#this kind of ties into the question of whether you think he went to college too which i personally do

[pynkhues]

https://www.tumblr.com/pynkhues/769329551222472704/im-a-canon-vers-loustat-believer-but-sometimes

This is a great point you make. In Paris Louis really is in a similar position to Lestat when he came to New Orleans. Louis is grieving Lestat, Lestat grieving Nicki. Both are protecting secrets about their pasts and looking for a way to keep living. I would even say that both are putting forth a bit of a performance with their new partners, though for different reasons. To some extent I even think Claudia has some parallels to Lestat in that way too. In trying to leave and escape her restrictive family life she ends up finding a companion that she gets to choose for herself. The cyclical themes are so fascinating

Thank you, and yeah, it's a really interesting parallel to think about. This feels a bit of a tangent, so please bear with me, haha, but I remember going to a lit event many years ago that had selected readings based around the theme of home, and in the introductory speech, the curator had said that they'd expected a lot of variation from the submissions to the theme, and there was in a lot of ways, and yet a central throughline appeared that home is a place you leave. It's something I've thought about so much over the years, especially as I live in a different state from the one I grew up in now, and it was one I thought about a bit while watching s2.

It's really interesting to look at in that context of the unholy family because as you said, there is this drive to escape home for both Lestat and Claudia (and Gabrielle) that Louis just doesn't really have. I think you feel that in what they do to escape these places that they're from, but I think the show also underscores that really in what a homecoming means for the three of them.

Claudia experiences her home in Rue Royale as a place of powerlessness and volatilty that can lead to violence, and returning to it steps her straight back into that ten-fold, just as Lestat experiences his home in France as a place of abuse, loss, and violations of his agency and autonomy, which he experiences again, ten-fold, at the trial in Paris, and for Louis, New Orleans has always been, despite everything else, the place where he had a family who he loved, and so of course he goes back and finds the only family he has left - his husband and the ghost of his daughter - there waiting for him.

It's tragic in a lot of ways, because I think there's this sense thematically in the show that the place you're from can change, but it probably won't change for you, no matter how many years you're gone, or the circumstances in which you return to it. Home is a place you leave, and how it held you when it had you will always be the arms you find yourself in when you're back in reaching distance, for better or for worse.

[fruitjoos]

I choose you

art donaldson x reader, patrick zweig x reader

part two

summary: you and art had a baby right after college, but you were both so young and had different goals, so you split. despite the separation, you co-parented well and moved on. then you met patrick, who brought a new light into your life and made you feel like yourself again. time moved quickly, and patrick wants to meet your daughter. When art and patrick finally come face to face, it stirs up old feelings and challenges. now, you’re left questioning whether you’re as strong as you believed.

It was one of those warm summer nights that should have felt serene, yet the air thrummed with a tension you couldn't shake. You stood at the edge of the driveway, arms crossed, watching as Art pulled up, your daughter in the backseat. Your pulse faltered the moment he stepped out of the car. He looked exactly the same as he always had. Composed, familiar, and infuriatingly steady.

This wasn’t where you thought you’d be at 25. Pregnant before you were ready, tied to a man you still loved but couldn’t seem to build a future with. You and Art had tried. When your daughter was born, you both clung to the dream of a family, thinking love would somehow mend the cracks. But love wasn’t enough. The breakup wasn’t explosive; it was the kind that left loose ends—unanswered questions and words left unsaid.

A year after the split, you met Patrick. He was different, uncomplicated. He brought laughter back into your life when you’d forgotten how to even smile. With him, life felt lighter, easier. After a year of dating, it seemed to be getting serious. He asked to meet your daughter, and for once, it didn’t feel overwhelming. It felt like the natural next step.

But Art lingered, a shadow over everything.

As you walked the pavement, Patrick trailing behind you, you hadn’t expected the world to tilt. Art was helping your daughter out of the car when he turned toward the house, his eyes instantly locking onto Patrick. For a moment, time stalled.

Patrick froze, his easygoing smile flickering into something softer, uncertain. His lips parted in surprise, a flicker of relief crossing his face, as if seeing Art was a dreaded confrontation he was somehow relieved to face. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and in that brief exchange, a faint echo of the friendship they once shared surfaced, a time before everything went wrong.

"Art?" Patrick’s voice was low, tentative, as if he were testing the weight of the name in the air. No anger, just surprise, perhaps even a hint of warmth.

Art’s reaction, though, was colder. His expression hardened, eyes narrowing as he glanced between you and Patrick. The sight of Patrick standing there, next to you, stirred something deep and bitter inside him. The last time they’d seen each other, their friendship had crumbled, leaving only unresolved tension in its wake. And now Patrick was here, comfortable, a part of the life Art had once imagined for himself.

“Patrick,” Art muttered, his voice as cool as his gaze. He couldn’t hide the jealousy that bubbled beneath the surface. His hand tightened slightly on your daughter’s shoulder as his eyes flicked over the scene before him. Patrick, beside you, looking like he belonged. Art’s jaw clenched. Patrick wasn’t supposed to be in the picture, but there he stood, like a ghost from the past Art hadn’t wanted to face.

You stood between them, feeling the tension thickening. You glanced between Patrick’s softened expression and Art’s tightened jaw, confusion swirling inside you.

"Oh, you two know each other?" Your voice broke the silence, a strained attempt to defuse the mounting tension.

Patrick gave a small, uneasy smile, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, you could say that."

Art’s eyes flicked to you, sharp, unreadable. "We used to." His tone was cool, laced with an unmistakable edge.

You walked toward him, your nerves fluttering. "Be nice," you whispered, locking eyes with him, the intensity between you a little too familiar. "Patrick’s a good guy. I really like him."

Art raised an eyebrow, smirking in that cynical way you knew too well. "I’m always nice."

You shot him a look, exasperated. "I’m serious. Please, don’t do this."

But there was something in his gaze that told you it was already too late.

Dinner began smoothly enough, or so you thought. Patrick was his usual charming self, effortlessly making your daughter giggle. But Art was watching, his eyes narrowing at every laugh, his mouth tightening when your daughter leaned into Patrick, laughing at his impressions.

Then it started—slowly, almost imperceptibly at first. Art casually questioned Patrick’s job, poking at his easygoing attitude. The comments grew sharper, until finally, Art set his fork down and said, "You don’t seem like the marrying type. Too... temporary."

Patrick tried to brush it off with a chuckle, but you noticed the tension in his jaw, the way his grip on his wine glass tightened.

Art didn’t stop. "Let’s be real. This isn’t going anywhere long-term. We have a child together, that’s forever. You and me? We’re family. Things always come full circle."

Your stomach dropped. The room fell into an awkward silence as Patrick’s smile disappeared. You glared at Art, but he just leaned back, clearly satisfied with himself.

The rest of the evening dragged on, the atmosphere thick with silent resentment. By the time Art left, your daughter tucked away in bed, Patrick had gone quiet. He stood in the kitchen doorway, his hands shoved into his pockets, staring at the floor.

"Are you okay?" you asked gently, placing a hand on his arm.

"Do you want to marry me?" His voice was tight, catching you off guard. His eyes searched yours, filled with a doubt you hadn’t seen before. "You talked about marriage with Art... but you’ve never even mentioned it with me."

You opened your mouth to respond, but he continued.

"And kids... Do you want more? With me? Or is that off the table because Art’s already in the picture?"

"Patrick, no..." You sighed, running a hand over your hair. "It’s not like that."

"Then what is it?" His voice cracked, the frustration spilling over. "Because right now, it feels like I’m competing with him. Like no matter what I do, he’ll always be part of your life. Your real life."

Your heart clenched at his words, guilt gnawing at you. "This isn’t about you," you said softly. "It’s not about choosing him over you, or whatever contest you think he’s trying to win. I just... I can’t pretend Art doesn’t exist. He’s my daughter’s father, and that’s never going to change."

Patrick’s face softened, but the hurt lingered in his eyes. "I just don’t know if I can keep feeling like the second choice."

Your chest tightened. "Patrick, you’re not the second choice. You’ve brought light back into my life. Something I didn’t even realize I needed." You took his hand, but he hesitated. "I’m still figuring this out, and I can’t rush into anything. Not after everything that’s happened. Not when I’m still trying to be the best mother I can be."

Patrick exhaled slowly, his shoulders loosening as he pulled you into his arms. "Okay," he whispered, his voice warm against your hair. "No rush. Just us."

But the unease lingered in the days that followed. It seemed as though the tension had lifted, but beneath Patrick’s lighthearted demeanor, something deeper simmered.

One evening, as you sat on the couch after your daughter had gone to nap, Patrick’s voice broke the quiet.

"I know you need time," he said softly, his eyes serious, "but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m still competing with him." He looked down at his hands. "Hearing Art talk about how you two are a family... it got to me. Maybe I shouldn’t let it bother me, but it does. I see the way he looks at you, and I just—" He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I don’t know if I’ll ever be enough."

Your heart twisted at his words. "Patrick, you are enough," you insisted, your voice strong. "What Art said…that was him trying to get to you. He knows how to push buttons, but it doesn’t mean anything. What matters is us."

Patrick sighed, his voice small. "But what if he’s right? What if, in the end, you and Art end up back together? You have a child with him. That’s a bond I’ll never have."

You reached out, cupping his face in your hands. "Art and I are over. Yes, we have a child together, and that will always connect us. But that’s all it is. I’m with you now. I chose you."

Patrick’s eyes softened as he exhaled shakily. "I just needed to hear that."

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him softly. "Let’s move on together. No more worrying about Art. No more doubts. Just us."

And for the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope. Despite the history with Art, you were choosing a future with Patrick. And for now, that was enough.

It was well past midnight when your phone lit up beside your bed, casting a soft glow over the room. You squinted at the screen, heart sinking slightly when you saw the name: Art.

You hesitated, thumb hovering over the message. Patrick was fast asleep beside you, his breath steady and calm and oblivious.

Are you up? Can we talk?

Your pulse quickened. It wasn’t like him to text this late. You thought about ignoring it, but something in the pit of your stomach told you that if you didn’t respond, he’d show up at your door. And besides, you were already awake, thoughts of Patrick’s earlier words still gnawing at you.

Yeah, I’m up. What’s going on?

The reply was instant.

I need to see you.

Slipping out of bed quietly, you tiptoed into the living room, sitting down on the edge of the couch. You didn’t know what to expect, but there was an uneasy feeling in your chest. After a few minutes, your phone buzzed again.

I’m outside.

You stood and crossed the room, pulling the curtain aside just enough to see his car parked out front. A sigh escaped your lips as you opened the door, stepping into the cool night air. Art was leaning against his car, hands shoved deep into his jeans pockets. His eyes found yours immediately, a mixture of desperation and some other odd, unreadable emotion flickering in their depths.

“What’s going on?” you asked softly, wrapping your arms around yourself to ward off the chill, though you knew the cold had nothing to do with the sudden shiver running through you.

He exhaled heavily, pushing off the car and stepping closer. “I just... I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About us. About our daughter.” His voice was low, rough, like he hadn’t slept in days. “This isn’t how things are supposed to be.”

You swallowed, unsure of where he was going with this, but the unease in your chest only grew. “Art, it’s late. If this is about something with our daughter—”

“It’s not just about her,” he interrupted, running a hand through his hair, his movements agitated. “It’s about us. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. How we were. What we had.”

A pit formed in your stomach. “Art...”

He took a step closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made you feel like the ground beneath you was shifting. “We’re supposed to be together. A family. I don’t care what happened between us in the past. I still love you. I never stopped.”

Your heart stuttered, confusion swirling in your mind. “You can’t just say things like that. We’ve both moved on. You know that.”

“Have we?” he shot back, voice sharp. “You can sit there and tell me you don’t feel anything when you see me? When we’re around each other?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words got caught in your throat because the truth was more complicated than you wanted to admit. There was always a pull with Art, always a part of you that couldn’t forget what you had shared. What you had lost.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” you whispered, shaking your head.

“Well, I do,” he said, stepping closer still, his voice urgent. “You and I have a daughter together. We are bound for life, whether we like it or not. And that means something. We’re a family. We should be together. Not... not split up. Not dragging other people into our mess.”

You froze, your mind immediately jumping to Patrick. “What are you trying to say, Art?”

He sighed, frustration coloring his features. “Patrick isn’t part of this. He’s an outsider. I don’t care how much fun he is or how good he makes you feel. He doesn’t belong in this, with our family.”

Anger flared inside you, but you bit it back, refusing to raise your voice in the middle of the night. “Art, you don’t get to make that call. Patrick has been there for me in ways you haven’t.”

His jaw clenched. “Because you never gave me the chance. You shut me out. We broke up, and suddenly, you’re with him. What about us? What about trying to make this work for the sake of our daughter?”

“We tried,” you reminded him, your voice wavering. “We tried to make it work, and it didn’t. We hurt each other, Art. You know that.”

His hand reached out, gently brushing your arm, the touch so familiar it sent a shiver down your spine. “But we can try again. We should try again. For her. Don’t you see? A family is supposed to be together. Not fractured. Not pulled in different directions.” His eyes searched yours, the desperation there making your heart twist. “We owe it to her to give this another shot. To be a real family.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, the weight of his words pressing down on you. A part of you wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that it could be as simple as that. Trying again, picking up the pieces, and finding a way back to each other. But the other part of you, the part that had spent months rebuilding your life, knew it wasn’t that simple.

“And what about Patrick?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. “He’s been good to me. To her. I can’t just throw him away because you suddenly decide you want us back.”

Art’s expression darkened slightly, his voice dropping. “He’s not part of this equation. You and I are the only ones who matter here. We have history. A family. He’ll never understand that the way I do. He’ll always be on the outside looking in. Can you really see a future with him, knowing that I’m always going to be there? Always going to be a part of your life?”

You bit your lip, your mind spinning. He was right about one thing. Art would always be there. He wasn’t someone you could just forget, or leave in the past. And that had always been the hardest part of trying to move on.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” you whispered.

“And I don’t want to hurt you,” Art said softly, stepping even closer, his voice low and persuasive. “I just want us to be a family. A real family, without anyone else getting in the way.”

His hand cupped your cheek, his touch warm, and for a moment, you felt yourself falter. You thought of your daughter, of the life you had once imagined with Art, the life that had slipped through your fingers. Could you really just let that go? Could you really keep pretending that Patrick was enough when this was the man you had once built your world around?

“We can do this,” Art murmured, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. “We can make this work, I know we can. Just give me another chance. Give us another chance.”

Your heart ached, torn between the weight of your past and the uncertainty of your future. And in that moment, standing in the stillness of the night with Art’s hand on your cheek, you didn’t know what to believe anymore.

[mdhwrites]

if you've seen Steven universe how would you compare it to TOH? I've seen many takes that TOH is Steven Universe 'done correctly' which drives me up a wall, especially since TOH has a lot of the same flaws as SU (pretty much everyone has to be tied to steven in some way- the same way everyone's gotta tie into Luz, White Diamond pisses me off for the same reason the collector does and dear god both finales are messes and the worldbuilding is also kind of messy) but pretty much everyone can agree that Steven Universe's themes of restorative justice are good, its themes surrounding interpersonal relationships and intergenerational trauma is good- I've seen people justify how TOH handles its villains 2 ways "its doing steven universe's restorative justice but like correctly" or "its about killing your oppressors, which steven should have done" which is dumb. Idk this fandom has a huge hate-boner for SU and Amphibia in general though. I also saw someone have the take the collector and belos where foils which... Is weird I can see where they come from but they never are put together in a way that highlights their similarities and differences. So what are some actual comparisons that can made between the shows outside of LGBT characters and surface level stuff?

Sadly I have not seen Steven Universe so I can't really comment on much of it. I've seen the first episode (both halves), decided the gems were insufferable to me and Steven was okay and went on with my life because at the time, I was a full time college student and a part time Walmart employee. I do like some of the songs that have reached me but I never got an in with the show, especially since my early experience with it was much like Gravity Falls where I heard a lot of high concept stuff about it but not much about why I would actually enjoy a given episode, what was enjoyable about the characters, etc. like that. Honestly, the only criticism I know of for it is that people hate the ending.

BUT.

I have seen one other thing. I have seen about twenty minutes of the Steven Universe movie. With that I can say one thing definitively even if it's not clearing a high bar: The Diamond's turn to good is better than the Collector's because they have literally ANY reason to listen to the person preaching at them. The Collector doesn't. In fact, he has no reason to reform and it is drastically out of character for him to care about... Anyone?

Let me start on the Diamond's side because I don't have a lot to say about this but it is something I'm surprised I haven't heard anyone talk about: They were clearly traumatized by the loss of Pink Diamond. Whether or not you think this is a good part of the plot isn't what matters, the point is that this is a literal fact to the story. This grief has gone unresolved for literal decades (just going by Steven's lifespan, someone in my Discord provided the context that they blamed themselves for her DEATH, not just disappearance, for CENTURIES which only bolsters the point I'm making) and has festered in them a desperation for their old comrade? Friend? I don't 100% know but you get the point. So when her son arrives and can't be kept by force, they're going to be pretty amenable to listen to whatever demands means keeping him around. Is that great? No, I wouldn't say it is as the question of what happens when Steven dies is there but it works for forcing them to consider the consequences of their actions and how they may need to change to have the life they desire. It is a compelling force for the first step of change. It's not amazing but it is at least functional from a narrative standpoint, an emotional standpoint and from a character standpoint. Not that it's great but that it is functional. You can string together how this works without having to just invent bullshit.

The Collector has none of these three because he's the literal fucking worst.

I've talked about this before but the Collector isn't the child the fandom treats him as. Even if we try to disconnect the second season version of the Collector, who very much so knows what death is and the consequences of his actions, S3 Collector does have a foil to Belos: He's an actual colonizing piece of shit. Not in that he is literally colonizing places but in mindset. Everything to him is something to be used for his entertainment or enrichment or it is to be stripped of all rights and brutally oppressed until it fits the role he desires. This is what happens when you become a LITERAL. FUCKING. DOLL. And he even has enforcers like the armies colonies would use that have wildly more powerful magic, i.e. technology, in order to make that oppression more seamless. Remember: Hexside is actively hiding from roaming stars that he just has going around the Isles that hoover up people, making at least those who resist into dolls immediately without question, and then bringing them to him to be new play toys in his game. That is explicitly what he has been doing to the entire Isles for MONTHS once S3 episode 2 happens.

People do not matter to him and this even extends to King. When King steps out of line, The Collector cracks the whip. He's even willing to KILL KING for having the gall of caring about anyone other than him. Those death games would be just as lethal to King as it would be to Eda and Luz after all. And if you actually do divorce S2's "PLAY AMONGST THE BONES!" line (which is fucking awful because you have to remove literally all of the first appearances of a character which is usually considered, you know... Bad) and believe that he doesn't know what death is... He knows what pain is. He knows what torture is. He knows the despair of being trapped in a space where you can't move or act or do anything except watch as an observer on a world that could destroy you at any moment because your prison is all of your being.

And then he makes people into dolls, with consciousness, without a second thought. He is willing to BREAK people in order to make them play along. His literal plan was to shatter the bodies of the Owl House trio over and over and over again until they were subservient to his desires. That is WORSE than just wanting to kill them. And he only stops to throw a tantrum because he fails to succeed and starts whining about it like any selfish asshole not getting his way. Not like a child: Like a selfish asshole.

So with ALL of this, what does the show do to try to make him consider the consequences of his actions? Well... Nothing. It claims it's trying to do something but the tour with the trio is much more a circle jerk about how amazing the show was and how much could have happened if not for the shortening ("That sounds like something that could have been its own spin off!" Or whatever King says to Eda talking about her and Raine's time at Hexside) than it is about talking to the Collector. There's a couple lines here and there, talking to him about what works for making friends but does it stick?

No, the Collector learns nothing and in mocking Steven Universe, they make that clear. The Collector is told that people are complex and you must show compassion. Rather than actually believing this, he uses it like a blunt hammer, just like all of his other solutions, to make a problem of his go away. That's why he hugs Belos and assumes it will work. He is not considering the complexity of humanity or the person he is applying this to. It is just to solve a problem so he'll get praised and go back to playing his games. Nothing. More.

And then he fucks off instead of fixing the damage he'd done because why would he stay? Why would he help? He hasn't learned anything and he doesn't want to help these people. He has NO motivation for why he helps save the Archive except otherwise he loses his sweet crash pad. So afterwards? He's gonna go somewhere where he can be himself and not be scolded for it because this toy is no longer fun.

Edit: He does stay to change everyone back from dolls. That much more falls into the "It's the ending, we have to have the problem only he can fix be fixed by him" despite the fact that he is responsible for so much more destruction that would theoretically be pretty easy for him to fix as well. He only does what is demanded of him for the sake of a happy ending, not because of character motivation, not from how I see it at least.

The most condemning part of this is that it's all around Luz. All around someone he doesn't like. He sees Luz as trying to take away his only friend after all and, you know, he is correct about that. They don't even try to hide that fact during the tour. They're still clearly upset with him and not even trying to be his friend, they're just lecturing him. It doesn't work from a character perspective, a narrative perspective or an emotional one. King MIGHT have with better writing, there's a reason I always wanted the Collector redeemed by one of his games forcing him to have to kill King by the rules he made before breaking it and having to face how that's unfair and cruel to others since they wouldn't get that leniency, but that's not how the show plays it. King is an unwilling servant for one episode and then VERY against the Collector in the next until after the death games. When he first shows up, King isn't trying to mediate, he is ready to fight just like the other two. He's not the Collector's friend and he never was so why would the Collector bother listening to him?

That is why me saying the Diamonds, even with my limited knowledge, works better than the Collector is almost literally the worst you can do when it comes to something like this. All the setup is wrong, the catalyst requires explicit retcons and don't work with the character and the payoff is... Nothing. Literally nothing. The only way to have done it worse is to have had everyone praise the Collector before he then stabbed Amity and no one acted like that was a problem. It can only function because we are TOLD he's redeemed even if he never shows it.

Andrias standing alone as a farmer, accepting the punishment for his actions and trying to make better on them, is such better payoff to a redemption arc than anything the Collector gets and his redemption was in character and setup by his past. So then let's get to one of your last points: Why is it that the TOH fandom rags on SU and Amphibia so much, especially for their endings, when theirs is such shit?

Well... Because that's the reputation of TOH. That it is the 'good' one. That it is better than almost all other media. The show itself, with moments like the Collector mocking the SU ending by hugging Belos, reinforces this. As such, for you to criticize TOH as failing in a department that other shows are not rapturously praised for is to fall out of sync with the show itself. As such, all other works must be placed beneath it, especially if those are widely believed to have a flaw in an element to then raise TOH up with. This is part of why so many people want to say the Amphibia ending is wrong because the Amphibia ending is brave and controversial and saying something while the TOH ending?

I mean... Do you really think the Collector's the only part of it objectively flawed like this? Because if a major redemption for your big bad is botched this badly, you can bet other problems exist. I've talked about them at length. But there are probably people out there who would call me the Lily Orchard of TOH if I was better known.

See you next tale.

======+++++======

That last line isn't an endorsement of Lily Orchard btw, just that I have to imagine it's the label I would be given. What little exposure I've had to her works is... YIKES. Just fucking yikes. My Discord has really enjoyed every time I've live reacted to a video of hers they've posted there. sigh

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[jabbage]

What are the top 5 most middle class things that have ever happened to you?

Ooooooh good question... now I'm going to do the most British thing ever and preface it with a short essay providing half my life story, out of a sense of denial.

Both sides of my family are staunchly working class, as far back as I can find records. They were farm labourers and dock workers and hopped in and out of workhouses. My mum worked housekeeping and cleaning jobs, and my Dad managed to snag a white collar job in a factory out of school (because he's really clever).

But then two complications -

My Dad became a clergyman. This meant that we got to live in nice houses owned by the church he worked for, sometimes in quite affluent areas. We didn't have much money, but still.

2. I managed to get into Oxford University with a gazillion bursaries tied to my parent's low income. I then used the bursary money to fund doing a master's degree, and now I work in academia.

So, am I middle class? I'm begrudgingly realising that I might be? Except if I am I feel like middle class people shouldn't be constantly worrying that their now-retired parents can't afford to switch the heating on, or whether they'll ever live in their own home. And it's alienated me from my extended family, who have jumped to the conclusion that I think I'm better than them.

Anyway, the top 5 most middle class things that have ever happened to me.

One

Last year I got invited to an anniversary meal at my Oxford college, called a gaudy. I nearly didn't go because my time at uni was not very happy and I don't remember some of my contemporaries fondly, but then I figured that if I go, next time I read Dorthy L Sayers excellent book "Gaudy Night," I will have better brain-pictures. So, the setting, for your own brain-pictures:

Latin grace was sung before the meal, which comprised of salmon confit, followed by venison, followed by black forest gateau, followed by fruit and chocolates and port.

I was sat next to a nice middle aged man with an OBE. When he asked me "So, what do you do?" I decided not to say the job which *actually* pays my bills, but to reply with my evening job: that I make comics. I felt like this was a fun thing to say in a room full of people who Work In The City etc etc.

Except it turned out that he runs one of the UK's biggest comic arts festivals. He offered me free tickets. He offered to put me in touch with publishers. He offered to introduce me to significant people.

And I was like.... oh. Is this how it happens? Like, you're in an Oxford college and you just RUN INTO a posh bloke who Knows People and that's how you finally get a book deal???

Anyway I went to the festival. They had a panel on a yacht. And talked to people, or rather had people talk over me. So many times they'd ask me a question, and then interrupt before I'd given my answer. And I dislike schmoozing SO MUCH.

So uh, yeah, no book deal ;D YET

Two

One time I was wearing my college scarf while I was walking around Durham, and I ended up meeting a very cute elderly couple who went to the same college forty-five years earlier (well, the husband did, the wife wouldn't have been allowed.) They invited my to a dinner party at their house, which turned out to be a very cute little town-house by the river with five stories.

At the time I was doing my Master's degree, and they became kind of surrogate parents who I could call in on for a free hot meal and good conversation. But it was entirely sparked by "going to the same college at Oxford" which is very ew.

Three

Idk there was just this one time I was coming home on the train from having seen the Royal Shakespeare Company's latest production of Much Ado About Nothing and I stopped off somewhere to get sushi and I spent the whole time staring at a wall thinking "What have I become?"

Getting tickets to the ballet from a colleague slots into this catagory, I think.

Four

One time I was asked to open a village fete because the local lady of the manor couldn't make it.

Why me? Apparently "local clergyman's daughter" and "went to Oxford" and "draws silly pictures sometimes" was enough to make me a local celebrity.

I got to give a little speech and judge some cakes and everything.

Five

One time I got invited to a dinner party at CS Lewis' house, the Kilns, and I met his lovely secretary Walter Hooper. I remember being shown around and having a deep impulse to check the backs of all the wardrobes.

When I first went in it was through a door that led straight into his bedroom, and I was told that I could take my coat off and just toss it on the bed. No sooner had I done so than my guide mused, "CS Lewis died in that bed."

So I guess I own a coat that has been on the bed where CS Lewis died, is that middle class?!! Idk

[your-beauty-never-scared-me]

let's talk about my gender

For a very long time, I've had a difficult time discerning whether or not I am trans. I guess we can start from the beginning. I was assigned female at birth. I was honestly fine with being a little girl. I was chill with whatever clothes people put me in. When I was eight or so I thought boys clothes were cool too and liked wearing ties like my dad. I also really wanted to join the military. I wouldn't say I definitively wanted to be a boy as a child because I remember loving the idea of makeup and dressing up, but I feel like it kind of went both ways. One distinct memory I have is telling my dad people would think I was a boy in the clothes I was wearing, but I was excited about it. Take that as you will.

I hit puberty when I was 10 and I absolutely hated it. Obviously periods were the worst of it. But this is where things get complicated for me. I can't tell if I really have or had true gender dysphoria, or if I just really hate/hated being sexualized. Even if I can't say anything definitively about my gender identity, I can definitely say that I've always been incredibly modest and have never felt comfortable showing off my body or trying to look "sexy". Not because I hate my body, I just feel a lot more comfortable when I'm covered up. Unfortunately, society inherently sexualizes the female body, which I realized, and it made me want to crawl out of my skin.

Another factor in all of this is that I was objectively ugly. Baggy masculine clothes made me an even uglier girl, whereas feminine clothes and makeup made me look like i was at least trying not to be ugly. People are nicer to people who they find attractive. It's science. But I knew that even before I knew it was science. I didn't, and still don't, care about how I'm perceived as long as people think I'm attractive. Femininity is something I wear so that people will like me and be nice to me. I think in a way it always has been. I don't necessarily feel comfortable in the makeup and women's clothing, but it makes people perceive me in a better light so I do it anyway.

I also started identifying as non-binary as young as 12. My friend told my about the label and I felt like it was a good descriptor for how I felt. I picked out a new name and everything.

There are two more things I want to discuss in regards to my possible trans-ness

Toxic masculinity.

People don't take women seriously. Especially tiny 5'0 women who are soft spoken. I think part of me hating my femininity is that I feel like I have no power, and that people don't listen to me. Not only me, but other women as well.

2. Sexual abuse

This is hard to talk about, bear with me. I already expressed how much I value my modesty and hate being sexualized. But I was 13 the first time an adult man did something inappropriate to me and it made me hate my new body. This basically continued until I was 18 and moved out.

Side note, if a single one of you asks why I didn't do anything about it or fight back or whatever, I'll rip your eyes out through your computer screen.

Anyway, I often question my transness because it's like... Do I really hate being a woman or do I just hate the things that have been done to me as the result of the oversexualization of the female body? It's a difficult thing to consider.

3. My partner is transfem.

I tend to try to fit in to what the people I love are like. I tend to mimic. In one of my past relationships, I basically convinced myself that I'd be happy as a housewife because that's what he wanted. When I entered this relationship (with my current, transfem partner), I had basically submitted to "okay, I'm just going to be a girl now, they like girls, I don't want to complicate things anymore, I'm a girl". As I got more comfortable in the relationship, I opened up about the fact that I had identified as nonbinary when I was in college and that I owned a binder and all that. Eventually that led to me being openly nonbinary in our friend group. And that's comfortable for me. But I'm worried that I'm just thinking about being trans because they are, and that I wouldn't be having this conversation with myself at all if they were cis.

Another caveat if I did potentially come out is that I wouldn't want my partner or our friend group to think that I'm just doing it to copy them or make them like me more. So I guess either way if I do come out or start HRT I would definitely wait to do it.

I am going to condense this essay into a pros and cons style list for TLDR's sake.

Reasons why I think I could be trans

I don't have an inherit attraction to the feminine aside from wanting to be perceived as an attractive and likeable person

Never hated my more masculine features like body and facial hair

I don't actually like looking like a girl

I HATE my voice

I like how I look with my binder on

I've never really resonated with the "wife and mother" thing (although there are plenty of cis women who don't either)

Despite the fact that I hate a lot of other men and a lot of things about male culture, I still kinda want to be one anyway.

Reasons why I think I might not be trans

maybe I just want the authority that men have and to be taken seriously

I like makeup and nails

I don't really have bottom dysphoria?

Maybe I just want to escape being sexualized and the things that happened to me

There's a lot to consider. There's a lot that complicated. But everything takes time, and with time I'm sure I'll sort my gender out. Or maybe I won't and I'll still be happy regardless because I am alive and life is pretty good, all things considered.

either way, I hope you have a good day.

And if you're trans or questioning, I hope you have an extra good day.

[spookyrobbins]

another Tim question: any hcs about his time in the military?

i don’t necessarily know enough about the day to day of the army to speak to that but i’ll do my best!

i really can go back and forth on whether tim a) went to college and b) was enlisted or commissioned - i think both have their merits and just depends on what kind of background you’re using for the robbinses

this is eluded to in smbr but tim likely participated in the opening stages of operation enduring freedom in afghanistan

tim was very much in a combat role i think and wasn’t a medic - although he was a veterinarian in a one shot i did - every thing for tim is very much tied to his dad’s stories and being a “good man in a storm”

tim likely joined in the mid to late 90s depending on what you hc for his age, etc and probably died in 2005-2008

he did receive a posthumous medal, which daniel hid away from the rest of the family

he is buried at arlington, but arizonas only visited a few times outside of his funeral - babs visits the most and daniel stopped even visiting his fathers grave to avoid tim

i may use this in something coming up, but recently i’ve been playing with the idea of tim who’s a bit older (like 5ish years) than arizona and he was actually in the process of retiring to settle down with his family but then 9/11 happened and he felt called to serve and his wife and family’s anger towards daniel in particular about instilling that extreme sense of duty in him

[otomes-world]

King is sleeping

Anon said: Howdy do~! I would like to request prompt. 8 with Leona Kingscholar x fem! reader, please? Fluff/angst combo, please? Thanks!

I tried. I really do. Completely flaff just not my stage. I hope I still make something you will like, nonny!

Probably, many asked a very ironic question: what happens during an overblot. To be more precise with who it happened to. With those who let themselves out and broke down. Leona, being a winner in life, found the answers to this and other questions on his own experience. Although, the true winner and king of the situation was the discoverer Rosehearts. However, the head of Heartslabyul, in the current light of the circumstances of the second prince, was the last thing to worry about, if at all.

However, everything was not so bad. If fate wanted to finally and irrevocably get rid of him, he would not have been lying on the undeniably comfortable bed in the infirmary. If it weren't for Ruggie moaning next to him, he could close eyes and for a moment pretend that he made his way here of his own free will. Although Bucchi was clearly not the only one here. Most of the places were occupied by students of his dorm. Who but them, as they say. Even on ordinary days, they were regulars at the holy monastery of the infirmary.

Well, this day, or to be more precise, the evening, was definitely not an ordinary one. Still, not every time the head of the dorm goes into berserk mode, and a pair of first years, led by a student without magic and a fire-breathing raccoon-cat, beats sanity into him. No matter how you look at it, a brief retelling sounds like a joke. However, Kingscholar could call his whole life nothing more than a protracted, long-playing joke.

"Don't worry, I'm here. I won't leave you."

At this phrase, the lion opened one eye, and then narrowed it and closed again. He did not expect that one of his relatives would decide to bless him with their presence. He did not expect to see at least some living soul near. Maybe Ruggie, but he clearly wasn't up to it or anything else.

A frail figure seated on a chair next to him looked down at clasped hands. Through narrowed eyelids, the young man could perfectly observe the intruder, who seemed to be immersed in her own thoughts. This pricked the pride of the second prince a little, but it was foolish to complain about something that he did not expect to receive in principle.

A tattered uniform, probably the only set left by the kind director. Carelessly tied hair in a ponytail. Combing the bird's nest afterward will be problematic, Leona knew this firsthand. There were traces of weariness on her face, mixed with something else. Something Kingscholar had watched from afar before. Something that others had always received before, even the same Bucchi who grew up in not the best conditions.

Worry?

For whom? The lion, already disgraced throughout the college, would become the ultimate fool if he took wishful thinking. Snorting his thoughts in displeasure, he tried to change his position to a more comfortable one, which with bruises was difficult, if not impossible, to do. A sigh was heard from the side, and an accelerated quiet muttering, to which the still head of Savannaclaw pretended to be asleep. Whether it worked or not, the stirring soon stopped. An ear twitched at the creak of a chair.

She was going to leave.

Kingscholar did not expect her to spend the whole day with him. Anyone, really. Others always had things to do that needed more attention. Leona was about to finally went to the land of dreams, only the steps did not subside, but rather became louder. With a heavy sigh, the figure straightened his blanket as if he were a kitten tossing and turning in his sleep. He must have looked that way in her eyes. Convinced that he was now wrapped in, like a caterpillar in a cocoon, the prefect turned around and sat down again on a chair. Like she didn't get up anywhere. Like she didn't want to leave.

The sensation was strange, but he couldn`t called it an unpleasant one. Rather unusual, but the young man caught himself thinking that he could get used to this. A tail with a tassel stuck out of the blanket, rustling was again heard from the side. However, a hand soon touched his tail, barely with fingertips, hesitating.

The girl raised her head and met the half-open Kingscholar's eye. The next second the prince snorted and turn his head, falling into a dream already completely.

[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E131 (March 30, 2021)

Tonight’s guests are Liam O’Brien and Sam Riegel!

Brian points out that a lot of Caleb’s greatest fears have come to pass. Liam: “It’s funny, because he’d kind of believed for a while that those things weren’t going to happen. After a while, he got complacent.” He notes that it was extra wild because everything with Trent popped up again in the midst of that complacency. And how did it feel to be defiant toward Trent? “I think Trent successfully made Caleb question if Caleb really was in control“ at the dinner party. “I feel like anything that I do is part of his plans for me, or is that just gaslighting? I’m legitimately scared of that dude.” Sam: “Of Matt?” Liam: “Sure.” He highlights the disconnect between knowing that the M9 is mechanically powerful and could possibly defeat Trent in a dice-and-stats battle, versus fearing him in a story sense and being convinced he can do almost anything.

Sam, on Luc’s death: “That was brutal, man. Matt Mercer is a-- he hates children! Clearly. He actively sought to kill a child in the campaign in as brutal a way as possible. He hates children and wants them dead. Canon. No, but to RP, that was horrible.” He highlights that so much of Veth’s arc has been about trying to get back to her family. “We had to choose something and we thought we were making the right choice. It was all Veth’s fault, and it was pretty rotten. My heart was beating pretty fast, and I certainly didn’t want to have my son die live on the stream. I don’t know what Veth would have done. That’s the end, that’s over. It’s almost worse than when your own character would die. This is something that would also kill Veth.” After the episode was over: “just shaken. I also didn’t know what to do next! That felt like a turning-point moment for my character, weirdly so close to what we assume to be the end arc of this campaign. I texted Matt later that night and was like, that’s it, Veth’s out, I’m tapping out.”

There’s an interlude in which Sam discovers a new dream to record an episode of this show from his Peloton. Dani informs him that she will not be inviting him back.

On Astrid, Liam: “I literally don’t know what she’s doing. I know that she’s dangerous, she always was ambitious, and there’s not been a moment where Caleb let his guard down with her. He’s not trying to reestablish what they had. He cares for the both of them, for Astrid and Eodwulf. He thinks about it a lot, still. He can’t tell how much she buys into everything that she experienced and is now living as a full-grown adult. He suspects that she’s bought in and is not going to change things, because she believes in the system, as much as he’d like to peel her away. He does believe that they want what’s best for the Empire, and stopping whatever wants to come vomiting out of a hole in the frozen north is good for everyone. And they’re powerful. They’re not trustworthy, obviously. But there’s enough at stake to make it worth it. He could imagine a situation where they fight each other to the death.” He was convinced Astrid was going to stop them when they left the tower and was really shocked when she held back. Sam: “Not me! I’ve trusted Astrid since day one. She’s the greatest! I sent a letter to her, she’s very nice, I think you guys would be a nice couple. I believe every word she says.”

On having to decide on Veth deciding to go off and save the world after Luc’s death. “Like I said, I was ready to be done. And then I decided somewhere in there that that’s not very D&D. So I thought I’d leave it up to somebody else, so I asked Caduceus to decide for me, essentially. She knows she’s putting her other family in danger if she doesn’t go. It’s an impossible choice, you know?” Liam: “I love watching you grapple with it, because you’re a lovely father and love your kids.”

On the Sanatorium, Sam: “That was brutal, man. Matt lulls you into a sense of complacency. We’d forgotten that Caleb was a stone-cold killer! It had been a while since he went on a murder spree. Still got it!” Liam: “I never meant for this character to be perfect sunshine.” Brian: “You don’t say.” Liam: “He’s very not-perfect, and I think in his brain, he was going in with the impression that they needed to get in and get out as soon as possible. The place is crawling with people with magic ability, and I didn’t have faith that we wouldn’t be sussed out or something wasn’t going to blow an illusion.” Everything was about getting out of there as fast as possible.

Did the conversation with Yeza help with Veth’s decision? “First of all, every conversation with Yeza is a beautiful one. Every time she talks to Yeza, it makes her feel good. In some ways, she’s gotten to the point now where she knows Yeza’s going to be supportive, she knows he’s going to allow her to do what she wants, but maybe that’s too much. Maybe she needs to not listen to him, basically, and be like, no, you need to be selfish now, dude, you need to say ‘come home, I’m sick of you leaving’. At a certain point, being supportive can turn into being enabling.”

Cosplay of the Week: Jester in the snow! (liljerbear47, photography by kairiceleste on Instagram)

On Trent’s motivations for chasing Caleb: “I really don’t know. The simplest explanation is to just hammer down the nail that’s sticking up. It has crossed his mind that all high-level wizards are in danger of their own ambition and egos, so it’s occurred to him that Trent might have the same kind of ideas that Halas had in the past, and maybe Caleb was always meant to be another body to jump into. Maybe in some sick, disgusting, twisted way, he wants him to be his successor. I am thinking of the next campaign, without getting too deep in, trying to do something that is much more ride-along. Caleb is very, very specific, and I thought long and hard about all the different pieces on the chessboard for him. For campaign three, I’m looking forward to seeing what happens.”

Dani: “Do I need to be keeping lore on your fucking ads?”

On the cursed dagger: “It was a tricky one, because in campaign one, one of the characters was under the influence of a cursed weapon, but it interacted with him and he knew what it was and what it did. And it affected his gameplay as a character. For me, Veth didn’t know what it was, ever. I as a player knew what it was doing, but Veth didn’t know at all. So it was kind of like my dirty, dark secret for many months. I knew this thing was coming perilously close to killing me, but my character didn’t know enough to bring it up to her friends. Nobody ever asked! So I was like, well, I guess this thing’s just going to kill me one day, and it’s kind of going to be a surprise.” Liam: “Sam, you love danger and self-destruction so much, you might as well be Mollymauk.”

On the fight in Yasha’s sequence, Sam: “You gotta put a character in your storm giant creature. It was so fun! It was so great of Matt to involve us in this encounter. It would’ve been fun just to watch, because Matt would have made it amazing and Ashley was sweating bullets, which is always fun to watch.” Sam notes he felt guilty, but Liam was going for the kill. Liam: “Matt’s gotta be careful about giving me that kind of story beat. I do not fucking care, I just fucking flip, I’m like, well, I’m going to destroy you, and I have no qualms about it. It’s too much fun!”

The Beau/Yasha tower date was in part inspired by not being able to give gifts as easily this last year. “This thing that we do together is a gift, but I love finding these moments, like the book for Jester and the tower for Yasha and for Beau. I really just wanted to give both of them a little magic for a night. I wanted them to leave this-- we’re trying to be as entertaining as possible, but shit is having an effect on all of us too, and I wanted them to have an escape, a great place to escape to.”

Fan Art of the Week: an amazing group shot, plus Marion, Yeza, and Luc! (vocaz on Twitter)

On choosing Essek over Trent, Liam: “It would have been so interesting and awful and great! Essek and Astrid and Eodwulf are everything that Bren used to be attracted to that are terrible for him. Essek, hopefully he can with time find a way out of the hole that he dug himself into, but it was only two months ago where he was found out and his ambitions came crashing down around him. Long-term, I have high hopes for him, but I think it’s going to be hard.” In contrast, Astrid and Eodwulf are still “deep in the shit. It would have been really hard to navigate, but fun to play at the table. We made the right choice with what we went with. Essek’s just getting started, and Caleb doesn’t trust him entirely, because he was burned so hard not too long ago. He’s still more trustworthy than the other three. So it’s the better choice. While Caleb has all these ties on the other side, they’re really fucking dangerous. So if you have to choose, you choose Essek. But fuck that die.” Sam: “Veth, much like Sam Riegel, makes instant decisions about whether to trust someone or not and sticks to it forever. Astrid, 100% trust. Eodwulf, 100% distrust. Essek, completely distrust. I still don’t think he’s a good guy. Ikithon? Trust. 100%. Because you know where he’s coming forward, you know what he wants. I still want him dead, but I trust him.”

On Veth’s post-adventuring plans: “Veth is probably still too in it right now to think about what comes next. I, Sam Riegel, have a good idea of what I want Veth to do post-campaign.” Brian: “Maybe you shouldn’t tell us. Save it for the show!” Sam: “All she knows is she can’t do this anymore. It’s very unhealthy to be battle-wounded every other day. It’s fun for a while, but college has to end at some point, and she’s gotta go home.”

On Frumpkin changing appearance and returning to the Feywild: “I don’t know what I’m going to do, but the way it feels now for Caleb is that he feels too enmeshed in everything that has happened, and too much good has happened, and too much needs to happened, that that really narcissistic, selfish goal has the risk of harming everything else, which is more important. And that’s how he looks at it now. So he’s gearing towards letting everything from the beginning of the campaign, and where he started, go, and trying to figure out what use he’s going to be now and what he’s going to do if they’re not all dead. If Matt throws that shit down, I don’t know what I will do, I think about it a lot. But turning Frumpkin white and saying you’re free either way is him preparing to let go of everything he’s been holding on to for a really long time. He’s addicted to that idea that he can fix himself, and we’ll see if that hard choice gets presented, what he might do. But where he stands now, he doesn’t think that’s going to be reality, and he sees a way that he can be of use that he never really anticipated before, so he’s slowly shifting gears towards living with the pain he was trying to remove.”

On the last request scene and confidence heading into Aeor, Sam: “I feel like that’s a good request. I think all of us realized that if we die, that probably bodes badly for the world. I feel like all of us are at a point now as characters and as friends, that the first order of business would be to take care of everybody else’s shit, although we probably have different ideas of how to do that.” Liam: “I want the Empire to be healed, Caleb has all these memories of his parents and what they wanted for the world, and he wants that too. It’s clearly not in place now, the system needs to be broken and replaced. That could be a part of Caleb’s sunset. I don’t want Caleb to die, so maybe he can work on that after. As everything starts to shake out and we start heading towards our destiny, Caleb’s just free-floating. He’s not even going after the same thing he started for. So he’s looking at Veth’s family, and Luc specifically, and seeing that’s me, that’s a little boy in the Empire.”

[teasty]

kiss yourself (03) || h.js

● pairing: han jisung x (female) reader

● genre: angst, smut, (kinda) fluff  ||  fwb to lovers au || college!au || non!idol au

● warnings: | praise + degradation | reader and jisung are not in a relationship at the beginning! | suggestive dialogue | profanity | unprotected sex | softdom!harddom!jisung | reader gets into short fist fight | fingering | hair pulling | slight dumbification |

● words: 10.4k

→ summary: It all started when you and your best friend for life, Han Jisung, got a little bit too tipsy at a party and ended up waking up naked in the same bed. After that unfortunate night, you and Jisung confirmed there be a distinguished “friends with benefits” relationship between the two of you, with a few rules.

Number One: No one else is supposed to know about this relationship.

Number Two: The minute one of the two of you starts a serious relationship with someone, the benefits are cut off immediately.

Number Three: Have to respect the other’s wishes, if one doesn’t want to do it, then there’s no argument.

Number Four: No falling in love.

But, when Jisung starts crushing over your classmate, you start to break the rules. One by one.

a/n: a lot happens in this chapter,, it's pretty fast paced but it is what it is ~

Chapter One | Chapter Two | CHAPTER THREE

“I want you to fuck me dumb, Jisung. I want to think about nothing but you.”

You refused to cry, no matter how bad you wanted to.

You didn’t actually head back to the dorm, deciding you weren’t tired enough to fall asleep fast enough and that you simply wanted to have the comfort of being alone for the time being. You’re so fed up, so irritated and stressed, not even Jisung fucking you over and over again until you’re too weak to even speak could fix it. Neither did you feel like dealing with Jeongja, so you headed straight for the 24/7 cafe a few blocks away from the school. You didn’t go there often, but you went there a few times with Jisung in the mornings. You weren’t as familiar with the place like he was, but you knew for a fact that it was open all day, every week day.

There was only one other person in the cafe. A young, tired looking woman who typed vigorously on her laptop, which was plugged into the wall along with her phone, which she listened to whatever on. She must be a college student, since she had a backpack at her feet and a lanyard hanging from her pocket. You didn’t recognize her, so she was probably your senior. She gave you a subtle glance before turning back to her laptop, and you ignored her. Walking (more limping) up to the cashier.

“Welcome. It’s pretty late,” said a man who didn’t seem too young, but nor too old. Probably in his mid - twenties. He had a small stubble on his chin and his longish hair is tied back, a few rebellious strands framing his decently structured face. You could make out his toned chest and broad shoulders underneath the beige button up he wore, a dusty pink apron around his waist, accompanied by a pair of black slacks. He’s attractive, you couldn’t deny. “Don’t you think it’s a bit too late for a pretty little lady like you to be walking around, alone, in a tee shirt?”

“I’m fine on my own,” you admit, “I’ve been here a few times, but I can’t remember the menu. Mind handing me one?” The man nods, reaching over something to grab a one sided menu, and he hands it to you. After glancing over it, you felt too nauseous to eat, but you needed caffeine, something to keep you going since sleep wasn’t going to be an option for you tonight. “Can I just get an americano? Make it large, please, I need it.”

“Oh, coffee at this hour?” He chuckles.

“This is a coffee shop,” you glance around, a little agitated.

“Yeah, yeah,” the man laughs out, waving a hand as he pressed a few buttons on the cash register, “I’m just teasing you, sweetheart. Is that all you want? An americano, large?”

“No, get me the green tea, too,” you sigh, placing down the menu. It’s not like you to get bitter drinks, let alone two. You’re actually more of a sweets kind of person. But, since you’re not feeling too well, you just want hot, bitter drinks to keep you from going insane.

The man nods, “Hmm, tough night?” You nod slowly, “Surprised you came to a coffee shop. Most people who have rough nights usually hang around at the bar down the road. What made you come here of all places?”

“Well, it’s the first place I thought of,” you shrug a shoulder, “I don’t want a hangover in the morning either. I always know how those go. Never had the best luck when I’m drunk.” You chuckle, smiling wistfully for a moment before it turns into a bitter frown at the thought of your vague first time with Jisung. You shake your head slowly, subtly. It wasn’t a mistake. Not at all. It wasn’t bad luck. But, right now, it kind of feels like it. You’ve gotten more attached to Jisung than you have the years before you both started fucking around. “Plus, my friend used to bring me here. Thought I’d see the place alone.”

“Well, I appreciate you stopping by,” the man smiles down at you, and you give him a brief one back, “What’s your name? What should I put as the name, sorry.”

“(Y/N) (L/N),” you grumble out your name.

“Are you a foreigner?”

“No. My parents just aren’t born here,” you respond, having gotten the question hundreds of times in the past.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss (Y/N) (L/N),” the man smiles, and you chuckle softly as he rings up the order, “My name is Jeongguk. I assume you go to the college down the road?” Jeongguk asks as you sit on one of the stools at the counter. You sigh, your shoulders dropping as you nod slowly. Watching as Jeongguk prepares the americano. “Ah, I used to go there. I already graduated.”

“What was your major?” You ask curiously.

“I was a fine arts major. I only have my undergrad, but I’m saving up to go back and get my masters,” Jeongguk says.

“Oh,” your eyes brighten, intrigued by the sudden conversation, “If you don’t mind me asking, what’ll you do with your masters once you get it?”

Jeongguk sighs, his head tilting slightly as he focuses his eyes on the drink in his hand, perfecting it, “I’m not sure, actually. There’s a lot of things I could do. I could just work under a company to make things for ‘em, like designs and shit like that. But, I’m more into painting. Heh, but there’s not much painting can get for you nowadays. I haven’t seen many jobs that take in painters, so I’m reconsidering whether or not painting should be my go - to.”

“Right,” you nod, completely understanding, “It’s an amazing skill to have, though. You could probably start up on social media and sell your works worldwide.”

“Social media’s never been my forte, but it’s a thought,” Jeongguk passes you the americano, and you don’t hesitate to take a sip of the hot drinking, cringing slightly at the bitter taste. But, you soon get used to it. “What’s your major?”

“Political science,” you chuckle.

“Oh - ho! We got a smarty - pants over here, now don’t we?” Jeongguk jokes as he grabs a white, bulky mug from a shelf. You chuckle, a bit flusters. Already feeling better from this conversation with him, “The only person I knew in political science was Chris! You know Chan? Bang Chan?”

“Yeah, he’s on my committee, we’re friends,” you shrug a shoulder.

“Nice. Let him know I said hi, won’t you?” You nod quickly, taking another sip of the coffee, “Is it as much work as they say?”

“Well, with this dumb team I was pressured into, yeah, it’s a lot more than most other people with different majors seem to have,” you answer, and Jeongguk nods slowly, listening intently as he puts a kettle filled with water on a small stovetop. He then turns to you and leans against the bar table separating you both, “It’s fine, though. I’m just doing it to get a job so I can provide myself with enough money to get what I need and a bit more to have what I want. People in that field get lots of money, you know?”

“Yeah, just depends on what you decide to be,” Jeongguk nods.

“I guess you’re right,” you nod slowly, “I’m most likely to graduate with my bachelors, but I’m gonna take law so I can be a lawyer. Either tort or criminal, I don’t mind.”

“Ah, those are tricky fields in law, aren’t they,” Jeongguk chuckles, and you nod slowly, “Well, I wish you the best of luck. By the way, when did you and Chris become friends? I’ve been friends with him for a few years, now, and I don’t recall him being with you.”

“Oh, I only befriended him at the beginning of the year,” you say, and Jeongguk nods, “I went to a party with my friend and met him there. We’re also on the same committee for planning for the school, so we got pretty close.”

“You mean the huge party right before school started up, don’t you?” You nod slowly, “Mm. I know just what party you’re talking about. I think I might’ve seen you. You looked familiar when you walked in, so it’d make sense. Let me guess, were you with one of Chris’s buds? I forget his name, but I think his family name is Han, right?”

Your eyes instantly roll, and you nod, “Yeah. Han Jisung. I went with him.”

“Ouch, what a reaction,” Jeongguk laughs, noting your eyes which rolled sassily, “Did he do something to you?”

“It’s a long story.” You admit. It’s not too long, actually. It could be simplified, but you didn’t want to talk about it to a stranger.

“I have time,” Jeongguk says, smiling brightly.

You raise a brow, “So do I, and I’m going to spend it drinking my coffee.” Jeongguk raises his hands in surrender.

“Fine, fine. Have it your way,” And finally, Jeongguk finished your tea and gave it to you.

You both talked for the remainder of the night (well, morning) until the sun came up. You had about five coffees, trying different kinds that Jeongguk suggested, and another green tea with honey in it. You learned that Jeongguk graduated early, mostly since he didn’t have enough money, but he was also ahead of the rest of the year by a long run, so he privately graduated. He didn’t start working at the coffee shop until a few months ago, and works the night shift and was the only one there. Apparently, no one usually came in during his shift except for travellers passing by or the tired college students, which were more likely to come by and study.

You didn’t even notice it was morning until Jeongguk’s face illuminated with the sunlight over the city’s buildings. You both traded numbers, and you promised to come again during his shift on his days. He said he’d text you, but you weren’t too sure he would. You were at least thankful to not be totally alone that night, since part of you knew that Jisung was going to get to your head, and you’d be either upset or angry. Jeongguk was able to rid your mind of him, even if only for those five or so hours you sat there, talking to him.

But, once you walked into your dorm to change into a quick pair of different clothes, all you could think about is Jisung. Debating your feelings.

You, however, constantly repeated to yourself that you didn’t even like him like that. He’s only a friend. Only a friend. Have it be with or without benefits, he’s only a friend.

You decided to just wear a pair of baggy sweats and an old hoodie, not caring much for your appearance. Although there’s tons of caffeine running through your system, you were still exhausted from the lack of sleep, and your mood had been dropped. You knew there was probably going to be another meeting today with Chunae, but you couldn’t be too sure. You didn’t get any work done last night (obviously), and you don’t know whether or not you’ll hear it from her or not, whether or not she’ll pull you out of class again for a meeting you could care less about.

You didn’t see Jisung for the first few hours of school, per usual. He didn’t try texting you nor calling you, which you were a bit skeptical about, but you tried to ignore it. You’re supposed to be agitated with him. And, you are. You still cared for him, and you still miss him despite it being only one night. But, then again, he probably didn’t miss you the way you missed him.

He would miss you, sure. But he wouldn’t miss the way you kiss him, right? He wouldn’t miss the way you hold him. The way you love him.

But, you’re not in love with him.

You can’t be.

You did see Chris, though. He actually walked up to you during passing hall and pulled you aside, against a wall. He wore a concerned, tired look as he folded his arms. Staring down at you, and rose a brow. It was silent for a moment until you emit a low, “What?”

“What’s going on between you and Jisung?” Christopher says sternly, and your blood runs cold right then and there. Your eyes widen and your brows raise as you stare up at him. Did he know? You’re too scared to answer.

“What… do you mean?” You utter out.

“Jisung called me last night asking if you were at my dorm last night at, like, midnight. Woke me up when I should’ve gotten sleep…” Christopher grumbles, rubbing his temple, “He said he thought you would have run off to my place. Didn’t say shit as to why, though. Didn’t say a damn thing. The boy even asked me to go to your dorm to see if you were there, but no one answered. I figured you were asleep. I just need to know why Jisung had to call me at fucking midnight ‘cause of you.” Christopher’s Australian accent slips into his Korean, which means he’s probably both irritated and tired.

“Oh… I’m sorry. No, I was out at some coffee shop until, like, five in the morning last night,” You answer truthfully, and Christopher sighs, “Oh, and by the way. I talked to Jeongguk there. He said hello.”

“Really, now? Jeon Jeongguk?” Christopher asks, and you shrug a shoulder, “Well, I appreciate it. Tell the guy I miss him. But, that’s not the point. At this point, I’m kind of concerned. I went over my conversation with Jisung last night all morning and yet I can’t find a single reason why you would be running to my dorm like he thought or why he didn’t go see you himself. Did he do something wrong?”

“It’s not that it’s wrong. I’m just upset about it,” you answer, and Christopher nods slowly.

“Do you mind telling me what that is? If you do, it’s a possibility I can help,” Christopher suggests, but you smile and slowly shake your head.

“It’s not something you can help with this time, Chan,” You sigh, “It’s a bit too personal.”

“Okay, now I’m really concerned. I might have been Jisung’s friend longer, but I care about you, too, (Y/N). Please tell me what’s wrong. I know something’s happening between the two of you. And if it’s really that personal, I promise on my life not to tell anybody,” Christopher says.

You sigh and look around before grabbing the man’s hand and pulling him away to somewhere more private. He didn’t argue, but he seemed a bit surprised at how quickly you acted. You pulled him out to the courtyard, not caring much for being tardy, anymore. Your heart thumped in your chest. The rules vividly recite themselves in your mind; “No one else is supposed to know about this relationship.”

Well, here goes one rule flushed down the toilet.

Once you stopped, Christopher shoves his hands in his pocket, shrugging his shoulders at you, “Okay, now what is it?”

You shake your head slightly, debating whether or not to tell him. If Jisung found out, it’d be the death of you. But, you don’t know if you should be excited about that or scared. You’re not sure how he’d react to such news from Christopher.

You know what, fuck it, you thought to yourself.

“Well?”

“We’ve been fucking since the party,” you blurt out, and Christopher’s brows raise in shock. At both the news and how flat toned and blunt you were being. “I got a bit too tipsy and we ended up having sex. We made specific rules, which is so dumb of me to say since one of them is to literally tell nobody. Which means you can’t tell anyone and you can’t let Jisung know that you know this or he will kill me, Chan. Kill me, got it? Whatever, it… he and I had a bit of a fight after doing it last night.”

“But why?” Christopher carefully asks.

“Because he’s after a girl. A girl I’m not too fond of,” you admit.

“Chunae, isn’t it?”

“How’d you know?” You raise a brow, glad he isn’t overreacting to your confession to sleeping around with Jisung.

“Let’s just say that he’s been flirting with her every chance he gets,” Christopher admits, and you sigh softly, looking down in disappointment, but trying your hardest not to make it too obvious about how upset you were, “They share some classes, and he’s apparently been talking to her every chance he gets. Not to mention, Chunae seemed pretty into him, too.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you sigh, tiredness suddenly coming over you, as well as exhaustion, “We fought about it, but I’m the one in the wrong. He has every right to like someone and want to date someone. But… I dunno.”

“Do you love him?” Christopher asks slowly, and you take a seat at the nearest bench, Christopher following behind you and sitting next to you.

“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully in a small voice, “I really don’t know. One part of me misses him so much whenever I’m without him. One part of me loves him, but the other part just tells me that he’s only my friend and nothing more. But, yeah. He wanted me to stay the night at his dorm, but I didn’t since he only had me over and treated me well because he’s going to cut things off soon.”

“Do you want him to cut things off?”

“No!” You yell, a little too upset with the situation, and Christopher breaths in through his nose. You cover your face with his hands, slightly muffled by your hands, “I don’t! But he says that we will, and I-” you don’t bother to look up, cutting yourself off before you start crying out of nowhere. Your head hurt from the lack of sleep, but your eyes hurt from the need and resistance to cry.

Christopher placed a warm hand on your back, and you breath slowly.

“I don’t want him to leave me, Chris… I really don’t,” you shake your head slightly. Christopher’s hand massages your back and shoulders reassuringly. His warm hand giving you the reassurance you needed.

“I know, (Y/N), I know. It’s alright,” he sighs, his arm wrapping around you and pulling you into a hug. You don’t resist it. In fact, you lift yourself up to let your hands grip onto his shirt to hug him tightly, “If you’ll like, I can talk to Jisung. I won’t tell him that I know about the… benefits… but, I’ll let him know that you just don’t feel comfortable about his relationship with Chunae, alright? How does that sound?” Christopher’s voice is sweet and soft, calming you from your growing tears.

“That sounds perfect, Channie… thank you,” you whisper softly, your head burrowed in his chest.

It’s weird being held by another man. Another man that isn’t Han Jisung. It’s nice, especially since Christopher has such a loving and gentle personality. His hands hug you without any awkwardness, and it’s nice that someone other than Jisung can hug you without being uncomfortable.

But, your comfort was soon taken away when Christopher let’s go of you and shifts in his seat. You look up, and you see someone familiar walking towards you both. At first, your tears — blurred eyes make it impossible to see who it is, but once your eyes are cleared, Han Jisung’s perfect face comes into view. His face is stoic, his lips down turned in a subtle frown. His eyes are focused on you, and you stand up in your spot, clutching your backpack to get ready to leave.

“Don’t you dare move, (Y/N),” Jisung yells loudly, and you freeze at the spot. Christopher’s eyes widening from how aggressive Jisung sounded. Once he’s directly in front of you, he finally looks over to Christopher, and steps towards him, “I asked you to check up on her, Chan. Not do whatever the fuck you guys were doing just now.”

“What, comforting her?” Christopher stands his ground, standing up despite them both being the same height, “Something you should have been doing instead of me?”

Your hand clamps over your mouth. Jisung’s brows furrow, and his fists clench, but he doesn’t do anything, “I asked you a simple favor. To check up on her for me.”

“And that’s what I was doing,” Christopher defends himself, and you watch curiously. Neither of them spare you a glance, both staring at each other, “I’m not trying to pick a fight here, Jisung. But, it’s not my place to take care of her in… your situation.” Christopher looks Jisung up and down, and Jisung wears a disgusted look on his face. “I only asked what the fuck you did for you to think she was running off to me. ‘Cause, she was actually at the fucking coffee shop all damn morning talking to Jeongguk.”

“Jeongguk?” Jisung’s brows furrow, and he looks over to you briefly. You slowly nod, “Did you sleep at all last night?” You slowly shook your head, and Jisung groaned, running a hand through his messy hair. He turns back to Christopher, “Can you leave, Chan? I need to talk to her.”

Christopher looks past Jisung to you, and you shake your head slowly. Somewhat afraid of being alone with Jisung just for what you will talk about. However, Christopher gives you an apologetic look before turning back to Jisung, “Fine. Call me later (Y/N). If you don’t, I’m stopping by your dorm to check up on you.”

“Alright… Bye, Chan…” You mumble loudly back, and Christopher gives Jisung a subtle glance before grabbing his things and walking away.

You sat back down, half expecting Jisung to do the same. But, no, he stood in front of you. Towering over you as you stared at your feet. His hands stuff themselves into his hoodie’s pockets, and there’s a tense silence.

“Jisung…”

“Why did you run off like that last night, (Y/N)?” Jisung immediately cuts you off, and you can’t find yourself having the courage to look him in the eyes. You felt embarrassed for yourself, but you had to stay and talk to him. You don’t know how to answer. You don’t have a straight answer in your tired mind. “Answer me, (Y/N). We’re not going to get anywhere if you keep quiet.”

“I don’t know, Jisung,” you breathe out, gripping the bench below you, “I… Was just irritated.”

“Why?” Jisung crouches down so you can’t avoid his eyes. Unlike how you thought, Jisung’s eyes were more concerned than angry, like you thought they’d be. His hand escapes his pocket to rest on your knee, “I knew you weren’t irritated. You were just fine before I started talking about Chunae.”

Caught red handed. You stared at him like a deer in headlights, and your lips purse, trying your hardest to find an answer.

“I don’t know, Jisung. I really don’t,” you whisper to him pitifully, and Jisung shakes his head.

“No… No, I know you know the answer, (Y/N). I can make everything better if you just talked to me,” Jisung says in a voice you rarely heard. He’s usually joking around or simply has such an upbeat attitude. It’s so rare to see Jisung this serious, it almost makes you want to cry by how it affects you so. The way his voice lowers, relaxing and calming, yet stern. The way his eyes weren’t bright or happy, but not cold or angry.

It was almost scary.

“You say that as if there’s something wrong with me,” you try to chuckle bitterly, dodging his stare. But, his head moves with yours, and his hand that rests on your knee rises to firmly cup your cheek, turning your head to look directly at him with no exceptions.

“Because there is. There’s something you’re not telling me,” Jisung answers.

“Jisung,” your voice hardens, your heartbeat rising as Jisung’s words tug and pull at your heart, “I need to get to class. I’m already very late.”

“No, you’re staying here until we figure this out,” Jisung’s other hand grips your wrist, tugging at it, even though you never moved to get up in the first place. He seemed on edge, and took a brief glance behind him before turning back to you, “You’re my best friend for life, (Y/N). You know that. I care so much for you, and if there’s something wrong with my decisions, then I need you to tell me.”

“I…” your eyes close for a minute, nibbling on your bottom lip before looking up at him, “I don’t want you to cut things off between us, Jisung. I want to keep doing this… whatever this is. It makes me happy, Jisung.”

“Oh, (Y/N)...” Jisung sighs softly, his head dipping for a moment before he looks up at you with a pitiful smile, “Is that why you were mad last night?”

“So what if it is? You won’t do anything about it,” you answer, and Jisung’s brows furrow, “Even if I begged on my knees for you to keep doing this with me, you’d still reject me, wouldn’t you?”

“I — (Y/N), you know that I—“

“Wouldn’t you?” You cut him off, your glossy eyes boring into his. His hand falls from your face, resting on your thigh, and he squeezes it slightly.

“It depends…” Jisung answers truthfully, “On what I’m rejecting you for.” Your frown deepens, upset with his answer. Even so, you would’ve been upset if he said no. “If it’s for something stupid, like someone told me to stop or I had moral changes, hell no. But if it were for something like… like Chunae and I… then yes.”

You don’t answer him. You just stare at him, blinking every so often to try and keep away the growing tears. He would choose Chunae over you. Of course. You should have known. Everyone loved Chunae. Chunae deserved everyone’s love for how pretty, smart and proper she is. Of course Han Jisung would reject the sassy, immature and lazy (Y/N) (L/N) for a perfect woman like Chunae. You’re not a perfect woman. Not at all.

Not for Han Jisung.

It was then, at that moment of thoughts of Chunae and Jisung running through your head that you came to a sudden realization as you stared into Jisung’s worried eyes.

You’re in love with him.

You’re in love with Han Jisung. Your best friend.

“Get away from me,” you mumble.

“What…?” Jisung’s brows furrow.

“I said get away from me,” your broken voice whimpers out, “You make everything so much harder for me. Everything…” You shove away his hands and stand up, but Jisung is quick to scramble up and wrap his arms around your waist, his chest pressed against your back as his face burrows into your neck.

Your heart burns badly. It’s painful, too painful. You feel as though you’re going to collapse from how painful it is.

“Don’t go, yet. Please. You’re confusing me, (Y/N),” Jisung whispers into your neck, his warm breath sending tingles down your spine.

“No. I said get away from me,” you try and push him away, scooping your arms under his to try and push him away. But, Jisung is oddly persistent.

But, you eventually get away, grabbing your things and dashing off.

“No, (Y/N), wait! Please!” Jisung yells after you, but you're already to the building doors, throwing yourself into the building and dashing to the girl’s bathroom to recollect yourself.

And, thankfully, it’s empty. You throw your backpack down and lean against the sink. Finally, you let the tears fall. They fell down your cheeks fast and hot, the aching feeling of relief in your mind allowing you to breath slowly as the tears dripped mercilessly down your face, showing no signs of stopping.

You stared at yourself in the mirror as you cried. You were quiet. Making no sound other than sniffling here and there. You don’t even try to wipe away the tears that stain your face, too bothered and eager to cry to do so. Your eyes grow red and big, your cheeks reddening from the tears and your heart aching badly in your chest.

Once the thought of being in love with Han Jisung enters your mind, you look away from yourself. Your head falling, and you grip your hair. Shaking your head in your arms, Letting out muffled, “No, no, no!”s as you started to weakly, softly sob. Your body trembles with your tears.

You can’t be in love with Han Jisung. It’ll only end in your heartbreak. Jisung will cut things off immediately, and probably push you away once he finds out. You can’t for the life of you let him find out. You’re too scared to tell him yourself, so you have to keep it a secret from anyone who might be able to tell him and have him believe it. It’s too risky, so you’d have to keep this painful secret to yourself, no matter how badly you wanted to babble on and on about how much you hate this feeling and about how good he makes you feel, emotionally and physically.

You didn’t say a word to anyone after your short breakdown in the bathroom. You soon grew too tired to cry, and too stressed to go back to class, so you waited out that period before your lunch hour would come by. You didn’t know where to go. There would be girls hogging the bathroom, and hundreds of other students roaming the campus. You really didn’t want to be around people at this point, but you didn’t have much of a choice in the first place.

So, you went to the courtyard. You called Christopher, telling him about what happened, and he said he was going to be there right away and to meet him by the outdoor canteen. So, you sat at an empty table, waiting.

You scrolled mindlessly through your phone, wearing a blank, stoic expression as nothing was present in your all — too tired mind. Your backpack resting against your leg as you waited.

When you hear loud footsteps coming near, you look up. Not expecting who it was at first. It’s Chunae, and she looks on edge and upset. Her perfectly tinted lips frown darkly at you, and she stops in front of you.

“And where were you last class period?” She asks, and you raise your brow, turning off your phone and resting it on the table.

“Not there? Why do you care?” You scowl back at her, staring up at her with a dark glare. However, she doesn’t seem to back down, only to get angrier.

“I was supposed to give you more papers for people to contact, as well as parents and volunteers,” she throws a stack of papers in front of you. And you gawk at it. She already gave you so much shit to do beforehand, why the hell is she giving you more? You already have enough work, she should know that. She knew as well as the rest how busy political students are. And she had the audacity to throw a stack of papers on your desk and demand you to analyze and contact each person? “I want them done by this weekend, no exceptions.”

“You don’t get to decide that, Chunae,” You scoff, smiling bitterly at her. Your own anger rising, “I already have enough shit from the other stack of documents you thrusted down my throat on top of my school work. I’m not doing all this shit in less than a week!” You nearly yell, but you don’t raise your voice too much. You thrust an angry finger at the stack.

“Listen, (Y/N),” Chunae sighs, “I’m not in the best of moods right now. I don’t want to deal with bullshit right now when we’re on a tight schedule. This event is in danger of being shut down completely if we don’t finish it soon.”

“And does it look like I give two shits?” You sarcastically smile.

“Don’t joke with me, (Y/N), and please control your language. It’s giving me a headache.”

“Oh, boo — hoo,” you roll your eyes, leaning back in your chair, “What do you want? A cookie?”

“Don’t, (Y/N). I swear.” Chunae vaguely threatens, and you smirk.

“You swear what?” You urge, standing up slowly. Taking a step towards her, and she takes a small one back. Her expression doesn’t change. Her dead, yet beautiful brown eyes glaring into yours, “What’ll you do? Give me more paperwork? Tell me off to Daddy? Punch my teeth in?” You glare down at her hand, cocking a snarky brow at it before glaring at her, “I’d like to see you try to lay a finger on me.”

“Like you could do any better,” Chunae snaps, and you’re surprised how she’s snapping back instead of de — escalating the situation. It makes you excited. The urge to punch her only grew, “Your words are louder than your actions, (Y/N). Don’t underestimate me.”

You laugh loudly, “Ha! That’s funny! You… scary? Hey, I give an A- for effort, how about it?” You elbow her arm jokingly before turning back to glare through the paperwork she so selfishly threw your way.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that,” Chunae snaps.

“You forget who’s older.”

“You forget who has Han Jisung.”

You freeze. The paper falling out of your hand as you turn slowly to see a smirking Chunae. Smiling as though she killed off her worst enemy. Your mouth falls open, and you scoff.

“What… the fuck did you just say?” You grumble darkly, her hands balling into fists at your sides.

“I said… You forget who has Han Jisung,” she repeats slowly.

You had heard her loud and clear. Just like you heard Jisung when he confessed his adoration for Chunae. You were just in shock. You did not expect this out of someone like her. And, just like that, all your respect was lost for the woman. She crossed a border she could never escape. She’s crossed a line she can never retract over. She’s pushed buttons inside you that can’t be fixed.

“I dare you to say that again.” You growl through gritted teeth, and in the corners of your eyes, you can see Christopher walking up. But, a small crowd had started to watch you and Chunae. He stops by them, deciding not to intervene physically.

“(Y/N)?” Christopher yells, and you turn your head to him. “Is…” He grows silent when he sees your angry glare.

You turn back to Chunae, Christopher watching silently, prepared if anything happens. He pulls out his phone, and presses a few buttons before pressing it to his ear. Speaking to the person on the other line under his breath. You could care less, though, and you mainly focused on Chunae.

“I said I dare you to say that again!” You finally yell, and the people in the canteen grow silent. All heads turning to the both of you, and Christopher continues talking on the phone to whoever it is. Your hand flies up, gripping the hem of Chunae’s blouse. Pulling her intimidatingly close. You’re slightly taller than her, so she looked up at you.

Chunae only chuckles softly, “I have Han Jisung… He’s mine, isn’t he?”

As if on cue, your fist, knuckling white from clenching it so hard, comes into contact with Chunae’s cheek right as an out of breath Han Jisung comes running to the scene. But, you’re too busy to pay him any mind.

Of course, like you expected, Chunae flies to the ground. Immediately cupping her face and letting out a brief cry. And, just like that, you’re the bad guy. You sigh and roll your eyes. Shaking off your hand, which aches slightly from the impact on her defined cheekbone. You turn to Christopher and Jisung. Jisung stands there, staring between you and Chunae, who lay on the ground, holding her black and blue face. Christopher just gawks at you.

“What the fuck, (Y/N)?!” Jisung yells.

“Hey, before you overreact, I can explain…”

But, you’re quickly cut off when you feel a yank at your ankle, and you let out a yelp as you get yanked down. Your body yanked down, and the top of your head slams against the table you were sitting out, letting out a loud thunk through the air. And, you can briefly see Jisung trying to run up, but Christopher holds him back briefly.

Your hand flies up to your head, dizziness overtaking you as your mind falls blank for a second. Your head begins to throb, and you hiss through your teeth. However, you’re not gifted with enough time to get over the pain like Chunae did before she towers over you. Her high heels are kicked off, and she presses the ball of her foot into your chest, forbidding airway.

You’re a little too dizzy to think, but you’re conscious enough to react. Your hand flies up on instinct, your hands gripping her ankle and twisting it with your hands, causing her to fall. Before she could have time to get back up, you climb back on top of her and straddle her stomach.

She kicked and struggled, but your hands gripped her wrists (all too familiar with this position with the help of Jisung), pinning them to the ground. Your head aches, throbbing painfully. You’re still dizzy, trying to stay conscious from both the lack of sleep and from your head hitting the table.

“Hey! Hey, calm down. Just, oh fuck, my head. Oh, my god, Chunae, what the fuck is wrong with you?” You grumble as you squeeze your eyes shut, as if that would ease the pain. But, it doesn’t.

Jisung and Christopher eventually come over. Jisung’s arms wrap around you, just below your breasts as he pulls you off. You don’t struggle, but Chunae does. Christopher struggles pulling Chunae away, who still tries to pummel you.

She got a good hit on you. But it wasn’t really her. She just yanked your ankle, which threw your head against the table. You melted into Jisung’s arms, and he helped you to your feet carefully. Every movement made your headache worse. It blistered your head, sending shots of pain through your body. You tried your best to stay conscious, but it was a bit more difficult than one might seem. So, you focused on the way Jisung’s hands held you to try and keep you awake.

You faintly heard a teacher running over, asking about what the hell was going on. Jisung excused him, saying that there was a fight but it’s been handled and he’s taking you to the nurse’s office. So, the professor let you and Chunae go without much argument (probably not wanting to deal with something like this in the middle of the day.

But, Jisung didn’t take you to the nurse’s office. Christopher did, though, dragging a struggling Chunae away to the nurse’s office with no help. Jisung whispered incoherent words to you as one of his hands gripped your waist, the other holding your hand as you stumbled on your own two feet. Your vision blurred and your stomach erupted in pain. You had a concussion, all because Chunae as able to swipe at your ankle.

You were in too much pain to think clearly, hanging onto Jisung, “Ji… my head hurts so fuckin’ bad.” Your words are muffled by the lump in your throat that grew from the pain.

“I know, baby. She got you pretty good, didn’t she,” Jisung’s soft words seem to calm your head a bit, but it goes away the moment your foot plants on the ground to take another step, “It’s alright… I’m sure she wasn’t in a good mood, that’s all.”

“Shut up,” you grumble out, and Jisung sighs softly, squeezing your waist briefly as he walks you through a pair of doors and down a hall.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). Let’s not talk about Chunae right now. Let’s just get you to rest for a bit,” Jisung reassured, and you thanked whatever god is out there that he’ll shut up about Chunae.

“Where’re we goin’?” You look around, squinting through your blurred vision, as if that’d help (news flash; it didn’t).

“Back to my dorm,” Jisung answers, and you turn to him, “Jeongin isn’t back, yet, so don’t worry. Besides, we have better shit than the nurse will give you. She’ll just give you an ice pack and tell you to move on with your day, now won't she?” You think about it for a moment, although nothing goes through your mind. But, you agree with him and nod slowly.

The rest of the walk is silent. Sometimes, you’d nearly trip over your own feet, but with Jisung’s hand on your waist, he always caught you and whispered words of reassurance that never truly got all the way through your brain. Eventually though, you both made it to Jisung’s dorm. He unlocked it with one hand easily and threw the white door open. Not bothering to flick on the light before he walked in, kicking the door closed, and sat you on his bed.

Once you sat down, you felt like you’d been holding the world on your shoulders. You got a bit of relief since you weren’t moving around as much, but it still hurt like a bitch. Your head throbbed, everywhere. Your body twitched in pain. You couldn’t think straight nor could you see especially clearly, and you felt like you were about to throw up all of the coffee and tea you’d had this morning.

Jisung shuffled through one of his drawers before pulling out a first aid kit. He took his chair from his desk and rolled it in front of you, sitting on it and placing the first aid kit in his lap before opening it. “Dad always said to keep it handy. Turns out it’s finally coming to good use. I just need to see if there’s a wound on your head.”

And, so, without struggle, you lay forward, your head resting on Jisung’s knee as he gently moved your hair to the sides, looking for something. He did end up finding a bruise on the top of your head and said that it would be best to leave it alone for the time being before icing it. He gave you a few pills of over the counter medication to help ease the pain. But, he seemed a bit conflicted. It was mostly silent, you didn’t really talk since you didn’t have the strength to nor the will to. Chunae might be pretty weak, but with a blow to your head on the table like that… that’ll fuck you up real good.

Once you’re laying against his pillows, Jisung finally pipes up again.

“Come here.”

“Hmm?” You look up, and Jisung’s legs are spread slightly, one hand on his thigh as he looked over to you. His hair shadowing his eyes slightly.

“I said come here, now don’t be stubborn,” He motions you over with his hand, and you groan and squeeze your eye shut as you sit up and slide off of the bed and walk up to him. Jisung guides you around and slowly onto his lap. His arms wrapped around your waist tightly.

“Jisung?” You mumble softly.

“Shh… This is going to help you with the pain, baby,” Jisung whispers against your ear, and you feel his press a gentle kiss to the back of your ear. You breathe in sharply, somewhat knowing where this is going as Jisung’s hand grips at your shirt. “It’ll make your head feel so much better, baby. I’ll make you feel good, alright?”

“Mm… how would that help?” You sighed out, your head already leaning onto Jisung’s shoulder, your eyes closing in relaxation as Jisung’s hands caressed your stomach, nearing both your breasts and your womanhood, but not daring to go near just yet.

“It’ll make all your muscles relax. It’ll make you feel better,” Jisung whispers into your ear, making you shiver, “Don’t you want that? You want me to touch you, babygirl?”

You can’t think straight. All morality and logic is thrown out your mental window, so you nod quickly without thinking. One your hands swiping up to caress Jisung’s neck as he pressed a few light kisses to your ear. “Alright, (Y/N). My sweet baby. Just relax for me, alright?” The praise makes butterflies erupt in your stomach, and you nearly forget that he’s only your friend. Your legs spread slightly, your back pressing to his chest. Letting him hold your weight. “That’s my good girl. My perfect (Y/N).”

His. His perfect (Y/N). Those words made you happy, oh so happy. Even if a thought couldn’t bear to finish in your head, you still enjoyed such words. It’s a break from the name calling and the dirty talk. It made you feel like the only girl in the world. Like Chunae was never a part of the picture to begin with.

Jisung’s hands slowly unbutton your jeans, his lips still pressing kisses to the side of your neck and your ear. Occasionally whispering short sentences like, “Good girl… That’s right… Oh, baby…” It makes you squirm in his grasp as he undoes your jeans and pushes them off of you. You weakly lift up your hips to help him a little bit as Jisung lets your pants fall to the ground with a low thud. You press your ass against Jisung, your leg spreading a bit more at the feeling of the cold air of the dorm meeting your clothed womanhood, which got wetter by the second.

You let your head lift, resting your head against Jisung’s cheek to let it rest, but you wanted to watch his hands as they softly caressed your thighs. Sending calming chills through your legs and your gut as his warm hands touched your thighs and hips ever so intimately. You melted into his touch, your lips parting to allow your low breaths to become audible. You could feel Jisung’s breath against your ear and your neck, and your neck craned slightly to feel more of it.

“You’re so beautiful, (Y/N), you know that?” Jisung’s low, sudden voice sent butterflies exploding in your stomach. You whimpered softly in response, not knowing how to respond to such praise, since Jisung was quite the degrader. He’d usually call you all sorts of dirty things. He’s probably taking pity on you since you’re hurt, but it doesn’t matter. It still makes you feel so happy and so turned on. “My beautiful baby…” Jisung whispers, seemingly to himself as his fingers brush over your clothed cunt.

“Jisunggie… don’t talk nonsense,” you utter out, sharply gasping when you feel the base of his fingers press against your clothed labia.

“What nonsense?” Jisung chuckles deeply, his fingers rubbing slowly circles, making your eyes close in bliss and your head rest against Jisung’s shoulder, your hands gripping the arms of the desk chair as Jisung’s other hand squeezes your inner thigh. “Don’t say that it’s nonsense. You’re only lying to yourself.”

You didn’t respond, basking in the pleasure and praise as Jisung’s experienced fingers rubbed along your clothes labia. Soaking your panties through with your juices (yet another pair of perfectly good underwear ruined by Jisung), the outline of your pussy showing through and letting Jisung touch even more sensitive areas.

He goes for a while without actually touching your bare womanhood. Mainly his index and middle finger rubbing and massaging your labia and over your pussy. Jisung’s eyes focused on his hands as he worked them over you. You feel yourself relax, the pain easing from you. You forget about the headache, the dizziness. The nausea and the aching throughout your body; forgotten. All that’s on your mind is how intimately Jisung touches you. How his experienced hands move over your sensitive pussy in such a delicate, yet firm way. So gentle, yet so emphatic.

So loving, yet so bitterly resistant.

Your mind grows blank. Too caught up in the relaxing pleasure and from overcoming your concussion to think straightly. All that keeps your mind wandering is Jisung and Jisung alone. Not Christopher. Not the man, Jeongguk, that you met at the coffee shop. Not even Chunae. Only Han Jisung.

After long minutes of slowly teasing your cunt, soaking your panties with your wetness, Jisung finally bids you one good deed and taps your hip. Guiding you to raise it as he slips them off slowly. Letting them fall down your legs and onto the floor below. You step out of them. Your bottom half now completely exposed, yet you still wear all that’s on your torso. You didn’t care, though. It was better than being fully clothed, anyways.

“Oh, fuck…” Jisung breaths out in a rugged manner as his fingers slowly brush over the lips of your pussy, your sweet wetness seeping from you, already coating Jisung’s fingertips, “You’re so wet for me, baby. So wet for me. It makes me want to fuck you so hard. You’d like that wouldn’t you?” You frantically nod against Jisung’s head, watching as his fingers push against your labia and against your core. Firmly pressing against your clit, and your back arches as you grind your hips on his fingers. “But, I won’t. Not yet, anyways. I’m going to make you feel better, not make you scream and give you a headache all over again.”

Jisung chuckles deeply, as if what he just said was nothing more than a joke, but you didn't laugh along. He doesn’t seem to care, though, since you’re obviously so immersed in the way Jisung’s fingers rub your pussy gently. His lips part slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck as his middle finger teases your entrance.

“Jisung, ahh~... Yes, please, just like that…” you whisper out in sharp breaths as Jisung slowly inserts his middle finger into you. Pumping slowly until his knuckles are pressed against your heat. “Fuck, yes… Love your fingers so much, Jisung - ah.”

“I know, baby,” Jisung tenses below you at your words, and his finger slightly curves inside you, making your leg twitch. But, his hand that caressed your thigh gripped your leg, keeping you steady on his lap. “I don’t usually get to finger you like this, do I? Letting my hands do all the work, hmm?”

No, he didn’t. But damn, you wanted him to more often. You didn’t answer, only with a delicate moan as Jisung’s middle finger slowly pumps itself in and out of you. Curving slightly every time it thrusted into you to hit that special spot. Sending chills through your torso as his finger worked inside you so well. Your walls clench around him, despite how he was going slow. It wasn’t painfully slow, but not enough to make you cum quick enough. It’s a slow burn. Slowly building up your sensitivity as his palm pressed against your clit.

“You take my fingers so well, (Y/N) - ah… You’re always so good for me, aren’t you?” Jisung comments, his voice low, yet gentle. Soft to the ear, and not as aggressive and dark as it tended to be during sex. It sent you on an overdrive. It drove you crazy by just his tone of voice. It made your heart ache and your pussy wetter and wetter. “You don’t know how hard this is for me, baby…”

Oh, you knew. You can feel his hard dick pressing against your ass. The only thing keeping you two apart was his few articles of clothing. But, no matter what he was wearing, you could still feel how he ached underneath you. You mentally applauded him, but you were too lost in the lust to actually bid him something of a congratulations for being able to hold back this long (since he was usually pretty desperate to get his dick inside you).

It’s another minute or so until Jisung pushes in another finger. Slowly stretching you out and making you moan even louder. The way his fingers curled ever so slightly inside you, hitting that special spot over and over again drove you insane. His fingers pressing against it firmly with the tips of it. Your mind hazed with lust and desire, and your craving for him grew even bigger and even more intense.

“Shit, Jisung - ah… That feels so good ~,” you moan out as you meet with Jisung’s knuckles, grinding into his fingers.

“Hmm… does it, baby? You feel good?” You nod slowly to his words, and Jisung breathily chuckles, smiling, “See? I said it would help.”

“I don’t care about that…'' you sigh out softly, although it wasn’t entirely the truth and you were thankful that Jisung’s suggestion was able to subside your headache. “I want you to fuck me dumb, Jisung. I want to think about nothing but you.”

Jisung’s fingers stay inside you, his hand pressed against your throbbing pussy as he looks at your face. You already looked so fucked out. So desperate, your eyes craving and needy. “Are you sure?”

You slowly nod, turning your head and pressing a kiss to his lips briefly. It wasn’t too sloppy, but your tongue brushed over his lips, “Yes, Jisung… I want you to make me your bitch…”

“Oh, sweet, sweet (Y/N)...” Jisung chuckles darkly, his hand pulling itself from your pussy, making you twitch and gasp loudly as his wet hand flies up to grip your cheeks. Pushing your head back slightly as his fingers press into your jaw, holding your head in place as you clenched around nothing. Your pussy craves both release and Jisung ever so badly.

“You were my bitch since the beginning,” Jisung’s voice grows familiarly dark, and you try to clamp your legs shut from the chills that run through your womanhood. But, Jisung’s hand yanks your legs apart. “Keep your legs spread for me. I’m going to fuck you until you’re begging for me to stop.”

You let out a breathy moan, and, at first, you thought Jisung was going to pull you into a kiss. But, he didn’t. He chose a rougher path. He quickly pushes you off of him. Standing up and pushing you face first onto the bed. The back of his hand pushing your face down into the sheets, the other guiding your hips up slowly. Spreading your legs for him. Such a dirty position, your dripping pussy on display for no one other than Han Jisung.

But, he doesn’t spend much time staring at your pussy. Instead, his hands grip your wrists, and he grinds his clothed, hard cock against your wet pussy. He let out a breathy moan, leaning over your so he was next to your ear as he whispered, “You see how hard you make me, (Y/N)? You see you fucking riled up you make me? Makes me want to fuck this pussy all damn day. Have you sit on my cock all fucking day, huh?”

You moan out in response, your hair spread as your hoodie fell down. Your bra is slightly exposed, and Jisung pulls himself up. Basically ripping off your bra and tossing it to the side. Not even bothering with the hoodie itself as he tore down his jeans.

You couldn’t watch him, so you knew he was fully exposed when you heard the snap and fall of his boxers. It’s almost an instant when his throbbing head comes out and presses against your pussy. Your lips fall wide open as Jisung rubs his cock over your soaking pussy.

“Oh, fuck, you’re so wet for me,” Jisung moans out lowly, “So ready for my cock, like always. So desperate for me. So needy for me cock, aren’t you? Already so fucked out and I haven’t even put my dick inside you yet. Such a slutty girl…”

You moan out, your back arching, presenting yourself more to him, “Jisung! Jisung, please just fuck me…! I need it so bad, please…So bad…” You breath out rapidly, clutching the sheets.

Jisung lets out a shaky breath in response to your begging, “Since you asked so nicely…”

And, like an instant, Jisung was inside you. His hips pressed against your ass, his hands guiding your hips back to meet with his. You let out loud strings of moans and groans of Jisung’s name and incoherent words as Jisung fucks himself into you, raw. His dick throbs inside your wet walls. You clench around him desperately, your back falling limp as you succumb to the pleasure.

“Oh, fuck, (Y/N), you do so well in this po-position, don’t you?” Jisung breathes out raggedly, and you moan loudly in response. Jisung’s hands harshly gripping your hips and waist to have you meet back with his harsh, aggressive thrusts. His cock burns your hot walls, burning in such a blissfully good way, it makes your eyes roll back in pleasure.

“Ji-Jisunggie -ah… It’s so… so good - oh, fuck! Just like that, please, just like that!” You scream out as Jisung props up one of his legs, allowing him to have a better angle to thrust even faster and harder. Ramming his rock hard dick into you with passion. Jisung’s hands trail around your waist and ass once you’ve started to bounce back, meeting with his thrusts on your own.

His hands knead your ass. Spreading your cheeks before firmly pressing them. One of his hands, however, reaches up. Slowly crawling up your back, and his hips stagger a bit as his hands grip a handful of your hair. First, his hand merely presses against your head. But, at some point, he yanks you head back. Forcing you up from the bed, and you use your weak arms as support as Jisung’s hand yanks at your hair. You stare at the wall, but you don’t focus on it. You can’t. Your eyes keep rolling back or crossing, mixing beautifully with your loud moans.

Jisung uses the grip on your hair to give him a steadier rhythm as he thrusted into you. His hips slapping against your ass, making it bounce with every thrust. The sounds of skin slapping, your loud moaning and Jisung’s groans and occasional dirty talk filled the room as Jisung pressed wet kisses to your neck. Suckling on the back of your neck especially, and you moan from the feeling of his tongue being flushed against your sweating skin.

It was so much, his cock, the pulling of your hair and his tongue on your neck. Your mind falls blank, thinking of nothing other than Jisung’s cock. Some drool dribbles down the side of your chin as your eyes water from the pleasure. You can’t say anything more, not even being able to form Jisung’s name correctly. You’re so fucked out, so beautifully fucked out.

Jisung definitely noticed it, too, since it gave him the courage to start biting your sensitive skin. It was more sensitive in some places, and you immediately knew that he left hickeys. He bite them gently, yet firmly before running his tongue over the markings.

Your pussy clenched around him dangerously tight. So tightly, it makes Jisung let out a low, broken moan and makes his hips stagger and twitch as he presses himself deep into you. “You’re gonna cum, aren’t you, babygirl? You gonna cum for me like the good little slut you are? Cum on my cock, (Y/N). Cum for me,” Jisung groans out loudly, pressing your head against the sheets again, muffling your loud moans as you feel your climax nearing.

Your knees buckle as your legs twitch and tense dangerously tightly as you feel yourself cum hard. Jisung slows down slightly, riding you out on your high. Your loud moans turn into high pitched ones as your back spasms from the intensity of it.

Right after you cum, Jisung quickly pulls out of you before shooting ropes of white cum onto your ass. You breathe heavily, trying your best to catch your breath as you listen to Jisung moan loudly once he cums, too. Your pussy clenches around nothing, and you feel your entire body relax. All your muscles calm. Exhaustion washes over you like a tidal wave.

And you’re out like a light.

Jisung was a bit concerned as to why you fell asleep so easily. But, he didn’t argue. He gently cleaned you both up while you slept and changed you into a pair of his clothes after he realized you wouldn’t wake up even if he blew an air horn in your ear. He laid you in his bed, as comfortably as he could make you. He wiped the sweat off of your face and watched your sleeping face for a few minutes before he moved back to his desk, grabbing his laptop from his backpack and opening it. Opening work for his classes, since he’ll be absent for the rest of the day.

You slept exceptionally soundly, and he was thankful for that.

Jeongin actually came back that night, too. At first, he didn’t see you sleeping in Jisung’s bed, but once Jisung motioned for him to be quiet, Jeongin looked over to his bed to see locks of (H/C) hair poking out of the blanket. He wondered why you were here, and Jisung naturally just said that you had gotten into a fight and injured yourself and he was taking you in to take care of you. Jeongin didn’t argue much and minded his own business for the rest of the day.

However, Jisung intended to sleep next to you. But, he couldn’t bring himself to. The guilt piling inside him prevented him from doing so.

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Only Time Makes It Human

Hi, hello I was so excited to write this story you don't understand! I hope you all like it, I'm open to suggestions for part two or even part three hehe, I just like this concept a lot, lol i even made a Spotify playlist to listen to while writing. And I dont do that very often.

Pairing: Levi/ Reader

Summary: he shouldn't have let Hange drag him to that frat party with Petra as his date, not when she knew you'd be there with someone else.

Tags: college au!, Angst, eventual fluff, slightly nsfw

Warnings: mentions of smoking, cheating, drinking and of you squint hard enough there's some nsfw, literally it's a frat party, you know how college students are

Disclaimer: drink responsibility if you are of drinking age, don't smoke, absolutely don't drive while being drunk, also I don't own the characters, but you already know that.

The deafening sound of pop music abused Levi's ears to the point his head was pulsing. His drink, a ratty cheep lager that was disturbingly common in such parties, stood in a red plastic cup in his hand, not even halfway drank. It was the watery taste he despised; when he wasn't much of an alcohol drinker, he was adamant about bitter tastes in beverages, a preference he hadn't managed to fight in his whole life time.

He shot an ominous glance at Hange and Petra. Stood right in front him, swaying their hips and smiling at each other as they shipped from their makeshift cocktails, they were more than surprised whatever they had dumped on their cups was consumable.

Petra in particular, beamed everytime she looked his way, auburn locks of her grazing the sides of her kind face as she swayed closer to him. The way his eyes never landed on her until it was necessary guilted him more than he wanted to admit. Mainly because Hange had set them up, and also because he shouldn't have been frying his brain with thoughts of someone else when he was with her.

But sometimes he couldn't help himself.

In an attempt to shut his brain down from making generously misery thoughts, he locked his hand around Petra's waist, sipping ever so slightly off his beer in the meantime. He didn't miss the way she lowered her head to smile, the sheer maroon tint on her cheeks. She fidgeted her fingers around her drink, shooting happy stares to Hange, Erwin and Mike as she went to rest get head on Levis shoulder.

Hange softly smiled back, curling her lips on an upward curve then brushing of three long to stare at the couple with ogling eyes. She focused on the conversation Mike and Erwin were having, as if it was something important enough to get lost into.

"I'm just wondering where Nanaba is, she said I'd find her here." Mike spoke with a puzzled voice, bobbing his head around to scout for the familiar blotch of short blonde hair that acostumed the face of his long term lover.

"Ah, she's with (y/n), silly. They're probably somewhere around if you want to say hi." Hange beamed.

Levi's eyes went wide and his hands numb at the sound of your name; he couldn't believe the plastic cup hadn't slipped off his palm. It had been so long since Hange had mentioned you so casually in a shared conversation, at least before him that is. It was more than natural to assume his friends hadn't cut ties with you, in contrast to his previous belief.

It was unlikely they were working against him on this situation, but his mind couldn't stop from running in possible imageries between them and you. Were they going to that cafe near campus with you when he denied their invitation? Did they spent some nights at your new place, drinking and driving you on watching horror parodies, when you despised it?

He shook his head trying to brush bubbling thoughts of you away from his mind. With a quick look at Petra, he decided to gulp down the warmed up lager, in hopes of finding relief in a stronger refill.

He despised the way beer didn't spritz on his tongue in it's warm state, but he refused to cringe at the aftertaste. Meanwhile, on his left, Petra enthusiastically bobbed her weight between her legs at the sound of another well known song. He didn't bother to comply to her moves, his eyes averted bitterly to the emptiness of his cup, yet he couldn't eagerly decide to step out of the comfort of his position.

Strolling around meant that he could come across you and he wasn't sure whether he wanted that or not.

Yet, Hange was adamant about dragging him, through the crowd to the kitchen counter, seeing his need for a refill as an excuse to get a new drink to mix to her cocktail.

Familiar faces fleet the kitchen, strolling around with numerous cups in their hands, heading to all directions. Levi pinched his nose in annoyance; the stench of sweat and smoke numbed his nostrils making him snicker, disgust masking the look on his face.

Setting his goal as to find a closed bottle of whiskey, his hands managed to work fast to their task. Upon discovering a single bottle that was still intact he twist the cap open, skillfully bringing the rim of his cap underneath the bottle's opening. Copper liquid poured in gushes in the red plastic, filling it to its maximum capacity.

The bigger the drink, the more chances he had to get a little drunk, maybe forget about you in the process.

"Are you thinking about her, shorty?"

Hange's voice rang in his blank head for several seconds fighting to elicit an answer out of him. He fought back, merely for a moment. If he knew Hange she would have kept pressuring him to answer her question on front of every one else for the rest of the night. He was trying to fix his mood with at least some alcohol, so he wouldn't let Hange ruin it.

He hesitated to speak loud enough for his voice to reach her eardrums. Admitting to his pain made it real, and he hated still being sentimental when it came to you. At least Hange would keep her mouth shut if she got her rightful answer.

"Well I do, I suppose." He muttered below his breath, gray eyes never averting to her direction.

Hange curious expression immediately transformed into one of pure mischievous excitement that, he had to admit, was pretty unsettling. He knew that look on his friend's face, he couldn't fight it even if he wanted to so naturally he wished he had bit back on his answer. Nevertheless, what was done was done.

"It sucks doesn't it?" Hange spoke, pointer finger stretching to fox her glasses.

"It makes me feel lonely."

"Well don't make your self suffer, shorty." Hange's eyes softened as she threw a playful punch on his bicept, her drink long forgotten on the counter. "You could try to be friends with her."

"It's not that I want to suffer, it keeps me going sometimes. And no, I don't want to."

With squinted eyes and a disappointed gaze Hange shook her head at him and grabbed her drink from the wooden counter. Her mouth formed in a disapproving smirk causing her cheeks to squint and scrunch in an almost too comical manner. Levi knew he should have paid, absolutely, no mind on stressing over it; whether she was right or wrong she wasn't in a place to judge him for any of his choices, especially on the ones on his romantic life. And even more executionally, on ones she had helped him make by setting him up with Petra.

Not that he had anything against Petra.

He actually enjoyed her company. The cute little remarks she'd make for him, the way she cared for anything he did or the way her eyes would ogle at him as if he was a god. She could keep her space clean and she was kind to everyone in the sweetest manner. On top of that she had a girl next door type of beauty, auburn hair parted messily according to any occasion and round hazel eyes. All in all Hange had been right to point out she looked good on him.

Tonight, Petra was shining in her favorite pastel layers. A soft strawberry lilac turtleneck with flared sleeves as a base, topped with a powder blue strappy dress and finally completed with velvet baby pink Vans. Cute sparkly pins were accessorising her hair and numerous necklaces with moon and star charms shone on her neck. The effort she had put to perfect her aesthetic had indeed paid off; she looked like a fairy under the erratic lights of the party. She had achieved her initial goal to stand out from the occasional soft girls around the crowd, signifying she was Levi's girl.

With Levi's popularity amongst ladies, she had to be effortlessly perfect.

And she was, for as long as she was concerned.

Levi shot his eyes to his friends' direction, catching quickly glimpses of the way Petra danced with Hange. Erwin and Mike were nowhere to be found for now, as he assumed they would be searching for Nanaba.

He cringed at the chaotic arrangement of things; Nanaba had distanced her self from the group because she was your childhood friend so her relationship with Mike naturally came second to not forcing you into the same group as Levi. As if Levi wanted to be forced to be in the same group as you.

Fortunately, you had plenty of friends as to not to stick onto his group.

He was gulping a mouthful of his drink, copper whiskey watering down his dry throat as if he hasn't drunk anything in hours, when his eyes met yours in the crowd. His heart immediately skipped a long beat, chest heavying at the sight of your flushed face.

Maybe, on second thought, you hadn't actually noticed him.

You stood outside of the massive glass window proudly downing the shot in your hand after cheering on it with Eren. There was joy written on your makeup accessoried face; with your eyes squinted and your smile spread to your face asour hips moved according to the music engulfed in Eren's palms. Your hair swayed with each one of your movements, (h/c) locks landed messily on your face and shoulders mirroring Eren's to perfection. Levi couldn't help but notice how Eren's man bun was coming undone on the erratic movements his made.

As you slightly squated, attempting to perk your buttocks in the air for your partner to grab, your baggy jeans tightened their hug on your body in perfection. Levi remembered having seeing you in those baggy cargo jeans from afar on a few occasions, always thinking how good they looked on you, always admiring how you could always lull off your desired aesthetic effortlessly.

It was true that had he not seen you flawnting your effortless dark urban style, he would have thought that Petra had been the only girl who could show anyone how dressing aesthetically could be achieved. But you were something different. They way your breasts sat firmly at the bustier bits of your spaghetti strapped top, adorned by the corset like nature of the torso tube looked magnificent paired to your jeans. Your jet black Dr Marten's boots peaked from the flared finish of your jeans, giving the look a 90s grungy edge along with your all natural -be it for your dark maroon lip color.

Looking around, amongst numerous art majors like you he couldn't find someone who could mimick the way you pulled it off.

There fore, on a way he didn't blame Eren's hands as they traveled down your curves and touched tenderly at your torso. Even if the motion pulled any string in his heart that wasn't numbed by his alcoholic beverage.

He loathed you looked so good, and he loathed the way you danced to the loud tune as if no one was around.

With another big gulp on his whiskey, he felt the world slowing down around him.

As your eyes finally met -this time it wasn't just him imagining things- the tune changed, mocking him for gawking at you while taking your side against him. He noticed you mouth the lyrics to him, your head turned to his direction as his eyes struggled to rip away from your form.

Your moves on Eren became more intimate, more suggestive as you scratched the nape of his neck, bringing your mouth close to his ear to whisper words Levi couldn't have known of. Quickly, Eren pulled away with a pouty smile, displeased that he had to pull away from you. It was in that second that Levi's chest tightened dangerously, as Eren's lips brushed chastely on yours, noses bumping on eachother.

In an attempt to shook the image out of his head he turned on his heels, cup squeezed in hand and stomach growling in anxiety as he marched to his group of friends. Smiling faces welcomed him but he paid no mind in reciprocating the slightest glance. Levi wasn't exactly the type to bounce back immediately after having experienced his heart sinking in such horrid way.

Unsurprisingly for him -seeing that he was used to things only going downhill after a shitty event- Mike appeared out of the blue with Nanaba linked on him through their elbows. It wasn't in fact Nanaba that shattered any remain of his, already ruined, mood, but the person that clung into her palm.

More specifically, you.

"Heyy!!" Hange screamed, hands stretching towards your direction, already pulling you in her embrace once you reached her velocity. "I have missed you so much, where have you been these days!"

"Hange we went out for launch yesterday." You giggled through your squished cheek.

"Noo, that was ages ago I miss you everyday."

You shot a judgemental look at Erwin from Hange's back as she began to pull back from your embrace. The lisps and slips of her tongue were starting to become prominent as she poured words before you in an excessively fast paced manner, leaving you unable to come up with a way to respond to her, let alone understand what she had been saying.

Erwin scratched the back of his head an but his lip in response, shoulders rising up in an unbeknownst manner.

"You shouldn't let her drink that much. You know how she gets." You scolded, looking around the faces of your friends, trying your best not to let your faint voice get overlapped by the loud reggaeton beat.

Once again as Levi's eyes locked gazes with yours your breath hitched inside your chest.

His hand strode out to Petra's waist, pulling her closer almost too automatically for anyone not to notice. The commotion caught your eye, but you never flinched, much to your demise. Petra's hair swayed to the right as her smile widened from the sudden affectionate gesture, making you sick to the stomach from how soft and fragile and enchanting she had managed to look.

"Anyways I just came to say hi, I'll go find Eren now-"

Your words were cut short as your aforementioned significant other showed up bouncing in excitement beside you. Mirroring Levi's actions he pulled you close in a swift movement before ensuring he gave soft smiles to everyone. Hange excitedly greeted him back as Nanaba and Mike caught him up in casual conversation.

Levi watched as the brunette whipped his head whenever he flawnted on his achievements, causing Nanaba to shoot him awkward smiles and Mike to shrug him off in the process. You could see the despair in their faces as Eren egoistically carried on the conversation, but you tried to shrug it off for the moment as you conversed with Erwin.

Your mind wouldn't stop ordering your eyes to attach themselves into the picture perfect couple ahead of you, who paid no mind to your mere existence. In a way you blamed yourself for having caused this. Had you uttered a single hello to them you wouldn't have received such treatment. It served you right for knowingly intruding their space with the intention to make your presence known to Levi.

If you knew if the way Levi's eyes fell onto you everytime you looked away, you wouldn't have had yanked Eren's hand in an attempt to gain his attention.

"Ah sweetheart, I'm sorry, Yeagerbombs with your Yeager boy?" Eren blinked his emerald eyes into yours, pride splattered in his smile for his -cringeworthy to anyone else but himself- pun. You couldn't help but let out a nervous snicker of a laugh as he yanked you close to him again, pleading eyes landing into Levi's stormy gaze.

For you, the world seemed to stop in the moment as you took in his dimly lit face and delicate features. The music fell deaf to your ears as you gawked at him, hands trembling and tongue tied in words that you failed to recognize.

That mellow melancholy in his eyes, the adorning eyebags, the way some short coarse hairs on his face tried to mimick his neatly kept undercut, it all seemed unreal to you.

How long had it been since you had been so close to him? Nowadays it seemed the two of you had moved on to whatever. You had tried so much to avoid eachother that your timing never allowed the two of you to meet, not even for a the slightest, in hopes of forgetting about each others existence.

What downed you, though, from your precious pink cherry blossom rainfall bubble was that Petra was wrapped lovingly around him, her aesthetically pleasing image fitting conveniently with your little fairytale background, throwing you out of it.

By faintly excusing yourself from the group you let yourself lose on Eren's grip as he slipped you away from the crowd and towards the kitchen.

__

Levi didn't want to have to take a trip to the bathroom of a sorority house. In thought it seemed disgusting and unsanitary, but he had so much to drink that his body had been begging and screaming to him for some sort of relief.

He assumed the upstairs bathroom would be clean, supposing there weren't any horny young adults crushing their reproductive organs against eachother as there would normally be at any party of this nature.

With a steady knock that elicited no answer or even a simple grunt from the other side of the door he knew he was good to go. With a movement of his wrist the handle twisted and he slowly let himself in, eager to get through the process as fast as possible.

A few moments later and the fly of his distressed jeans was being zipped up again, tucked neatly under his black crewneck's bottom. He scrunched his sleeves up above his elbows and run his hand under the sink, waiting for the water to warm up.

His face looked tainted in the mirror; puffy eyebags and a deadpan expression while his lips stayed chapped. In an attempt to look presentable he run his now excessively washed hands through his front bangs tagging slightly to form a little volume at the roots.

He hadn't expected to swoon so easily at the sight of you being playfully entangled with Eren. He hadn't expected his heart to sink at the sight of you being explicitly affectionate with anyone before him and he wondered if it was simply due to the fact that he hadn't been accostumed to it. He certainly hadn't expected of Eren to step in and swoop you away before his very eyes; the pain of seeing you next to a friend of his seemed even more devastating for a few seconds.

Nevertheless, the little shit had always had an eye on you, even if he liked to consider himself as a protegee if his.

Levi wondered if you had felt that loathing feeling as well. Petra hadn't been that private about their relationship, with her constant posts on Instagram, her continuous snaps of him on a daily basis. Whereas he hadn't seen you post many things in the course of eight months.

He had brushed off the idea of scrolling through your socials a numerous times before finally agreeing on linking with Petra. Secretly he'd search for your shared photos, hoping they'd appear out of nowhere on your profile. Secretly he'd stare at his archived posts, contemplating on whether he should keep photos of a better time protected or whether he should delete them.

Now with his back against the sink to prevent himself from catching his reflection judging him, he unlocked his phone and tapped the familiar fuchsia icon. As expected, Eren's profile icon flashed in a pink and orange ombre circle before all others, signaling he had posted a story. Not supressing his pulled heartstrings who were set to call the shots tonight, Levi tapped on the icon with such force that a loud tapping sound filled his ears.

The video loaded painfully slow, his data connection giving in to the thick bathroom walls. Eren's face flashed on his screen, sheepish smile adorning his features."There's no hope for us!" He spoked in blurred pronounciation. "Even the anti smoker is smoking!" In a quick sequence the camera angle shifted on you, apathetically taking a drag out of a freshly rolled cigarette while cussing him out in a stern tone.

Silently he scrunched his nose and clicked his tongue in annoyance. Surely you still hadn't learnt from past mistakes. In seldom occasions you'd smoke while mixing your drinks, nothing unusual for people at your age; although Levi knew better than to do it consciously, you sometimes did. He had been strick and unforgiving on you, snapping out on you the following day for not taking good care of yourself. Clearly his short temper had only pushed you to riot now that you were away from him.

When the door shot open, causing him to jump and nearly let his phone slip away from his grip, he couldn't bring himself to realise for how long he'd been sitting in the bathroom, replaying Eren's story.

His eyes quickly recognised you as you shot your arms to pull your hair away from your face. He had seen you from every possible angle, a feeling that once upon a time had made him feel sick and trapped, pushing him to make stressed decisions. Every little detail of yours was curved in the back of his brain, awaiting for moments like this to unleash. It was easy like that to recognize you for miles ago.

As much as he'd like to, he didn't make a move towards you, afraid that maybe if you saw him out of all people in this state you'd jump in fear.

Nonetheless he couldn't help the silent inquiry concerning your condition not slip off his mouth. "You alright there?"

"I'm fine." You gulped, supressing the urge to spill your stomach's insides before the person behind you. "It's just- my ex is here and I- I guess I got stressed and I smoked and I drunk too much and ugh-" you cringed at the way you overshared your personal matters with a stranger, although you momentarily found comfort in the action. No one could judge you if they didn't know you, right?

"You don't say!"

Of course luck wouldn't be on your side. Ever since you laid your eyes on him a few hours ago you knew it in your heart this night would fall in crumbles, but did it really have to be this way?

You jumped, startled at the sight of Levi's familiar face, ignoring the way your heart fell as hard as a rock in your stomach, ignoring the vertigo like feeling to numb the poor organ. Puke hitched in your throat and you ripped your eyes away from his form in a panicked state. Your stomach emptied in the porcelain toilet, leaving atrocious sounds as it burned and scratched on your throat. You feel your whole body go weak with every shot of your stomach. Your hands couldn't keep their grasp on your hair; they quickly fell near your legs.

Levi crouched to your side in a heartbeat, his quick instincts getting the best of him as he grabbed your hair tenderly in order to keep it away from your face.

"Fuck, just how much did you even drink?" He whispered, hand reluctantly reaching to soothe down your back.

"You should know." You barked. "You were staring. How dare you?"

He had grown accustomised to quite make out your mutters by assuming what you were feeling in the moment. Athough, as your excessive vomiting came to an alt, you yanked your hair angrily out of his hands, refusing to associate yourself with him anymore.

As you meticulously washed your hands and mouth you noticed his stretched hand shielded the way to the door, blocking you from exiting. Your dizzy state didn't allow you to be feisty as you fixated your interest in swooning over the way his arms looked with his sleeves rolled up. You took a mental note to scold yourself for that very fact once you were sober enough.

"I have to go to my friends, thanks for helping me."

"You're not going anywhere." You noticed his breath hitched as he spoke. Was he equally as drunk? Wasn't he supposed to handle his alcohol like he had always said? Just how much had he had to drink? "You're not going anywhere until you tell me why you drunk so much."

Your silent thoughts geared up inside your brain, ready to skyrocket out of your mouth the moment you opened it to speak. "It's because you're here and you're with her and seeing the two of you in action is only making it real!"

Levi erratically blinked at your word vomiting. He hadn't expected you to just spill out those words without a notice it a warning, hell, even a little warm up would be nice to help him form a preserved reaction without becoming a drunk stuttering mess.

Without warning your hands wrapped around him, chests pressed against each other in the firmest way possible, sending shivers down his newly sweating spine. Normally, he'd say he hated the way you nuzzled against the crook of his neck, wiggling your nose through his crewneck sweater to coo into his warmth. Normally, he'd pinch himself and wake up and you would disappear, never to been seen laying beside him in such manner again.

Normally his blood wouldn't pump profoundly in his veins in excitement and lust as your touch and your smell.

As the sweet aroma of vanilla and pergamont englulfed his nostrils his arms loosened around him before jumping to the sides of your face, yanking it away from his neck. His next move was crucial; thumbs tenderly stroked on your cheeks as his stormy eyes looked silently into yours. He could only listen to his heartbeat as he crushed his mouth against yours in a feverous manner.

His body pushed against yours in need to pull you into the kiss as you responded with equal effort to your passion. Fortunately for him you had spent minutes trying meticulous wash out any smell or taste away from your mouth with some oral hygiene products you had happened to come across in the cupboards. The fact that he was drunk didn't mean he was inconsiderate of his need for everything to be clean.

__

All in all, be wasn't sure how the two of you ended up in the backseat of his car, topless with your tongues genuinely battling for dominance.

He must have been in a haze as he pushed past and out of the crowd, erratically trying to remember the general direction in which his car was parked.

As his hands gripped everywhere he could find his eyes didn't dare to shoot open. Existing in this moment, dry humping to your hips from underneath you. Tiny bumps adorned your skin every time he touched you. The freezing air of December had finally brushed its effect on both of you, soft shivers shook your whole form and he couldn't help but notice.

He couldn't think straight, despite wanting to though.

Your lips launched in the soft spot on his neck in an effortless manner. To him it was obvious you hadn't forgotten his own anatomy; all the places that you touched teased him perfectly to submission making him sink into the black industrial seat.

Your hands passionately grabbed the back of his hair, elbows colliding with the skin just under his collarbone.

"I've missed this, I've longed for this."

Your words, whether they were intentional or not, slit through his chest and set fire to the wound, causing another wave of stressful passion to spread from his stomach to his whole body. Chaste kisses were places all over his face, underneath his bangs, on his eyes, even the tenders corners of his jaw.

Your noses crashed, your breaths mingling in the air as your lips found his again.

You moved your lips in perfect synch, as if they were two pieces of a puzzle that were fabricated to fit perfectly on eachother. It hurt you that your bodies were working against your sober wills. You made another note to punish yourself for that as well once you were in your right mind.

His hands wrapped tighter around your back, crashing you impossibly closer next to him. Your chest fought to rise and fall as squirms escaped you, engulfed into his mouth.

"We shouldn't do this here, I'm not up to voyeuring anyone." He remarked, but fell silent as you placed another brushing kiss on his lips before pulling back to slightly nod in agreement.

Before you knew it you were wrapped in his jacket, your top long forgotten in an unseen corner of his car. His own charcoal black crewneck shielded his body from your sight as he hit the pedals of his car almost too closely to the allowed speed limit.

Long forgotten were his friends and date to the first party, long forgotten were any attempts to find excuses for whatever had ignited what was happening.

The trip to his apartment was quicker than what you had expected; maybe it was for the alcohol in your system that left you in a constant vertigo, but your head wasn't getting any better. The warm golden Christmas city lights adorned every single aspect of the streets and captivated your eyes spreading their heat into your whole form. With Christmas around the corner the current situation felt even more alluring to indulge into.

Christmas always meant Levi, in a way.

You swore you only blinked for a second once you entered the apartment building front door but when you opened your eyes you were before his door.

As always, it read 25B.

In a flash you were underneath him in his bed, hair sprawled everywhere around you as his lips angrily assaulted your collarbones. You didn't trust your drunk antics to tell you if the night was still young, but you assumed it could still labor a few more hours of the greediness between two long lost lovers.

"I" he started acting kissed on your lips as his hands came to mingle with the button of your jeans. "Want you to know." Another kiss was placed on your lips. "That" another "I-"

This time you cut him off with your swollen lips on his, sucking all air out of his lungs. "Just kiss me and we'll talk about this afterwards."

__

Your eyes throbbed as light entered their cavities, reflecting on your irises despite your best wishes. You had only just shot out a hand to shield them from the warm rays of sun when panic stabbed through your chest like a murderous intruder.

They blueyish grey tink to the walls and the futuristic design of the drawers and nightstands were all too familiar to you. They stood there, mocking you on all their dark chocolaty color for being unable to come up with an immediate answer to your whereabouts.

Your head was being occasionally jolted in throbbing hot pain as you decided to look around you in the matress, in hopes of recognising the person to whom the newly sounding grunts belonged to.

To your utter shock and disbelief, Levi shot up from his position on the bed. You watched as his eyes widened at the sight of you, grey orbs slightly shrinking in shock and realisation.

"What did you-" he began but soon his hand shot up to his own throbbing head. "Shit just how much did we have to drink?"

"Okay I have a better question," you added to your shared misery "are you as naked as I am?"

It was on rare occasions that you had seen such irrational panic mask Levi's face, yet this time must have been the most striking one amongst the ones you could recall. His skin had lost at least two shades of color, his lips parted slightly. His forehead was cringled as his eyebrows were skyrocketing away from his eyes.

Although when he opened his mouth in an attempt to confirm the obvious, he was quickly cut off by the sound of his doorbell being rung, along with three stern knocks on his door. Even his phone started ringing from beside him, adding pressure to his momentarily frozen state. He picked the divice in his hands, fingers shakingly making their way to the acceptance button.

"Hey Petra!"

"Hey love!" You heard the cheerful voice fill the air through his speaker. Petra had a really loud voice, you noticed, it was either that or that your head was about to explode from the hangover. "I'm outside, please open up, you left without even saying goodbye and wouldn't pick up your phone. I'm so worried."

"Tch, give me a second I'll get changes and we can have breakfast at that cafe you like." Levi grunted, his thumb reaching to rub soothing circles on the prominent vein in his forehead.

"Can I come inside?"

Shit.

"Yeah yeah." He spoke as he hit the closing button, his phone being slammed against the bed. His head turned to you, only to reveal a section of his throat that was bruised in lovemarks you had left on him. "Hide, stay silent, I don't know which one, just do it."

After his harsh order, his eyes never had a chance to reach yours as he got up from the bed to sprint to his dresser, hurriedly searching for the only washed black turtleneck he owned. He hadn't even had a chance to look himself in the mirror, but knowing you, you couldn't have held back from munching on the skin in his throat.

Upon his quick discovery, he threw on a pair of gray of sweats that he recover from the hanger behind his door.

You didn't dare speak, hell you didn't even dare move, the fear of being discovered in such pretentious position -as the third person- in a house you once had lived in overtook your natural senses and your irrational thinking. Your heart didn't cease to sink as moments later you heard the door click open, then immediately close.

The familiar buzzing sound of silence filled your ears a few moments later. This time realisation kicked in immediately in hopes of drowning your mind in excessive amounts of overthinking. That's how it was then?

Your head plopped down the pillows, sinking deeper and deeper with each passing second. Your heart skipped essential beats and your breathing hitched in your throat. Only one question stood on top of others.

What had you done?

Tags because yay: @sasageyowrites @levisbrat25 and @ackermans-freedom-inc because I know they were excited for this story and the new addition to my taglist (??) @alrightberries 👉🏻❤️👈🏻

[lonelyreputation]

'tis the damn season (college au)

A/N: Hello!! I’m back with some holiday angst 💥 It’s been a busy holiday season for me, but we made it!! I hope you all have had a lovely December so far!! I’d love to hear your thoughts!!! Thanks a million million for all your support!! ✨🎄⌛️🍫☕️

Prompt: You’re back in Canada for the Holidays after leaving for California three and a half years ago. And while you’re home, you run into your ex-boyfriend––Shawn––and things get…Complicated. 

(heavily inspired by ‘tis the damn season by Taylor Swift)

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂

Warnings: Swearing, Drinking, Allusion to Sex (no smut directly written) // WC: 12.6K // Angst & Fluff 

A gust of wind hit your face like a hundred needles pricking your cheeks. The frigidness of the dry air caused you to shut your eyes tight and sniffle.

It was the first week of December, and the temperature was just a little below freezing as you walked around an outdoor market that was decorated for the Holidays. Bright string lights were wound around the trees; with even more lights zig-zagging from the tops of them, that mimicked stars in the night sky. 

The Christmas music that played above the shops through speakers sounded more like a quiet hum beneath people chattering and hurrying off to the next shop. And there was the occasional cry of a child when their parents told them they couldn’t get the specific toy they wanted.

Even if a person didn’t celebrate Christmas, it definitely would put them in a festive mood.

“A little cold?” Your friend–Tara–bumped your shoulder with a chuckle.

You glared at her, shoving one of your mitten clad hands further into your jacket pocket. Unfortunately your other hand was preoccupied by holding onto a bag full of Holiday presents.

“It’s too cold.”

You could see Tara’s breath when she tipped her head back and laughed, “That’s what happens when you leave for California and have only been back three times since you left.”

At her comment, you shrugged your shoulders. She wasn’t wrong, and her tone was more lighthearted than malicious, but you still felt a pang of guilt. You left the quiet town of Pickering for the booming city of Los Angeles for university. And in the three and a half years you’ve been at university, you’ve only been back home three times.

Whenever you did come back home, it was kept to a week––or shorter––and you solely only saw your family and Tara. But your mother convinced you that it would be nice to have you home for a majority of the holiday break. So that’s how you found yourself back in Canada, when you could’ve been basking in the warmth of the sun in California.

“Any other plans for when you’re home?” Tara asked as she steered the two of you over to look at the front windows of a shop.

You rolled your eyes, “Just sitting on the couch.”

“There’s no one else you want to see?”

The undertone of her quick response was not lost on you. You glared at her, “You know I only see you and my family whenever I come back.”

“But you’re never back,” Tara tore her attention away from gazing at the shoes that were way too expensive for either of you to buy. Her eyes were slightly larger than normal and her lips tugged slightly into a frown, “I bet there are some people who would want to reconnect.”

You let out a bitter laugh and shook your head, “Not with how I left things.”

“Y/n––”

“If I wanted to know who you were hanging out with while I was gone,” You said with a bit of edge to your tone, because you knew while she mentioned how there were multiple people who wanted to reconnect…You knew she was specifically talking about one person, “I would’ve asked.”

Tara was silent as she confidently held your stare. It was as if she was trying to convince you that he would want to reconnect.

But there was a reason you kept your visits to Canada so short.

You knew Tara still talked to him––You knew she was still friends with him. How could she not? He was intertwined with your high school friend group. And you weren’t mad at her for still keeping contact with him, you didn’t have a right to tell her who she could and couldn’t be friends with…But you were fairly certain he never wanted to speak to you again.

You were the first to break eye contact and look down at the ground before looking over her shoulder to see a small stand for hot chocolate, “I’m getting a hot chocolate, do you want anything?”

Tara shook her head with a small smile, “I’m all good. Think I’m going to take a peak in this store.”

Without another word, you nodded and swiftly walked past her and toward the stand. There was another gust of wind that blew into your face. It was a kind of cold that fogs up windshield glass, when you passed a group of people who looked to be around your age.

You wiggled your nose from the cold air and didn’t pay any mind to them.

The line was longer than you thought, but you would wait in the cold if it meant avoiding Tara’s innuendos of meeting up with a certain someone. You bounced your leg to keep your blood circulating, but when you heard a little kid yell about someone cutting in line, you stopped and leaned your upper body to the side.

Everyone always got a little temperamental when they were freezing, especially little kids. But the parent hushed the child and everyone in line went back to minding their own business.

You dug around your pocket for some cash when you noticed you were a few people away from the front of the line. When it was your turn, you held out a few dollars for the cheap hot chocolate. But the cashier, whose elf hat jingled when they shook their head no, just handed you the white styrofoam cup.

“Someone covered your drink.”

You knitted your eyebrows together, “What?”

He kept his unamused facial expression as he nodded somewhere behind your shoulder, “He cut in line and said he had to pay for your drink.”  

Taking the steaming cup from him, you felt your hands defrost from under your mittens as you nodded slowly, “Thanks…”

The cashier barely lifted their lips up in a smile at your response and was soon helping the couple behind you.

You took a single sip of the hot chocolate, letting out a content sigh as it warmed up your insides, when you turned around to thank the person who paid for your drink.

But when you turned around on your heel and saw the person who paid for your drink already staring at you…Your face fell. The hot chocolate you held in your hands no longer provided warmth. And you wanted to run all the way back to California.

It felt as if the cold air had frozen your feet to the pavement.

Last minute shoppers hastily walked around you, sometimes with their bags of presents clashing against your side, but they didn’t offer you an apology like you didn’t offer one for standing in their way. You assumed your face was just as blank as his.

The last time you saw him was a few days before you left for Los Angeles about three and a half years ago.

As if it was any more possible, he was taller and seemed more muscular. And while his hair was tucked under a beanie, you could tell that it had grown a little longer. No matter what season it was, his cheeks still held their rosy color, and even though he looked at you with a hint of indifference…His brown eyes were still as comforting as ever.

Noticing that you weren’t going to move, you saw his breath through the cold air as he let out a deep sigh. And with his own white styrofoam cup of steaming hot chocolate, he walked toward you.

Your heart gradually fell further and further in your chest with each step he took. And when he was standing in front of you, it felt as if you couldn’t breathe.

Both of you stood still, and while he kept his stare on your eyes, you couldn't help but wildly look around the little Christmas village. The hum of Christmas music and families chattering as they walked to their destination was drowned out by the ringing in your ears until he spoke.

“Long time no see.”

His tone of voice was as emotionless as his face.

“Hi––Hey.” You breathed out and held up the styrofoam cup, “Um…Thanks for the hot chocolate.”

He nodded and took a sip of his own drink, “No problem.”

This was not how you expected seeing Shawn again for the first time since the two of you broke up. In fact, you never really planned on seeing him again since that disaster. Just standing in front of him in absolute silence was only causing your chest to tighten with anxiety.

“I––Uh,” you didn’t know what to say. He was looking at you like he expected you to say something profound; or some sort of apology. You avoided his stare as you took a sip of your hot chocolate and coughed into the crook of your elbow, “I can pay you back.”

Shawn didn’t miss a beat, “That’d defeat the whole purpose.”

“Purpose of what?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“To talk to you.”

His responses were instantaneous; it felt as if he planned out this whole conversation in his head prior to buying your hot chocolate.

You let out a shaky breath, “Well…We’re talking.” Shawn closed his eyes in irritation and this was exactly why you didn’t plan on seeing him when you were back home. “Do you have venmo? We could call it even––”

“Are you busy tonight?”

Your eyes shot wide open at his question. Busy tonight? Of course you weren’t; your only plans were to watch cringe worthy Christmas movies on Netflix curled up on the couch. Maybe have a bit of eggnog and wishing you were back in California.

Shawn Mendes was nowhere in your holiday plans, and even though spending one-on-one time with him terrified you…You felt yourself rearranging all of your plans to fit him in exactly like you had done when you were seventeen.

You gulped, “What…What do you have in mind?”

A slight smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and you immediately felt yourself smile as well, “Just to talk.” You nodded your head until he offered up more information. He sniffled his nose, “I have my own place in Toronto now––”

“So why are you in Pickering?”

Whether he was bothered that you cut him off or not, he didn’t show it. He just took a sip of his hot chocolate as another cold breeze came through. He brought his index finger and thumb up to run the corners of his eyes before answering, “Christmas shopping with my friends.”

My friends.

The offhanded way he said it made it seem as if he didn’t consider you a friend anymore.

You peaked behind his shoulder and saw that the group of people you passed on your way to get hot chocolate was in fact a small group of people you went to high school went. You caught the eye of Brian, one of Shawn’s best friends that wormed his way into your life when you started dating, and offered him a small smile. He didn’t return it.

You nodded your head, understanding that Brian definitely still held ill feelings toward you. Instead of focusing on the negative, you brought your attention back to Shawn, who was surprising you with how…nice he was being.

“I don’t have any plans.”

As if he expected you to blow him off, his eyes widened in shock the same moment his mouth dropped. You let out a small laugh, thinking how you probably looked the same way when he asked if you had any plans.

Shawn cleared his throat, “Nice––I––Like I said, I have my own place in Toronto now.” He shifted his gaze toward the black pavement and let out a nervous breath before he asked his next question, “Do you still have the same number?”

Your voice cracked, “Yeah.”

Slowly, he picked his eyes from off the ground. He looked relieved that you hadn’t changed your number, but you felt hurt deep within your chest thinking that he didn’t have much faith in you. The 905 area code you’ve had since you got your first cell phone was one of the few things that still tied you to your tiny Canadian town.

“I’ll text you my address,” Shawn offered you a tight lipped smile before you both heard his name being called out by a girl. He briefly looked over his shoulder and then turned back to you, smiling, “Tonight.”

You quickly nodded, and didn’t stop nodding until he was slowly backing away from you, “Tonight.” You confirmed the plans back to him.

And this time when he smiled, he showed all his teeth, and it was a smile you recognized. One that traveled all the way up to his squinted eyes that made the corners crinkle. It was the smile you fell in love with at fifteen.

He took a sip of his hot chocolate before he turned his back to you and you saw how he was greeted back into his group of friends. He walked right up next to the girl who called out his name and threw his head back in laughter at something the group said.

You could name almost everyone in that circle; and there was an ache in your chest when you saw Tara make her way out from the laughing friend group and bounce up to you. Of course her life didn’t stop on your account, but you felt a bit crestfallen thinking how that could be you; laughing and smiling with high school friends––pressed up to Shawn’s side––if you didn’t flee away at the first chance you got.

Tara’s cheeks were bright red, but not the type of red from the cold air, they were red from smiling too hard with people she loved. She tried to keep her small laughs at bay, “Ready to continue shopping?”

You blamed the stinging behind your eyes on the cold air that continued to whip through the streets, “Let’s go.”

///

It was nearly ten at night when you parked your mom’s car in the parking garage of Shawn’s apartment complex. The sound of your door closing shut echoed through the nearly empty guest parking spots. With shaking hands, you pulled your phone out to tell Shawn that you arrived at his place. He immediately responded saying he would meet you at the front door.

You shoved your phone into your jacket pocket as you crossed your arms over your chest, hunching your shoulders ever so slightly, hoping it would preserve some body heat. With chattering teeth, you made your way outside the garage and waited outside the front door.

Standing still wasn’t doing you any good in keeping warm, so you decided to walk in a small circle.

And with pacing came overthinking.

What did Shawn want to talk about that couldn’t be said when you saw him at the Holiday shops? You didn’t think that there was anything left to say with how you ended things. When he texted you his address for tonight, it was the first message exchanged between the two of you since the last text he sent you in 2016. And that text made it quite clear about how he felt about you.

Please never speak to me again.

“Y/n?”

You whipped your head up and saw Shawn dressed in gray sweatpants and a soft pink sweatshirt. A sweatshirt you stole from his closet countless times when you were a couple. And while he looked absolutely adorable with his hair tousled, as if he’d just woken up from a nap, the heat from inside the building was the main factor that lured you inside.

“Thank God,” You brushed past him and immediately began to regain feeling in your toes.

Shawn let out a laugh, “Cold?”

You sniffled, “Uh––Yeah. Very cold.”

He shook his head with a small smile, “Well, lucky for you, I have the heat on in my place.”

And you took that as your que to follow him to the elevator. The short walk from the front door to the elevator was silent as Shawn pressed the up button. He rocked back and forth on his heel, something you knew he did when he was nervous.

But why would he be nervous? He obviously knew what he wanted to talk about. You on the other hand…How does a person go from never wanting to speak to someone again to inviting them to their apartment?

The soft ding of the elevator made you jump.

Shawn let out a single chuckle and let you onto the elevator first. You crossed your arms over your chest as Shawn pressed his floor number.

The ride up was also spent in silence.

It wasn’t until the doors slowly opened onto Shawn’s floor that panic began to infiltrate every corner of your mind.

“Do you have roommates?” Your voice came out more high pitched than you intended.

The last thing you needed to deal with was Brian––or some other old high school friend––coldly stare you down as you walked through the door.

Shawn shook his head as he took his keys from out of his pocket and twirled them around his index finger, “I have a studio.”

“Oh,” you squeaked out.

As if he could sense how nervous you were at his answer, he slightly turned his head to look at you; eyebrows raised and a smirk placed on his lips.

The rest of the walk was in silence until Shawn stopped in front of a dark teal door that looked identical to the rest on the floor. The first time he tried to unlock the door, he accidentally put his mailbox key in the lock. He nervously chuckled as he fiddled with his key ring for the correct key. And once he found it with shaky hands, the door clicked and he walked through first.

The walls were an offwhite color, and his furniture was either all navy or black, making the single room more cozy than it probably was intended to be. His bed was pressed up on the far back wall in a corner next to a window. From what you could make out, you saw a few scattered pictures tacked up on the wall next to his bed. Most of them looked like they were from college; but you saw a few high school graduation pictures, prom pictures, and comical spirit day photos.

Even though you and Shawn were connected at the hip during those prominent high school memories…You didn’t see yourself in any of the pictures.

“It’s nothing special,” he shrugged and walked over to his little kitchen area, “Do you want water?”

His question brought you out of the pity party you were throwing for yourself in your head, “That’d be great.”

Shawn opened up one of his cabinets and reached for two glasses. Slowly, you walked up to the little counter and sat on one of the barstools he had. He slid a glass of water over the counter and you smiled in appreciation.

You tapped your fingers around the cold glass, “So…How’ve you––How’s your family?”

You cut yourself short from asking your first question…Unfortunatley, you had a pretty good idea of how he’s been the past few years. So instead, you stayed in neutral territory.

“They’re good,” Shawn took a sip of his water as he leaned his back on the fridge, “How’s your family?”

Like him, you kept your answer short, “They’re fine.”

The pleasantries were weird. You don’t know if you preferred his silence or the awkward short phrases the two of you exchanged. You used to be so entwined with his family, and he with yours, that just hearing that they were “good” made it seem like they were an off limits topic.

Silence.

You took a sip of water.

The water felt extra cold against your dry throat. You set your glass on the counter and folded your hands together, “Still studying architecture?”

At your attempt of trying to continue the small talk, Shawn pushed himself off the fridge and sat on the barstool next to you. Even though you’d spent three and a half years apart, you spent four years together, and he still knew you better than you’d care to admit.

And that meant he knew the exact way to teeter the line of making you slightly uncomfortable, but not enough to send you running away.

Small talk was something you disliked. Silence was something you hated. Feeling unprepared in a situation was something you loathed. And you despised being so close to someone without knowing what to say.

He knew all of that.

Not liking how out of control you felt in the situation you scooted the chair back, “I think I should go––”

You were only able to get off the chair and stand straight up before Shawn’s hand shot out and took hold of your wrist, keeping you in front of him.

His touch burned; it felt hotter than any summer day you spent in L.A., but the familiarity that came with his calloused fingers––from spending hours on end practicing guitar––felt like home.

You stood frozen with his hand keeping you from still. With closed eyes, you took a deep breath in, “Shawn…”  then slowly let it out, “Why did ask me to come over.”

He stayed silent, but the way he slowly let go of your wrist, and trailed his fingertips over the top of your hand right down to your fingertips before he glided his fingertips up to your elbow…It caused all sorts of bells and sirens to go off in your head.

After a few more beats of silence, where Shawn just trailed his fingers up to your elbow and back down to your wrist, he slipped his hand into yours and laced your fingers together. You closed your eyes as he tugged you forward so you were now standing in between his legs.

“This isn’t smart,” you whispered, eyes still shut.

He squeezed your hand once, but you kept your eyes shut and held your breath.

Only when you were drunk off champagne in L.A., droning on and on about your problems––most of them circling back to Shawn––did you let yourself imagine what it would be like to hold his hand again. To be in this position again. One that you found yourself in plenty of times in high school.

“Y/n…” His voice softly carried your name through the silent studio apartment.

He squeezed your hand again.

You knew that once you opened your eyes that you would give in to anything he wanted. There was only a miniscule part of the rational side of your mind holding out. But when he bumped his knee against the side of your thigh, that last part of you that was holding out was consumed by the ever growing desire of wanting the person in front of you.

You snapped your eyes open and were immediately drawn into the sincerity he held in his eyes, “I miss you.”

I miss you too, you wanted to say. But you kept that admittance to yourself.

You gulped, “This––We shouldn’t––” you briefly looked down at your intertwined hands, a sight you didn’t think you’d ever see again, before looking back into his wistful eyes that caused your stomach to twist in knots, “This is a bad idea––”

He tugged you even closer to him where you were almost pressed up against his chest. You placed a hand on his chest, feeling the soft fabric of the sweatshirt. You hoped your hand would add some kind of distance, but at your touch, he closed his eyes and let out a sigh as if he’d been waiting years for this moment.

And maybe he had.

“Babe––”

“Just for the weekend,” you fell into his plea, but cut him off in a strained voice.

There was a time in the past where you thought you would be in this same exact position with Shawn; standing between his legs, holding hands, in an apartment somewhere in Toronto…He squeezed your hand again and you felt a sharp pain in the center of your chest.

This was almost like a scene drawn perfectly out of your imagination, but there was one piece missing.

You lifted your palm from off his chest and twiddled with the strings of his hoodie. You tried your best to ignore the ache in your chest. And you tried your absolute hardest to not concentrate on that missing piece. You bit the inside of your cheek, and blinked away the burn behind your eyes.

The missing piece––that would make this scenario exactly like a scene drawn perfectly out of your imagination––would be if you two were still in love.

But love wasn’t what this situation was about.

“Tis the damn season,” Shawn murmured, and In one swift motion, he used his free hand to cup one of your cheeks before crashing his lips onto yours.

The heat you felt when he had only touched you didn’t hold a fame to how it felt to kiss him again. It felt as if no time had passed, his lips molding right on to yours. His fingers curled around the back of your neck, his thumb slowly caressing your cheek. Keeping his lips connected to yours, he stood up from the stool.

Slightly hunched over, Shawn deepened the kiss as he slowly walked you backward until you felt your back softly come in contact with the wall. With his one hand still holding onto the back of your neck to keep you close, his other hand slowly crept under your sweater.

You shivered under his touch and you felt him smirk against your lips.

“Where’ve you been staying?” Shawn mumbled into your neck as he nipped at the skin there.

You let out a few deep breaths through your nose, you were finding it a bit impossible to think clearly seeing as your train of thought was only focused on Shawn,  “I––” you were cut off by his lips reattaching themselves onto yours.

“I’m staying at––at my parents’ house,” you were able to get out through his rushed kisses.

Shawn hummed as he ground his hips into yours, causing you to whimper in his mouth as you threaded your fingers through his curly hair.

He repeated his movements a few more times as his hand that was cupping your cheek made its way down to your hips. And he let the hand that was under your sweater, trail painstakingly slow down your stomach, until he had both hands holding onto your hips.

He slowed down his kisses, until they were just a few pecks, before he stopped all together and leaned his forehead against yours. You didn’t have to open your eyes to know that his eyes were still closed as well.

He brushed his nose against yours, “And where did you tell them you were going tonight?” You felt his breath fan over your voice.

You breathed in, “Tara’s.”

He pressed a single kiss to your lips, one that was reminiscent of your first kiss underneath the bleachers when you were fourteen, “Does she know you’re here?”

And when you breathed out, you felt your chest touch Shawn’s, “No.”

Shawn hummed in acknowledgement, but you couldn’t tell if he was relieved or sad that you kept your late night rendezvous with him a secret. But before you could ask him if anyone knew you were coming over, you felt one of his hands slide into yours once again and pull you over toward his bed.

For the rest of the night…Every touch, every kiss, every soft spoken word with eyes closed––because with your eyes closed, at least you could pretend that you two were in love––brought you to a higher sensation that you chased all over L.A. to find.

And while Shawn was fast asleep, you laid awake with your head on his bare chest, rising and falling with every one of his even breaths. As you were tangled up in Shawn’s sheets naked, with one of his arms thrown around your shoulder, you realized that the feeling you craved would always lead you back to Shawn and your hometown.

///

Promising Shawn that you would only be together for the weekend was a bold face lie that you should’ve seen coming. That first weekend spent at Shawn’s place led to another weekend. Then the weekends bled into the weekday. And you found yourself sneaking out of your parents house more to meet up with Shawn now than you ever did in high school.

Christmas had come and gone and Shawn was busy around the clock with his family on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. He did send you a few texts throughout the day to let you know he was thinking of you, but it wasn’t the same as actually hearing him whisper the same words to you right before you drifted off to sleep next to him.

It was Boxing Day, and with Boxing Day came a tradition for graduates at your high school that you never participated in. You thought it was a bit foolish, high school graduates meeting up in the woods behind the school–that they swore they hated for four years–as they drank and reminisced about the four best years of their lives.

You never participated since you were usually back in California by this time, booking the first flight out of Canada after Christmas. Or it was like your first year at University…Not even bothering to come back to Canada.

You texted Shawn that you parked your car between the Methodist church and the school that used to be yours. As a response, he sent back the emoji with one eye closed with its tongue out. He was the one that convinced you to come out tonight…After he promised that not everyone was still bitter about how you dropped them after you moved to L.A.

Taking the lock and chain off from around the gate, that was never securely locked around the Holiday season, it was easy to sneak in. And you wondered if this was the school’s secret way of encouraging their graduates to come together.

Trudging through the frozen grass, you were still freezing even though you had multiple layers on to keep your body temperature up.

You felt like you were wandering forever, and if it wasn’t for Instagram pictures you’ve seen in past years, you would’ve thought that Shawn was pulling a prank on you. But the further you walked into the woods, you started hearing a few shouts of friends greeting each other with Happy Holidays. And when you got closer, you saw string lights zigzagged from tree to tree.

There were people you recognized and others you didn’t recognize either gathered around keg stands, sitting on tree stumps, or in a small circle of fold up chairs that they provided themselves.

You felt a bit lost, and you took out your phone to text Shawn, but Tara bounced up to you with a red solo cup in each hand.

“I kneeew you’d come,” she drew out the lone vowel in ‘knew’ as you took one of the red solo cups from her and rested a steady hand on her shoulder, “No one belieeeved me that you’d show.”

Tara wasn’t drunk, but you knew that when her speech pattern wavered that she was a little more than tipsy.

“I told you I would be here,” you took a sip of the beer in the cup, “So, here I am.”

Tara raised an eyebrow at you, “But you’re late.”

“I never promised a specific time,” you narrowed your eyes at her as you brought the red cup up for another drink.

If this conversation was going where you thought it was, you would need more than just a few sips to get through it.

“Stop playing dumb,” Tara rolled her eyes, but her voice was soft.  

You hadn’t told her that most of your break had been preoccupied by Shawn. He was one of the major reasons why you hated returning home, so it was a bit ironic that you now looked around for him with anticipation clawing up your stomach.

You continued to play dumb, “I don’t––”

Tara let out a huff, “I know––We all know––That you and Shawn have been attached at the hip.”

The background noise of old high school friends laughing was the exact opposite of how you felt with your best friend. You hadn’t told anyone that you were spending time with Shawn. And you were pretty positive he hadn’t told anyone either.

“That’s not true.”

Were you attached at the hip with Shawn since you returned to Canada? No, that wasn’t true. But did you spend a considerable amount of time together? Possibly.

“He’s been more…Smiley, the past few weeks,” Tara gave you a pointed look, “And so have you.”

While you felt not much disdain for your hometown anymore, and felt a bit lighter on your feet…You knew that part of that feeling was thanks to Shawn. And while you never thought of returning back to Pickering when you were done university, you slowly started to come to a realization that coming home wouldn’t be that terrible.

You took a sip of beer to cover up your smile, “Good for him that he seems happy––”

“Don’t you remember how things ended between you two?”

With her comment, you took a few more longer sips of your drink.  Once you felt confident that you wouldn’t lash out at her, you brought the empty cup down to your side and clutched the plastic cup down at your side.

“I think I remember quite well,” you grumbled with a clenched jaw.

You glared over her shoulder at a happy looking couple

There were a few beats of awkward silence before Tara let out a soft sigh. She looked at you with her big adoring eyes that were supposed to be comforting, but you saw a hint of protectiveness in her eyes. A protectiveness that wasn’t for you.

“I’m just looking out for you––”

“No,” you tore your longing gaze away from the smiling couple as you looked at your best friend with hurt in your eyes, “You’re looking for Shawn.”

The silence was enough of an answer for you.

You nodded your head once and swallowed down the lump in your throat, not even your own best friend had your back, “I think I’m going to leave.”

You were about to spin on your heel when Tara’s voice stopped you in your tracks, “I’m looking out for both of you.” You let out another breath, not wanting to get in an argument with her, but she spoke up once more, “Like it or not, you were the one who left.”

You wiped away a tear from your cheek that managed to escape your eye, “I know I left,” you whispered, “But you also knew how torn up I was after we broke up.” You felt your throat tighten up more as you spotted your old friend group over Tara’s shoulder that you lost contact with after you left, “They don’t know that. They only know how he was.”

Tara reached out for your hand, but you took a step back, “Y/n, it’s not like that––”

“It’s cool you’re friends with Shawn and still friends with everyone else,” you gnawed on your bottom lip, as an unfamiliar feeling creeped up your stomach when you looked behind Tara’s shoulder once more at your old friends; guilt.

You thought you were going to say something else, but the longer you stood in front of your best friend, the more guilt you felt rise up like bile in the pit of your stomach. So without another word, you turned around and started to walk away from the smell of bad perfume lingering in the air.

The grass crunched loudly under your shoes, but not loud enough to block out a certain voice that would visit you in your most blissful daydreams, but also haunt your darkest nightmares.

“Long time no see.”

Letting out a deep breath, you put on a brave face as you spun around to see Shawn.

You playfully rolled your eyes at him as he walked to you, only stopping when the tips of his shoes touched yours, “It’s been three hours.”

Shawn rolled his eyes back at you as he took one of his hands out of his pockets and slid his fingers easily between yours. It was too perfect the way your hands fit together. Too perfect how he still knew your body like anyone else. And too perfect how he seemingly just forgot about how you left.

While you were heartbroken over your break up with Shawn, you couldn’t say that Tara was wrong when she said that you were the one who decided to leave.

Shawn’s curls tickled your forehead as he ducked his head and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, “I’ll always miss you.”

You didn’t miss the subtle undertone of devastation in his voice.

You looked away from him as you tried to swallow down the pain you felt. From the start of whatever this arrangement was with Shawn, you knew that it wouldn’t end well. It was a recipe for total destruction, and It’s why you only wanted it to last a weekend.

But with the few weeks you’d spent with him, you were starting to see how you could possibly make this work past the weekend. It would be tricky with you heading back to L.A. at the end of the month, but you thought it would be worth it to try something new.

“Shawn…”

Just like how you noticed the devastation in his voice, he picked up on the slight ache behind your voice. He knew that tone of voice all too well because it was eerily similar to the tone you used on him before you told him you were leaving.

And even though you did eventually have to leave, you weren’t trying to say that you were leaving him.

He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh that broke your heart, “Stop running.”

You shook your head, “I’m not––”

“You are,” his voice was heavy, and when he opened his eyes you felt your shoulders fall at how his brown eyes were full of fear, “You can run, but only so far. And it’s been so long,” he squeezed your hand and didn’t ease up on the pressure, “Aren’t you tired?”

You tilted your head back and let out an aggravated breath through your nose, but you still held tightly onto his hand.

“I’m not––We’re both in this situation,” you blinked away the stinging behind your eyes and slightly skewed the conversation, “I think we should––”

With a tilt of his head, he pinched his eyebrows together, “Are you––” his voice cracked, “–-Are you really making me watch you leave again?”

With a frown, you shook your head, “That’s not what I’m saying. This situation isn’t the best, but if we change––”

“Because I remember that damn well,” he flared his nostrils as his breaths came out uneven, ignoring the idea you were trying to propose. You were caught off guard by his sharp comment, and didn’t have a rebuttal, but he seemed to take your silence as an answer. And when you felt him drop your hand, that’s when the panic really started to flood your body.

Shawn let out a bitter laugh as he looked down at the frozen grass, shaking his head as if trying to rid you out from all of his memories. But when he looked back up at you, his lips were pulled into a tight frown and you could see his bloodshot eyes from the haze of the dim Christmas lights.

You took a step forward, reaching your hand out to feel him one more time, but he took a step back, “Do you not remember telling me––and everyone else––how you were going to McGill?”

He waited for a response, but you didn’t have one, so he kept on with his scathing questions, “Do you not remember us making weekend plans to see each other? We were going to make it work between Montreal and Toronto. ”

You felt your chin wobble because you knew exactly where he was going with this. And all of his anger and heartbreak toward you was justified.

“Shawn––”

“Do you not remember,” his harsh voice dropped down into a gut-wrenching whisper, “Telling me two days before the semester was starting that you were leaving for L.A.?”

The feeling of holding back your tears became too much. A few leaked out from your eyes as you hiccupped, “You don’t have to–”

“Do you not remember,” He spoke over you, “how much planning you put into moving out there?” Shawn let out a shaky breath as he harshly wiped a few tears off his cheek with the heel of his palm, “Because if I remember correctly, your mom said you were planning that for months.”

More silence on your end.

“If leaving––” He brought the sleeve of his arm to wipe under his nose, “If it’s okay with you, it’s okay with me. We could call it even.”

You swallowed thickly as a gust of cold air blew in between you two, “Call what even?”

“I watched you leave,” Shawn itched the bridge of his nose, not looking directly into your eyes, “You can watch me leave.”

You were beginning to feel the oncoming of a headache; which wasn’t surprising considering how hard you were clenching your teeth and how you were trying your best to hold back your sobs.

While you didn’t think whatever mess you got yourself in with Shawn over the break was healthy, you did think that there was a way to sort it out to make it better. With only one semester left, you had to go back to L.A. to finish your degree, it was the only thing that made sense. But you were starting to think that maybe you could try long distance with him. And you were hoping that maybe––up until this point––that he would also want to try it out.

But maybe wasn’t enough.

You let your shoulders drop, because as much as you didn’t want to let go, he seemed pretty set on making you feel the same exact blindsided pain you caused him years ago.

You let out a pathetic laugh as you curled one arm around your waist, “Tis the damn season, right?” You barely got the sentence out before you brought your other hand up to your mouth to muffle your cries.

His eyes were wide with pain, much like the day you left him on his back porch after you told him you were attending a different University than planned. He fiddled with his hands, almost like he wanted to reach out and hold you one last time, but he shook his head––as if he decided you weren’t worth anymore words––and walked away.

You watched him walk in the direction you had just left from until he disappeared beyond the trees. Once he was gone, and you were certain he wasn’t going to turn around, you let your shoulders drop and buried your face in both of your hands.

Your breaths came out shaky as your shoulders shook with your cries. Shawn was gone. He left you exactly how you left him; standing alone, crying, wanting more of an explanation–-wanting to still make things work––and not being able to do anything while watching the one person you ever loved walk away.

At least when you left, you looked back at him one last time. You vividly remember how his face crumpled and then how he brought a hand up to cover his face as he openly sobbed. You could still feel how your chest tore open at the sound of his wailing that day.

But he didn’t look back at you when he left.

You stood alone in the woods, unable to catch your breath between your hyperventilation and cries, as you felt scratches on the back of your throat from harshly breathing in the cold air. You cried for a little longer, rocking back and forth as you clutched your stomach, until you felt ready to leave your high school.

You shivered from the cold, but at this point, you would welcome any other feeling than the devastating heartbreak you felt in your chest as you walked out of the woods. With one last look at the highschool that brought you to the absolute best person you’ve ever found in your life, you headed down a road you hadn’t taken in months.

Taking the road you used to walk from your parents house to high school looked real good…It looked fine until all you saw on the street were memories that danced their way around in the haziness of the night. Time flies and the memories blended together through your blurry vision.

You approached the stop sign, which had an infamous ditch, that caused almost every car to get stuck in if they didn’t take the right turn wide enough. You let out a small laugh as your mind drew up a version of a fifteen year old Shawn and yourself in his white truck. He was so proud to finally have a vehicle of his own––even if it was his grandfather’s old truck––to take you out on dates.

And one day when Shawn was driving you home from school, he was too caught up in recounting a story about how he and Brian nearly got caught ditching third period, that he got stuck in the ditch. How you got out of the ditch wasn’t clear––but you remember Shawn standing behind his truck, pushing it, as you were in the front seat pressing on the gas pedal.

And when the two of you were able to get his truck out of the ditch, his back tires spurted up an insane amount of mud. It caused his freshly washed white truck and white shirt to look just as messy as the mud on his truck tires.

Your laughs soon turned into more tears as you crossed the seat and leaned your forehead on the metal post of the stop sign. You didn’t regret going to California, you knew you wanted to get out of Pickering, but being home for an extended amount of time showed you how you wished you’d gone about leaving a different way.

Going back to your old high school showed you how much you missed your old life. You missed the nights when you stayed up all night with your friends, waiting to watch the sunrise, and then going to a diner for breakfast. You missed the times you would lie on Shawn’s floor doing homework, while he studied at his desk. You missed the way your friends would tease you and Shawn when they saw you holding hands.

But most of all, you missed seeing Shawn’s smile.

Bright headlights from your peripheral vision caused you to pick your head up from the rusty metal post. You sniffled and decided that it would be best to continue walking so the car wouldn’t see your mini breakdown.

You continued to walk straight, but the car didn’t speed up and go around you like you expected. Instead, you heard the sound of a window rolling down as the person who you were just thinking about called out your name.

You should’ve given Shawn your full attention, but you don’t think you could watch him leave again. So you shook your head and continued to walk forward.

“Y/n,” Shawn called out your name again, “Get in the truck. It’s cold out, it’s late, you’re upset, and Tara said you had a drink.”

You shook your head no as you crossed your arms over your chest, sniffled away the last of your tears, and continued walking.

But what did cause you to stop walking was the sound of the engine shutting off and the slam of a door.

And like when you first saw him at the little Christmas village all those weeks ago, the two of you stood face-to-face in silence. It seemed as if his tongue was tied and he didn’t know what to say. And you didn’t know what you wanted him to say. He made his intentions with you clear at the edge of the woods.

“I’ve only had one drink,” you looked away from his eyes that were full of remorse, and it only made the ache in you feel worse, “I’m fine walking home.”

You brushed past his shoulders, but he shot his hand out and clasped his hand around yours. You held your breath as he spoke, “Hear me out––”

“I heard you in the woods,” you choked out.

He squeezed your hand tight and the action caused you to rapidly blink away the tears you were so certain were gone. He was all you wanted, the past weeks showed you that, but the back and forth––the crushing of both of your feelings––wasn’t something that was healthy or sustainable for a relationship.

You dropped his hand for a second, but his hand reached right back up to yours, holding onto it in panic, “We––We could just ride around,” he let out a low somber chuckle, “Just like the old days.”

Even though your back was still facing him, you bit your bottom lip and squeezed your eyes shut. Just like the old days. You didn’t think words that sounded so innocent could be so painful.

“I can’t,” you whispered.

At your denial, Shawn held your hand tighter, and you felt him take a step closer to you, “I just-–I want to spend time with you.” You heard him let out a shaky breath, “I didn’t––What I said back there––I know you’re going to leave again. I thought it would make me feel better to say those things––But it didn’t. And I––” his voice cracked, “I’ve missed you so much.”

You tried your hardest to resist the urge of leaning into the warmth of his chest. But when you heard the crack in his voice, you didn’t care about all the alarms going off in your head about how this was a bad idea.

You turned around to face him and saw stress lines on his forehead as his eyes looked red. He had his lips firmly clamped together, as if he was also trying to hold back in his tears.

With a deep breath, you tried to smile, “Shawn––”

He shook his head. He didn’t know what you were going to say, but with past experience of you starting a sentence off with his name, it was like he didn’t want to take any risks.

“I––No one is at my parents’ house. We could––We could just go there, watch a movie––Or do absolutely nothing,” he took a deep breath and leaned his head against yours, “I just need to spend more time with you before you go.”

You gulped, “Okay.”

The relieved sigh Shawn let out fanned over your face as a small smile lit up his face. If this was any other moment you previously shared with him, you would expect him to press a light kiss to your lips, but he just nodded against your forehead.

With your hand still in his, he guided you to his truck––the same one he got stuck in the ditch with––and you were proud of yourself for not crying at the sight of it. The way he opened the door, and placed a hand on the small of your back––to make sure you didn’t fall backwards as you stepped up into the truck––was reminiscent of all the times he picked you up on dates.

When you were buckled into your seat, you turned your head to look out the window to wipe away a few tears with the heel of your palm.

Shawn started his truck back up and the whole way back to his parents’ house was spent in silence.

He turned in his driveway, and put his car in park as the two of you sat in silence. His hands were still placed on the steering wheel and your hands were curled in fists, no doubt your fingernails leaving crescent moon shapes on the inside of your palms. You knew that the two of you were thinking the same thing…The last time you were both at his parents’ house.

The last time you were both at his parents’ house was when you told him you were leaving––Leaving for L.A. and leaving him.

He switched off the ignition and turned to face you, “Are you…Do you want to come in?”

“Yeah, sure,” you said as you swallowed down the lump in your throat.

Shawn nodded too, and the two of you unbuckled your seatbelts, as you opened the door. You carefully took a step down, but ultimately stumbled out of the passenger seat.

Once you regained balance, you saw Shawn standing a few feet in front of you with an amused smirk, “Even after years…You still have trouble getting out of it.”

Even though his tone was lighthearted, you saw the painful look in his eyes as memories of you struggling to get out of his truck flashed before his eyes.

You rolled your eyes as you shut the door, “It’s steep.”

Shawn let out a boisterous laugh as he led you through the front door and an overwhelming sensation washed over you. Seeing Shawn’s apartment was odd, but it was his own space that you hadn’t seen before.

But his home…You spent countless Sunday night dinners in the dining room with his family, helped his mom throw a surprise seventeenth birthday party for Shawn in the kitchen, fell asleep on Shawn’s shoulder in the living room during a movie, and snuck into his basement countless times on a school night. 

You knew this place.

“We can uh––” Shawn brought a hand up to the back of his neck, “Go to the basement? We got it redone last year so it’s nice––And um––Do you want a sweatshirt? A blanket? Something other than your jacket?”

Even though Shawn was in his house it seemed as if he didn’t know how to act either.

You smiled, “A sweatshirt would be nice.”

He nodded, “Cool. I’ll go grab it and you can––You can wait in the basement if you want.” Before you could respond, he turned around and ran up the steps to his room to fetch you a sweatshirt.

Instead of wallowing in your memories right by the staircase, you headed for the basement. Your feet had a memory of their own as they carried you straight back through the hallway, past the kitchen, and made a left. You walked a further bit down that hallway until you were met with the white door that led to the basement.

With a deep breath, you twisted the handle and walked down the stairs.

The basement was redone, but not overly done. There was a fresh set of paint, new hardwood floor, and new furniture scattered about. You weren’t alone for very long before you heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

Shawn had changed out his jeans for sweatpants and a hoodie, “Here you go,” he handed you a sweatshirt of his.

You took it from him and inspected it as you slipped off your winter jacket. It was his varsity hockey sweatshirt from junior year of high school. The gray sweatshirt had your high school’s logo printed big on the front, the top of the sleeve had a bold C for captain, and the back had MENDES 16.

It was one of his sweatshirts that exclusively lived in your closet since you wore it to his games so often.

You gulped as you slipped it over your head. Once the sweatshirt was on, you saw Shawn sitting on the futon with his eyebrows pulled together. He was either thinking about all the times you wore it previously or he was regretting offering it to you.

You stuffed your hands in the front pockets of the sweatshirt and stood there until Shawn patted the spot next to him, “Come here.”

Shuffling your feet, you made your way across the hardwood floor and slipped your shoes off before joining Shawn on the futon. You crossed your right leg over your left thigh and started to nervously pick at the loose skin by your thumb.

You didn’t know what he was going to do…Was he going to turn on the T.V.? Did he want to talk? You thought that the two of you talked more than you needed to in the past few hours.

Shawn’s eyes glanced down at your nervous hands and in one swift motion, he shifted his sitting position so that he was facing you, and took both of your hands in his.

He was staring intently at you, and you wanted to do anything to lessen the tension. His hands felt warm around yours as you looked at the wall that the futon was pressed up against. You let out a small laugh when you saw the tiny holes that the new paint wasn’t able to hide.

“Not able to get rid of the holes from darts?”

Shawn was confused for a moment, until he followed your gaze to see the tiny holes for himself, and let out a chuckle, “My parents painted the basement last year and they just noticed the holes…” He shook his head, “I tried telling them that it was Brian and Aaron, but they were still mad at me.”

You smiled softly at the memory, “They were wasted that night.”

Shawn mirrored your smile, “Yeah it was six years ago, but they were still mad.”

You squinted an eye and offered him an apologetic smile, “Sorry, I encouraged them that night.”

Shawn shook his head, telling you not to worry about it, “We were all having a good time.”

Silence.

You let out a deep breath and broke eye contact with him again. You felt nervous as ever under his gaze and felt hot as you wore his sweatshirt.

“How’re you liking California?”

You snapped your head over to him, eyes bulging out of your head, because him bringing up the place you left him for was definitely not something you would’ve thought he’d bring up.

“I um––It’s warmer,” you weakly smiled and Shawn’s chest softly shook with laughter. He looked at you, raising his eyebrows, wanting you to expand on your explanation, “It’s nice.” You let out a sigh and looked into your lap.

Shawn squeezed your hands which caused you to look up at him, “Even though we…We didn’t leave off on the best of terms,” he licked his lips in nervousness, “I still care about you. And I’m curious to know.”

You nodded your head in understanding. Saying that you didn’t leave things off on the best of terms was an understatement––It was Shawn trying not to hurt your feelings––But you knew exactly how you left things. And it was absolutely terrible.

You let out a sigh as a genuine smile lit up your face as you remembered landing in LAX for the first time, “It was really really nice,” you peaked a look up at Shawn to see that he also had a genuine smile on his face. “At the time, it was exactly what I needed. I just…I don’t know what it was about Canada but I just needed something new and––” you felt yourself get choked up because here you are, sitting in front of the boy who promised you the world for years, saying how much you wanted to leave.

Shawn squeezed your hands in reassurance, “It’s––I get it.”

You let one of his hands drop as you brought it up to wipe away the tears, “Sorry I––I don’t want to cry, sorry.”

“Really, it’s alright,” Shawn squeezed your hands once more, “When things got…” he tilted his head side to side, trying to find a word, “better, Tara would tell me about how happy you were out there.” He smiled sadly, “I was happy that you were happy.”

You wiped away more tears and let out a pathetic laugh, “I really don’t deserve you.”

“Hey,” Shawn leaned forward to wipe away some of your tears. And when you opened your eyes, you saw how close he was to you, the tip of his nose a centimeter away from yours, “Everything’s…We’re good now.”

You shakily took a deep breath and nodded your head, “I––I’ve been thinking and I––I don’t want to stay in L.A.”

Shawn’s eyes brightened up at your confession, “You’re not staying there?”

You shook your head and whispered, “I miss home.”

You miss Shawn.

Shawn’s eyes flickered down to your lips and then gazed back up into your eyes. You offered him the gentlest of smiles, shoulders dropping in relaxation, and that was all the go ahead Shawn needed to lean forward.

When your lips pressed together, you instantly closed your eyes and felt Shawn let out a content sigh out through his nose. It was a short kiss, and when Shawn pulled away slightly, you didn't miss the twinkle in his eyes.

“You’re coming back to Canada?” He whispered in a daze, voice full of hope.

You nodded, biting your bottom lip to keep your growing smile at bay, “After I finish this semester, yeah,” you let your eyes linger on his lips for a second longer than normal, before lowering your voice in all seriousness, “I’m coming home to Canada.”

Without any hesitation behind the actions, Shawn crashed his lips back onto yours that had you toppling back a little. You let out a small laugh against his lips as you regained your sitting position and wound your arms around his neck.

His once hurried kisses morphed into slow sensual kisses as he took his time savoring every kiss. His kisses were just as slow as the movement of his hands on your thighs; slowly rubbing your knees, then trailing his palms up your thighs, until he slid them back down to your knees. Everything about his touches, and your kisses, were slow and unhurried.

Eventually, his hands trailed further up your thighs until they didn’t come back down to your knees like usual. Instead, his hands rested on your hips, with one hand traveling to the button of your jeans. You felt your breath hitch in your throat when his fingers popped open the button of your jeans.

Without breaking the kiss, he slowly pulled down the zipper of your jeans and helped you shimmy out of them. Once you kicked your jeans off from around your ankles, you tugged at the bottom of Shawn’s sweatshirt, letting him know that you want it off.

He hummed against your lips in acknowledgement, but didn’t remove his clothing right away, “I want to kiss you a little more.”

You fought to suppress your smile, the corners of your lips still tugged upward, making Shawn’s deep kisses a little hard to continue. With a sigh, and one last peck to your lips, Shawn pulled back and tugged his sweatshirt over his head.

You tilted your head, “No shirt?”

Shawn shrugged as he lowered his gaze back down to your lips, “Most of them here are too small. My sweatshirts still fit through.”

And while everything before was gentle touches and hushes kisses, the earnestness of the situation was coming to light. He looked at you with the same sincerity and understanding that you held in your eyes. He offered you a small smile before he latched his lips to the skin just below your ear.

“If it’s okay with you,” Shawn spoke as he took his time on your neck, depositing slow, wet kisses, some of which would definitely leave lingering marks, “It’s okay with me.”

You tilted your head to give Shawn better access as one of your hands absently played with the curls on the back of his neck, “I––Yes,” you let out a content sigh as Shawn nipped at a spot on the base of your neck.

His lips made a sound as they detached from the skin on your neck so he could look down at you. You held onto his bicep and nodded your head slowly, “We need to talk more in the morning, but for now…” You squeezed his bicep, “I want this.”

“Agreed.”

And with that, Shawn leaned forward, as he pressed his lower abdomen into your front, and cupped the nape of your neck to kiss you deeply.

///

You didn’t know what time it was when you eventually stirred awake, but you awoke with a soft smile on your face. You wore Shawn’s hockey sweatshirt, had his arm curled around your waist, and were pressed firmly against his back as you felt his hot breath on the back of your neck. Waking up in this position was better than anything you ever dreamed about.

After a few minutes of being up alone, you felt the arm around your waist tighten, “Morning,” Shawn’s voice was groggy as he pressed a kiss to the back of your neck.

You closed your eyes and hummed as you felt him pepper a few more kisses along your neck, “Hi.”

Shawn chuckled at your morning greeting before propping himself up on his arm. He squinted his eyes at the wall with the television on it and let out a soft laugh. He looked down at you with an adoring smile as he brought one hand up to stroke your cheek, “It’s two in the afternoon.”

Your eyes winded as you felt wide awake, “What?!”

You went to sit up straight in alarm, but Shawn had other plans. He moved the arm that was propping him up, falling beside you, as he dropped his entire weight on you. You let out a muffled groan into his shoulder as you felt his chest rumble with laughter.

“We can afford to sleep in half the day,” Shawn pressed a kiss to your shoulder, “Just for old times’ sake.”

You let out a deep sigh, but brought one of your arms out from under Shawn––and the blanket that was draped over him––to curl around his shoulders. You let your fingertips softly graze his back in a figure eight pattern and he let out a deep sigh.

“That feels nice.”

You only offered a hum in agreement because even though Shawn felt like a dead weight on top of you, it felt nice. The whole situation felt nice. Everything from the events of last night, to waking up in his arms felt nice.

It felt almost as good as being in love in high school.

But like every time you felt yourself getting swept away in past memories that were better than anything you felt in the present moment, reality came crashing in like a tsunami.

Because the reality was that you had to go back to L.A., go back to all of your friends––or so-called friends; you heard whispers from one of your closest friends that a girl named Janey just wanted to be your friend because of a connection you had to a production company. It was something you heard before, but it wasn’t something you ever spent a considerable amount of time wondering about.

Out in L.A., you mostly wondered about the only soul who could tell which smiles you were faking.

Shawn was the gentlest and kindest person you’d ever met. His heart was bigger than anyone else’s; and he always made sure to make people happy even when he wasn’t feeling at the top of his game.

He showed people that he cared for them by remembering their coffee order.

He showed people he cherished them by putting their birthdays in his calendar so he wouldn’t forget to wish them a happy birthday.  

But most of all, he showed people he loved them by not allowing them to walk home alone in the cold when they were upset.

And now, with that soul on top of you––literally––you knew that the heart you were breaking was your own. How deserving were you of a second chance? How deserving were you to be let into his life again? You were selfish––greedy to have him back in your life––so you would cling onto that second chance, but there was still some left over guilt.

You let out a sigh, “Shawn––”

“Shawn?”

A voice that wasn’t yours––But one that you recognized as the voice of his mother––called out his name. Your fingertips stopped grazing his back and it felt as if you forgot how to breathe. Shawn mirrored your alarm about the situation as he shot up.

“Shawn? Are you here?”

“Oh my god it’s your mom,” you whisper yelled at him.

Shawn’s mouth hung open in panic, not knowing what to say, but then the basement door opened up and his mom called down, “Shawn?”

“I––Uh––Yeah, mom! I’m down here!” His voice was strained as he yelled up to her.

You were still under Shawn, and you prayed to anyone up in Heaven that she would stay up there. You didn’t know how well it would go over if she walked down the stairs and saw you.

You stayed frozen under Shawn as you heard his mom call out again, “We’re going over to the Martin's house in a half hour!”

Shawn swallowed thickly as he nodded rapidly, “Yeah––I––I didn’t forget! I’ll be ready!”

After his mom got his answer from him, she shut the door and neither of you two breathed until you heard her retreating footsteps. Once you were both positive his mom wouldn’t make a re-appearance, Shawn let out a laugh and you smacked his chest.

“That was not funny,” you glared at him, “I nearly had a heart attack.”

Shawn rolled his eyes, “I haven’t felt that kind of thrill since the last time we almost got caught when you snuck over.”

“We don’t talk about that.”

Shawn let out another laugh as he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your cheek, “You don’t like to talk about it.”

You shoved his chest until he moved off you. With a small laugh, he rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow, with a regretful smile on his face, “I do have to shower and get ready though.”

You let out a frown, not wanting to leave the warmest bed you’ve ever known in the last three and a half years. Blindly, you reached out for his free hand and slid your fingers between his, “Are you free tonight?”

“Tonight?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at you, “Can’t get enough of me, eh?”

You rolled your eyes with a small smile before regaining your serious composure, “We need to talk.” Shawn closed his eyes momentarily, as if not wanting whatever trance he was under to be broken, but when he opened his eyes, you were smiling reassuringly at him, “I want to make this work. We just have to talk about how.”

Shawn released a relieved breath and smiled, “I want to make this work too.”

“We could call it even…” You smirked at him, as he raised his eyebrows in amusement and curiosity, “You could sneak into my house.”

Shawn let out a quiet laugh as he shook his head, “It’s so hard to sneak into your house,” Shawn dropped his head into the crook of your neck as he continued laughing, “Sneaking up to your room is impossible with that tree that’s in direct view of your parents window.”

“You’ve done it before,” you shrugged.

With one last laugh, Shawn pressed a single kiss to your neck before lifting his head up, “That I have.”

Once both of your laughs subsided, you stayed on the futon for a few moments longer just looking into his eyes and holding his hand. While you felt pure happiness explode in your chest at this phase of reconnecting, you hated the fact that you had to leave again.

Even if you were just leaving for a few months and then coming right back to Canada. You felt as if you spent too much time away already.

“Hey…” Shawn carefully pulled yourself out from your own head, “We’re good.”

You held his steady gaze before squeezing your eyes––and his hand––tight, “Even though I’m leaving––”

“I’ll be yours for the weekend,” Shawn cut you off. You gulped at his answer and slowly opened your eyes to see the seriousness he was trying to convey, “We’ll talk more tonight, but we can make this work, I––You have a spring break, right?” You nodded your head, “I can come out and visit. And we’ll figure––” he squeezed your hand, “it out.”

“We’ll figure it out,” you repeated his promise.

He smiled one last time before leaning his head down and pressing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“You have to––” You tried to get words out between kisses, but Shawn kept deepening the kiss to keep you quiet, “Get ready––”

“Shawn!”

His mother’s voice caused him to bolt up right. You had to cover your mouth with your hand to quiet your laughter. He glared down at you, “I’ll be up in a second!”

You shoved his shoulder so that way you weren’t trapped under him anymore. You stepped onto the ground and stretched your arms over your head as you saw Shawn smirk at you. Finding your jeans somewhere on the floor, you slipped them back on, “What?”

Shawn nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders, his smirk transforming into a wide smile, “Nothing. Just that I could get used to this again.”

Again.

Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think you would have an ‘again’ with Shawn. Butterflies erupted in your stomach as you returned his smile and buttoned up your jeans.

You made sure you had everything you came with before turning to see Shawn at the bottom of the stairs, now with a sweatshirt on. You walked up to him, placed a hand on his shoulder as you stood a bit on your tiptoes, and pressed a goodbye kiss to his lips.

Shawn smiled into the kiss, “Know your way out?”

You smacked his chest and he let out a small yelp, “I could sneak out of your basement with my eyes closed.”

Shawn smirked as he watched you walk toward the door that would lead to an outside staircase that would deposit you to his side yard, and from there, you would sneak behind the line of hedges in his mother’s garden.

Easy peasy.

You opened the door and had one foot out before you heard Shawn let out an over dramatic sigh, “Ah,” his eyes twinkled with a familiar mischievousness, “Feels like we’re back in high school.”

You looked out at the cement staircase with a fond smile, reminiscing on all the times you sneaked out of his place, before looking back at Shawn with a mischievous smile of your own, “Tis the damn season.”

Taglist (add / remove yourself): @adelaidestreets, @alilovesshawn, @fallinallincurls, @lights-on-mendes, @mendesficsxbombay, @particularnarry, @shawnmendez, @shawnsreputation, @turtoix, @badreputatiom, @5-seconds-of-mendes, @pupsandducks @musicalkeys, @madatmendes @im-salt-but-not-salty @sunkisseddreamer, @determined-overthinker @fortheloveoftheaussies, @illuminatepotter , @par_r, @perfectlywrongsm​ @lovelysunset1​ @samaratheweirdo​ @sarcasticallywitty15 

[seaweedbrain404]

Wolfstar Au! : We Can’t Let the Kid Down, Now Can We?

read it on ao3

The flight from London to Athens wasn’t worth it and the flight back was even less worth it. Remus cursed himself for being so silly to think that Teddy’s mother would want anything to do with the boy, and even sillier to believe her when she said she would love for them to visit but couldn’t leave Athens because of work related reasons.

Remus should’ve asked her to elaborate these “reasons” but he didn’t and so, he and Teddy got to Athens for the weekend, she spent about an hour with them before leaving to go to a party. They didn’t see her again until three hours before they had to leave for the airport. He regretted this whole thing. Everything that happened to Remus up until that point, he regretted. Well, that was a lie. It wasn’t fair to Teddy. Remus didn’t regret Teddy. Sure, he hadn’t planned on becoming a father at 20 while in college but shit happens and Teddy was a wonderful kid (most of the time).

Understandably, Remus was annoyed and Teddy was upset. Everything was fine though, Remus had given him the window seat while he took the middle and hoped whichever fucker got landed with the aisle wasn’t an asshole because Teddy was at the age where he peed a lot. Like all the time and drank so much juice, which was probably the cause.

Remus had given Teddy a picture book for the trip. He already started making up his own story about what was happening to each character in each picture with alarmingly detailed backstories and of course, telling Remus every single bit of it when a man took the aisle seat.

“.....but Sammy doesn’t like her because she took the last cookie…..” Teddy went on, not noticing that Remus’ attention was elsewhere.

The man who sat down next to him was downright gorgeous. His dark hair was tied back in a loose bun with a pair of sunglasses resting atop his head. He was sporting a nice tan and wore clothes that looked more expensive than anything Remus could ever hope to own in his entire life. His cheekbones were sharp, almost royal looking. It made Remus feel slightly self conscious about his own sunburnt nose, freckled skin, limbs that didn’t quite fit and t-shirt that was so old and probably dirty because Teddy always had to wipe his hands on him.

That’s when it all went downhill. Teddy didn’t appreciate the takeoff the first time around and he sure as hell didn’t appreciate it now. The 4-year-old started crying as soon as the plane began moving.

Everyone seemed to look for the source of the noise and when their eyes landed on Remus and his son, they sighed or rolled their eyes or looked pitifully at the pair. With sudden horror, as he put his arm around Teddy to try to comfort him until they were safely allowed to undo their seatbelts so he could put him on his lap, Remus realised he was the annoyed guy with the wailing kid on the plane. The enchanting mam next to him, was unlucky enough to be seated next to that guy.

He felt a deep rise of panic and shame in his belly. “Shhh… Teds, it’s okay, we’ll be flying properly soon” he tried to push his own feelings aside in order to comfort Teddy.

It wasn’t working. Teddy kept crying and the handsome stranger had plugged earphones in his ears. Good, Remus thought, at least now it’s one less person to see me fail at being a father.

“Too loud!” Teddy cried, covering his ears with his hands then taking Remus’ hands and covering his ears with those.

He continued crying and this would continue to stress Remus out until they were high enough and stable enough that the seatbelt light flashed off. When they eventually did, and Remus was sure there would be no turbulence, he undid Teddy’s belt and brought him up onto his lap.

It was almost comically funny how Teddy stopped crying immediately. The moment he made contact with Remus, head tucked into his dad’s chest, he was reduced to sniffles.

“Why don’t you go night-night for a mo’ yeah?” Remus asked softly, as he rubbed circles on Teddy’s back.

The 4-year-old sniffled and looked up at Remus with great big watery eyes. “Daddy? Can we go to nana and granda’s when we go home?”

“Of course we can” Remus whispered into his son’s hair.

“That lady- you said was mummy, I don’t think she wants to be my mummy”

Remus had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from crying too. Teddy was only 4 but ever so perceptive and Remus regretted more than ever trusting Teddy’s mother.

“But it’s ‘kay, I gots you daddy” Teddy carried on, wiping his nose on Remus’ tshirt and giggling to himself. “You have my buggers on you now”

“Go to sleep now Teds, yeah?”

Teddy nodded, pushing his head further into Remus’ chest. His small hands were clinging tightly onto his father, as if he was afraid to let go. Remus was also holding onto Teddy for dear life. He was, without a doubt, the best thing to ever happen to Remus.

Clearly just as exhausted as Teddy, Remus closed his eyes for about five seconds before he felt someone tapping his shoulder. He jolted awake, feeling the heavy lump on his lap move slightly before he registered his surroundings.

It was the man from earlier. He had been the one to wake up Remus and by the looks of it, Teddy had been awake from quite some time. It took Remus a moment to realised the man had said something, his brain still swirling with sleep.

“Sorry- what?” He managed dumbly.

The man just smiled. “I said, your kid needs the bathroom” he pointed to Teddy, who looked decidedly more cheerful now that he had slept a bit.

“Oh- right, thanks- thank you” Remus’ eyes went from Teddy back to man. He smiled sheepishly as the other got up to leave Remus and Teddy out.

After returning from the bathroom trip, Teddy still didn’t want to be seated alone and remained firmly attached to Remus. Currently, he was sitting on his lap with a colouring book and a six-pack of crayons to keep him entertained.

“I’m sorry if he gave you any trouble” Remus said suddenly, after coming to the realization that Teddy had probably woken up and started bothering the other man.

He just shook his head, letting out a chuckle. “No, don’t worry about it, I’ve got a niece and a godson so I’m pretty used to kids”

“Still, he can be a bit much, he likes dinosaurs so I hope he didn’t talk your ear off”

“What? No, he really is a brilliant kid” He smiled warmly, then looked thoughtful for a moment before saying, “I’m Sirius, by the way”

“Remus”

“I know, kid kinda sold ya out”

Of course. Trust Teddy to sell you out to people who you think look ridiculously handsome and that you definitely wouldn’t mind snogging.

“Oh god” Remus dragged his hand over his face, I’m scared to ask what else he said”

“Nothing bad, I promise but…” Sirius pursed his lips then spoke in a lower voice, “I hope you don’t mind me asking- I mean it’s just cause of what he said but why were you in Greece?”

Remus’ shoulders tensed, readying himself for a fight. He had to remind himself he wasn’t 17 anymore, he wasn’t just a queer schoolboy from a small town in Wales with nothing to lose. He was a dad now.

“We went to visit Teddy’s mum” came his soft reply and he continued despite himself, “it wasn’t a good idea though”

“Why not?”

“Yeah, I don’t really want to talk about it… it’s complicated”

“Oh” Sirius looked a little crestfallen, he shook his head and his smile reappeared. “Are you Wesh?”

Taken aback the the question, Remus blinked at Sirius and nodded. He almost got whiplash from how fast Sirius changed the topic.

“Mm, figured”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your accent” Sirius said, as if that explained everything but upon seeing the look on Remus’ face, he elaborated. “My parents had a sort of holiday home there, they’re filthy rich- my parents, too bad they disowned me for liking men”

Maybe it was the way Sirius said it, with such lightness that made Remus’ head spin. Or maybe it was that he would’ve never been able to joke around about his own troubles or even so casually say it in conversation. He kind of admired Sirius for it, it must take a lot of bravely to be this open about something like that in front of a random guy you’ve met on the plane.

“Oh- I’m sorry about that, that your parents did that” Remus managed once he recovered from his initial shock. “It’s an awful thing to do”

Sirius just shrugged, flashing another smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes like the previous ones. “Eh, it’s all good, all in the past y’know”

Remus opened his mouth but before he could speak, Teddy piped up. “Daddy, I like Sirius, I think you and him should hold hands and kiss”

Obviously Teddy is going to come out with something as embarrassing as that. Remus felt his entire face flush red as he tried to scramble for some way to apologize when Sirius held up his hand to stop him.

“No, I should probably take your daddy out on a date before we do that Teddy” Sirius said in a tone so serious, one might’ve thought he wasn’t joking. “What do you say bud? Am I allowed?”

Teddy nodded his head vigorously. “Yes! but we have to go to nana and granda’s first, then you can take him on a date”

Sirius aimed yet another smile at Remus, “What do you say? We can’t let the kid down now, can we?”

“Yeah, ‘suppose we can’t” He replied breathlessly.

A lot of things went through Remus’ head at that moment and for the rest of the flight. He mulled over whether he had made the right decision or not but when he saw Teddy chatting away happily to Sirius, he figured it was worth a shot.

[gravelyhumerus]

Criminal Minds College AU - Chapter Seventeen

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Title: “I may just take your breath away”

Relationship: Jemily

Summary:

Exams, pizza, board games... what more could a girl ask for?

Slow-burn Jemily college AU where they live across the hall and despite all odds, the universe pushes them together. AKA they’re silly gay babies who pine after each other for months.

Read it on AO3

Tumblr:  One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, (bonus scene), Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty

 “That was a lot of chess,” Emily complained, nearly chugging her latte as she and Spencer left the coffee shop. 

She pulled her beanie onto her head and braced herself for the snow as the taller boy held the door open for her. Emily almost slipped on the slushy tile floor on her way out but managed to keep her balance. 

“Fifteen of the multiple-choice questions to be precise,” Spencer replied. The salted sidewalk crunched under their feet as they made their way across campus. 

“I’m so glad it’s finally over,” she admitted. “I think I’ve had enough philosophy to last me a lifetime.” 

“I’m enrolled in ‘Minds and Machines’ next semester,” he said. “I think I might try and get a double minor this time around.”

“What’s the goal? Three PhDs by the time you’re 24?” Emily quipped. 

He was well on his way, having completed his engineering degree before she managed to graduate high school. He was 17, only two years younger than her, but somehow seemed like a kid. A kid with more education crammed into his brain than she could ever master in her life.

“Something like that,” he replied with a smile. His hair was getting long and he had tied it back during the exam. With last names starting with P and R, they were seated near each other in the large exam hall, and she glanced over at him as he fussed with his hair. 

They stopped at the red light, watching as the cars and busses wooshed past them, sending the slush flying into the snowbanks. It had been a fairly sunny day, but bitterly cold. Now, the sun was setting and the campus was bathed in a warm golden glow. The snow had fallen the night before, leaving fluffy white snow covering their campus. 

Emily had spent most of the day holed up in the library with Spencer, with him quizzing her on fallacies and philosophers. With his eidetic memory, he only really needed to read the material once. Earlier in the semester, she did feel useful when it came to editing each other’s essays. He always got bogged down with detail, word vomiting everything he knew, and she helped him with his structure and argumentation. 

More studying awaited her back in her room. She rubbed at the back of her neck as she thought about the upcoming evening spent hunched over her desk studying criminal justice, a subject that left her questioning her degree half the time as she was forced to learn about the muddled ethics of justice. 

That week, she had survived on minimal sleep, eating mostly bagels and coffee to sustain her. Her body was protesting with each step, and she had suffered from a constant tension headache for as long as she remembered. At least her college had that golden retriever walk around at the library yesterday, she thought to herself, sarcastically. Animal therapy definitely relieved all her stress. As if petting a dog for five minutes would fix the anxiety of finals season. 

Two more exams, she reminded herself. You’ll make it. 

Despite this mantra, Emily was conflicted. While finals were killing her, the end of the semester also meant winter break. Emily would be forced to go “home” for the holidays. For most college students, that meant going back to their respective towns and being surrounded by their loved ones. Emily, on the other hand, didn’t have anywhere she called home. Last winter break, her mom had at least been in DC, and Emily was able to catch up with some of her international school friends who were in the city. This time, her mom was stationed in London, and Emily knew she’d be roped back into her old life. She didn’t know anyone there and knew most of her break would be spent alone. 

The last place she had called home was Rome, and now that was tarnished by her complicated past with that city. 

Emily was good at being alone. Being an only child of a workaholic single mom meant she learned to keep her own company. She read a lot. She got good at running away, escaping her nannies, and skirting security in order to roam free. She’d be fine. 

The problem was that Emily had gotten used to this. She rarely spent a moment alone these days. Whether it was walking to class with Spencer, or Hotch, or Derek, getting lunch with the team, surprise coffee dates with Penelope and spending almost every evening with her girlfriend, she hadn’t been left alone in ages. She didn’t miss it. 

Their residence building had a warm yellow light shining out of the windows and a soft red brick facade. In the summer, ivy grew up the south facing side but in the winter, the ledges were covered in snow and the stone steps were slippery. She trudged forward, excited for the warm embrace of the dorm. 

Spencer had other plans. He reached into the garish yellow plastic newspaper box that was stationed next to their doorway and retrieved this week’s newspaper. 

“Come on Reid,” Emily said. “Just subscribe to the newsletter or something like the rest of us.”

He held up the cover to her in surprise. Usually it reported the news of a recent sports victory, or a change of policy announced by the administrators, or even a fun event held on campus. Sometimes there was even a dramatic protest or an important speaker coming to campus. But this week, the headline surprised her. In large font printed across the page read: “Multiple student politicians fired amid financial scandal.” 

“That sounds bad,” Emily said. It did seem way more dramatic on newsprint than on a website, so maybe Spencer was onto something with his affinity for the printed word. 

Grabbing a copy for herself, she then walked inside to escape the cold. Warm air greeted them as they entered their residence hall, and both students kicked the snow off their boots before trudging up the stairs. They read as they walked, but the route to their rooms was already muscle memory, so neither worried about stumbling on their way. 

Normally, Emily wouldn’t willingly touch this sort of student politics with a ten foot pole. Sure, she was involved with the Criminology council, but there was a difference between the kind of person interested in petitioning for better accessibility to faculty events or running a bake sale, and the kind of students to embezzle thousands of student dollars like what the current student government executive seemed to be accused of doing. 

She quickly ran her eyes down the page, the contents jogging a memory from Halloween, of Hotch and JJ discussing the early stirrings of said scandal. 

“You know,” Spencer said, “I’m surprised they got a lot of this information, it’s notoriously difficult to file FOIAs for student governments, as they’re technically private corporations. So the fact that they got these files means that this is a much bigger scandal than one might assume.”

Corruption, bribery, embezzlement, nepotism. All words that jogged memories of hiding in the corner of political fundraisers, overhearing the worst of politics from too-drunk elites sipping on their wine and munching on charcuterie. 

“I hate politics,” Emily said, stuffing her copy of the paper into her bag. 

“I find it interesting. It’s basically a microcosm of our current political climate. In fact, I have subscribed to the print edition of fifteen student papers in the region,” Spencer said, “I like to keep informed on the coverage of student issues, and compare them to our own.”

“Why?!” Emily said with a laugh. “You know you can just look them up online.”

Spencer gave her a withering look, and she should have known better than asking about his aversion to tech. He loathed having to use his computer, as the LCD screens apparently gave him a headache. Penelope even gave him a pair of blue light glasses to attempt to alleviate the issue.

Then, he began to speak, at length, about the dying printed news industry and why print copies were better for understanding than screens et cetera. She made sure to nod and hum at appropriate points, but her mind kept wandering. 

She wondered if her girlfriend was in her room. Emily missed her any time they were apart and she yearned to hold her in her arms once again. But she shouldn’t. She needed to work. She had too much to do. Her grades had slipped, slightly, this semester. Everyone warned her about how college would be harder than high school, but no one ever warned her how much the expectations were raised in second year. 

Two more exams. She clutched her coffee tighter. She’d rather do anything else besides study at this point. Her body was exhausted, her mind frazzled. She wondered if she could even manage to get through a chapter of revision before conking out on her desk. 

As she said goodbye to Spencer and struggled with her keys that were tangled up in their corresponding university-branded lanyard, JJ’s door opened.  

“Hey girlfriend,” JJ greeted her, sounding way too much like a straight girl greeting her platonic friend for Emily’s taste. She gave her a pass because it sounded cute in her voice. 

“JJ!” Emily said, somehow surprised to see her despite the fact that she lived right across the hall. Her girlfriend was dressed in sweatpants and an oversized sweater, with her straight hair tucked behind her ears and her face bare of make up. Her face was lit up with a smile, and Emily rushed towards her, planting a soft kiss on her lips.

“Hi JJ,” Spencer said as Emily and JJ kissed. 

When they pulled apart, JJ gave Spencer a smile as a greeting and asked them how their exam went. 

Spencer babbled about their Logic exams for a minute or two, as Emily basked in JJ’s presence. She grabbed onto her hand and found that it was so much hotter than her own and wasn’t sure if she held on tight because she was cold, or if she had missed her girlfriend. 

“I’m just glad it’s over,” Emily said. “I never want to hear about fallacies again.”

Spencer seemed to want to say something, but fell silent at Emily’s tired expression. 

“Wanna come in for a bit?” JJ whispered in Emily’s ear. Apparently she said so a touch too loud because Spencer replied instead. 

“Sure!” he said, and then walked into JJ and Penelope’s room. 

“I should really study,” Emily tried to argue, but a single glance into JJ’s deep, blue eyes had Emily melting. 

JJ’s room was much messier than Emily had last seen it. Both desks showed clear markers of the ongoing exams, with papers and books piled high. In addition to this was an assortment of pillows strewn all over the floor.

“You guys are back early!” JJ said, after checking her watch, “I thought it was a two hour exam?”

“I finished in an hour,” Spencer said, “and Emily only needed an extra half hour on top of my time.”

Damn straight, Emily thought, feeling somewhat competitive with the boy-genius despite herself. 

She really should study, but the prospect of seeing her girlfriend outweighed the desire to sit hunched over a textbook for another evening. 

Emily and Spencer kicked off their boots, placing them neatly on the mat by the door before peeling their jackets off and hanging them on the back of her door. Emily wasn’t sure if she liked winter. Whenever her mother was stationed in the Middle East she yearned for snow, but now that she was experiencing the Nor’easter for the first time, the desert sounded like a good time. 

“Well there goes my plan,” JJ said, blowing her hair out of her face with a puff of air.

Spencer flopped onto Penelope’s neatly-made bed, collapsing into the assortment of pink pillows while carefully keeping his take-away cup upright. Emily sat down next to JJ on her bed.

“Your plan?” Emily asked. 

“Yeah,” JJ said, sounding a bit shy. “I had this whole plan to make up a blanket fort here for you, and I would surprise you with it when you walked in.’”

JJ gestured with her hands at the mess. Blankets and pillows were strewn about, and a bundle of fairy lights were laying in the middle of the floor. 

“Then you came back early,” JJ concluded. “Spence, I thought you’d keep her occupied longer!”

“You didn’t tell me that,” he replied. Spencer looked quizzically at her, shrugged, then took another sip of his coffee.

“I just wanted us to have a cute date night,” JJ admitted. “I know you’re so stressed, and you deserve a break.” 

Emily grabbed her girlfriend’s moving hands and held them in her own. She felt overwhelmed. JJ was so… thoughtful. Caring. Attentive. So many things that were absolutely foreign to Emily. No one had ever tried to impress her like this. 

“It’s okay,” Emily said. “We don’t need anything special to have a cute date night. You’re cute enough.”

JJ gave Emily a goofy smile in response. 

“Okay,” JJ said. “If you say so.”

“You’re building a blanket fort?” Spencer asked. “I actually have some experience with blanket fort architecture.”

“You do?” JJ asked, raising her eyebrows skeptically.

“Of course,” he replied, seeming almost offended that she questioned him. “It sparked my interest in engineering. I wanted to overcome the problem of chair-tippage when it came to building the structure, so I devised a system of counter-weights that I found increased the structural integrity by 53%. My mom always told me that I could be an architect, but I thought the sciences better suited my intellect.”

“Oh?” Emily asked, genuinely interested. How would someone measure the structural integrity of a blanket fort? 

“Actually, I have some blueprints. Let me grab them,” he said, standing up and making a move for the door. 

“Of course you have blueprints,” JJ laughed. 

“I should probably go feed Gideon, anyway. I’ll be right back!” Spencer  said. Before closing the door behind him.

“Gideon?” Emily asked. 

“His fish,” JJ said, “the one he won at the fair. It’s named after his professor, I think.”

She shrugged. The kid was weird, they tended to just accept that. 

“I guess Spencer’s joining us on date night,” JJ said. “Sorry. I know you’re stressed and probably want to be studying, but I thought we’d order pizza and just have one night off. Just us. And Spencer.”

JJ planted a firm kiss on Emily’s lips, leaving her dazed and blushing. 

“Relaxing sounds perfect,” Emily said, pulling her girlfriend closer to her. “I can’t believe it’s already exams. This semester has flown by. Soon it’ll be winter break, and I won’t get to see you.”

“I can’t imagine you not being right across the hall,” JJ said. “Who will give me kisses when I want them?”

JJ kissed Emily, sucking on Emily’s bottom lip slightly before pulling apart to look at her. 

“I know you’re joking, but I hope you’re not kissing anybody else, no matter the circumstances.”

With that established, Emily pounced on her girlfriend, pushing her onto her bed and kissing her deeply. She intertwined her fingers in the blonde locks that were splayed out in a golden halo and breathed in deep, taking in the warm scent of the lilac candle that burnt on her night side table. 

All her worries melted away at JJ’s touch. Emily’s brain was filled with the feeling of JJ’s lips on hers, with her lithe form beneath her. Exams, student politics and thoughts of home were wiped away, and her stress faded into background noise. 

JJ’s pliant form writhed under Emily’s, her hands sneaking below Emily’s sweater and dancing over her back. They deepened the kiss until they were making out like teenagers in JJ’s dorm with the door still open a crack. 

This was how Spencer, accompanied by Derek, found them when they pushed open the door with blanket fort blueprints and bags of potato chips in hand. 

Spencer made a surprised noise, which made Emily aware of his return. She jumped up and pulled apart from JJ with a dark red blush gracing her cheeks. 

“Woah there ladies,” Derek said with a laugh. “Keep it in your pants!”

“Guys! I was gone for five minutes!” Spencer whined. 

Emily stood up awkwardly, stuffing her hands in her pockets as she watched JJ sit up and pat her hair down in a huff.

“Sorry,” Emily grumbled, not really meaning it. She would never be sorry for kissing JJ, but she was sorry for the awkwardness

“Pretty boy dragged me down the hall,” Derek said in explanation. He had Spencer’s rolled-up fort plans in his hand, and lightly smacked Emily’s head with it, making a comedic thwap noise as it made contact. “Hope you weren’t in the middle of something?”

“Only JJ’s legs,” Emily quipped to everyone’s surprise, even her own. JJ hit her jokingly and blushed. 

“Hey!” Derek laughed, “Let’s keep this PG!”

“You called?” The voice of Penelope Garcia—PG if you will—rang out from the hallway, and within seconds JJ’s room was filled with just about all their friends standing around in a slightly awkward silence: JJ, Emily, Spencer and Derek were joined by Penelope with Hotch in tow. 

The latter two of them had grown closer recently and walked into the room with white shopping bags with the walrus logo printed on the side, looking like they had just returned from out in the cold. Penelope and Hotch going thrifting together, that’s new! Emily thought to herself and decided to file the observation for later. The image of Hotch watching Penelope’s customary fashion show was enough to make her laugh under her breath. 

“We’re building a blanket fort,” Spencer announced, changing the subject to the task at hand. “Are you guys helping?”

“Oh you know I will, boy genius,” Penelope said with an excited smile. 

Emily looked over to her girlfriend. So much for date night.

———

Without much questioning about why they were building a blanket fort, the team got to work. In college, sometimes things just happened. Impromptu blanket forts were par the course. In their defense, any excuse to not spend the evening burying their heads in textbooks was a welcome reprieve. 

It started with just a few blankets draped in the space between JJ and Penelope’s beds, but with Spencer’s instruction, a verifiable architectural marvel began to take shape. 

While Emily knew that Penelope would be all gung ho for this sort of project, it was certainly amusing to see Hotch in his khakis and dress shirt crawling around on the floor like a child with the rest of them, tying off blankets and very seriously maneuvering the different parts of the structure. 

Sheets were draped here and there, tied together to form ceilings and walls. Two chairs stolen from the common room, loaded with backpacks on the seat for support acted as the entrance to the fort. 

While it was crawling space only, Emily had to note that there was a sense of awe when you emerged into the open space of the main fort-area. It was surprisingly big, fitting all six of them with ease. The key to the whole design was a curtain rod Hotch had stolen from the boys shower that lifted the roof up. 

The design was strangely reminiscent of Baroque architecture, which she was sure was due to Spencer’s designs. This was a fact that Emily kept to herself. She always tried to rein in the ‘I lived abroad’ conversation points so her childhood could remain under minimal scrutiny.

Emily’s exhaustion transformed into excitement as she relished the time hanging out with her friends. Music played from Penelope’s computer as they worked, they began to work as a cohesive group, each member doing their share. It was nice to do something besides sit at her desk and obsess over memorizing facts and statistics, or figuring out the proper argumentation for an essay on a subject. Making sure that a bunch of blankets didn’t crash onto them was treated with the utmost seriousness, and the whole group was focused with intense concentration at their own tasks. 

Spencer did, in fact, have literal sketches of blanket forts in his notebooks, but the details of which were fairly incomprehensible to her. While she believed that he did the math, his chicken scratch was just about indecipherable, and his drawing was little more than a few shapes on a page. Despite this, it was laid out on the centre of the dorm-room floor for them to reference. 

At one point, as Emily stood on JJ’s wheely chair, she feared that the fort had all come crashing down as she lost her balance and grabbed at the blankets to stop her fall before tumbling onto Derek with a yelp. 

“Sorry,” she muttered as she climbed back onto her feet and fought off the blanket that had wrapped her in a shroud. 

She flinched as she realized she had ruined it all, a pit forming in her stomach. She looked at her friends in concern, but instead of yelling at her for her mistake, or shunning her for ruining it for the rest of them, they smiled at her and helped her up.

“It’s okay!” Spencer said cheerfully. “I know exactly how to reinforce that wall.”

“You okay, Emily?” Hotch asked, righting the wheely chair as JJ fretted over her. 

“I’m good,” she answered, still confused as to why they weren’t mad at her. 

Instead of making a big deal over the set back, they went back to work. Soon, the fort filled out and it returned to its former glory. Arguably, better than it was because they had draped fairy lights throughout the inside, making the space glow with a warm orange light. 

Inside was filled with pillows and big enough for all of them to sit comfortably so it was a comfy lounge space. It was cozy and warm, the antithesis of the bitterly cold night air outside. 

“You know what?” Hotch said. “This is a damned good fort, Reid.” 

The group muttered in consensus. They all had piled into the space, and as the excitement wore off, Emily was wondering what happened next. What does one do in a blanket fort? She had vague memories of building one in her room, but she had just sat inside and read a book. 

“I hear the RA’s storage room has a ton of board games,” Penelope said. “They pull them out for socials and stuff.”

“That’s all well and good, but we’re not asking Strauss to let us in,” Derek argued. “I still think she thinks we were responsible for that fire alarm last week. She’s been giving me the evil eye ever since.”

“Who said we had to tell her?” Emily said. “We could just… borrow… them…”

“I mean, they are for us to use, anyway.” JJ’s eyes had a mischievous look in them as she looked at Emily.

“That is true,” Hotch said, the scowl that was usually a fixture on his face turning to a smirk. 

“That’s stealing, guys,” Spencer warned, as if they didn’t already know that. 

“We’ll give them back,” Emily said with a shrug. “Come on!”

Penelope led the way to a dark wooden door on the main floor, it was labelled simply “Storage,” but the computer science student assured them that it was where the RA’s stored all of their supplies.

“It’s locked,” Penelope huffed.

“Do you have a bobby pin?” Emily asked her in a hushed voice. She wouldn’t have gotten this far if she hadn’t learned how to pick simple door locks. She had trouble with deadbolts but a simple latch she could probably do within a couple of minutes.

The blonde pulled a hot pink bobby pin out of her perfectly curled hair. Emily snapped it into two, bending one end into a longer L-shape. Sticking that into the bottom of the lock and holding it in place, she used the other side to feel for the pins that held the lock in place. 

Emily could feel all eyes on her as she confidently knelt in front of the doorknob, the group keeping watch for her as she worked. No one questioned how or why Emily knew how to do this. She had her reasons. 

This definitely broke all sorts of residence rules and if they got caught, they knew they’d get into shit, but no one seemed to care that much. They just wouldn’t get caught. 

After a couple minutes, Emily’s hands began to sweat. What if she couldn’t do this anymore? She tried to centre herself. She had made it through infinitely more stressful situations in the past. It was the eyes of her friends on her that made her nervous. She was finally accepted by a group, and she desperately didn’t want to let them down. 

Then, it clicked, and she was able to turn the brass knob easily. Emily made a noise of excitement, got to her feet and yanked the door open. 

Instead of an empty storage closet, on the other side of the door was Erin Strauss, their RA, in a passionate embrace with David Rossi. Her shirt was unbuttoned and he was in the middle of sucking on her neck. 

“Dave?!” Hotch called out, startling the couple. 

Both groups stood stock-still, neither knowing what to say. While Emily had hid the bobby pins, she wasn’t sure who was in more trouble, them for breaking into the room or their RA for using the space for unofficial purposes. 

The room was small and cramped, with a pile of poster board mostly obscuring the one small window that lit the space. Strauss had been hoisted onto the desk, her legs straddling the other student. Emily could see a shelf filled with the board games stacked on the left side of the room, but they seemed unimportant at the moment. While Emily had known about their illicit love affair, she had never expected to see it in action. 

“Hey guys,” Rossi said after a moment, his unwavering confidence carrying on to this moment as he pulled apart from Strauss, who was furiously buttoning up her shirt and trying to sort herself out. 

“What are you all doing in here?” she demanded, standing up and putting her hands on her hips. “This room’s meant for RA’s only.”

“Well,” Emily said, startled by her own audacity, “Dave isn’t an RA so…”

“We just came for some board games,” JJ said in her most diplomatic voice, despite clearly wanting to laugh at the situation, “then we’ll be off.”

“Take them and go,” the RA said in a strangled voice, her face beet-red and as she avoided eye contact like it was the plague. 

Clearly not as embarrassed as Strauss, Rossi simply smirked, collected a few board games into his arms off of the shelf, then deposited them into Emily’s arms. 

Realizing that given the circumstances, they couldn’t be picky with their choices, the stunned group thanked him then scurried away, back upstairs with their loot. The silence remained until they made it back to their floor, where they all burst into laughter.

“What on earth was that?!” Derek exclaimed. 

“Rossi and Strauss,” Spencer muttered. 

Emily and JJ made eye contact, remembering all those weeks ago when they had caught their friend emerging from the RA’s room down the hall in the middle of the night. They had known that Rossi and Strauss had hooked up that night, but had no idea that it was a whole relationship.

“I see it,” Hotch commented. “I mean, I don’t know your RA too well, but Rossi likes a woman with authority.”

Derek and Emily fake-gagged in an exaggerated manner at the comment. 

“I think I need to bleach my eyeballs after that display,” Emily muttered. 

“Ooo-kay!” JJ said, pointedly changing the subject. “It seems like we have most of the pieces to Clue… I think we could manage a game of that. We also have Scrabble, Yahtzee and Snakes and Ladders. Uh… also a pack of cards.”

“At least it’s not chess,” Emily said, thinking about her seemingly endless exam that afternoon. 

“Agreed,” Spencer said. 

“We do not have chess, no,” JJ said with a quizzical laugh. 

———

After ordering a couple of pizzas to the dorm, they all settled in to play a board game. After a few minutes of debate, they decided to play Clue (or Cluedo as Emily continuously referred to it as). The board was laid out: it was vintage, with a teal and yellow colour scheme and some scuffs and rips showing its age. In their blanket fort, they were seated in a circle, all secretly looking at their Clue cards.

“Can I be Professor Plum?” Spencer asked before they had even gotten the pieces out of the box. 

“Of course pretty boy,” Derek said, “I’ll take Mr. Green.”

“My sculpted god of thunder looks excellent in green,” Penelope flirted, choosing the white piece for herself. 

“Did you know that in the original version of Clue, Mr Green was a Reverend, but they changed his name for American audience because they believed that the American public would object to a parson as a murder suspect?”

“Good thing you’re on our trivia team, Reid,” Hotch replied.  

Emily was Miss Scarlet, of course, and was seated right next to JJ, who had chosen to portray Mrs. Peacock. Hotch claimed the remaining piece: Colonel Mustard.

Emily loved board games. Her nanny in France, who was a kindly elderly woman that Emily only knew as “Madame,” would play with her each Sunday after church. She has hazy memories from that time, but the warm glow of sunlight streaming into their Parisian apartment as she learned how to play Cluedo. Emily would always try to cheat, but knew better than to try to do so with her immensely observant girlfriend seated to her left, JJ’s hand resting casually on Emily’s thigh.

She looked at her cards and grinned. She had been dealt her own character, she noted, as Miss Scarlet’s name was printed in bold on the top of her first card. It felt weirdly validating to know that she herself was innocent. Also in her hands were the cards for the candlestick and pistol, as well as the observatory. She marked these off of her card and tried to gauge her opponents' reactions. 

JJ was checking her phone with her cards face down, tracking the pizza’s arrival. Spencer was sprawled back, his long legs taking up way more room than was necessary, jotting down notes on some scrap paper. Presumably some statistics and probability for the possibilities of the cards that were sealed in the envelope in the centre of the board. Penelope smiled over at Derek and flirtatiously tried to sneak a peek at his hand. 

After the initial rounds being dedicated to moving around the board, Emily finally made it into her first room: the lounge. There, she decided on her first suggestion.

“I suggest,” Emily said, in her most dramatic, formal voice, which was particularly suited to the role of Miss Scarlet, “that Mrs. Peacock committed this heinous crime in the Lounge with-” she hurriedly grabbed the candlestick, “the candlestick!”

She knew that it wasn’t the correct weapon, but using it would narrow it down to someone ruling out either JJ’s character or the lounge as the scene of the crime. 

“Moi?!” JJ said, sounding almost offended at the accusation. “Your own girlfriend?!”

Emily grinned evilly at her, but internally she felt giddy. It was the first time she heard JJ use that word in front of their friends. JJ moved her piece into the Lounge. The others chuckled lightly at their antics.

“You have no alibi for the crime, Mrs. Peacock,” Emily said, “and I am merely making a suggestion.”

JJ glared at her, but said nothing. Emily turned to Derek, who was seated at her left. 

“What do I do?” Derek asked, looking around the room, slightly confused. 

“Do you have any of those cards?” Hotch asked. 

“Yeah-” Derek said, moving to show his hand. 

“No!” Penelope stopped him. “Just show one of your cards to Emily if you can prove her suggestion was wrong.”

He made an “o” with his mouth and sneakily showed Emily the Lounge card. Emily noted that, and that it was Derek’s card. Mrs. Peacock had yet to be proven innocent, and Emily gave JJ a suspicious glance. 

She loved this game. 

As the game progressed, Emily noted a few things about her opponents. A part of Emily was profiling her friends subconsciously, reading each of their strategies like a book. 

Penelope always seemed to luck out on her dice rolls, covering a lot of terrain and gathering information like it was a cup of tea. But, she seemed to take it personally when someone accused Mrs. White of having killed Mr. Boddy and gasped every time someone made that suggestion. 

Hotch seemed to take the game very seriously, and was at it like he was an actual police officer solving crime. But, it didn’t seem that he completely understood all of the rules, and definitely hadn’t played before, so he spent most of his turn grumbling as he skimmed the rule pamphlet. 

Spencer, on the other hand, had memorized the rules, common strategies and probabilities of the different outcomes, so Hotch often looked over to him nervously as the boy wrote longhand equations in the notebook that he pulled out of his bag for the very occasion. 

Derek also had never played before, and regularly made ‘accusations’ rather than ‘suggestions’ when he entered a room, frustrating Spencer to no end. But, Derek was smart and seemed to be picking it up as he went along. That was until he made the same suggestion twice in a row, both times making Hotch show him the exact same card. He asked Reid endless questions about specific rules, and more than once he made the boy double check in the rule book when Derek tried to make a rather unorthodox move. 

JJ seemed to be the only one genuinely trying to have fun. She munched on the Cheetos that she stored in the bottom drawer of her night stand, and made conversation. Her strategy seemed to be exclusively focused on playing the game like it was the 1985 feature film Clue, playing the role of Mrs. Peacock with a fake accent and treating it like an actual murder-filled dinner party.

After a solid twenty minutes of gameplay, the pizza arrived. With minimal grumbling from Hotch, who was apparently on a roll, they took a break to eat. 

“Did you see this?” Spencer said with his mouth full, lifting up the copy of the newspaper that he had grabbed earlier.

“Don’t get me started,” JJ grumbled and took a sip of her pop. 

“What happened?” Hotch asked, the conversation piquing his interest. 

Spencer explained—with the assistance of JJ who apparently knew one of the people involved through soccer—the entire scandal. Apparently, last year there had been very little interest in the leadership roles, so the President of the student government had simply waltzed into his role. He then hired all of his friends, his girlfriend, his roommate, and together they embezzled thousands of dollars of student funds. 

“I can’t believe they’re getting away with this,” JJ muttered. “Is there no oversight?”

“It’s always the same,” Emily replied. “Who’s going to oversee them? The college? They’re corrupt too.”

“This sucks,” Derek said. “Wish someone good would run for government, for once.”

Emily shook her head in frustration. It all just reminded her of her childhood. Embezzlement, corruption and nepotism all were casual topics discussed over family dinner in her home. She had higher hopes for students her own age, would they not break the cycle? Or was it just a microcosm of the outside world? 

“You should run Mr. Lawyer Man,” Penelope teased Hotch. “You could take any of these clowns.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow at her and went back to his pizza, brushing her off. Emily smiled at him. Penelope was right, he might actually do a good job if he set his mind to it. 

The people that surrounded her now were nothing like her mother’s friends—or the kids she had been forced to hang out with when she was younger—they were genuinely kind, supportive, and seemed to like Emily for Emily. When she told them she was an ambassador’s daughter, they had been more concerned with the cool places that she had been able to travel to than whatever power she had. At college, Emily finally exhaled fully, slowly relaxing more and more into herself. 

But, the topic of politics always set her on edge, especially since the semester was ending soon. Her mother had already begun to leave her voicemails about the galas, fundraisers and events that she was required to attend over Christmas break. She pushed thoughts of the future aside and focused on the warmth that surrounded her. With some music playing softly (a song that JJ liked by Vampire Weekend), the softness of blankets under her, and JJ leaning on her slightly as she ate her dinner, Emily felt at peace. She knew she could handle winter break, because she knew that these friends would be here when she came back. 

After years of leaving a school midway through the year only to show up to some new boarding school or international school each time her mom was reassigned, Emily never had a chance to put down roots. But, with each bite of pizza, Emily felt herself becoming even more firmly rooted. Not to this place, but to these people as their lives became more entwined. 

Once dinner was over, the game continued, and thoughts of politics left their minds. By then, Emily narrowed it down to the weapon (the candlestick), two rooms (the kitchen and the billiard room) and she was pretty sure that it was Colonel Mustard that had committed the crime. 

She had a decision to make: walk all the way from the study to the billiard room, or risk being wrong by making an accusation. She was pretty sure both Hotch and Reid were on the right track, as the younger boy’s scribbling in his notebook had gotten even more intense and the older boy was beginning to look around suspiciously, as if the others were trying to read his notes. 

She had pretty much ruled out Penelope, JJ and Derek as competitors, as the trio spent most of the time talking, and genuinely trying to have fun. Emily, Reid and Hotch were all way too into it, but Emily was competitive and this was her game. She wasn’t going to lose to Hotch, no way. Reid winning she could blame on his boy-genius nature, but Emily decided that Hotch was going down. 

The two boys seemed to have come to the same conclusion, all eyeing each other across the board, the tension palatable between them as their competition became heated. 

She nervously tried to move to the billiards room, deciding to play it safe. Better safe than disqualified. But, as soon as she made that decision, she regretted it as Spencer straightened up on his turn and said: “I’d like to make my accusation.”

“Write it down,” JJ prompted, as per the rules. He jotted it down in his paper. 

Then, with bated breath, they watched as he grabbed the envelope out of the centre of the board, and read the cards. His face fell when he saw one of the cards, so he must have been wrong. He placed them back into their envelope and back onto the board. 

“No dice?” Emily asked. 

He shook his head. 

“Statistically speaking that should have been right,” he grumbled. “My math was wrong.”

“Boy genius isn’t a good detective, huh?” Penelope mused. 

A few turns went by, with Derek, Penelope, and JJ moving around the board or making suggestions. 

Emily rolled the dice, making one square from a room. She sighed. She’d make a suggestion next round. 

On Hotch’s next turn, he made an accusation, which he wrote down on a pink sticky note that Penelope had handed out when the game started. He checked the envelope. 

Emily held her breath. She was sure he had it and that the game was over. She should just call it quits now. She went to bite her nails out of stress, but stopped herself, they were starting to get long and she wanted them to look nice. 

A moment passed as Hotch compared his cards. After he saw the third card in the envelope, his expression revealed that was also wrong. 

Boys, Emily thought. Always so overconfident. 

She made a suggestion instead of risking it: “Miss Scarlet—er myself I guess— in the Billiards Room with the pistol.” 

It was a gamble. If she was right, and the people who knew she had her own card and the pistol caught on, they would also know that it was the Billiard Room, because no one would be able to disprove her theory. If she was wrong, someone would have the card for that room, and she would know that the crime occured in the Kitchen. 

The second seemed to be true, as Derek showed her his card with a small illustrated image of the Billiard Room on it. She was right. She knew what it was. But, she would have to wait until her next turn. She was going to win. 

But, it was she who was overconfident, because as she was too busy preemptively celebrating her win, Derek casually made his accusation. 

“Hey I’m right!” he exclaimed, holding up the cards and his own hot pink sticky note. 

In his semi-cursive scrawl read: “Colonel Mustard, Candlestick, Kitchen.” These guesses matched the cards hidden in the envelope, and Emily’s own deduction that she planned to make on her own turn. 

“You guys really thought I hadn’t played this game before?” Derek laughed. “I’ve got two sisters, board games were everything.”

“Were you hustling us, Morgan?” Spencer demanded. 

He smirked. 

“Should’ve put money on the outcome,” Derek said with a laugh. “I’d be rich.” 

Emily threw her cards onto the table in defeat. JJ shot her an empathetic look, and Emily tried to stuff her frustration down to pat her friend on the back for the surprising win. He deserved it.

———

After the game concluded and the pizza had been completely eaten, the group parted ways, heading to bed, or for more midnight snacks or to finish up some studying, leaving JJ and Emily alone and to start? a game of Scrabble. 

The board was ancient, and quite a few letters were missing, but with music droning on JJ’s laptop, and the soft fairy lights overhead, neither girl minded too much. 

Emily looked at her letters:  O, B, S, O, T, B, W and thought hard, rearranging the wooden pieces to try and formulate a word. After a long day of academia, and investing so heavily into the game of Clue, she probably had only one or two working brain cells and both were telling her to play the word ‘boobs.’  

Her eyes flicked to her girlfriend, who looked absolutely gorgeous in the warm light. Her blonde hair almost glowed, and she had an adorable expression on her face. Emily couldn’t help but glance lower, thinking about the real world examples of her Scrabble word.  

She played the word with a cheeky grin. 

“‘Boobs,’ Emily?” JJ scolded. “Really?”

She sounded angry, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at her cheeks and Emily could tell the girl found it funny. 

“I can’t help it,” Emily said. “I haven’t thought of much else since last weekend.”

She raised and lowered her eyebrows in an exaggerated manner, making JJ laugh and kick her lightly in protest. 

JJ then played the word ‘throw,’ using the ‘o’ from ‘boobs’ to form her word, earning her thirteen points. 

“I don’t think you can throw boobs, babe,” Emily said. “They’re usually attached.”

JJ rolled her eyes. 

Emily made it her mission to find the funniest words possible, working extra hard (and missing out on some good points) in an effort to make JJ laugh. ‘Armpit,’ ‘meaty,’ ‘hoagie,’ ‘urine,’ ‘joint’ and her piece de resistance: ‘boner.’ All while JJ was playing incredibly normal, and often strategic words like ‘axis,’ ‘snow,’ ‘vain,’ ‘snag’ and ‘writings,’ hitting multiple double- and triple word scores on the way. 

“This is fun,” Emily said, sneaking a handful of JJ’s Cheetos out of the family-sized bag next to the blonde, while she was distracted by playing her turn. 

“I don’t understand how you’re winning,” JJ muttered. 

Emily shrugged, “Guess I’m just a genius.”

“Reid? Is that you?” JJ joked. “Why are you disguised as my girlfriend?” 

“Would Reid do this?” Emily said, leaning over toward her girlfriend and pressing kisses all over her face until she fell back. Then Emily straddled her, their lips meeting in a passionate embrace that left both girls panting. 

“I would hope not!” JJ exclaimed with a laugh, making a face at the thought. 

They laughed and went back to making out, with Emily careful not to disturb the game pieces. JJ sucked onto Emily’s bottom lip, making her weak in the knees and she struggled to support herself over JJ’s shorter frame at the motion. 

“We should-” Emily tried to say between kisses, “finish the game.”

JJ kept deepening the kiss, going so far as to grab onto Emily’s butt to hold her in place on top of her.

“You’re trying to distract me,” Emily chided, “because I’m winning! I see right through your plot.” 

She sat up and went back to her tiles before playing another funny word: ‘suck’ for twenty points. JJ grumbled,fiddling with her own tiles, as Emily collected a few out of the bag. 

Emily was preening as she rearranged her own tiles and didn’t notice as JJ put down her word. When she went to play her next word (‘zap’) and only then did she see what word JJ played. 

‘Love.’ 

It was there. Clear as day. Written vertically and connected to the word ‘snow,’ it was unmistakable. Emily looked at it for a long moment, trying to figure out what it could possibly mean that her girlfriend very intentionally played such a loaded word. Was it the only word that fit? Did she only mean that she loved the snow? Was she also reading into it? 

Emily looked up, making eye contact with JJ. The blonde blushed and looked away, nervously fiddling with the necklace around her neck. Emily smiled faintly at the warmth that flooded through her, but alongside that, was the sharp pang of anxiety. Was she supposed to acknowledge that? Would that make it weird? 

‘Zap’ didn’t feel appropriate when her girlfriend may or may not have confessed her love for her. 

She played it anyway, deciding that making a big deal of it would just complicate matters. Besides, did she love JJ? She didn’t know. It was all so new. She liked JJ a lot. She definitely like-liked her in the traditional sense of the world. But Emily had never been in love before. She’d loved people before, Matthew for one, and her mother in a way, and she loved Derek like a brother. But being in love was a whole ‘nother ball game. 

JJ won the game after playing ‘equinox’ for twenty two points near the end, beating any lead Emily had gained from her silly words. JJ deserved it in the end, as the blonde would sit and stare at her letters until they formed the most complex words that Emily had never even heard of. Emily’s eyes drooped and she was barely able to create three letter words by the end, while JJ was still surprising her with her vocabulary. 

Emily shook JJ’s hand to congratulate her for the win. JJ grinned and kissed her. 

Then, they looked around and realized two things: it was past one in the morning and Penelope hadn’t come back to the room yet and that all of the blankets that JJ owned were currently being used in the blanket fort. 

“Can we sleep in my bed, tonight?” Emily asked. “I’ll help you clean up in the morning.” 

JJ nodded but was in the middle of texting Penelope, wondering where on earth her roommate had wandered off to. Within a minute she got back to JJ saying: with derek! will explain tmrw!! 😘 🧚‍♀️ ����

JJ showed Emily the message and both girls giggled. Emily saw that coming, but didn’t realize it would be a game of Clue that finally sealed the deal.

Exhausted but happy and relaxed after the game night, Emily and JJ tumbled into Emily’s bed and cuddled up together. Between JJ and Emily, the word ‘love’ was left unsaid that night, but Emily fell asleep that night feeling a new warmth in her chest.

[babytsum]

wanna be - m. atsumu

friends to lovers atsumu fluff because i said so.

warnings: none, just unedited so might be a lil sloppy lol, mention of konoha x reader (they go on like one date)

word count: 3.5k

wanna be by the internet (2018)

he remembers you from onigiri miya.

your baggy jeans, loose t shirt, eyebags. he remembers it all down to the way you stuffed your face with onigiris to the neon lights the shined outside. you were pretty, but he was indifferent. after all, he was miya atsumu, a player both on and off the court.

to you, he was miya atsumu, osamu's brother. and miya osamu was simply a friend who owned a restaurant and understood the crushing pressure of being a student with a part time job that struggled to pay rent. besides, one day you'd pay him back because you were one smart cookie, though he didn't know in what way. however, he did notice how atsumu made an effort to avoid eye contact while you introduced yourself. he didn't miss the color that made its way to his cheeks when you held your hand out for him to shake.

and he sees you again waiting outside his team's gym after practice.

that day, your hair was tied back. you wore a long coat that went down to your calves and loose black clothing under it. did you always wear loose clothes? you smiled and waved in his direction and his heart skipped a beat. he waved back excitedly until he turned around and saw hinata jumping up and down at the sight of your happy self. turns out, you were karasuno's manager in high school. atsumu, usually confident and cheerful, now sunk into his sweater while his teammate introduced you to the rest of the group.

"i know atsumu. i met him at onigiri miya a few weeks ago."

he nodded as you spoke. he barely knew you, but your presence had a significant effect on him, one that was beyond what he can describe.

so maybe he goes over to his brother's restaurant more, once or twice a week.

"so, how do you know hinata?" stupid question. hinata literally told everyone like a week ago.

"i went to karasuno and became the team manager for their volleyball team," you answered anyways, how sweet of you, "i actually got to see you and osamu play at nationals. that's where i first met him."

all of the sudden, atsumu wishes that he paid more attention to the pretty managers of the opposing teams. although, he does thank whatever higher power is out there that he got to meet you at some point and curses osamu for not telling him about you at all.

"i didn't know you knew (y/n) in high school."

"what do you mean?"

"i just didn't know that she was a team manager and all that, you know? i feel kind of bad for not knowing she existed."

"oh she definitely existed. who do you think i made extra bento boxes for when we went to tokyo?"

"those weren't mine?"

hinata invites you to watch him practice and he doesn't know if its a curse or a blessing.

on the one hand, you can see all of his talented sets and gameplay. on the other, he usually reached peak idiot during practices, at least that's what sakusa would tell him.

that's not going to stop you from sitting down and letting out a cheer for hinata's, and even bokuto's, spikes. you knew that shoyo and kotaro loved the support they got. it gave them motivation, made them perform better. of course, the team wouldn't mind that.

atsumu just wishes he got a few cheers or smiles from you.

the next time you see him, he's sucking face with some hot model with a drink in hand at a party that shoyo brought you to. you weren't surprised. you were close enough to osamu to hear him rant about his brothers antics, so you brush it off like usual when seeing two people getting a little busy. after all, you were here to take a break from studying

by the middle of the party, you're tipsy and cheering on bokuto who was shaking ass to hot girl summer. hinata is passed out on the couch in a fetal position while kageyama sits down and stuffs his face with rice. osamu joins him and witnesses the mess that is you and bokuto. atsumu looks disheveled and everyone already knows why, all of you just hope that the room he went to earlier was not the master bedroom.

"tsumuuuuu," you slurred as you spoke, a happy smile plastered on your face, "you're a manwhoreeeeee."

"what?"

"i'm joking, but also not," you kissed the tip of his nose, "you're a very nice boy."

he didn't know whether to be offended or flustered, especially with the combination of your little antics and the alcohol in his system, which only resulted in a strong of incoherent words that entertained osamu.

"man, i really wish you met her in high school. she was way worse." kageyama added, memories of you blatantly flirting with your close friends for fun.

"she really was. i believe the first thing she ever said to suna was 'holy fuck, how do you look so fucking hot while shoving those jelly sticks in your mouth?'" osamu laughed, the image of his teammate's red face playing in his mind, "the (y/n) you know is more tame, a stressed college student with a low alcohol tolerance."

you gave bokuto's ass another smack as you giggled at the way his ass jiggled. having athletic friends is fun, especially when the stress from your graduate studies needs to be relieved and their pro player money literally prevents you from paying for your own food. you were lucky.

the day after, you drive to the gym you knew they would be practicing at. of course, sakusa had the common sense to not drink the night before practice. his other three teammates did not.

atsumu is the first one to spot you, a big bag in hand, your hair tied back, another pair of loose jeans and a plain t shirt. it's more different from the flattering plants and small top you wore last night, but he wonders how you can look like this after a night of drunken fun. it was almost like you were glowing.

hinata greeted you first, taking your bag and thanking you for the food.

"are your heads okay?"

"i think i died last night."

"you die every time there's alcohol at a party, shoyo."

"hey!"

sakusa snickered while the rest tried their best to hide their laughs. you weren't wrong, though. shoyo does end up passing out on someone's couch after some energetic dancing.

"what about you, tsumu?"

"i don't remember anything that happened except for bo's ass."

"not even the hot blonde girl?"

"the what?" again, everyone failed to contain their laughs.

"you manwhore!" you chuckled, handing him his bento box.

"you should have seen how red he got when you kissed his nose!" bokuto chimed in.

"i did that?" your smile faded, "sorry, if i made you uncomfortable, tsumu."

"it's okay, i don't remember it." he lied.

the memory replayed in his mind again and a foreign feeling came over him. it was warm.

the next time he sees you, you're at osamu's house to taste test his new food. it's osamu's classic duo, his dear brother that loves to freeload off of him and his stressed grad student friend who also likes free food.

when atsumu walks in, you motion for him to sit next to you while stuffing your face. you're wearing baggy clothes again and he's pretty sure that you slept with your makeup still on from the night before.

"osamu, if you keep cooking like this, i think i might marry you."

"gross."

"what's gross about marrying the hotter twin?" you turned to atsumu, a smirk on your face.

"we look exactly alike."

"yeah, but he cooks."

atsumu couldn't argue with that. you were funny. you were always funny and warm even when talking down to him like this. and it made his heart beat faster, his face a little redder, his smile a little brighter.

fuck.

"i can cook."

"yeah, a pack of cup noodles." osamu responded while you chuckled in agreement.

"they're some fire ass cup noodles."

"yeah okay, playboy."

"playboy?"

"do you prefer manwhore?"

"no."

you throw your head back, laughing again at atsumu's expression. for someone who fucks around, he was easy to fluster. and you enjoyed it every time. the way he would look down in an attempt to hide his crimson cheeks, the slight smile that would rest in his face. he was pretty.

it all confirmed osamu's suspicions.

"you guys want to make every sunday a taste test day?"

"yes!" you responded excitedly. more free food? you're there.

"sure."

after osamu packed up some food for the two of you, both of you walked out. the early afternoon sun was scorching and your baggy jeans and oversized hoodie were not helping.

"you wanna get some coffee? i'll pay."

"what are you doing? trying to woo me or something, manwhore?"

"you look like shit and i think it's because you're tired."

"fair. but you have to drive me home first. i need to change and i do not want to walk to the bus stop."

"you didn't drive here?"

"i wanted to take a nap on public transport, sue me."

after a ten minute drive filled with food critiques, you finally made it to your house, quickly changing into some shorts and a t shirt that was actually your size. your raccoon eyes were fixed and you were back in atsumu's car in no time.

"i had no idea you existed up until a few weeks ago."

"nice way to start a conversation, tsumu."

"sorry-"

"you know, when i was karasuno's manager, i thought you were terrifying."

"how?"

"it was after one of your serves, you had this scary look on your face, but i forgot what you were looking at. you scored an ace, though."

"the fangirls."

"huh?"

"it was those squealin pigs that almost messed it up. i remember."

"you call your fangirls pigs?" you scoffed, "you're a whole manwhore." "yeah whatever, (y/n)."

you both went on to reminisce about high school memories, him mostly talking volleyball while you talked about shoyo and tobio being absolute dumbasses. he was interesting, really. his voice was smooth and his tone was always lively, always showing some emotion.

the cafe was mostly empty, a few people scattered around. the bitter taste of coffee met your lips as you hummed with delight.

"what are you looking at?"

"how are you drinking that shit? didn't you order extra espresso shots?"

"yeah, and? i see a ridiculous amount of condensed milk in yours, but i'm not saying anything."

"whatever." he chuckled.

everything was natural, both easing into friendly teasing comfortably. there was always some sort of glint in his eyes, a sly smile whenever he wasn't talking, reddened cheeks whenever you caught him staring.

being friends with miya atsumu was easy.

every sunday was easy. talking to him was easy. thinking about him was easy. a little too easy. and summer becomes fall. and fall becomes winter. and every sunday, there's a new source of energy you find despite your sleep deprived state.

"bo's sending me on a blind date." you tell the twins excitedly.

it's been awhile since you've gone on a proper date. you really haven't had the time for anything except for fooling around at a party once in a while. even if it went nowhere, at least you had something to distract you from the blonde manwhore who's constantly on your mind.

"oh, really?" osamu grinned, "i would have gone a date with you."

"liar. we both remember what happened while you were in school."

"yuck."

atsumu looked between the two of you, the gears turning in his head until it finally clicked.

"you guys went on a date?"

"sadly, yes," you chuckled, "we became closer friends, but that was not the move."

"agreed."

atsumu had already accepted that he had feelings for you. which he suppressed out of embarrassment. he had already accepted that you would have rejected him anyways. you called him a manwhore after all.

"when is it?" he finally asked, jaw clenching. his harsh tone wasn't intentional, but it was there nonetheless.

"next saturday. i'll tell you two about it when we taste test, again."

"you wanna get some milk tea after?"

"no. i have to buy a dress."

"oh."

atsumu watched you walk out the door, a cheerful smile on your face. he felt sick.

and when next sunday comes, you're an hour late.

you looked like you were up all night studying for exams. he recognizes the smudged mascara, the eyebags, the messy hair. except instead of your usual baggy clothes, it's a dress that loosely hugs your figure. he doesn't miss the way your nipples peaked through or the marks on your neck. nasty.

"samu, i'm gonna need more food than usual."

"you got it boss."

the sounds of the kitchen fill the room as you lay your head down. you turn to atsumu, eyes droopy and exhausted.

"you look like you had fun. who did bo hook you up with?"

"his name's konoha. he played for fukurodani back in high school. bo's such a sneaky lil shit."

"how?"

"i may have had a small crush on him in high school when i saw him at a training camp. i told bo and he probably remembered it and thought it was funny."

"nice," he replied, running his fingers through your hair, "are you guys going on another date?"

you closed your eyes, relishing in the feeling of his touch, "i don't think so. it was fun, but i don't think i like him that much anymore."

"ah."

he internally celebrated while osamu rolled his eyes.

and winter turns to spring in atsumu's apartment.

soft white walls, light brown cabinets, a fridge filled with his brother's food. a few photo frames hung around, the most notable once being a photo of osamu stuffing his face when they were kids. the best part was that osamu hated that photo, yet it was also the centerpiece of his table.

you set down the vase of flowers that you were asked to bring. something about making the party feel more "springy" or whatever atsumu said. you were expecting a nice apartment, atsumu was a pro volleyball player of course. but you weren't expecting it to be this nice.

it almost makes you sad. the fact you were constantly exhausted, studying, and stressed while atsumu was the same age having fun and being a playboy. god, this kind of sucks. why the hell was this man friends with you anyways?

"your dress looks so cute!" always count on shoyo to immediately make you feel better.

"you look good even in your big jeans, but you look even cooler?" bo added on, making your cheeks heat up.

while you and sakusa exchanged a small wave, atsumu came out of his room. an unbuttoned short sleeve, white shirt underneath, jeans. wow. god. fuck. and seeing you in the pink dress that flowed around your body, the sleeves being a little puffed, the same train of thoughts ran through his head.

"you needed help setting up?"

"uhm, yeah. can you guys get the plates out and shit?"

"you want us to shit on the plates?"

"shoyo-" you cackled at the confused tangerine headed boy.

it's a good thing you figured it all out before the guests arrived.

seeing kuroo and kenma after so long was refreshing. and the fact akaashi also had a caffeine addiction was comforting. and yachi? she was so grown now. your conversation with the two was interrupted by a tap on your shoulder.

"hey, stranger."

"konoha?"

you gave him a short hug. both of you caught up on the last few months, the situation being less awkward than you expected. it's not like he was trying to get in your pants again, what was the harm in talking? there's nothing wrong with two tired college students having a conversation, right?

suna's voice became distant to atsumu as he observed the blonde across the room. should he go there and save you? his question was quickly answered when you greeted the man with a hug.

"dude? can you hear me?" suna waved his hand in front of his face.

"don't mind he's just being a simp." osamu responded, a smirk on his face.

"am not!"

"for who?"

"(y/n) (y/l/n)."

"that cute manager from karasuno?"

"yep."

"you go, dude!" suna patted him on the back.

"i don't like her like that, we're just friends."

"why is your face red?"

"it's not red!"

"ooo! is atsumu afraid of (y/n)'s cooties?"

"suna, we're twenty three."

"and you act like you're sixteen with this lil crush, atsumu."

atsumu sighed in response. it was too late. you were going to go home with konoha, or maybe you two would go to his many spare rooms. and you would go on another date. fall in love with him. marry him. have his kids.

"she calls me a manwhore a lot."

"she's not wrong."

"aren't you two supposed to be supportive?"

"no." they both said in unison.

"look just offer to give her a house tour or something," suna advised nonchalantly, "works every time."

"good idea."

feeling a presence behind you, you turned around only to be met with a scary looking blonde towering over you. konoha kissed your cheek and bid you a farewell once he realized another figure grabbing your attention.

"house tour?"

"thought you'd never ask, manwhore."

after a tour of a guest room, a bathroom, and a washing machine, the two of you finally made it to his master bedroom. of course, the pillows on his bed were thrown around and there were a few shirts thrown on the floor.

"i may have forgotten to, uh, put those away."

"how are you gonna give me a house tour and forget to clean your house."

"i remembered to fold my blanket!"

"you don't fold your blanket when you wake up? do you even make your bed in the morning?"

"shut up."

you chuckled as he looked away, a poor attempt to hide his face. judging by the mess of clothing, the setter probably had no idea what to wear for his party. the one that was being hosted by him, in his own apartment, right now.

"i see you had a little fashion show this morning."

"i didn't know what to wear!"

"you're the host!"

"what if i looked bad?"

"who cares?"

he looked at you, a confused expression on his face. his eyebrows were furrowed, mouth slightly parted open. your eyes landed on his lips before you immediately turned away. you couldn't get distracted, but he looked so pretty. instead, you sat down on the bed, finding a pillow to rest your head against.

"if it makes you feel better, you look really nice today, tsumu."

"i did it! you finally didn't call me a manwhore!"

"you're still a manwhore."

he pouted while you threw your head back in laughter once again. atsumu took this as an opportunity to sit next to you on his bed, readjusting your head onto his lap. you looked up at his face, eyes boring deep into yours.

"what are you thinking about?"

"you."

"do i have something on my face?"

"no."

his fingers made its way onto your scalp, slowly massaging your head. a moan left your lips at the satisfying feeling. the past few weeks have only stressed you out, but atsumu's presence cushioned you when necessary.

"how's konoha?"

"he's okay, i'd honestly become friends with him if he wanted to."

"didn't he give you a kiss?"

"it was just a cheek kiss."

"you wouldn't mind if i gave you one, right?"

"who cares? i think everyone should give their homies a kiss."

and with that, his lips met yours. his were soft and warm, and though you were caught by surprised, you kissed back. you two melded together until you sat back up.

"i meant a cheek kiss, but whatever."

"you kissed back!"

"no, i didn't."

"did to."

"i don't want your cooties."

"are you five?"

you rolled your eyes, laying back down on the bed. he ended up giving you a kiss on the cheek, then slowly traveled to your ear, then your neck, then dangerously close to your chest. he laid down next to you, arms around your waist, head resting on the crook of your neck. you acted as if you were indifferent, but of course your cheeks still heated up and your heart was beating faster than usual.

"do you wanna be my girl?"

"no."

"rude."

he chuckled into your neck while you grinned, turning your head to look at the pretty setter. it only resulted in more kisses on your face which you happily received.

"is osamu still single?"

"don't even joke about that."

[jalapeno-princess]

I Told You To Never Fall In Love With Me

Mark Tuan X Reader

Word Count: 8.4k

Genre: Angst, fluff, mentions of sex (Oh and if you stan Jinyoung, this story isn’t for you)

Summary: As a college student, you vowed to yourself that you would never get involved with the college night life. Partying, getting drunk on cheep alcohol and getting high on drugs was a big no in your book. But what if the toxic drug you end up getting addicted to isn’t a substance but a person? 

A/N: Hey guys! I started writing this story around two months ago but I didn’t have the motivation to continue it until like two nights ago so here it is! Based on the song “Don’t make it harder on me” By Chloe and Halle! Highly recommend that you listen to it before or while reading. Please enjoy!!

“Uh, Y/n—would you care to explain why Mark Tuan is looking at you as if he’s undressing you with his eyes? He’s looking at you like he’s a predator ready to pounce and you’re his prey. Is there something I’m missing out on here?” 

Your best friend’s words both annoyed you, yet sent fire to your bones. It was tempting—the thought of turning around and witnessing for yourself what he claimed was Mark gazing at you so endearingly and in a sexual way even. However, Mark Tuan was nothing but danger. He was a drug you were addicted to for longer than you’d like to admit—but you finally came to the realization less than a month ago that you deserved so much better than the boy in question. 

The high you got from sneaking and fooling around with Mark faded the second you found out he wasn’t who you thought he was—who you thought he was changing in to; in order to be better for you. You let out a scoff before rolling your eyes at the thought of him indirectly trying to get your attention. What you and Mark had was a secret nobody knew other than the two of you. That was the agreement from the beginning of whatever it was that went on between you and Mark—it was his idea in the first place, you should have known he wasn’t serious about you if he was adamant on hiding your relationship from everyone. 

“Just ignore him Youngjae. You’ll only add on to his big ass ego and God knows that’s the last thing anyone needs. There’s nothing going on between him and I. Well, not anymore.” 

The last sentence came out a whisper—you didn’t want to lie to him; you and Youngjae told everything to each other. In fact, you knew the older boy better than you knew yourself. He was the younger brother—well, two months younger—that you never had but always wanted. He was extremely loyal to you, he was a great shoulder to cry on and an even better listener. You were dying to tell anyone about Mark—especially when you realized what you were feeling for him was going past the agreement you made with him, but you didn’t want word to spread throughout school about your little affair. 

Although you were well aware that Youngjae would never say or do anything to hurt you or get you in to any kind of trouble, you felt like this was something you had to keep to yourself. By the look of confusion on his face and the way he kept opening his mouth as if he wanted to say something but closing it ultimately, you figured that he probably had a feeling that you weren’t telling him the entire truth. Thankfully, he didn’t pry to get you to confess as to why you harbored ill-feelings for Mark—that wasn’t who he was. After six years of friendship, Youngjae was able to depict when the right time was to ask you what was wrong and when he should keep his questions to himself. Unfortunately, his eyes widened in shock and it made your skin crawl when you noticed that his attention was no longer on you. 

“Oh, well—um—I hate to say this y/n, but he’s coming over right now.” You could feel your heart rate increase rapidly at his words. What was he thinking? He had to be high right now; there was no way he was going to let anyone else on campus know he was affiliated with you in some way. Both you and Mark came from two different classes on the social pyramid; he was your typical college jock—popular, outgoing and devastatingly good looking. You on the other hand considered yourself a wallflower. 

Unlike Mark, you enjoyed keeping to yourself and your small group of friends. You weren’t living the college experience he and his friends were. College parties were a big no to you—you hated alcohol, smoking and loud, shitty music with all these sweaty bodies dancing up against one another. It wasn’t your scene—yet it was all Mark ever seemed to do on his Friday nights; especially since he was the one who coordinated most of the parties. 

The two of you were an unlikely pair, but then again, opposites attract and you despised that they did. Honestly to this day you weren’t even sure how you both stumbled in to each other’s lives. You had Mark in one of your classes last semester and you made sure to stay the hell away from him. He was the definition of a flirt—he had to be the biggest player on campus and that said a lot. Matter of a fact, his entire group of friends were notorious for sleeping around with anyone and everyone. 

Rumor around your university was that they threw parties every weekend with the desire of bedding someone during or after the party was over. You found it ridiculous that they would use these girls for one thing and one thing only—sex. You had to give them credit though; Mark, Jaebeom, Jackson and BamBam made it their duty to tell each girl they were planning to be intimate with what their plans were. They never fucked the same girl twice, that’s just how it was. Well—that’s how it was for Mark until that fateful night the two of you stumbled to bed together for the first time of many. 

What started off as a study session with you sitting practically three tables away from Mark ended up with him fucking you—rearranging your guts and blowing your back out up against his refrigerator. As much as you wanted to say you regretted hooking up with him and that having sex with Mark was a brief lapse of judgement on your part, deep down in your heart, you knew you could never regret Mark. 

At one point—he was all you wanted for as long as you could have him. As long as he allowed you to have him. To your dismay, he decided he didn’t want to continue giving himself to you for longer than what was necessary. For the last week, he’s been trying to get in touch with you. You found it extremely weird; he was the one who ended up breaking your trust and ruining everything, so you had a hard time understanding why he began to text and call you—even showing up to your classes once you were done in the hopes that you would listen to what he had to say. 

You were really good with ignoring him so far—you let every single call and message go unread and straight to voicemail. He needed to know that you no longer wanted anything to do with him; a decision you should have made a long time ago. Before he could have gained your trust and respect only to make you look like a fool for believing that he was going to give up his fuckboy mentality to settle down and start a relationship with you. Silly you for thinking that Mark Tuan could ever look at you as more than a place to bury his dick. You began to mentally prepare yourself for his actions or what he would say once he got to where you and Youngjae were sitting. 

A part of you wanted to pick up your food and walk away—but that would only make you look bad and if anything, Mark would be led to believe that there was a chance you still had feelings for him. If he were to see the effect that just the mere thought of him was currently having on you, you knew he wouldn’t let you live it down. 

“Hey Youngjae, how are you?” It’s been three and a half weeks since you left him naked and painfully hard at his apartment. You could still remember the night like it was yesterday, although—you’ve been trying to push the memory to the back of your mind as much as you could. Every time you began to think about how you found a pair of lingerie in Mark’s drawer that didn’t belong to you, you wanted to throw up. The thought of him sleeping with someone else while the two of you had this pathetic excuse of a friends with benefits situation made you sick to your stomach. 

Sure, you knew exactly what you were getting yourself in to when you agreed to having no strings attached, but then again—you weren’t planning on falling in love with him the way you found yourself doing in less than a month after your first hook up. Friends with benefits affairs were tricky—most people assumed it was just sex between two consenting adults; they both got what they wanted out of the relationship—mind blowing sex without all the unnecessary drama that comes with a romantic relationship. However, it’s easier said than done. One of the partners always ends up falling for the other whether they liked it or not and in most cases, their love is unrequited and unfortunately, you were one of the unlucky ones. 

Mark Tuan could never be tied down—you were crazy to think that one day, he would give up his playing ways to be with you. But at the same time, you weren’t exactly out of your mind. There was a point in your agreement that Mark started acting clingier and touchier towards you—during times where you weren’t being intimate. It was as if he always needed to be touching you in some way. 

He always had to be holding your hand, he’d throw his arm over your shoulder while you’d watch a movie, he’d wrap his arms around your waist and place his chin on your head if you were cooking and he’d run his fingers through your hair as you would lie down together. Mark began staying over after the two of you were to reach your orgasms—something that was considerably taboo for people who were simply just “fucking”. He would wake up early to make you breakfast, he’d send you comforting text messages if you had a rough day at either work or school, he’d stay up to help you with homework so your work load wasn’t too much for you to carry, he started to buy you things that he thought you’d like and unlike most people in friends with benefits relationships, right after you’d finish having your way with one another, you and Mark would talk for hours about whatever it was that your hearts desired. 

If he didn’t want anything romantic to come out of your relationship, then why was he allowing himself to do all of these things with you that only legitimate couples would do. Did he not think that calling you in the middle of the night because you weren’t able to see each other went past the boundaries that he set up when you began your little rendezvous? Did he not find it weird that the two of you were acting like a couple—kissing you before he would leave your house, joining you on your FaceTime calls with your mom, blow drying your hair for you after you took a shower and preparing lunch for you before you went to school—did friends with benefits do things like that? 

You knew you meant a lot more to Mark than he was letting on, even more so when he began trying to get you to talk to him. If what the two of you had was simply a sexual relationship, why was he still trying to get you to hear him out? He could have sex with anybody; in fact, you would have thought that this is what he wanted. Having sex with the same person if you weren’t in a relationship with them was something Mark was obviously not used to. The two of you weren’t exclusive, but two things you asked for was honesty and loyalty. 

As much as you wanted to lie and tell yourself that you didn’t want him sleeping with anyone other than you for sanitary reasons, you were well aware that you’d be completely crushed if you were to find out that he was giving himself to other women while you were only allowing him to have you. It didn’t take long for you to realize that you had feelings for him—it took you even a shorter amount of time to realize that what you felt for him was love. Once you realized that you were in love with Mark, there was nothing more you wanted than to tell him—you were starting to believe that he also felt the same way about you. But then again, there were so many doubts clouding your mind. What if he were to end things with you because you broke one of the rules—no feelings. 

What if he was only acting so affectionate towards you because he thought it was the only way to keep you around? You felt pathetic and you hated that you were letting yourself go through all of this suffering for a man who probably couldn’t give less of a shit about you other than when you were riding him—bouncing on his cock like you were made to do so. When did you allow someone—anyone—specifically an asshole like Mark Tuan; the sole person you made a pact with yourself that you’d never get involved with—play with your heart like it was some kind of toy? Why did you allow him in to your walls that you’ve set so high—meant for someone who genuinely cared about you—wanted you for you and not just for your body? 

Youngjae’s eyes widened at the greeting. He must have been in shock, he’s never heard Mark say anything to him before, let alone call him by his name as if they were well acquainted with each other. Not only did you and Mark come from two completely different worlds, but your friends never associated with Mark’s friends or anyone like them. So you had a feeling with the way Youngjae looked as though he saw a ghost, he was taken a back by Mark’s sudden hospitality. You on the other hand did not buy it at all; you knew he was going to try and coerce Youngjae in to leaving so that he could finally talk to you but there was no way in hell that you were going to allow such a thing to happen. Mark Tuan was in your past and you had every intent on leaving him there. 

“H—hi Mark. What can we do for you?” 

You had to stifle a laugh at the shakiness in the younger boy’s voice. Youngjae was a very shy and soft-spoken kind of person. He was evidently intimidated by people like Mark which is why you mentally cursed him knowing that he would probably do whatever the older boy asked of him. 

“I um—I was wondering if maybe I could talk to y/n?” 

Watching him scratch the back of his neck while looking at your friend timidly made your skin crawl. Why was he acting so shy and flustered? It had to be a tactic of his. He wanted Youngjae to go along with it and the only way he knew he could get him to leave was by acting kind towards him. You wanted to laugh in hysterics—was he really acting like he was innocent and had pure intentions with wanting to speak with you? Who the hell was this man and what did he do to the cocky prick who wasted almost five months of your life for his selfish needs? Youngjae looked at you to see how you were reacting to their conversation and he frowned when he saw you furrow your brows at him before turning to Mark and groaning. 

“Why are you asking him? You act as if I want to talk to you. New flash asshole, I have nothing to say to you nor do I want to hear you out so if you know what’s best for you, you’d go back to your table of friends who I’m sure is having a hard time processing your presence at our table right now.” 

If looks could kill, Youngjae was sure Mark would be six feet under right now. You were sending daggers to the back of Mark’s head and if you weren’t in the middle of the cafeteria, Youngjae knew you would probably do something to inflict any kind of pain on him. 

“Y/n, you and I both know we have unfinished business to go over and unless you want everyone in this cafeteria to know what I want to say, then I suggest you and I go somewhere else—“

“I’m sorry y/n—I forgot, I actually have to go meet one of my professors to talk about my grade. I’ll call you later. Bye!” 

It was your turn to widen your eyes in surprise. How dare he leave you knowing that you wanted nothing to do with Mark. What kind of friend was he? He might have not known about your dalliance with the junior fuckboy, but couldn’t he tell by your body language that you were uncomfortable and seething with anger? After he grabbed his books and gave you a gentle wave, he made his way outside—leaving you alone with the devil himself. 

You didn’t allow Youngjae’s decision to succumb to Mark’s request affect the way that you were going to go about things. Just because the two of you were alone now didn’t mean anything; you meant what you said when you told him you had no intention of listening to what he was seemingly dying to tell you. You started to collect your things—not batting an eye at him while putting all your trash in a paper bag. 

“Come on y/n, I’ve been trying to get in contact with you for weeks now. You’ve been avoiding me. Do my efforts of trying to fix things mean nothing to you—“

“Don’t start that shit with me. I’m surprised you’re even talking to me right now in front of all these students—in front of your fuckboy friends. Effort to fix what Mark? There’s nothing for you to fix. What you and I had is over, why are you even trying anymore? It’s obvious that I was just a convenient fuck to you and it took me weeks to come to accept this, but I deserve so much better than you. Give up already—“ 

Seeing a tear fall from the brim of his eyelids was the last thing you expected to see, but watching Mark cry wasn’t foreign territory to you. The older boy was a very emotional and over-sensitive person. It was a trait of his that you’ve grown fond over—not a lot of men were comfortable enough to show their fragile side to just anyone, but Mark wasn’t afraid to find solace in you whenever he had a problem or needed to let out some pent up anger. Whenever he would vent to you about school, work or even family problems, you’d feel pretty special knowing that you were probably one of the few people if not the only person he would confess all of his doubts, worries and insecurities to you. 

It felt really good knowing that he trusted you but it only confused you so much more. You wouldn’t tell somebody you considered a casual hookup all of your biggest fears or the dreams you had for after you were to graduate would you? Mark seemed to have no problem admitting all this information to you—he was an open book when the two of you were alone. You could confidently say you knew every single thing about the older boy and it was a bittersweet feeling. You were shocked to see him showing any kind of emotion in the public—especially because of you. 

Deep down, you could tell it took a lot of courage for him to do something completely out of his comfort zone. It had to mean something right? Thinking about how he hurt you, how he broke your trust on top of breaking your heart and ruining your entire aspect on love and relationships, you wanted to continue giving him the cold shoulder—but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be so hostile. Humiliating him in front of all these people who admired him and thought he was the coolest person on campus would definitely feel rewarding. However, that wasn’t who you were—you wanted nothing more than to break him the way he did so easily to you, but you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself knowing that you turned in to somewhat of a monster just to get back at him. You knew better than that. 

“I really don’t think it’s a good idea, I’m already seeing someone else. Unlike you, I care if my actions hurt others and I don’t think he’d be all too happy if he found out I went to go talk to you somewhere private. If all you’re looking for is forgiveness, then we can talk right here. But knowing you, there’s a possibility you want something out of our conversation. So apologize and leave before I scream.” 

You should have known Mark’s moment of sadness wasn’t going to last long. As soon as the last sentence came out, he gave you a mischievous smirk—it didn’t take a genius to know what his next few words were going to be nor could you say you were shocked. You’ve known Mark for long enough to have an idea how he was going to respond. 

“You and I both know I wouldn’t mind that at all. Don’t lie, you love it when I make you scream—“

You released an irritated sigh before roughly picking up your bag and the rest of your items. “That’s it, you lost your chance, I’m leaving.” 

With all the energy you had left from how exhausting this entire day had been, you stormed out of the cafeteria and began walking—to where, you had no idea. All you could think about was getting as far away from Mark as you possibly could. Every minute he stayed in your presence only annoyed you yet excited you. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t hope he was still following behind you. 

If he claimed that he really needed to explain himself, then he shouldn’t quit while he was still ahead. But why were you allowing this? What you told him about having a new man in your life was the truth. You didn’t want to be that girl. The one who jumped in to a relationship right after she had her heart broken. Although you couldn’t care less about what people said about you, you didn’t want anyone to look at you as desperate or easy. It wasn’t as if you just started dating the first person you saw—you had a thing for Jinyoung for quite some time now. Even before you and Mark began your fling. However, neither of you said anything about liking one another. 

You had a hunch that he might have felt something for you by the way you would catch him staring at you every now and then in biology and with how he would always greet you every morning although you weren’t very familiar with each other. Jinyoung was extremely intelligent; he had one of the highest grades in the class, he was also gentle, soft-spoken and very easy on the eyes. In fact, he and Mark probably had to be the two most good looking men you have ever laid your eyes on. But Jinyoung was genuinely nice to you. He made it known that he cared about you and had nothing but good intentions. He adored you and admired you in the way you could only dream of Mark doing for you. 

No matter how much Jinyoung treated you like the most fragile piece of glass—the most delicate flower and even if he put you on this high pedestal only two weeks after you started going out, you couldn’t stop wanting it to be Mark in his place. Hearing loud footsteps behind you only heightened your desire to get as far away from him as you possibly could. At this point—you were genuinely afraid of giving him what he wanted. You were afraid of doing something you would ultimately regret later. Mark just had that power over you—you could try your best to move on from him and force yourself to return Jinyoung’s feelings that he never failed to remind you he held, but you couldn’t do it. Not when Mark took up the entirety of your thought process; your heart, mind, body, spirit and soul belonged to him. 

The sudden tight grip on your wrist startled you, but you didn’t flinch. You knew exactly who it was and you surprised both yourself and Mark when you allowed him to pull you towards where you knew he was taking you. There was no point in fighting him off—you didn’t want to stir up any attention from passerby’s. When he realized you gave up on trying to leave, he loosened his grip and his tugging wasn’t as rough. The two of you stayed in silence as he led you to a very familiar area—one that was dangerous territory for you. You should be trying harder to escape from his hold; especially because you were well aware once the two of you were to enter the room he was taking you to, there was a chance you would give in to him and end up ruining the relationship that was building between you and Jinyoung. 

Once you both made it to the janitor’s closet, he pulled out a key and opened it, allowing you to go inside before trailing right behind you. Till this day you were still confused as to how he had access to this room, but you weren’t surprised. Being who he was, you were sure he had many connections all over campus. You took in a deep breath while your eyes wandered all throughout the room—it was small, about the size of a closet and there was multiple cleaning supplies on the ground and on shelves. There was also a table in the center—one that you’ve been pressed up against for more times that you could count on your fingers. 

Mark told you that no janitor ever used that closet and so the two of you made it your little secret hideaway where you would help each other destress from a long day of classes. Images of him ramming himself inside of you, pressing you in to the table as he ate you out like a wild animal would with their prey and going down on your knees to suck him dry were now filling your mind. It was in that moment that you began to feel remorseful. You had such a wonderful man who treated you in ways you didn’t even feel like you deserved. 

You’ve wanted him for such a long time—so why were you putting your relationship on the line for the pitiful man standing in front of you who only used you to soothe his carnal urges? You refused to face him; you were afraid of what might happen if you did turn around to see the expression he was wearing. The silence that was filling the room was suffocating. He was the one who said that he wanted to talk, yet no words were coming out of his mouth. It didn’t take long for questions to pop up in your mind—you might not have wanted to talk to him in the beginning but now you were filled with curiosity. 

“You brought me here for a reason. I don’t plan on staying long, so hurry up and say what you want to say.”

“All I need is five minutes—“

“That’s not surprising—it’s obviously a time limit you’re used to.” 

You chuckled softly to yourself at your comment. Sometimes when you’d give him head, he’d end up releasing his load on to your mouth in less than five minutes. It wasn’t something he was proud of, but it did at fuel to your confidence—you were just that good. You wouldn’t be taken back if you were to hear that your blowjobs were the reason why he came running back to you. The growl that came from the back of his throat sent chills down your spine—he may have never said it out loud to protect his reputation, but Mark was a very jealous person. 

Anytime you would bring up another guy in conversation, whether it was a friend from high school or one of your coworkers, he’d grow silent and touchier. He’d also go rougher on you in bed—one time he got so jealous he ended up breaking his headboard because his pace was relentless. That thought alone sent a warm pool between your thighs. Your body was reacting to his presence and the many memories of being one with him and it only made you want to leave without hearing him out. 

“I’m sorry.” Y

ou scoffed at his apology—he sounded so insincere. Like a child who was only apologizing to someone because their mother told them to. What was the point of giving you an apology if he didn’t mean it? You turned around to look at him and lifted your brows in disbelief. He didn’t allow you to respond—he must have known you were going to give him a sarcastic comment and knowing him, he didn’t like it whenever you interrupted him in a confronting time like this. 

“I know, my sorries probably mean jack shit to you but I am genuinely so fucking sorry. When you left that night, I wanted to go after you so badly but I didn’t want to make you even more mad. I didn’t have a clue as to why you grew so upset all of a sudden. We were having such a good time—both so close to our highs, but then you just stopped out of nowhere and began to tear up before taking your things and leaving. I want to know why—why did you leave? What bothered you so badly that you felt like you had to leave and start over with someone new? What did I do y/n—“ 

You didn’t mean to laugh, but it was your defense mechanism. Did he really have no clue as to why you no verbally ended your affair or was he just acting dumb on purpose? 

“You’re kidding right? You can’t be serious. That’s a fucking joke. You know exactly what you did Mark. Don’t play the fucking victim—“

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! That’s why I’m asking—“

“YOU FUCKED ANOTHER WOMAN MARK. DO YOU THINK I’M STUPID? DO YOU THINK I WAS BORN YESTERDAY? When you were in the bathroom, I went to grab something from your drawer and I found a thong that obviously does not belong to me. Care to explain that? I stayed up for the rest of that week thinking about how you were fucking someone else while you were fucking me. I know I have no right to tell you how to live your life, but I’m involved Mark. We promised we’d only sleep around with one another. You’re the one that said we had to tell each other if we wanted to start seeing other people but you didn’t say shit Mark. What? Did you get tired of being monogamous? One pussy wasn’t enough for you huh? Had to keep up with the body count of your other jerk ass friends? You didn’t want them finding out that you were fucking with the same girl for months—you didn’t want to look pathetic in their eyes if they found out you weren’t this big macho man everything thinks you are. So what is it Mark? Is this some kind of game to you? Am I just a fucking toy to you? You know I’d do anything for you and that I’d allow you to do whatever you want to as long as you’re in my bed at the end of the day. It doesn’t fucking work like that—“

“I FELL IN LOVE WITH YOU DAMNIT. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you this the moment I came to terms with my feelings for you, but I did. Fuck, that’s an understand. I’m so fucking in love with you. I’m well aware you probably don’t believe me, but I love you y/n and if I had the choice, I’d go back in time and change the way things turned out. God I want nothing more than to fix us. I miss you so much—there aren’t even enough words in the English dictionary for me to describe how empty and lost I felt without you. I couldn’t even fathom what you meant to me and how much I needed you in my life until you were no longer in it.” He loved you? There was no way. Mark Tuan wasn’t capable of loving someone other than himself. He definitely did not love you. 

“Does it not bother you how good you are at lying? You should try and take acting classes. You almost had me fooled. You? In love? Don’t make me laugh. You wouldn’t know what love was even if it punched you in the face. You don’t love me. You love my body. You love the way I feel—you love how your dick feels inside of me. You love how I am willing to experiment during sex just to please you. You love knowing that you can control me the way you do. So get that stupid thought out of your head. If you genuinely loved me—you would have never fucked another woman. The thought of hurting me would have killed you. What? Was I at work or in school and you couldn’t wait two hours do get your dick wet? Did you think I would be okay with you sleeping with someone else and entering me knowing that your cock was buried in another woman’s cunt? I’m not like all the other girls who would let you hookup with someone else if it meant having you in any way possible. That’s not who I am Mark. I love and respect myself too much to let an asshole like you do such a thing to me.” 

Tears began to brim at his eyelids again, but you weren’t going to fall for it. He did you wrong—he had no right to try and get you to feel sorry for him. Did he really think that confessing his love for you was going to get you to leave Jinyoung in order to be with him again? If that was the case, he had another thing coming for him. 

“She was a mistake. A huge mistake. I was drunk—I know—don’t look at me like that, I’m not using it as an excuse. I’m just telling you. I didn’t even realize what was going on—I was that cross faded. Hell, I don’t even have any idea how we got back to my apartment nor do I remember meeting her. If I’m being honest with you, I don’t remember what she looks like nor did I even learn her name. Trust me, I felt so fucking mad at myself when I woke up next to her and I didn’t even care if I was rude, I kicked her out once I came to my senses. That’s why I stayed away from you for three days that one week back in May. I didn’t have any final to study for—that was a lie. But I couldn’t look at you without feeling guilty. I hated myself for what I did. You and I weren’t dating, but I felt as if I cheated on you which in hindsight, I kind of did. I was already in love with you at that point—hell, I began falling for you only three weeks after we started hooking up. You’re right. I do love your body. Your body is a wonderland and I lose my damn mind every time I get to love on you. But I love you for more than just your body. I love you for your mind—your deeply intelligent and witty mind. I love you for your kindness, your patience, generosity, your determination and passion towards the things that you love. I love the person you’ve changed me into and I love who I am when I’m with you. I love the way you never fail to make me laugh and smile. I love the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking.” 

He began to walk toward you but you were too busy soaking up each and every single word he was emitting. You didn’t realize just how close he was in proximity until he brushed some of your hair back behind your ear. 

“I love waking up to you in the morning and going to bed with you in my arms. I love watching your many attempts at trying out a recipe you found online and ultimately failing because you added either too much salt and pepper or not enough. I love how happy you make me and how safe I feel when I’m with you. You make me want to be a better version of myself so that I can be good enough for you. Sure, the sex is so amazing—it’s breathtaking—mind blowing. Sex with you is a wonderful experience, but I’m not sticking around just to fuck you. I was hooking up with all these different girls before I met you and none of them meant anything to me. You on the other hand mean the entire world and more to me. Don’t even get me started on how fucking beautiful you are. I can never find it in myself to tear my eyes away from you—you’re so captivating you know that? I could stare at you all day—well, I can do a lot of things with you for the entire day—but you are both so beautiful on the inside and out y/n. I think this is the part where I tell you why I got so drunk and high that night.” 

He released a frustrated sigh before bringing his head between his hands. You were still so lost—his confession was bringing you to the edge of insanity. Each word tugged harshly on your heartstrings and you began to absorb everything he was admitting so freely. Deep down, you knew he wasn’t lying and that’s what you were afraid of. 

“Jackson’s dumb ass brought you up in a conversation when we began to play beer pong. I didn’t even know that he knew of your existence, but then he began to talk about you so provocatively and in such a degrading way. He talked about how sexy he though you were and how he wanted to fuck you. That was the first time I’ve ever felt so angry to the point where I was afraid that blood was going to be shed. I could feel my hand that was gripping on the ping pong ready to fling the damn thing at his face. Not only did I hate how he talked about you and described his many desires of what he wanted to do to you—but our other friends chimed in about which one of them would be the lucky guy who got to sleep with you like it was a fucking challenge. They might be my friends, yet I was seconds away from giving them all black eyes—but I didn’t want them to know about us. So I just kept drinking and I went up to one of the rooms some football players were smoking weed in and I took five hits. I was also having a hard time accepting that I loved you—“

“Why? What was so hard about coming to the acceptance that you were in love with me? Did you realize that there are a lot more other girls out there and you wanted to keep your options open? Or did you notice that I didn’t fit in with your friends and you were afraid that they wouldn’t be as accepting of me? Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”

“I was scared. I told you all about my parents—how I believed that they had a love for the ages and that they were going to be together for the rest of their lives. But I was too young to notice that they were actually going through a really rough time. I found out that they weren’t happy in their marriage when I was seventeen years old and that they were only staying together for my siblings and I. My dad—he actually began having an affair with one of his coworkers, but could it really be considered an affair when my parents were no longer theoretically together? They finally got a divorce a little over two years ago and I mean—they’re happier I guess. But my siblings and I—it still bothers us. Like, we’re still so affected by their separation and it’s been years. I vowed to myself that I would never fall in love with anyone. I didn’t want to experience the heartbreak that came with falling out of love. I didn’t want to give myself—my whole self to someone, fall in love with them, do all these romantic and domestics things with them, get used to having them around and always wanting to be with them only for shit to hit the fan and end up hating that person or being hated by that person. Then you came in to my life—someone who I would have never thought would mean this much to me. But you do. You always will. I don’t remember exactly when I started to love you—but I don’t regret it at all—and I’m not scared anymore. I was fucking devastated when you left—I knew it was over and it was the most painful and gut wrenching feeling I have ever felt in my entire life.” 

The more he talked, the more you began to wish he would stop or that he didn’t even open his mouth in the first place. You remembered the night where the two of you were lying down in bed, watching tv and then he got a call from his dad. He excused himself for a few minutes—leaving you alone with a strange legend episode of unsolved mysteries. It wasn’t that you wanted to eavesdrop, but you could hear his voice raise from the other room. Whatever he was talking about with his dad must have really struck a nerve with him because he was in tears when he came back to you. Instead of returning back to the show or taking his leave—he fell apart in to your arms and told you everything. 

He bared his entire soul to you and you found yourself crying at how broken he was and how distraught his conversation with his father left him. From that night on, you made a vow to yourself to make sure he was always happy whenever he was with you. You didn’t want to be a reason behind his sadness—even if he was the sole reason of yours. 

“You should have known I would never have done anything to hurt you Mark. I’m surprised you didn’t catch on to my feelings seeing as how open I was with them. It’s like I had “I love you Mark Tuan” written on my fucking forehead like a pathetic idiot. I sacrificed so many things for you, I had to keep us a secret because that’s what you asked for but it made me feel like you were ashamed of me. I don’t believe in being friends with benefits—whoever thought that shit up needs a slap in the face. Friends could never just have sex—one always falls in love and that’s the same one who gets their heart broken. Me. Every time you would glance at me in the hallway and look away as if you had no idea who I was—it fucking sucked Mark. What person in their right minds would allow someone to do this to them? I only do relationships—I’m an exclusive type of person but I pushed away all my beliefs just to be with you. I loved you Mark Tuan. More than I have ever loved anyone else—more than I loved myself and it scared me, but I didn’t run away. I didn’t go and fuck someone else because I was afraid of feelings. I could never do that to you. I don’t give a shit that you were high and don’t remember a thing—you still did it and it still haunts me to this day. I’m sorry—I really don’t know what to tell you. I’m sorry about your parents and I’m sorry that their divorce is affecting the way you look at your love life—but why do I have to be punished? Why is my heart on the line for something that doesn’t involve me? It’s not fair Mark.” 

His hands were gentle against both sides of your cheeks. He bore his eyes in to yours—but you refused to make eye contact. Your vision was blurry; filled with tears and sadness. Sadness because he hurt you—but also because you were now accepting that you were still so madly in love with the man in front of you. You absentmindedly leaned against his palm but continued to keep your gaze away from him. 

“Y/n—I can’t even tell you how sorry I am. I really am so sorry. If I knew then what I knew now, then I would have never let you go. I would have told you that you are the sole purpose of my existence. You’re the reason why I wake up every morning with the biggest smile on my face. I never thought I was capable of experiencing love—loving someone and being in love but now—that’s all I want—with you and only you. I can’t take back what I did, but I can spend the rest of my life proving to you that you’re the one for me and that I would go to the depths of hell and back just to be the lucky man who gets to love you. Tell me you don’t love me anymore. Tell me that it’s too late and that your heart is no longer mine. Tell me that you want nothing to do with me and that Jinyoung is the one that you want. Just say the word and I’ll let you go—no matter how badly I don’t want to.” 

You took in a few deep breaths and bit down on your bottom lip in frustration. You began to weigh out your choices—you had such a wonderful man somewhere on this campus; probably wondering where you were. He was willing to give you his heart on a tray like it was the easiest thing to do. But then, there was the man in front of you. The man you loved with every fiber of your being. Every beat of your heart. He might have made a mistake, but he was obviously paying for it and if he was willing to give up his pride and his ego to confess how sorry he was and how he loved you like he’s never loved anyone before—then you had to trust that he would follow his word and take care of you the way he promised he would right? 

“Did you suffer without me?” He looked at you and nodded profusely. 

“Every fucking day. I took a few days off from work and school because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I was trying to look for you everywhere but you kept dodging me.” You brought one hand up in to his hair—running your fingers through his brown locks and cupping the back of his neck with the other hand. 

“You love me?”

“Yes. God—I can’t seem to do anything but love you. All I ever want to do is love you.”

Feeling him smile in to the kiss did wonders to your heart. He smashed his lips against yours—not giving you any chance to breathe as he roughly molded his mouth with yours; sucking and nipping on your lips, running his tongue lustfully against yours. You’ve missed this. It’s been so long—being away from him. Being held by him. You knew that no matter how much you deserved better, Mark Tuan was your person. Being there with him felt like coming home after a long day and it was such a good feeling. One you could get used to now that you knew where his heart lies. He sat you up on the table and gently pushed you down before attacking your face, jaw and neck with many wet kisses. However, to his dismay, you lifted him off of you and brought his face in between your hands and placed a sweet kiss on his forehead.

“Then I’m yours.”

[angelicamerlinbarnes]

TUA DANCE SCHOOL AU

(but also like there's murder in here because it's still Umbrella Academy so...)

(BEWARE: mentions of abuse and harassment, murder, kidnapping, etc.)

(If you can handle watching Umbrella Academy, this will be fine for you.)

(Ballet, Hip-Hop) Diego came to this school for Eudora, and he’s staying here for Eudora. She’s his beloved adopted sister, and the one who told him he should pursue his passions in hip-hop… and ballet, but Diego’s not interested in telling anyone that bit yet. He’s only gonna be here a year anyway, just long enough for Eudora to win her way onto the women’s US national soccer team and earn enough money for the both of them to live worry-free for the rest of their lives. He’s not planning on making friends… until one of the dancers in his ballet class trips into his chest and Diego starts questioning whether love at first sight is a thing.

(Ballet) Klaus is top of his class in ballet, which is the only reason they haven’t kicked him out yet. He’s addicted to some hard shit; he’s sold himself for money; he’s living with his abusive boyfriend who he hasn’t loved in three years because if he wasn’t he’d be homeless. He knows he’d be fine if he just told Five what was happening to him, because Five is a thirteen-year-old runaway genius living in a studio apartment big enough for three, but Klaus doesn’t know how to bring it up. He knows he’s a mess - he’s got serious PTSD, anxiety, and depression from his few months in the army where his boyfriend he actually loved was killed in front of him, and he’s got anorexia because he’s a ballerina so of course he does, and he’s probably suicidal if he thinks about it too hard. But he just doesn’t want to deal with it. At all. But then there’s Diego. Sweet, innocent, hero-like Diego. And Klaus loves him. Klaus doesn’t love anything, but, fuck - Klaus loves Diego.

(Ballet, Break Dance, Hip-Hop, Tango) Five is a killer. You can laugh, it’s okay - everybody does when he says that, as if it’s a joke. Five’s alright with that. He has more to lose from them finding out about his habits than he does from actually doing it. It’s not like he can get caught - he’s killed detectives and cops too, and he’s very good at covering his tracks. Next on his list is Klaus’ boyfriend, who’s a piece of shit. He’ll bring Klaus home with him, and keep him safe. Five may not be loyal to many, but those he is will die of nothing but natural causes. He has access to things you can only dream of. All of his dance classes double for training; dance is a good segway to fighting techniques. The only trouble is Diego, who Five loves, who Klaus loves, who is well and true and good… who looks far too much like that vigilante who travels around after hours saving Five’s victims before they’re done bleeding out.

(Flamenco, Hula, Hip-Hop) Allison is undercover, and ready to be done with this shit. She knows Five’s guilty, and knows he knows she knows he’s guilty, and knows that if he wanted her dead she would be by now. She’s worried about his intentions towards Diego, but Five seems to have instead set his sights on Klaus’ boyfriend, who Allison can’t honestly say she’ll be sad to see go. So Allison won’t be bringing Five in - at least not yet. Instead, she focuses her efforts on her dance classes, hanging out mostly with her best friends Klaus and Ray, the latter of whom she has a crush on. And she’d make a move, too, if it weren’t for that stupidly hot and kind himbo she keeps passing in the hallways and cursing at.

(Jock, Break Dance) Luther doesn’t fit in here. Everyone here is so fucking talented, and Luther just… isn’t. Break dancing is just a hobby to him, but dance seems like life or death to everybody else. He’s starting to think maybe he should just quit, but then he sees Allison in the hallways, and thinks maybe all the ridicule is worth it. Though his petty fights with that Diego kid are getting annoying… and there’s something unexplainably sinister about this school. Almost like it’s… he doesn’t know. Sometimes it’s almost like it’s not a school at all.

(Choreographer, Contemporary) Ben is one of the school’s choreographers, though he’s still a student. He knows everything about everyone, and uses that power carefully. This school is going to fucking hell, what with all the criminals scheming under its roof, but none of them are Ben’s first concern, loathe as he is to admit it. No no, Ben is worried about Klaus. His best friend, Klaus. His beloved brother Klaus. His abused, sick, sad, scared, suicidal brother. God. Here’s the thing - Ben will do anything to save Klaus. Anything. Even, he knows with some sort of horrible inevitable certainty, die.

(Violinist) Vanya plays violin for the dance students to perform to. Her teacher Leonard is harassing her and she’s probably gonna end up his invisible victim one of these days, since nobody seems to care about her here. Except for Sissy, the student volunteer secretary who’s attending a normal college across the way. She and Vanya are in love, and they’ve moved in together and Sissy proposed to Vanya last week and Vanya thinks they’re maybe gonna be happy together forever. And then Five, Vanya’s only sort-of friend, climbs through her window at two in the morning covered in blood, passing out with only the words, Sorry. It’s not mine. Vanya screams, and it’s all downhill from there.

(Tango, Waltz, Ballroom) Ray is undercover with Allison, but she seems uninterested in bringing Five to justice. Not that Ray minds - she’s a pretty good judge of character, and Ray trusts her with his life, even if she seems to be hellbent on letting a serial killer go free. Ray’s also found an oddly fulfilling friendship with Klaus, and vows to make sure he gets his happy ending with Diego. But then he finds Ben’s bloody and beaten body in the second floor bathroom after class one day and thinks, Oh. Shit.

(Ballet, Break Dance, Tango) Lila is in the know. The Handler wants someone to combat Five, who went rogue on her a year ago and only sticks around this stupid school to keep an eye on Klaus. Lila, meanwhile, is looking for a way out - Five’s not an option. He’s too sticky. But Eudora, that soccer star at the school across the street, her best friend Diego’s sister… Eudora’s a way out. (And she’s really fucking pretty too, but that’s unrelated.)

(Jock, Hip-Hop) Eudora has this weird feeling about the school she sent Diego too. If she’s being honest, she sent him there because she knows about his vigilante-ism and thought it’d give him something else to do. But when Eudora comes to visit him (and yes, maybe Lila with the eyeliner and pretty skin), she instead finds her brother’s crush tied up in the basement and screaming. And then there’s a gunshot. And then there’s nothing.

(Ballet I Guess) Dolores is the statue formally known as the “Little Dancer of Fourteen Years”. She’s at the museum right near the dance school, and Five visits her nearly every day, talking to her about any and everything. Sometimes Klaus comes with him, or Diego. Five doesn’t know why she’s important - she just is.

(Orchestra & Flamenco Teacher) Leonard is the creepy and perverted orchestra and flamenco teacher. Allison hates him on sight, but loves dancing, and can’t leave. Vanya doesn’t trust him, and he seems hellbent on treating her inappropriately, and Allison wants to fucking throttle him. But she’s sure Five will take care of it. He’s good like that.

(Ballroom Teacher) Hazel teaches ballroom dancing, and has been married to Agnes for almost twenty years now. His best friend and partner is Cha-Cha, and they both secretly work for the Handler, having been given their orders to dismantle Five. They know they’ll have to make him come to them, so they take Five’s favorite person: Klaus. It’s really such a shame that Ben boy found out what was going on and confronted them - he was far too polite to die.

(Break Dance & Hip-Hop Teacher) Cha-Cha probably wants to leave the Umbrella Academy, if she’s really honest with herself. She wants to… I don’t know, buy a boat and fuck off forever. Leave all this stupid shit behind. But now she’s got Ben’s blood on her hands and she can’t undo that, she can’t, and there’s - there’s Eudora, sweet, brave, innocent Eudora, bleeding out on the basement floor while Klaus screams. And Cha-Cha knows Diego - she’s just dug her own grave twice over.

(Ballet & Hula Teacher) Agnes is, on the contrary to most people’s expectations, not an oblivious idiot. She knows exactly what’s going on in her school. She also knows her students can handle themselves.

(First Dean, Tango Teacher) The Handler thinks she’s got all her secrets well under wraps. No one knows how many bodies she’s buried, how many students she’s killed… she’s safe from everyone but Five, the little bitch. And she thinks this up until the moment Klaus walks through her office door with a gun in his hand and the smiling ghost of Ben beside him, and realizes, Oh shit.

(Second Dean, Waltz Teacher) Reginald gives no fucks. He’s only teaching here because Pogo says it would be good for him. Granted Reginald thinks Pogo is a bit of an annoying wussy, but nonetheless he’s here. Teaching “secret” assassins how to dance. What a fucking joke.

(Counselor) Grace is everybody’s favorite person. When the school finally falls, she’s the one they all go home to. She only wishes they could learn how to dance without weapons beneath their skirts.

This turned out way darker than I intended and I am not sorry.