.

The waitress comes back with a tray full of your meal, breaking Marty out of his trance.

"One strawberry shake, with two straws, two burgers and two fries. Is there anything else that I could get for you?" Stacey asks, placing the milkshake between the two of you, and your plates in front of you.

"No this is all perfect," you answer. "Thank you."

You look to Marty and smile, grabbing a napkin and eyeing up the chips. The two of you dig in, moaning at the taste of the burger.

"Gosh this is delicious. Thank you for taking me here." You say, sipping some of the strawberry milkshake, which is just as heavenly.

"So, any siblings?" Marty asks.

"A younger sister. She's pretty sweet, but she's being picked on at school so she's struggling at the moment. You?"

"Uh yeah, an older brother and a sister. Is she okay?" He seems concerned, which you didn't expect.

"Yeah she's okay, I'm taking her on a trip to the beach at the weekend. She says it's her favourite place so I hope it cheers her up a little."

"That's kind of you. It sounds like you two have a close bond."

You nod, biting into the burger and watching as he drinks.

"Are you close to your siblings?"

"Not particularly. I usually hang out with Doc Brown. He's a bit of a nutter, but there's a brain in there somewhere and it's pretty clever."

You smile as he's reminiscing his friend.

The both of finish your meals, and the strawberry shake. There were multiple times in which you'd both go to have a mouthful and end up either head butting each other or hitting each other's nose, causing the pair of you to snicker.

Marty notices how you keep looking over to the jukebox, so once you'd allowed your meals to settle down a little, he helped you out of your seat, walked over to it, put in a quarter and chose a song.

"Care for a dance, Bug?" He jokes, smiling charmingly, as 'Only You (And You Alone)' by The Platters oozed throw the speakers.

You wrapped your arms loosely around his warm neck, as he placed his palms on the curve of your hips. The two of you swayed slowly to the tempo of the tune, and closed your eyes, allowing the comfort of each other and song consume you. You rest your cheek on his shoulder, lips millimetres away from his neck. You're trying your hardest to not scatter lipstick stains over his collar. You grin, and feel hot and flustered. Very faintly, you can hear Marty singing the lyrics under his breath. If your eyes weren't closed, you'd have seen the way he was smiling shiningly, adoration soaking in the depths of his cerulean orbs.

You raise your head, and stare into said eyes and he mouths the line "You're my dream come true, my one and only you."

You feel all of your blood rush to your warm cheeks, and look down, trying to not allow him to see you in this state. Marty places his index under your chin, slowly and gently shifting it, so you're eye to eye again. You see him staring at your lips, feel him tensing and become short-breathed. He's gradually inching forward, until the tips of your button noses are touching. You tilt your head lightly, and in time, your lips meet.

You know in the movies when two characters kiss and fireworks are going off and loud music starts playing? Yeah, well it was nothing like that. In fact, it was the total opposite. It was a moment of calm and relaxation. It was a moment of comfort and contentment. A moment which probably couldn't be considered a 'moment', because as the song finishes, you realise you'd spent a long time with your glossed lips connected to his cherry ones.

The two of you pull back, and pant. His handsome face was covered with an ear-to-ear gleam which mirrored yours.

"Dear God, Y/N, you're going to make me pass out. You beautiful creature, you gorgeous soul, you heavenly dream. Be mine? Please?"

You struggle to find an answer. You search all over your mind, every crack and corner to find just a word to return. But the second he kissed you, it went blank and you'd forgotten everything.

So you do all you possibly can in the moment of haze, and plant a delicate butterfly of a kiss on his rosy, parted mouth.

[kookiecrumb]

jjk|| Your Head

"tags": @kazthebrekkerofinej

word count: uhhhh

summary: Jungkook is the heir to the throne of your Kingdom! In this tale of duty versus heart, will love prevail victorious?

tags: Royalty!Jungkook x Peasant!Reader, oneshot, smut, fluff, slight angst, some crack, pining, forbidden lovers, Jungkookie has a sweet tooth, strangers to friends to lovers

warnings: explicit language, impact play, birthday sex (technically), fingering, oral (m receiving*), love marking, alcohol consumption, s&m themes, horny grinding, praise kink/body worship

a/n:

hey guys!

Firstly, I want to say how proud I am of myself for growing so much during this fic. I learned a lot about what I'm comfortable with, what I'd like to work on, and where my confidences lie.

I won't lie and say it's been easy, because writing this meant dealing with a lot of my fears? I'm excited for all the works that are to come.

The only thing I can do is be as receptive to growth as possible, so I'm looking forward to learning...

*I actually learned that Vaseline wasn't invented until like the 1870s? The fic is written in the 1810s, so I actually had a choice between having them do it with vegetable oil or spit. Spit won.

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5 years ago

You bend over to pick up an apple that had rolled over under your father's produce cart, praying that it isn't bruised so that you have to pay for it out of your dinner, when a crumpled piece of paper hits you in the ass.

Confused, you crawl out from under the stand and unwrap the paper.

The paper itself is of the finest quality you've ever seen. It's a sturdy cardstock, bleached white with gold etchings on the borders. The print on the top of it reads "His Highness Jeon's Royal Study," and scribbled in some kid's amateur cursive below, "Nice butt."

You directed your gaze upwards, towards the towering castle walls. Sure enough, a boy no older than 15 had his noggin popping out from the top of the rampart, with two wide eyes staring down, curious as to your reaction. This was Prince Jungkook, heir to the throne of your kingdom.

"Shouldn't you be equestrian horse riding or playing polo or something?" You shout. He furrows his eyebrows, apparently offended at your assumption, and then disappears behind the edifice.

Moments later, another paper hits your shoulder as you're practicing your caligraphy behind your cart. It lands between the apples, so you reach your hand over and fish out out.

You glance up at the anticipant, and sure enough he's there with his doe eyes and his coconut head, ogling.

"No, dumbie. That's at MID-day." Well how were YOU supposed to know the royal schedule of the crown prince, it wasn't just common knowlegde you learned from being a humble farmer's daught--

Ah!

"Will you STOP?!" You put your foot down. "Unless you're here to buy my apples, then you're not getting ANY, little Prince." Oh, shit. You gave him ideas. Now it was really over for you.

In less than half an hour, half a company of men arrived at the marketplace, asking about your little old apple stand, and sure enough, Jungkook had bought out the entire cart so that you were forced to help with the transaction.

The young prince had eyes frankly too big for his head, with the most prominent cupid's bow you've ever seen. His nose slightly outgrew his face and his ears were hidden away behind his short, black hair. "Now you can talk to me." He gave you a rose he'd stolen from the royal garden. "I am Jungkook, heir to the throne of--"

"I know who you are." You interrupt him, documenting His Highness' total in your calligraphy book.

With a hand perched on his chest from surprise, he scoffed. "And I happen to think you're really pretty, so I was going to ask you to be my very first consor--"

"You're 15, you have playmates not consorts."

"And how old are you?!" He's had it, raising his voice and taking a bite out of one of your apples with force.

"16, old enough to have suitors." You tease. Jungkook hangs his head a little. He just needed someone to talk to, it would seem. Reluctantly, you scribbled down your address down on a piece of note paper and handed it to him.

"Look, if you buy more of my apples, I'll have an excuse to tell my Dad so I can hang out with you." You spoke in a low voice as to not raise suspicion.

Your dad is standing negotiating with the guards about prices, his usual embarassing haggling gruffly overpowering the guards elegant twiddle-tones.

"Wonderful! See you soon, my sweet!" He resumes his confident demeanor, tucking the paper into his overcoat with a small smile. He salutes you boyishly and marches away with a year's supply of apples.

For the next week, the royal kitchen had baked 3 apple pies, made 5 fruit salads, 4 batches of apple muffins, and threw the rest of them in Sangria; that's the same Sangria as King Jeon finds himself drinking in his wife's drawing room on Sunday.

"Call Chef, fetch him up here." He waves to his assistant, keeping his eyes on the outside. He was deep in thought, his hands stoicly behind his back.

The Kingdom had been prosperous for over many years now, and war had not come close to threatening its borders in a lifetime. Negotiations were always successful, and quality of living was high. The work of a King, in a situation such as this, was to perfect the image of the royal family as strong rulers, and to paint his daughters as desirable to foreign heirs.

"Your Grace," the assistant called his attention, "Head Chef Sung." The dainty man bows and scurries off somewhere else.

Chef Sung is a portly man, who carries himself heaving with every step, his great belly inflating with each hefty inhale. He approaches the King, and kneels down to kiss his hand with his fat lips.

The King recoils in disgust, but quickly collects himself and his words. "Where are these apples from, is it France or Spain?" He demands.

"Neither, Your Highness." Mr.Sung lifts up his eyes. "They are from our Holy Kingdom; by order of Prince Jungkook, an entire cart was purchased of these apples and we have not been able to get rid of them." Tears threatened Chef Sungs eyes at the very mention of the fruit.

'Well, there's one thing the kid's done right.' King Jeon now faces the Chef, setting down his drink on a mahogany table, leaning against it casually. "Well! Good. I'd like to meet the owner of that cart, invite him to my Sunday brunch."

"Oh, yes, of course sir! You'll never see them in our kitchen aga--What?" Chef Sung takes out his handkerchief, waving it around in the air and drying his tears at once. "So you like them! Why...Yes! Yes, of course!"

Your father thought it would be valuable to have you around the kitchen, learning from the skilled men and women employed by the Jeon family. He only visited once a week to drop off fresh produce, (he'd been officially hired to handle restocking of goods) but you, after showing promising signs of being a gifted baker during one of your father's restocks, were granted scholarship by Ms.Kang to be her aid.

You were now, officially, a resident of the Jeon Estate, residing in the servant's quarters, immediately adjacent to the kitchen. This was convenient. It was far too convenient for a certain little Prince to get the idea of wanting a midnight snack and wandering downstairs.

One day, he does just that. He finds his way into the first bedroom to the right of the stairs facing the kitchen, and that happens to be your bedroom.

He pokes you awake. "Ow! Ow, whyyy~" You whine and toss yourself over to the other side of the bed. His irritating poking persists. You grab his fingers and your eyes shatter open.

You sit up, alarmed. "You could have me arrested, what the fuck are you doing?!"

"I wanted a midnight snack! Besides, I wanna talk to you." He pouts, still holding a small teddy companion.

"Fine. I'll bake you ONE sheet of cookies." You slip on your night shoes and shuffle to the kitchen, and Jungkook tags along.

By the time Jungkook's 18th birthday comes around, he's in the kitchen helping you whisk buttercream to top his cake while having a tease at the Austrian Princess' mole.

"You have one right under your lip, look!" You take a little buttercream from the bowl and stain the dark spot with it.

He licks it up and hastens to add, "it needs more sugar, lady!" as he turns to grab a puffy bag of confection sugar.

"You're impossible to please." Snatching the sugar away from him, you smirk. "You can gobble down as many sweets as you want when the ball commences. Remember, this is the year you're supposed to be keeping your eye out for a girl of a good fam--"

"Yada yada, must have hips for childbearing, yada yada yada..." He mocks the speech his mother had told him that morning when he got dressed.

"Exactly." You set your bowl aside to fix Jungkook's tie. "Yes, and that's your duty, as our heir."

You step back and examine Jungkook one more time. He'd grown so tall in the last year, his legs like spider's and he was just beginning to grow into his features. Handsome boy.

You, too, had grown into an elegant young woman. You had a poised complexion, ready-mannered and graceful. Your hands seemed out of place in your otherwise feminine frame, carrying an extra bit of girth from baking. You were 19 years old.

Marriage was becoming an uncomfortably frequent topic during your visits home, as your mother had married young, herself, she expected the same of you.

Truth be told, there were plenty of offers for your hand. You were a skilled and very esteemed individual, who had broken into thr artisinal class. But your father knew better than put a dowry on your happiness. So long as you worked, he saw no reason to marry you off just yet.

"Now, go. Your sisters must be worried sick! Go out there." You shoo him, pushing him out the door of the kitchen despite his flailing arms.

Throughout the party, you'd been carrying a platter of your own baked goods, serving them to the aristocrats attending the Princes' coming-of-age ball. Accents from all over Europe and some from Kingdoms as far East as Cyprus jubilantly engaged in artful conversation which filled the air with good spirits.

Jungkook, himself, was busy being introduced to as many women as possible, a medley of presenting duchesses, ladies, and even Princesses of your Kingdom. They were each more qualified than you'll ever be, ten-fold.

One was a Greek Princess, her hair cascaded in darling curls down her shoulders and her eyes were deep-set, her voice a flirtatious trill.

Another, a Prussian Princess', posture radiated excellency, and whose complexion sparkled like powdered snow. Jungkook greeted her warmly, pleased with her appearance.

Distracted, you tripped up your skirt and dropped the remainder of your pastries. With that, you stepped off to use the restroom.

The sound of Strauss' Rosen aus dem Süden faintly loomed in the air as you wiped tears from your waterline in the mirror. That was just the way it was, wasn't it? Princes come of age, and they find wives who they commit their lives to.

"Married men don't have friends who are girls." You say out loud, just to realize it. Jungkook was now expected to find a mate within the season, and he was, in fact, quite the eligible bachelor.

Little did you know that Jungkook had been keeping an eye out for you throughout the party, not only because you were carrying his favorite Danish pastires, but because he knew your company was his greatest comfort.

He's in the midst of greeting the Duchess of Kent when he excuses himself to go look for you. He finds your mess first, frowning as he realizes something has gone terribly wrong.

He catches you in the hallway, face puffy and shaky. He grabs your wrist to keep you from darting back to the kitchen.

"Please don't do this, it's my birthday, y/n." It's as if an unspoken rule had been broken between you, and he feels it. Something is making you uncomfortable. "Was it the girls? You told me about this, it's my duty to at least greet them and--"

"Yeah, you sure did greet the Prussian woman nicely." You speak through tears. "She's the girl you were born to be with, huh? Your birthright?"Jungkook is silent. "Every girl at that ball wants to be your wife, want to have your children. They haven't known you for a day and yet they're ready to be your bride."

You search Jungkook's eyes for any sign of coherence, hoping that he would defend against you, that he would speak up and tell you otherwise. No such argument comes.

You yank your arm from his grip and march to the kitchen to remake the pastries you spilled.

You had the job of clearing off all the tables upon the departure of the last guests. It is midnight, and the windows of the castle stream moonlight down on the carpet beneath your feet. The glow of candles soothe you as you hum the waltzes which echo in your mind. It's a brilliant evening.

The centerpieces of the tables were gardenias, lush rose-like flowers with yellow pistils.

Summer, 1809

"Jungkook, wait! You're going to make me trip!" You shout from the top of the hill.

"You've gotta come see before the sun sets! It's the only way we'll get there on time, now run!" Jungkook's speeding down the terrain towards the Sycamore tree which grew deep and wide beneath the banks of a great rushing river.

You groan and throw caution to the wind, rolling down the steep mount in your Sunday dress. Jungkook turns to watch you, a grin spreading across his handsome face. "Look at you!"

You land on your feet at the bottom and scurry off to join Jungkook under the grandfather tree, out of breath entirely. "Now, look what you made me do. You're such a boy, you know that?! Making me come out here just to see some bloody--"

Jungkook has plucked a gardenia and placed it behind your ear. "Would you shut up? We got here on time. Behold."

In all its glory, the sun bathes you in its vivacious rays, creating a feeling of heavenly bliss as it dips below the horizon. The sky blushes pink, its clouds mere whisps above you. Wind rustles the leaves of the grand tree, rousing the birds to chirp their afternoon song.

"Mom used to come here all the time with my Dad, because of these." Jungkook clasped the blooming flower in his tender hands.

After a while, he says "the bugs will come out soon, so we ought to go back," as if he's trying not to scare something away. He helps you up, and with one last look across the valley, you walk next to each other back to the East Quarters.

You take all the silverware and plates by the tub to the dish-washing station and toss all of the linen napkins into the washing machine. All you had left was to blow out the lights in leading upstairs.

"Prince! It is very late, and there are no guests left for you to entertain. What troubles you?" Jungkook's sitting on the stairs with his head in his hands, still wearing his best suit.

"I disappointed you, y/n...I didn't like any of them." He admits, lifting his head up to sulk at you. "I should have told you then, but I didn't want to make you upset!"

Did Jungkook mistake your jealousy for disappointment?

"I'm not upset because you didn't hit it off with the girls..." You sigh. A confession is due, and he's ready to hear the truth from you about how you feel about him.

"Well, the truth is, I didn't like any of the girls because I like you, y/n. But you know that, don't you?" You pause, asking him to elaborate.

"Remember when I bought all the apples because I wanted to be with you? Like...I told you that you were my consort and I kind of meant it?" He felt pathetic now, realizing that you weren't just ignoring his advances. "So you didn't friendzone me for 2 years, you actually didn't know that I liked you."

It was almost laughable, a situation you would read in one of your illegal novels which you kept tucked away in your pillow at night. "No, Kookie, I didn't." You admit to your insolence.

You can't bear to lead him on any longer. You needed to put duty over your own self interest for the sake of the kingdom, even if it shattered his hope. It was better this way.

"But, you do know that we can't ever be a thing, right? It's just silly." Your heart tightens with the words which fall out of your mouth. "It is. Nevermind what your parents would think, what would it do for your image? You're on the world's stage, Jungkook, and you're a selfish person if you think you can just throw all of your duties away to date a scum of the Earth like-- like me!" With your heart in your throat, dry your eyes with your sleeve. "And...I want to, I really really want to, more than anything else to love you, Jungkook. I love you! I...can't." Through the blur of your tears, the shapeless blob that Jungkook has become stands up.

Taking his thumb and swiping it under your eyes, he sighs. Words escaping him, he takes your trembling body against his chest and nestles his head in the crook of your neck. Your cold hands travel underneath his overcoat to hold his waist. The Princes' lips plant a gentle kiss on your neck, chaste yet deep and satisfying.

"I will not accept any bride if not you, my love." He draws back, meeting your fervid gaze. "To the world, I remain a bachelor for a few years."

"And after those years, Jungkook?" You ride your hands up to caress the man's jaw. "You will still love me after those years, and then what?"

"I don't know," he says, voice as soft as powder. "I don't know many things, y/n, that's why I need you to teach me." His palms are rubbing at your waist, beckoning you closer.

His breath quickening as you lean your body against his hold, and you figure it must be the wine he drank to calm his nerves. That was it, wasn't it? He was drunk.

"You're not drunk, are you?" Your face sours, really hoping it's not the case as you feel your body temperature rise.

"Y/N, I've only had a glass. You saw I was a wreck back there." His lips kept chasing yours in a dance you can't quite describe. "I have wanted to hold you like this since I saw you selling apples on the street. Give me the honor..." His forehead against yours and his strong hands supporting your back, he's already fucking you with his eyes.

"The pleasure of being your lover." He squeezes your waist tight with his forearms, planting brisk kisses behind your ear and breathing in your scent. He smiles against you. Your skin pebbles at his affectionate touch, purring softly as your eyes roll back in delight.

"Kookie..." You breathe, leaning on his broad chest. "Kook, the maids are wondering where I am, I have to go..." You slur, tugging at his collar.

He grunts in protest, taking your ear between his teeth and nibbling it.

"If you let me go, I'll steal some cake for you tomorrow at breakfast." If there's anything Jungkook likes more than Cream Ice, it was cake. He unravels you from his arms and nods, his eyes softening.

"Request my service tomorrow, from Ms.Kang. She's been sweet on me lately." You peck his cheek before stepping back. Your rouge has embarrassingly stained His Grace's cheek.

Jungkook bows and presses a kiss on your hand, eyes rising to meet yours. "Til' morrow, babe."

Jiyoo shakes you awake the next morning, handing you a cake and a note that reads: "Prince Jungkook has a commission he must discuss with you. Meet him at his chamber immediately."

Lacing on a simple corset over your nightgown, you try not to look too red in the face as you climb up the stairs to His Majesty's room. You'd be up there alone, as requested. The girls would absolutely start rumors based on that alone-- rumors which you realize are probably totally true. This was stuff of scandal, after all...

'There shouldn't be anything scandalous about love.' You decide as you rap on His Highness' door.

"Please enter...but only if you have my cake!" Jungkook says in his morning voice. He's so cute.

The simplicity of Jungkook's abode takes you by surprise. His bedroom is very well lit, a capital display of the flowered valley through his bay windows washed the room in gold, painting his porcelain white carpets and his cotton sheets a warm creme color. His drawers and vanity were etched in gold, with breathtaking detailing.

The Monarch himself was splayed across the bed, laying on his side casually. He held a glass in his hand, holding a white wine. He puts down his glass and sits up as your presence.

"We both know that you didn't come here as my servant." You lock the door behind you. "And I have no such commission to give you, darling." The innocence which undertones his usual speech is missing as he coaxes you towards him.

"This much I know, Your Majesty," You say, taking a bit of frosting on your index finger and smudging it on the Princes lips. His black eyes, as cunning as a viper, watch you dangerously as you push two fingers past his plush lips. He wraps his hands around your wrist and draws your hand away, his gaze fixating on you.

"Set the cake down." At his command, you carefully place the confection down on a nearby chest, feeling Jungkook's eyes on you, drawing you back towards his grip.

"Let me pull your laces apart," with your waist held by his Herculean hand, he hums "and then let me pull you apart. I want to memorize your pleasures and gratify your desires, I need it, y/n..." Your back flush against his chest and your thighs split, his hands knead into you as he litters your collar with his mark.

You gasp softly against the crook of his neck, giving into his hold of you. His hot tongue spreads under your jaw, closing into a hard kiss as his hands travel back up to undo your corset and free your tits.

One by one, his fingers pop open the buttons left on your gown until the collar hangs off-shoulder to expose your collarbone. At the sight of new skin, Jungkook's tongue darts to stain it.

His hands stagger above your breasts. "Is it okay if I touch you here?"

"Oh, Kookie, touch me everywhere~" Your hands form fists around Jungkook's shirt, beckoning him impossibly closer.

Grasping one ever so carefully, his thumb grazes your bud as he playfully bites under your ear. "ah-- ahh,"

Jungkook groans in response, he can't believe how cute you sound. Curious, he wants to hear more, so he traces your thighs and experimentally pushes up the outside your cunt.

You squirm, tensing up immediately in response. You bring your hands down to find the latch on his trousers and dip your hands below to rub him through his undergarments. He heatedly bucks up to meet your touch, a panting mess.

You face him now as he watches you ride his fingers while you grip his girth through his clothes. He takes you by the ass and places you on his prominent bulge, hips rolling into you as he hungrily kisses you, his firm hands grinding your core on his cock.

His face is a sinful red, panting under you desperately.

"I've been wanting to do this," His voice warbles through your touch, running your thumb along his underside. It's his turn to gasp. He sits up and collapses his lips into yours, softer than rose petals and his taste faintly like wine.

You place your hand on his chest, and his heart is pounding, a thin layer of sweat already forming on his honeylike complexion.

Hastily, you pull your dress over your head and lean back to allow him to familiarize himself with your stark form, a dainty chain hanging between your bosom. Jungkook bites his lips as he wriggles out of his clothing, desposing of it beside the bed.

He's giddy behind those sultry eyes, you know him well enough that he's overexcited to get inside of you. It goes straight to his cock, your playfulness as you feel up his bare shoulders and discover his abdominals, your fingers tracing his ridges with a sense of innocent wonder.

He takes your hands and looks at you in this way-- Butterflies fill your stomach instantly. Jungkook's thumbing at your pout with his intrepid fingers.

His eyes flutter when grip his base and submerge your upper body below his hips. You lick a long, thick stripe up his underside, causing his breath to hitch and his head to fall back on to the bed.

Those goddamn cupid's bow lips of his would whisper the dirtiest things under his breath, lewd thoughts that sounded completely alien coming from His Majesty's mouth, he said for you.

"Oh, such a pretty mouth~ It's so good, y/n, you swallow me so good--" he moaned like a mantra, trying to keep his hips from snapping up into you. Your hot, wet tongue wrapped around his throbbing cock was only a fantasy to him for years.

He fills your throat with his girth, his taste tantalizingly smooth. It leaves your mouth with a 'pop.' You struggle to keep your legs apart as you crawl up to kiss him.

He takes those fingers of his and slides his index and middle into you and languidly thrusts them, smirking against your lips. "Shit, you liked that, hmm..."

"Kookie...please," you whine as he squeezes your ass hard before smacking it. You yelp, the sting of his fingers radiating from your skin.

"I like it when you beg, y/n, it's so cute..." He pulls your ass up to his thighs. He's flush hard against your abdomen, already sticky with his precum and your spit. You marvel at the self control he has.

You don't finish your thought before he has his head inside of you, impaling you on his cock and stretching your entrance, hissing at how incredible it felt to have you around him.

His shaft reached pleasure points within you had yet to discover. You clench, feeling his tip brush against your cervix. "Wh... hngh," he groans, "how did you do that, do it again--" You wrap your legs around his thighs and clench around him, biting your lip. You watch as he shivers from pleasure, feeling his skin horripilate under your touch.

His thumb is softly circling above your clit as he pulls out of you carefully. He swirls back in, nestling himself inside your heat, hissing. "Ahh~ Jungkook~!" At the sound of his first name moaned out of your mouth, he groans and rolls his hips up to create messy friction. That familiar knot in your stomach tingles as he plays with the bundle of nerves buried within you.

He glances up at your ruined lips, clashing with them again as he lifts your knees up with his hands and thrusts nice and rough, making you yell with every jolt of his cock. The smell and sound of sex fills the room as he experiments with positions, laying you on all fours.

"Get your ass up for me." You obey, ever servile. You're reminded-- you're his servant. He owns your work, he owns your services, and now he wants you in the most lucrative way, he wants your soaked cunt around his imperial cock. He gets what he wants.

Jungkook's palms smack against your ass one more time, just to watch the way it jiggles for him. He smirks a little before he shoves himself into your pretty little cunt. You bury your face into the pillows in pelasure as he chases your orgasm with vigor, fingering your clitoris while you move your hips back to meet his hard thrusts.

You whine like a harlot, his cock allowing you every satisfaction as he works a head-spinning orgasm out of that cunt. "I'm gonna cum, Kookie~!" you warn as you spasm against his length, moans ripping from your throat as you coat him with your thick juices.

His hips stutter up and he just barely pulls himself completely from you as he paints your back white, a guttural groan escaping his mouth.

After a while of loud panting and scattered giggling, Jungkook reaches over for a wet cloth and cleans the both of you gingerly. You trail your hands up to caress his jaw and kiss his lips softly.

"You need to tell everyone that I had a long and extensive request for the Harvest party, that I wanted a lot of fall fruits and vegetables featured in the baked goods, make it as specific as possible and make sure that you mention that I want to meet with you again, over dinner." His labored breathing punctuate his words, as youd kisses consume him. "And..."

"And?" You cock an eyebrow, simpering.

"Doyouthinkmaybeyoucouldbringmesomemilktogowithmycake?" He mumbles, eyes glued on the bed.

"What?" (If you give a Kookie a Cookie...)

Disgruntled, he sighs and repeats: "Milk! Milk for my cake. I know it's moist cause you made it but I'm really thirsty, especially after..." His cheeks flush a cute pink. You wait for him to continue just to fluster him a little more. "Y/N, just please!" You can't ever refuse his pouty face.

Next week, Jungkook's got you pinned against the hallway wall, making out with you hungrily as his hands ride up your dress. Just across the hall, his Dad is negotiating war with Portugal over land in the West.

The next month, you have his cock buried in your throat underneath the table at an important conference about how to create jobs.

All this while the pressure for Jungkook to find a bride continues to rise as he reaches seniority, and as his father's grey hairs pronounce themselves.

Warm touches are always hidden away to the public eye, but often shared between two kindred spirits underneath the man in the moon's watchful eye. Jungkook, as he reaches his maturity, grows strong. His jaw sharpens, and his eyes darken. His hair grows long, and he gains weight. Now at the proud age of 20, Jungkook had become a man before everyone's eyes, including the eyes of foreign monarchs and their eligible bachelorettes.

One day, you're serving the Royal family at a private dinner, when the topic of marriage comes up for the first time since his birthday.

"Your mother has made friends with the mother of the Austrian Princess, and she's invited you to the cordial ball to introduce yourself to the Princess. An allyship with Austria would prove advantageous for our relations with France, so you are to make your best impression." The King wipes his mouth. Setting his fork down, he continues: "It is in the family's best interest for you to marry her, if the French Princess, Anastasie, does not present this season or the next." The Queen holds the King's hand firmly, reassuring him from his shoulder. She wears a slight frown on her face, her eyes worrisome, somber. The King hides his anxiety, as he's been accustomed to from decades of responsibility. Would this be the face of Jungkook soon?

For now, Jungkook's face is scrunching at the thought of marrying Anastasie. She's not the most delightful young woman, her imprudence ruined her enjoyment of any event. She couldn't keep an intuitive conversation about regional politics and domestic policy for the life of her. Her people were on the brink of overthrowing the aristocracy, he was sure of it.

"Yes, father," is what you hear from him before you disappear down the stairs to fetch desserts.

Jiyoo interrupts your quest for sweets with a letter, signed by His Grace. She has a naturally innocent demeanor, her cheeks rosy and her frame as delicate as a feather. "Y/N, you have another special request from His Majesty...can I ask you why you get so many of these?" She looks genuinely curious, not a single menacing thought behind those eyes.

"It's because the Prince really really loves his cake." I mean, technically it was true. Jungkook never passed up an opportunity to squeeze, smack, or dig his fingernails into your ass during your sessions.

"Oh." Jiyoo pouts. "So it's not because you're like, in love or anything?" Her eyes are glued to the floor. You were expecting this question eventually, as the other girls in the kitchen were already suspecting it. It was only a matter of time before word slipped into the girl's ears.

"As much as I enjoy the Prince's interest in my baking, it isn't my place to confess any sort of feeling for him." Your answer is straightforward enough, so Jiyoo nods and hands you the letter. Another request.

Outside the Palace, Winter came like the wind. Lakes froze over, and couples tied up their skates and danced on the ice. The trees were bare and brown, not a single leaf persisting through the chilling breath of Jack Frost.

Jungkook had left for the Winter Palace, to volunteer and raise spirits up in the North. As heir to the throne, he was to be Commander in Chief of the Royal Armed Forces, and therefore needed to undergo intensive training in order to boost morale.

You're back home, and in your wake is your father, who has now grown tangibly tired. He's been on a strict diet of warm vegetable soup for about three months, now. His eyes are sunken, but he still wears a subtle smile even during his most trying days.

Match girls make their rounds at night, you watch as the lamplighters illuminate the streets with their tall ladders and their taller peacoats. Shop windows glow warm shades of yellow and creme; inscriptions on the glass create shadows on the white snow.

"Wow. It's almost as cold as the King's heart out here." You step outside one day with a cup of tea, sneaking in a cheeky smirk. Yeah, good one.

"I heard that!" You turn towards the little voice. A child, maybe about 9 or 10 years old is pointing at you. You squint at it.

"Well, it's true..." You mumble. You have a bit of change in your pocket, so you walk towards a stand to buy a hot bun and a paper.

"Chilly today, hon...Best you take this on the house." The tenant hands you a steaming cake wrapped in a simple cloth and your paper. You stick the paper in your dress pocket and take back your change. You nod a 'thank you.'

You spill the contents of your pockets on the dining table and snatch the paper, snapping it open. Your eyes eagerly skim the headline: "Prince Jungkook Fires Up Royal Army." Below is an article detailing the happenings of His Majesty. All of it sounded very intense, the running, strategizing, first aid training...Was there anything Prince Jeon couldn't nail on the first try?

You set the paper down and pick up your now lukewarm tea. In the back of your mind you're coping with the fact that the Spring Solstice is next week, and that marks the beginning of Jungkook's last season as a Prince.

The King is ill with tuberculosis, and recovery is unlikely. If Jungkook is to marry, it is next season and that was final.

Sitting at the window of his Winter Castle study, Jungkook plays with a ring nestled between his fingers. He looks out onto the lake, as if he's trying to reach you with his gaze. His heart is tight knowing that it would be the season he chooses his bride. Actually, he'd already made up his mind long ago. If his duty was to marry, there was no way to evade such a responsibility. He had to fulfill it, despite his anxieties.

He straightens up and walks out of the hollow room with a firm step.

You awaken with the sound of horse's hooves thudding against the Earth. It is yet to be dawn, and in the distance, thunder roars mightily.

A figure wearing a long, black hood hoists itself off of the animal, tying it to a nearby post. It walks towards an obscure entrance, unknown to many staff.

Intrigued, you wrap a blanket around yourself and peek out at the stranger. His fingers are shorter than his palms, and that's when he tosses of his hood, his eyes set on you. "Y/N..."

You're bewildered by his guise, questions filling your head.

"I was horny, so I left camp" He sits down at the counter, catapulting a cookie into his mouth.

You roll your eyes. "And the guards let you?! Jungkook!" You whisper-yelled at him, readjusting your makeshift blanket-dress.

"Obviously not!" He puffed out his chest with pride. "I bribed them," he smirks.

"You're insufferable," you scoff, your eyes wandering down to observe his physique. His shirt is anything but conservative, highlighting the muscle he'd earned through laborious, sweat-inducing drills. You can feel his eyes on your face as you observe him.

"You can't hide it either," he crosses his arms. "You're standing in the kitchen with a blanket around your naked body." He flicks his tongue. He steps forward, putting a finger under your jaw so you're looking him in the eye.

Your eyes fill with lust as he speaks over your lips. "Look at yourself..." A crash is heard in the other room.

Jungkook's head darts up and in a flash, he disappears into the night.

'Fuck.' You gather your dress from the floor and shuffle back to your chamber.

The first event of the season commences with the most exaltant of spirits as friends of old greet each other with youthful smiles. Juicy exposés, enticing tales, and thoughtful greetings are exchanged in the most formal manner, and the conversation is lively; the most controversial topic of conversation, however, is the rumor that Jungkook is to marry this season.

So far, he's been to four different private residences within his own Kingdom and has been invited, by the secretary of King Louis XVII to meet their daughter. It would be an understatement to say that stakes were high for the pending King.

You were kneading your dough a little too hard thinking about it. "Not so rough, y/n!" Ms.Kang snatches the mixture from your hands. "What is up with you lately, you're so tense! It's really disrupting the kitchen's dynamic."

You shrug it off. "It's going to be hard sedating Anastasie's sweet tooth, I suppose."

"Well, you seem to be doing just fine dealing with Jungkook's addiction to cakes...She's perfect for him, really." Ms.Kang throws more flour on your kneading table and steps off. You give up on the dough, covering it with a cloth and letting it rise.

Jungkook is tapping his feet, munching on finger sandwiches as he waits on you to make an appearance.

"Dearest Prince, look, I am wearing Mediterranean violet!" A duchess shouts as she passes by him, to which he raises his eyebrows at. Another, with dark green eyes approaches and begins speaking rapidly in French at him. Frightened and undereducated, his canned response was: "Excusez-moi, Pouvez-vous répéter plus lentement s'il vous plaît," to which the duchess furrows her eyebrows before something else catches her attention, elsewhere.

Truth is, Jungkook is incredibly shaken at the thought of announcing his engagement tonight. Well, that and the fact that you had yet to pop out of the kitchen. Man, those finger sandwiches were good.

As the night progresses, Jungkook realizes that if he doesn't get up on that platform and say what he needed to say, he'd have to say it in London. Setting his fears aside, he plants himself on top of the orchestral stage and taps a champagne glass with a cheese fork. The music comes to a stop.

With conviction, he begins: "The time has come that I announce my engagement. To all of my beloved friends, who have introduced me to the most beautiful, talented, diverse, and benevolent ladies I've come to get to know over the years, I thank you from the depths of my soul." He swallows and continues, his confident voice masking his trembling. "The life of a Prince is defined by the virtues presented to him at birth. Those virtues are: duty, responsibility, grace, kindness, mercy and integrity." Here comes the part, oh shit.

"I am abdicating my throne to my Cousin, the Duke of Namseong."

Silence sweeps the room. You poke your head out to see what was going on.

"...to marry the love of my life, y/n." He points at you. Your face is cherry red, and you find yourself dropping those same Danish fucking pastries all over the carpet.

"Shit," you fall on your knees, plucking them from the ground one by one. You don't know whether to run as fast as you can or to present yourself, but your body seems to be currently doing the latter. You go along with it.

Jungkook takes your hand tenderly on the stage. "I am unable to perform my duties as King, and therefore am ineligible for the throne." His touch gives you the will to continue beside him. You feel the pure fear rushing through your love's veins, and he knows that this is the hardest thing he'll ever have to do, yet he stands by his announcement.

So, if Jungkook doesn't get to be King of this World, he at least will forever be the King of Your Heart.

But all this, of course...is all in Your, dear reader, Head.

~

a/n:

hope you enjoyed.

[chummywchimmy]

REVERENCE

PAIRING : Yan! Namjoon x Reader

SUMMARY : Moving into a posh neighborhood was supposed to be fun. However, you quickly come to realize that big houses hide big secrets. Your life goes downhill and it’s all due to one man - Kim Namjoon.

WARNINGS : Mature language, Yandere Themes, Forced Marriage (implied), Gagging, Use of Drugs (implied), Cult Behaviors, Delusional Behavior, Mentions of Animal Sacrifice, Graphic Descriptions of a Dead Body, Secondary Character Death, Murder, Human Sacrifice.

Not edited.

I do not own BTS ( :((( ) My intention is not to glorify toxic behavior nor do I believe BTS member would ever act like this. It’s just a figment of my imagination. Know the difference. Please.

The summer sun blazed right over your head. The air smelled fresh. Your body felt sticky as you navigated the maze of overgrown bushes to walk towards the rear end of the large, orange moving truck.

Your eyes fell upon the brown carton filled with kitchen essentials. Moving out of the way of the flurry of men heaving large boxes, you picked up the carton to move it inside. You wanted to prepare lemonade for everyone now that the moving was almost done.

The cool marble tiles of the renovated kitchen felt like heaven beneath your overheated palms as you squeezed lemon juice into the glass jug.

The clink of ice-cubes was lost under the sound of heavy boxes being put down on the living room floor. Everyone picked up a glass of the cooling drink from the wooden tray. Two glasses in hand, you went out to look for Jin. 

There he was, your husband. His black hair blew in the breeze as his large palm shook that of a shorter man standing in front of him. Words spilled out from his plump lips, no doubt charming the older man. Wherever he went, Jin reeled everyone in with his unique charisma and sociability. The good looks were just a bonus.

Your white shirt blew in the air as you walked towards the duo in the lawn in front of your new suburban house. Jin looked up as you approached and you handed him a cool glass. Giving you a grateful smile, he introduced you to the stranger.

“Tom, this is my wife, Y/N. Y/N this is Mr Wertheimer. Mr and Mrs Wertheimer live right across us.” Seokjin put an arm around your waist with his free hand and pointed to the two storey, white and brown house across the street.

“Hello, Mr Wertheimer. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Giving Tom a smile, you extend your right hand for a handshake like a fool, failing to realize that it still held the second glass of lemonade.

“Pleasure to meet you both, Mrs Kim. We’re so glad to have another member join our little family here.” The man in front of you gave you a kind smile and accepted the glass from your hands, saving you from the embarrassment.

Face on fire, you nodded. Your husband took this opportunity to chime in,

“My wife makes a mean lemonade, sir!” The three of you laughed.

After making a show of taking a careful sip and breaking out into a large smile, Tom complimented, “Truly. But Jin, I must confess, only a newly married man would find his wife’s lemonade to be a delicacy.”

Your husband put a hand over his heart and spoke in a dreamy voice, “Love’s a wonder”

Tom looked between the two of you and smiled, a sweet expression on his wrinkled face.

“It’s very good luck to have love in the air right now. My daughter, Tina is getting married just a few days later. You’ll have to come and bless the couple.”

“Of course, we’d love to attend! As long as it’s in the town. Can’t leave this unruly beast alone so soon.” You joked, pointing to the single storey house behind you. It’s paint was chipping off and the water connection was finicky at best, yet it was an absolute steal to get it at the price you had. This area was known to be difficult to find a house in. Filled with upper class professionals such as lawyers, doctors and businessmen, Saintsville was rumored to be an utopia of community peace.

“Yes, yes. In Saintsville, all of us celebrate every occasion in the community park. And everyone has to attend! By the way, I bid you goodbye. Mrs Wertheimer is going to come out with my gun if I don’t get back now.” Tom gulps down the last of his drink and handing you the glass, gives you a small bow that you return.

“Ah, I completely understand.” Jin whisper-shouts.

Tom slaps his shoulder and leaves laughing, disappearing into the grand house across the street.

“And that was the Chief of Police of Saintsville.” 

“Well, at least safety won’t be an issue.”

“If only you’d joined me, we could’ve saved so much water. You really need to think about water conservation, babe.” Your husband came into the room, a towel hanging around his neck as another wrapped around his narrow hips.

You laugh at his words.

“I think we would’ve wasted much more water like that Jin.” You take out a fresh towel and move past the wet man towards the bathroom that he’s left open. He moves to grab you but you dodge his hands and close the door shut into his face.

“Well, you’ll have to come out of that damned bathroom some time. I’ll be waiting right here.”

He was not waiting right there. 

Your feet pad across the white carpet as you move towards the bed. Seokjin’s snoring away on the large bed, exhaustion clear as day upon his face. You sit at the edge and sift a hand through his dark hair. He barely budges. You move to lie down as well but decide against it. You weren’t feeling sleepy yet.

Fifteen minutes later you find yourself in the now mowed lawn, surrounded by trimmed bushes and dewy grass as you sit on the iron bench with a steaming cup of ramen, looking up at the sky.

The moon is full, casting an ethereal glow upon the gated community which is deathly silent even though the night is still young. Despite being in the midst of summer, the night is relatively cool.

You pull apart the plastic chopsticks that came with it and swirl the soupy mass. As you are slurping the thick noodles, you are startled by the sound of a deep, melodic voice.

“Hello there.” Opposite the white fences of your new house stands a tall man, his voice breaking the deathly silence.

You stand up, unsure whether you should reply or silently slither back inside. The decision is made for you, however, as you’ve stared right into his dark brown eyes and cannot pretend to not have heard him. Besides, this was a gated community and the chances are that he’s a neighbor instead of a nefarious intruder.

“Oh, hi. I’m Kim Y/N. Do you live around here?” You speak, walking closer to the fence but just enough to run back inside if the intentions of the stranger weren’t friendly.

You glimpse a shopping bag full of groceries in his hand, stalks of green onions poking out. 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Namjoon. Been living here for 5 years now, just up the road is my humble abode.” He replies, a small smile on his face.

The streetlights paint him in a flattering fashion, his slightly tanned skin glowing. His hair is dyed silver, giving him a charismatic look.

“Oh! We just moved here and we’ve been so busy settling in. Haven’t had much time to explore the neighborhood, y’ know?” While you speak, you notice his eyes gently roving over your face, as if tracing every feature.

“Moving places really is a hassle. Although, I trust everyone made it comfortable for you, around here?” He questions. You realize that he has a very soothing way of speaking. Smooth, knowledgeable and confident. As though nothing could budge him.

“Absolutely. Everyone I’ve met so far has been wonderful. In fact, my husband and I have even been invited to the wedding of Mr Wertheimer’s eldest.” You received a wedding invitation just this morning. 

“Husband?” Namjoon questions, smile fixed upon his face. Although you notice a certain glint in his eyes but you can’t be sure.

“Yeah. Seokjin and I got married recently and shifted immediately after.”

“Well, I’m glad you joined our little family here at Saintsville, Y/N. Hope to see you again soon.” 

With a deep stare into your eyes, Namjoon walks off.

The following week is filled with making new acquaintances in your neighborhood. Tom’s wife, Linda introduces you to her friends and you gradually begin to fit in.

The small group of ladies meet almost every evening at Linda’s place for lemonade and gossip. Everyone is warm and welcoming, making you feel as if you’ve been amongst them for a long time.

However, you notice some.....strange things.

For starters, everyone seems to just disappear on certain days. On Tuesday, you went over at Linda’s to ask if she wanted to go do some grocery shopping. Finding her door locked, you went over to Ha-Eun, finding hers empty too. You reckoned that they could’ve been busy with wedding preparations but that can’t be true for an entire street. 

Secondly, there’s a strange sort of reverence surrounding Namjoon. One evening you told the ladies about your encounter with a man named Namjoon. 

As soon as you spoke his name, everyone’s back straightened as if pulled by an invisible string. Immediately, you were bombarded with questions. How you two met, what did he say, what did you say. 

Their behavior made you conclude that he must be a very important person for them to be acting this way. But that couldn’t be it. This was Saintsville, a prized upper class community of talented and successful professionals. Every single person here was the best in their field. So why this idolisation?

“He is very special, eh?” you joke, hoping to lighten the atmosphere somewhat.

Sana’s eyes hold a fanatic glint as she speaks,” He really is. He’s gifted.”

Looking around you, the dreamy looks on everyone’s face makes you slightly uncomfortable but you decide that he must be an artist of some sort since they call him ‘gifted’.

“The groom might change his mind upon seeing you.” Seokjin’s words pull a blush out of you as you strap in your heels.

Standing up straight, you smoothen your hands down your cherry red, knee length dress and give your husband a teasing look.

He looks dashing in his all black suit, fitted closely to his body. You look at the clock perched upon your bedside nightstand and realize that you might be late if you don’t hurry up.

Walking out into the summer twilight, you ask your husband if you would be taking the car.

“Should we? It’s just a 10 minutes walk away.” 

Decided, the two of you lock the house and set upon your way towards the community park. You hold hands with the man walking beside you, looking up at the rapidly darkening sky. You briefly wonder why the ceremony is being held so late into the evening but maybe it would be a nice change, especially since it won’t be so hot at night.

You reach the ‘park’ rather quickly. A large clearing sits surrounded by sharply trimmed hedges and numerous large trees. Right in the middle of it is a huge glass dome. Upon entering through the glass doors, you see that the large areas is decorated with multiple chandeliers at every 5 steps, dripping glass from the ceiling. Two rows of tables are nestled in the opposite sides, decorated lavishly with fancy cutlery and certain figurines you haven’t seen before.

The space between the two tables provides a sort a aisle that leads to a slightly lifted stage which is decorated in whites and golds. The dominant color theme seems to be white. Everything from the curtains, the tablecloth and the figurines are a pearly white. Including the dresses of everyone.

The women are dressed in long, white loose dressed and the men seem to be dressed in flowing white shirts and pants.

You stand out as the burst of color in the monochrome room. And you aren’t the only one to realize that.

As you and Jin walk over to one of the empty chairs on the long table, you feel everyone’s eyes upon you, digging into your back. You seat yourself beside Chanmi, one of the ladies that you’ve met but only in passing. You look down at the table because you can feel her staring daggers into the side of your face.

“Didn’t realize that there was a dress code. Hehe.” You giggle nervously as she stares at you, unflinching in her serious expression.

“We don’t wear red here.” Her voice slithers into your ears as she speaks, her eyes hard.

You feel Jin’s palm holding yours, aware of your nervousness. Briefly you wonder if you should go home and change. You’ve clearly violated some unwritten rule.

Before you can tell Jin, you feel a presence behind you. Immediately, Chanmi’s head lowers and she’s no longer staring. You turn around only to find Namjoon looking at you.

You’re surprised to notice that unlike everyone else, he’s not giving you the judgemental look. Instead, the same smile that you witnessed earlier sits comfortably on his pink lips.

“Hi Namjoon!” You greet him, standing up, his tall figure difficult to look at while sitting down.

“Hello Y/N. You look very nice.” He says, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Thanks. Although, I don’t think others would agree with you.” You giggle nervously, eyes falling at the crowd who’s now watching you two closely. A frown pulls at his lips, following your gaze.

By this time, your husband has noticed your acquaintance. Seokjin stands up and you introduce him to Namjoon.

“By the way, this is my husband, Kim Seokjin. Seokjin, this is Namjoon.” You clasp Jin’s arm, giving him a sweet smile.

Jin extends his hand, lips pulled into a smile. Namjoon takes his hand without a moment’s hesistation and shakes it firmly.

“Mr Kim, it’s nice to meet you.” Says the man in the white shirt.

“Likewise. Y/N told me about you. Hope she didn’t chew your ear off that evening.” You smack his arm as he laughs.

Namjoon looks between the two of you and you notice his smile waver. By this time, everyone is transfixed upon this interaction even as the announcement of the bride’s arrival is made.

Namjoon excuses himself to stand upon the stage besides the groom as everyone settles down.

As the doors open to welcome the beautiful beautiful bride dressed in, you guessed it, pearly white, your eyes are drawn to the white figurine. It is a white swan that stretches it’s neck elegantly. The exact same figurine litters every table and a larger copy of it is situated on both ends of the stage. You wonder if it holds some sort of significance.

Your eyes are drawn towards the stage when the bride and groom stand facing each other. Strangely, both of them have blank expressions as if they couldn’t be bothered to be here.

The ceremony begins by Namjoon wrapping a white thread around their joined palms, officiating their union. He seems to be serving as the minister. 

The voices of the bride and the groom echo in the glass dome as they repeat their vows.

“Under the watchful witness of our Lord, our Prophet and Family, we bind ourselves for life, to have and to hold and create the offspring that will lead the Family to His Utopia.”

A collective shout of ‘Amen!’ rings out and the ceremony is concluded.

The next is dinner which is served in the form of a 5 course meal. You enjoy it, feeling lonely. Ever since Namjoon, Chanmi has been quiet, not even glaring at you anymore. As for your husband, he spends the rest of the evening in what seems to be a stimulating conversation with Namjoon who empties his seat at the head of the table in favor of sitting beside Jin.

Standing besides the newly weds, you smile as the photographer clicks a picture. You offer the bride a gift of expensive china plates, wishing them well for their future.

“Wish you a very happy married life!” You whisper in Tina’s ear as the flash of the camera blinds you.

Tina simply nods her head. It is quite peculiar that you haven’t seen a single expression of happiness on either party’s face throughout the evening. Your confusion must have shown up on you face as Linda speaks,

“They will come around.” She nods her head and smiles, convinced with her own statement.

Before you can say anything, you are ushered off the stage, the next family getting their pictures clicked.

Walking home, you inquire to your husband.

“You seem to get on quite well with Namjoon.” 

“He’s a cool guy.” He shrugs his broad shoulders, black jacket slung across them.

You hummed, mind going back to the unenthusiastic ceremony.

“Looking at Tina and the husband, one would’ve thought that they were being forced to get married on gunpoint.” You say.

Jin snorts. 

“Babe, all the better for me. I was thinking that I should slip them my business card, the one which has a discount of divorce cases.”

“Jin!”

You hear a knock and sigh in annoyance. 

Another gift.

Ever since that wedding, you often found a gift on your doorstep. At first, it was things like a bottle of wine, the kind that one offers at church. Subsequently, it got weirder and weirder. One day, you found a sack of wheat and the next day a sack full of barley.

Once, you even found a whole deer upon your doorstep, dead and skinned. Despite lodging a complaint with the police, nothing was found. You regularly checked up with Mr Wertheimer for any updates but there were none.

You opened up the door and found a whole cloth of red silk. It was unstitched. The fabric felt expensive and soft to the touch. A pouch alongside the cloth revealed hunks of gold and diamond upon opening.

As usual you put it into the garage where you kept all the other unsolicited gifts. By now, the wooden cupboard was brimming with all sorts of things, none of which made sense to you.

Sometime later, you hear the sounds of your husband’s car pulling up into the garage. You wait for him as he comes inside and throws his coat upon the sofa. 

“Hey. How was your day?” You smile at him.

“Okay.” He refuses to meet your eyes and gets up.

For the hundredth time, you wonder what’s wrong with your beloved. He’s been acting strange lately.

It began a few weeks ago. At first, he talked lesser and lesser with you. He also began to hang out more with Namjoon, even going as far as to taking dinner with him multiple times a week. 

Whenever he would come back from those dinners, he would act even stranger. Staring at the TV blankly, staying up all night and whatnot. You were suspicious that he got high but you couldnt be sure since he even refused to meet your eyes now.

“So. I found a piece of cloth and hunks of gold on the doorstep today.” You speak, eyes following him as he walks into the bedroom.

He gives you no response. At first, he was concerned about this but lately he seems to be so lost that you feel bad burdening him with anything.

You feel helpless, staring at his back, lying next to him on your shared bed. He clings to the edge and the distance creates a gaping hole in your heart. His refusal to say anything despite your insistence worries you and it worsens everyday.

As if all the other problems in your life weren't already enough, the entirety of Saintsville seems to be acting strange.

To begin with, your meetings with Linda and the others have begun to make you feel uncomfortable. Not because they're unkind or anything but because they're overly kind.

It started with asking, begging rather, for your opinion on everything. And you don't mean opinion on a new dress or show but rather small, insignificant things like if you really liked lemonade or if you would prefer to drink something else.

You recall the previous Friday in immense detail.

When all of you had gathered in the evening at Linda's place, she had prepared a few snacks consisting of finger sandwiches and fried avian meat.

Everyone looked at you and only began eating after you had put two finger sandwiches on your paper plate.

After a while, Linda noticed that you weren't taking any meat and worriedly asked,

"Do you not like the other dish ?" Her worried face, fist clenching her pale green skirt and nervous tone led to a chain reaction within all the other ladies who subsequently dropped whatever they were eating and looked at you with such a concerned look that it shocked you.

"No, no, it's not like that. I had a sparrow when I was young and avian meat makes me a little uncomfortable. I'm really sorry, Linda." You spoke, feeling genuinely sorry for not being able to appreciate a dish she had no doubt put effort into making.

Linda suddenly stood up and picked up the bowl full of fried meat and went into the kitchen.

You looked on, shell shocked.

Had you been really offensive?

You looked around you.

Sana smiled at you and spoke,

"Don't worry. We won't cook it again. Linda didn't know. She didn't do it purposefully. We're really sorry." All the other ladies nodded furiously.

"Oh no it's not anyone's fault. I'm just really sorry about being so much trouble." You replied, genuinely surprised with this turn of events.

They looked at you with a fond look on their face.

"You're so kind for overlooking this mistake." Sana's eyes turned misty and you wondered if you were being punk'd.

No one touched the meat afterwards.

You were in high spirits.

Jin was talking to you again!

Well, if telling you to cook a nice dinner for your guest Namjoon could be considered as talking.

At this point, you would take whatever you could get.

The oil in the pan sizzled as you put in a handful of shallots and ran to the freezer to check on the ice-cream.

You slammed the refrigerator door shut as you heard the sound of the front door opening.

Namjoon was here.

Jin hadn't told you why he was going to be accompanying you two for dinner that evening but it wasn't like he was the most talkative person these days.

You sighed.

You cleaned your hands on a kitchen towel and walked out, red apron still over your pale yellow dress.

Namjoon stands upon the threshold, clad in a crisp white shirt and form fitting black trousers. His silver hair is swept off his forehead and his dark eyes seem to have caught yours as soon as you enter his line of sight.

Your husband welcomes him in, telling him that it’s a great honor to host him for dinner. 

“Come in, Namjoon. The dinner’s about ready!” You smile at him, welcoming him in.

He steps into the brightly-lit foyer and looks over your figure. Your smile wavers slightly as he steps right in front of you, the tips of his shoes touching the toes of your bare feet. He looks deeply into your eyes as he slides his hand into yours and pulls it upto his mouth.

Soft lips press against the back of your hand even as his eyes continue to stare into yours.

You step back, feeling uncomfortable at the sudden proximity.

“Thank you for hosting me tonight, dear Y/N. I have to confess that I’m immensely eager to taste the delicacies prepared by your hands.”

You nod at him and gesture him to follow you.

The dinner was an awkward affair, to say the least.

Jin, who oh so graciously offered the seat at the head of table to your guest, was quiet the entire evening. But it wasn’t like it was with you. This was a different sort of quiet.

Your husband seemed to be taking cues for everything from the silver haired man.

Only eating after Namjoon had picked up his fork, putting down his own cutlery when Namjoon stopped eating and hanging onto your guest’s every word, your husband seemed to be taking immense pains to be a wonderful host.

You couldn’t help but be deeply suspicious of his behavior. You had known Seokjin for quite some time and , although forever respectful, he was the life of the party. Your beloved was a witty and fun host, always entertaining all of your guests with stories and jokes. He was not one to be overly formal and this behavior was really concerning.

As you sat there eating the rose pasta, you couldn’t help but reach the conclusion that your guest had something to do with your husband’s peculiar behavior.

Ever since that evening spent talking with Namjoon, Jin had become distant and cold. Ever the gentleman, he never acted harsh but his behavior left you feeling unwanted and concerned. He was not one to bottle up his emotions and you were worried that this was exactly what was happening right now.

Your suspicions were further strengthened when you overheard the two men talking in the living room after dinner.

After coming back from the bathroom, you tip-toed quietly to the living room door and stood beside it. 

Standing against the cream colored wall, you felt quite silly, eavesdropping upon your own husband. 

However, you froze as you registered Namjoon’s words.

“Is everything ready for tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

Something was definitely wrong.

That entire night, sleep evaded you. Multiple scenarios ran inside your mind. Had Namjoon dragged Jin into something bad? Selling drugs, illegal things, maybe?

After tossing and turning till sun broke through the horizon, you felt a massive headache incoming. Sitting up in the bed, only to find the other side cold and empty, you walked downstairs.

The smell of freshly made coffee pulled you into the kitchen where you found your husband looking fresh and showered, sitting on the barstool and sipping from a white mug.

“Good morning.” You murmured, not expecting a reply.

You were surprised when you received not just a greeting but also a mug of steaming coffee in return.

You smiled at the man in front of you, love for him overwhelming you. You looked at his handsome face and despite his odd behavior recently, you saw the man that you loved and wished to spend the rest of your life with.

This sudden onslaught of emotions led you to walking over and putting your lips upon his. You hadn’t been with each other ever since he started to avoid you like a plague and you were desperate for even a press of his lips against yours.

However, he turned his head away just as quickly and stood up, pushing you away in the process.

You felt your heart splinter into pieces. You wanted to ask him what was wrong but you reined your words in.

You would find out for yourself today.

You stumbled over a rock as you secretly followed behind your husband. 

Your headache had only gotten worse and despite feeling like your head was gonna split, finding out what shady shit your husband was up to was more important in your book.

You walked behind him at a discreet distance which was difficult to do since the streets were empty. It was one of those evenings when everyone would just disappear. So if Seokjin were to look behind him, he’d see a petite figure, dressed in all black, following him silently.

But your husband, god bless him, did not look behind.

He seemed to be walking in a trance. Dressed in a loose, white shirt and flowing white pants that you didn’t even know he had, Jin walked towards his destination determinedly. There was a purpose in his step and he did not hesitate for even a second.

After 5 minutes of walking, you realised that you were walking towards the community park where the wedding had been held. You wondered why he would go there.

The afternoon sun beat down upon your back as your vision got dizzier. Your headache was only getting worse and blackness threatened to cloud your vision yet you pushed forward until you saw the tall fences that surrounding the park in the distance.

Belatedly you realize that as the park grows closer, a loud chanting seems to be emanating from it, only increasing in volume and fervor.

Jin entered and immediately got lost to your sight in the large crowd of people who stood in a circle, chanting something you couldn’t make out with conjoined hands.

You were flabbergasted.

What the heck was all this?!

Everyone, from children to adults, was dressed in those goddamned white clothes. They had dreamy looks and loopy smiles on their faces as they chanted in unison, swaying from side to side.

You stood frozen to the spot and realized that they were saying something like, ‘dea grata!’ but you couldn’t be sure since your dizziness was getting worse.

You began swaying upon your feet, black spots clouding your vision and before you lost all sense, you saw the crowd now looking at you and singing their chant with large smiles and fervent voices.

You came to ,what felt like, hours later. Your mouth felt dry as a dessert and it hurt to open your eyes.

You opened your mouth to ask for some water and realised that you couldn’t speak.

Because you had a thick golden chain in your mouth, clasped on the back of your head. 

It was a thick chain, twisted and ropey in design,  a fashionable gagging device, if you will.

Looking down, you found yourself clothed in the same material that you had found upon your doorstep, fashioned into a toga of sorts. It’s end was clasped on your left shoulder, held together by a golden brooch in the shape of a swan.

Still too disoriented to freak out, you raised your neck, feeling heavy earrings in your earlobes, and witnessed a crowd full of people kneeling in front of you.

Hazy vision took in the familiar glass dome, decorated even more than it had been during the wedding. Large figurines of the white swans stood proudly at every corner, now covered with red cloth, the same as your dress.

You were brought back to the kneeling figures who raised their previously bowed heads as they noticed your observation. Every single face in the crowd held the same expression - misty eyes, adoring looks and large smiles.

Despite your disorientation, a sense of horror broke the surface and you shook in the large chair. Looking down you saw that it was stuck to the ground just like your hands and feet were stuck to the chair with golden cuffs that would look like fancy bangles and anklets at a safe distance.

Incoherent words slipped out of your mouth as your efforts to free yourself got more frantic. You began twisting your wrists, ignoring the cries coming from the crowd.

Suddenly, your wrists were clasped in large palms that stilled your struggle. Looking up, you met the eyes of Namjoon. 

“Please cease this at once. You’ll hurt yourself.” His eyebrows were furrowed and he looked genuinely concerned.

So, your suspicions were correct. This Namjoon guy is shady. You glared daggers at him and tried to move the golden chain around in your mouth to speak.

He straightened, ignoring your jumbled sounds of anger and produced a knife from his white pants. Tears leaked from your eyes as you realised the horror of your situation. Fear took root in you. You were going to die.

You were left gaping when, instead of slitting your throat, Namjoon made a deep cut in his palm and collected the drops of blood in a small bowl.

Your eyes widened further when each one of the kneeling figures did the same, the sound of slicing flesh ringing in your ears. 

Your gaze met that of a crazed Linda, a woman you had interacted with, heck shared recipes with, putting a knife to her skin and slicing while smiling widely.

Sobs racked your figure as you wondered if you were next.

However, you were further confused as an old man that you had seen before briefly, got up and collected everyone’s drops of blood in a large golden plate. At last, he came up the stage where you were put and collected the final blood from Namjoon.

The sight of blood coating the entire surface of the plate made you nauseous. You wondered if your husband’s blood were mixed in there somewhere too.

A large white cloth was placed right beneath your feet. Namjoon kneeled known with the golden plate in his hand and pressed your feet into the pool of blood, one by one. Your squirming and groans seemed to make no difference to him as he pressed your blood coated feet to the white cloth.

The impression of your feet on the cloth was taken away by two young girls. You followed them with your eyes as they walked to your right where you noticed a large platform, like a shrine.

You wondered if you were gonna puke as your stomach threatened to empty itself of it’s contents as the girls put up the cloth at the centre of the shrine. Surrounding it were white swans and sacks of wheat along with casks of wine.

As soon as it was hung up, shouts of glee came from the crowd that bowed repeatedly.

“The Goddess has graced us with her divine presence. My Followers, our sacrifices have borne fruit. She has deemed us worthy of Her Light. We will be lead to salvation against this damned world.” Namjoon’s overjoyed voice rang out, both hands raised up in the air. 

The crowd went wild.

Crying, shouting and even dancing abound.

You were too shocked to even move.

What had you gotten yourself into?

More importantly, where was Seokjin?

Your eyes searched for his face in the crowd, his suspicious behavior making complete sense now. These freaks had deluded your husband into thinking that his own wife was some divine entity!

His voice rang out once again.

“And although She has blessed us with Her presence, we have to show her that we are worthy of Her kindness. We must present her with a sacrifice!”

Shouts of ‘yes!’ and ‘sacrifice must be made!’ threatened to overwhelm your sanity as your brain filled with horrifying images of slaughtered animals.

But nothing could have prepared you for the scene of the glass door opening and revealing your husband.

Dead.

His body was carried in by two teenage boys who walked his limp body in with gleaming eyes.

Your mouth let out a shriek, muffled by the chain, at the sight of a gold, jewel encrusted knife stabbed into the middle of his chest ; red blood being the only splash of horrifying color in the midst of white.

His dead body is laid at your feet and your chest feels like it’s gonna collapse in on itself at the sight of his lively eyes, now empty and devoid of any life.

Sobs rack your body and you almost cannot hear the sound of your husband’s murderer’s voice over your grief as he speaks,

“Keep shining your Light upon us, my Goddess. This man went to his death happily, knowing that it was a sacrifice in Your honor.” 

Your dead husband has a smile that is now frozen upon his face. Your mind numbs, refusing to believe the reality of what’s in front of you.

He refused to let you grieve in silence.

“Now that You are amongst us. Do not leave us.” You look at him, hoping that you would actually turn into a divine being and smite him.

He kneels in front of you, holding your hand tight enough to leave bruises as he looks deeply into your eyes and smiles.

Shouts of ‘can’t leave us!’ seal your fate.

[neobubz]

Art Class 🎨

Word Count: approx. 2.6k

Pairings: Huang Renjun (Non-Idol) x Reader

Genre: 🐇 [fluff] || High School AU

Warnings: aside from utter cuteness because Renjun’s adorable…some swearing and Haechan being Haechan at the end ♥

Summary: Trying to figure out what to do with your art assignment you find that the perfect subject is not in the overall topic but the feeling that bubbles within your heart.

You arch your back sighing deeply. This project you were working on was taking far to long. Your teacher giving everyone the assignment of, ‘Paint what inspires you.’ What kind of assignment is that? Alone you can think of over five things that inspire you. Books, movies, anime, your addiction to Ancient Aliens and your favorite K-Pop group, SHINee. How were you supposed to culminate everything into one painting? Other people in your class were painting portraits of their favorite celebrities, cliché much?

Staring at your blank canvas you wonder if you should go down the same route – even so, who would you choose?

“[Y/N]!” A gentle voice calls out to you.

A smile already appearing on your face you glance over your shoulder to find your bestie, Renjun, walking into the room, his school bag hanging loosely at the bend of his arm.

“Thank goodness you’re here,” you start pouting. “I think I’m going to fail.”

He chuckles as he places his bag down at the easel next to you. “Why? It’s not a hard assignment.”

“Says the ART GOD!” You turn back to your canvas growing frustrated. “I don’t know what inspires me. I don’t have a favorite celebrity like Chenle has with Stephen Curry. I love far too many movies to draw inspiration from. The anime I watch is too action packed and bloody to paint for school – despite the fact that they give me amazing plots for my fanfics. Ancient Aliens is amazing but not necessarily inspiring…” you trail off.

“Damn, you’re overthinking.” He scooches his easel closer to yours before sliding his stool over as well. “Think simply like me. I’m going to paint some plants with a cute hybrid creature. I love nature, just going out and being surrounded by all of the different plants and animals provides me with so many ideas for the drawings I do. Try thinking about the project that way.”

You watch as Renjun pulls out his pencil case stacked with actual pencils used for those who are gifted with the arts. Looking at the stubby half chewed pencil with an attachable eraser that is half torn you groan out loudly. How were you supposed to do this?!

“Renjun,” you call to him.

He doesn’t glance your way as he starts sketching. “Hm?” He replies.

“Why did I choose to take art as an elective?”

“Because you’re stupid,” he laughs.

You throw your crappy eraser at his head angrily, “Junie!”

“What the hell? I gave up sleeping during my study hall for this?” He glares your way than softens as he sees your distressed face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to sound as harsh as it did.” He picks up your eraser and places it into your lap. “I don’t know why you decided to take up art.”

Silence develops between the two of you as Renjun goes back to his canvas. There had to be a reason you decided to take up art. Well, there was a couple of reasons actually. The main reason was because you couldn’t get into the Photography 1 program until you took Art 1, of course the other reason being you wanted to be in a class with your mega ultra-crush that would never turn into anything real, Na Jaemin – but alas, it was never meant to be. He was already in Photography II and though Photography I and II were in the same class, with varying degrees of assignments – you were stuck here in Art I.

Another reason being that you signed up for choir, but there were no available spots. The known cause, Haechan. The devil disguised as an angel to all of his dumb fangirls. Rolling your eyes at the thought your eyes drifted to Renjun. Then again, there is…the last reason…Renjun himself.

You wanted to be around him as much as possible. At the end of your junior year last year, you both practically planned your schedules to match up as much as possible, only hoping that the universe would gift you both with having classes together. Despite the fact you only managed to have three classes with each other, this hell hole of an art class excluded, you’d consider this a win-win.

Ever since you both were kids you’ve been inseparable. Glued to the hip is a better way to describe your friendship. Everyone from Elementary to High School who came across the two of you knew, ‘where there is one, the other isn’t to far away.’ Hell, you’ve had multiple girls come up to you and ask if you were dating Renjun – him gaining an exuberant number of fangirls himself the past two years.

Laughing to yourself you think it was due to his two-toned hair he decided to sport this year. Last year, he was adorable with his light purple, blonde and black hair. Come to think of it…you squint at him…how many times does he actually dye his hair?

“Renjun,” you whisper trying your best not to disturb him.

“Yeah?” He sighs lightly glancing at you only to sit up straight. “Why are you squinting at me like that?”

“How many times do you dye your hair?”

He chuckles, “wh-what?”

“Seriously, last year your hair was light purple, then blonde and by the end of the year it was black. That’s 3 times in one year!!” You say shocked. “Are you trying to go bald?”

“No!” He glares. “It’s artistic freedom, alright? Whatever mood I’m in I like to express it with the color of my hair. Plus, the light purple was temporary hair dye.”

“Temporary or not, that’s a lot. Honestly, I think you look cute when your hair is black.”

He laughs nervously turning from you. “Did you just call me cute? You must be desperate for some guidance.”

And just like that your happiness after realizing you prefer black-haired Renjun over any other color turns into a sour taste in your mouth.

“I hope you go bald!” You growl.

“[Y/N]!!!” He whines.

“I’m not desperate for anything! I was just complimenting you. Can’t I do that every once in a while? I may not be like Haechan who’s constantly calling you cute and fanboying over you ever two seconds but I do give out compliments every now and then and I MEAN THEM when I do GIVE THEM OUT!” You huff and puff.

“Don’t bring up Haechan.” He turns from you.

“Of course, his name is the only thing you heard.”

He growls lowly, slamming his pencil down onto the small ledge of the easel. “What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”

You shrug, “I literally pour my heart out and all you say is ‘don’t bring up Haechan,’” you say in a mocking tone. “Like I get it you’re both in love and will get married one day but I was being serious, Renjun.”

“Sometimes I wonder why we’re friends.” He rubs his temples. “Look, I heard everything you said and I’m grateful for what you said. I just don’t like to hear Haechan come up in every topic. When I’m with you I can finally relax and let my guard down. I don’t have to worry about being attacked by hugs and random ass signs of affection. Speaking of which, we need to get him a girlfriend or someone asap. I’m getting random guys coming up to me asking me if I’m single!”

Snorting into your hand you attempt to control the laughter building up inside of you.

“Shut up!” He whines.

“H-Hehe…what? He…he…”

“I swear if you laugh, I’m leaving you here to do this on your own!”

You hold out your hands nodding, still trying to calm yourself down.

“I’m sorry, he…I just didn’t know...he…he…you were so popular,” you wipe the tears from your eyes.

He slumps down defeated, his elbows placed on his thighs and his head in his hands. “I wish I was unpopular at this point.”

“I’d take it as a compliment. Plus, how many of us can say we have options? I mean think about it if your next girlfriend screws up even once you can bring up all the men who wanted to be with you. That’s awesome!”

He raises a brow towards you, “just focus on your damn project.”

“That’s the problem,” you throw your hands up dramatically, “I can’t focus. Besides, we never get to talk like this. The one who shall not be named always talks over us and more than us, plus I don’t think he likes me all that much.”

Renjun laughs, “he hates you.”

“Probably thinking I’m going to steal his precious Renjunie away from him,” you roll your eyes.

Renjun becomes quiet as you stare daggers into your canvas. Despite the amazing advice that Renjun gave you, thinking simply isn’t what your brain is doing right now. The only things you’re thinking about aside from beating Haechan up for ruining your moments with Renjun is…your head slowly turns to Renjun to find him staring at you with a lost expression.

Quickly, you grab your pencil, your stupid ass eraser and your phone into your hands. Sitting up straight you pull up your phone and before Renjun can say no, you snap a picture of him.

“E-Eh?! Did you just take a picture of me?!” He gets up immediately, taking two steps towards you. “Hand it over!” He holds out his hand.

“You’re my project, Junie,” you smile happily. “I can’t believe how stupid I am. You’re the reason,” you start then whisper, “aside from all the other classes I wanted to take – that I’m here in the first place. I wanted to be with you. I wanted to spend as much time with you as possible!”

Renjun’s mouth opens slightly as if he’s about to say something but instead he closes his mouth avoiding your eyes.

“We’re going to graduate this year and who knows when we’ll see each other next. Yeah, I know that we’re besties but that doesn’t mean anything once we graduate. People go to different schools, they get into relationships, make new friends and who knows if after four years of not constantly being around each other – if the friendship that they once had even exists.

“You’re my best friend Renjun,” tears start to form in your eyes. “I’ve always looked up to you for your guidance and your calm nature. I always feel out of place and muddled… but with you, I feel seen. You know me more than I know myself sometimes and I only hope you know how much you mean to me. I want to be as popular as you, as kind as you, hell even as violent as you sometimes when one of our friends annoys us.” He chuckles, still avoiding your gaze. “You mean the world to me Renjun, and if that doesn’t just scream, ‘paint what inspires you,’ I don’t know what does.”

“Geez, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were confessing to me or something,” he looks at you shyly his cheeks now a light pink shade.

“C-Co…Con…fess…?” you gulp loudly.

What you just spewed from your mouth did sound like a confession. A true heartfelt confession. Something you feel from the deepest part of your being. There is no way in hell you’d ever take it back because to you – it’s a real feeling. He’s been there for you since you first got teased on the playground. Then again, the person teasing you was Haechan.

He’s always been by your side, crush after crush, heartache after heartache, random interest after random interest and never once judged you for what you liked. He held you in his arms when you cried because some jerk broke your heart, and wiped your tears when you both cracked up at a joke some idiot in your biology class made your sophomore year. He’s never spoke ill about you and has always tried to cheer you up when you talked bad about yourself.

Renjun…is the sweetest guy you’ll ever know…

You whisper gently, fiddling with your fingers. “May…be…it was a confession…”

“What?” You can hear the confusion in his voice. “[Y/N]…what’s going on?”

You shrug your shoulders, still fiddling with your fingers, trying to avoid any form of eye contact.

“I don’t know,” you sigh looking at your canvas. “I guess what I’m saying is I like you and you inspire me to be a better person.”

Once again, Renjun becomes quiet. For the third time during your study hall, he’s been at a loss for words. This never happens. The conversation no matter how awkward or boring still flows naturally between the two of you. Perhaps you should have chosen a celebrity to paint. The only person coming to mind is Lee Taemin, even so…you look at your phone with Renjun’s picture, a small smile spreading across your lips. No one can compare to the feeling Renjun gives you.

Just then the bell rings out indicating that the class period is over. Sighing to yourself you grab your backpack from the floor and slide your phone into the front pocket and toss your pencil somewhere in the main compartment. You turn to find Renjun frozen where he stands, his face unreadable and his chest heaving quickly.

“Re-Renjun…?” You touch his shoulder growing worried. “Renjun, hey, what’s going on?”

Without speaking he pulls you into him his lips landing on yours. Shock rushes through your body as all of the blood drains from your face and pools at your feet. Did Huang Renjun, your best friend just…kiss you? He pulls back just far enough to see your stunned expression.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say you liked me,” he places his forehead against yours. “I’ve liked you for so long [Y/N],” he chuckles. “I was beginning to think I would end up with Haechan.”

You start giggling and place your index finger up to his lips to shush him. “Remember we do not speak his name when we’re together.”

He gingerly kisses your finger smiling. “Got it. Also, I’d be honored if you drew me for your project. Even if I come out ugly.”

“Junie! You won’t come out ugly!” You smack his chest turning from him. “I don’t suck that much at painting. I mean I do so you may end up looking like a potato but a cute potato,” you cup his cheek in your hand before giving him a small peck on the lips. “Does this mean that we’re…”

“For fucks sake,” you both internally growl hearing the all to familiar voice. “Will you two get a room?” Haechan walks into the art room. “Seriously, no one wants to see the two of you swapping saliva,” he barges between the two of you, wrapping his arms around both of your shoulders while smirking. “My man you finally confessed, huh?” He bumps his hip into Renjun’s.

“No, [Y/N] beat me to it,” Renjun smiles at you warmly.

“Eh?” Haechan peers down at you. “Hm, I guess I was wrong. I thought you were too stupid to realize your feelings.”

With those final words from Haechan, you tear yourself away from him. “Okay, I’m leaving first. Have fun at gym class guys.” You wave your hand at them while walking away.

“[Y/N]!!” Renjun rushes up to you. “Wait!”

You turn around shocked to see how close he was to you, “y-yeah?”

He bends down placing a quick kiss to your cheek. “Yes, it means we’re boyfriend and girlfriend now.” He smiles happily. “I’ll meet you at our usual spot after school?” He asks.

“Of course,” you wave timidly towards him as you leave the room and down the hall to your math class.

“EVERYONE [Y/N] AND RENJUN ARE FINALLY A COUPLE!!!” You hear Haechan shout to the whole school after you were half way to your class.

People around you stared shocked, mad, amused and unenthused. Gripping your backpack tightly you march into your classroom plotting revenge against Haechan.

*a/n: man it feels great to be writing a fanfic again, i missed it terribly 😢 if you liked the story please share it with those who may like it as well. thank you for reading and i hope to see you in the next story!*

[yinses]

substitute

| you told yourself that you would do anything for satoru |

gojo satoru x reader

rating: 18+

a/n: i have an obsession i know. i’m working on it

it was to a soft tickling at the inside of your thighs that welcomed you into the next day. a soft sigh broke through your yawn as you shifted and twisted against the desires tugging at your veins. 

somewhere in your mind, you registered that it was much too early. 

but of course your body disagreed tenfold. 

“ngh…” an equally tired chuckle vibrates against you and you jumped at the touch of a thumb brushing against your outer lips. 

“the was a cute sound,” the voice purred. your hips lifted once more in reaction before they were assisted into submission by the firm weight of a forearm along your pelvis. 

the sounds of your slick sliding against his tongue were as equally loud as it was lewd. there was no art to the madness, just a series of flicks and heavy suction. 

your fingers clenched at the sheets, wrinkling the integrity as your chest heaved with every moan. in terms of wake up calls, the impending shrill of your alarm easily took last place. 

“you are always such a sight to wake up to. thought i’d return the favor.” 

and return it he did. 

the insertion of a finger freed up the opportunity for his voice to waft around the room again. the rhythm was as languid as his lazy drawl as he bent a joint and raked the nail against your inner walls. 

“i also might need a favor.”

the pinch of your brow came before the comprehension of his words. gojo was always a talker- a stronger contender as a firm charmer that managed to weave his way through society. as his position as ‘the chosen one’, his power spoke volumes. 

with you- he leaned on alternative methods. 

“fuck-toru… you bastard.”

you choked over the inclusion of a second finger, barely swallowing your words as you struggled to rock into them. 

“that’s not very nice of you. to think i woke up so early to treat you this morning.

your boyfriend took the opportunity to curl both fingers this time, smirking when you all but managed to successful buck him off as you keened under his ministrations. 

“it’s nothing big.” turquoise eyes, tinged with lust, met yours as he rose his head. the blanket fell off his shoulders, revealing more pale skin. “i just need a bit of a substitute today.” 

substitute? as in substitute teacher? he had to be joking. 

unlike gojo, after graduation you had more than willingly left behind the stuffy atmosphere of education. as a sorcerer, you never did stop learning. the always evolving curses not letting you hang too far off your game. 

but to return to the classroom to put those young students through everything you hated in your youth? 

no orgasm was worth that.

you disguised your grimace under the pretense of displeasure as he withdrew his hand all together. he tsked at your impatience, using the same hand as a crude form of lube as he fisted his growing cock. 

“it will be easy. these classes are even smaller than ours were.”

 it was difficult to voice a complaint when he was doing just the opposite and sliding into you. your back arched as he filled you to the hilt with little difficulty. 

he experimented with a shallow thrust, a grin pulling at his lips when you responded positively. the pace he set was slower than either of you were use to on a regular basis, but it fit the mood of morning sex. 

his forehead touched yours as he drew back for another long thrust. “shit-squeezing me so early. what a good girl.”

you whimpered when his hips met yours with more force than the last. “think of how excited they’ll be to have a new face. such a sexy one at that.” 

your body slid along the mattress each time he buried himself within you. you didn’t want to admit that he was getting to you. not even his all seeing gaze needed to retell the obvious. his plan was flawless and in short you were too much of a simp for the man.

so you just accepted the early morning distraction, taking direct pleasure in the way it unraveled the tangle of sleep.

you clenched your inner muscles helpfully and your boyfriend groaned in appreciation as he chased both of your releases with new vigor. the twitching and shakiness began with you as the pace picked up. your climax tumbled out of you with a sharp gasp as your boyfriend filled the space with a grunt. 

the two of you took a minute to regain your before he eventually pulled out and you pointedly ignored the stickiness as you relaxed your legs to give him the room to pull away. he didnt stray too far, white locks tickling your nose as he leaned in close again.

“i have more in store for you tonight as a thank you.”

with a huff, you pressed your palm against his cheek before his lips could chase yours. 

“fine, fine. i’ll babysit your class. you better be on some super important mission.”

gojo made a pleased sound, somewhere stuck between a hum and a warm rumble as he nuzzled the side of your neck and pressed his lips there instead. 

“super important. thanks babe.”

                                          you don’t know why you agreed to this. 

leaning back against the desk, you returned the silent gesture as the three first-years scrutinized your presence. aside from megumi, the other two were new faces for you. but your boyfriend’s knack for storytelling painted the picture in the absence of words. 

nobara was obvious. the sole girl of the unit. 

poor girl. 

she seemed to share your sentiment of wanting to be anywhere else but here. 

“so you’re dating sensei?”

you brought your arms closer to your chest as your shoulders rose with the action. 

was that … judgement?

“i’m so sorry.”

it was the sincerity that scared you the most. 

“oh wow, wow, wow. sensei’s really got it all. “

sukuna’s vessel was impossible to miss as any seasoned sorcerer. despite the boy’s positive demeanor, he reeked of the malevolent residue. yet in a way he made it work, there was nothing really about him that didn’t come off as approachable. 

he had something to gain gojo’s infatuation. there was no doubt in your mind that he would use this boy to help him dismantle the systematic hierarchy of the sitting elders. 

you just had to wonder. 

was the kid his main tool or the curse?

“i can’t believe you actually agreed to this.”

ah, megumi. 

the boy liked to express his love for distance, but the years swallowed up so much of it as you watched him grow. your boyfriend was a lot of things but you couldn’t deny the influence he had on the young sorcerer. 

the boy who seemed to disdain the attention knew it too. 

now that everyone had their turn to speak, you supposed it was your turn. 

“he was very convincing,” you offered lowly before picking up the volume. “let’s not pretend you’re actually going to learn anything from me. im just a sit in until satoru gets back from his mission.”

megumi’s scoff shouldn’t have come as a surprise. gojo’s name was rarely spoken without it’s accompaniment. 

“what makes you think he’s not off sightseeing?”

because killing gojo was impossible but you would happily tire yourself exploring your options. 

your smile was tight as you gestured to the door,” lets kick the morning off with some practice matches. the second years are always eager.”

settled comfortably against the bleachers observing as your temporary students got their asses handed to them, you came to the conclusion that being a teacher couldn’t be too bad. perhaps in the future you might be more willing to offer your services with out your boyfriend’s extra persuasion.

speaking of gojo, you wondered how his mission was going. you never actually questioned his agenda. 

you didn’t expect to wait long as the dial tone started up. outside of battle and life or death situations, gojo rarely ignored your calls. he knew in the thick of it you could protect yourself, but he preferred to keep himself available to your needs. 

the sounds of mixed commotion greeted you before his voice did. 

“toru … it sounds busy. where are you?”

gojo’s answering laugh should have been the first warning. to some it may have come off as eased but you could hear the way he forced it in to deflect. 

“sweetheart, how are classes going? i hope they’re not giving you too much trouble.”

trouble seemed to be the opposite of what he was dealing with. there were a lot of people holding their own conversations in the background, all of them too casual to be in danger. in fact, there were too many in general to place him on a battlefield. 

what exactly were you substituting for?

“order #217 for… gogo-san?”

the loud cluck of your tongue against the roof of your mouth was suddenly powerful enough to drown out the clamor. 

gojo satoru prided himself on standing resilient to all threats. it was how he maintained his position as the strongest. he was sought out for his efficiency and ability to overcome all adversaries. 

even against the most fearsome.

“honey, do i ever have a treat for you! today was a single-day special at my favorite bakery. you should have seen the lines. it's a good thing i got here so early!”

there were a lot of things you would do for satoru gojo.

and even more that you would do to him when you got home.

[harryspet]

pinky promise | p.parker, b.barnes & s.rogers

[Warnings] little!peter x little!reader, stucky x reader, stucky x peter, ddlg, ddlb, polyamory, fingering, vaginal sex, sex in little space, age regression, millionaire!stucky, hints of breeding kink

A/N: she’s finally here :)  i intended for this to have more stucky but it just didn’t work out lol 

In which Peter and you play Mommy and Daddy. 

taglist: @peterztinglez @lovelynerdytraveler @buckybarney @hollandsdream @micki-smiles @buckybarnesplumwhore @arts-ismything @saharzek @lovemassivelybeautifulbouquet @what-is-your-wish  @brattypeony @hermayone @buckysugar @mandiiblanche @nsfwsebbie​@yanderepeterparker @ttqueen05 @belleknows​ @write-from-the-heart​ @sad-ed-noise​ @quaksonhehe​

main masterlist

word count: 2.6k

“Pick out which one you want, baby,” Bucky whispered before walking past the little curtain, talking into his cellphone as he listened in on an important phone call. You went back and forth trying on the same skirt, one white and the other a light pink. You were starting to get a bit frustrated, knowing that you preferred when Steve just chose for you. 

You huffed, deciding that you didn’t want to look at yourself in the dressing room mirror for any longer. You decided to put them back on their individual hangers and put your clothes on. That morning, Daddy had put you in one of your “big girl” dresses. It was still light blue with ruched sleeves but, paired with your white sneakers, you looked normal enough to walk around the mall. 

When you left the dressing room, Bucky was waiting for you. His face instantly fell when he saw your expression, “What’s wrong?” He grabbed your arm softly and when you turned your face away from him, he grabbed your chin, “Which skirt did you pick?”

“I didn’t like them,” You spoke softly, your eyes slowly rising up to meet his.

“But you looked beautiful in them,” You gave him a shy look and his lips began to tug into a grin. He reached up to brush a piece of your hair behind your ear. 

“I can’t decide,” You told him, “I don’t need them anyways …”

“Nonsense. If you can’t choose, then my princess must have both. How else are you supposed to turn heads and make a good impression on the first day of classes?” Bucky easily dismissed the idea, “We’ll have a fashion show tonight and the boys can help you pick.”

You should’ve known that money would be no object to him. It was never to Steve but it seemed Bucky liked to spoil you especially. No wonder Peter was so spoiled. 

“Thank you, Papa,” As he heard your voice, the raise in pitch and the pouting lips, he knew what you needed. He kissed your forehead softly. 

“Awe, my baby doesn’t want to be a big girl anymore. Let’s get you home then, princess.”

It was true. Your date today was very nice and you loved the bond you were building with Bucky but you wanted desperately to wind down in little space. After a long day of college classes, your favorite thing was coming home to Steve but now you got to come home to three people who wanted to baby you. 

From the moment, Bucky buckled your seatbelt for you, you were already beginning to slip. He held your hand the entire ride and as the two of you walked into the luxurious brownstone in Brooklyn that you called home. 

You were quite ready to run into Steve’s arms but the first thing you saw was Steve’s arms wrapped around Peter. The younger boy was sitting in his lap, playing a video game, his eyes focused on the flat screen illuminating the living room. 

When Steve saw you, he smiled of course, but you couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. Steve was Peter’s Daddy as well but, in your moment of wanting to regress, you couldn’t help but want Steve’s full attention.  

“Hi, Papa!” Peter shouted, his eyes not leaving the Mario Kart game. He was dressed in his PJ’s, the footie ones that had all the little Darth Vader’s printed on them. 

“How was your trip? Successful, I hope,” Steve asked. 

Bucky seemed to notice your mood had a fell and that's when you felt his hand on your waist. He lifted you easily, setting you on his hip, all while holding your shopping bags. You were very grateful, resting your head on his shoulder, “Very successful but this one is in need of some tender love and care. I think we need a nice warm bath, don’t we?”

Bucky felt you nod and his lips pressed into a thin line. Steve flashed him a knowing look and Bucky gave him a look that said, “don’t worry, i got this”. The merging of your small family went much better than Steve had anticipated but you still had your moments. 

Bucky carried you upstairs into the room you shared with Peter. The walls weren’t painted white but the two sides of the room contrasted each other. Peter’s side was full of pastel blues and greens while yours was rainbow central. 

Bucky ran a bath for you and, much to your enjoyment, he joined you inside. You felt completely relaxed as he ran a wash cloth along your skin, soaping you up and massaging your skin gently. Your back against his front, Bucky could feel you slowly relaxing. 

“You know, both Daddy and Papa love you very much,” Bucky spoke into your ear, his hand dropping between your legs, slowly spreading them. 

“Mhm,” You agreed, shivers running through you despite the warm water. 

“And Peter does too …” As his fingers spread your folds, his strong hands began to rub in a circular motion.

“I know, Papa,” His pace was still gentle, every circle he made teased your sensitive bulb, and you found your hips starting to grind against his fingers. Your eyes closed as you tried to focus on the sensation. 

“That’s why I think that this weekend … you and Peter should spend some time together, while Daddy and Papa are away on business.”

Your eyes opened at that, surprise evident on your face, “Without Papa and Daddy? But we’re too little-” A small moan escaped your lips as he paid special attention to your special area. You slowly closed your eyes again. 

“Your big brother will take care of you, whatever you need, princess,” Bucky spoke softly, his fingers working methodically against your clit.

All you could do was nod, agreeing with whatever Bucky had said. You were too focused on your incoming orgasm to disagree. When you finally did release, Bucky didn’t let you go, he kept going until you were trying to pull away from his body. He wrapped his other arm around your torso, pulling you back, as he made you ride out your orgasm.

“Good girl,” He groaned into your ear, “What do you say?”

“T-Thank you, Papa,” You panted and he began to kiss the skin on your shoulder. 

+

You were still deep into little space when you awoke the next morning. After a tearful goodbye to Steve and Bucky, you decided that you’d play dress up in order to cheer yourself up. Peter explained to you that he was going to be a “big boy” and make the two of you food for your tea party. A tea party that he invited himself to after complaining that his own stuffed bear was invited before him. 

You’d chosen a cowgirl hat to go with your flouncy pink dress and set the living room up to be your venue. The coffee table was fully decorated and pillows surrounded the table for all your guests to sit. 

“Petey!” You called to the kitchen just as he entered with a plate. You told him he had to dress up if he was to join you but he refused to put on one of your dresses. Instead, you had to settle for him wearing a red cape and a crown. 

He set it out in the middle of the table, proudly smiling as he exclaimed, “Ta-da!”

You took one look and pouted, “You burnt it,” There were about ten slices of burnt toast with butter, “And where are the finger sandwiches? Cinnamon scones?”

Peter gave you a confused look as he took a seat on the pillow beside you. He was already grabbing a piece of toast and stuffing his mouth, “The toast is pretty good,” Was the great response you received. You shook your head, deciding to just pour the tea for everyone. 

“Here’s tea for you Buttons, Sassy Cat, Miss Sprinkles, Sir Horse  …. and for you Mr. Parker,” You poured his tea carefully and you smiled, noting how impressed he seemed by the simple act. You set down the pot and grabbed your own cup, “And make sure you sip it like this, with your pinky out, because we’re sophisticated.”

“I thought you were a cowgirl,” Peter chuckled a bit as you watched him try to sip his tea carefully. 

“A cowgirl princess,” You corrected him with the utmost seriousness, “I’m still sophisticated.”

“My apologies, your majesty,” He bowed his head slightly and you felt your cheeks heat up.

Your day had started with burnt toast but you had a feeling Peter was going to make it a fun day. 

+

Hours later, the living room was now shifted into a small fortress made of blankets and chairs. Toy Story was playing on the TV while you and Peter paid attention to your separate coloring books. Your most relaxing pastime was having your paci, letting it soothe you, while you colored. You stayed inside the lines unlike Peter and he’d constantly tear out his pages before starting again. 

The two of you had changed out of your costumes from early, having done a million activities since tea this morning. You were down your panties, a rainbow t-shirt, and fuzzy pink socks. You were flipping the page in your book when you felt Peter’s foot graze the bottom of yours. You didn’t think much of it, even starting to find the feeling soothing after a while. 

When you turned your head towards him, you found him watching you, “I’m bored,” He spoke suddenly, “Let’s play a video game.”

You only shook your head, turning back to your drawing, and you heard him let out a frustrated huff of air. The stroking of your foot soon turned into a tapping. Despite your attempt to ignore him, he began to inch closer to you. When you turned your head again, his face was only inches from yours and you were looking into his brown eyes, “We can play pretend some more,” That made you perk up and, despite being in the middle of drawing a castle, you set down your crayon. 

You gave him a curious look which caused him to smile, “We could play Mommy and Daddy,” As your eyebrows raised in confusion, he continued, “Well I’d be the Daddy and you’d be the Mommy of course. Don’t you know how to play?”

You slowly shook your head and Peter leaned in. You were frozen for a moment as he kissed your pacifier. You felt your cheeks heat us as he gently removed it from your mouth then pressed his soft lips against yours. You’d never shared a kiss with him while the two of you were alone and, for a moment, it felt forbidden, “We have to ask permission…”

Peter could see your enjoyment as clear as day, “But we’re just pretending. Mommies and Daddies kiss all the time,” You nodded, understanding though you still felt a bit nervous. 

“I like your kisses, Petey,” You said and you watched his face turn red. He leaned in again and you were grateful for his touch, how he moved your lips against yours, and how his tongue began to explore your mouth. You turned on your side and you felt his hands roam over your backside. 

He dipped his fingers into your panties, causing you to cry out, “Shush, we have to be quiet. We can’t wake up the baby,” He whispered to you and you instantly nodded, enjoying the sensation, “You’re soaked, Y/N.”

You could feel his member growing hard against your thigh, still confined to his underwear. You reached out to touch it and you watched him shudder at your touch, “Geez…” He groaned, “Do you want to make another baby?” Something seemed to shift in his eyes and suddenly he was more eager than before. 

“Yes,” You nodded, playing along to whatever scenario he was making up along the way, “I love being a Mommy.”

Peter couldn’t wait much longer and you let him climb on top of you as you quickly pulled down your panties. He didn’t waste time with his own underwear, pulling out his hard cock, and pressing against your warm heat. You felt his tip rub against your clit and then up and down your folds. 

You held onto the sides of his torso, gripping his striped shirt tightly as he began to sink inside of you, “Y-You’re so tight, honey,” he began to rock back and forth, looking into your eyes as he hovered over you. He gripped the pillows beneath you tightly, the motion in his hips causing your body to convulse beneath him. 

“Peter, peter, peter,” You breathed, biting down on your lip. His head dipped down, kissing your lips again and, distracted, you didn’t notice that his hand moved between your thighs. He fucked you while his hand stroked your sensitive bulb, knowing that would send you over your edge. As you tightened around him, you brought him to his climax. 

As he collapsed against you, catching his breath, you welcomed his embrace. 

“You can’t tell Papa or Daddy,” He told you, hugging you tight.

You only held out your pinky and he wrapped his around yours. 

You wouldn’t tell but you imagined the grand punishment that would ultimately lead to you cumming until you passed out. 

+

“Petey … petey,” You tapped the sleeping boy’s nose until you finally startled him awake. He was quite cute when he slept, holding tight to his teddy bear while he was tucked into his baby blue sheets. Peter pouted as soon as he opened his eyes, seeing you hovering over his face, book in hand, “I can’t sleep.”

He attempted to close his eyes again, “Count your sheep, Y/N,” He mumbled as he turned his head away from you. 

You bounced on top of him, your legs straddling him, and he awoke again, “I counted all the sheep! Like five trillion-million of them,” As your voice raised, he pressed his pointer finger to his lips. He sat up on his elbows, giving you a frustrated look. 

“Shush, you don’t wanna get in trouble, do you?” You instantly shook your head, obeying his warning to calm down. Peter eyes the book in your hand, “Why can’t you read it to yourself?”

“I like the way you read,” You spoke earnestly, “And you can say all the big words.”

You knew that would work, stroking his ego. Peter loved it when everyone treated him like a big boy. He thought for only a moment, a small smile tugging at his lips and suddenly his tiredness was gone.

“C’mon, get under,” He motioned for you to move and, excitedly, you climbed under the covers with him. The twin-sized bed fit you two comfortably and you liked cuddling more than anything. As Peter pulled the covers over you, he whipped out the flashlight he kept underneath his pillow.

You rested your head against his chest, wrapping your arms around his torso, as you listened to him, “Don’ you worry, Harry. You’ll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you’ll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it’s hard. Yeh’ve been singled out, an’ that’s always hard. But yeh’ll have a great time at Hogwarts — I did — still do, ’smatter of fact.”

The accents he used always made you giggle. Peter was quite the story teller but that didn’t keep you from drifting off a few minutes later. Peter kept reading, entranced by the novel, but stopped when he heard your soft snores. He turned off the light and let the book fall against his stomach. 

“G’night, Y/N.”

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twenty-Eight

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: the beginning of the end :,) if u made it this far i think ur cool

***

“Where do you see yourself in five years?” Lana asks.

Nesta closes her eyes, letting the picture swirl and take shape in her mind.

This time last year, she would have imagined nothing. Nothing but a desk in a busy law office, and maybe a nice apartment if she was lucky. That would be it. But now she sees…

“Somewhere with good food and good music,” she muses. “Maybe a sea breeze.” The sun-faded buildings of Portofino fade into the foreground of her imagination. “There are lots of people with me,” she hears the sound of children shrieking and Cassian’s rumbling laughter, “but it’s okay, because I love every one of them.” Her eyes open. “Is that a good answer?”

A near invisible smile tugs at the corners of Lana’s lips. “You tell me, Nesta. Do you like what you see?”

“It’s a little too cinematic if you ask me,” Nesta says nonchalantly, picking up her bag from the ground, “but I suppose all dreams are that way.”

“It’s a good dream,” Lana says. “A worthy dream, and one you deserve to chase.”

Nesta shrugs lightly, not too worried about the burden of the future for once. “Maybe I will.”

“In that case, congratulations on completing your final therapy session,” Lana says, setting her notebook aside. “You’ve made some amazing progress this year.”

Nesta gives her therapist her signature what’s-wrong-with-you look. “I’m going on vacation, not firing you for good. I’ll see you again in two months.”

“Two months can be enough to lose all your progress, if you forget everything you went through to get here.”

Nesta isn’t stupid. She knows that she isn’t suddenly desperate to make babies or be maid of honor at her sisters’ weddings or some bullshit. She knows that the image she just dreamed up, with Cassian and kids and her unburdened heart, is likely more than five years away. If it happens at all, it could be ten, even twenty years of hard work away.

She’s not nearly finished growing yet. “I’ll see you in two months, Lana,” she repeats.

Lana smiles at her fully this time. “Enjoy your summer, Nesta.”

***

The air is different in the Smokies.

Nesta rolls the truck windows down so she can inhale it, relish it. Wind whips her hair every which way as they drive down the winding freeway cutting through the lush mountains, and something about the look on her face makes Cassian chuckle and press down on the accelerator.

Nesta watches the red needle on the speedometer cross ninety, then one hundred. She can barely feel the June heat with how fast they’re going.

In the end, it was Feyre and Elain that reached out and invited her to the Tennessee summer home. Cassian had made it obvious that he wouldn’t push her to go if she didn’t want to, and at first she really didn’t want to. But Feyre had looked so hopeful when she asked Nesta to come with them, and even Elain had revealed a glimmer of eagerness that Nesta would say yes.

So against all odds, she agreed to go.

Exchanging one mountain home for another isn’t much of a getaway, but Nesta can’t help but be excited. Even with the unhappy memories of her childhood, she loves these hills more than any other.

The pure exhilaration of being back in Tennessee overcomes her at some point during the drive, knocking her out in the passenger seat where she sits. In her drowsy state, she distantly hears the windows being rolled up, before feeling Cassian’s hand guide her head to rest against the glass. The rest of the drive is warm and sunny, enough to lull her into a deep sleep.

The next thing Nesta’s aware of is the crunch of gravel and the feeling of the truck tires slowing to a stop. Fingers brush against her heated cheek, and then Cassian is murmuring at her to wake up.

Blinking her eyes open, Nesta twists around to see their destination.

For a moment, she thinks she’s still dreaming.

“Welcome to Holly House,” Cassian says with a grin. The house in question is quaint and sprawling at the same time, the way most upper class Southerners like their houses. The whole thing gleams with a fresh coat of white paint under the afternoon sun, complemented by a sky blue wraparound porch. Colonial style windows and proud columns decorating the facade of the building makes it look like the setting of a fairy tale.

Beyond it, Nesta can see cherry blossoms. Pink, fluttering cherry blossoms that fly off their branches and swirl through the air, some of them disappearing into the thick woods behind the house. Woods that Nesta has walked countless times before.

“The rest of the guys won’t get here until tomorrow afternoon,” Cassian is saying to her, “so we have the whole place to our—”

Nesta isn’t listening anymore. She unbuckles her seatbelt and shoves open the truck door, hobbling outside on unsteady feet to make sure she isn’t hallucinating things. But no, this is…

“Cherrywood,” she breathes, eyes wide in disbelief.

Cassian gets out of the truck, coming up beside Nesta to slip his hand into her shorts pocket. “What’s wrong? You okay?”

“This is Rhysand’s summer home?” Nesta points at the house. “This place?”

Cassian looks around at the building grounds in confusion. “Has been for the last two decades, yeah.”

It’s been eleven years since she last stepped foot on these grounds.

With wonderment in her voice, she utters to Cassian, “I’ve been here before.”

At his puzzled look, she explains, “I lived just on the other side of those woods.” She points to the trees. “There’s an old cracked road that hasn’t been maintained since it was first paved, and you can follow it straight to the poor side of town. Whenever I wanted to get away, I would come down that road and trek through the woods, and I’d end up here. I stopped coming because…” she trails off.

Because she got caught that one time.

Cassian seems to realize it at the same moment as her. His hand slips out of her pocket. “You…”

Nesta remembers a tall boy with shocked eyes and shaggy hair, and she shakes her head slowly in forceful denial. It can’t be true. It’s too much of a coincidence.

But he points at her, then her feet. “You—with the size six Converse,” he sputters. “It was you.”

Before Nesta can confirm or deny it, he grabs her by the wrist and starts tugging her along, up the porch stairs and inside the house.

Even with Rhysand and Feyre’s renovations, it looks undeniably the same as all those years ago. The living room is to her right and the farmhouse style kitchen and dining area is to the left, though she speeds by it all as Cassian pulls her farther inside the house, to the closet beneath the curving stairs.

He lets go of her hand to search the small closet, muttering, “I know they were here somewhere.” But the closet looks like it was stripped empty for renovations, with only bolts in the walls indicating that shoe racks used to hang there.

Cassian turns and heads for the stairs, and Nesta blindly follows him. She also wants to go upstairs, wants to see if the bay window looking out onto the garden has stayed the same.

Like he read her mind, he leads her straight to the room she used to spend hours reading in. It’s smaller than all the other bedrooms in the house, but it’s always been her favorite because of the view.

As Cassian keeps looking for whatever it is he’s looking for, upturning boxes and checking beneath furniture, Nesta drifts toward the bay window. She looks from the cherry blossom trees outside, to the full-sized bed, to Cassian, and a weight drops even heavier in her gut. She has to reach out and grip the edge of the dresser for support.

Finally, Cassian pops out of the closet victorious. In his hand are a pair of ragged shoes that Nesta hasn’t worn in a long, long time.

He comes over and drops them with a thud at her feet.

“Whose room is this?” she asks with a rough voice, still staring down at the shoes.

“Mine,” he answers simply.

“Oh.” She met him before. She met him before.

When Nesta dares to look up and meet Cassian’s eyes, what she finds there nearly robs her of breath: wonder, astonishment, and unwavering fealty. He breaks into sudden wholehearted laughter, which dazes her even more.

“What’s so funny?” she demands.

Cassian gets out between laughs, “What was it Rhysand said about Feyre? When they found out they were close to crossing paths when they were younger?”

Nesta’s earth-tilting shock slowly slips away, replaced by a stern look. “Don’t say it.”

He pretends to remember. “I think it was fate.” A wicked smirk pulls at his lips at Nesta’s resigned sigh. “But I have another word for it, too.”

“Don’t say that, either.” She pleadingly holds up her hands, only for Cassian to snatch one out of the air and intertwine his fingers with hers.

“Soulmate,” he says quietly, now less amused.

Nesta swallows thickly, not having any words for him. All she knows is that he is never going to let her live this down.

“Imagine if we’d gone to the same high school,” Cassian says to her later that afternoon as they lounge in his old room. “Fuck, I could’ve saved myself so much time with all those random girls.” They’ve been swapping childhood stories for the past hour, as if they might find more instances in their history of a red string tying them together.

Nesta doesn’t need coincidences or fateful run-ins to know that a string has always been wrapped around her ring finger, pulling her to Colorado and to that cabin. But for Cassian’s sake, she’ll gladly amuse him. “I would have been a freshman while you were a senior,” she says matter-of-factly. “It never could have happened.”

He hums in thought, head propped up in his hand, elbow propped up against the bay window seat. “Maybe if you were older. You would have been the smart, quiet girl, and I’d have been the player jock, and as soon as we locked eyes in math class, I’d be head over heels in love with you.”

Nesta cackles from where she sits in the window seat above him. “Now you’re just writing fanfiction.”

Cassian grins up at her but doesn’t send a rebuttal her way. The conversation falls into a lull, until Nesta has to reach out and ask, “What are you thinking?”

His smile turns a little sad. “That I wish we weren’t doing this right before I leave for another country.”

Right. That’s what’s been hanging over them the entire trip to Tennessee: that as soon as they get back to Colorado, Cassian is going to be on a plane to Milan.

Getting Keith O’Connell to quit—how exactly Cassian went about accomplishing it, he still won’t tell Nesta—left Rhysand at square one with his search for a team leader for his overseas venture.

When Cassian brought up the idea of taking the job to Nesta, he sounded like he hoped she would shoot him down, talk him out of it. He both wanted to go and was reluctant to leave, like his very soul was glued to his home and he didn’t want to unstick himself.

So Nesta, being his home, had to do the unsticking for him. She nearly accepted the year-long Milan position herself for Cassian’s sake, and it took weeks of coaxing and convincing to put him at ease about the whole thing.

“But we promised to go together for the first time,” he kept saying.

“We’ll still go together one day, and it’ll still be our first time there with each other,” she reassured him.

Eventually, he relented to her and Rhysand’s pressures with a single condition. “I’ll do six months. Not a year.”

Only Nesta knows deep down how much Cassian needs this opportunity. Though Cassian must know it a little bit too, because he wouldn’t have taken the job if he didn’t.

Nesta might have needed him in order to come out of her shell, but now he needs to get away from her in order to find his own shell. Something he can call his own, unburdened by his loyalties to the people he loves. So he can find who he wants to be for himself, without always being attached to her hip.

Rising to her feet, Nesta raises her arms in the air in a full body stretch. Her back and legs ache with being curled up in that window seat for so long without movement.

Dropping her arms, she holds out a hand to Cassian still sitting on the floor. “Come on,” she urges him. “Let’s go outside. I haven’t seen a Smoky sunset in years.”

“But it’s not evening yet,” he argues while taking her hand.

Outside, they explore the garden that leads into the woods while waiting for the sun to slink down the sky. Cherry blossoms ride the summer breeze wherever it takes them, resulting in Cassian sniffling and scratching at his neck as they walk hand in hand.

“Rhysand wanted to take these trees down and replace them with a flower garden for Elain,” he tells Nesta as they walk. His sinuses sound clogged, but he’s refused to go back inside until he’s explained every inch of the land to Nesta. “I convinced him not to because it would ruin the view from my bedroom window. Didn’t I make the right choice?” He throws a grin in her direction.

Nesta’s swallow is tight at that grin. “The view from your room was always my favorite part about the entire place. So yes, you did good.”

His eyes widen at that tidbit of information, and she can almost see him tucking it away as more Soulmate Evidence.

They stroll through the woods for a while, and Nesta points out the path she would take to get to Cherrywood—she still insists on calling it Cherrywood, even when Cassian argues that the house’s original name has been around since the sixties.

“Show me the rest of the way?” Cassian asks her, face lit up in boyish hope. “Show me where you ran away to that day I found you.”

Nesta almost expects the memory of the rundown apartment complex she grew up in to feel like being shoved into sludge: dirty, cold, and slimy. Instead, she finds she has no problem with looking back at her old home, no matter how many ugly memories she holds from there.

However, the dappled sunlight streaming in through the trees overhead has turned from yellow to dark gold, and she shakes her head in apology to Cassian. “Another day,” she promises him. “It’s almost sunset.”

They walk back to the house, rounding it until they reach the front. At the bottom of the hill that the house is perched on stands a pier that leads all the way out to the lake. Green mountains frame the lake from both sides, creating the perfect cradle for the sun to sink into.

They go all the way out to the edge of the pier, as if they’re trying to get as close to the sunset as physically possible. Dragonflies lazily swoop by as the lake is gradually painted in a hundred different colors.

Once there’s more darkness than light in the sky, Cassian nudges Nesta with one of the arms he has around her. “Look.” He points.

Along the shoreline of the lake, little dots of light have lit up to welcome the evening, their blinking glow so small that Nesta almost doesn’t catch it. Fireflies.

Nesta watches the insects flit in and out of the long grasses of the lake shore, getting tangled in the weeds and wildflowers. In that moment, she remembers something Cassian once confessed to her not long after his birthday.

I want to see more beautiful places with you.

Nesta ticks this beautiful place off the long list in her head—the first place out of many that she plans to see with Cassian.

More beautiful than the scene before her is the man in her arms. The man who was kind enough to understand a woman who barely understood herself, and to be her friend when she had none. The man who is extending his kindness right now by not having made any breaking-and-entering jokes about Nesta so far, though she’s sure he’ll pull them out eventually.

Discovering that she once found Cassian, just to let him slip by running away from him, only to find him again over a decade later—it comforts the tiny part of her that’s loath to say goodbye to him in two weeks.

Like Cassian is thinking the same thing, he murmurs into the dark, “I can’t wait to come back to you.”

Nesta huffs in amusement. “You haven’t even left yet.”

“I know.” After a moment, he adds in a low voice that not even the fireflies can hear, “Thank you for convincing me to go.”

She reaches up to squeeze his bicep. “Always.” And then she adds what she really wants him to hear: “Don’t come back until you find what you’re looking for.”

“I better find it quick then,” he jokes. Still, he nods in promise against the side of her head.

The only sound after that is the chirp of cicadas and the occasional lap of water meeting the pier beams. Nesta and Cassian stay outside in the June heat long after the sky turns ink blue.

***

a/n: next chapter is just some ic bullshit so take all ur bittersweet sentimentality here and go

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[iliveiloveiwrite]

winged cupid painted blind // Anthony Bridgerton

Request: I’d really love something based on love story by Taylor Swift. The lines “We keep quite cuz we’re dead if they knew” and “take me somewhere we can be alone” stick out to me //  I was thinking that the reader could be from a family that isn’t well off and her and Anthony meet at a ball somehow. They create a ruse that she’s from a well known family so that the gossips in the ton don’t attack her because Anthony has fallen in love with a “commoner.” All the Bridgertons are in on the ruse and at the end of the story Anthony proposes - @whovianwholikesgirls

A/N: Why is it that every Bridgerton fic I write, I end up writing thousands and thousands of words? This is long and I am sorry for that! As always, I hope I have done your request justice and that I hope you like!

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: she/her pronouns, female reader, class divides, pining, mutual pining, lots of fluff, dancing, kissing, happy ending, Anthony in love.

Word count: 7.7k

Madame Delacroix’s took up the central property on the most prosperous street coming just off of Grosvenor Square. The most popular modiste in London, many of society’s richest families flocked to her door in order to claim their own dress made by the talented seamstress.

Anthony sighs as he climbs down from the carriage. His mother must be in a particular benevolent mood to send him to pick up her newest dress from the modiste. Anthony would much rather be spending his day at his club, but he finds himself ringing the modiste’s bell for service.

“Monsieur Bridgerton!” Madame Delacroix smiles, delighted at the sight of the Viscount. “How can I help you?” She asks, her smile turning flirtatious.

Anthony responds with his own flirtatious smile. “I’m here to pick up a dress for my mother.”

“Of course, of course,” Madame Delacroix sings, “I have it over here. I finished it last night. It is divine!”

“My mother will surely thank you,” Anthony states earnestly, his gaze dancing around the room filled to the brim with fabrics and ribbons, models and hoops.

“No need,” Madame Delacroix, “The Bridgertons are my best customers.”

Anthony takes the offered box, marvelling at the lightness of its weight. For all the skirts, for all the numerous pieces of fabric that go into making a dress, Anthony will always remain shocked at the featherlight weight of it.

“Will Lady Bridgerton be wearing this to the Hastings’ ball tonight?” The modiste asks, her tone light as she tries her best to keep the burning curiosity out of her voice.

“Most likely,” Anthony smiles, tipping his head in goodbye.

The modiste calls out her goodbyes as Anthony walks out the door. He doesn’t pay much attention to where he is going; only knowing that he needs to turn left in order to reach his carriage. The very thought has him rushing, safe in the knowledge that the quicker he got his done, the quicker he would be at his club.

It’s that self-indulgent thought that had Anthony distracted enough to walk into something hard.

“Oh!” A feminine voice gasps as Anthony catches her elbow whilst keeping a tight hold on the dress box.

“My apologies,” Anthony offers, steadying the unknown woman.

“You’re forgiven,” She murmurs dryly, turning her attention back to the seamstresses window.

“You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“No, I’m perfectly fine. Thank you for your concern, Lord Bridgerton.”

“My pleasure, Miss…”

“(Y/L/N).”

“My pleasure, Miss (Y/L/N),” Anthony repeats, adjusting the dress box in his hands. He goes to say something else but notices her slyly counting the money in her purse, watching her frown when she realises she cannot afford the prices set by Madame Delacroix.

“Have a nice day, Lord Bridgerton,” Miss (Y/L/N) remarks, stepping away from the Viscount to begin her walk home. She didn’t need a Viscount to be witness to her money troubles; she had thought she had enough, but the prices must have been increased since the last time she had wandered past the window. It would be another two weeks of saving before she could afford a new set of ribbons; it wasn’t worth it at this point, she sighed to herself.

“You too!” Anthony shouts to her retreating figure, feeling upset on her behalf that she could not afford the ribbons she was so dazedly admiring. Shaking off the uncomfortable feeling, Anthony climbs into the carriage, thinking of the young woman all the way home.

-----

“Jayne!” (Y/N) laughs, “Slow down! I’m going to lose a shoe.”

“Alright, Cinderella,” Jayne snickers, slowing her pace as she climbs the winding staircase to the home of the Duke and Duchess of Hastings.

“Have you ever seen such a home?” (Y/N) gasps; eyes widening as she takes in the grand structure. The brickwork is immaculate; many red bricks painted black to give the impression of a crosshatch pattern spreading across the building. This is only highlighted by the many windows; all seemingly lit by a countless number of candles and sconces.

“(Y/N)!” Jayne shouts, “Stop admiring the building! We have a dance to get to.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” (Y/N) laughs, hurrying after her friend who has already handed over their invitation.

Jayne grips (Y/N)’s hand tightly as they enter the ballroom together. The event is in full swing; the dancefloor already full with couples dancing a quadrille.

“Would you dance with me?” The handsome brunette asks of Jayne, staring at her hopefully. Jayne casts her gaze to (Y/N), not wanting to leave her friend, but wanting very much to dance with the handsome man.

(Y/N) nudges Jayne forward, answering for her. “She would be delighted.”

Jayne sends her a thankful smile as she joins more and more couples on the dancefloor.

The drinks table isn’t busy at all as (Y/N) wanders over. She makes sure to keep an eye on Jayne, watching her dance with what looks to be a Rokesby. (Y/N) shakes her head fondly at her friend; ten minutes into a ball and she’s already caught the attention of a member of one of the richest families in England.

Turning her attention away from her friend, (Y/N) reaches for a glass of lemonade when her hand brushes with a man clearly wanting the same glass. (Y/N) pulls her hand away, not wanting to cause any trouble at a ball she wasn’t even invited to.

“My apologies,” She murmurs, grabbing another glass from the many.

“You’re forgiven,” A voice drawls. (Y/N) glances upwards through her lashes to find Anthony Bridgerton watching her with a confused expression.

“Lord Bridgerton,” (Y/N) greets, curtseying lightly at the sight of her superior.

Anthony nods. He remains silent as he stands next to her; it’s not an awkward silence, rather, one where (Y/N) can practically hear the cogs and gears winding in Anthony’s mind, trying to figure out where he knows her from. If he knows her at all.

“I met you this morning,” Anthony recalls suddenly, snapping his fingers together when he remembers why he recognises the woman standing next to him.

“You almost knocked me over,” She states wryly, lifting her glass to her lips to take a tentative sip of the lukewarm lemonade.

“I believe I apologised for that, Miss (Y/L/N).”

“Call me (Y/N). And I forgave you,” She states simply, “But It doesn’t mean I’m going to let you forget it, however.”

“I’d be disappointed in you, if you did.”

(Y/N) laughs. The very sound music to Anthony’s ears and he briefly wonders whether he could have the sound imprinted on his brain; to hear her laughter for an eternity.

“What are you doing here?” Anthony asks, taking a pull of his lemonade before wrinkling his nose. Too sweet, not sour enough. “Are you here with your parents?”

“I wasn’t technically invited,” She confesses to the Viscount in a conspiratorial whisper. Anthony’s eyes widen when her words land, “What?”

“I came to chaperone my friend, Jayne. You may know her, she’s Lord Dorchester’s daughter.”

Anthony nods; he knew the man well, drank with him a few times at his club – dreadfully dull with a fascination for military history. Much like many of the men of his father’s generation.

“Anyway,” (Y/N) continues, “Jayne wanted to go, but needed a chaperone as her mother has taken ill – nothing serious thankfully. I was the next best option so here I am.”

“Here you are,” Anthony parrots, enunciating every syllable as his eyes pour over her figure. “If you weren’t invited, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a governess for Lord and Lady Saville,” She answers proudly; a happy smile on her face as she thinks of her students.

“I hated my governess,” Anthony confesses with a laugh. “I don’t care much for Latin which she knew so she would make me do double the work.”

(Y/N) snorts. “Latin is a very useful language; it’s a good skill to have.”

“I know that now,” Anthony gripes, “I just didn’t know that at ten years old.”

Silence descends between them. Again, not uncomfortable, but a natural stopping point in their conversation. After all, titled gentleman such as the man stood beside her didn’t speak to her occupation outside of a brief conversation about their child’s progress in their education.

(Y/N) places her finished glass of lemonade back on the table before smoothing out the deep blue skirts of her borrowed dress. She clears her throat, ready to make her excuses and check on Jayne when Anthony speaks first.

“Would you care to dance?”

“Pardon?”

“Would you like to dance with me?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why not?”

“I’m a governess, Lord Bridgerton.”

“Call me Anthony, please.”

“That still doesn’t change the fact that you’re supposed to dance with someone of your own class, Anthony.”

“I don’t want to dance with them. I want to dance with you.”

His argument is straight to the point; no beating around the bush that (Y/N) finds it hard to find fault with it. Instead, she sighs, “One dance.”

“One dance,” Anthony promises, holding out his hand for her to grasp.

She didn’t expect to find herself the centre of the Viscount’s attention, but she cannot bring herself to mind much. Not as he holds out a hand for her to take; not as he leads to her to the dancefloor and not as he settles a palm against her lower back. The feel of his hand feeling so right that she loses the power of speech.

The music begins and (Y/N) travels to a new place entirely. The room melts away; the couples, the families. They all disappear. The only two people in the room are her and Anthony; his blue eyes fixed on her as they start to circle the room in waltz. There’s no need for conversation; all words passed by looks alone.

When the music dies and the room fades back into view, (Y/N) only wonders whether she would feel like this again, whether they would be anyone to make her feel like this again. As Anthony bows and kisses her hand, (Y/N) has her answer.

----------

He doesn’t stop thinking about her. She left soon after they finished dancing; her friend finding her and asking whether she was ready to leave. Anthony wanted to argue; wanted to reach for (Y/N) and pull her back to his embrace where they could dance the night away.

Anthony returned home and went straight to his room. He undressed mechanically; still thinking of her as he slipped between his sheets and tried to fall asleep only to find that sleep was a fickle friend that would not be granting him a visit tonight.

He remains awake; thinking of every aspect of her. He didn’t think he would see her again after the modiste; it was a shock to find her at the ball, but he took the opportunity with both hands to find that he had quickly become infatuated with her.

Could this be called love? Anthony rolls over in bed; tangling himself up in the sheets as he runs a hand up and down his bare chest, thinking the question over and over.

He felt as if he had hit by the arrow of Cupid; as if he had handed himself over voluntarily to be pricked with one of the god’s arrows. He’s never felt like this; no woman had ever kept him awake at night in such a manner.

Groaning, Anthony reaches for the pillow on the other side of the bed, hugging it to his chest. All the while, he dreams it was her body he was pressing close to.

The day after the Ball, Anthony strides from his study to his mother’s drawing room. There, he sits next to his beloved mother, and asks her to gather his siblings for a family meeting.

They arrive one by one. The youngest arriving first; a simple call from the bottom of the stairs has Gregory and Hyacinth rushing to the drawing room, each one adamant that they didn’t do it, but rather their sibling. Anthony shakes his head in exasperation, not wanting to know what they were referring to and instead, asks them to take a seat on the pale blue couch in front of the window.

Over the course of an hour, Anthony’s family arrive. Each one just as curious as the last, each one just as questioning as the last. “Why have you gathered us here, Anthony?” Daphne sighs, her hand resting on Simon’s knee.

“I’ve met someone,” Anthony announces. He frowns at the shocked gasps from Daphne and Eloise; was he really so incapable of finding himself a wife? He ignores the jibes from them both, turning to face his dear mother.

Violet Bridgerton sits in her favourite chair; the one next to it empty as it has been for the last decade. Edmund Bridgerton died so suddenly, and their love was so strong, Anthony knew that there was no recovery from it. “Do we know her?” She asks; her face showing the happiness she feels for her eldest son.

“No,” Anthony sighs, settling down next to his youngest sister, Hyacinth. She offers him a sweet smile as he sits; Anthony cannot help but return the smile and ruffle her hair. When the moment is over, Anthony focuses his attention back onto his family who he finds is watching him intently. “She’s a governess,” He admits, straightening in his seat.

“A respectable profession,” Eloise states with a smile. Anthony feels a rush of affection for his sister; he had always been wary for her outspokenness, but right now, he could thank her heartily.

“What’s the problem, Anthony?” Eloise continues, crossing her ankles, leaning forward in interest.

“I think she may have feelings for me as well, but she’s hesitant to act on them because of our differences.”

“Differences?” Hyacinth questions curiously; unaware of such class differences at such a young age.

“(Y/N) is a governess. I am a Viscount,” Anthony explains, “It would be the subject of gossip for years to come should anything happen between us.”

“So we come up with another story,” Francesca suggests, shrugging her shoulders as if her suggestion was always the answer.

“Another story?” Daphne wonders, eyes glancing between her husband and her family.

“We create a ruse,” Francesca explains to her elder sister. “A story for (Y/N) and Anthony to follow when out in public.”

“Do you think she would go along with this?” Benedict asks; his tone wary as he thinks of the possible implications this could have for his family.

Anthony remains silent, tapping a finger against his cheek as he thinks of whether (Y/N) would follow such a ruse. “Why don’t we ask her? I can send a summons.”

Violet, who had been watching the whole exchange in silence, nods. “Send her a message asking her to come as quick as she can. Tell her it isn’t an emergency, but that you would like to talk to her.”

Anthony nods; rushing from the drawing room to his study to pen such a message. After that, he calls on one of the footmen, handing them the letter and the strict duty of delivering this to (Y/N) personally. The footman nods; his face serious as he takes the letter from his employer’s hand, all but sprinting out of the door.

Anthony returns to the drawing room; taking his seat next to Hyacinth.

“Did you send the missive?” Violet asks. Anthony nods; doing his best to keep his heart from beating right out of his chest. “I sent it with one of the footmen,” He answers, “It shouldn’t be long now.”

His family all nod, breaking off into separate conversations whilst Anthony remains stoic and silent. His leg bounces repeatedly; the only outward sign of his anxiety. Internally, he nerves were fraught. He couldn’t help but wonder whether this was all too much; he knew from their first meeting that Anthony would do anything for her, but if (Y/N) didn’t return such feelings then it was all for nothing.

Worries and thoughts continue to plague him as Anthony catches sight of Daphne leaning into Simon. It’s a small movement, almost imperceptible, but Anthony cannot miss the devoted smile that crosses Simon’s face when he feels his wife press against him.

Longing breaks within Anthony’s chest, spreading through his body, leaving behind an ache that he doesn’t know how to heal.

“Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” introduces the Butler, breaking Anthony’s longing in half.

He stands all too fast, appearing all too eager. Anthony shoots a glare in his brother’s direction when he hears their sniggering.

(Y/N) rushes into the room; her eyes filled with panic when she finds herself in front of the whole Bridgerton clan. “Anthony?” She whispers; her eyes finally meeting his from across the room.

“(Y/N),” He breathes, “Thank you for coming.”

“You told me not to worry, but you sounded so urgent.”

“We wanted to talk to you,” He explains, gesturing to his whole family. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

(Y/N) sits; her mind running a thousand miles a minute as she finds herself being watched by every Bridgerton/Basset in the room. The room is silent; too silent – no-one dares broach the subject first. They don’t want to anger Anthony or ruin his chances with (Y/N).

“Whatever is the matter?” (Y/N) finally asks, breaking the silence.

“We’ve come to understand that you and Anthony have feelings for each other,” Violet states quite plainly.

(Y/N) fidgets, somewhat uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “I guess you could say that,” She offers, smiling smally at the aforementioned man.

“We also know that you’re worried about the differences between Anthony and yourself,” Violet continues to which Eloise huffs, crossing her arms in anger at the state of the class differences within England.

“It’s not so much worried,” (Y/N) explains, “It’s more resigned to the fact.”

Violet nods, understanding where the young governess is coming from. “Francesca,” Violet starts, nodding to the brunette sitting by one of Anthony’s brothers, “Has come up with an idea that we would like to run by you.”

“Oh?”

“It would mean that you and Anthony would be able to begin a courtship.”

(Y/N) feels herself flush; her face heating with how open the Bridgerton family were about their emotions. Their family unit so healthy and happy that everyone felt at ease to talk about whatever was on their minds.

“What did you have in mind?” (Y/N) asks, turning to face Francesca who responds with a large smile.

“We’re going to create a backstory for you. Not something terribly complicated, but something that you and Anthony can follow whilst out in public.”

“Okay…” (Y/N) whispers hesitantly, “What’s the backstory you’ve created?”

Francesca begins to look sheepish. “I haven’t thought of that part yet… I didn’t think Anthony would go for the first part.”

(Y/N) laughs; a light and airy sound that has Anthony straightening in his seat, smiling automatically. “Why don’t we come up with it together?”

“So you’re willing to go along with it?” Anthony asks; his voice unwaveringly hopeful as he refuses to look at anyone but (Y/N).

Something in his face has her nodding. “For as long as you’ll have me,” She answers earnestly, almost breathless when Anthony smiles widely in return.

“This is what I’ve thought of so far,” Colin announces, breaking the moment between Anthony and (Y/N).

The family turn to Colin to find him sat forward on his seat, an eager look across his face as he begins to lay out his plans. Anthony smiles and nods; happy with every word leaving his brother’s mouth.

(Y/N) cannot help but feel an ounce of doubt; not so much at the plan, but for longevity of it. How long would it be before Anthony realised she was not worth it? How long would it before the class difference between them became too much? She dreaded the day but knew it would be upon her before she realised.

----------

The annual picnic in Hyde Park drew in every affable family in London. After all, it was another excuse for mother’s to parade their daughters to the many eligible gentleman. For the gentlemen, it was a free lunch with whichever gazebo they chose to throw themselves upon.

The Bridgertons had been attending this picnic for many years; their station in society meaning that they were personally invited by the monarch. Violet took pride in her set up, making sure her cook’s famous biscuits were on display and that there was plenty of tea to go around. She also ensured that her family had the perfect view of the Serpentine; not too close for her children to fall in, but not too far for it to be out of sight. It was not a sorry affair.

(Y/N) had joined the family happily; talking briefly with Colin and Eloise before Hyacinth monopolised her attention. (Y/N) didn’t mind; she had taught many young girls the same age as Hyacinth and found them all a delight to educate. Hyacinth would be no different.

It wasn’t long, however, before Anthony joined her side. His hand settled comfortably on the small of her back, liking the way that she stepped closer to him, as if wanting to be in his presence all the time.  

“Did you have fun the other night?” Anthony questions, thinking back to Daphne’s ball when (Y/N) had smiled at him as he lead her across the dancefloor.

(Y/N) smiles. “I did. I had a lot of fun.”

“How are you feeling about our ruse?” Anthony queries, catching sight of Lady Featherington marching across the many blankets in the direction of the Bridgerton patch.

“Confident,” (Y/N) answers, “Why do you ask?”

Anthony smiles; shifting his position slightly so he can hear every word of the conversation about to happen. He ducks his head, his mouth close to her ear as he answers, “Because it’s about to be put to the test.”

“Lady Bridgerton,” Lady Featherington calls; her gaudy green gown shimmering in the sunlight as she teeters her way to the matriarch of the fine family.

“Lady Featherington,” Violet greets, her voice as polite as ever. “How are you?”

Lady Featherington smiles at Violet; her gaze glancing around the colourful blankets and gazebo set out for the Bridgerton family to remain comfortable as the picnic progresses. Lady Featherington smiles when her eyes find the figure she was looking for. (Y/N) stands to the side, wrapped up in a conversation with Anthony that certainly looks to be a private one.

Lady Featherington nods towards (Y/N); the fascinator attached to her threatening to slip into her eyes. “You have a new addition to your family, Lady Bridgerton,” Lady Featherington states; no infliction of a question but one inferred all the same.

“(Y/N) is a distant friend of the family,” Violet answers breezily, “She hails from a wealthy family just outside of Leeds.”

“Leeds?”

Violet nods. “Yes, Leeds. It’s just over 20 miles outside of York, perhaps you’ve been?”

Lady Featherington smiles tightly at Violet. She smooths down the green panels of her dress. “A handful of times, Lady Bridgerton. After all, my side of the family hails from Manchester. The two aren’t so far removed.”

“Of course,” Violet appeases, “How does your family fare? I’d heard your mother was ill.”

Lady Featherington continues to smile graciously at the Dowager Viscount. Her eyes are brimming with warning and curiosity, but her smile is forced. “Mother is doing much better, she travelled to the coast. The latest journals are saying sea air helps with fragile conditions.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Lady Featherington nods her thanks to Violet before making her excuses. Violet’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as she watches the notorious gossip walk away from her gazebo. Lady Featherington’s shoulders are tight with displeasure as she marches back to her own plot.

Violet returns to the stitching in her lap after a brief glance towards her youngest children. Gregory and Hyacinth occupied with Benedict and Colin as the older of the set teach their younger siblings games from their youth. Violet smiles at her children; content to return to the pattern at hand, the Dutch Tulips would not stitch themselves.

“What was Lady Featherington talking to you about?” Anthony asks. His face the very picture of innocence as he breaks his mother’s concentration and grabs two biscuits – one for him, the other he hands to (Y/N).

“She was fishing for information on our dear (Y/N),” Violet comments, observing her stitching to ensure it remains straight. “She didn’t find out a thing other than what we discussed.”

(Y/N) lets out a relieved breath. “Thank you, Lady Bridgerton.”

Violet waves away her gratitude with a dismissive hand. “You’re making my son happy; I’ll protect that and you with all that I have.”

(Y/N) flounders for a moment at the quick acceptance by Violet. She smiles at the matriarch; whispering her thanks to Violet, ducking her head as she tries to come to terms with rush of emotions coursing through her body.

Anthony returns his attention to the conversation; his mind no longer focused on way to distract Lady Featherington. He flashes a smile in (Y/N)’s direction; his heart racing when she sends her own smile back.

“(Y/N) and I are going to promenade, mother. You’ll be fine without us?”

Violet snorts. “Yes, dear. I have my seven other children to keep me company.”

Anthony rolls his eyes fondly at his mother. He presses a sweet kiss to her cheek before offering (Y/N) his arm.

They amble along the path; all the while aware of the maid sent by Violet shortly after they departed. Violet trusts (Y/N) implicitly, but she knows the reputation of her eldest son. The poor opera singer being prime evidence of his abilities to break hearts as quickly as he mends them.

“You look beautiful, by the way. In case I haven’t told you,” Anthony flirts, a handsome smile spreading across his face.

“You haven’t, but I’ll take the compliment now.”

Anthony laughs, throwing his head back in delight as they both pause their walk. “You are though,” Anthony murmurs, reaching out to brush a finger down (Y/N)’s cheek, “You’re beautiful.”

(Y/N) averts her gaze; her cheeks flushing from the unexpected compliment. Anthony glances on either side of them, catching sight of the maid only a few feet away, doing her best to nonchalantly follow them. Anthony turns his attention back to the woman in front of him, desperate for a moment alone with her. A wicked grin spreads across his face, “Follow me.”

“What?”

“Follow me,” Anthony repeats, stepping off the path and onto the grass. He gestures to a faint path; one less travelled. “Do you trust me?”

(Y/N) answers by taking his outstretched hand, letting herself be led down the lesser known path.

Their pace slows when they are certain they have lost their chaperone. (Y/N) feels a twinge of guilt as she thinks of the poor maid who was only doing what she was asked by her employer, but then she catches sight of the unbridled glee on Anthony’s face and her guilt is quickly replaced by anticipation.

“Where are we going?” She asks; her voice jostling slightly as she tries to watch Anthony and not trip over any loose twigs or stones.

“Nowhere in particular,” Anthony confesses, “I just wanted you to myself for a little bit.”

His pace slows; they’re a good distance away from the picnic party, they wouldn’t be interrupted by anyone.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Anthony wonders as he comes to a stop. His hands settle on her waist and she has do all that she can to focus on the conversation and not the fact that she can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric of her dress.  

“You can tell me anything.”

“I like spending time with you. You make me…” Anthony trails off as he thinks of the word, “Happy. Yes, you make me happy.”

“You make me happy too.”

“If you want me to stop,” Anthony whispers, bending to press a line of kisses from her cheek to the corner of her mouth, “You need to tell me now.”

“Don’t stop,” She whispers, fisting her hands in the lapels of his jacket, tugging him forward.

Anthony kissed her carefully, as if afraid he would ruin her from the very moment their lips touched. What he didn’t realise, however, was that he had ruined her from the instant they met. He might not have realised it, but she knew. She knew that from that one conversation, that one touch to her elbow, she would be ruined for other men.

His mouth is gentle, hesitant. By the way he groans low in his throat, Anthony does not expect (Y/N) to react the way she does. Gasping against his mouth, pressing herself against him as her lips open under his. The kiss becomes hurried; oxygen becoming a distant thought of the past as (Y/N) tastes the lemon biscuits Anthony had stolen from his mother’s table.

Breaking the kiss, the couple each suck in ragged breaths. Shy smiles break out across either of their faces, not having expected such a thing to happen to between them. A short laugh leaves Anthony’s lips as he keeps (Y/N) wrapped up in his embrace. Neither of them feel the need to say a word; happy to let the time pass between them in complete silence.

“We should probably get back,” (Y/N) eventually murmurs against Anthony’s cheek, the slight stubble scratching her skin.

Anthony releases a choked sound. “I don’t want to,” He confesses, “I want to stay here with you.”

(Y/N) pulls back, brushing a gloved hand against Anthony’s cheek. He leans into the touch; finding himself enraptured by the woman in front of him. “I want to stay with you too,” She whispers, “But your family will be looking for us.”

Anthony sighs, breaking the embrace entirely. He holds her hand; tangling their fingers together. If he could, he wouldn’t let go of her at all. He would keep her with him at all times; he likes to be in her presence, doesn’t want to be without it. However, society and duty calls, and he must return. However, he would be damned if he was to let go of her hand before then.

“Alright,” He concedes, beginning the walk back to the picnic.

The walk is quiet, but comfortable. Their hands remained tangled even as they arrive back to the Bridgertons. His brother’s throw Anthony a knowing glance which Anthony ignores. He knows his mother will have a strict word with him later, but he has more pressing matters on his mind – his future and the woman now sitting with his youngest siblings.

He’s found his forever; he just needs to keep it.

-----

“Miss (Y/L/N),” the Butler begins, interrupting the governess as she marks her student’s latest set of handwriting, “A Viscount Bridgerton to see you?”

“Oh!” She gasps, standing from her seat far too quickly. The inkpot on her desk spills, sapphire blue ink spreading across the multitude of papers thrown about her desk. As she watches the puddle grow, she begins to feel a deep sense of dread spread through her being.

“Shall I show him in?” The Butler asks, also watching the ink stain spread.

“Have you already made Lord and Lady Saville aware of his presence?”

“Yes, miss. They’re the ones who told me to fetch him to you.”

“Then yes, show him in please,” (Y/N) answers, staring forlornly at the ruined paper and wasted ink. The Butler makes a sympathetic noise before opening the door further for Anthony to enter.

“Darling,” Anthony greets. He goes to speak further but spies the growing blue stain. “What happened here?”

“I stood up too quickly,” (Y/N) complains. “It’s gone everywhere, and I can’t afford another bottle right now.”

“That’s no problem. I’ll get you a bottle.”

(Y/N) fixes the man with an unimpressed look. “No you won’t. I don’t want you buying things for me.”

“It won’t be bought. I have a stock of ink back at Bridgerton House due to the amount of correspondence I have. You can have a couple of pots; I will not miss it.”

“Oh… well, thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Anthony smiles. “Now that’s sorted, I came here to ask you a question.”

“You have?”

“I have. Would you attend the Shakespearean ball? With me?” His voice has a note of vulnerability in it as he voices his question.

“What?” She asks, “As in arrive with you, on your arm?”

“Yes,” Anthony states slowly, “You would come with me and my family.”

She begins to pace the room; her hands wringing together as she tries to calm the pounding of her heart and mind. “Are you sure this is the path you want to go down?” She asks Anthony; her voice begging for a truthful answer.

“What do you mean?”

“This is getting very serious very fast, Anthony. This plan isn’t going to work forever; the ton will find out that I’m a governess and the ruse will be over. This could ruin your entire family, Anthony.”

“Hey,” Anthony hushes, interrupting her pacing. He reaches for her hand with one hand whilst the other cups her cheek. She automatically leans into the touch, sending a thrill through Anthony’s aching soul. “Nothing’s going to happen,” He reassures with a gentle tone, “Should anything happen, we can do damage control.”

“I don’t want to be the ruin of your family, Anthony,” (Y/N) whispers, her eyes lined with unshed tears. She could never forgive herself if the Bridgertons were socially injured by her lack of money relating to her lack of status. (Y/N) could not help the hand of cards she was dealt at birth, but society dictates her station, and hers was so far below Anthony’s it was any wonder that he noticed her in the first place. It was a dream to be accepted by his family; she didn’t want to be the cause of their ruination.

“You aren’t going to be the ruin of my family,” Anthony assures, brushing under her eyes with his thumbs to wipe away the tears that have fallen. “You’re going to be the making of it. I want you in my life, (Y/N). I want to see where this goes.”

“You do?”

“I do. I haven’t felt like this for a long time, I want to see where this feeling takes me.”

“Okay,” She concedes, doing her best to stop the tears falling, “I’ll go to the ball with you.”

“You will?”

“I will.”

The smile that spreads across Anthony’s face makes it all worth it. He presses a kiss to her forehead, then another to her nose, to her cheek before finally kissing her in earnest. She hums against his mouth; getting lost in the feel of him.

“It’ll be worth it,” Anthony whispers. “All of this is worth it.”

“You’re worth it,” (Y/N) states quietly, pulling him back in for another kiss.

----

Lady Danbury was one of two women in London that could throw a memorable ball. The other being Violet Bridgerton. For her theme this year, Lady Danbury had chosen the works of the Elizabethan bard, William Shakespeare. For what could be more romantic than dressing as characters immortalised in his plays and sonnets?

Anthony would not tell (Y/N) one whisper of his costume; kept it a secret from her despite her barrage of questions. As revenge, she kept quiet about her costume, refusing to tell the man the colour of her dress.

The two walk into the ballroom with (Y/N)’s hand resting on Anthony’s forearm; her nerves rattle as she walks further into the room. She knew she had no reason to be nervous; Anthony and his family would protect her from whatever form of gossip falls her way, but she could not help the turning of her stomach as she walked passed many disappointed mothers who had hoped Anthony would pay their daughters the slightest bit of attention.

The music is loud; the laughter lightening the atmosphere and the dancers in full swing as (Y/N) begins to feel comfortable. Having taught many a child Shakespeare, (Y/N) spent a lot of time trying to decipher the characters in attendance tonight. She had already seen three Violas, four Benedicks, and six Olivias.  

“I have to go talk to someone,” Anthony says apologetically, interrupting her guessing game, “I won’t be long. Will you be okay without me?”

(Y/N) nods. “Go. I’m sure I’ll find someone to talk to.”

Anthony presses a lingering kiss to her cheek, whispering as he does so, “A marvel amongst women.”

“You’re nothing but a flirt,” She laughs, batting the love of her life away. “Go talk business.”

“As you wish,” Anthony laughs, mock-bowing before leaving (Y/N) to wander the ball alone. Moments pass before she finds someone she recognises. “Colin,” She greets happily, “Who have you come as?”

“Romeo Montague,” Colin answers, stretching his arms wide to show off his rather fetching garb.

“How wonderful,” She laughs, watching the Bridgerton strike a pose in his costume.

“Who knows,” Colin teases, “Maybe tonight I’ll find my Juliet.”

(Y/N) laughs once more, batting the man away when he wiggles his eyebrows at her in a suggestive manner. “Off with you,” She snorts, “I’m sure there are plenty of ladies for you to dance with.”

Colin departs with a bow of his head. (Y/N) rolls her eyes at the antics of the younger man; Colin knew full well of the line of ladies waiting for his signature of their dance cards, but something warms in (Y/N)’s chest when she watches Colin walk straight to Penelope Featherington.

“They’d make a fine pair if he would pull his head out,” A voice full of humour sounds from behind her.

(Y/N) startles. She turns to find Anthony watching her; his lips curled in a manner that suggested he was holding back the laughter he so desperately wanted to let out.

“You made me jump,” She hisses, batting his outstretched hand away.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Anthony coos, pulling (Y/N) into his embrace by pulling on one of the many skirts about her waist. (Y/N) flushes at the term of endearment, but also at the many pairs of eyes now watching the young couple.

“You’re forgiven,” She sighs. “Who have you dressed as?” She asks, changing the subject.

“Ferdinand,” Anthony answers, “From The Tempest.”

“How odd,” (Y/N) muses, “I’ve dressed as Miranda from The Tempest.”

“‘Admired Miranda!/ Indeed the top of admiration, worth/ What’s dearest to the world!’”

“Only you could quote Shakespeare from the heart,” (Y/N) states wryly.

Anthony preens, puffing out his chest slightly. “All the Bridgertons can. We would do dramatizations of the plays.”

“Of course,” (Y/N) laughs, picturing Anthony as a young boy, dressed in breeches with a make-do ruff around his neck. The very image brings a fond smile to her face.

“What are you smiling about?” Anthony questions, wanting to be privy to the thoughts running through her mind.

“You,” She flirts, hooking her arm through Anthony’s as they start to take a turn about the room.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Anthony states pompously though his heart races at her words.

Her laughter chimes as Anthony steers (Y/N) around the room, pausing only to grab two glasses of lemonade from the drinks table. She sips at it delicately, not risking a spill of a single drop on her outfit.

“I’m glad you decided to come,” Anthony murmurs into her ear. “Truly. I would have been lost without you.”

“You always know what to say, don’t you?” (Y/N) teases, enjoying the blush that begins to paint Anthony’s cheeks. She briefly touches a gloved hand to his cheek, smiling fondly at the brunette. “I’m glad I came too.”

Anthony clears his throat; clearing his throat of the emotion clogging it up. He takes her drink from her, placing it on a nearby table. As ever the gentleman he was raised to be, Anthony bows towards the women he vows is the love of his life and offers his hand. “Would you care to dance?”

“Always,” She answers with a breathtaking smile, taking his hand to be led onto the dancefloor for the start of the new song. Couples on the floor take up the position of the quadrille as upbeat music sounds through the hall.  

It’s hard not to smile as Anthony takes her hand to begin the first steps of the lead couple. The first dance figure is performed before copied by the other couples in their square.

Anthony keeps a tight hold on her as he begins the next set of dance figures; spinning (Y/N) out before drawing her back in. Laughter falls from her mouth, setting his heart alight with the love he feels for her.

She catches the eye of Lady Featherington through one of many of Anthony’s spins. The Lady smiles knowingly, raising her glass to the young woman spinning in the arms of the Viscount.

(Y/N)’s breath freezes in her chest; she makes a choked sound and her steps falter. Luckily, no-one but Anthony seems to notice, but he recovers his hold on (Y/N) fairly quickly. It’s the end of the song; couples slowing on the floor, the audience beginning to clap their approvals.

“Darling?” Anthony calls quietly, breaking her out of her reverie. His hand remains in her hold; refusing to let him take even a step without her.

“Take me somewhere we can be alone,” She pleads, suddenly overcome by the sheer amount of people milling about the hall.

Anthony doesn’t need to be told twice, leading (Y/N) away from the dancefloor with a guiding hand on the small of her back. Anthony catches Benedict’s eye as he leaves the hall; his brother offers him a single nod to which Anthony relaxes – Benedict would make sure no-one would follow or interrupt, there was something important Anthony had to do.

The night air is cold against her heated skin as she inhales hurried breaths. The stone of the railing is cool under her fingers as she grips the stone tight; needing something to tether her to this place. It feels like a dream; a total dream that she would find herself costumed as a character from a Shakespeare play brushing elbows with some of the most powerful people in the country.

At this time of night, the gardens are dark, but she can still make out their heavenly fragrance perfuming the air, providing the perfect backdrop for this night.

“Are you alright?” Anthony asks, removing his jacket and settling it over her shoulders.

(Y/N) pulls his jacket tighter around her; inhaling the comforting scent of musk and sweet orange washing over her. “I’m fine now, it got to be a bit too much in there.”

“That’s an understatement,” Anthony murmurs, “I saw Lady Featherington.”

(Y/N) cringes internally. Her face is a mask of polite interest as she murmurs, “Oh? You saw that did you?”

“She only acts as if she knows everything, darling,” Anthony reassures, settling his hands on (Y/N)’s waist, desperate to be touching her.

“I know,” She murmurs, but his words do nothing to settle the panic tying her chest into knots.

“We’re fine,” Anthony promises; hands rubbing up and down the sides of her bodice. “It’s going to be fine.”

“I know,” She repeats, sighing heavily, leaning back into his embrace. His chest is strong against her back, but she doesn’t get long to admire his strength. He turns her in his arms, peering down at the expression on her face.

“You’re who I love. I couldn’t give a damn what the rest of London society thinks.”

“I love you as well,” She answers, a small smile on her face, letting his words wash away any and all of her worries. “You do have a way with words.”

“Flatterer,” He teases, dipping his head to kiss her.

(Y/N) gasps at the first press of Anthony’s lips against hers. She had kissed him before; a hurried meeting of mouths before their chaperone caught up to them. This kiss differed from that; languid, unhurried. Anthony took his time to memorise the feel of her lips against his; the small whimpers sounding at the back of her throat.

Each brush of his lips against hers spoke of what he found it hard to put into words. He had never been a wordsmith; could never write poetry or recite the romances of the past, but with every butterfly kiss placed on her lips in time to the shuddering of her heartbeat could Anthony translate the sheer scale of what he feels for her.

She reaches up to cup the back of his neck, fingers carding through the dark brown locks. Anthony’s grip on her waist remains firm as he presses her further into the railing. The gentleness of Anthony’s kiss soon turns to a burning passion as his hands splay across the small of (Y/N)’s back, pressing her to him.

As Anthony’s kisses begin to travel the expanse of her jawline, (Y/N) is suddenly grateful for the railing behind her. If he was to let her go now, not only would she feel the keen absence of his touch, but she would surely sink to the floor. The feel of his mouth, pressed hot against her, has her knees feeling unsteady.

“(Y/N),” Anthony whispers, nuzzling the side of her neck, “(Y/N)…”

“You keep whispering my name,” She murmurs into the night air; her ragged breath leaving behind white plumes.

“Marry me,” Anthony all but pleads, pulling back from (Y/N)’s neck to gaze into her eyes. “Marry me and always be mine.”

It seemed that time had stopped and lost all of its meaning; there was no party, no gardens, no laughter of lifelong friends. No. In this moment there was only Anthony.

“Yes,” She whispers, laughter beginning to fall from her mouth as fresh as a morning rainfall. Once it starts, she cannot find it in herself to stop. Tears soon join the laughter as a smile breaks across Anthony’s handsome face. “Yes,” She repeats, “I will marry you.”

********

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[heottokes]

𝐚𝐜𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞. 30. confrontation

acquiesce v. to accept something reluctantly but without protest. two strangers are trying to rewrite their story that was already written for them but to do that they need each other. yoongi needs y/n to keep his only dream alive and y/n needs yoongi to keep her secret hidden. so the two strangers form an unlikely alliance of playing pretend.

word count: 5.2k

꒰ m.list ➭ before • after ꒱

As you leave the escape room, you weren’t surprised to see no one greeting you in the lounge room. “How were they supposed to get us out if they left us?” You shook your head. “Come, let’s take a photo to let them know we’re finished.” Yoongi follows you to the mirror and lets you take the photo. You smiled as you posted the photo since it had been a while since the two of you were together.

“I think we shouldn’t be alone together.” Yoongi says to save his heart.

Your head snaps up at him in shock. “But you said we could be friends?” Your voice was small which made you feel pathetic.

Yoongi’s heart clenched at your puppy eyes. “And I mean that but like you said, we tried being friends before and it never seemed to work out. So, maybe we should be friends that only hang around and speak to each other when there are others around.”

“So, acquaintances.” You said the word for him. Yoongi sighs reaching for your hand. You pull your hand away from his like he had just burned you. “I agree with you. Maybe we should try that and see how things goes. But acquaintances don’t touch each other so freely.”

He deserved that. Yoongi gave you a tight-lipped smile before stepping back. “You’re right.” You nodded in response. “I’ll see you around then.”

“Yeah,” You answered breathlessly as you watch him leave the escape room.

───────── ☾ • ☽ ──────────

For the first time in your friendship with Taehyung, you didn’t tell him the entire truth. You didn’t know why you decided to give him the smoother version of what happened between you and Yoongi, but you did. Maybe it was the gnawing guilt you felt for constantly relying on him or maybe it was because you didn’t want to admit how hurt you were from the words exchanged between you and Yoongi.

The first couple of weeks after your reconciliation nothing had changed. The two of you stuck to your own group and did so happily. You did notice a lighter air around your friends which made you wonder just how hard of a time they were having being friends with the both of you.

As much as you hated it, Hyewon brought out a different side to Yoongi. Jin and Adora would tell you otherwise – that you were the one that brought that side out of him. But you’re not the reason why he’s having fun with people who aren’t Jin and Jimin. Since Hyewon came into his life, his social life has flourished. Taehyung criticised that going out getting wasted isn’t a step up from what he did in the past.

━━━☆

You steeled yourself before walking up to your childhood friends. You gave the two a hug and gave Yoongi a curt tight-lipped smile to which he returned with a nod. Your friends exchanged looks between themselves before leading you to the class. Namjoon greeted some of his peers while Yoongi and Hobi conversed with each other. You separated yourself from the group to look around at what the event had to offer. In the back there were craft services filled with the promised alcoholic beverages and snacks to accompany the drinks. You picked up a cubed cheese and popped it in your mouth while you turned towards the painting side of the room. The painting side provided different sections by size of canvases for each individual to take on themselves. The large canvases are situated in the middle of the room and were sectioned individually with another canvas on the back to provide the space required when painting but also provide a social aspect to your activity. The smallest canvases were situated with the drawing section at the front where it crammed at least six people on each side of the table. You weren’t that confident in your artistic ability to take on the largest size but didn’t think you could entertain yourself with little drawings all night, so you settled yourself on the medium size canvas which was towards the back with the food – this was also another reason why you made your choice. You took the seat closest to the window and played around with the brushes and paints provided for you.

As the room started to fill up, people started picking their seats. You weren’t surprised when you looked up and saw Namjoon sitting in the middle of the room with a wide grin on his face, but you were surprised to see Hobi take the seat across from him. You quirked your brow at Hobi which he was offended at. “Do you mind if I join you?” Your smile dropped at Yoongi’s voice. You turn to see him holding two drinks of alcohol.

“No, go ahead.” You smiled and gestured to the seat next to you. You tried not to think about it too much. Namjoon had invited the two of you to this and he paired up with Hobi. Yoongi didn’t know anyone else so it was only natural that he would pair up with you. Yes, it’s fine. You rationalised in your head as Yoongi places your drink by your canvas and situates himself on his station. “I’m surprised you’re down for this kind of thing.” You started up the conversation.

He takes a swig of his beer before answering you. “I’m not really but Namjoon had me at free drinks.” He said with a cheeky smile lifting his drink to add emphasis. You returned with a small laugh. He has been drinking a lot lately which worries you. You wanted to express that worry but that would be overstepping your “acquaintance” label. “Surprised you allowed me to join you guys.” Yoongi says trying to keep the conversation going.

You looked at him with wide eyes. “It’s not my place to control where you’re allowed to go or not.” It was your turn to offer up smile which he gave a chuckle and a shrug. “Like you said, we can be friends when people are around so there’s no reason why I would say no.” He nods his head before turning his attention to the art club president who called for everyone’s attention.

“Thank you all for joining us tonight.” He started. He looked across the room with a proud smile as everyone clapped. “As you all know, we are hosting the first ever booze and paint night to raise money for our art exhibition. There are no rules for booze and painting – just get loose, get creative and have fun!” Some people in the room cheered and raised their drinks which made the others chuckle. “If some of you need some direction, I would suggest thinking of what you want to paint first. What do you want to capture on the canvas? Is it a memory you want to relive or a fantasy you wished to be real? Whatever you want, sketch it with a pencil so it can guide you when you decide it’s time to paint. That’s all, have fun!” He bowed, and everyone clapped for him. He returns to his spot in the corner talking to his peers – most likely about the event.

You hadn’t thought about what you were going to paint at all since Namjoon invited you to this thing. “You didn’t think this far either?” Yoongi’s comment snaps you out of your trance.

You tucked your hair behind your in embarrassment. “Just like you, I was more focused on the drinking part of it.” Yoongi’s laugh fills your ears and your heart.

“Well, it’s not like we could make anything of substance so should we just fuck around?” Yoongi offered.

You raise an eyebrow at his suggestion. “What do you mean we can’t make anything of substance?”

Yoongi smirks at you knowing he hit a nerve. “Y/n, you’re like the smartest person I know but…you know, some people who are academically inclined tend to lack in the creative department.”

You scoff and roll your eyes at Yoongi. “That’s ridiculous. I can…be creative…I can paint…when I want to.” Yoongi looked at you with a condescending grin which made you want to punch his face with your face. “Fine, let’s make a wager then. We both try our best at painting and whoever has the worst one has to do whatever the winner wants.”

Yoongi straightens up and extends his hand for you to shake. “Alright, you’re on. I think everyone will agree that I’m the creative one between the two of us.”

“Being creative musically is different to this.” You slapped his hand away in annoyance. He laughs at you for taking the bait. “Well, this doesn’t change our predicament. What do we even paint?”

“Alright, let’s just do what the prez said. You paint a memory you want to relive, and I’ll do the other one.” Yoongi shrugs.

“Okay so, you’ll do a fantasy you wish to be real.” You reminded him.

“Yeah, sure.” He shrugs, taking another swig of his beer. You glare at his nonchalantness while you were boiling with competitive rage. Maybe Taehyung was right when he said your competitiveness will get you in trouble one day but that was a concern for another day. You stared at the blank canvas that seemed to be mocking you. A memory you want to relive. There isn’t much in your life that you would want to “relive” per se. You had a pretty boring life growing up and it’s not like you could paint your escort activities either. You enjoyed all your time with your friends but there wasn’t a significant moment that triumphs over the others. When have you ever wished you could turn back time? Your eyes started to drift towards Yoongi unknowingly. Thankfully, he was too engrossed in his own thoughts to notice. Your eyes scanned his face. His lips were in his signature pout which made you smile. How is he always pouting? Your mind started to drift on thoughts of his lips without control. You were always allured by his lips. You always wondered about it. And then you remembered that night on the beach. The first and last time, your thoughts of Yoongi’s lips and what it would feel like on yours finally answered as he placed his lips on yours. You swallowed and turned towards your canvas. Could you really paint that? Would he realise what you painted and be weirded out that you can’t drop the subject? Well, he did say he doesn’t remember a thing that night. It was just the start of his drunken mistakes for all he cares. Does he even remember he asked you to stay? You know he drank more than he did that time on the beach so if he couldn’t remember then, how could he remember a thing that night? You exhaled before picking up the pencil. He doesn’t know a damn thing anyway.

━━━☆

“So…” Jin wiggles his eyebrows at you while you take your seat next to him. “What a cute little date you and Yoongi went on.”

You roll your eyes. Why were you even surprised? “Jin, Namjoon and Hobi was with us. It wasn’t a date. We went as a group.”

“Right, that’s why you two were in your little corner making romantic paintings.” Jin teased nudging you.

“Actually, we were having a bet on who is more creative than the other.” You told him matter-of-factly.

Jin gives you a look. “Okay so Yoongi clearly won that.” You slapped his arm in offence. “Um, that’s just common knowledge? Law major versus music major. The odds are not in your favour, y/n.” You roll your eyes and drop the subject as the lecture started. He wasn’t wrong, you knew that Yoongi knew that heck everyone knew that. But you couldn’t help your smile as you fiddled with the ticket to booze and paint night that has Yoongi’s handwriting on the back stating, ‘One Wish Granted by Yoongi coupon’.

───────── ☾ • ☽ ──────────

Despite the banter and natural chemistry shared that night. You both kept to your word and left your friendship at that. It was weird to treat Yoongi as Jin’s friend or Adora’s friend or a friend of a friend, but it worked? At least, so far it has been. Sometimes you find yourself even forgetting that you knew him in the first place. That was a scary feeling, but it was also welcomed. This is the way forward for both of you.

You are trying to move forward and treat him as an acquaintance. So, you avoid stalking his social media feed to keep up with what he’s been up to. You wouldn’t give anyone that kind of attention, much less an acquaintance. Hyewon’s feed on the other hand… Well, she’s not even an acquaintance so you have no excuse for it. You don’t even follow the girl, but she remains at the top of your search feed. It was pathetic and borderline psychotic. You knew that and Tae reminded you of that, but you just couldn’t help it. It was like a bad itch that you had to scratch but then once you did, you’re in uncomfortable pain for scratching it too hard and nicking the wound with a nail. Yes, that was the perfect analogy you came up with to describe how it felt to see Yoongi on her feed constantly. You couldn’t help but take a mental note on his activities – through her feed though because again, you refused to stalk his page because that is a completely different story to stalking her page…

You were waiting on the coffee you ordered when you were doing your routine “checkup”. Nothing new was posted besides a vague emo tweet about Yoongi being sad. When you saw the tweet when it was posted yesterday you couldn’t help the snarky remark that fell from your lips, “I’m sure she’ll make him feel better in no time.” Taehyung glanced up from his phone giving you a look telling you to chill out. You definitely need to chill out and you’re working on it – okay you will work on it. The first step is stopping the routine checkups.

“Pick up for y/n.” The barista called for your order. You picked up your drinks before setting it on an empty table to let Jungkook know you were on your way.

As you were about to pick up the drinks you hear someone call your name. You turned around at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. You inhaled sharply at seeing the Lee Hyewon calling your name and looking straight at you. How did she know who you were? She gets up from the beanbag she was laying on. Of course, she’s cool enough to lay around in such a public place and not care what anyone thinks of her. She mumbles something to her friends about being right back and made her way towards you. Your flight or fight instincts should be kicking in. You wanted to run away and pretend you didn’t hear her, but your feet were glued on the ground. You wouldn’t call it the latter of the instincts because you swear if you moved an inch you were going to collapse on the ground. As she was making her way to you, you couldn’t help but admire her. God, she’s pretty. Her dark long hair messy from laying down. Her perfect complexion balanced out with the edgy tattoos on her skin. She was tall and slender but had curves in all the right places. The very definition of “woman”. When she finally reached you, she surprised you by extending her hand. “I’m Hyewon.” You took her hand naturally like it was any other person introducing themselves. Her perfect lips curled in a Cheshire smile sending shivers down your spine. “I’m a friend of Yoongi’s – that’s how I know you.” She explains and you nodded dumbly. You were about to let go of her hand when her grip tightened. “Speaking of Yoongi, let’s have a chat. Shall we?” The question was rhetorical as she gestured to the door. She lets go of your hand and leads the way to the outside of the café. You followed her with your coffees in hand. She was heading towards where you and Jungkook agreed to meet up. You prayed that Jungkook wasn’t there yet because based on the ominous aura emitting from her, Jungkook would not have a bar of it. She stopped a couple of blocks away from your meeting spot and thankfully, Jungkook wasn’t there waiting for you.

She waited for you to reach her, but silence ensued. With how proactive she was being, you expected her to get straight to the point. “What did you want to talk about?” You finally asked.

“I want you to leave Yoongi alone.” You weren’t surprised at the words the came out of her mouth but more of the reason behind it.

“If Yoongi wants me out of his life, he’ll say and do so himself.” You found yourself answering back. “He’s a grown man. He can do whatever he wants.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes at you before giving you a sharp look. God, she’s terrifying. “You’re so self-absorbed, you know that?” Your jaw drops at her direct insult. “You just do as you please without a care in the world – without a single thought in that brain of yours. Yoongi won’t ever say he wants you out of his life because that’s not the kind of person Yoongi is. Yoongi won’t ever tell you about the pain your existence brings to his life because that’s not the kind of person he is. Yoongi won’t ever tell you how much he wishes he never even met you because that’s just not who he is. But I am and I am telling you, if you have any semblance of a heart in you. You’d leave his life.” You hate yourself for the tears welling in your eyes as she continues to attack you with harsh truths. “Crocodile tears?” You flinch at her coldness.

“You’re calling me the heartless one? You’re being this rude and mean and you don’t even know me.” You whimpered. Hyewon didn’t even blink at your pain. God, she makes you feel so inferior.

“I’ve heard enough to say these things without any remorse.” Your brows furrowed at her statement. What has Yoongi been saying to her to make her treat you this way? He must have lied when he said he didn't hate you. She crosses her arms and makes her way towards you. She stops right when she was just about to pass you and you wished she did. “You’re the past, y/n. Stay that way.” Hyewon leaves you with a reminder of your place.

After a couple seconds of silence, you choked out a sob. God, you feel so pathetic. Your vision blurry, your head throbbing and your heart aching. Your knees give out ready to hit the ground when you feel a strong pair of arms grab you. “Y/n? What happened? Why are you crying?” You squeezed your eyes shut when you recognised Jungkook’s voice. Jungkook took the coffee tray wedged between the two of you and picked you up. He carried you over to the meeting spot where it was more secluded from prying eyes. He sets you down and leaves you alone for a couple of seconds. You hear Jungkook click his tongue. “Why isn’t he replying? It’s been five minutes.” Jungkook spoke to himself. “Hyung, where are you? Y/n needs you. She’s crying.” You feel yourself becoming smaller at his words. Jungkook sat with you rubbing your back as you waited for Taehyung. He didn’t ask you anymore questions but told you reassuring words every now and then.

“Y/n,” You hear Taehyung call your name before gasping for air. You squeezed your eyes to mimic the squeeze in your heart at the realisation that Taehyung must have run from wherever he was to get to you. “What happened?” His voice was much closer now. You feel his hands rub your arms while Jungkook continued to rub your back.

You stopped crying a while ago, but you hadn’t lifted your head up in shame. You couldn’t hide anymore so you dropped your legs to meet the ground and raised your head in the air. Taehyung and Jungkook’s eyes were on you. The thought of them looking at tear-streaked cheeks and swollen face made you want to cry even more but you hold it in. You let out a breath before telling them what happened. Jungkook was livid. He reacted animatedly as you recalled what was said while Taehyung sported a frown and a clenched jaw. After you finished your story, Jungkook asks for your phone. You didn’t think much of it and unlocked your phone and handed it to him. You watched as he uses your phone and his at the same time. When he hands back your phone, you decide to ask. “What are you doing?”

“Texting Yoongi.” Both you and Taehyung jumped to his side. You pulled Jungkook closer to the bench which you used to be at height level with the two boys while Taehyung followed sticking to his other side. Your eyes widened at Jungkook’s threat as an opener. Damn.

“Why the hell did you say it’s me?” Taehyung asks smacking Jungkook’s arm.

“Because you’re in more of a position to be speaking to him like this than I am.” Jungkook answers still not looking away from his phone.

“What do you mean by that?” You asked as Jungkook puts his phone away satisfied with the outcome.

“Everyone knows you’re much closer to Taehyung than me. He’s your alien and you’re his.” Jungkook answers with a shrug.

You pulled him in for a hug. “Stupid, you’re our alien too.” Jungkook laughs and wraps his arms around you. You glance at Taehyung to see him smiling at the two of you. You pull away but keep him within arm’s reach. You looked into his eyes to convey the importance in your words. “Seriously, Kook. I am so grateful for you, and I love you like a brother. You’re like my right-hand man – always down to join my antics and always watching out for me. Thank you for what you did today and for everything you’ve done so far.”

Jungkook shows off his bunny smile. “Thanks, y/n. That means a lot – you mean a lot to me too.” You smile at each other before going in for another hug.

You look at Taehyung as you both pull away. “Your turn.”

“Oh no,” Taehyung groans as Jungkook pulls him so you can reach for him.

Taehyung stood in front of you and your hands found the sides of his cheeks. “I know you know how much you mean to me. I know you know how lost I would be without you. You are the best thing to ever happen to me and it makes me feel like such a crap friend because it feels like you’re constantly picking up the pieces and I don’t ever want to make you feel that all you are to me is my emotional support friend. You are so much more to me, and I will try my best to get my shit together. I will try to make it, so we spend less time going on about my problems and actually have fun together.”

The entire time Taehyung looked at you with complete seriousness. “I already told you, if I ever get tired of it, I will tell you. I would love happier times when we’re together but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to lean on me and pretend you’re not feeling things you are feeling. I’m here for you just like you would be there for me if the time presents itself, right?”

“Right,” You smiled.

“You better,” Taehyung adds making you laugh as you embrace each other.

───────── ☾ • ☽ ──────────

“Are you sure you want to go tonight?” Taehyung asks sitting at the end of your bed.

You stopped applying your lip gloss to look at him through your mirror. “They made Yoongi and I reconcile so we could celebrate Adora’s birthday.”

“Yeah, but that was before Hyewon.” Jungkook interjects munching on a packet of chips.

“They shouldn’t know anything about that unless Yoongi told them.” You answered finishing up your makeup so you could put it away. “And I doubt he would tell them anyway.”

“And why don’t you tell them again?” Jungkook asks.

“They don’t need to know.” You turn towards the boys patting your outfit down. “I’m ready! Let’s go.” They share a look between each other before getting up and following your lead.

━━━☆

When you arrived at the club, you were banking on the chance that the club would be too big and too packed to run into Hyewon and you were right – thankfully. It took you at least half an hour to even get to the tables Adora reserved for her party. To be fair, half of the time was spent trying to find Jungkook or Taehyung who you managed to lose in the crowd and the other half was trying to even get anywhere in the club. “You’re here!” Adora celebrated once she sees you and greets you with a big hug.

“You’re drunk already?” You laughed hugging her back. “Happy birthday!”

Adora pouts. “I’ve been partying for a while now and like you said, it’s my birthday, so sue me!” She goes to greet Taehyung and Jungkook when she spots her other friends. “I’ll be back! Have fun!” She shouted and you gave her a thumbs up and went to sit down with Jin and Jimin.

You stuck by your group of friends for most of the night. Whenever you went to get another drink, one of the boys would join you so you could grab drinks for the others as well. You briefly danced with Adora but took a break the third time you got elbowed in the ribs. You were on your way back from the bathroom when you bumped into someone. You both turned to each other muttering apologies when you both freeze upon seeing each other. Of all the people to bump into, it literally had to be Hyewon. You were about to walk away when a guy blocked your way. You tried to move away but he followed your movements obnoxiously blocking your way on purpose. You went to turn the other way when you see Hyewon in the same predicament as you. She turned back to you to avoid the guy and you shared a look of understanding. The guy started grinding against Hyewon and she didn’t even blink. She only rolls her eyes. You feel a hand on your hip but before you could react Hyewon pulled you towards her and away from his reach. He was too inebriated to act quickly enough, and he slowly stumbles his way back to you. “Follow my lead,” Hyewon whispers in your ear as you watched over your shoulder. Right when he was going to wrap you in a bear hug, Hyewon pulled you down and moved to the side. You both watch as the two men end up in each other’s arms. You both laughed at the sight. They pushed each other away and started to look around for you. “Let’s go!” Hyewon shouts and you both head towards the denser crowd to mix in with the crowd.

“Hyewon? Y/n?” You hear someone call your name. You look ahead of you to see Dohyeong taking a video of himself dancing in the middle of the crowd.

You were about to stop and catch up with Dohyeong when Hyewon spots the tall oaf. “Can’t talk. See you later.” Hyewon shouts at Dohyeong pulling you further away from the dance floor. You smiled at Dohyeong taking note of his phone pointing towards you and Hyewon. You managed to get off the dance floor and there came the awkwardness. Hyewon lets go of your hand. “Sorry about that,” She shouts at you.

“Uh, no, thank you for that. It would have been a lot harder without you there.” You shouted back at her.

“Can we talk somewhere quieter?” She shouts and you hesitate. The last and first time she wanted to talk; you were left crying. Maybe it was your naivety, but you swore it was different this time. She didn’t give you a choice last time. This time she was waiting for your answer. You nodded an okay and she held her hand out for you to take. Well, this was definitely different from last time. You took her hand, and she led you around the club further away from your friends. She lets go of your hand once she reaches a black metal door. She opened it and walked up the stairs. It seems like she was experienced in this club. Maybe it is one of the clubs she and Yoongi frequent. Once you reached the top, she opens the door, and you embraced the cool air. There were a few people on the roof – some having a smoke, and some were having private conversations just like you. The roof was dark enough that you couldn’t really make out anyone’s faces unless they were standing towards the end of the roof which had the most lighting. You both walked towards the end of the roof and looked down at the city. “I wanted to apologise about last time.” Hyewon starts, her voice softer than you’ve ever heard. You looked at her to see she was already looking at you. “I don’t apologise for the words that I’ve said or why I said them, but I should have gone about it differently.” You ignored the sound of the roof door creaking and paid attention to Hyewon’s expression. “No matter what I think of you, you don’t know me, so you were blindsided and that wasn’t fair. I’m sorry for attacking you.”

 “I get where you’re coming from.” You sympathised with her. “If I were in your position, I would have been really pissed off too.” Hyewon quirks her eyebrow at you and tilts her head in confusion. “I know it can be hard to be dating someone when they’re friends with their ex, but I swear to you, Yoongi and I are not even friends. We just have the same social circle, but we barely hang out or even talk. I mean we do talk but that’s only when others are around. If it makes you uncomfortable, I can completely stop talking to him because I respect anyone’s relationship more than –”

“Woah, woah,” Hyewon stops you. “What are you talking about? Yoongi and I aren’t dating. We’re not even remotely close to even being anything like that.”

“But I thought…” It was your turn to be confused. “But isn’t that what you were talking about? If you weren’t asking me to stay away from him because you’re his girlfriend, then why?”

Hyewon sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. She reads your face for a moment wondering if she should say anything. “He’s going to kill me for telling you this, but I told you to stay away from him because he’s madly in love you and you’re unfortunately not.”

꒰ m.list ➭ before • after ꒱

taglist: @deleteidentity

[ejzah]

A/N: And we’re back with this self-indulgent story. Hope you all enjoy.

***

In Miss Blye’s Class, Part 3

“Mommy, I have to go potty!”

“—and then I jumped so much in the bounce house and I got so hot that I threw up everywhere!”

“Look, I won a fish. Do you like it, Dad?”

Kensi shook her head, bypassing a family of five as she headed towards a less populated area. The annual St. Bridgets School Fair was in full force, kids and parents milling around the many booths featuring games and food. A small collection of rides were set up across the grounds.

Every year, the school held a 2-day extravaganza in the spring to raise funds. This year, Kensi had helped with setting up the booths and other structures, so she was spared from actually running one. Still, she’d stood in for a few teachers and parents while they took breaks or managed their own kids’ various bumps, bruises, and heartbreaks that always seemed to happen during these events.

Two fifth grade girls walked by in matching blue T-shirts emblazoned with the school logo, leaning towards each other as they giggled. They got in line for the cotton candy booth and Kensi overheard the tail end of some story about a boy who was one of the school’s class clowns.

As she got in a long line for soft pretzels, she glanced along the small midway and almost did a double take when she saw none other than Marty Deeks manning the balloon pop stall. She hadn’t talked to him since the day he was late and only saw him in passing on the days when Caleb was a car rider.

Making a snap decision, she ducked out of the line and headed over. He was currently facing away, demonstrating the proper form for throwing a dart to the boy the counter. Like all the volunteers, he wore a bright purple shirt with fireworks and Ferris wheel graphics with a school building behind it.

Demonstration finished, Marty Deeks moved to the side to let the boy try again. He took his time aiming the dart, but it went wide, catching in a piece of wood.

“Ooh, that was super close! Here, I’ll give you a free shot,” Mr. Deeks said, handing over another dart. This time, the boy managed to hit a small pink balloon at the bottom.

He gave a whoop, jumping in the air in a celebratory dance.

“I did it! I did it!” he shouted, earning a grin from Mr. Deeks.

“Nice job, Walker. You know what, Buddy, this must be your lucky day, because hitting a pink balloon mean you can pick any prize you want.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

Kensi watched Mr. Deeks help him retrieve a large stuffed penguin from the top of the booth, which Walker gleefully carried off, throwing a hasty thanks over his shoulder.

Mr. Deeks chuckled, cleaning up the mess left behind and gathering the darts. Kensi walked up to the front, resting her forearms on the white-painted bar that served as a divider.

“I’m not sure you’re supposed to be giving away free throws,” she commented. He spun around, eyebrows raised in surprise before he settled on a wry smile. “I may have to tell the events committee about the egregious fraud going on at the balloon booth.”

“That kid probably spent a whole month’s allowance here,” he said, apparently unconcerned by her teasing threat. “It was the least I could do.”

“Hi Miss Blye,” Caleb said, head popping up from behind the bar. He had a piece of pizza in one hand, traces of sauce decorating his chin. “Did you come to play the game too?”

“Oh my gosh, I didn’t even see you there,” Kensi exclaimed, pressing her hands to her chest dramatically.

“I was hiding.” He grinned at her, revealing a gap between his top teeth that hadn’t been there yesterday.

“Caleb is my helper for the night,” Mr. Deeks explained. “He’s been picking up darts and balloon pieces.”

“And when Mr. Beale takes over later, then dad’s gonna take me to the rides and buy me cotton candy,” Caleb added. The last third of his pizza lay abandoned on a paper plate and he’d managed to wipe  most of the sauce from his chin.

“Do you like cotton candy Miss Blye?” The question was asked a little hesitantly, even shyly, like he’d suddenly remembered she was his teacher and not just a friend.

“I do like cotton candy,” Kensi informed him in a loud whisper, which made Caleb giggle. “Especially rainbow.”

“Well, maybe Daddy can get you some too.”

“Oh, Kiddo, I bet Miss Blye wants to pick out her own food,” Mr. Deeks interceded quickly. Caleb’s head dipped a little and Kensi flashed him a smile to assure him he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Actually, I’d love some cotton candy, but I haven’t eaten dinner yet.”

Caleb nodded in understanding, sending a quick glance to his unfinished pizza. As he started nibbling on it again, Kensi shifted across the counter.

“So, what do you have against buying me cotton candy, Mr. Deeks?” she asked teasingly. Honestly though, she was curious. He didn’t seem to be a particularly harsh parent, so the reprimand felt a little out of character from what she’d witnessed before.

“I thought it might come off as presumptuous,” he explained with a shrug. “We’re very…affectionate people in general so sometimes we cross boundaries without realizing it.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I’ll let you know if you cross any of those lines,” Kensi told him. Then, ignoring the voice that told her it was a bad idea, she added, “And you can call me Kensi. At least outside of school hours.”

“I think I can manage that. Most people just call me Deeks,” he replied. “Mr. Deeks always makes me think of going to the principal’s office.” He grimaced. “Or my clients. Who I mostly don’t need to be reminded of.”

He grinned again, the corner of his eyes crinkling. Nicole was right his eyes were very blue, almost startlingly so and right now they seemed especially bright. Realizing she was staring, Kensi cleared her throat, and said the first thing that came to mind.

“So, how did you get roped into game duty?” She snatched up a dart at random, hoping Deeks hadn’t noticed her response. He shrugged, bracing his palms on the counter.

“Eh, Ms. Jones cornered me in the office last week and asked if I was planning to come to the fair. She was telling me about how much there was to do, all the open booths, and next thing I knew, she had me choosing between running the balloon pop and dunk tank.” He chuckled softly. “Rookie move, right?”

“Don’t feel bad, Nell is famous for her coercive skills,” Kensi said, amused by Deeks’ vaguely perplexed expression. “Two years ago she convinced Mr. Ruiz to donate a hundred cakes for the bake sale and Jennifer Bagely, she runs a salon, to offer free manicures for teacher appreciation. She’s equally feared and loved by the rest of the PTO.”

“Well, I don’t mind helping out,” Deeks assured her quickly. “I want to be involved in Caleb’s school and the community. And at least I escaped getting soaked all night.”

Kensi’s eyes drifted to his chest, which was nicely outlined by a snug black t-shirt. This time, Deeks definitely noticed and his eyebrows lowered, and his mouth opened slightly.

“Hey Kensi, are you busy?” Someone asked, brushing Kensi’s arm, interrupting whatever Deeks was about to say.

“No, not at all Mr. Hanna,” she answered, turning towards the Head Principal. “What do you need.”

“Elaine Papadakis had to leave early so I need someone to take over at the slime tent.”

“Of course, I’ll be right over.”

“Thanks, Kensi,” Mr. Hanna said gratefully, hurrying off to deal with some other minor catastrophe.

“Well, if I don’t see you again, have a good rest of your night, Deeks,” she said, oddly reluctant to leave.

***

A/N: Yes, I’m sprinkling other characters in as a supporting cast. Tell me what you think of my decisions.

[songbirdstyles]

when i kissed the teacher.

summary: the one man you want more than anything is the one man you can’t have - your english professor.

warnings: teacher/student relationship, age gap (implied), f receiving oral, whole lotta smut, whole lotta feelings, whole lotta angst

word count: 14.7k (strap in)

song inspo.: when i kissed the teacher - abba

There was something special about Professor Styles.

You knew it, and so did every other girl who took his class. Your less-than-appropriate feelings about him were shared and that should’ve made you feel better about having them - at least you weren’t as obvious as some of the other girls who obviously took a fancy to your English professor. You applauded their efforts, showing up to classes in short skirts and low cut tops in the hopes that they’d catch his eyes drifting down to their chests while he passed out your essays -

But they hadn’t had any luck yet. He was a very respectable man, and more than his looks, that was what you appreciated about him. He was passionate about English, with a curriculum that appealed to you from the very first day and essay topics that forced you to look deeper into every book that the class read. He was one of the youngest professors on campus and you could tell something about that seemed to motivate him - to not be seen as a joke by the older professors, to be taken seriously by the students, some of which weren't much younger than him.

You decided, after your very first class with him, that, in any other universe, you’d have fallen in love with him. Or perhaps tried to jump his bones immediately.

Something of that sort.

As classes progressed you found yourself only liking him more. His classes were as difficult as you’d anticipated and you should have hated it, hated how much work and effort you had to put into every assignment but you absolutely adored it. You loved doing his essays, loved the novels he picked, loved the look on his face when he handed back your assignments with a 100% scribbled on top.

Most of your assignments, at least.

It didn’t really make sense to you, why your 1984 analysis should have gotten a 71%. Truthfully, you’d felt confident while writing it - it was such an easy analysis that you’d decided to go a little deeper, spending more time on it than was necessary, because you were sure he’d be tired of reading the same essay from everybody over and over again. So you gave him something different and maybe you should have stuck to analyzing the same themes that everyone else did.

“If any of you are confused about your grade,” Professor Styles announces to the class when everyone has gotten their essays back, time left in class slowly ticking down, “please feel free to see me after class. M’happy to discuss any concerns with you.”

Perhaps you’re being paranoid, but you could’ve sworn you felt his eyes land on you.

Class ends within a few minutes and you take your time packing your things back into your bag, waiting until the last kid has trickled from the lecture hall before swinging your bag over your shoulder and making your way down to his office. The door is cracked open and he’s barely sat down at his desk when you knock, flashing him a smile before pushing the door open a bit more.

You clear your throat before saying, “Hey, um, sorry to bother you - ” he interrupts you, telling you that it’s no bother at all “ - I’m just kind of confused on why I did badly on this essay.”

He nods, motioning for you to come in, and you step inside before shutting the door behind you. His office is small and cramped, with bookshelves lining the walls and a couch pressed into the corner. It’s a good vibe, you have to admit, although slightly messy. Perhaps you’d describe it as cozy, and it seems to fit him well. 

There’s an empty seat in front of his desk and you sit down in it awkwardly, placing your essay in front of him. His eyes skim the first page before he tells you, “You usually do really well on essays, and this was … a really easy one.”

“I know,” you tell him, leaning forward to try and read what he’s reading. “I just thought you might be looking for something more complex. It seemed too simple.” When you look up, he’s staring at you, and you feel heat flood to your cheeks. “I don’t - I don’t know.”

“It really is that simple, I promise,” Professor Styles informs you, and he pushes your essay back to you. “But you’re one of my best students, and I don’t want to let this bring down your grade. So, I have an idea for how you can make it up.”

Your mind runs through all the ways you’d want to make it up to him - most of them involve you being on your knees, and you cough into your elbow. He doesn’t know what you’re thinking, but it doesn’t stop you from feeling embarrassed about it. Fantasizing about your professor from across the lecture hall is one thing, but you’re barely a foot apart from him now and you’re almost nervous he can hear your thoughts.

“I’ll do anything.” And you don’t care about the ways he could interpret it. He drums his fingers on his desk, and when you look down at his hand, you notice with a start that his nails are painted - you’d never seen that before, but you’d also never been this close to him, you suppose. You wonder if he gets them done or if he does them himself - you can’t picture him going to a salon, and the thought of him painting his own nails could make you cum on its own.

You don’t realize he’s been speaking until you zone back in, and when you look back up at him, he furrows his brows at you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry.” You shake your head. “Just - um - could you repeat that?” His eyes linger on you for just a beat too long, and your face flushes again. “So distracted,” he murmurs in a faux chastising tone, and your stomach flips. “What I said was that I’m willing to put this essay in as a 97 - your average for the class - if you would help me with grading some things. Not too heavy, maybe an hour or two after class. I’ve been falling behind with a lot of my classes and I’ve been looking for help, anyway, so it works out for both of us.”

Jesus Christ. Spending an extra hour every day with Professor Styles sounds like a recipe for disaster, and yet it also sounds completely perfect at the same time, and you’re nodding before you can fully process the pros and cons of the situation. “That sounds great. I mean, really - thank you so much.”

“S’my pleasure,” he informs you, giving you a large, dimpled smile. “So, after class, tomorrow - when I’m caught up and don’t need your help anymore, you’re off the hook.” 

“Got it.” you stand, grabbing your essay and your bag and making your way towards the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow,” he echoes, and the last thing you see before you shut the door is him, bringing his hand up to wave you off.

 ---

 When class concludes the next day you maintain the same habit as you did the day prior - watching every student trickle out the door before swinging your bag over your shoulders, grabbing the two cups of tea that you’d made before class and making your way down to the front of the lecture hall.

Professor Styles stands in the doorway of his office, holding the door open for you - you make your way inside with a tight, only slightly awkward smile. His eyes roll over the two cups that you’re holding and he asks, with a mildly amused inflection in his voice, “I guess you like tea quite a bit, then?”

You smile, looking down at your cups, and when he shuts the door you hold one out to him. “I do like it a lot, but this one’s for you. You know, to say thank you for giving me a freebie, and also because you look like the kind of guy who loves tea.”

He laughs and your grin widens at the noise - god, it’s like music to your ears, and you would do anything to keep hearing it from him. He reaches out to take the cup from you and brings it up to his mouth, taking a small sip - when he’s done his tongue pokes out to lap up a bit of tea from his lip, and you try to ignore how much the minuscule motion affects you. “This is perfect, Y/N. Just the way I like it. You’re an angel.” Your cheeks heat up, and then he says, “But you don’t need to thank me. I’m probably gaining more from this arrangement than you are, truthfully. People are starting to get annoyed with how I’ve been falling behind grading, which is where you come in.”

Yes, you’d heard the girls next to you whispering about how bothersome it was that they’d submitted three essays in the past month and had only gotten one back. Why does he give out so much work if he’s never gonna hand it back? 

It didn’t bother you too much.

“Well - alright, then. You’re welcome for helping you grade,” you tell him, pulling out the chair in front of his desk and settling in, dropping your bag beside you. You take another brief moment to glance around his office, as though expecting something to change, but it’s the same distinctly messy, cramped office that it had been yesterday. At some point, you should tell him that he ought to clean out his space, but that’s not what you’re here for - yet.

Professor Styles nods, making his way to the other side of his desk and plopping down in his spinning chair - it was quite nice, and made you wonder why the one you sat in seemed to be falling apart at the seams. But, then, you supposed teacher salary didn’t leave room for spectacular seating. “See, that’s the spirit.” All at once, the casual discussion between the pair of you died as he dug in the drawers of his desk for something - and then he plopped a large stack of papers on the table between you both. “This isn’t all of them - not even close. You’re very smart, so this should be pretty easy for you. Just read through them, add any notes, things they need to work on, and look at the rubric for a final grade.”

You nod, picking the first essay off the top of the pile and reaching for a pen from the cup on his desk - it’s a coffee mug with the Rumours by Fleetwood Mac album cover on it, and you take a moment to marvel at it briefly. “You like Fleetwood?” you question, voice seeming unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet of his office. “Didn’t strike me as that kind of guy.”

He looks up, then, from where he’d already begun scribbling bright red notes into the margin of someone’s essay. His eyes trail down to the mug full of pens, and then back up to meet yours. “You seem to make a lot of assumptions about the kind of guy I am. What’s that all about?”

“Nothing,” you assure him, your voice faux sweet and innocent, and he smiles slightly. “But I’m glad you have an appreciation for really good music. I was worried your music taste would be terrible, and then I’d have to live with the knowledge that Professor Styles exclusively listens to Justin Bieber.”

Your professor rolls his eyes, smile tugging at his lips. “You know,” he begins, “you don’t have to call me Professor Styles. Not outside of class, at least. It sounds weird when it’s just the pair of us here.”

“Oh.” You pause. “What should I call you, then?”

“Harry’s fine.”

Harry Styles. The name flows easily off the tongue as you test it out in a teasing tone, your eyes meeting his as you do, and your cheeks flush. You don’t know if it's commonplace for professors to allow random students to drop formalities and call them by their first names but you’ll accept it anyway - all you know is that, when you go home tonight, the thought of calling him Harry will fill your mind until you can’t stand it anymore. 

Harry as he buries his face between your thighs.

Harry as he pounds you into the mattress.

Harry as he bends you over his desk - this desk - the one you’re sitting at right now.

You cough into your arm and pick up your pen, pressing your thighs together to try and alleviate the throbbing that’s now affecting your body. You should’ve known not to let your mind wander because you’ve barely been here for 15 minutes and you already feel like you need to go rub one out in the bathroom. But you pause - take a sip of your tea, though it’s nearly gone from drinking it so much in class - and get to work grading Brianna Valeria’s essay on Death Comes to the Archbishop. The rubric sits on the desk next to you and you bury yourself in your work - if Harry notices the sudden silence that’s overtaken you, he doesn’t mention it.

For the rest of the hour, the pair of you work in silence. It’s comforting and surprisingly not awkward, and occasionally you ask his opinion on something one of his students wrote in their essays, but the playful banter you’d had before has dissipated. You’ve finished your tea and you suspect he has, as well, with the way he’s been feverishly drinking it.

“Oh,” he says, suddenly, and you glance up from where you’re in the middle of scribbling red notes into the margins of Alexander Simmons’ essay. “You should probably get going.”

One quick glance down at your phone proves that he’s right, and you rise from the extremely uncomfortable seat you’ve been perched in for the hour - you can practically hear your butt crying in relief. “Thank you so much for the tea,” Harry tells you, handing back his cup, and it’s empty, like you expected. “And - um. You don’t have to call me Harry if it makes you uncomfortable. Just thought it would be less formal, but if you don’t want to, it’s fine.”

Ah. He took your silence as you being uncomfortable calling him Harry. Well, it’s better than him knowing just how wet the sentiment made you, but you shake your head immediately. “No. No, I prefer calling you Harry. You’re right - it’s weird when it’s just us.”

He grins at you, then, standing up from his seat and stretching his arms over his head. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“You know, if I’m calling you Harry now, I think you should drop formalities too. Make it equal.”

“Okay … Y/N. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Harry,” you tell him, turning and walking out of his office with your phone in your pocket and two cups in your hands, blissfully unaware of your abandoned bag still sitting next to the terribly uncomfortable chair you’d been all too quick to leave.

 --

 It’s only when you’ve finished the trek back to your dorm, the sun beginning to lower down into the horizon, that the absence of your bag on your shoulder becomes prominent.

You can’t get into your building without your key and your key is in your bag and your bag is … back in Harry’s office, where you nearly made yourself cum just thinking about him. And the thought of having to go back across campus, back to his office, when he might not even be there, is not favorable, but you need your key and you need to bang out homework tonight, so with a soft groan you spin on your heel, walking away from the warm comfort of your building and making your way back to his.

As summer bled into fall and fall begins to bleed into winter, the weather has changed so drastically in just the past week or so that you tug your cardigan closer to your body, but the air that seeps through the holes in the crocheted sweater send goosebumps trailing up and down your body. The wind whips your face and brings tears to your eyes that run down your cheeks, and when you’re finally at the door of Harry’s building it’s a welcome surprise to walk inside, allowing the warmth to embrace you - even if the shock of the changing temperatures causes your eyes to water again.

His office is on the 2nd floor, so you pull open the door to the staircase and make your way up the two flights. Most professors have gone home for the day, classrooms dark as you speed past them to where you know his office is. 

His office is dark and your heart sinks at the sight - there are a few posters pinned to the small window, but you can see the lack of light clear as day. Your hand grasps the doorknob anyway, turning it without any hope that it would open - but then it was, giving you access to his dark office, and by the seat you’d occupied later you can make out your bag.

A breath of relief escapes your throat as you take a step inside, reaching down to swing it over your shoulder before turning to leave. And then you hear it - a small breath, an indicator of someone else in the room, and you whip around to look back around at the office.

Oh.

Harry sits in his chair, face buried in his arms, fast asleep. His hair is messy and in front of him sits the stack of essays you’d been working at early, hardly any smaller than when you’d left. It would nearly be an adorable sight - your professor, passed out at his desk - but it just seems concerning, and without thinking you’ve leaned over the desk, placing your hand on his shoulder and shaking him slightly.

“Professor?” your voice is soft, barely audible, and you speak louder when you say, “Harry?”

He doesn’t respond, so you say, louder still, “Harry?”

Then he stirs slightly under your touch, and you drop your hand from his shoulder as he lifts his head from where it had been resting on his arms, looking up at you with messy eyebrows and a thoroughly confused expression on his face. “What - what are you doing here?” Jesus. His voice is deep and raspy, sounding as though he’d been sleeping for ages instead of merely less than an hour, and if his present state wasn’t slightly concerning to you, you know that you’d feel the effects of his words between your thighs. But you pause, staring down at him, before asking, “What are you still doing here?”

“Just working on some grading.” He runs a hand through his hair, looking around the darkened office with an air of distinct confusion.

“With all due respect, Harry,” you tell him, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “I think you’re burning yourself out. You should go home.”

He hesitates, and then questions, “Why are you here? I thought you left -”

“I forgot my bag,” and you hold it up to demonstrate it to him. “Are you going to go home? I’m serious - you need a break. And to sleep on a bed.”

“I’m fine,” Harry says, and he stands up from his chair. It moves back and hits the wall with a soft thud that goes unnoticed by both of you. “You should go home, too. I need to finish some stuff up. I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

To neither of your surprise, you don’t move from your spot standing before his desk. You cross your arms over your chest, digging your sneakered toe into the plush rug on the floor of his office - you hadn’t noticed it before, but it’s pale blue and bright against the mahogany floors. The brief silence between you two, daring either of you to speak, fills the confined space and all you can hear is the ticking of the clock behind you, and finally you say, “You’re not going to get anything done when you’re exhausted. I mean, you fell asleep on the essays. How are you going to explain why there’s drool on their assignments?”

He gives you a tight lipped smile in response, looking down at the essay he’d been working on as if to check that no saliva had landed on the words. “You caught me at a bad time. I don’t usually fall asleep on top of student essays, I promise - but you should be heading out now. It’s getting dark.”

It is getting dark, he’s right - the window behind his desk shows the darkness that newly falls over the campus. And the thought of walking home in the dark scares you just a bit, but you’ll suck it up if it gets him to go home too. “Harry.”

“Y/N.”

“I’ll help you grade tomorrow. But you’re fucking yourself here -”

(Harry laughs at your choice of words internally, but it comes out as a small release of air and a soft grin.)

“ - so come on. Walk out with me so I can make sure you’re actually going home.”

Perhaps he’s realized he’s fighting a losing battle here, because finally he looks back down at the stack of ungraded essays with a small sigh and then says, “Fine.”

“Great.” Your grin widens across your face, and for a moment you make to hold out your hand to him, to drag him along like you would to any of your friends - but the second your hand raises you drop it down to your side, and heat burns your cheeks. He’s not one of your other friends, you tell yourself, stepping out of his office, hearing him walk behind you. And you can’t hold his hand, even as a joke.

“Where’s your dorm?” Harry asks you as he locks the door to his office and jiggles the handle to check it, and you jump at the chance to forget about what happened - you don’t want to dwell on it. “Is it far?”

“Across campus.” You raise your arm and point in the distinct direction of where your building is. “Closer to the cafeteria, I guess.”

“Christ, you have a trek, then, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” The pair of you make your way to the staircase, and from the corner of the eye you can see his head turning left and right down the hallway, as if scanning to see if there’s anyone coming - you can imagine it wouldn’t be great for him to be seen with a student long after classes ended. “I had to haul ass there and back to get my bag.”

He doesn’t respond for a moment, not until you’ve left the warm building and made your way into the cold air, the sun now having retreated for the night, and immediately you wrap your sweater tighter around yourself to try and provide some semblance of warmth. Harry glances down at you with a bemused smile, and you hoist your bag further up your shoulder.

“Well,” you sigh, breath coming out in white puffs. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Don’t burn yourself out, professor. And get a good night’s rest.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Shouldn’t I be telling you that?”

“Maybe.” You grin, feeling goosebumps sprout on your skin, and you shiver before turning in the direction of your dorm - the thought of walking home in the dark and cold doesn’t sound too great, but you’ve become good at dealing with it. “Goodnight, Harry.”

He doesn’t respond, and you’ve taken a few steps away when he calls out, “D’you want a ride?”

What?

“Y’know, like a ride back to your dorm. I can drop you off in the back - it’s just really cold and I’m sure you don’t want to walk so far in the dark.”

You turn back around to look at him, his cheeks a light shade of pink - whether from the cold or his offer, you can’t tell. And you’d love to jump in his car, accept his offer without a shadow of hesitation, but - “Is that allowed?”

Harry shrugs, and you know that’s code for absolutely not. “No one has to find out.”

(Your stomach drops, then.)

“Sure.” You take a few steps back towards him, and he spins on his heel, leading you to his car, and you walk in silence until you reach it. By the time you’re both safely in his car - his head turning every so often to check if there was anyone watching the pair of you - you’re shivering desperately, and you know you would have been positively miserable walking back to your dorm in these temperatures. “Thank you so much, Harry.”

“S’no problem, really.” His hand goes behind your seat as he turns to look behind him, and you hate the way the simple action makes you feel. “I’d rather know you get home safe than have you walk so far in the dark. Pretty girl like you, can never be too careful.”

You pause, cheek pressed against the cold window, and turn to look at him with a small smile. “Ooh, I’m a pretty girl now?”

“Wasn’t the point, Y/N,” Harry mutters, dropping his hand onto the center console, and if it were anyone else driving you like this, you’d rest your hand on top of his, intertwining your fingers and pressing your palms together. But he’s your professor, as much as you’re beginning to wish he weren’t, so you slide your hands beneath your thighs. “Which building, again?”

“McKinley,” you respond, voice barely louder than the sound of the heat blasting into his car. 

His car smells like eucalyptus and mint, and it’s surprisingly clean compared to his office - you wonder if his house is messy or clean, or a balanced mix, because you can’t quite catch a vibe for whether he’s organized or not. But, no - you’ll never see his house, surely. You can’t. 

“I used to date a girl who lived at McKinley,” he tells you, and you exhale slowly. You can tell he’s merely trying to make conversation but the sentiment isn’t making your internal conflicts any easier to manage. “Real nice dorms.”

“They’re alright.” In fact, you’ve been at university for 3 years and resided in 3 different dormitories and they’re your least favourite, with furniture that’s too big for rooms that are too small and bathrooms that can hardly fit more than 5 people, but you don’t tell him that. “Not the greatest.”

“S’what she told me, too,” Harry says, and you smile down at your lap, but you can’t find anything else to respond to that, so you take to gazing out the window.

Within a few seconds he’s slowing down, and you can recognize the back entrance to your building. You reach down and pick your bag off the ground, digging through it to find your key.

When you have it clutched in your hand, you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to look at him - to your surprise his eyes are already on you, and you swallow thickly. “Um - thanks for driving me.”

“Don’t worry about it.” 

You hesitate a moment before turning and swinging open the car door. You hop out and, just before you can shut it, he says, “Y/N.” And when you duck your head back into his car, raising your eyebrows, he adds, “Please don’t tell anyone I drove you home. You’re right - s’not allowed.”

“Alright.” Then, before you can help yourself, you flash him a wide grin and say, “Thanks for letting me be the exception, then.”

With that, you shut the door of his car, bounding up to the door of your building, and you swear you can feel his gaze remaining on you before his car drives off, and when you turn back around, it’s gone.

(In the back of your mind, you’re entirely too aware of the fact that merely sitting in his car crossed some sort of line that you didn’t know existed until now, but you don’t really know how far past it you are - not yet.)

 --

 “I have a question.”

You look up from the rubric you’d been working at - the student whose essay you’re grading hadn’t done too well on it, but you were trying to give them the most points you could, anyway. Harry’s looking down at his essay like he hadn’t spoken, but when he feels your gaze on him, he continues. “Why did you care so much? Yesterday. Me grading more s’less work for you to do. I feel like you should be loving that shit.”

It’s a reasonable question but, for a moment, you struggle thinking of how to answer it without exposing yourself to him. Finally, you give him a grin and say, “Well, if you were sleep deprived, it would make you mean.” He chuckles softly, and you can tell that’s not the answer he wanted, and it couldn’t have been further from the truth. So you add, “I guess I’m used to being the mom friend. Making sure all of my friends get a good night’s sleep and whatever.”

Harry pauses. “So we’re friends, then.”

You shrug, trying to stop the smile from peeking through onto your face. Being friends with Harry sounds positively dreamy and if it could segue into something else - whichitcan’t - you’d be the happiest girl alive.

You nod. “Yeah, aren’t we.” But it isn’t a question, and you can see the way his eyes twinkle at your response.

After a moment, you shift in your entirely entirely entirely too bloody uncomfortable chair, the wood making your butt ache. “I have a question, now.”

“Yeah?”

“Why’d you pick the most uncomfortable chair you possibly could for your guests to sit in?”

“Gets ‘em out of my office quicker.” Harry glances up and meets your glare with a laugh. “But I don’t want you to leave, so you can move to the couch, if you’d like.”

You hop out of the chair without a second’s hesitation, clutching your essay and your pen, flopping down on the couch and feeling your body weight sink into it. God, it’s so soft and your body relaxes into it, the relief of not being confined to the small, wooden chair so magnificent you could scream. Harry watches you with an amused grin, and says, “I feel like you’re being just a bit dramatic here.”

“Me? Dramatic? Never.” You sprawl yourself across the couch, head atop of the armrest, staring up at the white ceiling tiles above you. “I’m telling you, Harry, that chair is terrible. You should burn it.”

“So dramatic.”

You roll your eyes, sitting up slightly so you can rest your paper on your lap and still manage to scrawl semi-legible notes on this person’s piss poor essay. You wonder, briefly, if this is how Harry felt when he’d graded your 1984 essay, but - well - doesn’t matter now. And you’d fail that essay a thousand times over to get to this point, a point of companionship with your professor that you’re not sure any other student has felt with him before. At least, none that he’s told you about. It makes you feel special, and spectacular, and also the tiniest bit confused.

Why are you so special?

Maybe he’s lonely, or he’s merely entertaining your presence because you’re helping him grade, but you swear you can feel something more hidden within the lines of your relationship.

It doesn’t really matter, though, even if it is just a tad confusing.

“You should get going,” Harry tells you after another 15 minutes of you working at grading the essay. “You’ve been here for nearly two hours, bloody hell, wasn’t watching the time at all.”

“I don’t mind,” you say, though, in truth, you do have quite a bit of homework to work on later. “Don’t really have anything else to do.”

You sit up anyway, swinging your legs over the edge of the couch and stretching your arms above your head. Tiredness is beginning to affect you but you try not to let it.

“Well, in any case, you should be heading out now.” Harry nods his head towards the window behind him, the blinds pulled up so you can see the sun, nearly completely sunk below the horizon, the sky fading from reds and oranges to a dark shade of blue.

“What about you, professor?”

“What about me?” “You’re going home now too - right?”

He looks at you with a faux annoyed glare, but he can’t help the amusement from seeping through his features, and finally he breaks your stare with an exhale of breath. “I don’t think I’ll ever win this against you, will I?”

And you shake your head in response. “Never. So let’s go. Get your things.”

You take the next five minutes to gather all your stuff - resting the essay on top of his desk, sliding your phone and water bottle into your backpack, and zipping your bag shut - as Harry grabs his computer bag and his key. The two of you move surprisingly in sync with each other, sorting all of your stuff from around his small office, before making your way outside with him locking the door behind him.

It’s nearly completely dark, even colder than it had been the day prior. You reach behind you and pull the hood of your sweatshirt over your hair, protecting your ears, at least, from the chill.

You turn and face him, giving him a wide smile. The air is silent around you, surprisingly empty though the bitterness of the cold must be a contributing factor to that. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Professor. Make sure you get a good night’s rest -”

“Don’t want a ride?”

Your grin widens, and his eyes sparkle, even in the darkness, at your expression. “Well, of course I do, but it’s rude to invite myself into your car.”

“You’re not inviting yourself - I’m inviting you. Or, rather, demanding you. C’mon.”

Harry walks fast and you have to speed up your pace to keep up with him, though you suspect that has something to do with wanting to be free of any wandering eyes as quickly as possible. You recognize his car in the parking lot and bound ahead of him, standing by the passenger side door and wrapping your arms around yourself to try and warm yourself up, and for a moment his pace slows as he stares and looks at you. Standing by his car, holding an incredibly oversized hoodie tight to your body, a wide smile gracing your face.

“Staring is rude, professor,” you inform him as he shakes his head, unlocking his car and climbing into the driver’s seat. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that?”

Your lilt is teasing but you can tell it makes him slightly defensive either way.

“S’hard not to sometimes,” Harry tells you, and you giggle softly.

“So first, I’m a pretty girl, and now I’m hard not to stare at?” You drop your head back against the headrest, blowing air softly out of your mouth as you reach to buckle your seatbelt. “Keep this up, Harry, and my ego’s gonna be too big to even fit in your car.”

Harry laughs at that, resting his hand on your seat to back out of his parking spot. The radio softly plays some pop song that had been overtaking the charts recently, and you hum softly to it before turning your head to look at him. You examine his side profile - perfect, like every other angle of him - as he pulls out of the parking lot, making a left out of it.

He turns to see you watching him, and you watch redness bloom over his cheeks. “Staring is rude, Y/N.”

You smile, about to parrot his previous words back at him - it’s hard not to - but you bite your tongue, gazing at the road in front of you. A light drizzle is beginning to fall, a barely audible pitterpatter on the windshield, and that’s the only noise, for a moment - that and the radio playing, like a thought in the back of your mind.

The drive to your dorm seems to be taking longer than it had been yesterday and you can’t imagine why, but you appreciate just sitting in the car with him. Even if you’re not saying much, listening to his even breathing calms you.

You want to break the silence, though it’s comfortable rather than awkward. You like talking to him, like hearing everything he has to say, but you have no idea what you can possibly tell him that wouldn’t seem forced and awkward. So you sit, curling your legs up to your chest as you stare at the streets, and entirely too soon, the back of the McKinley building becomes apparent.

You want to stay in his car forever. Want to stay with him forever.

“Thanks for the ride,” you tell him, your voice sounding uncomfortably loud in the soft car. He nods in response, but for a moment neither of you move. You can’t bring yourself to leave yet, even if you know you have to, that he might have someone waiting for him at home.

“Y/N.” You turn and look at him, your eyes meeting his with your brows furrowed. “Uh - if you ever want a ride home, or to class, you can just let me know. Text me.”

“I don’t have your number.”

Harry’s cheeks are bright pink and there’s too much tension in the car, so thick you feel like you could cut it with a knife, and you lean down, unzipping your bag and pulling your phone out.

He takes it from you once you unlock it, going into your contacts and you watch as he types his phone number in, adding the contact name as Harry S. and you think you’ll be changing that later. He leaves the contact photo blank, which you expected - if anyone saw the name Harry S. in your phone, the contact photo would give it away.

He hands your phone back to you when he’s done, and your fingers graze his when you take it. “Just text me, then. If you need a ride.”

“Alright.” you give him a smile, unbuckling your seatbelt and pushing open the car door. “Thank you, Harry. Really.”

“My pleasure,” he says, and you grab your bag, hooking your arm underneath the strap and racing up to the back entrance of your building. It’s only when you get inside, the door firmly shut behind you, that you turn around again, and his car is gone.

 --

 10:52 PM

Y/N: hey professor...it’s y/n. just wanna make sure u have my number saved in case of emergencies

Harry S.: How is it you can have the highest grade of any student in my class and use improper grammar while texting?

Y/N: it’s a talent i guess

Y/N: texting like you’re writing an essay makes ppl v uncomfortable, and i speak from personal experience

Harry S.: So you’re uncomfortable right now, then?

Y/N: nooo, ur different

Harry S.: To quote this girl I know, ‘thanks for letting me be the exception, then.’

Y/N: how did u remember that? that makes me uncomfortable

Harry S.: Haha.

Harry S.: You should be sleeping right now. Students need their full 8 hours, don’t they?

Y/N: so do professors, as i keep telling u, but…

Y/N: i had hw to do, also had to make mac n cheese for dinner

Harry S.: You can do your homework in my office, you know. And then you can probably make it to the refectory for dinner.

Y/N: the food at the refectory sucks

Harry S.: Yeah, you’re right.

Harry S.: But I do feel bad that staying to help me grade made you have to stay up until 11 doing homework.

Y/N: well honestly i’d rather be sitting in ur office talking to u than in my dorm doing american lit work

Harry S.: Why’s that?

Y/N: ig i like hanging out with u

Y/N: u should feel honored btw

Harry S.: Believe me, I do. And now you should get to bed so you’re not grumpy tomorrow morning.

Y/N: ig i deserved that… and i’ll only go to bed if u do too

Harry S.: I will.

Y/N: promise??

Harry S.: I promise.

Harry S.: Goodnight.

Y/N: goodnight, professor

 --

 After a week, your arrangement has changed slightly.

Every day, you spend just a bit more time in his office. Then he drives you home, in comfortable silence, and from the minute you step into your dorm, you’re fishing your phone out of your bag to text him. Every night that you lie awake, texting him until you physically can’t keep your eyes open, the line that you’ve been dipping your toe across falls back even more.

The stack of assignments that need to be graded are beginning to dwindle, and you hate it. Hate to see the pile of ungraded work getting smaller and smaller, because when it’s gone, you probably won’t step foot in his office again.

Truthfully, and as embarrassing as it may be, Harry has become one of your closest friends at school. He’s funny and nice, and he brought you hot chocolate with powder left unmixed at the bottom after you mentioned that’s how you used to like it when you were younger, and he plays music on his phone at a low volume while you work on grading. 

Of course, as your friendship with Harry grows, so does the burning feelings for him that reside in the pit of your stomach day after day. And you know he doesn’t feel the same - he can’t - and maybe that’s painful for you, only slightly, but you’ve become rather talented at hiding those emotions. He can’t know that, everytime he laughs at one of your jokes, your heart swells - and everytime he reads a sentence from one of the essays out loud, using a mocking, deep voice, it makes your stomach flip.

You don’t know if you’ve ever felt so passionately about anyone, and that’s scary. Scary to think that the one man you want more than anyone else is the only person you can’t have.

“Y/N,” he says, and when you look up at him from your spot sprawled on the couch, he’s nibbling at the tip of his pen. “D’you think this makes sense?”

And he reads you a few lines written by one of his students - a name you recognize from being in your class, you think, but you’ve been paying attention less and less to other students during lectures. All you focus on is Harry, his booming voice projecting through the hall as he talks about the stories you’re reading, and every so often his eyes meet yours and the smile that spreads across his face could bring tears to your eyes, if you let it.

“Um - I guess. It’s worded kind of strangely, don’t you think? But I’d cut them some slack on it.” Harry nods and scribbles something in the margins of Nathalie Carron’s essay before flipping the page. “Can I put in a song request?”

He nods, then, picking up his phone from where it sits on his desk. The Chain plays softly, not too loud to interrupt your train of thought, but not too soft that you can’t hear it. “‘Course.”

“Heroes by David Bowie.” You glance back up at him, dropping Hannah Joseph’s essay on your stomach. “You like Bowie, right?”

“Who doesn’t, is the real question.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” You grin, glancing up at the white tiled ceiling as the song fills the hair, replacing Fleetwood. “You know, we should make a playlist for grading.”

Harry laughs. “A playlist of just Fleetwood and a dash of Bowie?”

“No, no. It can have other stuff, too. I mean, we know what we like.”

“Alright, alright.” He picks up his phone again, and you see his thumbs moving feverishly on the screen. “Y’know what, I’ll make it right now and show it to you for approval.”

“Make it good.” You pause, picking your essay up again. “No Justin Bieber.”

He snorts, and you relish in the noise.

The next ten minutes passes in mainly silence - when Heroes ends, Fleetwood continues, playing Secondhand News, and you hum to the tune. Harry’s ringer is on and you can hear it, the sound of the keyboard on his phone as he searches up song titles, and you rest the essay back on your stomach, writing messy notes with the pen you snatched from the mug on his desk again.

You sit up, suddenly, leaning over to rest Hannah’s fully graded essay on his desk, and instead of reaching for a new one to work on, you push yourself to your knees, resting your palms on his desk and attempting to lean over and peek at the playlist. But he anticipates that - he knows you’re nosy - and tilts his phone towards him, intercepting your attempts to eavesdrop.

“Don’t be impatient,” he murmurs, a smile tugging across his lips as he scrolls through something. “I’m almost done.”

You hum in response, dropping back down onto the couch, stretching your entire body across it, head resting on the armrest. The two of you settle back into a comfortable silence - he’s paused the music, by now - lasting only a moment or two before he stands up from his insanely comfortable chair, maneuvering his way around to the couch where you’re lying. He crouches down next to you, handing you his phone, opened to a Spotify playlist, and you greedily snatch the device from him, flicking through the songs.

Your eyes scan every song, absorbing every song title.

I Walk The Line by Johnny Cash - My Eyes Adored You by the Four Seasons - Your Song by Elton John?

Love songs. Every single one of them.

You push yourself up, sitting leaning against the armrest, as your eyes fall on the last song of the playlist - When I Kissed The Teacher by Abba. You lower his phone to your lap, looking at him with a slightly confused smile adorning your face.

He watches you intently, your heads a mere few inches apart, then reaches down to grab his phone off your lap, and you laugh lightly before saying, “it’s a lot of love songs.”

“They reminded me of you,” he tells you, voice quiet, testing the waters.

“They - they did?” It doesn’t make sense to you - doesn’t make sense that 45 love songs should bring you to the forefront of his mind, that every single time he hears Fooled Around And Fell In Love he should think of you. 

They make you think of him, though. 

And without thinking - of what you’re doing or of the consequences - you lean in, closing the short distance between your faces, pressing your lips against his so softly that it feels like it’s a mere breath on your mouth.

Harry pulls back, lips barely a centimeter from yours, exhaling softly. “We shouldn’t.”

You hum in agreement, already leaning back in. “No, we really shouldn’t.”

Your lips meet again and his hand goes to your face, cupping your jaw, and when he deepens the kiss you whimper into his mouth, bringing both of your hands to the back of his head. Your fingers bury themselves in his curls, tugging on the chocolate brown strands, and he groans softly into your mouth.

It’s everything you’d imagined and more, as the hand not on your cheek drops down to your waist, pulling your body closer to his. The angle is awkward - you sitting on the couch and him kneeling before it - so you unattach your lips, much to your dismay, and swing your legs around the edge of the couch so he’s situated between them. Harry’s eyes are wide, his hair mussed up, and you lean back in without a moment’s hesitation to resume the kiss. His tongue brushes against yours, and he tastes like mint tea and fucking heaven.

Both of his hands go down to your waist, tugging you to the very edge of the couch so your bodies are as close as they can be, and yours go to the back of his neck, dipping underneath the collar of his button down shirt to scratch at his back. It feels muscular, more toned than you were expecting, and feeling the skin underneath your nails makes you moan into his mouth.

“Fuck -” you groan softly as he moves his lips down your chin and to your jaw, nibbling softly at your skin, as if experimenting to see what you like - your reaction prompts him to move further down, licking a stripe down your neck and to the base of your collarbone. One of his hands - very large hands - slide up to cup one of your breasts, squeezing the mound of flesh through your tight shirt. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Harry hums against your collarbone, pressing open mouthed kisses across your skin. Your nails dragging down his back causes him to bite down gently to stifle the moan rising from his throat, but you hear it and Goditspursyouonsofuckingmuch. “God, Y/N -”

His praise is cut short by the sound of three swift knocks on the door - he pulls back from you, nearly falling back on his ass with the speed at which he stands, and your eyes flash to the door. Your heart is pounding desperately in your chest - are the doors soundproof? Did someone outside hear you? The thought makes you sick to your stomach, and your eyes meet Harry’s to find the same worry in his orbs.

Within moments he’s back behind his desk, running a hand through his hair to try and smooth it out, and you’ve reached to grab Hannah Joseph’s essay off his desk just as he calls, “come in!” in a voice that’s far too cheery for the panic that had just overtaken the both of you.

The door opens and from the corner of your eye you can recognize the girl who walks in - she lives across the hall from you, and her name is … Anna or Emma or something similar. She’s nice, and you should remember her name, but your brain is so scrambled that you can’t think of it.

Harry kissing you. Harry making you a playlist. Harry’s hands on your waist, pulling your body into his.

It’s everything you’ve dreamt of since the beginning of the semester, feeling his touch on you. And when you close your eyes, you try to imagine what would have happened if nobody knocked on the door, and it sends a shiver down your spine that doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry, sitting at his desk as he looks over Anna-or-Emma’s essay.

You can’t be here. You shouldn’t be here. The girl (who, now that you think of it, may be named Alana) is asking Harry a million bogus questions about the essay requirements he’d just given out and her shirt is so low cut that you’re surprised her boobs haven’t fallen out. Whether that was intentional or not isn’t something you dwell on, but something about sitting on the couch, trying to steady your breathing while your clit throbs violently feels wrong.

“I’m gonna go, professor,” you say, interrupting her question, and she looks at you like you just told her you’re going to give her a million dollars. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Y/N,” Harry calls as you grab your bag and shut the door behind you. His voice sounds pained, almost, as though he doesn’t want you to leave him alone with a girl whose only goal is clearly to fuck his brains out. You practically run down the hall, which isn’t close to being as empty as it usually is when you and Harry leave at the end of the day. 

Your shirt is tight and short sleeved and you can picture your jacket, up in his office, thrown over the back of the couch. You’d been in such a rush to leave that you’d left it, and you’re beginning to truly feel the consequences of it as the cold corners you, attacking your skin, and you could go back up to his office and get it but you just want to go home. The sun is setting, and it’s earlier than when you usually leave.

The walk home is decidedly miserable, the wind sending tears streaking down your cheeks, and your mind is practically going into overdrive. Jesus Christ. You kissed your professor, and he kissed you back. And then you left, like a fucking idiot. He probably feels terrible - feels like he violated you, or ruined his career. But he hadn’t done anything wrong, not really. If you were more respectable you’d go back to his building and apologize for running out, wrap your arms around him and kiss him like you fucking mean it, but all you do is scan your card to get into McKinley and walk down the hall to your dorm.

Your roommate is out - at her boyfriend’s, as per usual, but you appreciate it. Truth be told, you haven’t seen her much since the first few weeks of the semester, but she seemed nice enough. You drop your bag onto your bed and collapse on top of the covers, gazing up at the ceiling.

You bring your hand up to your mouth, brushing your fingertips over your lips with the same feather light touch that the first press of Harry’s lips to yours had felt like. You can still feel it - feel him - if you close your eyes, his hands grasping your hips and his lips trailing down your collarbone.

Slowly, you press your palm to your stomach, trailing it down your torso until you reach the button of your jeans. You undo it with shaky fingers and push them lower down, beneath the hem of your cotton thong, and the first brush of your fingertips against your clit sends a shiver down your spine and a whine falling off your lips.

Harry’s hand on your chest, squeezing your breast through your shirt as he kisses down your neck - oh my god, licking down your neck, biting your skin, his eyes are so wide, his hair is messy from where you grabbed it, and you hadn’t been interrupted he would’ve climbed on top of you, pressing you into the couch, tugging your jeans down your thighs and -

Maybe he would’ve done what you’re doing now, sliding his digits into your heat, fingers longer than yours, hitting every spot that you need him to. Or maybe he would’ve slid down your body, lifting your shirt to suck a deep purple mark into your chest, before burying his face in your cunt -

A very loud moan falls from your lips as you push a finger inside of yourself, curling them immediately to hit the spot inside of you that makes your tummy flip.

But maybe - just maybe - Harry wouldn’t have bothered with that. Would’ve watched, breathing so heavy as you unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his nice dress pants to wrap your hand around his cock, throwing his head back and moaning as you swiped your thumb over the tip of him.

You’re so close so fast you can practically taste the orgasm creeping up on you, your hips bucking up to meet where your fingers are feverishly rubbing circles on your clit.

And he would’ve slid into you, and he’s so big that he’s stretching you out more than any of your fingers or the guy you’ve been with, and he’d grab your chin and force your head up and kiss you so fucking hard, his hips flush against yours -

With a strangled cry, you curl your fingers once more and then you’re cumming, release coating your fingers as your hips roll into your hand. All you can think about is him and what could have happened, and the fact that you may have ruined the start of something magnificent, but God if the orgasm wasn’t good.

You pull your hand out of your panties, wiping your dripping fingers on the denim of your jeans. For a moment, you merely stare back up at the ceiling, focusing on steadying your breathing, and then you stand up, kicking your jeans off your legs and tossing them onto your dresser. You have a pair of plaid pajama pants crumbled in a pile at the bottom of your bed from the morning, and you pull them over your legs with a sigh. Perhaps it’s not the height of cleanliness, but they’re soft and comfortable, and you lie back down on your bed once they’re on.

After nearly an hour, you still haven’t done anything but sit and do nothing, occasionally flicking through your phone. You wish you could fall asleep but your brain is working far too fast to even think about resting, and -

The sound of your phone getting a notification startles you, and you groan, grabbing your phone to look at whoever disturbed your panic.

Harry S.: I’m behind your building. I have your jacket.

He’s here? Jesus Christ, you just came over him and damn near cried over him and now you have to see him.

Perfect.

Your heart skips a beat, and you jump up without a second thought. You look an absolute fool, stuffing your feet into the first pair of shoes you can find - a pair of slip on Vans that are so dirty they can barely constitute as white - before you’re running out the door, your phone tucked in the waistband of your pants, heading down the hall and out the back entrance where Harry’s black car sits, waiting.

You walk up to his car, pathetically out of breath, and lower your head so you can see him through the window as he rolls it down.

“Hi.” Your tone is quiet, and you clear your throat. “Um, I’m sorry about running off like that. I just got overwhelmed and that girl showing up made me - um - nervous.”

“It’s fine,” Harry says, though he’s very pointedly not making eye contact. “M’sorry if I crossed a line. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that, or -”

“No, I kissed you first -”

“But I’m your professor.” He says the word with an odd inflection, nearly pained. “I shouldn’t have let it escalate. I’m sorry.”

You dig the toe of your shoe into the road, looking down at the passenger seat where your jacket sits, waiting. The tension is palpable and you swallow thickly, then grab the car handle, forcing the door open so you can grab your jacket. You wrap the fabric around your shoulders - the seat heaters made it warm and you could nearly cry at the way it embraces you.

Harry watches you - you can see him from the corner of your eye - and then he looks down at your body, your shirt and your pajama pants with no pockets, and asks, “D’you have your key to go back in your dorm? S’just, you don’t have any pockets … I can’t see it.”

Shit. No, you don’t. You hadn’t thought about that when you were running out to see him. Perhaps he can decide the answer from the way your face drops, because he exhales with a small smile, barely perceptible, and nods his head. “Get in.”

You grab the door handle again, pulling the door open and climbing inside. The seat is toasty and warm and the car is toasty and warm and altogether you feel like both of those adjectives combined. The radio plays softly - or maybe it’s his phone, hooked up to the aux cord, because Maybe I’m Amazed by Paul McCartney is a song you recognize reading on the playlist he’d made.  You slam the door shut and wrap your arms around yourself, holding your jacket closer to your body, before turning your head to glance at him. He still hasn’t started driving, merely gazing at you, and you feel your skin heat under his eyes. “Where are we going, professor?” It’s a stupid question, because you aren’t going anywhere yet, and he doesn’t look like he plans to start driving anytime soon.

“I’ll take you back to my apartment.” HIs eyes haven’t left yours, and your stomach turns. “How does that sound?”

You exhale softly. “Sounds perfect,” and then you’re leaning in, pressing your cold palms to the side of his cheeks and bringing his face into yours.

Your lips meet and it’s more desperate than it was in his office - teeth clashing and your tongues brushing against each other, as if he’s trying to devour you. His hand rests atop of yours, dwarfing you pathetically, before dragging his fingertips down your arm and up to your shoulder, fingers dipping beneath the sleeve of your shirt.

Where you’re cold from the air outside, Harry is so warm and toasty, his breath hot against your face when you pull away briefly. He presses his forehead to yours and then leans up, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose and smirking at the whimper you let out.

“Wait,” he tells you, voice low and quiet, and you nod slowly. “When we get to my apartment - but not now.”

You nod feverishly and sit back in your seat obediently, desperate for him to finally start driving. His hand rests on top of the center console and you stare at it for a moment - you can do it, do what you’ve wanted to do every single time he’s driven you home - and you place your palm overtop of his. He turns it over so your palms are pressed together, fingers intertwining, and you’re sure he can hear your heartbeat with how loudly it’s beating in your chest.

The line that you’ve crossed is so far behind you that it’s a mere dot in the distance. 

The car ride to his apartment is short - only 2 full songs play during it, and you recognize My Girl and I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight from the playlist. Truth be told, it feels as though you’d been in the car for hours and hours, his thumb rubbing circles into the back of your hand. You want nothing more than to crawl across the center console and straddle him, kiss him until you’re both breathless and go as far as you’d fantasized about but you have to wait.

 --

 Harry’s unlocking the door of his apartment entirely too slow for your liking. It’s as though he’s trying to tease you, make you antsy, when all you want is for him to press you against the wall and kiss you silly. 

He lives in a large brick apartment building - one of the newer ones, you know - in an apartment on the third floor. You’ve passed his building so many times driving through town and you never even knew it - didn’t know the man who lived there was someone you’d be so desperate for.

“Come on,” he whispers, though there’s no real reason for the two of you to be quiet - perhaps it just fits the mood. Harry’s hand wraps around your wrist as he tugs you into the now-open door of his apartment, flicking on the light switch residing beside the door. 

As light floods the apartment you’re somehow both surprised and also not at all. It’s surprisingly tidy, resembling more of his car than his office, and - to your relief - it’s quite obvious he’s the only one who lives here. You slip out of your Vans and take a moment to look around. A cat sits on top of the couch (her name is Marie, named after Aristocats, you learned from class) and you can’t stop yourself from gravitating towards her, using two fingers to stroke down her back as you peek around the apartment.

Yes, it is quite clean, and surprisingly colorful - there’s a striped rug and red couches and your eyes fly a bookshelf filled with picture frames against the wall. One is him with four other guys, arms wrapped around each other - one of him and Marie - one of him, significantly younger, hugging a girl who looks extremely similar to him.

“Is this your sister?” you ask, unaware of where he is in the apartment but trusting he hasn’t strayed too far from you.

“Yeah,” he responds, and you jump slightly. Harry stands just behind you, and when you turn to face him he’s fighting back a grin. “So nosy, aren’t you?”

You raise your arms to wrap around his neck, pulling his head down to yours as his hands gravitate down towards your lower back where your shirt rises just a couple inches from your pants, exposing a strip of skin, and his touch sends a shiver down your spine. “I guess I am nosy. Can’t help it.”

Harry leans down, then, pressing a kiss to your forehead and down the bridge of your nose before landing on your lips - you whine into his mouth, pushing yourself onto your toes to try and deepen it, swiping your tongue into his mouth. It’s so different than before - heavier, deeper, and you can’t get enough of it.

“Please,” you whimper against his lips as his hands creep farther down your back, landing on the globes of your ass through your soft pajama pants. “I need you.”

“Oh, yeah?” You can hear a sense of cockiness working its way into his voice and you groan softly as he pulls away from you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “What do you need, baby? Tell me.”

You need everything. You need everything he can possibly give you and more - you need wish fulfillment of everything you’ve dreamt of since the start of the semester and that includes every single goddamn appendage on his body put to use somehow.

But you can’t possibly begin to tell him that, not yet. His fingers are already trailing down to the waistband of your pants, tugging at the tie that holds them up when you breathe, “Your mouth. Please, I need - I need your mouth.”

It’s not enough for him, you can tell, as he leans down to press a kiss to the side of your throat, sucking softly. “M’using my mouth.”

“H - Harry …”

“Where d’you want my mouth?”

You curse beneath your breath, and he pulls his head back to raise his eyebrows at the sound. You bury your hand in his hair, tugging lightly on his curls, before squeezing your eyes shut and muttering, “Want your mouth … down there.”

As much as you want it - and Godyouwantitsofuckingmuch - it makes it no less awkward to say it out loud.

“Down where, baby?” Harry asks, voice teasing and so fucking smug. “Down here?” His hand sprawls across your stomach, pressing down on your abdomen and you moan softly. “No … down here, s’that right?”

His hand slides down to your cunt, pressing his palm overtop of you through your pajama pants and you’re so wet you’re sure he can feel it even through two layers of fabric. Your throaty cry in response and the feverish nod of your head confirms what he’d been teasing you about, and Harry delivers one last soft kiss to your lips before dropping to his knees before you.

Fuck. You never thought you’d see Professor Harry Styles, the man of your dreams and the one person you considered to be entirely unattainable, kneeling in front of you with his nice dress pants on and a crisp button up shirt. He looks entirely normal, save for his messy hair and lust blown pupils, and you’re sure you look a bloody mess but his eyes still devour you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

You drop your shaky hands down to the tie of your pants, undoing it at record speed, and he hooks his fingers in your waistband. Slowly - so slowly - Harry tugs them down and his eyes remain on you as though expecting you to stop him, but you can’t. Finally they pool by your feet and you lift your legs to kick them off, sending them flying near the couch where Marie resides.

Had you known this would be happening perhaps you would have opted for racier panties - your cotton thong isn’t terrible but it certainly isn’t doing you any favours, and you have so many lace ones at home that would have been perfect for the opportunity - but Harry still looks at you like you created the world. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh and then the other, leaning in to suck a dark purple hickey into your skin.

You suppose he has a thing for hickeys.

Your fingers twist in his curls, trying to direct his head up to where you truly need him, and he chuckles softly - the soft exhalation of air makes you whine as it hits your cunt, even through your panties. A soft kiss is what he lands on your clothed clit, and your hips buck up into his mouth. You’d forgotten, perhaps, that you’d had an orgasm less than an hour prior but you’re very swiftly reminded, and he looks up at you with a smirk.

“So reactive,” he murmurs, wrapping his lips around your clit through your underwear and sucking softly. “Just the way I like.”

A shaky breath escapes your mouth as you toss your head back, legs shaking and you can’t expect them to hold you up much longer. One of his hands moves to the back of your thigh, kneading your skin softly, and the other dips into the hem of your panties and slowly tugs them down. You’re so wet that the fabric is desperate to stick to your dripping cunt but he manages to roll them down your legs, face to face with your pussy and -

Heat floods through your body and up to your face as you look down and make eye contact with Harry. Now that he’s down there, gazing at your bare pussy, you feel oddly compelled to protect whatever modesty you have left and shut your legs but then he grabs one of your legs and throws it over his shoulder, pushing you back just a bit until your back smacks into the wall, and leans in.

The first stripe he licks up your core sends a choked cry from the back of your throat and then a long whine as Harry focuses his attention on your clit. His tongue flicks the swollen bud, still rubbing circles into the back of your thigh. Your heel digs into his back as he moves one hand up to your cunt, running his finger through your soaked folds before pushing it inside of you.

He curls his finger, mimicking a come hither motion until he brushes against the spot that makes your hips jerk against his face. Harry’s lips wrap around your clit and when your eyes roll back into your head, he takes his hand off your thigh and snaps his fingers.

“Look at me,” he demands, voice muffled against your cunt, and the vibrations roll through your body like an earthquake. “I wanna watch you fall apart. Look at me.”

Slowly you lower your eyes back down to him, meeting his gaze as he pulls his mouth away briefly - smacks his lips - and pushes a second finger into your dripping heat. As he thrusts them in and out, hitting that sweet spot in your velvet walls, you can feel your orgasm building in the pit of your tummy embarrassingly fast, but you want to hold out for him. Want to prolong this as long as you can.

Harry’s teeth brush against your clit and you cry out, barely hearing the way he groans, “So fucking reactive for me, yeah?” but you can hear it and it only makes you moan louder. His tongue draws patterns over your clit and he’s so determined to maintain eye contact but you can tell it’s a struggle for both of you.

He pulls his fingers out of you, licking a thin stripe up one of them as if he can’t get enough of your taste before reaching his arm up so his fingers rest on your bottom lip. Obediently you open your mouth, accepting his digits and swirling your tongue around them, tasting yourself on his skin, as he leans back, glancing up at you with heat blazing in his eyes.

“You’re close,” he tells you, his voice deep and throaty. “Can feel it - feel how you’re clenching around my fingers, baby. D’you wanna cum? Tell me how fucking bad you want it.”

Harry pulls his fingers from your mouth and presses them to your clit, rubbing a slow circle as you struggle to find your voice before gasping, “Fuck - need to cum so fucking bad Harry - Harry, oh my god -”

“Yeah? Gonna cum for me?”

“Yes! Oh my god, H - Harry -”

“Cum for me, baby.”

He leans in, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking and that’s all you need to topple over the edge, the orgasm that had been building in the pit of your tummy finally exploding. Your head falls back against the wall with a thud that’s hardly audible over your loud shrieks and moans, your leg finally giving out and you damn near slide to the ground before Harry hooks an arm around your thigh to keep you upright.

His tongue flicks at your clit gently, riding you through your orgasm, and when you’re coming down from your high it’s all you can focus on. There’s a high pitched ringing in your ears and you don’t think you’ve ever - ever - cum that hard in your life. You’d only been with one guy before who didn’t even know women could orgasm and your fingers never gave you anything so earth shattering.

Your breathing comes out in desperate pants as Harry rises from his knees, moving both hands to your hips as your legs nearly collapse again. Your clit is throbbing and when you press your body to his, leaning up to kiss him so desperately, you can feel his boner, hard against your thigh.

“Holy shit, professor.” It’s all you can manage, pulling away to drop your head against his chest, using the moment to try and steady your breaths. “W - who knew you were so good at that.”

His fingers brush through the ends of your hair, a gesture so sweet and innocent that it could make you forget what just occurred. “A hidden talent, I guess,” he mutters, gripping your chin to kiss you again.

You drop your hands to his waist, gripping his nice button down shirt in your tight grasp, surely wrinkling the fabric as you roll your hips against his. Even through his pants his hard on feels fucking huge and you’ve only been with one guy before and suddenly you’re wondering if he’ll even fit inside of you.

But you’ll try. By god, you’ll try. And you press your head to the wall, looking up at him with lust dilated pupils. “Harry.”

“Tell me what you need, baby.” But he already knows, and you can tell he needs the same thing.

You swallow, bucking your hips forward against his boner, and he groans. “I want you to fuck me. Please. I - I need you to fuck me, professor.”

The word makes him moan aloud, and within barely a second he’s grabbing your wrist, tugging you away from the wall and across the apartment until he’s swinging open a door and pulling you inside.

Something about being in his bedroom is entirely different than being in his living room, the carpet beneath your bare feet plush and soft. There’s a large television in front of his bed and the bed is made beautifully, a flannel blanket tossed over the end, and you can’t fucking wait to mess it up.

Harry spins you around to face him, attaching your lips once more as he shuts the door. You whimper into his mouth as his hand drops down to your bare bum, squeezing the flesh in his large palm. “Sorry,” you murmur, voice high pitched and breathy, “was nosing again -”

He groans as you drop your hand to the front of his fancy dress pants, trying desperately to undo the button with one shaking hand. It’s a struggle and finally he chuckles breathlessly, dropping both hands down to help you with the task, and finally you reach your hand into his trousers and press your palm against his cock, hot and heavy even through his boxers.

“Bed,” he grunts, backing you up until the back of your knees hit a hard edge and you fall backwards onto his plush duvet. He stands above you, breathing heavily, and for a moment you stare at each other, as though processing that this is happening - and the moment picks up again. Harry reaches down and tugs at the bottom hem of your shirt, pulling it up and off your body and sending it into the corner of the room. Your bra is lace, at least, and decidedly prettier than your panties, and for a moment he stares down at your chest with a look of pure lust adorning his face.

“You look a bit flushed, professor,” you tell him, voice faux innocent and sounding entirely more confident than you feel. “Are you feeling okay?”

Harry chuckles through gritted teeth, and you push yourself onto your elbows so you can work at the buttons of his shirt as he tugs his pants down his legs. “I’ve never been better, in fact.” His boxers are flannel and you can see the bulge in his boxers, and it’s even bigger than what you’d expected.

Your work at undoing his buttons slows down as your mind suddenly flips into overdrive - you must wear the worry that suddenly overtakes you because Harry leans down, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“When’s the last time you’ve done this?” he questions, voice soft and spun sugar sweet.

“Um -” you try and think. The last time you’d done this you’d lost your virginity and that was - “A year ago. Maybe longer.”

Harry nods, nudging your nose with his and giving you one final kiss before rising back up. His hands replace yours as he works on unbuttoning his shirt. “I’m going to go slow, baby. I promise.”

In every fantasy you’ve had about him, he’s not slow - he’s fast, pounding you so hard the bed is nearly louder than the noises you make - but now that you’re here with him? Maybe you need slow.

You nod, and he smiles down at you. He presses his hands onto the mattress and then snakes them beneath you, fingers working at the clasp of your bra, and you lift yourself up slightly so he can undo it and slide your last piece of clothing off of you. He sends it into another part of the room and you can’t be bothered to focus on it because - Christ! - all of a sudden Harry lowers his mouth to your breast, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples and sucking.

“Fuck!” you gasp, fingers working themselves into his curls. Your fingernails scratch at his scalp and he moans lowly against your skin. Harry lifts his head off of you, pinching one of your nipples so you cry out.

He lifts one leg to rest on the bed and then grips your hips, pulling you closer to the edge. Your legs instinctively spread and he watches you, breathing heavily. “Baby,” he mutters, hands slipping his boxers down his thighs. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

Heat burns your cheeks and you shut your eyes.

“Look at me,” Harry tells you, and it’s all you can do to obey. “Want you looking at me while I fuck you. Can you do that?”

You nod, swallowing as he grips one of your calves and hikes it onto the bed, exposing your sensitive, dripping cunt to him. You look down your body, where he’s grasping his achingly fucking hard cock in his hand, and then he drags the tip down your slit with a low hiss.

“Are you ready, baby?” he asks, voice soft and strained, as if he’s holding back and you know he is. But he needs this to be a good experience for you so it can be good for him and that’s what you appreciate.

“Y - yeah.” you push yourself onto your elbows and your eyes meet, maintaining perfect eye contact as he pushes himself inside of you. He’s going achingly slow and -

The stretch aches and you drop your head onto the mattress with a groan, Harry’s hand immediately finding your hand where you’re grasping the duvet feverishly. He bottoms out, fully sheathed in your warm cunt, a low groan piercing the air at the feeling of your walls, tight around him. It hurts - not as much as you’d expected, and the pain that quite literally fills you overtakes the burn.

You squeeze his hand, feeling his other run up and down the inside of your thigh as you adjust to him. “Oh - my god - wait - just - just one second wait one second -”

“Of course,” he breathes, and his voice is shaky with an emotion you can’t quite decipher. “T - take your time, babygirl.”

After a few seconds you push your head up to look at him, nodding slightly. “Okay. I need more, p - professor.”

You can tell he likes when you call him that and in some weird way you love it too - love knowing that the professor everyone lusts for is fucking you, slowly pulling out before thrusting back in, squeezing your hand when you cry out at the feeling. Maybe you’re not the first student to experience him like this but based on his demeanor you think you are - there’s something about him in this moment that feels like a secret you’ve discovered.

“Oh - fuck -” Harry grunts as he moves his hand from your thigh to your hip, pressing your body down with just enough force to limit your movements. It’s paining him, going so slow, you can tell - and you’re already starting to need more from him. You need him to go faster, and with a breathy moan you tell him.

Slowly his pace picks up, his grip on your hip tightening until you’re sure there’ll be fingerprint shaped bruises on your skin by tomorrow morning. With every thrust he fills you up so completely that every perfect spot inside of you is hit just right, and you never knew it could feel this good.

Every noise of his that tears through the bedroom spurs you on, pushing your hips into his to deepen every thrust. And every time you whine or whimper or cry or anything Harry delivers a harder thrust, fucking you so deep that you can feel it in the pit of your tummy.

“God, p - professor,” you moan, the word falling entirely too naturally off your lips even in your heightened state. Harry throws his head back with a high pitched whine, speeding up his pace until the loudest noise in the room is skin hitting skin. “Holy shit - fuck - I’m gonna - gonna -”

“Gonna cum around my cock, baby?” He hisses, pressing the hand that had once resided on your hip into the mattress, gripping the covers tighter so he can rail his hips into yours desperately. “So fucking tight around me, can’t even fucking stand it -”

Your hand, shaking beyond belief, slides down to rub hard circles into your clit. The sensations on your clit and his cock, rutting against your G spot with every thrust, sends you over the edge again - already so overstimulated from the rather intense orgasm you’d had before - and with a loud cry-bordering-on-scream you’re cumming again.

“Fuck!” you moan, hips bucking up against his as you ride out the waves of your orgasm. “Fuck, Harry, oh my god -”

He’s not far behind you, hips stuttering ever so slightly but he wants to bring you to one more orgasm, securing this day as the best fuck of your (admittedly limited) sex life and he can’t cum yet. Your hand falls back onto the mattress and Harry pulls his clammy hand from yours, bringing it down to replace your fingers on your clit, and immediately you clench around his cock, begging incoherently for something - you’re not sure what - as he presses down on your clit hard.

Your eyes roll back into your head as his cock twitches inside of you, and grunts and moans are flying from Harry’s mouth faster than he can control it. Your walls flutter around his dick, his thrusts slowing to lazy pumps in and out. He’s so fucking close, he just needs one more push and then -

Your fingers wrap around his wrist and he looks down at you, your eyes nearly black with desire, tears streaking down your cheeks. “C - cum in me, professor.”

It’s the final straw for Harry, and with a nearly animalistic cry he sheathes himself fully inside of you and cums so hard so fast, it’s nearly violent, and the feeling of warmth that explodes in your cunt sends you into your fourth orgasm of the night -

It’s less intense than the others but still entirely too prominent and when you’ve finally rode out the last wave you collapse against the bed, your head spinning and your legs aching as Harry presses it back down from where it had been perched up.

Harry collapses on top of you, his body suffocating and hot and sweaty and you wrap your arms around him, your desperate attempts at steadying your breathing filling the room. You’ve never cum so hard and so much and you’re fucking exhausted, truthfully.

He lifts his head, gazing down at you as you run your fingers through his tangled, sweat soaked curls. “How was that?”

You exhale with a smile upturning your lips, beginning to feel his cum dripping out of your pussy and down your thighs. “Jesus Christ,” you murmur, and a grin breaks onto his face as he drops his forehead against your shoulder.

The two of you lie in silence for a moment - no words need to be spoken. Harry shifts the pair of you further up the bed, your head crashing onto one of his pillows as he remains, firmly on top of you, like he never wants to leave.

But you can’t stop yourself from asking the question burning through your mind, and you swallow thickly before mumbling, “Harry -”

He hums softly.

“Is this like - a one time thing?”

His head lifts again, chin pressed to your shoulder blade, eyebrows furrowed. Harry takes a moment to respond, though, lifting his hand to trace a line across your jawline to your lips, and you press a soft kiss to the tips of his fingers when he arrives at his destination. “I don’t think so,” he tells you, and his voice is quiet and vulnerable, as if waiting for you to deny him. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”

You smile softly, leaning in to press a kiss against his soft lips. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“‘Course, baby.”

The name makes your tummy flutter, and you think you could listen to him call you baby for the rest of your life. “I’ve dreamt of this,” you tell him, lips merely a centimeter from his. “Since the beginning of the semester, every night.”

Harry raises his eyebrows at you, and you giggle at his expression. “Glad to know I’m not the only one.”

You shut your eyes, then. Rest your head on his pillow, feeling warm with the man you adore pressed on top of you, his arms firmly and protectively wrapped around you. Nothing has ever felt more right to you, and you drift off to sleep with a soft smile still gracing your lips.

[userholland]

all for her [2]

pairing: dad!bartender!tom x female!reader

warnings: excessive drinking, cursing, mentions of blood, violence, etc.

summary: a single-dad bartender, a supportive best friend and their continuous, unrequited love noticed by his optimistic daughter. is it possible to break a heart they never knew they had?

word count: 10.8k!

the soundtrack:  dancing with your ghost - sasha sloan, chinese satellite - phoebe bridgers, never the 1 - rosie, waiting room - phoebe bridgers, guilty conscience - 070 shake

a/n: im so happy with the response from part 1 & excited that part 2 is now here!!! i think i’ll try to end with the next part but..... who knows. again, thank y’all for the feedback & hope you enjoy!

— masterlist ☆彡

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

The night Summer was left on Tom’s doorstep was one he would never forget.

He moved into his apartment a month before and it was becoming more than the four, blank walls. It was in a quiet neighborhood, facing out to a street view of family-owned businesses and a bus stop. People passed the street often during the day, a good opportunity for people-watching from his small terrace. But when he closed the windows and locked the door, the feeling of being alone quickly settled in for the first time in his life. 

The thought of being independent was reliving now that he had a part-time job. He'd be able to live off his earnings with no guilt and bring whoever he wanted without disturbing his roommates. Even though he had his own place of solitude and privacy, Tom still managed to visit you at campus now that he was closer compared to the hours of driving before. He considered it as a pro to moving, but he really just needed any reason to just have you close.

Most times you’d come over, saying you had homework and studying to do, but with Tom, you never got anything done in one sitting. You made dinners together or ordered something in the middle of the night, watch movies interrupted by your playful comments or you would take a nap between your classes while he did his work.

The two of you were inseparable now throughout college, not stuck with the limited possibilities of what your small hometown gave to you. Everything was going smoothly and Tom was looking forward to what his future looked like, maybe even see you ending up together, but things took a turn when he opened the door and saw Summer, small and swaddled, in the baby carrier at his feet.

It was a Sunday, having your ideal night-in watching your favorite movie, and ordering food for dinner. Your head rested on Tom’s lap, your eyes trying to focus on the TV but they fluttered. Tom had his arm around the back of the couch with his right foot on the coffee table. Sometimes he’d glance down at you, making sure you didn’t fall asleep because you had more studying to do, but he gently shook you every few minutes when he thought he heard your light snores.

“Hmm, I’m awake.” You grumbled.

“Judging from your snoring, I don’t think you are.” He smiled, moving your hair out of your face.

Your face scrunched together, “I don’t snore.”

“You don’t? Not like this?” He jeered, making an obnoxious noise as he leaned his head back.

You pressed your face against his cheek, tilting his head to the side and lightly gripping at his hair. Laughs and giggles echoed the apartment as you fought like kids, Tom’s hand holding your wrist to push it away from his face until the doorbell rang.

“Finally! I’m starving.” You said, thinking the Chinese food was here.

You jumped up from the couch, walking into the kitchen to get plates. Tom chuckled as he headed toward the door, “Are you excited? I couldn’t tell.” He said sarcastically, grabbing the tip money off the kitchen counter.

The baby was asleep, her chubby cheeks were a rosy pink as well as her lips. She looked peaceful bundled in a soft, yellow blanket, but fear instilled within Tom. He wasn’t sure what to do, his mind starting to race and his heart beating faster. He took a few steps into the hall and looked both ways. It was ominous how no one was around, yet there was someone at the door a few seconds ago.

“Hello?” He shouted, his hands against each side of the doorframe.

You furrowed your eyebrows, “What’s going on?” You nervously chuckled.

The moment your eyes met the baby at Tom’s feet, your mouth slightly gapped with a trailed gasp.

“This has to be a joke…” Tom trailed.

You kneeled, reaching for the note tucked in by her leg. It was on a torn piece of notebook paper with Tom’s name scribbled on the front in pencil.

“I can’t take care of her. Please understand. Maggie.” You read off, biting your bottom lip.

He continued to stare at Summer, her hair barely grown and her skin so pink. He assumed she had been born a few weeks ago, maybe months. All he could process was that there was a baby on his doorstep and he had no idea what to do.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

It took a few minutes to get Maggie calm, but they went in the hall to talk so Summer didn’t wake up. It was none of your business, but you still stood close to the door with your back against the wall as their muffled conversation faded in and out.

“How did you even find me?” Tom asked.

“None of your business.” She snapped, “I don’t know why this is  such a big deal.” Maggie chimed, crossing her arms.

Tom scoffed, “Because you’ve never made any effort to see her and suddenly, you want to come and pick her up and take her like she’s a puppy in an ad you found this morning.”

She smiled in spite, “Don’t talk to me like that-”

“How else am I supposed to act? You just told me she’s not mine!”

“Because she’s not! I had to dump her on someone!”

Every word that came out of Maggie’s mouth felt like a repeating stab in the heart. He couldn’t believe anything she said, convinced he hated her at that moment, but he somehow held his head high because he knew he’d fight for Summer no matter what Maggie could tell him.

“You’re not taking her. End of discussion.” Tom uttered, tears welling up in his eyes.

Maggie reached into the back pocket of her denim jeans, pulling out a folded piece of paper, and forcefully handed it to Tom. He stared at it for a few seconds, his hand lightly shaking as he slowly opened it by the ends.

“You still think I’m lying?” She scoffed as they both glared at the paper.

It was Summer’s birth certificate, dated on this day six years ago which made time seem so fast. His dry, tired eyes searched the paper until they locked to the father’s name box, a name he didn’t know and certainly wasn’t his.

“Either I call the police now or you give her… right here, right now,” Maggie growled with no hesitation.

Tom clenched his jaw, “You can’t-”

“I sure as hell can… and we both know you’re not dumb so, just give her to me.” She demanded as if Tom could process all of this while his world was crashing around him.

Tom licked his lips, sealing them to hide the pain that ached in his heart and spread throughout every nerve of his body. A single tear fell down his cheek, but he quickly wiped it with the back of his hand. Tom wanted to composed himself to stay strong, but he didn’t know he could crumble so easily from a small number of words.

“Can we do this tomorrow? I just wanna spend one more day with her.” He asked politely, the whites of his eyes now a light pink.

She stood there, not saying anything and her arms were still crossed.

“Please… Maggie.” Tom pleaded, feeling a bit pathetic.

Tom thought back to that conversation, replaying it in his head so much that he didn’t sleep all night. His constant shifting throughout the night didn’t let either of you get much sleep, but it’s not like you were either, laying there and wondering how much you could do. 

You were surprised he didn’t cry, shout or lash out in some random outburst of pure anger. It’s what you would’ve done, but you knew that Tom was trying to convince himself it wasn’t real. The denial would eat him alive, only because he believed Maggie was telling the truth and would take Summer no matter how hard he thought of a way to not let her.

“Tom?... Tom!” Your voice seemed miles away.

Tom glanced up to meet your eyes, letting out an embarrassed chuckle as his ears tinted pink. The sounds within the diner became audible to him, not remembering how he got lost in a daze. 

“In your own little world again?” You grinned, knowing that he was always one for thinking too much.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m fine.” Tom rubbed his hands down his face and straightened his back against the booth.

You sealed your lips, “You can talk to me about-”

“I’m fine, Y/N.” He retorted, nodding his head at you.

“Okay…” You trailed.

When his whole world was turned around the night before, you choose to not take his short attitude personally. All you could do was be there for him and you wanted to try your best. Seeing his hand rested on the table, you placed yours on top and reassured him, “It’s gonna be okay.”

He didn’t look at you, but you laid your head on against his shoulder. You caressed your thumb over his skin before grasping his hand and giving it a light squeeze. You brushed your cheek against his black hoodie, smelling the fresh lavender and nuzzling against his arm to remind him that you weren’t planning on leaving or letting him go.

Summer ran down the empty aisle, jumping into the booth and she laughed to herself, “I got this!”

You leaned up from Tom so he could see what she had in her small hand. Her casted arm rested on the table, signatures written all over it from her birthday party.

“It’s for you.” Summer smiled, putting the object in Tom’s hand.

He glanced at it, seeing a small plastic container with a yellow top sealing it. Inside was a cheap ring with the metallic paint partially chipped off and there was a blunt blue jewel in the middle.

“You sure you want to give it to me? It’s so pretty.” Tom managed to smile back at her, observing the ring.

“Yeah, Daddy. I promise.” She grinned, her tongue between her teeth as she flashed another smile that he thought resembled his.

Tom didn't want to believe that someone so full of spite and bitterness could be her mother, but he didn't have the heart to tell her. No matter how much he could hate Maggie for what she’s doing, Tom couldn’t ruin their possible relationship because she was her mother.

After the three of you finished your late breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and bacon, you got up to use the restroom, but also gave time for Tom to say his last goodbyes to Summer alone. You rubbed Tom’s shoulder before you slipped out of the booth, keeping your eyes on him until you turned the corner.

Tom grinned at her, but he still wasn’t sure how to tell Summer about Maggie other than she was spending the night with her for a while, thinking she would take to it but instead a confused look painted on her round face.

“I thought Y/N was my mommy.” She admitted even though he had denied her multiple times that you were.

He couldn’t hide his smile, “I’ve told you she’s not. She’s my friend. My best friend.”

“Daddy, I don’t want to go. I wanna stay with you and Y/N.” Summer persisted, placing her blue crayon down. She always got a wrinkle between her eyebrows when they furrowed.

“It’ll be a few days,” Tom assured, but he didn’t know.

“But, I don’t wanna.” She whined, bouncing a bit in her seat.

As much as he wanted to, Tom couldn’t say no. He knew this was going to happen before he could know anything else was going behind his back with Maggie. Summer pouted her lips as her mood changed, leaning back with her hair pushed up against the booth.

Tom shifted over, “Come here.” He asked her, patting where you were sitting earlier.

Summer wiggled out of her side of the booth, touching her feet to the ground before quickly lifting herself into the seat and curling up next to Tom. He wrapped his arm around her and kissed the top of her hair, feeling an instant warmth even though she was so tiny. It was as if he blinked and was surprised to see her growing so fast. His sweet daughter went from a toddler with bright blue paint on her hands and knees and blossoming into a young girl with ideas that could reach the moon and back.

“It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna have so much fun. I promise.” He sniffled, his voice cracking a bit.

“Pinky promise?” She asked, lifting her casted arm to him.

His lip quivered, but Tom quickly smiled, “Promise… and we always keep our promises, right?”

She nodded, wrapping her tiny pinky around his then squeezing it tight, “Always, daddy.”

Tom remembered when she was only able to wrap her whole hand around that same finger, wondering where the time went. He wanted to go back to when she barely had hair on her head or when he had to follow her around the room when she started to crawl, as she grabbed at stray cords or tried to get under the couch. 

“You have all your stuff?” Tom asked her.

“Mhmm, got my colors and favorite books.” Summer nodded, grabbing a piece of bacon off Tom’s place, “Do you think she’ll read them in the voices? Like you and Y/N do?”

Tom sealed his lips, “Maybe if you ask her nicely.” He cracked a smile, moving Summer’s hair out of her face.

As you walked up to the booth, Tom lifted his head and mouthed to you that he was okay. In the bathroom, you had to compose yourself before Maggie showed up. No excuse could make this situation better and all you could do was be patient and be there for Tom. While that was easier to think of, you knew as soon as you made contact with her bright green eyes, all you wanted to do was yell and protest that she doesn’t deserve to feel good about this.

“What did I miss? Anything interesting?” You joked, trying to keep the mood light.

“Daddy said I’m gonna have a lot of fun this weekend.” Summer mentioned, smiling at you with her crooked smile.

You gulped, your throat feeling dry, “Yeah, lots of fun.” You forced a grin.

The low music over the speakers filled the silence, not knowing what to say about this, especially in front of Summer. Tom kept his arm wrapped around his shoulder, but he stared out of the window with his hand on his chin, slightly covering his mouth. He didn’t want to cry, he was trying, but the more Tom thought about how there was a chance he couldn’t get Summer back, the more he dug deep to find a way to stop it.

“Hi, Tom.”

He quickly turned his head, seeing Maggie standing in front of the booth. She wore a sleek leather jacket with a maroon shirt underneath and it intimidated Summer. She furrowed her faint eyebrows, but Tom pulled back his arm around her.

“Hey, Maggie.” He didn’t look in her eyes.

She didn’t pay you any mind, choosing to ignore that you were sitting right there, but it’s not like you wanted her to give you any attention.

Summer scooted out of the booth along with Tom, both of them standing across from Maggie. There’s no doubting it was an awkward situation, but nevertheless, Tom continued to stay mature about it. He grabbed Summer’s backpack off the ground, helping her put both her arms through the straps.

“Okay, kid. I’ll see you in a few days.” Tom chuckled with his hands on Summer’s shoulders.

“Promise?” She asked, her big eyes so glossy.

He immediately clenched his jaw, knowing lying to her would hurt like a stab to his heart, but maybe it was for the better right now. There were many ways he could reply that didn’t sound like the lie it was yet he couldn’t come up with anything except, “Promise.” because he knew he would try to keep it as much as he could from where he stood.

Summer wrapped her arms around his legs as tight as she could, “I love you, daddy.” She mumbled.

“I love you too. Always.” He said before kissing the top of her head.

She looked over her shoulder at you sitting in the booth, not forgetting to say goodbye to you too. Summer walked up and got on her knees in the booth, feeling them sink into the cushion. Her small arms wrapped around you and you giggled, giving her a tight squeeze back.

“Bye, Y/N.”

“Bye, Summer.” You grinned, giving her a last glance.

She shimmed once more and stood in front of Maggie, still standing there with her arms crossed and one of her eyebrows arched.

“Let’s get going,” Maggie said, her happy tone sounding forced.

Without caring to hold Summer’s hand, Maggie began to walk away, but Summer stood still. Her little heart was racing, not sure what to do even though she was told to go with this strange woman who was supposedly her mom.

Tom glanced at Summer, his lips going to the side as he watched tears well up in her eyes. She sniffled, looking down at her feet and her body felt frozen. It was a new feeling to her, not knowing why she was suddenly so scared. It reminded Tom of her first day of kindergarten. She hid behind his leg while they stood in the hallway and all the kids slowly filled the room. He tried to nudge her to meet a new friend, maybe talk about her hobbies, but she was gripping on his jeans from how scared she was.

Just like he did on her first day of school, Tom kneeled on one knee in front of her. He angled his head to look into her eyes, trying to see her full face. He tilted her chin up and wiped her tears with his thumb, catching them as they ran down more.

“Hey, you remember when we saw the penguins at the zoo?” He grinned.

She nodded, her lip pouted.

“And you remember what the zookeeper said? That penguins always find each other, no matter where they are or how far they are... they’ll always find their way back to the colony… and just like penguins, we always find our way home too.” Tom explained, fixing the end of her jacket.

“Really, daddy?”

“Of course. You’re gonna have to keep your head up for a few days though.” He gulped, a small smirk on his lips.

Summer leaned in, wrapping her arms around Tom’s neck again and he coiled her arm around her, squeezing her arm tight. He left a quick kiss on her temple and Tom slowly stood up, trying to pull himself away so it didn’t become harder to leave her.

Maggie stood a few feet away, a bit of disappointment in her eyes. She thought this was going to be the easy part of this process, but it proved harder now that she could visibly see the bond Summer and Tom had created. You watched her lips pin together, not knowing what to do but stand there until they were done talking.

“I love you.” Summer said to Tom again.

“Love you more, kid.” He chuckled, his voice breaking from holding back his tears, “Remember to keep your cast dry. Okay?”

She slipped away from his arms and Tom’s heartfelt heavier the more he said his goodbyes. Summer held her head high and walked up to Maggie, lifting her hand up for her to hold. Maggie hesitantly reached for it, but she glanced at Tom for some kind of permission to. Tom sealed his lips and you slid out of the booth, standing behind him as you watched the two of them walk outside the diner.

“She’ll be back soon.” You whispered, rubbing his tense shoulder.

“Yeah…” He trailed, forcing a grin for you. Tom knew he didn’t have to fake his emotions for you, but right now, he didn’t want to admit he was torn apart inside.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

The days didn’t pass by as quickly as Tom hoped. He didn’t realize how fast work was when he had Summer to come home to. It was hard for him to get out of bed, make meals for himself or concentrate on anything he was doing. Luckily, you were there for him or, at least, tried to be. You weren’t sure what would happen to your friendship after your sudden kiss, but you felt like it was inappropriate to bring up with what happened after it. Even though the status of your possible relationship was unknown and your feelings were still strong, you were there for Tom no matter what.

In the morning, you stirred in the sheets and felt the soft fabric of the pillow against your cheek. As you reached your arm over on Tom’s side of the bed, your hand brushed over the cotton linens which made you slowly open your eyes. The duvet was folded over and his pillow was propped up, showing you he had been up for a while before he got up. You let out a long yawn, stretching your arms and legs and feeling the cold air against your skin.

You walked around the bed, grabbing the blanket at the end of it and wrapping it over your shoulders before leaving the bedroom. When you got to the end of the hallway, you saw Tom sitting on the couch with a box in his lap and a few pictures scattered on the cushion. Your lips went to the side as you approached him, trying to be quiet but the sound of the floor creaking made Tom look over his shoulder.

“Morning.” You grinned, standing behind the couch.

You ran your hands over his hair, playing with it before you looked at the pictures. They were of Summer since she was a baby, most of them were birthday pictures or other special events, like when she lost her first tooth or the first time she stood up. Tom cherished the memories, hoping they would make him happy, but all they did was remind him how he felt like a failure.

“Good morning. How’d you sleep?” Tom asked, his voice groggy and deep.

“Fine, and you?” You replied as you trailed your hand from his hair, walking over to the kitchen.

“Good.” He lied, running his thumb against his left eye before grabbing another picture.

It was Summer’s first Halloween and he dressed her up in the homemade lion costume you worked so hard on. He half-smiled thinking about when you drew in a nose with black paint and she scrunched her face, the bristles of the brush tickling before Summer sneezed. Before you could warn her, she wiped her nose with her hand and you and Tom couldn’t help but laugh. With Halloween just around the corner, his smile fell wondering if they would have another one together.

“Here you go. Dark and two sugars.” You softly said, handing him a cup of coffee, just the way he liked it.

“Thank you.” He weakly smiled, taking a short sip.

“How are you feeling?” You asked.

Tom placed his cup of coffee on the table and collected the pictures so you could sit beside him.

“Better. I got a little more sleep.” He muttered and set the box of pictures on the floor.

You pulled off the fuzzy blanket on the arm of the couch before you sat down, laying it over your and Tom’s lap. Your crisscrossed your legs, holding your mug in your lap while Tom put his free arm around your shoulders. When you turned your head to Tom, he didn’t have the same natural glow to him. 

He was struggling to find some kind of closure, but the lack of communication with Maggie made it hard for him to not overthink. There were no calls and rarely a text. Tom was going crazy, replaying the last moments with Summer in his head.

“Maybe you can skip work today.” You suggested, rubbing the top of his leg.

Tom nodded, “I can’t. I need the tips. Hopefully, I can get Halloween night. I’ll be able to cover child support for the month.” He rubbed the back of his neck, closing his eyes as he tilted his head toward the ceiling.

Your lips went to the side, “Did Maggie say when you’d see Summer?”

He sighed, “No. I haven’t heard anything either.”

“That can’t be legal.”

“Summer’s not mine, Y/N. I don’t get to see her when I want.” Tom retorted as if he was defending her.

“You know that’s not true. It doesn’t matter if she’s your blood, you gave her the best life. Who knows? Maggie probably just forged it. People do it all the time. Why would she just come back when you slept together one time?” You acknowledged, not trusting her for a second.

“I don’t want to get into it.” He replied, taking another sip of coffee.

“Then when are you? Because I know you love that kid more than anything else in the world.” You protested, still facing him.

Tom finally looked your way, meeting your eyes, but he didn’t want to say anything. You didn’t expect a response because you knew that he did love her and he was going to find a way to get her back, no matter how long it took. You tilted your head at him, cracking a smile and tilting his chin up. The warmth that came from your comfort helped him see the brighter side in this, motivating him to see that this wouldn’t last forever.

“You know you’re the best, right?” Tom grinned.

You reached your hand up, intertwining yours with his that was hanging off your shoulder, “I try.” You joked, both of you sharing a light laugh.

You ran your fingers through Tom’s hair, trying to fix it, but he was growing it long as he did in high school. Tom let out a low chuckle, feeling your hand trail to cup his cheek and you rubbed your thumb over his cheek and the faint freckles painted across his soft skin.

While the past few days had been confusing, Tom knew that he wanted to be with you, but he didn’t want to stir you in his drama. As much as you had been there for the past six years, he realized that Summer was his responsibility, and to bring you into a triangle with him and Maggie didn’t seem fair. It’s not because he wanted to push you away for his selfish reasons, but because he wanted to protect you from whatever was going to happen from this point. You were still best friends and would always be, but it didn’t feel like enough after finally kissing each other and not wanting to let go.

As you pulled your hand back, you glanced down and see some of the pictures in the box. You quickly lean down, placing it on your lap and you picked through the various photos before there was one that brought back memories.

“I can’t believe you have this.” You chuckled, holding the photo close to your face.

Tom turned his head toward it, not knowing he had his eyes glued to you, and he instantly smiled.

“Ah, when I was your knight in shining armor.” He beamed at the picture of you with your broken arm and he stood next to you wearing his favorite baseball jersey.

“You mean when you carried my books for me and helped me put on my backpack, oh yeah, I remember.” You grinned, reminiscing to when the world wasn’t so complicated.

Tom smiled, “Don’t act like you didn’t love it.” He rubbed your shoulder, both of you chuckling at the memory. You handed him the picture, but he slowly was reminded of Summer and her recent accident.

“Shit..” He trailed, “I hope she’s kept her cast dry. I should call.” Tom said, unwrapping his arm from your shoulders and you watched him frantically looking for his phone around the apartment.

“Tom!”

“Huh?” He asked, lifting some papers on his counter.

You lifted his phone, his screen cracked, in your hand and grinned, “Looking for something?”

A relieved smile painted on his face as he walked over, taking the phone and he kissed a light kiss against the top of your head, “What would I do without you?”

It was nice to see him turning back to his old self, but you knew that his happiness was at the risk of being at Maggie’s beck and call. Even though you weren’t Summer’s mom, you wanted to have a say where she ends up too. 

You half-smiled, watching him walk down the hall to his bedroom. You turned toward the box of pictures, rummaging through enough to get an idea of how to organize them.

Tom slowly paced across his room as the phone rang, sweat on his palms that he brushed on the back of his jeans. He leaned his head toward the ceiling and tried not to overthink what he could say if he went straight to voicemail.

“Hello?” Maggie retorted, running her fingers through the crown of her hair.

“Hey. I just wanted to make sure things were okay.” Tom trailed as he sat on the edge of his bed.

“Fine, it’s fine.” She lied, searching through her laundry basket.

Tom furrowed his eyebrows, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, things are fine! I’m just trying to find this stupid sweater.” She grunted, pushing through all the folded clothes.

“What sweater?”

“Some yellow sweater with a heart on that she won’t stop complaining about.”

Summer was sitting on the couch, insisting she wanted to watch her favorite cartoons after breakfast. Maggie didn’t want to deal with the complaining and poking so it was relieving to keep her distracted instead of having to keep Summer entertained while she tried to work from home.

“Oh, I forgot to put it in there. Shit.” Tom cursed, quickly getting up.

He walked to Summer’s room, knowing the exact drawer he remembered placing it in and not surprised that it was there. Tom lifted the sweater, the sleeves unfolding, and seeing how worn it was from the ripped tag. He brought it up to his face, inhaling the lingering smell of watermelon and kiwi from her shampoo.

“Yeah, I got it. It’s here.” He told her, the phone between his ear and shoulder.

“Okay, I’ll come over and get it.” Maggie huffed.

“No, no! I can go over there. I have to go to work later so I can come by.” Tom offered, glaring at the small sweater in his hand.

“Depends, are you going to bring… Y/N?” She crossed her arms as she leaned against the washing machine, “Because I don’t think she’s been a good influence.”

Tom’s eyebrows arched, “Excuse me?”

“Summer says “Y/N lets me do this or Y/N and I do this” and I don’t think it’s good considering she’s not her mom. She shouldn’t have such big control over her.” Maggie said loud enough for Summer to hear from the couch.

“You weren’t there for her and she was so, I’m sorry if she acts like her mom more than you.” Tom chimed.

Maggie clenched her jaw, “Just drop it off. Okay?”

“Sure. I’ll be over around three.”

She hung up abruptly and Tom was left upset from not being able to talk to Summer. He hated how he didn’t have any sense of control, to think that this could be the way things are until she goes off to college. Out of anger, Tom threw his phone across the room that made a loud thud against the wall. His blood boiled and tears filled his eyes, bringing the sweater back to his face and trying to let the lingering scent keep him calm.

You stood in the hall across from the door and it was close enough to hear the whole conversation. Every word made your heart drop, not knowing what you could do for him. You hated eavesdropping, but it was getting harder to get the truth from Tom as the days went by. He was falling apart and it was getting too painful to slowly watch.

“Tom?” You softly asked, knocking on the door.

He left the sweater on the bed, wiping his eyes with the end of his t-shirt before grabbing his phone off the floor. To his relief, the already cracked screen didn’t have any new damage. Tom wiped the screen against his pants before opening the door to meet your gaze.

“Sorry about that. I just got frustrated.” He avoided looking in your eyes.

“It’s okay.” You tell him, not needing any assurance. All you did was wrap your arms around him and tell him that it would all be okay, even if you didn’t really know if it would be.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

The half-hour drive to Maggie’s apartment felt like hours to Tom, his head filled with what he was going to say to her or how he was going to handle whatever she told him. He bit on his nails on his left hand while the other gripped the top of the steering wheel tight. Right when he thought of the things he could say, his anxiety made him forget all of the rational thoughts.

As he parked in a parallel spot, Tom got out of the car with the sweater in one hand with a duffle in the other. He carefully crossed the street and entered the complex, walking up the stairs to the fourth level. When he entered through the exit door, he saw the floors were polished and the lighting was bright since there were no windows. It all came off as luxurious and bare, nothing but one or two paintings on the wall.

He knocked a few times under the plastic golden numbers, his eyes searching around until he heard the locks click. The door flew open and Maggie popped her head out, her makeup a few shades darker than last time.

“Hey,” Tom mumbled.

“Hey… you brought it?” She asked quickly, opening the door more.

Tom couldn’t help looking past her, seeing if Summer was in there.

“Yeah. Here.” Tom huffed, handing her the sweater, “And I brought some other stuff she might want.” He gave her the duffle too, weighing down in her hand when he passed it.

“Jesus, what’s in this? She’s not going off to college.”

“A few books, shirts, socks, a few Mad Libs.” He said what was off the top of his head, shoving his hands in his front pockets.

“Well thanks, it should keep her busy.” Maggie quickly grinned, but before she could shut the door, Tom took a step forward.

“Can I see her? Just for a few minutes before I go to work.” Tom asked, even though he didn’t feel the need to.

She sighed, “I really have to go, Tom.”

Before Tom could say another word, Summer shouted from behind Maggie, “Daddy!”

Summer pushed past Maggie, holding out her arms and Tom immediately wrapped his around her. He spun her around with her feet off the ground. He could cry as he held her tighter, kissing the top of her hair and she giggled, “I missed you!”

He put her back on her feet, “I missed you too, kid. How’s the cast?” Tom smiled.

She lifted it up, “Good, I got more names on it.”

“Oh, yeah? Aren’t you miss popular.” Tom chuckled, watching her rotate the cast.

“Are we going home?” Summer quickly asked.

Tom sealed his lips, “Ah, not… yet.”

Summer’s face shifted, “But, I wanna go home.”

“Not yet, baby.” Tom knew it wasn’t in his control right now.

“But, I wanna go home now…” She protested, a dimple between her furrowed eyebrows.

It was the first time he heard true sorrow in her light voice. A kid always had their emotional fits, but Tom taught her that it was okay to talk to her and didn’t have to hold anything back. There was never a moment of questioning her temper tantrums or how she behaved, but he couldn’t wrap his head around this whole incident. He didn’t know how to answer her questions and help her and it was killing him to feel like he was doing nothing yet also trying to do everything he could.

“Summer, I promise you’ll be home soon, okay?” He promised, running his hand over her soft hair.

“Okay.” She pouted.

Quickly turning away, Summer fled back into the apartment and didn’t give Tom another look. He chewed the inside of his cheek and Maggie put her hand on your hip, not knowing what else to say.

“Well, thanks.” She huffed.

“When can I see her again?” Tom asked, embarrassed from how desperate he came off.

She nodded, “I don’t know...”

Tom clenched his jaw, “I raised her, I don’t understand how you can come back and just take her away like you suddenly want to be a great mother. Do you want something else from me other than child support? Huh? What is it, Maggie?” He asked, frustrated and tired of biting his tongue.

Maggie looked over her shoulder at Summer, meeting her blatant glare, so Maggie stepped into the hall to have some privacy. Tom took a few steps away from her, putting his back against the wall while she stood on her side.

“I don’t want to argue with you, Tom. I really don’t-”

“Then why are you doing this?” He cut her off.

She nodded, “I’m uncomfortable with it all.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not Summer’s dad!” Maggie stated, “Okay? Do you know how confusing that is gonna be to her? That the guy who has raised her for six years isn’t even her dad!”

Tom was in disbelief, his throat dry and thinking as if he got the wind out of him.

“I want to take a DNA test.”

Maggie couldn’t help but chuckle, “You’re not her dad.”

“I don’t care, I’m taking a test. If I’m the father, she gets to stay with me.”

“Well, she’s not so, good luck with that plan.” She boldly told Tom, watching him walk away from the conversation.

Adrenaline fueled him, leaving the building with the last dignity he felt like he had. The doubt rapidly sunk in from Maggie’s words and for the first time, Tom started to believe that she was right. He may have wasted six years of his life, not knowing how he could have fallen for it all.

After slamming the car door, Tom huffed and wiped his hands down his face. He was annoyed at the stress he held back, thinking he had his emotions under control when everything was falling apart. A million voices spoke throughout his conscience all at once and tried to guide him, too overwhelming to maintain his cool he had kept for so long. Tom clenched his fist and quickly jabbed the steering wheel, pain coursing from his blistered knuckles.

The night shift was a wreck and Tom couldn’t gain his confidence back. He messed up drink orders that infuriated his tipsy customers, dropped a glass from how shaky his hands were, and overall couldn’t clear his mind from his argument earlier with Maggie. Nevertheless, Tom pushed through the sloppy job he did but had to flee to the back to get some air from the inebriated crowd.

With a bottle of beer in one hand, he slipped away when one of his co-workers came in. Tom exited to the back alley, the cold breeze hitting his face and the wind slapping his back when the door closed behind him. As he brought the bottle to his lips, Tom took breaths through his nose as he downed the bitter ale. His eyes burned from the icy carbonation, pulling it away after drinking most of it. He tossed the glass bottle into the dumpster across from him, running his hands through his hair as he paced around the dead end.

“Shit!” He growled, his voice echoing.

A few tears trailed down his cheek and he quickly wiped them with the back of his hand. Tom got himself together, but before he went back inside to end his shift, his phone vibrated in his front pocket. He was relieved to see your name headlining a picture of the two of you.

“Hey, babe.” Tom sniffled.

You were taken back by the pet name, “Babe?”

He smiled, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. I’m tired.” He pinched his nose bridge.

“No, no, I wasn’t sure if we were using “babe” or any other grossly cute nicknames.” You jeered, your sweet giggle comforting him.

“It’s just been a weird day.” He pressed his back against the brick wall.

“Things didn’t go well with Maggie?” You sighed, laying down on the couch.

Tom nodded, “Not exactly. But, I’m trying to figure it out.”

Your lips went to the side, not surprised Tom said it because he always liked to tackle everything by himself. There was no need to meddle, but you knew he would come around when he wanted to.

“Hey, I know it’s hard now, but… You’re gonna get her back.” You started, hoping it sounded comforting.

Tom remembered when you said he’d never lose her. He already doubted himself, but he didn’t want to have a lack of uncertainty with you, a person he trusted more than anyone.

“Tom?” You asked, only hearing the noises of passing cars in the background.

“Yeah, babe, I’m here.” Tom shook his head, running his hand down his face.

His voice cracked from the brokenness, causing your heart to flutter. You wanted to fix this all, and you would if you could, but it was equally as frustrating for you to keep your calm. You knew that if you exploded with rage and anger, Tom would follow the same path of destruction and it’s the last thing you both needed to do.

“Okay… are you coming back soon?”

“Yeah, I’m almost off my shift. I’ll text you when I’m on my way.”

“Drive safe, please.” You tilted your head, pulling your legs to your chest.

“Always.” He smiled before hanging up.

Tom went back inside to finish his shift, hoping to get a few tips from his charm. He snuck a few shots of Crown and gin in between his orders, looking around to make sure none of his co-workers saw. It was out of his character to drink on the job knowing it could get him fired on the spot, but Tom didn’t care. He wanted the pain inside to numb away with warm liquor until he was sick.

Making the poor decision of driving home, Tom took his time to get back. He rubbed his eyes a few times from the haze fogging his vision, but he slowly pulled into his usual parking spot. At first, he forgot to put on the parking gear, the car rolling forward before he stepped on the brake. A drunk chuckle left his lips as he parked, pulling the keys out and he leaned on the car to maintain his balance.

You fell asleep on the couch waiting for him only to flinch from the door slamming. As you put your weight on your arms, Tom walked in with a sway to his walk.

“Hey, I was starting to worry.” You groaned, stretching as you stood up from the couch.

“Sorry, I was… trying to get home and there was… it was fine.” He slurred, a faint smile on his face.

You furrowed your eyebrows, walking up to him and instantly smelling the alcohol on his breath.

“You drove home drunk?”

“I’m here in one piece, aren’t I?” He breezed past you, kicking his shoes off by the kitchen island then heading to the bedroom.

“You could have gotten killed.” You hissed.

You crossed your arms as you followed him, standing in the door frame. Tom struggled to unbutton his shirt, not able to grip them with his hazy vision. 

“I’m here, okay? I’m fine and I just need to sleep.” Tom groaned, the alcohol fueling his irritation.

You didn’t want to pick a fight, not this late and not with everything else going on, so you digressed and decided to leave it till the morning.

As he lazily pulled apart his button-up, he threw it to the side and left him in his basic white tee. You walked around to the shared bathroom and cupped some lukewarm water in your hands to splash on your face. You could hear Tom unbuckle his pants and he threw them to the floor, missing the hamper by a long shot.

You walked to your side of the bed, glancing at him laying down with his bloodshot eyes still open.

“Tom, you can’t do this.”

“I know. I know, but this… I fucking can’t think about anything else.” He admitted.

You sat up on the bed with your head against your pillow, pulling the duvet over your legs. You ran your hand over his messy, brown curls, weaving your fingers through it and pushing it back. His eyes met yours as you continued to play with his hair.

“From how long we’ve been friends, I know you have always put the weight of the world on your shoulders.” You spoke calmly, your tone soft and sweet like honey, “But, you can’t keep doing this to yourself...”

He gulped, not knowing how to let go of this anger he internalized.

“Then what am I supposed to do?” His voice was broken.

“You need to take your time, baby.” You whispered, running your hand through his hair again.

Tom gently held your hand that was resting on your stomach, brought it to his face, and kissed the top of it a few times. You grinned, watching him bring your intertwined hands to his chest. He kept his eye contact with you, his free hand tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I don’t know how I’d stay sane without you.” He revealed, his eyes glossy.

You half-smiled, “You’d function, just not as properly.” You jeered, trying to make him laugh.

“Oh, always with the jokes.” Tom chuckled, tickling up your side and you began to kick around, letting out infectious belly laughs.

“I can’t help it! You’re fun to mess with.” You beamed.

You shifted down to be face to face with him, lying next to him and forgetting about the world for a few minutes. Tom was never big on affection with who we dated, struggling to open himself up with people he felt were temporary. Little did you know that he was wrapped around your finger since the day you fell off the jungle gym.

“I just want you to be happy.” You sighed.

He nodded, “I am happy. I promise.”

You brushed your nose against his, your head angled from the side. Tom’s light buzz lingered, wrapping his arms around your shoulders to pull you closer to him under the warm, cotton sheets. Your head rested on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and running your hand down his abdomen. As you brought his hand toward you, but you furrowed your eyebrows at the light red and purple bruising across his knuckles.

“What’s this from?” You asked, grazing your finger over his skin.

Tom raised his eyebrows, “Uh, I don’t know.” He lied.

You pouted, “You should ice it tomorrow. It looks kind of bad.”

“Yeah…” Tom trailed, biting the inside of his cheek.

You pressed light kisses against the bruises, “Gotta be more careful, babe.”

His brown eyes brightened, a small smile on his lips before he scattered some kisses against your temple, your cheek pressing against his shoulder.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

When you two went to the clinic to get the DNA test, Tom couldn’t sit still the whole time. From the waiting room until he sat on top of the doctor’s table, he pulled at his fingers or tapped his leg which made you place your hands on him to get him to stop. You gave him words of encouragement, trying to support him through the lengthy process, especially when he saw the needle thread into his dark blue veins.

“I thought it was just gonna be a cheek swab.” He chuckled, discomfort in his chuckle.

“Some places do that, but a blood test is more accurate.” The nurse tried to calm him, her tone soft.

“How accurate?” He hissed at the sudden pinch.

Her lips went to the side, “Above ninety percent.”

His head was turned to the cabinets, fixating on the bold font of one of the flyers. You sat in the black, plastic chair next to the counter, your legs crossed and peering up at Tom. His face scrunched together for a split second, visibly seeing that he still hated needles after all these years.

“What?” He asked.

You nodded, “Nothing. You’re just making a cute face.” You jeered, placing your hand on your cheek with your elbow on the arm of the chair.

“Just reminds me of high school blood drives… Nurse Jenna always poking my vein a thousand times.” He huffed.

“It’s because you squirmed so much, like you are now.” You teased.

He rolled his eyes with a faint smile, looking down at his feet before the nurse pulled the needle away and covered it with a ball of cotton. Tom held it there for a few seconds until she slowly wrapped the light blue bandage the perfect tightness around his arm.

“You should get the results back in four to five days. We’ll let you know right away, Mr. Holland.”

“Thank you so much.” Tom grinned at her.

After the nurse walked out with the blood sample and her file, you stood up, slinging your purse strap on your shoulder. Tom stepped down from the table, pulling down his flannel sleeve to cover the bandage.

“You were so brave. Are you upset she didn’t give you a lollipop?” You joked.

“Don’t worry too much, but I think I’ll live.” He jeered back, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

You wrapped your arm around his back, giving him a light hug before you two left to check out then headed back to his apartment. On the ride home, Tom was fairly quiet with the low music from the speakers filling the car. There wasn’t anything you needed to say, but being there for each other was enough comfort. With the windows rolled down halfway, the fresh air weaved through your hair and your fingers were loosely wrapped around the top of the steering wheel.

Tom looked out the window, watching the scenes you passed by, but his head was in a different place. His elbow rested against the armrest of the door, unconsciously biting his nail and shaking his leg. You cautiously put your hand on top of his, the one settled on his leg, intertwining your fingers together without looking at him.

It was still hard getting used to the quietness, not only from you but within Tom’s life.

Tom missed Summer being at the apartment, looking forward to putting up the crayon drawings she worked on at breakfast or insisting they go to the park on weekends. But, since she hadn’t been around, it gave more time for you and Tom to be alone, at least back to how you were six years ago. For the most part, it was nice to dance in the middle of the living room, spinning each other around and sharing takeout at the coffee table while watching a tooth-rotting, romance movie. Just making it more obvious that Summer changed his life, even in the smallest things she did.

The growth of your relationship was important, but most of it was centered around Summer. It didn’t mean you couldn’t both carry a conversation without her, just that most of the things you did together were for her. Endless trips to the park, going to the zoo, taking her to girl scouts, or even running around the house playing hide and seek if it was a rainy day. Her giggles filled the apartment, endless amounts of laughter from the three of you and the memories you created. It was the one thing that motivated Tom to fight for her, just to make more and more memories and have her back in his arms for good. 

As the grueling days passed, it was closer to Halloween night and Tom was trying to get as many shifts as he could. Not only was it one of their busiest times, but he also got generous tips. Because the holiday was during a school day, Tom’s apartment held an event for some kids to come by and trick-or-treat early.

It would be Tom’s first holiday without Summer there, but the results would come any time now. It’s all that consumed his mind, on top of him working on her Halloween costume without her. She insisted she wanted to be Wonder Woman and you and Tom never used store-bought costumes, not even when she was a baby and you made a pumpkin costume out of orange felts and stitching.

“Hey! You’re gonna be late for work.” You said, running your hands through Tom’s curls when you passed by him sitting at the table.

Tom snapped out of his trance, shaking his head and rubbing his tired eyes with the palms of his hands. Today marked the day Tom should have gotten his DNA test back, checking his phone and email since he woke up before dawn.

“Are you staying late? I know Halloween week is probably like the jackpot for you guys.” You grinned, grabbing a mixed bag of candy from on top of the fridge and a bowl from the cabinet.

“Yeah, if you thought the tips from single moms paid up, wait until you get an open tab from a fratboy.” Tom chuckled as he got up, stretching his back and he brushed down his wrinkled, navy button-down.

“Well, I’m sure they’re just flirting with you too. You’re so damn charming with those brown eyes and smile.” You winked at him, shifting the big bowl of sweets with both your hands.

He walked behind you, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, “Hmm, well there’s enough of me to go around.” Tom jeered.

Tom checked his phone once again, scrolling through his email and call history, seeing him looking down at it from the corner of your eye.

“Hey, babe, you need to get going.” You reminded him, placing the bowl of candy on the small table next to the door. You walked over to him, wrapping your arms around him from behind and planting a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you, dear.” Tom faintly smiled, nudging his head against yours before you untangled from him.

He shoved his phone in his back pocket, grabbing his denim jacket off the back of the kitchen chair. Tom told you he’d call you on his way home and to have fun, but felt some relief from not being around the kids. He’d barely spoken to Maggie since their argument last week, only getting updates on Summer and her behavior. Tom never knew someone could find the one nerve that could be pinched in any instance, making him incredibly annoyed with whatever he was doing.

The bar was getting packed as Tom walked past the crowd in the front, everyone mingling at the high-rise tables in their various costumes. There was a discount if you wore a costume, usually helping business with more drinks for lower prices, but that meant the night would feel longer with an endless amount of orders piling on top of each other with little patience from a drunken mob.

Rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, Tom made sure their inventory was stocked as he breezed by his co-workers. He wasn’t close enough to them to tell anyone want he was dealing with, but he figured it was better not to talk about it so it never came up during a shift.

Multicolored lights flashed and beamed through the moving mass of people, but enough of the warm light above the bar helped guide Tom when he was scrambling to attend to whoever he could. It took his mind off his stress, too worried about not getting drinks right when it was easy to with how hectic it was. Drink after drink, he collected a bill and shoved it in the shared tip jar behind them, hoping they made enough so everyone could walk with sore feet, but be satisfied with their hard work.

As the night grew longer, it became rowdier and it meant that it was harder to get people out so new ones could come in. While Tom talked to one of his regulars down at one side, an argument between two strangers began to ensue toward the middle. Tom looked over his shoulder while leaning on the bar, glaring at the two boys whose voices howled over the music.

“I think you should get the fuck out of my face!” One yelled, he had dirty blonde hair and a scratch by his lip.

“Chill out, what the fuck!” The other retorted and his piercing blue eyes were bright enough for Tom to see from where he stood.

“Hey, give me one second.” Tom told the man he was talking to, quickly pacing over toward the angry exchange, “Hey, knock it off.” He said with an assertive, deep tone.

They ignored Tom, continuing to argue before one threw a punch deep into the other’s face. It knocked the man on the floor, making Tom jump over the bar to try to break up the fight. While he defended himself from the guy who punched first, the other drunken man pulled Tom down by the shoulders. In his inebriated fury, he jabbed Tom in the stomach, hurting his rib which made Tom hold on his hands there.

“Hey man, get off me!” Tom gritted his teeth, grabbing the guy’s wrist to push him back down to the floor.

Even though Tom was strong enough to do so, the other nameless man tried to help Tom, but Tom was soon met with a punch to the eye, near the nose bridge. The guy was twice as large as him, able to put his weight on Tom as he threw constant punches to his face and jaw. Tom’s eyes teared up, mixing with the blood from his nose before the guy was pulled off him.

Tom quickly got on his feet, holding on to the bar, but he was met with more arguing between the two strangers he never should have intervened between, to begin with. He rubbed the back of his head, hoping he didn’t have a concussion with the throbbing under his skin. Before Tom could recover from what happened, the guy approached him again, stumbling until Tom threw a punch back.

He didn’t know what came over him, but the stress of everything instantly came out with his rush of adrenaline. More people from the crowd tried to step in, even one of Tom’s co-workers, but it ended with two police officers settling both of them. Tom tasted the blood on his lips, spitting it on the dirty floor as his heads were pulled behind his back.

“Calm down!” The officer pleaded with Tom, taking him outside of the bar.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

The sounds of office phones ringing and the news playing lowly were all you could concentrate on. The police station was the last place you thought of being at a time like this, your heart racing since you picked up the phone and told what had happened with Tom. You bounced your leg, the other crossed on top of it and moving your ankle to find anything to make time go faster.

“Y/N L/N.”

You whipped your head, pushing off the chair to get up and speed walk to the front.

“Y-Yes, that’s me.” You said, putting your hands on top of the desk.

“He’s being released now.” The officer spoke with a monotone voice.

You nodded, stepping away from the desk before a short buzz echoed the hall. Tom slowly walked up, his hands behind his back before the officer escorting him released the handcuffs.

“Keep your head up, kid.” The tall officer told him before walking back to the cells.

Tom rubbed his reddened wrists, his face and body in pain from the beating he went through. When you saw his face, you almost couldn’t believe it was him. Red and purple bruises faded on his light skin near his right eye and trailing his sharp jaw. His nose bridge looked displaced and dry blood under his nose, the rest on the collar of his dark shirt. You almost couldn’t stare because of the bright redness surrounding his right eye from popping a vessel. 

“Babe…” You choked, gently holding his face.

“I’m okay. I promise.” Tom gulped, his hands settling on your hips, “Let’s just go home.” He croaked.

“Not before we go to the emergency room. Your eye looks awful.” You say, gently moving his head to take a better look at it.

He nodded, “I just wanna go home, please.”

“No, we can’t, you’re hurt--”

“Y/N, I wanna go home.” He snapped.

You clenched your jaw at his stubbornness, “Fine.”

Once you were back to the apartment, the first thing Tom wanted to do was take a shower. He sat on top of the toilet seat, unbuttoning his button-down, but winced at the soreness in his arms when trying to take his not-so-white, t-shirt off. As he continued to try to get his arms higher, Tom couldn’t push himself to do it. He leaned over in frustration, a grunt passing his lips before you walked into the door frame.

“Let me help you.” You softly said, taking a few steps toward him.

Tom didn’t have the energy to fight back so, he leaned back to sitting up straight and lifted his arms as high as he couldn’t which wasn’t much. You grabbed the ends of his t-shirt, peeling it off him and tossing it in the hamper behind you.

You kneeled in front of him, “You got it?”

“Yeah, thanks, baby.” He grunted, holding in his pain.

You nodded, placing your hands on his face and caressing your thumb over his cut cheek. A tear trailed from your waterline, hurt to see him in the state he was. He leaned down and pressed his lips against yours, giving a light kiss. You ran your hand through the nape of his curls before getting back up and putting your hand on the doorknob.

“Just yell if you need me.”

He just nodded in response, wincing as he stood up and you closed the door.

You let out a deep sigh as you walked back to the kitchen, cleaning up the pots and pans you had forgotten to wash from yesterday. It was something to do while Tom was showering, not wanting to think that this wouldn’t have happened if Maggie didn’t come back into his life.

Tom’s phone buzzed on the counter, making you glance at it. The cracked screen lit up but there were a few bloody fingerprints covered on the glass. You picked it up and wet a rag, wiping off any of the dirt and blood from it but you saw an email that was sent to him a few hours ago. You didn’t want to put your nose into his business, but it could have been from the clinic.

Your thumb hesitantly pressed his code in, opening his email account, but you saw it was just a letter from a subscription. Your lips went to the side, feeling bad for snooping until your read an email that he had opened earlier. The timestamp was during his shift, not knowing if he saw it before or after, but your heart fell when you read the document.

“Based on the DNA analysis, the alleged father is excluded as the biological father. This result is consistent with the statement that the alleged father (Thomas Holland) is not the biological father of the child.”

tags/taglist: @felicityparkers @dhtomholland @duskholland @strawberrytom @itstaskeen @tomhollandsgirlfriend @bi-writes @infinite-imagination​ @honeyspidey​ @hollandcrush​ @sunsetholland​ @pparkersbitch​ @namoreno​ @calltothewild​ @spideyspeaches​ @veryholland​ @osterfieldshollandgirl​ @slutforsebstan​ @bi-lmg​ @sunshinepeterparkr​ @annathesillyfriend​ @madmadmilk​ @antigoneidk​ @hollandcreep​ @wierdflowerpower​  

[haechanhues]

Like Unrequited IV

Part ONE | Part TWO | Part THREE | Part FOUR 

pairing : heeseung x fem!reader / sunghoon x fem!reader 

genre : angst/fluff. bulleted. 

warnings : hmm, swearing. a little bit of a scuffle. 

summary : where the curse of unrequited is given to another. 

It was almost night time when you and Sunghoon dawdled into a Subway together 

Hungry from just walking through the city 

Getting to talk to each other about the randomest things 

Playing little games 

Not letting go of his hands once 

You didn’t really want to

His hands felt nice in yours and after the shittiest couple of months you just had 

You wanted to be selfish 

You wanted to hold a hot guy’s hand when the air was getting colder, roaming around and being the teenager all those Pinterest boards motivated you for 

He pressed his lips together as he recognised the music playing 

He turned towards you 

Pumped up on the adrenaline of the cool air outside 

You picked out the cookies you wanted to try 

Collecting almost a baker’s dozen 

You turned towards him to ask a question 

It wasn’t really important anyway 

Because when you looked at where he was sitting 

He was smiling at you, wiggling his eyebrows and shimmying his shoulders to the beat a little 

You danced a little in reply 

And it felt like all the possible magic in the world surrounded you in this moment 

Time wasn’t really time 

You had felt a similar type of way once (with Heeseung) but this was different 

You truly felt it this time 

There was no fear of rejection or fear of the unknown 

You didn’t really care 

Not with Sunghoon anyway 

You grabbed the cookies with a sweet smile which was surprisingly returned from the owner 

You still wore it as you approached Sunghoon 

‘What are you smiling at?’ 

Sunghoon asked, his expression somehow mirroring yours 

You decide to be brave 

‘You.’ 

‘Me?’ 

‘You.’ 

He licked his lips, grasping your hand in his again and braving the cold wind together 

The two of you were acting all mushy when you returned through the school doors 

It wasn’t as free as being outside at night time was but- you two were stuck together  

Your friends watched you both in the corner of their eye but didn’t say anything

However 

Ryujin being Ryujin 

Made a comment about it 

‘This....This is feeling a little grosser. More sappy if you get what I mean. So are you dating yet or what?’ 

It went a little quiet 

Uhm 

You both looked at each other 

And didn’t say a single word 

Ryujin raised her eyebrows and chuckled a little before staring at the little shit in the corner 

.. 

She grabbed Heeseung’s collar and yanked him upright 

‘Oi, get up, you sick bastard’ 

Ryujin pulled him to the side whilst he grimaced at his messed up clothes 

She stood in front of him 

‘You fucked up didn’t you?’ 

He pursed his lips 

‘Don’t you know about it already?’ 

‘No, Y/N knows I’d fuck you up if you did something wrong.’ 

‘Then how come-’ 

‘I can tell by your face, and the fact you’re sulking in the fucking corner.’ 

‘I just- I don’t know what I’m feeling and she’s with Sunghoon all the time and I feel like I’m losing her and it’s driving me crazy, Ryujin’ 

‘Is it possible that you’ve liked her this whole time?’ 

‘That’s crazy. If I liked her, I would be dating her by now.’ 

Ryujin sighed 

‘I doubt it. I don’t think you even realise that you didn’t actually like that girl.’ 

‘- Okay fair point. But I think if I liked Y/N, I would know, at least.’ 

‘....Think of it this way, Imagine dating me.’ 

Heeseung shivered 

‘No thanks.’ 

‘You don’t have to be a bitch about it.’ 

‘Sorry but’ 

He clenched his teeth together 

‘See? And how did you reject Y/N? Did you even think about what she was saying to you? Did you let yourself actually process it and make a decision actually based on your feelings?’ 

Heeseung nodded, barely looking at her 

‘So stop the bullshit.’ 

‘You’ve liked her this whole time and it’s time for you to realise what you could’ve had.’ 

‘I could still have it.’ 

He was adamant but not confident 

‘You could’ 

Ryujin admitted

‘But, for now, you can’t.’

She offered a sweet smile as she said he next words 

‘I won’t tell you I was rooting for you, because I wasn’t, not really. None of these boys are deserving of her. But I guess you’re marginally tolerable. A little less tolerable than Sunghoon, and honestly, that relationship is a lot easier to digest. But you’re not terrible.’ 

‘Thanks’ 

Ryujin clicked her tongue as she sauntered back inside, collecting his chair to drag it back to the group. 

Where it belonged. 

Heeseung dawdled as he slid into the seat next to you where Ryujin had left it 

You were focused on what Jay was saying to you and Sunghoon looked like he was ready to punch him 

But when he finally sat down

You barely looked at him as you reached over to squeeze his wrist 

Forgiven 

Slightly 

But expected to suck up to you a lot more 

Jake poked Sunghoon’s cheek to focus on you, rather than Heeseung next to you 

It wasn’t that hard to do 

‘Ugh, you’re so whipped.’ 

‘Shut up.’ 

You pull Sunghoon dramatically into the library - ditching the last class of the day 

He looked at you confusedly before scoffing at the surroundings 

‘Is there any particular reason why you’re pulling me into the library?’ 

You pretend to ponder for a second before a grin takes over your face 

‘Just one’ 

You feel a lot less coy now, instead you’re overtaken with nervousness but not one that feared rejection 

You were determined 

A little nervous 

But fuelled by the way he was looking at you and how pretty he was 

And the boy you haven’t stopped thinking about 

Your hands find purchase on his cheeks, where you find has become a habit between the two of you in the past week or so 

He watches you with soft eyes,

He doesn’t quite know exactly what you’re doing 

But he has hope swimming behind his pupils and it drives his heart a little wild

When you press your lips against his for the first time, his heart feels like it’s going to explode out of his chest and paint the whole library red 

His hands find themselves supporting the back of your head as he leans further into you 

The movements between you are slow, sweet and almost dreamlike 

His lips are soft and when your tongues meet, it surprises you that you’re not disgusted by it 

Instead you welcome it 

He angles your head upwards with his thumbs pressing lightly on your jawline 

He smiles when he feels the heat on your cheeks and just how flushed they’ve become 

You need to breathe 

But you refuse to 

He pulls away, his eyes dancing between you both and with a giddiness 

‘At a library of all things, Y/N.’ 

You let out a real lovesick giggle as you go to pinch his elbow 

You were happy 

Sunghoon was happy 

But a boy in the corner, who had been watching the whole thing doesn’t feel the same 

Instead he feels regret, sadness, frustration 

All of it leeching of the happiness he was supposed to feel for you 

‘This is giving me a little deja vu.’ 

The voice pulls him from the scene and instead has him focusing on the boy beside him 

Heeseung has never talked to Jake properly before 

Jake is closer to Sunghoon than he is to Heeseung 

And Heeseung never felt the need to get to know him on a deeper level 

Because Heeseung had hoped that they were temporary 

‘He really likes her. You know? He may be shit stirring, he probably was. Don’t get me wrong. But he sincerely likes her. She’s in good hands.’ 

Heeseung sighs 

‘..I know that now.’ 

Jake looks at him with kindness, swirling with warmth and comfort but it had a hint of something underneath 

Warning 

‘Good.’ 

Jake reaches over, cradling Heeseung’s head in the wing of his arms 

‘If you’re up for it. I know a great place to eat.’ 

‘I’d like that.’ 

Heeseung smiles, even when he doesn’t really want to 

He looks back at the two of you 

And this is all he can do 

Just like that, like unrequited takes a new host. 

authors note : this was fun :) originally it wasn’t supposed to have this many chapters, it was just gonna be a one-shot kind of thing but idk it just had a mind of its own. :) i have a lot of confessions about this too <3 I’d probably post an authors confessions soon too. ALSO thanks for the 100 followers. 

[slashingdisneypasta]

Kurt Kelly x Fem!Bitch!Reader || Oneshot

Title: Someone Gets Hurt

Plot: Some little wannabe steals away your boyfriend, Kurt, while also batting her big ass lashes and winning over your friends, too... until you've had enough. No one out bitches you.

Notes:

Obviously, this is inspired by Someone Gets Hurt from Mean Girls except with Regina (The reader) as the heroine.

Warnings: Overall bitchiness, possessiveness (You about Kurt), break ups (Make ups too though so its not too bad ^^), the ruining of another persons relationship (Random girl Lizzie and Kurt's), rapeiness (Ram), sexual references, underage drinking, overage drinking, just LOTS of debauchery over all, a smut bit near the end (Not full), etc.

Was I too proud with you? Was I too cold and forbidding? And you chose her over me Are you kidding?

Watching Kurt and Lizzie together this week has been torture. Terrible, burning, squeezing, not-at-all sexy torture.

Because Kurt, is yours.

He has always been yours. He was yours in kindergarten, he was yours in middle school, and he was yours all through highschool until this, unfortunate and butt fucking ugly, snag. Crossing your arms now and poisoning them with your eyes, you sit in the cafeteria... and think.

Just, think.

You don't gossip with your minions about all the bullshit going on in school, you don't discuss what you're going to do to the freshmen this year, no. Nothing. You're too busy... plotting.

There is no way in hell, that this pee-brained virgin bitch is going to steal your boyfriend, and not get paid back in turn. Its only fair- and you include interest, in your transactions like this.

One eye actually twitches, when Lizzie... the pee brained virgin bitch in question, gives Kurt a peck on the nose - oh so cute, but you don't even have to look at Kurt to see the disappointment flash in his eyes, - and hops off his lap when the bell rings. He has a free period now, you know because so do you and you usually spend it at the back of the football field together, but she has Chemistry, a thing you also know because hell- you just know everything. That's a basic fact. The whole school knows it and love that you never have to explain how you just fucking know shit.

But even being all knowing does not make you feel better, knowing that itty bitty roach-cunt has her claws embedded in your poor, weak-willed... ex boyfriends,... heart. Or his penis, more likely. Metaphorically speaking, obviously, because Lizzie's the 'Mary'est whore in the land of Westerberg High.

That doesn't really matter though. Either way, he's with her now and not you, and that just wont do.

Maggie, your right hand babe, gets up from your lunch table and leaves for her next class, too. And its only until she's out of sight, that you notice the piece of paper she left behind. Rolling your eyes, a growl of annoyance escapes you and you sigh- turning away from Kurt and Ram's table to see what the fuck it is. The reprieve is almost palpable, not looking at him anymore. It feels a little better- but not by much. And certainly not enough for you to forget what fuckery is going on.

Picking up the piece of paper in one perfectly manicured hand, you see that its an invitation. "Hmm... " Worrying the inside of your cheek, you think; This is interesting.

A Halloween party...

A gleeful smirk quirks slightly at the corners of your lips.

Kurt always did have a thing for Halloween.

~

And what you meant by 'Kurt always did have a thing for Halloween'- is 'Kurt always did have a boner for your Halloween costumes'. For the past several years, since the two of you blossomed with the help of puberty, you have used your assets as an advantage - because why else have them? - ; With the help of lace tights, push up bra's, winged eyeliner and red lipstick.

This year you've pulled together your favourite costume yet, which is fitting for the task at hand and the fact that its senior year- this may be your last chance to put these bottom dwelling highschool chuckleheads in their place.

I mean, you hope not but its basically a given.

Looking around the party as you walk in, you figure its just the same as any party Ram has thrown before. And his house is perfect for it, you'll give him that. The lights a turned down low enough that everyone looks a little hot, cooler's full of ice and alcohol are set up so you're never too far from a fix and thanks to his houses sound system the music is loud enough to make you think for a couple hours that you're in a place between reality and your dreams; A perfect set up for mistakes and one wild night.

But you aren't here to get drunk and kiss a loser, except for Kurt; You're here to take back the goddamn crown. Which getting Kurt back, will do. It'll humiliate Lizzie, and that's really all you want out of life right now.

Prowling through the crowd - which still knows to part for you, despite your current, slightly lower social standing, - in your knee high, shiny black leather boots, you look for someone to talk to. You know Maggie's here somewhere but that bitch is on her last life with you, after she said Lizzie's hair looked nice the other day. And you think some silent treatment will set her straight.

"Oh- Hi Ram." You find the host in the backyard, about to push an unsuspecting demoness into in a very sheer red blouse into the pool - which would doubtlessly make the blouse more of a red tint to her skin rather then any kind of coverage, which Ram well knows, - , and he double takes when he sees you. A sleazy, mischievous grin slops over his face at the sight, which makes you roll your eyes.

Deeply.

"Ohhh, heyyyy, Y/N!" He has to yell over the sound of the music and the other party-goers, not that you would mind if you didn't hear anything he said. He hasn't got a whole lot of substance, Ram, so you can basically assume that rolling your eyes is always the answer to anything he's saying. His eyes shift back, anxiously, to the girl he's currently got a hit out on, but you just raise your eyebrows sharply at him and he's at attention. "I didn't know you were gonna come! You know, with the state of things... "

Oh, he's so obnoxious. And dumb! So, so dumb. He doesn't know the half of your shit. Yet he still runs his mouth... Rolling your eyes once again, you flip some hair behind your head. "Oh don't worry your pretty little head about that, Ram." Eyes flickering around the party some more, searching for your own target, you rest your hands on your hips that are tightly bound, in various layers of violet georgette cloth. The witches hat on your head is pinned down, so theirs no chance of it flying off. You have a train of thinner fabric hanging down the back of your short-short skirt, and your tight tube top reveals exactly the shapes you require it to. "I'll be perfectly fine- oh, have you seen Kurt anywhere?"

"Uhhhhhhhhhhh I think I saw him and Liz against a wall earlier- but by the looks of Liz, I doubt they're in a situation like that anymore." He chuckles, dumbly. The stupid boy has a slur in his voice that you hadn't noticed before but probably should've known would be there. But you're sure focusing in on him now, jealousy burning in your eyes at his description. What does that mean??

"What?"

A geek walks by, toting a bottle in his hands that Ram snatches for himself. As the kid continues by, faster now due to the angry look in Ram's eyes and the animalistic growl that slips from the footballers lips, you continue to glare bullets at Ram. He takes a messy swig of his beer before continuing. "Just sayin', Y/N. Your friend's a prude. Won' even let Kurt get to second base with 'er or anything. So I'd say Kurt's, probably, uhhh... by the pool table, now." He shrugs big round shoulders then, as relief and mirth wash over you. So he didn't mean they'd have moved their dirty little adventure to somewhere they could really get down, or anything. He means quite the opposite.

A smirk graces your red painted lips.

"Well- enjoy your party." You shrug, not really caring as his eyes shine... turning back to the demon girl who's just laughing with her friends; He sure will. Eyes narrowing, you mutter a bitter "Dick." under your breath, as a final bid to Ram.

Turning on your heel, you head back into the house. You've been here plenty of times with Kurt and know exactly where the pool table is (And how uncomfortable it is to be bent over) and sure enough- there he is.

Your boyfriend.

Or, soon-to-be, once-again boyfriend.

He's standing back with a stick, waiting for his turn as he laughs with some over football boneheads. Lizzie isn't here, but you suppose she could have gone to get a drink or talk to one her - your, - friends, but where she is actually doesn't concern your in this moment. All you can do right now, is stand and stare.

God, he's hot.

You miss him; You really do. And, admittedly- not just because he can fuck you like no one else.

But your moment passes, and you gather your wits. Ready.

You're hot, you're smart, and you're ruthless. You can do this.

Saddling up beside Kurt, a genuine smile slips across your face as you look up at him; Running a hand back through your hair. "Hey, Kurt." Slightly widening your eyes, you raise a brow as he turns to look down at you. "What's up?"

Like- its been a while. What have I missed?

Immediate 'Oooooh's and 'Oh no the ex- Kurt watch out!'s erupt from his meathead athlete friends, but what you care about is how Kurt struggles for a moment to tear his eyes away from yours, like the eyeliner you perfected and the colour and the just- you, has hypnotised him. He flashes his friends a wicked grin, waiving them off as he turns to put his body between you, and the group. It puts you so close together- and you sure don't step back any.

Then his eyes flicker down to the rest of you- and he really has a problem looking away. "Oh, uh, hey Y/N. N-nothing much. Uh... you look... "

A gentle chuckle flutters out of you, resting a hand on your right hip. "What? Black cat caught your tongue?"

Jesus- even the mention of that particular muscle reference to him does something to you. And being this close to him again, and seeing his reaction to your outfit... its all just so right. The way things should be.

He opens his mouth to say something else, but immediately closes it again on remembering something. A seriously awkward hm sound escapes him which you don't quite get yet, but you decide that you don't need to.

"So... " You start, getting rid of the tough bravado suddenly... letting awkwardness seep into your tone; Your appearance. On purpose. Eyes downcast, you let your arms slide down to your sides again, lacing your fingers together in front of you for a moment, pretending you're at a loss for words. "Um... maybe this is... weird... "

"What?" A big hand ghosts over your hip- you can just feel his skin graze against you.

You look up to catch his gaze again suddenly, lips and eyebrows scrunching after a moment, unsurely. "Uh, well... " Chewing innocently on your bottom lip, you hold your arms behind your back; not-at-all meaning to push out your chest more. No, not at all... "Me coming up to talk to you... since the break up... "

A hiss escapes him, as he suddenly, seemingly, like just seeing you had him returning to old habits, remembers that fact himself and takes a step back from you. Your brows knit together, up at him- perfectly pitiful.

"Oh man- yeah. Maybe. Fuck!" He runs a hand up through his hair, looking convincingly tortured.

Already!

You could rejoice.

Oh, Kurt... we've only just started.

Sighing, you look away again. "Look, I'm sorry. I just... well, Kurt, I've missed you!"

Suddenly his eyes, still and focused, turn more sternly down on you and your insides squirm at it. Like muscle memory, your body screams for you to back up; Get on your knees, bat your lashes. Ask what's wrong, Daddy?

His eyes narrow, and you resist the temptation to smirk. "Oh- no. No, Y/N. I know what you're doing, okay? I'm not dumb! This is all just too... too... " The fact that he cant even really speak, even as he's trying to be all tough and put up walls between you two, really gives you confidence. You must still really have an effect on him- as you should. Of course you do. One week with a little lily livered slut bag does not erase an entire lifetime between two people. Kurts lips curl into a scowl. "You're not like this." He states, and you raise your brows. Oh? "You're manipulating me, aren't you? Come on, Y/N!"

His tone is pleading. He's begging, you.

Damn, he must really want Miss Lizzie's little ass.

After a moment, you shrug. "Okay, whatever, you got me." Shedding the innocent act, you lean back on the pool table as the boys continue to play; Laying yourself out for him. "Does that mean I was lying? No, I really do miss you."

He scoffs. "Yeah, right." Rolling his own eyes, he focuses his gaze off somewhere else in the party- rather then on you. "All you care about is your reign of terror."

Oh... he knows that's not true.

But still, if he's going to play that way- "Yeah, sure- and all you care about is pussy." Shrugging, you drum your fingers bordly against the edge of the table on either side of you. "I guess we're a pair."

"Fuck, Y/N... you know you're... y-you're... Damn, that I love you. You fucking know that." He hisses, getting mad. And you inwardly smirk.

There it is...

Tightening your grip now, you look up at him to see he's once again looking at you. And for a moment, amongst all the madness that party's are- it feels like its just you two. "And you know... I love you."

Pushing off the pool table, you stalk towards him and trace your hands up his chest; Locking your arms around his neck lazily, and resting your chest against his. And you can see it. You can see, the struggle inside him about whether to just give into you- and your tits and your lips and your hips, and- just, you! Or to stay away. Because you're poison; Even you're well aware of that fact.

You're like a boa constrictor. You get yourself wrapped around your victim and you squeeze, and squeeze, and squeeze... until you have them just how you want them. Moulded into a shape that works well, for you.

But he's a lion. Imposing, and selfish, and self serving. And too big for you to ruin.

Its like you said; You're a pair.

And you cannot give him up.

"Kurt... come on." Leaning up, and talking in a quiet, just-for-him voice now, your lips brush against his and he lets out a shuddering breath. "We belong together, don't we? Its us- forever. You've known it since second grade. Sure, it took me a few more years to realise it too, but we're here now." Sincerity bleeds into your tone; Something you can't help when he looks like he wants to kiss you so badly, like that. "It can't be you and her." It cant. Tilting your head to the side, teasingly, you smirk mischievously; Just for him. "Is she going to fuck you like I do?"

"Shit... " Kurt mutters, eyes stuck on your lips. His hands find your waist, gathering you up against him roughly like he always does when he just wants you. Animalistically, wherever you are- whoever sees be fucking damned.

But he still isn't taking you. And that's a problem.

Brushing a thumb over his bottom lip, you turn your head like your making out to kiss him- but don't. Furrowing your eyebrows, you look pleading at him for an answer. "Was it all a lie, then? With us? Were we?- "

And that does it- he's had enough- he's at boiling point- Lips smash into yours, crossing the centimetre of space between them and he doesn't fuss around at all, to warm up. Your tongues connect almost instantly, and in 0.2 seconds, you two are that moaning, making out mess couple that every party has.

Through your lust filled haze, you can just about feel victorious.

A few moments after that your back hits the closest wall, and your legs wrap around his waist as he holds you up- you two know the drill by now. Kurt's grinding his raging hard on deliciously through his jeans into your bare cunt- moaning and muttering something into your cheek as he sloppily makes his way down to your breasts about you being such a slut.

You REALLY don't mind.

Eyes half lidded, you catch sight of Lizzie in the crowd behind Kurt. The crowd that, apart from her, doesn't care at all what the two of you are doing.

You smirk absolutely evilly towards her, before mouthing 'mine'.