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jalapeno-princess · 3 years

Text

Kiss Me More

Mark Tuan X Reader

Word count: 6.1K

Genre: Very fluffy smut

Warning: Some sexy time in there nothing too extreme (hehehe...or is there?)

Summary: You were confident in the fact that your sex life with Mark was very exciting, wild and fun to say the least. In more or less words, it was perfect. Just your relationship in general was the kind that many people around you would be the envy of. It’s been four years since you began dating and you could honestly say it has been the best four years of your life so far because of him. He was the best boyfriend you could possibly ask for; kind, funny, gentle, considerate, soft-spoken, generous and extremely handsome. He took really good care of you and it was obvious by both his actions and his words that he was madly in love with you. As the two of you are coming down from your sex highs, you grow curious as to why once your love making sessions were over, so is the intimacy. Surely, your boyfriend has his reasons for not kissing you for too much longer as you’re about to go to bed. Right?

A/N: Based on the song “Kiss Me More” by Doja Cat and Sza. I am obsessed with this song and I knew I had to write something based on it so I hope you all enjoy! (I don’t really care for how the ending turned out but whatever).

We hug and yes, we make love And always just say "Goodnight" (la-la-la-la-la) And we cuddle, sure I do love it But I need your lips on mine

Can you kiss me more? We're so young, boy We ain't got nothin' to lose, oh, oh It's just principle Baby, hold me 'Cause I like the way you groove, oh, oh

Boy, you write your name, I can do the same Ooh, I love the taste, la-la-la-la All on my tongue, I want it (la-la-la-la) Boy, you write your name, I can do the same Ooh, I love the taste, la-la-la-la-la All on my tongue, I want it

“Ah—shit, shit—baby, I’m going to need you to slow down. Please—we have the whole night, I just—y/n—fuck. You’re so fucking sexy—“ Against your boyfriend’s pleas, you only sped up your pace to rile him more than he already was.

“The whole night? We’ve been at this for three hours baby. I think I’m gonna tap out here soon. Aren’t you tired?”

The devilish grin that immediately rose on his face at your confession confirmed that no—he was not tired or if he was, he still had enough energy to keep pumping in to you. You were currently bouncing on his cock; sinking up and down on him like it was your life duty to do so.

Your walls were clenched around him deliciously; his hardened length filled you up to the hilt with every thrust. The tip grazed along your nub; flicking it with every pump and it was quickly driving you to the brink of insanity. Honestly, you didn’t think you’d find yourself in this position tonight.

The two of you were exhausted beyond belief; you were at school since six in the morning up until four in the afternoon earlier today. You had finished two midterms and one very important exam you’ve been studying almost an entire month for. Tired wasn’t even a good enough word to describe your current state.

Your boyfriend was just as much in bad shape as you were. His boss had him doing multiple errands today on top of completing his own assigned work. He only arrived home a little over an hour ago. When you heard the front door of your shared apartment gently open, you had to prevent yourself from running towards him and embracing him with all the power you had in your tiny body.

You were confident that he was probably worn out and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. From previous experiences, sometimes your boyfriend would go straight to bed upon arrival—being too fatigued to care about eating or taking a shower even.

Although you were just as tired and in more or less words; overworked to the bone, seeing your boyfriend slumped while his dark circles grew more and more prominent every day, you mustered up enough energy to iron his clothes for the next day, prepare the clothes he’d wear to sleep, pack him a lunch and even get some of his toiletries ready if he felt like wanting to rinse off just a bit.

To your surprise, as soon as he made his way towards you—before you could even open your mouth to ask your boyfriend how his day was, his pretty, heart-shaped lips that you loved so much were fervently smashed against yours. He gave you no time in preparing yourself for what was to come next before he roughly grabbed you at your thighs and wrapped your legs around his waist.

His mouth never left yours as he led the two of you to your shared bedroom. It boggled your mind that he was giving you his full attention; gnawing and sucking on your lips while he carried you to the room without bumping in to anything or tripping on the rug. Maybe he’s gotten used to doing so since the two of you have been in this exact same scenario more times than you can count on both hands.

There were so many thoughts running through your mind and questions on the tip of your tongue—concerning the sudden affection and lust he was currently showing you, but whatever you wanted to ask him no longer mattered the second he shoved his tongue down your throat and squeezed both your ass cheeks before slapping them hard.

“Mark—babe is everything okay—“

“Work was shit—complete and utter shit. I missed you so fucking much like I do every single day I’m at that shithole and so I logged on to Snapchat and to my surprise—and delight, my beautiful girlfriend sent me a few snaps of her pretty outfit today. Don’t play innocent baby, you knew exactly what you were doing as soon as you hit send. You are well aware of the fact that I was seconds away from calling in sick this morning and fucking you in to oblivion right against the kitchen counter when you walked out in to the living room. Ah—there was so many things I wanted to say. Don’t get me wrong, you look breathtakingly beautiful in every single thing that you wear, but my dress shirt and that pencil skirt that hugs you in all the right places and leaves little to the imagination? Tsk tsk—it’s like you wanted me to rearrange your guts tonight.”

You looked at him in curiosity; it took you a few moments to pin point exactly what photos he was referring to. Since you were so busy today, you completely forgot about sneaking to the bathroom and taking a few pictures of yourself. This last week has been extremely busy for both you and your boyfriend—and so the thought of being intimate with him felt like a fever dream.

Sex with Mark had to be one of your favorite activities not only as a couple, but just in general. One thing about the older boy that you admired was the fact that he was very talented in each and every single thing he put his mind in to. Baseball, volleyball, football, golf, tennis, soccer, martial arts—it wasn’t even only sports.

Mark was exceptionally intelligent; he was one of the only people you knew that was good at both reading and math. He also could finish a Rubik’s cube in under two minutes which was quite the impossible task. Every single thing your boyfriend did never failed to impress you. However, you felt as though he was the best at blowing your mind in more ways than one.

The older boy was extremely generous; he always bought you cute little gifts that reminded him of you, he’d pay for every single date against your pleas no matter where the two of you would go, he’d sacrifice his time and work his schedule around yours so he could pick you up and drop you off wherever you needed to go. When it came to the bedroom, he always put you and your needs first. Mark always made it his main priority to make sure you came first, that you were genuinely having a good time and overall he wanted to do whatever he possibly could to make you comfortable.

Some days, he’d be so focused on eating you out that he found pleasure and got his full strictly by sucking on your pussy. If you were having a rough day, he’d prepare you a bath and get you all your favorite snacks in attempts of cheering you up but not before finding his place in between your thighs and dragging his tongue along your slit faster than you could actually handle. Mark was the king of overstimulation; one of his kinks was driving you crazy and not giving you a chance to do anything about it.

He was extremely good at sex— and his body was handcrafted by God. Every single thing about him was annoyingly perfect; he wasn’t the most muscular man but he wasn’t exactly skinny either. He had just the right amount of muscle, a six pack and he was well endowed. Although you considered penises very unattractive before you met Mark, something about his was so pretty and it always made your mouth water.

You weren’t sure if you preferred having it buried deep inside of your cunt, or filling up your throat—both felt so phenomenal. Out of all the positions you and Mark experimented in during your four year relationship, your favorites had to be doggy, missionary and the one you were currently in right now. In most of your love making sessions, Mark took the lead and dominated you—not that you ever objected.

A dominant Mark—degrading, rough, animalistic was the sexiest Mark—well, next to jealous and overprotective which usually led to the passionate and extremely freaky sex the two of you’d have. But there were times where you would take control because Mark was the definition of a switch; and something about him submitting to you and whatever you told him to always sent your mind in a frenzy.

Mark was very vocal about how he came faster whenever you would find yourself riding him specifically because watching your breasts bounce, getting to see your gorgeous face and observing your pussy swallow his cock whole—your juices coating his entire length, the sensation was lethal. His hands gripped on your waist all but gently; you might have been the one on top but your boyfriend was a powerbottom. He never allowed you to do things on your own, especially during sex.

“Nope. I’m like the energizer bunny whenever we make love. In fact, I could probably fuck you for a solid four more hours. I know sex isn’t everything in a relationship and there are so many other things I love to do with you—but damn, you’re a fucking dream y/n. We have sex almost every single day and it always feels like the first time. If you’re exhausted baby, you can get off. As much as I particularly enjoy and get off on the feeling of your ass clapping against my balls, I’m sure it’s pretty tiring.”

You had to stifle back a laugh at his choice of words; when the two of you first became intimate with one another, there was a lot of laughter and playful banter in the duration of your sexy time to which you didn’t think was normal. Then again, your relationship with Mark was never normal from the start. Your relationship was the envy of a lot of the people around you.

It’s been over four years yet somehow—maybe it was the deep, passionate love you held for one another, but you were still surprisingly in the honeymoon stage. Neither you or Mark could get enough of each other. Sometimes, whenever the two of you would tumble in to bed together, some jokes, corny pickup lines and even riddles would be thrown in while Mark would be railing you and on some occasions, he’d say things at the wrong time, but you still had so much fun nonetheless.

“I’m not too tired, I just don’t want to be immobile for the next week. My thighs are jelly and I have work in the morning. I’ve called out three times already in the last month because you fulfill your promises of wrecking me and I’m sure my boss is aware of the fact that it’s not possible for me to get food poisoning that many times within days of each other—“

“I mean, I have no regrets honestly and if I remember correctly, you’re always the one telling me to “go faster” and to “fuck me harder daddy”—ow! What? I’m just stating the facts—“

“I know, but it sounds weird when you say it.”

He playfully rolled his eyes before stealing a sloppy kiss from the corner of your mouth and motioned for you to get off of him. As much as you were reveling in his many wanton noises and lustful facial expressions, you could feel your legs giving out and you were in no position to be calling out sick again. At least not for another week or two. You let out a whine at the feeling of him slowly pulling out of you; you weren’t ashamed to say you were a huge fan of how it felt to be full of your boyfriend’s cock.

Cock warming was another favorite kink of yours. Mark on the other hand, would have to mentally prepare a few minutes prior to staying inside of you. It was hard for him to stay idle—he’s told you this many times. As much as he wanted to do whatever you asked of him and wanted to please you no matter what it was you desired, the feeling of your tight, wet and warm walls clenching around him was too much. He allowed it to happen, but not for too long. He could be the one to tap out, but a couple minutes of cockwarming could lead to another round of sex and in many cases; it did.

“What a baby, can’t even go a couple of seconds without my dick inside of her—“

“Shut up, I can go in to the bathroom and finish myself off if I wanted to—“

“We all know your fingers aren’t enough to get you seeing stars princess. And that stupid dildo you bought when I was away in Taiwan last year can’t do shit for you either.”

Thankfully, he didn’t take too long in throwing you against the bed and lining himself back at your entrance. You were seeping of your essence at this point and he swiped himself along your folds so that it would be easier for him to slip back inside. He brought his face up to your ear and his breath was hot against your jaw as he leaned in to whisper naughty words that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head in pleasure.

“Only I can bring you to sheer ecstasy. Only I can get you to see white—only I can get your head spinning. My fingers; we both know how much my fingers are one of your favorite body parts of mine.” He wrapped one hand around your neck gently, making sure to glide his thumb along your pressure point while swiping some of your juices with his index finger and bringing it up to your mouth.

“Taste yourself baby. I want you to experience the euphoria I go through whenever I eat out this pretty cunt of yours. Well—back to what I was saying, my tongue, I know exactly how to use it as we make out, when I suck on this pretty little neck of yours or when I suck the life out of your pussy—so even if you were to finger yourself like the dirty girl you are, you’ll never reach the mind blowing orgasm only I can give to you. Now, I think it’s time I teach you a lesson for speaking out against me.”

You bit your lip in anticipation for the excitement that was to come; whenever Mark would get jealous or whenever you were bratty and went against whatever he commanded you to do, that’s when he would fuck your brains out. How the two of you were still going at it with such a rapid and forceful pace had yet to really process completely in your mind, but you didn’t question it. A muttered groan fell from both your lips and his as soon as he found his place back inside of you.

Immediately, he placed his face in the crook of your neck for what you were accustomed to him trying his best not to moan loudly. He dragged his teeth along the juncture of your nape before sinking his teeth in and leaving a dark love bite in its wake.

“Mark!”

You swatted his arm once you felt the spot begin to throb. Sure, you found it extremely sexy whenever he’d mark his territory because it proved just how possessive and overprotective he was over you but at the same time, hickeys were difficult to cover up and you were confident the purple mark would be on display for your professors, classmates, coworkers, boss and clients to see.

“Sorry baby, I couldn’t help myself—I’ll help you put some makeup on it tomorrow. It’s just that—ugh, how the fuck are you always so damn tight? We have sex on a daily basis, you should be stretched out by now.”

“You men obviously don’t understand the anatomy of a woman. You’re lucky you’re attractive and very sweet, you’re lacking intelligence—“

“Hey—“

“Just fuck me already asshole.”

You didn’t have to ask him twice. He went straight in to ramming his cock in and out of you. There was no time to be soft or gentle; the two of you were just moments away from your releases. You preferred the softness and romanticism that came with making love, but right now all you could think about was how amazing it felt when the tip of his cock reached your cervix.

“Feels—“

“So fucking good.”

Your breasts were bouncing up and down with every thrust and to your delight, your boyfriend cupped one of your mounds in his hand; flicking your nipple all but gently and earning himself the sexiest growl he’s ever heard in his life. He wrapped his lips around your other breast and swirled his tongue around your nipple—bringing the nub in between his teeth and nibbling on it.

“Such pretty titties—so soft, so big—your body belongs in an art museum. You’re a masterpiece. Everything about you—I can’t even wrap my head around your beauty. You’re really a sight for sore eyes you know that?”

Slowly, you shaking my brought your palm up to his face and cupped his cheek feather lightly. You brought your free hand in to his hair and softly tugged at his curly, brown locks.

“I—I love you Mark—“

“Mmm—I love you more baby girl. So much more. Every time you say those three words, I feel like a little kid who’s crush complimented his outfit. You do wonders on my heart. What did I do to deserve you?”

Out of no where, he lifted up one of your legs and placed it on his shoulder. This position allowed him to reach deeper inside of you which you didn’t even know there was more of you for him to reach.

“Shit—shit, just like that Mark—“

“You like that baby?”

You nodded in agreement fervently; he needed to know the effect that this position was having on you. Something about having him on top of you, even if missionary was a position that most people considered boring and ordinary—you felt like you were going to burst in to flames at any moment. The sound of his pelvis clapping against your ass cheeks sounded off throughout the room. It only heightened the sexual desire that already filled up the atmosphere. His grip on your lower waist tightened as the two of you grew closer and closer to your ends.

“So tight—so wet—so perfect and all mine.”

He brought your other leg up on to his shoulder and you could fill your orgasm right at the edge. A loud moan fell from his lips and he tried to conceal it by smashing his mouth against yours, but you only felt the vibration on your tongue as he hummed in contentment.

“Mark—I can’t—it’s too much—“

“I know baby, I know. I’m almost there too. Can you hold on for just a little longer?”

With all the energy you could muster, you nodded against his chest and allowed him to reconnect your lips together; his speed was relentless and with the way the bed was creaking, you knew that there was a huge chance it would break soon and you would get yet another noise complaint. Probably the seventh one in the last month. You were secretly hoping that he was closer than you were and that he was only holding on as long as possible so you both could continue your late night romp.

Your boyfriend was a nymphomaniac; sex might not have been the most important part of your relationship, but after a long, stressful day at work, he found relief in releasing his anger and frustration on your body. Making love was even better—but it didn’t matter how the two of you were intimate, just having your skin against his and your tongue battling for dominance with his, the sensation never failed to turn his sour mood in to a much happier and lighter one.

He was happiest being one with you. Just by the way he let go of your hips to intertwine your hands together, you were confident that he was about to cum. Whenever he was at his end, he’d stop whatever he was doing to hold your hands and leaned back so that he could get a better look at you. Seeing your fucked out state; sweat dripping down your neck and chest, cheeks flushed with warmth, hair sticking to your forehead, mouth gasping for air—knowing that he was the cause behind your beautiful glow, it brought him confidence and glee.

Soon, you were being filled with his warm creamy liquid in spurts—the sensation of being full of his sperm was one that you still haven’t gotten used to. It was just that mind blowing. Your orgasm followed in suit just seconds after. It felt like a tidal wave swallowing you whole, you were drowning but in the best way. It was hard to describe; but it was a high you never wanted to come down from. You were speechless; there were no words to describe just how on top of the world you were currently feeling.

Mark called it a sex high. Whenever you and your boyfriend would find yourselves tangled in the sheets, you felt like you were in another world. Maybe it was just a high off of Mark himself. He was hot; there was no doubt about it and honestly you could stare at him all day if time permitted you to. For a couple of minutes, there was a peaceful silence.

All you wanted to do was calm your rapid heartbeat and to get your breathing under control. Mark’s heart pounded against your chest and his dick that was once hard as a rock was now soft and limp inside of your cavern—neither of you moved; he was pressed up against your breasts and his head was smashed up along your collarbone. Your mind was too hazy to really feel the stickiness of his sweaty body, but if this were under different circumstances you probably would’ve pushed him off.

Less than five minutes later, Mark leaned back enough so that he had a better view to look at you. He gently brushed back some of your hair and glided his thumb along your cheek—bringing it down to your bottom lip. The soft smile he was giving you as you placed a kiss amongst the calloused digit sent electricity through your veins. In times like these; where you were bare, not just physically but spiritually and mentally and in the comfort of your boyfriends arms, you always felt so safe—so at ease, so serene, so loved.

You might have just did something so naughty, yet you couldn’t help but blush timidly. No matter how many times the two of you relished in your love for one another, you always felt so shy with his wandering eyes gazing all along your body. Even if he’s seen you naked at least a hundred times, you still found yourself turning red under his stare.

A few sweet kisses were placed against your mouth as what you assumed was a distraction because as he began to nibble on your bottom lip, he slowly pulled himself out from your slick walls. The two of you groaned at the feeling of emptiness; you gave him a glare—upset that he pulled out so soon especially since you told him earlier that you were in the mood for cockwarming.

“Mark—“

“I know, I’m sorry baby. I just want to clean you up and get us ready for bed. I think your pussy puts me to sleep a lot more often now. But if you want to take a bath, I can go prepare one for you—“

Something about the thought of fucking Mark to exhaustion made you giggle. Especially because moments ago, he was wanting to continue having sex for much longer. “No, I don’t think I can walk you asshole. I’ll just take one in the morning before my shift. But thank you. Am I wearing you out Tuan?”

“Yes and I’m not afraid to admit it. I think five orgasms in less than two hours would do that to someone. You’re so fucking sexy and so damn good to me there’s no point in trying to conceal my feelings for the sake of my pride. I’d shout it at the top of my lungs if I had to—I’m completely whipped for you and I have every intention on keeping it that way for the rest of our lives. Now, I’ll be right back okay?”

With a couple of kisses against the corner of your mouth, he disappeared in to your bathroom. It was only natural for you to snicker to yourself at the sight of his cute little butt as he quickly walked over to get a warm wash cloth and a bottle of water. You decided to take that time to reminisce on tonight’s escapade.

Every time you thought about your love making sessions with Mark, your stomach would swarm with butterflies. In the beginning of your relationship when you were just beginning to learn more and more about each other, the sex the two of you would experiment in was exciting, fun and intoxicating—not that it wasn’t like that anymore.

But now that you were both so madly in love with one another, it was more passionate, more meaningful and a lot more desirable. You always had to be touching him and without even having to ask him, he’d always have his hands on you too. The bed sank and before you could even comprehend what was going on, a wet towel was gently being brushed along your lower body.

He first got in between your thighs, making sure to wipe up any excess cum that might have dripped from your entrance. Then he brought it up to your navel, making sure to rid visible sweat—then finally he cleaned your folds and with the way a tingling sensation began to develop, you knew he was purposely taking his time to mess around with and to get a rise out of you.

Right as you were about to whine in attempts to get him to stop, he got another washcloth and wiped your face. Mark was well aware of how your skincare was very important to you. He’d watch you take the time to put on moisturizer, toner and sunscreen on in the mornings and right before bed.

It was the little things that he recognized that made your heart swell; no matter how many times a day he’d tell you that he loved you, he professed his love just a little bit more through his actions. Once he was done, he helped you put on a clean pair of underwear and one of his t-shirts—a reoccurring act of affection he did not too long after you came down from your highs.

With a sweet kiss on your forehead, he went back in to the bathroom to prepare for bed; brushing his teeth and putting on a pair of sweatpants before taking his spot next to you under the covers. By instinct, you were pulled up against his chest and his arms snaked around your hips. He left wet kisses all along your face; making sure to steal a few pecks from your lips as he smiled against your mouth.

“That was mind blowing as always. My pretty—pretty baby, you’re so fucking perfect. What did I do to deserve you? God, I can’t believe it’s been so long since we’ve made love—“

“It’s been three days Mark—“

“Exactly. That’s a long time baby. Especially because I crave you every second of the day. I can’t get over how wonderful you are. Literally flawless. Rest up baby, once you come home tomorrow I’m having you again and again and again—“

“Oh God, how I’m not pregnant at this point is still a mystery to me. Horndog.”

He let out the most adorable little giggle while turning your body so that he was spooning you. He’s told you many times that as much as he loved being able to see your face, he was more comfortable in this position. You were confident it was because he’d get to feel your ass pressed up against his length, but you didn’t want him feeling embarrassed if that was the real reason behind. Besides, you felt so safe and protected in this position.

However, you’ve been contemplating on voicing your feelings about how nights would end right after you and your boyfriend would tap out from either exhaustion or overstimulation. Sure, you loved the cuddling and being held by him, but that was pretty much it. He’d kiss you a couple of times and then he’d say good night. If you both had even the tiniest amount of energy, you’d stay up and talk about whatever it was that your hearts desired.

You wanted to kiss him for much longer than the fleeting kisses—you fantasized about spending a little more time with his soft lips on yours. Maybe he saved the makeout sessions for the bedroom. But even during sex, the kisses were hot and wild—in the heat of the moment, but you were too busy focusing on being penetrated to really enjoy kissing him.

“Well, I mean my pullout game is the best—“

“You literally just came inside of me that’s a joke right?”

He let out a scoff of disbelief and although you couldn’t see him, he playfully rolled his eyes. “I mean, well, you know—yeah whatever. The thought of impregnating you is a huge kink of mine. You’re stuck with me for the rest of our lives. You’re going to be the best mother one day and the cutest little pregnant lady. I can’t wait to see you swollen with my baby and I’m even more impatient in finally starting a family with you. You really are the love of my life. Look at how sappy you’ve made me. Mmm, I love you, I love you, I love you. Sweet dreams my love.”

Hearing him confess all that he did about his love for you and the future the two of you had together—you couldn’t stop the smile from taking over the entirety of your face. Almost every single thing Mark said—no matter how naughty or straight up cheesy it was never failed to make your heartbeat increase. You were soon feeling silly for worrying about such a minuscule thing and you wished it could have been enough for you. Yet, the question was on the tip of your tongue; you were mentally battling with yourself.

There had to be a reason why the kissing stopped once you both reached your fill. You didn’t want to seem too clingy or overdramatic—maybe you were overthinking things. Your mind kept telling you to leave it alone and that he had his reasons, yet you couldn’t stop the tiny voice in your head that begged you to continue to pry at him. Mark looked down at you in curiosity when you turned around to face him. He lifted up your chin and furrowed his brows in confusion.

“Everything alright y/n?”

“Why don’t you kiss me more?” Your question was muffled since you were too shy to ask him out right and hid your face in the crook of his neck.

“What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you—“

“I want you to kiss me more.”

“Wait, what? What do you mean? Where is this coming from baby?”

An exasperated sigh fell from your lips and you were soon regretting actually asking him the question that’s been weighing heavy on your mind for months now. It was extremely silly now that the question was actually out there but the reason why your relationship with your boyfriend had been so healthy all these years is because conversation was one of the most important keys to making sure you were both on the same page.

The last thing Mark wanted was for you to be uncomfortable or to feel as though you had to hide your feelings for his sake. Which is why you weren’t surprised to see him looking at you worriedly, waiting patently for you to go in to further detail.

“Right before we go to bed, whether it’s after sex or just once we’re done doing whatever it is after we both come home from work, you give me a few kisses and then we cuddle and fall asleep. Don’t get me wrong, I really enjoy doing those things. I just—I want more. I love kissing you if you didn’t already know that by now. Kissing you is one of my favorite activities that we do because your lips are so addicting. But we only ever passionately kiss during sex and when we make out it usually leads to love making and theres really nothing wrong with that. I just wish we could kiss without having it end up or only be during sex.”

Although the lights were off and you could barely see him, you could tell he was wearing a blank expression on his face. He continued his ministrations of gliding his fingers along your sides but he stayed silent for a few moments. You wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow you whole; you were so embarrassed but this was your boyfriend.

He needed to know how you felt if your relationship was going to continue as beautifully as it currently was. To your surprise, he lifted up your chin and reconnected your lips together in a very passionate kiss. His hands cupped either sides of your face and he roughly nipped and sucked on your lips; leaving you breathless as he deepened the kiss further.

It was only natural for you to smile against his mouth; you were hoping you didn’t upset him and that he was only kissing you like this to please you. You were hoping he too was finding some enjoyment in kissing you right now. As his lips continued to attack yours, he took that chance to flip you on top of your back and stole a couple more kisses before sucking on your sweet spot right below your ear. This was what you wanted; it felt so wonderful and you felt even more closer to him than you felt a little over half an hour ago with his cock buried deep inside of you.

“How was that? By that gorgeous smile of yours and the way your lips are swollen I’m assuming you quite liked that.” You nodded in agreement and stole a few kisses from the corner of his mouth.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel as though I’m not interested in continuing our intimacy once we’re about to go to bed. Trust me, kissing you is my favorite thing to do with you too. You drive me fucking crazy. I’ve actually questioned myself about this numerous times too but I just assumed you were tired and I didn’t want to press you in to doing something just because I wanted to do it. Plus—“

He led your hand down to his sweatpants and your cheeks grew warm at the feeling of his hardened cock. It never failed to make you laugh seeing as how easy it was for him to grow horny at just the simplest touch. “This is why our make out sessions lead to sex and why I was hesitant about telling you that I wanted to be more intimate with you rather than the small pecks and holding you before falling asleep myself. It’s just going to lead in to another round. God, I sound like such a nymphomaniac but I’m proud to say that I am. I got a very sexy girlfriend, who could blame me for wanting to relish in our love at least once a day? Well, now that I know how you feel y/n, I would love to kiss you more. A lot more. why don’t we experiment a little tonight and see where it leads tomorrow?” You beamed up with him and with all the energy you still had left inside of you, flipped your bodies so you were on top. It obviously riled him up and the cheeky grin he was giving you sent warmth to your core.

“That sounds like a plan. Now kiss me.”

“With pleasure.”

#got7 imagines #mark tuan #got7 mark #got7 #got7 scenarios

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illfoandillfie · 3 years

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A Different Kind of Education: V Is For Vanilla (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Professor!Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Summery: After being broken up with for not being kinky enough, Reader seeks out her professor to give her some private tutoring so she can win her boyfriend back.

Warnings: Modern AU, smut (18+), slow burn romance, light dom/sub dynamics, light dom!roger and sub!reader, professor x student sex, protected sex, vaginal fingering, light breast/nipple play, nipple sucking, light biting, i think thats it, honestly this chapter is (as the title says) pretty vanilla. But things will get more intense in later chapters.

Words: 7,128

A/N: ahhhhhh it’s finally here. This professor Rog idea has been kicking around my head for months now and finally I’m actually doing something about it lmao

This series is going to be LONG (like in my plan it’s 15 chapters) because I have So Many kinks I want to squeeze into it. Some were chosen by me and some were chosen by everyone who voted in the poll I put up a few weeks ago and i am seriously so excited about what’s coming.

Smut scenes in this and all future chapters will be marked with stars so that if there is a kink you’d like to avoid you can skip over it and still enjoy the rest of the series.

Also, I know the chapter title doesn’t super make sense since he’s a university bio sciences professor which doesn’t have a lot to do with the alphabet but 🤷‍♀️ that was the working chapter title and it kind of stuck. Plus, ya’ll know I love chapter titles that have a theme lmao. Anyway, no more stalling. Enjoy the filth and start preparing yourselves for it to get so much filthier.

(the ultimate hot professor rog moment tbh)

@atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @ilovequeenmorethanyou @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies @cherries-n-rocknroll @rogersslave @scorpiogemini

His office door was open when you got there which didn’t give you much time to hesitate or rethink your decision to ask your Professor for help. He would have seen you approaching or stalling in the doorway and invited you in anyway to query you about your reasons for being there. So, instead, you raised your fist and rapped a pattern on the door frame with your knuckles. “Professor Taylor? Can I have a word?” “Miss Y/L/N,” he seemed surprised to see you, his eyes widening behind his spectacles, “come in. What can I help you with?” You closed the door behind you and took a seat, fidgeting with your fingers as you tried to remember how you’d planned to broach the subject. Professor Taylor – Roger, as you’d been told you could call him – waited patiently. “It’s tricky, Professor. Umm, see, well um,” “Is this something to do with the coursework? If you’re worried about the last assignment, you don’t need to be. It was really good, what you handed in.” “Really?” “Mmhmm. I was going to give you all feedback next week but if it’ll help put your mind at ease I can show you the comments I have for you early,” You were half a second away from asking to see them when you remembered that wasn’t what you’d come to ask about, “A-actually that’s okay Professor.” “Oh? So was it something else you wanted? I know that this Masters course is more work than previous classes you’ve had with me but you seem to be keeping on top of it all. I’m very impressed by what you’ve accomplished so far.” “Thank you Professor, but, um, that’s not really what I’m here about,” “No?” He leaned forward resting his chin on his hands, “You know, there’s no need to be nervous about talking to me, I’m not going to fail you,” he chuckled as he sat up straight again, clearly trying to lighten the mood though his expression became more serious as he said, “if you’re having trouble with something, or someone, please tell me and I will do what I can to help, whether it’s pointing you in the direction of someone more able to support you or talking to people on your behalf.” You nodded, feeling marginally calmer though still nervous, “I was actually hoping for some private tutoring,” “Oh? Well if you’d like to put your name down as a tutor I have a form here somewhere, if you fill it out I can pass it on and have your name added to the database,” Roger rifled through a stack of papers on his desk, only stopping when you spoke again. “No, not, uh, not tutoring work. I more meant tutoring from you. In an area that this Uni doesn’t provide classes in,” “Miss Y/L/N I’m going to have to ask you to explain because I’m not quite sure what you’re after,” You took a breath and resisted the urge to speak to the floor, “My boyfriend dumped me last week.” “I’m sorry to hear that but I don’t see how-” “He dumped me because apparently I’m not kinky enough. I don’t know, he always wanted me to be super obedient in the bedroom but I never really understood it.” Roger shifted in his seat, “Miss Y/L/N I don’t think this is app-” “I want someone to explain it all to me, teach me how to be what he wants so I can get him back. If I can show him that I can learn, that I can submit in the way he expects, then we won’t have to break up. I love him and I’d do anything to get him back and I’ve been thinking about it and I think you’re the best person to teach me.” “I’m not sure I understand why you would come to me with this. I am very sorry to hear you’re dealing with that but it’s not really appropriate for me to be discussing such matters with my student.” “Just…” you held your hand up to try and stop him from standing and opening the door for you, “You must realise that you have a, um, a reputation.” Roger was taken aback by that, throwing you a confused expression as he settled back into his seat. “Surely you’ve heard the rumours about you. About what you like to get up to with women.” “I can assure you I haven’t,” “Seriously? Everyone talks about it. I mean part of it is probably just because you’ve got that whole DILF thing working for you so like half the students here have crushes on you. But then you throw in the gossip about how you like to tie women up and all the rest of it,” Roger closed his eyes as if he couldn’t quite keep up with everything you’d just said, “How- I mean, those rumours have no bearing on- on anything and they aren’t even- what I mean to say is-” “Professor, it’s okay. It’s just gossip, nothing serious in it. But if you do like that sort of thing, I could really use your help. I won’t tell anyone, all I want is my boyfriend back,” Roger pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, “This is insane, what you’re asking is insane.” “No it’s not,” “Okay, lets, Miss Y/L/N, just for a moment, let’s imagine that, hypothetically, I say yes to this. What then?” “Well, I’d expect we’d meet up once or twice a week, you’d teach me the basics of kink, anything you thought I should know. Then in four months’ time I can talk to Dylan and show him what I’ve learnt and he’ll take me back.” “Why four months?” “Oh, we’re pretty much guaranteed to see each other then. Two of our mutual friends are getting married and we’ll both be at the wedding. So will you do it?” “Miss Y/L/N, I don’t know that this is a good idea,” “Why not?” “Well our ages for one thing,” “So what? You’re mature and experienced and that’s what I need. Plus, surely having someone half your age throw herself at you is a bonus.” He smiled slightly, “All the same, it’s wrong. I’m your teacher.” “Exactly, who better to teach me?” “The ethics of this- and the rules of this university. If anyone found out I’d lose my job, you’d lose your place at this school so you wouldn’t get to complete your degree. Not to mention I’m sure you have family and friends who would chop my bollocks off before they ran me out of town.” “It’s not like I’m underage, I’m doing a bloody Masters. And no one would find out. We can meet in secret.” “It’s still so risky, Ms Y/L/N,” “Look, Professor, I wouldn’t tell anyone, you won’t tell anyone. As long as we’re careful about when and where we meet no one will find out. Please, Professor. I need this,” you thought you could see his resolve cracking but decided to give him a final push, “But if you really don’t want to then I’ll find someone else. I’m sure I can meet someone online. Fetlife? That’s a website for this kind of thing, right?” “Fine, I’ll do it.” He said suddenly, “But we do it my way. And certainly not on campus.” “Okay,” “Are you free tonight?” “You wanna get right into it?” “I want to discuss this further, off campus, to set some ground rules, and I think we’ll both be more comfortable discussing it over dinner.” “Dinner? Like a date?” “A business deal. Miss Y/L/N, if you can’t take this seriously,” “I can, I promise. Dinner where?” “Well, public places are out of the question. So you can come over to my house. Be there by Seven and make sure no one knows. Here’s the address,” “Thank you Professor,” Roger grunted as he scrawled his address on a scrap of paper, holding it out to you, “Go, out of my office before I come to my senses,” You nodded and scurried off, taking heart from the bemused tone behind his snippy words. In a matter of a few short months you’d be able to put this breakup behind you and show Dylan just how much he meant to you.

A few minutes before seven o’clock you rang Roger’s door bell, looking around at the long driveway and the tidy garden beds at the front of the house as you waited. He opened the door quickly and hurried you inside glancing around the front yard as if someone were spying on him. “I brought wine,” you said, holding the bottle out, “You’ve got a nice place,” “You sound surprised,” he said as he took your jacket from you and hung it on a coat rack to the side of the entrance before taking the wine with a gracious nod and examining the label, “Y’know being a university professor doesn’t actually pay too badly.” “Yeah but this place is massive,” He chucked, “I inherited a little from my Nan and Pop and then there was the album. That was enough to buy this place.” “Album?” “Oh, I was in a band in my youth, one mildly successful album and a couple of writing credits on the singles set me up nicely. Not nicely enough to retire on but still.” He shrugged as he led you through his sizeable house, up a set of stairs and towards the back balcony, “Plus, this place didn’t seem so big when I was sharing it with my ex-wife and our kids. Uhh, but that’s not what we’re here to discuss. Now, make yourself comfortable out here and I’ll just go check on the food.” You nodded, still trying to wrap your head around the sheer number of rooms and hallways you’d passed as well as the fact that your old Biology professor had once been in a band. It was hard considering you’d only ever seen him presenting lectures to an audience of tired and often hungover students but you supposed he did have a kind of magnetism that would have been at home on a stage. Still, you’d have liked to see pictures.

Roger returned a few moments later with two plates of food, a couple of wine glasses tucked in the crook of his arm. You quickly reached to relieve him of something, before one of the glasses could shatter and put an end to all your plans. Though perhaps a broken glass would have helped break the ice. It wasn’t the most comfortable dinner you ever had. You found it hard to swallow, hard to sit still, torn between wanting to jump right to the main topic and wanting to let Roger bring it up in his own time. The last thing you wanted was to come across as just trying to get a leg over the hottest professor on campus as if for a dare or a joke. Him retracting his agreement was a very close second last. Instead, you gulped down your drink and tried to focus on the reasonably nice meal Roger had prepared for you. Finally, after watching you top up your glass for the third time, he put you out of your misery. “Why me?” “What?” “Why did you approach me with this idea of…tutoring?” “Like I said before, the rumours abo-” “Okay but there must have been something beyond that. There could have been rumours about any staff member. If the school gossip had said Professor Richardson had a sex dungeon where he tied up women and spanked them, would you have approached him?” “So you have heard the rumours,” “Of course I have. Answer the question,” You stalled by taking another drink, though only a sip that time, “No, I wouldn’t have.” “So, why me?” “You’re hot?” Roger gave you a look you’d seen in the classroom – his stop fucking around look, usually reserved for first years who still treated dissection and cadavers as a joke. You shrugged, “You’re one of the best teachers I ever had. You always said we could come to you with any problems we were having and whenever I took you up on that offer to go over the coursework you were encouraging and supportive and knew how to push me in the right direction without giving me all the answers. I guess I felt like I could trust you. Like you’d take me seriously or at least hear me out before shutting the door in my face. And if the rumours happened to be false then you seemed like the sort of person who wouldn’t be offended by them or my proposition.” Roger smiled to himself, but it was only for a few brief seconds and then his professional demeanour was back in place, “Alright, well, I’m listening now so why don’t you tell me about this ex and the sort of things he requested of you. And then I’ll decide whether to kick you off my property or not.” There was a twinkle in his eye that told you he wasn’t serious about throwing you out, but it didn’t stop you from feeling timid about the conversation, “Umm, okay. His name is Dylan. We were both in your Bachelor bio class, that’s how we met. Or kind of. We were aware of each other but went to different parties and hung out with different people. It wasn’t until last year that we actually met and got chatting and started seeing each other. I thought it was the real thing, like proper love, soulmate stuff. So when he broke up with me it took me completely by surprise. Everything felt perfect with him. Except for the sex.” You paused, feeling a little self-conscious about speaking so frankly about your personal life, and with your professor no less. Roger removed his spectacles and wiped them on the bottom of his shirt, “Ms Y/L/N, you’re going to have to be able to talk about sex with me if you actually want this to work.” “The sex was fucking great okay? Especially at the start. But the longer we went out the more he pushed for me to be submissive to him. He’d joke around about wanting to fuck me while I was asleep or mostly asleep, and he’d dirty talk by calling me his toy or saying that he owned me or sometimes about pimping me out to his friends. I indulged some of his ideas like when he wanted to be especially rough with me, pushing my head down into the mattress, pulling my hair, slapping me, things like that. And it was fun, but I never enjoyed it the same way he did and whenever he brought up the sleep stuff or if he tried to bend me over while I was cooking dinner I always stopped him. He’d laugh about it and say he was just joking but I guess he meant it more than I thought he did.” Roger remained quiet, watching you thoughtfully until he was sure you were finished, “If we did this what limits would you want in place?” “None. I want to be the perfect submissive for Dylan, I want to prove I can be whatever he wants.” Roger shook his head and put down his glass, “What was it you told Dylan when he suggested using you while you were in the middle of something or if he brought up the sleep stuff?” “I just told him no, I wasn’t into it or I was busy.” “Then that’s a limit. If you don’t want to do those things, that’s okay. Everyone has limits.” “But that’s the point. I need to learn how to be into those things so he’ll have me back. My limits are what made him leave.” Roger exhaled heavily though his nose, “Okay then, is there anything you would consider a turn off?” “I don’t know,” “Well I don’t believe that. I’m sure you have at least some idea of what you like and what you don’t.” “Yeah I guess I do but if I’m the submissive one then it doesn’t matter what I want. This is about Dylan and doing what he wants.” “Personally, I’m not big into feet stuff – toe sucking, foot jobs, anything like that – it just doesn’t appeal to me, whether I’m acting more dominant or more submissive, and I’ve made sure to tell every one of the women I’ve been with who hinted that they’d be into doing that kind of thing. A lot of women, in my experience at least, don’t like anal or things like knife play or scenes that feel violent or menacing.” He paused, watching your reactions, “From what you’ve just told me, it sounds like Dylan might be into free use and consensual non-consent so if either of those things sound like a turn off to you, you should let me know. Dylan will have limits of what he’s comfortable with and comfortable doing to others, I guarantee it. You need to make your limits known too. It’s all part of being in a D/S relationship and playing with any kind of BDSM type kink. The main rule we follow is safe, sane and consensual, and believe me, I will make sure we follow it during our lessons. So, is there anything you would consider a turn off or anything you wouldn’t want to do, even for Dylan?” “Can I think about it and get back to you?” “I suppose so. If it helps I can give you an idea of things I could teach you and you can tell me if any of them don’t feel right.” “Yeah, I think that would help,” “Alright umm, obviously because this is about what Dylan likes we should address consensual non-consent and free use at some point, but they would come later. Somnophilia too. I’d probably start with something easier or more common anyway. Spanking is nearly guaranteed, basic bondage methods – cuffs, ropes, that sort of thing – maybe some more extreme bondage too depending on how much you enjoyed the basic bondage. Ummm, choking, maybe some gags, tease and denial for sure. Any of that sounding too scary or intimidating or just not fun?” “They all sound okay I think, although some of them I haven’t heard of before.” “It’s a start at least. Of course, I would begin with the smaller kinks and work our way up to the more intense ones, and hopefully by that point we’ll both be more familiar with your limits and what you are interested in taking further.” “So, does that mean your agreeing to tutor me?” “I can definitely work with this.” “You mean it?” “Yes. Apparently I do.” He trailed his gaze over you for a moment, “How would you feel if I suggested we move this to the bedroom?” Your heart skipped a beat and you hoped your shock hadn’t shown on your face, “You want to start now?” “Sort of. What do we do at the beginning of a science experiment?” “Measure a control group,” “Exactly, you do a control before you mess with variables so you have something to measure them against. In this case, I think we’ll be able to tailor kinks to you better if I have some idea of what you enjoy during sex and what it takes to get you off. Is that okay?” “Yeah, of course, yeah. Makes sense.” “If you want to wait a couple of days we can,” “No, now’s as good a time as any. And the sooner we get into it all the better really.” Roger chuckled and stood, holding out his hand to help you out of your seat, “You’ve always been an enthusiastic student.”

Leaving your plates and glasses on the balcony table, Roger led you towards his bedroom. You wished you’d had a little more to drink, just to dull the sudden wave of nerves that had risen up. You were about to fuck a professor. Professor Taylor. It was a bizarre scenario you’d got yourself into and in an effort to distract yourself a little and calm down, you focused on his bedroom wall as he busied about closing curtains, eyes trained on a framed watercolour of a lake under some cherry blossom trees. “You like it?” “Huh? Oh, yeah, it’s pretty,” “I got that while I was in Japan a few years ago.” You nodded, not sure what to say next. “Are you okay?” You turned and found Roger much closer than he had been a moment before. “Are you sure you want to do this?” “Yes, sorry, just a bit nervous I guess. Feels kind of odd now that I’m actually here. If I’m being honest, I didn’t really expect you to agree to this.” “I did tell you your idea was insane. But that’s okay,” he slowly reached forward, his hand settling on your hip and gently tugging, encouraging you to step in closer, “It’s kind of weird for me too. So, we’ll go slow. And if you want to stop at any time we can.” You nodded, eyes glued to Roger, and let your tongue wet your lips. His eyes followed the movement, “Does that mean you want to kiss me?” There was a playfulness to his voice, teasing almost, and you found yourself relaxing and agreeing that you did. And for the first time you realised just what it meant for those rumours to be true. “So then kiss me.”

******

A kiss you could do. Pushing aside the realisation that this was your first kiss since Dylan left, you leaned in and pressed your lips to Roger’s, though you pulled away quickly. Roger didn’t say anything, just waited, lips lightly parted. Your heart was racing with excitement and uncertainty, but you wanted more. He welcomed your lips the second time they met his, his hand gripping your hip harder now that he was certain you were going to stay. It was almost needy the way he kissed back, something you’d not have expected from your Professor. His nose bumped yours and yet he didn’t seem to care, leaning further into you, his tongue tickling your lip seconds before you felt it slide against your own tongue. Familiar but entirely different from the kisses you were used to. His hands didn’t move like Dylan’s did, not grabbing but gently squeezing, reassuringly firm. His leg was suddenly between yours and you took a step back in surprise. Roger followed so you took another and another until you felt the edge of the bed behind you. Dylan and your nerves almost entirely forgotten, you reached for Roger’s belt. He let you unbuckle it and pull it loose before he grabbed the hem of your shirt and lifted it over your head, kissing you between looks heavy with desire. He broke away for a moment and toed off his shoes, bending to take his socks off too, “So, is there anything you particularly like, any positions?” You copied his movements, kicking your own shoes just under the bed, “Not really. I can work with whatever.” “Stop trying to please me and tell me what you like Ms Y/L/N,” he said, reaching for your hips again so he could push your jeans down. “I mean I guess I like being on top, riding, whatever you want to call it.,” you quickly unhooked your bra and let it drop to the floor, “But Dylan tended to like me under him.” “New rule,” Roger said, kicking his own pants off his ankle as you tugged his shirt from his shoulders, “No talking about your ex when we’re this close to being naked. Okay?” “Yeah, sorry, good rule.” “Y’know I could have taken your bra off too,” “Faster this way,” “I’ll let you have it this time. But next time I unwrap you myself.” You shivered at the implications of the statement as Roger resumed the kiss and pressed you backwards onto the mattress, quickly climbing on top of you, his hands braced on each side of your head as he leaned down to kiss you once more, hungrily.

He didn’t stay there long though. A few seconds later he’d shimmied down your body, creating a trail of kiss warmed skin, until his face was positioned directly above your breasts. You raised your head and watched enraptured as he his eyes met yours, the hint of a mischievous grin lighting up his face, and then he lowered his lips to the top of your left breast. You let your head drop back to the bed and ached your back a little, pushing your chest towards him. “Yeah, you like that?” he asked, voice rougher than you’d ever heard it before, “what if I do this?” slowly he let his teeth sink into you, just for a second. It was enough to pull a small hum of appreciation from you so he repeated the action on your right breast. “Feels good?” “Yeah,” you breathed out, softly. “Yeah?” he asked, pushing himself up so he was straddling your waist, “What about this?” You felt his warm breath surround your nipple before you felt his tongue lap against it or his lips enclose it, letting your eyes slip shut as you drew your lip between your teeth. He seemed to appreciate the response and made sure to repeat the action a few times against each nipple, sucking on one as his gently flicked the other with his thumb. You tingled at the sensation of his warm saliva cooling and gently squeezed your legs together. “Don’t be shy,” he said, sitting up again and laying a hand over each of your breasts, “I can tell you enjoy it when I play with your tits,” You pulled in a shaky breath as he squeezed your breasts, “Mmhmm, yeah,” “Do you want some more?” “Yes, Professor,” He made a short clicking sound with his tongue, “I think we’re past Professor by now, you can call me Roger. And you can tell me what you want,” “I want more,” “More what?” You hummed again at the feeling of him massaging your boobs. “More what? Should I keep sucking on your perky fucking tits? Jesus they’re so fucking soft,” he cleared his throat and shook his head a little, “Or, should I give some other part a bit of attention? Your pussy’s probably feeling a bit left out, huh?” You’d expected him to boss you around, make demands, and you’d expected a bit of dirty talk (the kind where he’d tell you how sexy you looked or that he couldn’t wait to fuck you). But the reality surpassed everything you’d considered likely. You certainly hadn’t expected to get wet just from his tone and his words. And you definitely hadn’t expected to be doing what he asked, agreeing with everything he said. But that’s exactly what was happening, and it felt good. “Please touch my pussy.” “It would be my pleasure,” he smiled softly as he climbed off of your waist and pulled your underwear down, “and yours.”

The change of position gave you a moment to catch your breath but also to take in Roger’s appearance properly. You had to admit you liked what you saw. Of course, you already knew he was attractive. More than once you’d found yourself distracted in class, mind on what a cute bum he had or how shapely his hands were or else on his fluffy hair, light blonde but with streaks of grey blended throughout. He was the epitome of the hot teacher really, especially with his gravelly voice and the youthful sparkle of his eyes, magnified by his usual pair of glasses. What you hadn’t seen before, and what you were revelling in now, was his naked torso. There were muscles in his arms, not Hollywood style bulging biceps and you’d certainly never have noticed them under the sleeves of his work shirts, but they were revealed as he shifted his position and you had the sudden urge to reach out and squeeze them. A light fuzz of hair covered his chest, though it was so light it was barely visible, and a marginally thicker thatch of it trailed down into his underwear. And in between was his stomach, the years of fatherhood evidenced by how it softly protruded out over the hem of his underwear. Once, a few years ago, someone had found a photo of Professor Taylor taken in the 90s when he was twenty-something and, thanks to the university meme facebook page and a few students with near influencer levels of followers, just about the whole school had seen it and had wet dreams about it. He’d been stick thin then, eyes ringed by dark grungy eyeliner, long messy hair falling about his face, and his plaid shirt unbuttoned. The Roger settling beside you now was miles away from that boy but you liked his current look, from his shorter hair to his rounder body, though he seemed to have the same skinny legs. “What are you thinking about?” he asked as he propped himself up on his elbow to look you over. “This is…better than I thought it would be,” “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” “No, that’s not what I meant. I don’t know, I just...I could never picture it before, actually being with you. But you’ve made it feel easy and, well not normal, but y’know, not too strange either.” “So you’ve been liking it so far?” “Mmhmm, it’s felt really good,” “Good, that’s what I want to hear. But,” your breath hitched as you felt his fingers stroke between your legs, “experiments not done yet.” He watched his hand as it moved, his fingers sliding between your lips, spreading the wetness that had begun to pool with his earlier attentions. Each shift of his fingers pulled soft sighs and small ohs from you as the pleasure began to slowly build and you pulled him down into another kiss, wanting to feel him closer. He eased the first finger into you gradually, whispering questions about how it felt and if you were ready for more. You’d have expected his constant quizzing to be annoying but he peppered them between comments about making you feel good and dirty talk about getting you ready for his cock as he pulled your hand over to his crotch to give him some small relief. And somehow everything just seemed to turn you on more, his obvious desire to make sure you were comfortable included. You barely registered when he added the second finger, pumping both into you rhythmically as he delicately sucked at your pulse point, though you knew the third was coming, a response to your pleas for more. You’d meant his dick really, ready to move things along but he’d been adamant about making sure you were properly stretched out, not relenting until he’d fit four fingers inside you. “Fo-four?” you whimpered as he pressed the last one into you, “Three not enough?” “Just to be on the safe side. My cock is about average length but its girthy,” “I – oh Roger – It feels huge to me,” “Please, I’m 46, I know it’s not the biggest thing in the world. But I also know it doesn’t need to be to fuck you so right.” You weren’t sure how to reply though he didn’t give you many options, jerking his fingers inside you and making you moan. “I know there are nerves involved which can impact how wet you get and I don’t want to do anything that would cause you pain or discomfort, so I’m going to finger you until I’m ready to stop. You can beg all you want but I won’t fuck you until I decide you can handle it.” Even that was hot though you weren’t exactly sure why, but whatever it was you found yourself nodding in agreement, staring at him through eyes half lidded with pleasure.

When Roger was satisfied that you were ready for more than his fingers, he pulled them from you and got to his knees, shuffling around to rummage through his bedside cabinet. A moment later you realised why as he kicked off his underwear and tore open a condom. You watched as he rolled it down his shaft, noting he’d described himself quite accurately. “Sorry,” he said as he caught your eye, “did you want to do that?” “No, that’s okay,” you chuckled, “just that Dylan never liked to wear them,” “Hey, we have a rule remember. And this is the first time I’m fucking one of my students, I’m not doing it raw, are you kidding?” “Sorry. And yeah, you’re probably right to use one.” “Hey, this is just the control remember. Condoms are a variable we can change later.” You laughed at that and nodded as Roger squirted some lube into his palm and began stroking himself, letting out small groans at the contact. “Are you going to fuck me yet or is there something else I have to wait for?” “Careful Ms Y/L/N, you know I don’t tolerate that kind of attitude.” He smiled as he crawled over you again, catching your lips quickly before he sat back on his heels and pushed your legs wide. With a final look, as if to give you a chance to end things before they went any further, he lined himself up and pressed himself into you. You gasped as he filled you easily, bottoming out. “God you feel good,” he panted, “are you okay? Can I move?” “Yeah,” you nodded, “please move.” He breathed out a small sigh as he pulled his hips back and snapped them forward again, finding a rhythm. As he got more comfortable in the moment, Roger leaned over you again, pushing his face between your breasts and laving your skin with his tongue. He rediscovered the spots he’d found earlier, humming around your nipples and squeezing your boobs as he thrust into you. “Feel good?” “Yeah,” “You close yet?” “Not really.” “That’s alright,” he said softly as he readjusted his position, sitting back and lifting your legs over his shoulders. You felt the angle change as he fucked into you harder than before, his pace a little faster, “Play with your tits for me.” You didn’t hesitate to do as he asked, panting in sync with his thrusts as he dropped his fingers to your clit, rubbing in tight circles, forcing more moans and whines from your throat. “That’s right, tell me how good it is to be spread out under your professor, full of my hard cock. Christ you’re so fucking tight. Why didn’t I fuck you sooner?”.” You let your moans pick up a little as he ploughed into you, willing yourself to reach your climax. “Yeah? You like that. Are you close now?” “Uh-” “So no.” “Sorry, i-it just takes a while usually. I could f-fake it if you wa-nt to stop.” “No!” his voice sounded strained as he stilled inside you, “This is about getting you off and I will keep fucking you even if it takes all night for you to cum. I just need to readjust again.” Your laugh became a small whine as he pulled out of you and rolled you over so you were on top of him, “what are you-?” “Ride me. You said you like being on top so ride me,” You smiled and pressed your lips to his quickly before settling yourself over him and carefully sinking down into place. As you took him as deep as you could you halted a moment to enjoy the sensation of being full again, gently rocking your hips as you braced your hands on Roger’s chest. He held your gaze as he slipped two fingers into his mouth, pulling them out when they were dripping with saliva. He pressed them together with his thumb before bringing the wet digits to your right nipple, massaging it until you arched your back and tilted your head backwards. There was no way to resist any longer and you raised yourself on your knees before sinking back down, grunting as he hit just the right spot. “Better?” he grunted. “Mhmm,” you managed to get out before a moan, once again lifting and dropping yourself. You settled into the flow of it, the movement of your hips and the way you pulsed around him as you took him harder and faster, feeling the pleasure build and build and build. Until Roger’s voice, cracking with the effort, broke through your concentration. “Fuck, I’m close, I’m close. I’m gonna cum,” “Okay,” you said, not sure what else you could say, a little disappointed that it was going to be over before you could finish. So much for all night, though you supposed he’d only said that to help you relax and finish faster. At least it was hot watching him unravel beneath you, his grunts and groans loud and shameless, his hips spasming under yours. You waited until he was done, eyes closed and chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to regain control of his breathing, and then lifted yourself to dismount him. Or you would have, except you felt his hands grab you by the hips and press you down again. “Your turn,” he said it so earnestly, no hint of the dominant teasing from earlier or any egotistical overconfidence, that you found yourself agreeing immediately, shocked into doing what he was guiding you to. You raised your hips again, let him pull you back down hard and before long you’d found your rhythm again. He let go of your hip, moving the hand to messily rub your clit as you shifted a little, changing the angle by a fraction. It was enough to have you careening towards the edge, even as Roger pulled air through his teeth as the extra stimulation. “So close,” you muttered before he could ask, eyes shut, intent on your mission. “C’mon, cum on my cock, show me how good it feels,” You nodded unthinkingly as he encouraged you, feeling it just out of reach until finally the familiar warmth washed over you, a long moan slipping from between your lips as you swivelled your hips, prolonging the orgasm as long as you could. “There you go, good girl.”

******

Roger gasped as you climbed off him and carefully removed his condom to throw it out. “I could have done that,” “You did enough.” He was smiling when you turned back to face him and beckoned you over to join him on the bed once more, pressing a kiss to your jaw and the corner of your mouth before he found your lips again. You sighed against him, lost in the blissful warmth of the moment. “I’ll do it. I’ll tutor you,” Roger said after some time, his arm draped over your side, your faces inches from each other. “You mean it?” “Yes.” “Because I’m a hot shag?” He let out an exhale of laughter, “Because I would rather you learnt about that kind of stuff from someone like me than some random on the internet who thinks that being dominant means being cruel or causing pain. At least I can make sure you approach things from a healthy angle with your own enjoyment in mind as much as your ex’s.” “Thank you. So…when do we start?” “Give me a few days to plan out some lessons, put together a curriculum.” “Oh, so it’s going to be like proper tutoring then.” “You’re the one that came to a teacher about this.” “Fair enough.” You would have happily stayed there longer and you later wondered if Roger would have let you had an alarm on his phone not gone off, a reminder to put his bins out for collection in the morning. He frowned as he realised the time and glanced at you. The piercing melody had brought the reality of the situation back to both of you. “I guess that means I should leave, right?” Roger sat up and scooted a little further away from you, “Yes, you probably should.” He paused for a moment, “No one can know about this.” “I know, I understand. It’s our secret.” He pulled in a breath, “Exactly, our secret. Do you need me to call you a cab?” “No, it’s fine, I drove here.” “Okay. Well, why don’t we get dressed and I’ll walk you out.” “Are you okay with this? If you really don’t want to teach me, I’d understand.” “No I want to. More than I should.” “That’s okay. No one will know and we’ll do things your way, whatever you think is best.” “My way,” he muttered to himself, “Yes. Exactly. Okay. Um, tell you what,” he swung his legs out of the bed and bent forward to retrieve the underwear he’d discarded earlier, pulling them up under cover of the corner of the bed sheet, “I will grab my things and go collect our dishes from dinner. You can stay here and get changed and then when you’re ready to go, come find me in the kitchen, okay Ms Y/L/N?” “Sounds great, Professor Taylor.” He nodded at you once more before he left, bending to collect his pants and shirt on his way. You waited a minute or so, mind racing with the events of the evening and the promise of what would be coming, before you too stood and began to redress.

When you felt sufficiently tidy you stepped out into the hallway and headed in the direction you hoped led to the kitchen. Roger was there, redressed and hardly looking like he’d just got out of bed, leaning against the bench, eyes out of focus. When you arrived though his head jerked around towards your movement. “All good?” he asked, “got everything?” “Yeah, think so.” “Well,” he said, leading you towards the front door, “it was great having you. Over. Having you over. I’m glad we could come to an agreement.” “It was great for me too Professor.” “I will see you in class on Monday, don’t forget about that reading you’re meant to do.” “Got it. Um, can I ask about my next tutoring session, when would that be?” “I will talk to you about it after class on Monday if that’s okay.” “Absolutely, whatever works for you Professor.” He opened the door, standing on his side of the entrance as you stepped outside, “Right, well. Goodnight Ms Y/L/N,” “Goodnight Roger,” you said, quickly leaning in to kiss his cheek, “and thank you.” He still looked a little stunned as you got into your car, wondering just what you’d got yourself into.

#my writing #my fics #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor smut #roger taylor imagine #professor roger taylor #it feels so good to be posting this tbh #i cant wait for ya'll to read it and also the rest of the series ksjflsflsjflsjf

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theanxiousstudentblog · 3 years

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What I've learned from the first year of university: the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Three years later than expected, I finished my first year of university. At first, admittedly, it didn't feel like much; I submitted my final assignment, logged off of my student account, and went to watch the new series of The Real Housewives. It wasn't until a few weeks had passed that I was finally hit with how much this milestone meant to me and all the emotions that came with finally getting through the first academic year as a university student. This may not seem like a big achievement to some (I remember how in sixth form we were always made to believe that the first year of university was a piece of cake and way easier than A-levels) but, for me, it has been a rollercoaster ride of ups and downs. These emotions and thoughts are what have inspired me to write this post, specifically the feeling that university can be very very different from what you expect.

How I got here.

When I was younger, one of my sole dreams was to go to university. This may have seemed odd to some as I suffered from extreme anxiety when I was younger and actually refused to go to school between the ages of 7 and 9. However, it was never the academic side of schooling that worried me but the social side and being away from my family. I loved learning and I knew that I wanted to take my academic career to the highest possible level I could. The idea that I could pick any subject that I was interested in and do a whole course solely centered on teaching me as much as I could absorb was infatuating to me. It was for this reason that I spent so much effort making sure that I achieved good grades, despite my time off. I had my sights set on a prestigious university in London and in 2018 I received an offer to study there. However, instead of feeling excited about my future, I was engulfed with a feeling of dread. Unfortunately, due to events in my private life, my anxiety which had previously been kept under control by CBT and medication began to skyrocket. I would later learn that I developed complex PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) during this time. For the sake of keeping this blog post to a somewhat reasonable length, I will keep this account brief by saying that these difficulties eventually led to me pulling out of the London university and I decided to go to a local uni closer to home after taking a year off for my mental health (for a more detailed account you can look at one of my previous IG posts published 24/05/20).

Expectations vs...

I was excited for what awaited me at my local university; it was close enough to see my family whenever I wanted but still gave me the independence that I felt I needed to grow. Moving day came and went and it seemed to be going pretty smoothly, albeit some hiccups that came with my anxiety. It is important to note that I gave the university's wellbeing service a heads-up about my conditions before moving in so, at first, I felt confident that if I had any issues they would be able to work through them with me. However, over the next couple of weeks, my anxiety grew and grew, finally reaching its peak when my housemate turned around to me and told me that I needed to shut it about my mental health issues and stop hanging out with her. This triggered a major episode in my PTSD and I suddenly felt like I was spiraling out of control. However, despite my attendance beginning to drop and the multiple times I was having to leave lectures early due to panic attacks, I still sustained a level of confidence that my university would be able to give me the reasonable adjustments that the wellbeing team had spoken to me about before starting the term. Sure, they hadn't got back to my emails with any tangible support in weeks, but they couldn't just leave me like this...could they? All throughout my schooling, I was made to believe that educational settings were environments where any appetite to learn was nurtured and fed; education meant an opportunity to achieve anything you worked hard enough for, despite your background, disability, or start in life. Wouldn't universities be the ultimate conceptualization of this meritocracy?

Reality

Unfortunately, this vision would be quickly shattered by the stark reality of my treatment by my head of department and the well-being team. I go into more detail about this treatment in the IG post mentioned previously, but in summary I was given two choices: I get my attendance back to 100% with no support/reasonable adjustments from the university, or I leave/defer until I was "better". There was no comprehension from the uni that this wouldn't have a definable recovery date; I've been dealing with long-term mental illness since I was a child and it is something I've learned to live with alongside the appropriate support. To wait until I was "better" would potentially mean waiting forever. On top of that, I went out of my way to prove to my department that I was keeping up with my work and had achieved top marks on the most recent assignment but little recognition was given to my current grades. From the weeks since I started at university I'd met multiple people who had little passion in their subject or who were just at university because they thought it was what they should do. No hate to these people (I think the pressure young people face to go to university is a whole 'nother issue in itself) but I couldn't help but compare myself to them. The university didn't care that they had a whole student population of disillusioned young people who were indifferent to their academic fields but drew the line at a motivated student who suffered from mental illness. It became clear this wasn't an environment for people like me who were simply viewed as a wrench in the works. In December 2019, I was given no other option but to drop out of my university.

Starting again and the lessons I have learned

What was the worst blow to my mental health? Being kicked out because of my mental health...Having to leave university was a massive blow to my self-esteem and I began to catastrophize what that meant for my future. Luckily I had my family for support and my mum pushed me to look into the Open University, an institution based on distance learning. I enrolled part-time for the start of February (unfortunately I had missed the cohort to start full-time) and decided to focus on my therapy. This actually worked out great for me as in 2020 I was diagnosed with PTSD and started EMDR so being a part-time student gave me enough space to process the emotions that came up in my treatment. The Open University has been so helpful in making sure my needs are met and I have been so grateful to finally find an inclusive learning environment. It is definitely not how I planned to be experiencing university and I still do feel some disappointment in not getting the full "student experience" but it has also taught me some valuable lessons and given me a new insight into how far our education system still needs to go. These are the things I have learned:

Education isn't about degrees or academic prestige. Education is about a person's desire to learn, whether that be through books or the sheer act of being. Everyone requires different conditions to which they need to learn and thrive, and unfortunately, many academic institutions tend to expect us all to be cut from the same cloth. Despite this, no one can take away your passion to learn, and as long as you're living, you are learning.

There can be no equality without equity. The truth is people enter schooling from all different backgrounds and circumstances and it is not enough for institutions to treat everyone the same. In terms of mental health, many people are quick to say they recognise that mental illness can be just as debilitating as physical illness however until they put the actions and policies into place to make environments more tolerant and accessible then their words mean nothing. This means taking the time to talk to individual students about what they require and realise that the most important thing that a university can do is create a place where EVERYONE can learn. Schooling creates the foundations on which the future of our society is built and the fact that inclusion is barely making it on the blueprint is scary to me.

COVID has shown that in this digital age, attendance ISN'T everything. If only I could go back to that final meeting with my head of department and tell him that in a few months time everyone's attendance would be at 0%! Seriously though, this is a wake-up call to how simple accessibility can be if you just invest in a good digital learning platform that allows for people who can't attend in person to still be included.

You can be an academic and still put your mental health first. Despite what my first university led me to believe, my time at the OU has shown me that you do not have to sacrifice one over another. In fact, it has shown me that my mental health recovery and student journey can work hand-in-hand, encouraging each other along.

But most importantly...

It has shown me that despite the pressure to make your university years fit into a nice, neat package of fun, good grades, and self-enlightenment, it most likely won't happen like that. That's okay, let it go and keep moving.

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prorevenge · 4 years

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Causing my group to loose out on paid internships.

I do a computer science degree at university. We had a group work project which is set out in two stages. It involves making an application with a report about it in the first. Then the second is to improve both the code and report based on feedback from module organiser.

I was with four others and we each picked a parts of the work that we would do. I was the groups most confident coder so assigned myself alot (~ half) of the code and no report work as I suck at it and hate it.

I do all my work for it and say this to the group, this is immediately met with "can you do my bit of the code too" type stuff. I willingly do so saying I will note this for the group contribution report. (A report that each member of the group has to submit saying how much each person contributed and our marks were based of this).

I ended up producing this entire application which was worth half the marks for the first stage. I contacted my module organiser and they suggested if people weren't pulling thier weight to leave the group (taking my code with me) and do the report. That would mean I would need to work flat out to produce the report. I didn't want that.

But then I got asked to do some of the report to about how the code actually worked, alot of the report was stuff about end users etc which they could do but they needed me to do this as they didn't know what the hell all my code did. I again (probebly for like the 5th time) said I would, but will note if for the GCR.

All in all I worked out that I had done ~60% of all the work for 5 people in the group. With all our work done we were ready to submit but all needed to do the GCR. There was talk amongst the others of all writing that we each contributed 20% of the workload to "make us look better as a team". I flatly refused. They exploded calling me with every name under the sun, swearing at me. I explained that half the marks for the project go to the code and half to the report. So I said that we have each done 1/5 of the report and that I had done all the code bringing my total to 60 and thiers all to 10. They weren't happy. I sent this off with those values. And thought that was that.

My module organiser then emailed me asking if I had any proof of this as I put myself alot higher than everyone else did. They all put me at 0% apparently and themselves at 25%. Essentially out casting me from the "team" and trying to give me no marks for all my hard work.

This is where the revenge comes in.

I emailed him back linking him to the github I used to share the code with the team (github is a source control that shows who made changes to the code) and showed him that all the commits were done by me Proving that I did all of it. And thankfully we did the whole report on Google drive so I could also see the history on that document and send him screenshots of all the alterations made by me proving that I wrote ~20% of the report also.

He added it all up and made a special exception for my group. Saying he would give me most credit for the work. The way that he calculated our marks was: He marked all our work normally. I got most of the credit so got the highest mark. They all did 6 times less work than me and therefore deserved 6 times less of a mark.

I think I ended up with a 65 and they all get 11 for the whole coursework section 1.

Now this course is 100% of the marks for the module meaning they just got 11% for 50% of a whole module. Which is a biiiiiggg fuck up.

Section 2 is fixing the feedback the teacher gives and improving your report and code. So turned out I fucked up a bit on the code only getting about 50% of the marks with like a massive issue in it (dumb me) but my report sections were near perfect. Spelling mistakes and formatting etc. There were a few glaring mistakes from the report but other than that not bad.

When they found out thier marks they started calling me up and emailing me and messaging me almost for about 3 hours, I was happily rowing at the time (teacher sent an email explaining that they had lied and he had proof about it so corrected the marks according).

At this point I quit the group, and decided to work on section 2 by myself. TAKING ALL OF MY CODE WITH ME. Removing thier access to all of it. I of course asked my module organiser first and they said it was fine as it was my work and if I was no longer in thier group the others couldn't submit it.

I fixed the error in the code in about 2 weeks. Then did the whole report from scratch almost and added a load about the fix taking me about 7 weeks.

I ended up submitting 2 weeks early for the deadline and got 100% on the whole section 2. Which is basically unheard at university, especially by your self for group work.

Later that day I get an email from a plaugurisum and collusion officer. Not someone you ever want to get an email from. Basically says I'm summoned to a hearing as an external body looked at both my group (me, myself and I) and my old groups coursework and thought it was very similar. I get the whole project that my group handed in and my own back as evidence so I can look and prepare my answer. So this is a virtually meeting (yay, virus). I email back asking if I can have my module organiser present too. They say he has already been invited. Perfect.

I email my module organiser ask if he supports me in this because basically they can punish all of you or 1 group (never nobody). He says yes he supports me in this. Perfect.

I prepare for this meeting by going though the hundreds of commits I have made while they had access to find the one that is most similar to it. I find a PERFECT match, 0 differences, not even a single character. Through the thousands of lines of code.

So I turn up to this meeting there is the VP of computing there (guy who could basically do whatever the hell he wants to us). My old group when asked to present thier answer as to why this has happened go on about how they did all of it by themselves blah blah blah. You get the point, this goes on for about 10 mins. Then I am asked to present my argument. I ask if I can share my screen. VP: "yeah... Okay..." puzzled. So I share it. Show me downloading a fresh version of what they submitted, and a fresh version of one of my commits on the github, and running it through the universitys own comparison software (which I also asked for). I narrated this to explain what I was doing just to be clear. Took a while but came up as I knew it would 0 differences. Everyone was stunned. One of the group members uttered "but...". I just laughed. And was quickly asked to hang up as I was no longer involved.

Turned out they had cloned one of my commits and not been able to fix it atall so just submitted it and hoped for the best.

Then one of my friends who is friends with one from my old group asked what grade they got and they said that they failed the whole module and would have to retake it over the summer costing them and everyone in my old group thier placement year jobs, after all who wants someone who failed a module so badly working for them. This ment that they all lost out on being paid ~20k each for the years work. Which goes a long way for a uni student. While I happily get mine.

TL:DR Old group tried to screw me over, so I screwed them out of 80k total.

(source) story by (/u/notABadGuy3)

#prorevenge #by /u/notABadGuy3 #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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nayutai · 4 years

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⇢ Pairing Nakamoto Yuta x Female OC

⇢ Genre fluff, smut

⇢ Word Count 18.210

⇢ Warnings cursing, name calling, OC is a bitch, mutual pining, they are both dumb, semipublic sex, oral sex (female receiving), protected sex, yuta

Yasirah hums along to the Khalid song playing in her headphones as she leisurely makes her way to the student center. She makes a pit stop in the coffee shop on the first floor for a smoothie before finally stepping into the elevator. A wicked grin crosses her lips when she glances at her watch for the time. It’s 3:15 which means she’s officially fifteen minutes late for the SGA meeting which is a direct violation of the president’s rules.

Her steps are light as she dances towards the meeting room reserved for the meeting. The thought of pissing off the seemingly unflappable SGA president Yuta has her buzzing with joy. No matter what goes wrong or how badly someone fucks up the man always takes it with a smile and comes up with a solution. It irritates her to no end so she’s made it the focus of her SGA career to shake him up. So far, she’s been unsuccessful but Yasirah has a good feeling about today. As Secretary, the meeting cannot start without her lest someone else pull out their laptops to keep minutes, but considering the rest of the governing body are either lazy as fuck or not allowed to take minutes because of their position; that will never happen.

She swings the conference room door open with a flourish to make her grand entrance, but she’s greatly disappointed to discover that the room is empty save for Yuta who is writing something on the whiteboard. Her watch says it’s now 3:17 which means everyone should be impatiently waiting for her arrival so that the meeting can start. There should be political unrest. There should be yelling. But no, it’s just Yuta with that insufferable smile on his face.

“Where the hell is everyone?” She grumbles, tapping on one of her wireless headphones to turn her music off and narrowing her eyes at her fellow executive board member. Even Seokjin, the university staff member tasked with babysitting them, is absent. The man hardly ever gives them a second glance but he’s annoyingly punctual.

“I can see someone hasn’t checked the group chat.” Yuta sing songs, his trademark wide smile firmly in place. Yasirah is a flurry of movement as she struggles to dig her phone out of her bra. The rubbery material of her phone case decides that now is a great time to stick to her skin and she nearly drops her smoothie in the process.

Much to her dismay, she sees a message from Yuta from nearly an hour ago saying that today's meeting had been pushed back to 3:30 to ensure quorum due to several of the members being roped in last minute to speak at an admissions event. Yasirah wants to scream. Once again her efforts to piss off the smiling bitch in front of her have been foiled and it’s her own fault. She wants to launch herself right of one of the bay windows that line one wall of the conference room.

“Have you been having a good day so far, Yasirah?” Yuta asks in an effort to strike up a conversation. He hates the way the silence in the room feels like it’s sucking all of the oxygen out of the air or maybe that’s just the results of his secretary brooding in the corner. Even when she’s sulking, she still looks beautiful and he’s irritated by the fact that he’s so aware of it.

“Talking to me before this meeting starts is in fact a hate crime. Make it stop.” She responds without even looking up from her cellphone. Yuta rolls his eyes because really he should’ve expected such a response from her, but he’s nothing if not persistent.

“Did you hear that Coach K is leaving at the end of the season? Apparently he’s going to State which is-” His second attempt at conversation is interrupted by Yasirah dramatically dropping her head onto the table. He winces at the noise. No way that one didn’t hurt.

“You can stop pretending to be nice, Yuta. There’s no one here to praise you for being the golden boy.” She’s glaring at him like he’s a professor that just issued a ten page paper due in the middle of spring break. For the life of him, he can’t figure out why she hates him so much when he’s been nothing but nice to her. He sighs deeply and resigns himself to sitting in silence until the rest of the board shows up.

Yuta nearly collapses with relief when the treasurer Khushi drags himself into the conference room. He always looks like he’s tired, high, or a combination of both, but he can do math problems in his head that it would take most people three years to figure out with a calculator without batting an eyelash. He offers him a nonchalant head nod as a greeting as he rests his longboard against the wall by the door before taking his unassigned assigned seat at the seat closest to the door.

“Kush, you look more tired than normal. You good?” Yuta questions with genuine concern for his friend.

“Life is tiring, my dude.” Khushi responds in that slow, deliberate cadence that he’s known for. He reaches behind him as he leans back as far as the chair will allow to stretch his back. “Rah, you got any snacks? I’m hungry.”

A small smile crosses Yuta’s face at the tinkling bell sound of Yasirah giggling as she digs around in her backpack for a snack to give Khushi. She makes a comment about how she packs extra snacks on meeting days just for him as she tosses him a pack of animal crackers. Yuta can’t help the pang of jealousy that he’s plagued with at that comment. To anyone else, Yasirah is the best friend someone could ask for. She may be snarky and dismissed but for those lucky enough to be in her good graces she’s unerringly loyal and caring. Yuta on the other hand doesn’t get to see that side of her at all. He may as well be public enemy number one. He’s never understood why but he’s not crazy enough to outright ask her and risk the full force of her wrath.

The rest of the executive board slowly filter in as it gets closer to 3:30. Yuta’s stomach turns as Yasirah and one of the senators Jaehyun make eyes at each other across the room when he walks in. It’s no secret that they hook up from time to time but God he wishes they could at least attempt to be more discreet about it.

“Roll call!” He yells to get everyone’s attention. He starts running through the roster to mark everyone as present on his spreadsheet. Everyone is present and accounted for with the exception of the senior class senator Taeyong who is at an RA training.

Everything is going smoothly until they get to the last funding request in the pile that they need to get through before next week’s general body meeting. It’s incomplete. The responses are incredibly vague. The paperwork even has suspicious stains on it. Anybody can tell that the fraternity who submitted the application just wants to try and cash in on the generous reputation that SGA has developed since Yuta became president. It’s irritating to say the least that organizations are trying to advantage of his desire to help as many students as possible. SGA is loaded and yet previous presidents before him had always been very tight fisted with giving out funds and now he’s starting to see why.

“I don’t even think this one needs much discussion. On principle it’s eligible for nothing but rejection.” He passes the paperwork to Mark send around the table with a look of disdain on his face. Ever observant, Yasirah zones in on his visible irritation like a heat-seeking missile. This is her chance to prove that the man who never utters a cross word at anyone isn’t as nice as he would like everyone to believe.

“Aw, are you upset Mr. President? Did those naughty frat boys hurt your feelings?” She asks mockingly. Yuta can tell by the look on her face that she’s looking for a reaction and he’s trying his hardest not to give her one but it seems like every day she comes closer and closer to pushing him too far.

“Yasirah, stop being a bitch for two seconds.” Normani speaks up from her spot next to Yuta’s antagonizer. As her best friend, Normani can get away with talking to her like that and he’s never been more thankful for the fact that she takes full advantage of that ability.

The half assed proposal is swiftly rejected just as Yuta had said it should be a few minutes later with a promise from resident frat boys Jaehyun and Johnny to antagonize the offending fraternity for wasting their time. With nothing else on the agenda for the board meeting, Yuta calls it to a close.

“Yuta, are you going to the Sigma party?” He looks over at Normani as he stuffs his laptop back into his bag. He’d heard that they’d be having a party tonight but he really hadn’t put much thought into whether or not he would go. Partying really isn’t his thing but he liked to show his face at one from time to time just to say he did.

“Mr. Goody Two Shoes? Going to a Sigma function? Yeah I’ll believe that when I see it.” Yasirah pipes up as she waits for Normani by the door. She’s smirking devilishly and not for the first time Yuta gets the urge to tell her to fuck off but that’s not how he does things. He grits his teeth and turns back to face Normani.

“Text me the address. I’ll be there.”

Yuta drops his bag onto his bedroom floor, face planting onto his mattress the second he’s in range. He can’t believe that he let Yasirah get under his skin enough that he’s actually committed to going to frat party on a Thursday night. He has an eight am math class tomorrow which is already hell to wake up for with a full night’s sleep. He kicks his legs like a child as he thinks about the hell he’s going to go through tomorrow.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Yuta sits up to face his roommate. Johnny is leaned against the door frame stuffing his mouth full of the cereal that Taeyong, who also lives with them, has specifically said is off limits.

“I’m going to the Sigma party tonight.” Yuta cringes at the sound of the words as they leave his mouth. Part of him wants to play sick and tell Normani he can’t go but he’s nothing if not a man of his word. Plus he really doesn’t need her ragging him about this for the rest of the semester because that is exactly what she’ll do.

“Why the hell would you do that?” Johnny stops stuffing cereal in his mouth, deciding that his do no evil roommate going to a fraternity rager is infinitely more interesting. “You hate parties.” Yuta groans in response.

“I still hate parties, but Yasirah-” Johnny cuts him off by nearly choking to death on his own spit. Yuta firmly claps his friend on the back until his breathing returns to normal.

“Are you telling me that you let Yasirah bully you into going to a party?” Ashamed, Yuta simply nods. He picks at a stray strand on his comforter as the room falls silent. The sound of Johnny tapping away at his phone is deafening.

“You know what this means right?” Johnny shoves his phone back into his pocket and goes back to his cereal. He looks like he knows something that Yuta doesn’t and it’s unsettling Yuta’s spirit.

“That I’m probably gonna be late to Stats in the morning? That I’m going to hate my life just as much as Yasirah hates me.” Yuta is confused at the way Johnny rolls his eyes. What conclusion is he drawing that Yuta missed? He can’t think of anything else that he could possibly be getting at.

“Yasirah hates a lot people but you are definitely not one of them.” Johnny goes on a rant about women being complex creatures with simple desires and misplaced sexual tension. None of it means anything to Yuta. All he knows is that he can feel the barbs digging into his skin every time she speaks to him. Sure, he’s a mostly heterosexual man with eyes and isn’t ashamed to admit that he’s thought about what it would be like to sleep with Yasirah. She’s a bombshell in every sense of the work and fantastic in bed if Jaehyun is to be believed, but degradation is not and never has been something that got him off.

“I don’t believe that but I need to take a nap before this party so I don’t have time to argue with you on why you’re wrong.”

“You’d lose anyway. I told Andre that I’d help buy alcohol so I’ll see you at the party later.”

Johnny leaves with very little fanfare but his words are still ringing in Yuta’s head long after he’s gone. His dick hopes that Johnny knows what he’s talking about but the logical side of him knows that testing his theory won’t lead to anything good. Yasirah Coleman might tick off all of the boxes he looks for in a partner, but the headache just isn’t worth it.

The modest brick house is practically vibrating as Normani all but drags Yuta towards the front door. She exchanges a few pleasantries with the twins Andre and Dante who have been tasked with manning the door while Yuta pays his door fee.

“Aight y’all have fun and remember Hennything goes tonight.”

The only lights on in the whole house appear to be the ones in the kitchen and a few random strobe lights in the otherwise dark living room. Normani resumes her dragging as she pulls Yuta along to the kitchen. Neither one of them is surprised to find Jaehyun and Taeil setting up a game of beer pong on the spacious kitchen island. A chorus of yells erupts from the two SGA members when they spot Yuta and Normani. She lets him go in favor of pouring them both healthy servings of the seemingly unlimited Hennessy.

“I thought Rah was just bullshitting when she said you were coming tonight.” Taeil giggles as he finishes the rest of what is obviously not his first drink. His eyes are glassy and dancing with inebriated joy. Normani disappears when she spots a few of her sorority sisters, leaving Yuta to watch the beer pong game progress as he slowly sips on his drink.

“Dude, you know this means we both owe her $30 right?” Jaehyun reminds him right before he sinks a ping pong ball into one of Taeil’s cups. Yuta can’t believe that his friends actually made bets against him, but then again he can’t really blame them either. “And you know Rah doesn’t fuck around when it comes to her money. She’s worse than Kush.”

“Fucking hell.” Taeil grumbles at the thought of having to actually give up his money. He quickly chugs the alcohol in and tosses the empty cup over his shoulder. Despite his intoxication, he easily returns the favor, sinking the ball into a cup on Jaehyun’s side of the island.

Despite his drunkenness, Taeil makes quick work of Jaehyun who, true to his competitive nature, demands a rematch. Khushi seemingly appears out of nowhere and before Yuta can talk himself out of it he finds himself teamed up with Khushi against Taeil and Jaehyun. He’s definitely going to need more alcohol.

“Whee! Come on it’s time to go.” Yasirah types out a text to Normani as she waits for their other roommate Wheein to hurry up with whatever the hell it is she’s doing. She can hear her moving around in the kitchen followed by the sound of her gagging. Concerned, Yasirah runs to check on her friend. She finds her holding on to the refrigerator door handle for dear life with one hand while a fifth of vodka is clutched in the other. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what happened here.

“For fucks sake Wheein we are literally going to a frat party called Hennything Goes. There no reason to pregame this hard.” Yasirah complains as she snatches the bottle away from the tiny sorority girl that she’s feeling the urge to throttle right about now.

“I hate Hennessy.”

With a dramatic roll of her eyes, Yasirah drags Wheein out of the apartment so they can start walking towards the Sigma house. Their apartment is almost half a mile away from the party and yet they can still hear the faint thumping from the bass of whatever song is currently playing. She readjusts her bralette, giving herself a final once over in the reflection of a car parked near the house. They breeze inside and immediately join Normani on the dance floor and get sucked into the mass of bodies twerking to Big Ole Freak.

A bead of sweat runs down her temple when Yasirah extricates herself from the random dude she’d decided to dance with. Being packed in that tightly is only fun when you’re drunk and the vodka shots she’d done earlier are long gone. She navigates the through the crowd to what she’s guessing is the kitchen in search of the Hennessy that tonight’s function is based on.

The familiar sound of Jaehyun yelling rises above the music. Sure enough, she finds him in the kitchen playing beer pong with Taeil and Khushi. There’s a fourth person at the table but he’s got his back to her. Her stomach sinks to her ankles when the mystery man turns to face his opponents, allowing her to get a look at his side profile. He’s cackling maniacally and, judging from Taeil and Jaehyun’s sour expressions, his laughter is at their expense. He’s wearing a basic pair of black jeans that hug his legs just right and a matching black t-shirt. His hair looks like he’s run his fingers through it one too many times but for whatever satanic reason it looks great on him. In short, he looks hot as hell, but that’s not something Yasirah would like to dwell on right now or ever for that matter.

“You bitches are cheating.” Taeil points a finger at Khushi and Yuta. He barely spares Yasirah a glance when she sidles up to the kitchen island after pouring herself a drink to watch this all go down. Khushi launches into an impassioned speech on angles and velocity and a whole host of other math bullshit that flies way over everyone’s head.

“Aht aht!” Jaehyun waves his arms around dramatically in his bid to make the math talk stop. “We get it, Kush. You’re stupid smart and we’re cavemen, but what’s your excuse?” His eyes are narrowed as he stares Yuta down. The man in question picks up a red solo cup to his left, swirling the alcohol around as he peers over the rim of the cup with a devilish look on his face. He downs the dark liquor without so much as a grimace.

“I’m just better than you.” He emphasizes his statement by sinking the ball in the last remaining cup in their court. Taeil looks like he’s on the verge of having a meltdown while Jaehyun is already firmly in meltdown territory.

Everyone is so focused on the children throwing tantrums that no one notices the fact that Yasirah’s eyes have yet to leave Yuta’s face. Something about the cocky way that he’d declared his superiority had sparked something in her. Then there was the way he’d teasingly poked his tongue out as he’d lined up his game winning shot. She’s never seen this side of him and to say she’s intrigued by it would be a gross understatement. A ball of warmth is stirring violently in her lower abdomen but it’s not from the alcohol. Yasirah is turned on in the worst way possible.

“I hate it here!” Taeil screams. Yasirah is in agreement with him on that one. She needs to get out of here and fast before she does something stupid like beg Yuta to bend her over the granite countertop.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” She whispers suggestively in Jaehyun’s ear. A loaded look at his crotch when she pulls back from him sends her intended message loud and clear. His childish anguish is replaced almost instantly with a look that promises a night of mind-numbing pleasure which is exactly what she needs.

“Let’s go.” They both chug the last of their drinks before Jaehyun leads her out of the kitchen. If she’d given into the urge to turn around she’d have seen the curious look on Yuta’s face as he watched her leave with his friend.

Yuta’s alarm goes off promptly at 7:15 am and the mellow bells tone may as well be jackhammer going full throttle on his temples. He fervently wishes for death but somehow manages to drag himself out of bed. The night before is a blur. His gut is tossing wildly so breakfast is out of the question. The coffeepot is churning out liquid gold while he rests his head against the kitchen counter. He curses himself for allowing himself to be so weak as to give into Yasirah’s manipulative ways. Every day he tells himself that today is the day he grows a spine and tells her to fuck off but he just can’t do it. No matter how evil and conniving she is, he can’t bring himself to defend himself for her. Who knows maybe he’s a glutton for punishment with an overzealous dealer. Either way, he feels stuck.

Math is even more of a soul sucker than normal and, contrary to his normal pattern, Yuta is the first student to book it out of the classroom. God smiled down on him and gave his religious theory professor some weird stomach bug so he’s officially done for the day, leaving him free to sleep off the hangover that plagues him. Sunglasses in place, hood pulled low on his head, he starts the walk across campus to wait on the shuttle that’ll take him back to his apartment complex.

“Yuta!” Any other day and he would’ve stopped to converse with whoever is yelling after him, but today is not any other day. He is in no mood to socialize today. In fact, he would rather walk off the roof of the student union. He keeps forging ahead as if he hadn’t heard them. Unfortunately for him, his stroke of good luck ended with his last class getting cancelled.

“Dammit Yuta didn’t you hear me calling you?” His eyes go wide when Yasirah yanks him around by the wrist to face. The shock quickly wears off as his expression sours. What could she possibly want with him.

“Yes, I heard you.” He shrugs her hand off of him but he doesn’t get much further down the sidewalk before she’s grabbing at him again. Yuta wants to scream, but that would only make the pounding in his head worse than it already is.

“If you heard me, why didn’t you answer me?”

“Because I didn’t want to now if you’ll excuse me I have a bus to catch.” He walks away from her for the second and hopefully the last time. Hot, roiling anger blooms in his chest when she grabs his wrist again. This time, she doesn’t let go as she drags him along with her in the opposite direction of the bus stop.

“If you’re taking me somewhere to kill me just make it swift.” He pleads. His will to fight is long gone as he allows Yasirah to drag him behind her like a wagon.

“I’m not going to kill you, stupid. I’m taking you home. You look like shit on a stick.” Yuta nearly leaps out of his skin. The she-devil with an iron grip on his arm has never gone out of her to do anything for him that didn’t involve public humiliation and a heap of insults. She’s definitely going to kill him. Oh well, he’s lived a good life until now.

She all but forces him into the passenger seat when they finally reach her car. He knew that she drove a BMW, a gift from her parents according to Normani, but he’d never seen it for himself. The bucket seat hugs him like an old friend when he settles into it. If he had to stay in this spot for the rest of his life, he definitely wouldn’t complain.

His eyes drift closed in an effort to compartmentalize the subtle throbbing that still plagues his temples. He’s doing his best not to fall asleep but apparently he fails because he’s awakened by Yasirah poking at his face. His hands move on their own accord in an attempt to make it stop so that he can settle back into his peaceful slumber.

“Oh thank God you’re not dead.” Yasirah continues her pestering until Yuta finally opens his eyes, turning his head to glare at her though the fact that his dark shades totally obscure his eyes makes it a lot less threatening than he probably intended. “Now get out of my car.”

He nearly trips to his death, but Yuta is out of her car faster than he thought was possible in his current state once he realizes they’re parked in front of his building. Moving that fast was a horrible idea as the headache he’s been nursing is now accompanied by dizziness. Her eyes follow him down the sidewalk a ways, watching him for a minute as he struggles to deal with the stairs. She has a small meltdown before yanking her keys from her ignition. Yuta protests her help at first but ultimately gives in to the steadying grip she has on his waist as she assists him to the door of his apartment.

Yasirah is praying that his apartment is empty when they reach it, but when Yuta hands her his key to unlock the door it’s clear that her prayers have gone unanswered. Three pairs of eyes turn to face the awkward pair as they stumble through the front door.

“Are you useless twats just going to stare or are you going to help me?” She snaps as the three men on the couch simply continue watching some random hockey game.

“At your service, Your Highness.” Yasirah chooses to ignore Johnny’s sarcasm in favor of making a run for it while he and Taeyong take care of Yuta. Jaehyun has other plans. She stops with her hand on the door knob when she feels his hand on her forearm much like she’d done to Yuta earlier.

“What made you decide to bring Yuta home?” This is exactly what she was hoping to avoid. Jaehyun has a one track mind and once he’s got his mind on something he puts his all into it. Yasirah’s convinced that’s why he’s so good in bed.

“You saw him. I’m surprised he was even upright.” She attempts to draw on his human sensibilities, but she knew it wouldn’t work before the words even left her mouth. Jaehyun was one of her close friends before he ever stuck his dick in her. He knows her entirely too well to be fooled by some bullshit like that. He knows that she doesn’t give a

“And? Since when do you help people you don’t like?” Jaehyun questions in a tone that makes Yasirah nervous. It’s the same tone he uses when he knows something she doesn’t and it never ends well for her. They both know that the answer to his question is never but something tells her that he knows something else that he’s not saying.

“Bye, Jaehyun.”

Yasirah hardly ever looks forward to SGA General Body meetings, but today seems to be an exception. She’s actually looking forward to listening to people begging for money to go to random conferences and trainings to get out of going to their classes. She blames her excitement on the fact that this is the only organization she’s involved in that Wheein and Normani are also apart of which means she might actually get to see them since they’ve both been busy with preparing for new members to join their respective sororities. However, if she’s really honest with herself, a certain president with impressive beer pong skills is the actual source of her anticipation. Yasirah hasn’t seen or spoken to him since she dropped him off at his apartment on Friday which isn’t out of the ordinary, but now it makes her feel weird.

She fiddles with one of the buttons on the SGA polo shirt they have to wear for meetings as she waits for her ham and swiss sandwich and chai tea at Starbucks. It’s taking a lot longer than she was expecting and part of her wants to leave to keep from being late for the meeting, but this is her only chance to get food until after the meeting. The general body meetings can last two hours depending on how many people show up and Yasirah knows that there’s no way she’ll last the whole meeting without snapping at someone in a hunger-driven rage. So she waits and waits some more. By the time she gets her food and sprints up the stairs, she’s on the cusp of being late. Normally she eats her food before going upstairs to the meeting but there just simply isn’t time for that today. She manages to slide into the room just as Seokjin is closing the door to start the meeting. The only available seat at the exec board table is right next to Yuta. Fantastic.

He looks up at her from his seat when she approaches, nodding his head in acknowledgment. A snarky comment threatens to fly out of her mouth but she tamps it down at the last second, choosing to mumble hello instead. Yasirah hurriedly pulls her laptop out of her bag. They jump straight into the presentations with little preamble. She’s polishing off half of her sandwich in between presenters and reaches for the other half when the sound of a stomach growling on her left catches her attention. Yasirah side eyes Yuta who is acting like it wasn’t him but she knows better. Though she definitely wants it, Yasirah finds herself sliding the rest of her sandwich in Yuta’s direction. He attempts to push it back but she blocks him.

“Just eat it, Yuta.” She mumbles under her breath as she starts typing again. A strange sense of satisfaction flutters in her chest when she sees him take a bite out of the sandwich. Normani bumps Yasirah’s right knee with her own to get attention, pointedly looking between the sandwich in Yuta’s hands and her best friend. Yasirah waves her off but she knows that Normani isn’t going to let it go.

It’s a struggle for Yasirah to keep her facial expression in check as the two students currently speaking struggle through their funding request. It’s clear that they’re winging it and she makes a note of that in her minutes to bring up at next week’s board meeting. Thankfully, they’re able to cut the slackers short as the even they need the money for is at the end of the week and therefore ineligible for SGA funding since the executive board won’t be able to meet to vote on their funding request before said event. The students protest loudly but rules are rules as Yuta firmly reminds them.

A couple more funding requests and a complaint about the snack selections in the on-campus convenience stores and Yasirah is booking it downstairs with Normani and Wheein. This is the one night that they’re able to get dinner together like normal and they plan to take full advantage.

“So,” Normani starts, dragging the word out suspiciously. Yasirah was millimeters away from dunking her chicken nugget in her barbecue sauce but ceases all movement. “What’s going between you and Yuta?”

And there it is. Yasirah knew this was coming eventually and apparently so did Wheein who has pushed her french fries to the side as well. They’re both staring at her expectantly as if they’re waiting for her to spill her guts on something.

“Why would something be going on between me and Yuta?” Yasirah’s gazes flits between her friends as if she’s watching a tennis match. Wheein giggles like a cat that caught the canary while Normani still has that same smug look on her face. “Why are y’all staring at me?”

Wheein reveals that Taeyong told her about her dropping Yuta off at their apartment last Friday which they had deemed incredibly suspicious. Normani adds on the fact that Yasirah gave her sworn enemy half of her sandwich when previously the only people she’s shared food with is them and Khushi. Yasirah tries to argue her defense but gets shut down quickly.

“The math is just not mathing, my love.” Wheein taunts. She steals one of Yasirah’s chicken nuggets after realizing that she’s eaten all of hers. “I think you wanna ride him off into the sunset.”

“Oop! Can’t say I disagree with that one.” Normani chimes in.

“I don’t want to have sex with him. I have just come to realize that I may have been wrong about him and have decided that I don’t have to antagonize him.” Yasirah expects her declaration to end this conversation so they can move on to something else, but she should’ve known that wouldn’t be the case. Not with her messy ass friends.

“Yeah you totally wanna smash.” Normani and Wheein giggle incessantly at Normani’s crass deduction. Yasirah hates the both of them wholeheartedly and briefly contemplates leaving them in this McDonalds to find their own way back to their apartment. She won’t say it out loud but they’re dead on the mark with her wanting to ride Yuta like a mechanical bull. Damn their intuition.

If anyone were to be standing outside Yuta’s apartment, they would think someone was being brutally murdered inside. Johnny had decided that everyone needed “bro time” that didn’t involve the letters S, G, or A which someone how resulted in their living room becoming the venue for a Smash Bros showdown. Beer is flowing and the pizza is abundant as they all scream at the tv screen like banshees. Even Khushi, who is normally the calm before the storm that is everyone else, is hurling curse words left and right. Mark leaps from his spot on the couch to loudly proclaim his victory when he ultimately wins the match much to everyone’s dismay. This is his fourth win in a row.

“I hate you.” Yuta mumbles glaring in Mark’s direction but the younger boy is much too high off his win streak to care. He blows kisses at Yuta who flips him off in response.

“Somebody call Yasirah to put this little shit in his place. I need her to avenge me.” Taeil demands. Yasirah is widely known as the best Smash player on campus. She would absolutely throttle Mark and send his streak crashing and burning to the pits of hell.

Yuta doubts that Yasirah even remembers but the first time they met was at a Smash tournament their dorm was having freshman year. He was in awe of her then and despite the years that have gone by that hasn’t changed a bit. She gives him hell every chance she gets and yet he can’t find it in himself to hate her despite numerous attempts to do exactly that.

“Speaking of Yasirah,” Taeyong starts, taking a pause to polish off the last of his beer. “has anyone noticed that she’s actually being nice to, Nakamoto?”

His question is met with a chorus of confused agreement as people start realizing that the normal barbs that Yasirah liked to hurl Yuta’s way are all but nonexistent these days. Jaehyun brings up the sandwich she’d shared with him at the last general body SGA meeting which leads to the rest of the guys pointing out things they’d noticed as well. Yuta sits in silence as he takes it all in. He’d noticed that she wasn’t as much of a bitch as she’s known to be, but her niceness still held a hard edge to it so he’d just assumed Normani’s threats had finally gotten through to Yasirah.

“I even called my mom to see if her and the WhatsApp aunties had seen any signs of the apocalypse starting.” Khushi mentions as he munches on the chips he snatched from Haechan a few minutes ago.

“You all know why she’s doing this right?” Johnny questions with that same mischievous look he’d had on his face right before the Sigma party. Yuta automatically knows what he’s going to say and he’s already dreading the words about to come out of Johnny’s mouth.

“She wants that Japanese monster cock.” Everyone with something in their mouths collectively chokes when Taeil steals Johnny’s thunder with his own assumptions. Johnny high fives him while the whole room except Yuta and Khushi dissolve into maniacal laughter.

“You’re all a bunch of lying bastards.” Yuta mutters as he reaches to pull another beer from the yeti cooler by Mark’s feet.

“And you,” Yuta pins Jaehyun down with what he hopes is a very menacing stare, but he’s four beers deep and not sure of its effectiveness at this point, “how can you be so cool with them thinking your girl wants to fuck me?”

“Yasirah is not my girl. We both just like to fuck.” Jaehyun responds casually. “And she definitely wants to fuck you.”

Yuta vehemently disagrees with him which leads to another debate amongst the small crowd of horn dogs stuffed into the small apartment living room. Haechan points out that Khushi, who has been noticeably detached from the conversation, has known Yasirah the longest out of all of them and is therefore an expert on interpreting her actions. A point that Yuta decides that he can concede to. Everyone waits with bated breath as Khushi considers his words carefully.

“Whether or not Yasirah wants to have sex with Yuta is a moot point. She’s entirely too prideful and stubborn to ever initiate anything.” Khushi explains much. His attentive audience is more than disappointed and they make sure he knows it.

“Fuck all that, am I right or not?” Johnny demands. The aquarius in him refusing to back down from the topic until he hears what he wants to hear. The room falls into silence once more as they all wait for Khushi to answer his question.

“You’re right but like I said she’ll never act on it unless Yuta makes the first move.” Yuta launches one of the many empty beer cans at Johnny’s head when the gloating giant throws Khushi’s confirmation back in his face. He should sleep with one eye open tonight.

“All of you are lying sacks of shit and I’m going to prove it.” The gears in Yuta’s brain are already spinning as he comes up with a plan to confront Yasirah with this new information. Khushi may know her well but no one knows Ms. Yasirah Coleman better than the woman herself.

Yasirah nearly jumps out of her skin when her phone suddenly vibrates against her chest and brings her back to reality. It’s not the special vibration pattern she’d set for her parents so she hits ignore on the call and refocuses on the episode of Bones that has a strangle hold on her attention. Special Agent Seeley Booth leaps through a glass window at the Jeffersonian just as Yasirah’s phone vibrates once more. To say she’s irritated at this point would be an understatement. She pauses her tv show with a huff and answers the phone call without even glancing at the caller id to see who it is.

“Someone better be dying.” She mutters into the mouth piece. If the person on the other end has any sense then they will hang up and leave her be. Unfortunately for the both of them, said person is five vodka shots deep and all sense of self-preservation left on shot number three.

“Do you want to fuck me? All the guys say you do.”

What the fuck?

Yasirah pulls her phone away from her ear and nearly chokes on her own spit when she sees Yuta’s name on the screen. There’s just no way in hell that he called her to ask her that. This is either one of Johnny and Jaehyun’s sick games or Yuta has stuck his head in a microwave. Either way someone will have to catch a fade for this.

“Is this some sort of joke?” Yasirah questions incredulously. Her tv show is all but forgotten as she struggles to maintain her composure.

“No, it’s not. I’m just tired of them talking about it and I want to prove them wrong.” Yuta replies. Ice floods her veins at the fact that other people have actually noticed her subtly pining after her sworn enemy. Apparently, discretion isn’t one of her strong suits after all. She doesn’t realize that she’s fallen silent until Yuta calls her name to get her attention.

“So just tell me I’m right and they’re wrong because I’m drunk and I want to sleep now.”

“I can’t do that.” Yasirah whispers after a beat. She doesn’t know why she’s decided that now of all times to be completely honest with Yuta but the bell has been rung and there’s no going back now.

The line falls silent once more as she waits for Yuta’s response. He’s quiet so long that she begins to think that he’s fallen asleep like he mentioned he wanted to do. Just as she about to hang up a bomb goes off in her ear. To say that Yuta is pissed off would be a gross understatement. Yasirah is so stunned by the sudden change in his demeanor that her brain seems to be short circuiting.

“You’ve made my life a living hell for two years and this whole time you just wanted some dick? Are you insane?” The anger in his voice is nearly palpable. She knows that he has every right to be angry with her so she simply lets him vent until he gets it all out.

“In my defense,” Yasirah starts, “fucking you genuinely never crossed my mind until that night at the Sigma party. I realized that you’re not one of those boring Mary Jane try hards that’s overly nice to everyone.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I was so nice to you because I liked you?” Yuta sounds incredibly frustrated at the fact that he’s apparently been pining after her the entire time they’ve known each other despite the fact that she’s evil incarnate. Yasirah didn’t think it was possible to feel any lower than she already did but she was incorrect.

“Yuta…” Yasirah trails off. She wants to apologize for being so blind and bitchy but he doesn’t give her the chance to get her thoughts together. The beep of her phone notifying her that the call has been connected feels much too final.

Days pass and Yuta’s phone call is still weighing heavily on Yasirah’s mind. She’s tried to talk to him about it but each of her attempts have been shot down. He doesn’t want to talk to her any more than he has to and she’s not about to continue to push the issue. The stress of her caseload in conjunction with this boy drama is stressing her out in a major way. Normally, she’d call Jaehyun and blow off some steam with him but he has apparently decided to grow a moral compass at the absolutely worst time possible.

I don’t care what Yuta says. He’s still head over heels for you and now that I know that it would be against the bro code to fuck you.

Yasirah scoffs at the memory of how Jaehyun had rejected her “you up?” text. She got less than three hours of sleep that night and it’s clearly evident when she stalks into the SGA meeting room the next afternoon like a storm cloud in Nike running shorts. A scheduling mishap with the meeting space meant that this week’s general body meeting had to be pushed to Friday as opposed to it’s normal Tuesday. Since she only has one class on Friday mornings, the idea of spending her coveted free time listening to people bitch instead of catching on all of the hours of sleep she’s missed out on this week has Yasirah on edge.

She’s a full thirty minutes early for the meeting but taking up residence in Starbucks had quickly become boring since she had somehow managed to forget her headphones at home this morning. The sound of coffee machine whirring and students conversating was grating on her nerves, forcing her to retreat to the political science building. She’d been pleased to realize that not even Yuta had shown up yet; therefore, allowing her to finally have peace and quiet. It doesn’t last though.

Her quiet sanctuary is soon breached by no one than Mr. Nakamoto himself. He strolls in looking like freshly printed money and Yasirah finds herself wanting to slam his well-rested face into a wall. Yuta looks surprised to see her already in her seat but chooses to start preparing for the meeting as opposed to acknowledging her presence verbally. Or so she thought.

“Where’s your shirt?” He asks out of the blue. She looks up at him and stares blankly as her brain tries to comprehend what he just said to her. Yuta helps her out by gesturing to the SGA insignia embroidered on his polo that matches the one that Yasirah would be wearing as well if she hadn’t forgotten all about it until this very moment. She groans deeply at the thought of the shirt buried somewhere in the pile of laundry that Wheein had finally forced her to do yesterday. It’s a fifteen dollar fine and a “stern talking to” from Seokjin every time they forget to wear it to general body meetings and official school events. A novel punishment but one that she hasn’t been subjected to all school year.

Yasirah has resigned herself to having to pay the fine when something soft collides with her forehead and falls into her lap. It’s an SGA polo. Her head whips to look at Yuta who is writing on the white board as if he hasn’t just saved her twenty dollars. Not one to waste time, Yasirah snatches her own shirt over her head despite her present company and quickly replaces it with the shirt she’s been given. It’s a little big on her but it doesn’t matter. Yuta just saved her ass because she really didn’t want to hear Seokjin’s mouth today.

“Why?” She asks. The word hangs in the air more like an olive branch than a question of clarification.

“I always keep an extra in my bag in case I forget.” Yuta mentions, still facing away from her. “I know a twenty dollar fine probably means nothing to you, but despite everything I don’t like the idea of you suffering and Seokjin is a stickler for rules no matter how laid back he seems.”

“Thank you.” Yasirah contemplates her next words carefully. “I’m sorry too…for everything.”

Yuta shrugs as he takes a seat in one of the chairs meant for the students who decide to show up tonight.

“Water under the bridge but, if you’re still interested, I would be honored to have sex with you.” He grins devilishly at her shocked expression. Her mouth opens and shuts numerous times as she tries to come up with a response. Thankfully, Khushi walks in and saves her from her own hormones.

Yasirah curses up a storm the entire way to Yuta’s off campus apartment. She curses Normani. She curses Yuta. She curses every decision she’s made in her life that’s led her to this moment. She curses it all. Jaehyun had hosted a party at their place the night before and of course Normani just had to make the bright ass decision to mix her light and dark liquor. It’s a wonder the girl even made it home in one piece. She has been avoiding everything Yuta-related like the plague since the SGA meeting on Friday, but she’s nothing if she’s not a great friend so here she is staring at the front door of his apartment to get her best friend’s wallet. Yasirah’s fist meets his door a lot more aggressively than is necessary for a Sunday morning, but she doesn’t have it in her to care. She knocks again when she doesn’t hear any movement on the other side of the door.

Her patience is running incredibly thin and she contemplates leaving, but she told Normani that she would pick up her wallet so she knocks a third time. This time she finally hears what sounds like someone yelling from somewhere inside the apartment. The door swings open a second later to reveal Yuta in all his shirtless glory. A pair of gray sweatpants hang dangerously low on his trim hips. A reflective glint near his navel draws her attention away from his crotch long enough to register the fact that Yuta apparently has a belly button piercing. No shirt. Belly ring. Messy bed head. He looks like sex on legs and while Yasirah has never denied that Yuta is handsome being fully confronted with that fact when she hasn’t had sex in weeks is torture.

“Yasirah?” Yuta vigorously rubs at his tired eyes. There’s no way that she’s standing at his front door right now in the tiniest pair of shorts he’s ever seen. Alas, the scene in front of him remains the same when he drops his hands. “Why are you here?”

“Oh, trust me I’d rather be anywhere but here.” She somehow manages to clear the unsavory thoughts from her brain enough to muster up some of her usual sass. Yasirah can’t let him see how he affects her. It’s bad enough that he already knows that she wants him. “Normani left her wallet here so if you could give it to me so I can go that would be great.”

Yasirah knows she’s doing too much. She’s very aware of that fact, but now that everything is out in the open she doesn’t know how to act around Yuta so she’s defaulted to what she knows best. He narrows his eyes at her but says nothing. She takes a few deep breaths to compose herself when he disappears back into his apartment without a word. He thrusts the wallet into Yasirah’s outstretched hand when he returns. She grabs hold of it expecting for this to be the end of this unwanted interaction but the of course men ruin everything. Yuta yanks on the wallet, wrapping his free arm around Yasirah’s waist to keep her steady when she comes tumbling at him.

“What the hell are you doing? Have you lost your fucking mind?” Yasirah is incredulous and yet even to her own ears her words have no bite. She’s motionless in her arms, staring up at his unfairly beautiful face.

“You talk too much.” His lips cover hers in a searing kiss that makes her lightheaded. Nobody has ever kissed her with this much emotion and Yasirah can already see herself becoming addicted to that feeling.

She moves along with him when he steps backwards into his apartment until he’s able to close the door and press her against it. Normani’s wallet hits the ground but neither one of them can find it in them to care. Too wrapped up in each other to worry about whether or not anything falls out of it. A groan vibrates deep in Yuta’s chest when he grips her ass in both of his hands, using his hold on her to grind himself against her center. She gasps at the pressure on her engorged clit. It feels so good but it’s not enough. His now unoccupied lips busy themselves with mapping out the sensitive spots along her neck while her fingers tug on his hair with every successful find.

If she had the presence of mind, Yasirah would be embarrassed at the way she whimpers when Yuta completely separates himself from her. She reaches for him but he keeps moving further and further away. Her feet start moving, seemingly on their own accord, to follow him.

The play follow the leader all the way to his bedroom where he stops to stand next to his bed. Yasirah stands in the open door way suddenly unsure of herself. She’s trying to think with her brain and not her clit but they both seem to be in very horny agreement. It’s her heart that’s holding out. She’s got this weird feeling in her chest that this is going to be monumental in some way. Two against one are damning odds and she seals her fate with the soft click of the lock on his bedroom door.

“Where are your roommates?” Yasirah questions hesitantly.

“Not here.” That’s all she needs to know.

Yuta’s hands are all over her the second she’s back within arm’s reach of him. He eases her down onto his bed, pushing the mess of blankets out of the way the best that he can without detaching his lips from hers. He’s spent his entire college career thus far fantasizing what it would be like to have her beneath him like this and Yuta plans to savor every moment.

He memorizes every whimper and satisfied sigh as he maps out her sweet spots with his wandering hands. It’s when he flicks at her clit with his thumb that he discovers his true weakness. His name falls from Yasirah’s lips on the heels of a moan as she reaches down to grab a fistful of his hair. He nearly loses it then and there.

“Say it again.” Yuta demands. He sucks her clit into his mouth and laves the sensitive bud with his tongue in earnest. His efforts are greatly rewarded as his name echoes off of the walls of his room like a desperate plea for mercy.

Yasirah lifts her hips in an attempt to roll them against his face, but Yuta is having none of that. He uses one arm to anchor her hips to the bed with strength that she would’ve never guessed that he possessed. Yasirah had always thought that he was weak almost dainty even. Being proved wrong pushes her that much closer to the precipice. Yasirah is forced to take what he gives her, nothing more and nothing less. Thankfully, Yuta is a generous lover. Her back arches when he slides two of his elegant fingers knuckle deep into her gushing cunt. He watches her intently from his spot between her legs as he slowly drags his fingers out of her until he finds what he’s looking for.

Stars dance behind Yasirah’s eye lids as Yuta’s assault on her clit is amplified by him constantly prodding at her g spot. It’s taking all of her mental fortitude to keep from accidentally crushing his skull between her thighs but she’s quickly losing herself to the pleasure. The whole time he’s watching her. He doesn’t want to miss a thing. Yasirah blinks her eyes open long enough to make eye contact with him between her legs and it’s more than she can take. She shoves her fist in her mouth at the last second to muffle her screams as her orgasm hits her with the force of a speeding bullet train. Yuta works her through it until the oversensitivity becomes too much and she pushes him away.

Tremors wrack her body as Yuta shifts back onto his haunches. He fiddles with the waistband of his sweatpants nervously. Insecure thoughts about what Yasirah might think of him cloud his mind but he shoves them away along with his sweatpants. He’s focused on getting his pants off his legs without toppling off of the bed like a fool and misses the way Yasirah’s mouth drops open at the sight of him hard and ready to ruin her. He’s slightly above average in length and thicker than a beer can. Her eyes nearly roll back in her head at the mere thought of how well he’s going to stretch her out.

Yuta is taken by surprise when he finally gets his pants off only to be forced onto his back. He doesn’t take long to catch on though. His hands knead at her ass as Yasirah grinds along his rigid length, coating him in her arousal. He watches her in amazement. His eyes dart from her face contorted in pleasure to the tantalizing way her breast sway with every rock of her hips to the mess of their combined excitement pooling on his abdomen. He wants this image, this moment permanently burned into the back of his eyelids for all eternity.

“Condom.” Yuta is so focused on making her feel good that he doesn’t comprehend what she’s saying to him. Yasirah ignores the way her heart melts at Yuta cutely blinking up at her in confusion and repeats herself. “Condom, Yuta. We need a condom.”

He finally catches up to the moment, rolling them over so that he can dig around in his nightstand for a condom. His breath catches in his throat when Yasirah snatches the foil packet from him to roll the latex on him herself. She strokes him a few times before urging Yuta onto his back once again. The time for teasing is long gone. Her nails dig into the bare skin of his chest when she lines him up with her entrance, taking all of him in a single plunge. Yuta bares his throat at the feeling of being inside her. He swears that he hear angels singing whatever song it is that they sing in times of immense joy. Yasirah is just as affected above him as she adjusts to the stretch. She feels like she’s being split in half in the best way possible.

Yuta sings her praises endlessly as Yasirah sets a steady rhythm that has the both of them flying high. He meets every downward motion of her hips with an upward thrust of his own. Every ounce of his concentration is focused on finding that elusive spot that he knows will make her scream his name like he wants. Yasirah’s hips stutter suddenly as a garbled mess of curse half words falls from her lips.

“There it is.” He grunts. The gravelly sound sends a thrill down her spine as she gushes around him.

Yuta is merciless as he makes sure to batter the spot he’s mapped out. Yasirah does her best to keep up but she’s quickly overwhelmed. Seeing her plight, Yuta urges her down to him until they’re chest to chest, wrapping his arms around her. He slows his pace to a gentle rocking of his body in and out of hers as he kisses her lips tenderly. But she’s craving more. The desire to be aching from him for days drives her pleas for Yuta to fuck her harder, faster, and he is only too happy to obliger her demands.

Yasirah’s nails are beginning to draw blood where they’re digging into his shoulder blades but Yuta couldn’t care less. He’s dancing on the edge of something monumental and he fully intends to take her with him. A flash of white hot heat shoots down his spine and he’s coming. Yasirah tumbles over the edge right behind him, twitching in his hold from the force of her orgasm.

Normally, she’d be damn near comatose after coming that hard but Yuta’s dick is more than just big; it’s magical as well. Yasirah feels like invigorated and tingly. She can feel the soreness starting to set in as the two of them try to catch their breath but she’s feeling the urge to go do volunteer work and bake cookies.

“Wanna go again?” Yuta asks once his heart doesn’t feel like it’s going to beat out of his chest. He grins devilishly when Yasirah moves to position herself between his outstretched legs. He sends a silent prayer up to God to keep his roommates away as long as possible.

Yuta drums on the top of Mark’s head playfully as he joins him, Khushi, and Jaehyun at the table they’ve staked out in the library. Midterms are coming up so they’re all supposed to be studying but it’s clear from the sheer amount of snacks piled in the center of the table that there won’t be much learning going on tonight.

“Yo, where are all the other areas?” Jaehyun asks Yuta the second he sits down. Mark and Khushi groan out, clearly already having been tortured by whatever weed-induced epiphany that Jaehyun has had.

“Other areas?”

“Yeah, like the government tried to hide Area 51 but we found out. So where are areas 1 through 50?” Jaehyun slams his hand down onto his closed textbook authoritatively. “I’m telling you man something hinky is going on here.”

“It’s the American government, Jae. Something hinky is always going on.” Khushi deadpans. That only triggers another realization for Jaehyun as forces them to listen to another one of his theories about the government. Mark drags him to go buy more snacks since they apparently don’t have enough, leaving Khushi and Yuta to enjoy a few moments of peace.

Yuta checks his phone for the millionth time in the past hour. All that’s waiting for him is a few emails from professors, a shipping notification from Amazon, and a calendar notification reminding him to pay his rent. He opens his text messages to make sure his phone isn’t just playing him for a fool, but Yasirah has in fact not texted him back. They’d been spamming each other with spongebob memes, a personal favorite of hers he’s discovered, but she had yet to reply to the one he’d sent her nearly an hour ago.

“Why are you staring at your phone like it ruined your life?” Yuta waves Khushi off, tensing up when the slim device vibrates in his hand. He doesn’t even get a chance to read the message before his phone is snatched from him.

“Yaya?” Khushi questions with a suspicious look on his face. “That better not be who I think it is.”

“Thinking is bad, Kush. Now give me my phone back, please.” Yuta reaches across the table to try and take his phone back, but Khushi uses his long arms to his advantage to keep it out of his reach. Yuta’s anxiety is shooting through the room as he scrambles up to get his phone back when he see Khushi’s fingers sliding around the screen.

“You filthy liar!” Khushi doesn’t resist when Yuta snatches his phone from him. To in shock by whatever it was he saw. Yuta is relieved to see that he didn’t go through their messages, but he knows there’s no use in lying about who the message is from anymore when he sees Yasirah’s contact screen open on his phone.

“You can’t tell anyone about this, Khushi. I’m so deadass. She might actually kill me.” Yuta does his best to convey the seriousness of this situation. Khushi makes a grand gesture of pretending to lock his lips and toss away the key.

“Your secret is safe with me, but how long has this been going on? If you don’t me asking that is.” Khushi is the picture of bewilderment as he tries to process the fact the secret he just uncovered.

“A few weeks.” Yuta’s responds absentmindedly as he goes back to his texts to see what Yasirah said. His eyes nearly bug out of his head at what he sees.

YaYa: TL 1022 🏇🏽

YaYa: door code is 0956

“I gotta go.” He rushes out while shoving his stuff back into his bag. Khushi shakes his head as he watches Yuta bold for the exit like his ass is on fire. He’d always known that the two of them had the potential to go down this path but never in a million years did he actually think it would happen.

If someone had told Yuta a month ago that he would be balls deep in Yasirah Coleman several times a week, he would’ve had them committed. Now here he is not even thinking twice about abandoning his studies when his phone buzzes with messages that are obviously an invitation to a booty call. As a business law major, she shouldn’t have access to the practice rooms that are strictly for instrumental music majors but it seems that she has once again defied all of the odds. Probably one of the many perks of being related to the university’s most favored donors. It’s a ten minute walk from the library to the TL building but he plans to do it in five. He’s already at half mast at the thought of bending her over to have his way with her.

The sight that greets Yuta when he enters the practice room nearly sends him to an early grave. Yasirah sits atop the baby grand piano in the corner just as naked as the day she was born. The lighting is shitty but that doesn’t stop her soaked folds from glistening tantalizingly. Yuta’s mouth is watering as he approaches the siren that summons him in her neediest times, dropping to his knees without a word. Not like they need to speak anyway. They’ve become masters at reading each other’s bodies like the backs of their hands. He works hard to get her off quickly as he strums her body into a fever pitch. Yasirah’s still coming down from her high when Yuta slides in deep.

All traces of the sun have disappeared when they finally emerge from their temporary paradise. Yasirah whines at the way her legs protest her every move until Yuta eventually takes pity on her and hoists her into his arms. She directs him to her car in near empty parking lot, surprising him by hopping into the passenger seat once he’s set her down.

“How in the world are you going to drive from over there?”

“I’m not. You are now get in.” Yuta gags on his own spit. No way in hell she expects him to drive her very expensive car, but from her rapidly souring expression that is exactly what she means for him to do and she’s getting agitated with him not following directions.

He drops his bag onto the backseat before carefully getting behind the wheel. The engine roars to life with a push of a button. Yuta begs God not to let anything happen to this car while he’s responsible for it before hesitantly easing out of the space. They both yelp when he accidentally gives it too much gas as he pull out of the parking lot. The drive is uneventful after that but he’s never been more thankful to see an apartment complex come into view in all of his days.

“So,” Yuta holds her door open as Yasirah stretches her stiff limbs next to the car, “I guess this is good night?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Good night, Yuta.” She presses her lips to his in farewell. Yuta’s blushes at the way he chases her for more when she pulls away.

“Good night, Yasirah.” He whispers into the void between them. She pecks his lips once more before locking her car and making her way to her apartment. Yuta stands watch to make sure she makes it inside safely, turning to walk down the street to his own apartment. His phone buzzes in his pocket.

YaYa: text me when you get home so I know you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere

To most people, Yasirah’s message might be off putting considering that he was literally inside her twenty minutes ago, but Yuta knows better. He sees right through her like a freshly cleaned window. Yasirah might talk a big game but she cares or she wouldn’t have even thought about bothering to make sure he got home okay. Yuta contemplates calling Khushi, his only confidant in all of this, to once again get his advice on how to lure Yasirah into his romantic trap, but decides that he’s probably bothered him enough about his troubles for the week.

Yuta: made it home without a scratch

YaYa: good and I want you to know I saw your little “gift” on my ass when I got out of the shower

He chuckles at the thought of the mark he’d left square in the middle of her right ass cheek as something to remember him by. He can only imagine how she plans to get back at him for that one. No matter what her twisted little brain comes up with, he’s sure that he’ll love it.

“Reality is a cruel bitch.” Yasirah mumbles as she scrolls through the bath & body works website. The semiannual sale is in full swing which means it’s time to stock up on candles and shower gels but unfortunately for her and everyone around her she hasn’t had an opportunity to go to the local store to sniff everything and make her decision on which ones to buy. Her victim of the hour is Yuta who has dutifully listened to her complaints as he rubs down her muscles after a particularly active rendezvous at the beach house Yasirah’s parents own not far from the university. Their favorite place to hook up whenever they’ve got the time.

“Don’t they do this sale twice a year? Is it really going to kill you to miss it this time?” He asks. To him it’s just overpriced candles and lotions, but Yasirah obviously holds them in much higher regard.

“I will in fact keel over and die if I don’t get new candles. I’m on my last one. I can’t live like this.” She whines thought it morphes into a moan when Yuta works out a knot in between her shoulder blades. His cock twitches against her ass at the sound and soon enough she’s much too distracted by the carnal desire to be one with him to worry about the plight of her candle collection.

A few days later and Yasirah is on the verge of madness. It seems like the harder she tries to make her way across town to the mall, the more stuff she has to do. She’s starting to think that some divine force doesn’t want her to go spend a small fortune on candles at this point. Her friend Madison who works in the office of student engagement texts her saying that someone just left a package for her in the SGA mailbox. More than a little intrigued, Yasirah books it over to the student center to see what it is before her next class. Her legs are going to hate for this unscheduled jog later but she’s pressed for time.

She’s thoroughly out of breath when she waves to Madison on her way to the small room that holds the mailboxes for the various organizations across campus. If she wasn’t already gasping for breath, Yasirah would definitely be in desperate need of oxygen when she spots the trademark red and yellow bag indicative of the semiannual sale. Yasirah rips it out of the cubby hole its stuffed in, nearly crying when she realizes that it’s full of candles in various scents. She notices that one of them has a note taped to it.

I bought you a few of this one since it smelled so good. I even bought one for myself because it reminds me of you. Hope you enjoy them beautiful!

Yuta

The ethics class she’d been pressed to get back to is quickly pushed to the back burner. Her heart melts at the thought of Yuta sniffing all of the candles in bath & body words just to make sure she didn’t miss out. She unscrews the lid on the candle that bears his note, golden hibiscus, and it smells almost exactly like the new leave in conditioner that she’s grown fond of. Yasirah thinks back on all of the post-sex cuddles that have all included a remark on how good her hair smelled. It’s in that moment that Yasirah realizes that she’s a lot more attached to Yuta than she had originally she thought. This is new territory for her as she’s never felt attraction for men beyond the physical pleasure they can bring her. An intense fear grips her as she leaves the student center to go to her ethics class. She shoots off a quick text to Yuta thanking him for the candles out of obligation and respect but she fully intends for that to be the last time she speaks to him. He wields more power over her than he probably realizes and she’ll be damned if she’ll give him the opportunity to use it against her.

Yuta is on the verge of madness. He’s called. He’s texted. He’s even emailed. But Yasirah has gone totally off the grid. Nothing he tries illicit a response from her and for a minute he was starting to think that something may have happened to her, but what he saw earlier made him realize that something much deeper is going on with her. He’d watched the woman in question receive a text from only to purposefully ignore it. For the life of him, Yuta can’t think what it is that he could’ve done to deserve this which is why he’s knocking on Khushi’s door looking for guidance.

“This better be real fucking important for you to be interrupting my nap.” Khushi grumbles. Yuta knew that he was risking his life by interrupting his friend’s daily scheduled nap, but it just couldn’t be help.

“If it’s any consolation,” Yuta produces a Chick-fil-a bag from behind his back, “I brought you nuggets. I drank the tea though. It’s hot as balls outside.”

“Polynesian sauce?” Khushi narrows his eyes at the man currently trying to bribe his way into his apartment. His hand grips the door tightly, ready to slam it shut at any given moment should the bribe fall short.

“A whole handful of them.” Relief washes over Yuta when Khushi steps to the side to allow him entrance. Khushi can already feel the regret setting in but he’s weak for chicken nuggets especially when they’re free and come with an assload of polynesian sauce.

Yuta collapses onto the couch in the living room and proceeds to spill his guts as if Khushi is a licensed therapist. Khushi chimes in here and there to get clarification but primarily just lets Yuta talk while he focuses on his nuggets and fries. It quickly becomes clear to him exactly what has happened. These two fuck wits have fallen head over heels for each other but in typical Yasirah fashion she has run for the hills to avoid succumbing to her own feelings. Nothing Yuta could have said or done would’ve stopped this from happening despite him thinking the opposite.

“Listen man, you just need to talk to her. Pull her to the side after the meeting on Thursday and clear the air then.” Khushi’s suggestion is based in sound logic and a working knowledge on how Yasirah generally reacts to confrontation. The look on Yuta’s face; however, says that he has absolutely wasted his breath even mentioning his idea. He can practically see the gears turning behind his friend’s eyes. Nothing good is bound to come from that.

“Jaehyun says that she’s super jealous and possessive so what if I use that to my advantage?”

Khushi can tell that Yuta believes this to be a top tier plan as he goes on to describe exactly how he intends to do that. He was right to believe that nothing good would come from this love sick man’s thought processes. Yuta is so hell bent on getting Yasirah back that his judgement is clouded in a major way. Khushi prepares himself for another barrage of texts and calls when this inevitably goes south. He really should start charging these two numb nuts for all the stress they’re putting him through.

Taco Tuesday, otherwise known as the most sacred day of the week, is one of the few things about college that Yasirah is very heavily attached to. Every Tuesday afternoon between the hours of three and five pm she can be found holding down the fort in the dining hall gorging herself on tacos while she studies. It’s become such a consistent ritual that by the time she’s swiped into the dining hall four starter tacos are already waiting for her at her usual table just the way she likes them. Chorizo, cotija cheese, and salsa verde with three lime wedges.

She’s halfway through an assignment for her business law class when movement at one of the other tables in her section catches her attention. A small smile graces Yasirah’s face before she can stop it when she realizes that it’s Yuta. He’s got his headphones in and he’s typing away at his phone so he’s blissfully unaware of her presence. In spite of her earlier decision to avoid him, Yasirah is halfway out of her chair to go get his attention when some random girl she’s never seen before plucks one of his headphones out of his ear before plopping down in his lap. Instead of pushing her off like Yasirah expects him too, Yuta seems only too happy to let her remain perched in his lap.

Yasirah’s fist clench up at her sides. It’s been a long time since she’s been this enraged. She takes deep, calming breaths as she reminds herself that Yuta is not her boyfriend and she has no romantic claim to him. She repeats that to herself and it works for a while. A girlish giggle interrupts her concentration, making her eye twitch. Yasirah’s stomach turns when she looks up to see Yuta whispering in her ear which is the apparent source of the god awful noice that’s coming out of her mouth. They look every bit like a happy couple content with each other’s presence as they eat tacos. It’s sickening.

“Am I the only one here that respects the sanctity of Taco Tuesday?” Yasirah demands, slamming her fist down on the table hard enough to nearly knock her drink over. Yuta and his companion have the audacity to look sheepish as she stares the both of them down.

“Hey, Yasirah. I didn’t see you over there.” Yuta says.

“How could you with Ms. Anime Titties here blocking your view? Don’t worry about it though. This sickening display has ruined my appetite so I’m leaving.” Yasirah shoves her MacBook into her backpack unceremoniously and makes a hasty exit. She can hear Yuta calling after her but she’d rather chew through a brick wall than look at him for even one more second. Her BMW is peeling out of the parking lot by the time he reaches it. Yuta curses the heavens. This isn’t how he thought this would go. He pulls his phone out to call Khushi and hopes that his friend knows how to fix the giant mess he just made.

“If you called me to talk about Yuta, I’m hanging up on your ass.” Khushi had contemplated sending the call to voicemail, but he’s nothing if he’s not a sucker for his friends. He always answers the call when they need him but it’s days like today that he wishes he wasn’t so damn reliable. First Yuta and now Yasirah. The day these two dumbasses figure out how to communicate with each other without using him as a middle man is the day he will finally know peace. Unfortunately, that day has yet to come.

“Khushi, please!” Yasirah pleads with him. She knows he’s tired of hearing her rant about Yuta, but Jaehyun is the only other person that knows about their arrangement and she’s definitely not about to ask him for advice. “I’ll buy you milkshakes for a month just help me.”

Silence rings loudly in her ear.

“A month you say?” Khushi acquiesces much to her joy. She really doesn’t know what she would’ve done if he hadn’t given in. Probably something stupid like go see Yuta and yell at him for having some whore sitting in his lap.

After agreeing to Khushi’s terms about his milkshake payment, Yasirah launches into the latest Yuta news. Khushi rolls his eyes dramatically when he realizes that today’s enemies with benefits crisis is the exact scenario that he had guessed that it would be. Yuta’s plan to make Yasirah jealous in an attempt to win her back — the very plan that Khushi had told him to abort immediately — was apparently wildly successful, but without the outcome that Yuta had been expecting. Yasirah is pissed off and jealous out of her mind just as they’d both predicted they would be. However, the fairytale outcome Yuta had dreamed up of her finally admitting her feelings and running right into his arms is nowhere close to coming to fruition. Instead, she’s doing exactly what Khushi had theorized and that’s working herself into a frenzy while she plans her revenge.

“What the hell am I supposed to do about this, Kush?” Yasirah is all but screaming in his ear and Khushi won’t be all that surprised if he’s unable to hear out of his right ear in the morning. “That stupid boy is playing in my face and he can’t get away with it. I know I kinda put things on pause but this is a matter of respect.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that he did that to make you jealous enough to confess your feelings for him?” Khushi asks, hoping that the truth will quell Yasirah’s anger enough for her to calm down and consider a plan of action that won’t end in hurt feelings.

“Yuta is too smart to do some dumb shit like that.” Yasirah exclaims. If she only knew just how wrong she actually is.

Khushi does his best to talk some sense into Yasirah but his efforts are in vain. No matter what he says she finds some convoluted way to refute it. He’s convinced that she doesn’t realize how crazed she sounds, but at this point there’s nothing he can do but let her put her own foolish plan into action. Part of him feels like he should warn Yuta of the hurricane headed his way, but ultimately decides that it’s useless. Neither one of them have listened to him so far, why would they suddenly start now?

Yasirah strides into the next exec board meeting nearly twenty minutes after it’s set start time just as nonchalant as if she walking through the park. She’s carrying two milkshakes, one of which she sets down in front of Khushi on her way to her seat. Taeil nearly falls out of his chair from the relief of not having to continue to take minutes for the meeting like he’d been forced to do.

“How wonderful of you to join us, Ms. Coleman.” Seokjin says from his spot in the back of the room.

“We’ll see how wonderful it is in a minute.” Yasirah replies though her hardened gaze is fixed on Yuta. He swallows roughly out of nervousness but maintains eye contact with her nonetheless. You never take your eyes off a tigress when she’s poised to strike.

The meeting continues once Yasirah situates herself and picks up on the minutes where Taeil left off. The energy in the room is tense as she redefines the term, raging bitch. Everything out of Yuta’s mouth gets insulted until even Seokjin, who is normally silent, speaks up to defend him. Knowing that he’s the reason for the anger radiating off of Yasirah in waves, Yuta waves the advisor off.

“Anybody that can handle a little criticism shouldn’t be president of SGA, but then again this country has a history of putting incompetent men in charge just because they look nice and sound smarter than the average bear.” Yuta winces at her scathing remark as does everyone else in the room. It’s so silent that you could hear a pin drop. Deciding that she’s done what she came to do, Yasirah stands from her seat to leave before Seokjin can kick her out. She doesn’t feel nearly as good about how this went down as she thought she would.

Seokjin’s email the next morning summoning her to a meeting with both him and Yuta is not surprising in the slightest. Yasirah knows full well that her behavior in the meeting was excessive even by her own usual snarky standards. She’d picked up her phone countless times to call Yuta and apologize but her pride stopped her every time. She desperately wishes that she could erase the memory of how hurt he’d looked, but it’s burned into her brain. It kept her awake all night, taunting her whenever she closed her eyes until she’d abandoned the thought of sleep altogether.

The day passes by in a blur of classes and forgotten conversations. Not even Khushi can break Yasirah out of her funk during their daily Chick-fil-a outing which normally consists of her choking on her sweet tea at least once.

“Rah?” Khushi waves his hand in front of her face in an effort to get her attention. She hums in acknowledgment thought she continues to pick apart the waffle fries Khushi has been trying to force her to eat. He sighs at her overcast attitude. It’s clear that he’s going to get nowhere with her.

Normani had said she was in bad shape when she’d texted him earlier, but he didn’t realize it was this bad. She’s but a mere shadow of her normal, vivacious self and he can’t help but think about Yuta who is in the exact same boat. Khushi has never met two people who deserved each other more. Both of them are so stubborn and prideful that it’s sickening to even think about. They’ve spent months waxing poetic about each other to him instead of just taking his advice and actually telling the other one how they feel. Now they might lose it all before they even have a chance to really get started. Khushi walks with her to the door of Seokjin’s office on the third floor of the student union, giving her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. Hopefully the two idiots finally come to their senses and realize that they’re head over heels for each other.

Yasirah schools her face into a mask of indifference as she takes a seat in the empty seat next to Yuta. She can feel his eyes on her but she keeps her own gaze trained on Seokjin who is leaning against his desk in front of them. Though she refuses to acknowledge his presence in the slightest, Yasirah can feel some of the tension melt out of her shoulders just from being in the same room as Yuta and she can’t stand it.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush here with you, Ms. Coleman.” Seokjin’s voice is stern as he stares her down. Yasirah winces at the sound of him addressing her so formally. He’s always treated the executive board more like his colleagues than students he’s been charged with babysitting. Apparently, she’s in more trouble than she’d realized.

“Your behavior last night was absolutely unacceptable. I know you like to think that you can just talk to people any way you want to because your last name is on a few buildings at this university, but you crossed a line.” Seokjin barrels ahead, holding up a hand when he notices that Yasirah is about to interrupt. “Yuta, do you have anything you’d like to say?”

Yasirah squares her shoulders, bracing for whatever it is that Yuta is about to unleash on her. If she’s learned anything about him in the time that they’ve known each other, she’s learned that Yuta never attacks his opponents head on. He finds weak points and carefully chips away at them until his opponent brings about their own destruction. She expects thinly veiled insults. She expects subtle attacks at her character. She doesn’t expect for him to go straight for the jugular by suggesting that her “gross lack of self-control and empathy” makes her unfit to hold a position in student government.

“You fucking cock sucker, how dare you?” Yasirah explodes before she can stop herself which, in hind sight, was exactly what he wanted from her. He was fishing for a reaction and he got exactly what he bargained for.

Seokjin steps in to intervene when the two students devolve into a screaming match. They continue to hurl insults and scathing remarks back and forth as if he hadn’t opened his mouth. His office has been the venue for more than one fight in his time at the university, but Seokjin quickly clues into the fact that there is more than petty disagreements coming to a head right now. He’s the holder of many degrees but it’s the gold band on his left hand that gave him the expertise to see through the curse words flying through the air. He grabs at the emergency air horn next to his laptop and gives it a few quick taps.

“Either one of you want to tell me what’s really going on here? I’m getting the feeling it’s about more than what happened last night during the meeting.” Seokjin looks from Yuta to Yasirah and back again but neither one of them seems to be too interested in speaking anymore. “I’ve got all night to sit here and stare and we’re not leaving this room until we get to the bottom of this.”

Yasirah becomes very fascinated by her own nail beds as the three of them sit and stew in the silence. Seokjin might think that he has enough time to wait her out but he is sadly mistaken. She is fully prepared to play his game. Yuta, on the other hand, is not. Fifteen minutes into their little game and he breaks. He spills his guts all over the linoleum in Seokjin’s office. Thankfully he leaves out the more sordid details but it’s enough to get his point across.

“Kids, as someone who has been happily married for the past four years, let me give you a tip.” Seokjin starts, mindlessly clicking a pen that he picked up at some point. “Talking to each other openly and honestly is the key to any successful relationship.”

“We aren’t in a relationship though.” Yasirah points out quickly. Labels have always weirded her out and sent her running for the hills.

“On the contrary, Yasirah. The second you decided you wanted him around for more than just sex, you were in a relationship whether you meant to be or not. Just because a jar of pickles doesn’t have a label on it saying pickles doesn’t mean that there isn’t still pickles in the jar.”

As stupid as that analogy is, it makes something click in Yasirah’s brain. She looks over at Yuta, but he seems to have taken a page out of her book and refuses to make eye contact. It’s clear as day that the imbalance in power she thought had existed before was much more balanced than she’d thought. Yuta was just as enthralled with her as he was with him, but her own fear wouldn’t let her see it. Now, it might be too late and that scares her ever more. Seokjin urges her to say the words that she’s been holding back, but she can’t seem to bring herself to let them come out of her mouth.

“Fuck this. Nobody has to resign. I can finish out the year, but I’m done with the rest of this bullshit.” Yuta is out the door so fast Yasirah swears she can physically the air filling in the empty space where he’d once sat. She’s itching to follow after him but she can’t move. Her limbs feel like they’re being weighed down by cement blocks.

“Yasirah, I can see how scared you are,” Seokjin crouches down in front of her so that they’re eye to eye before he continues, “but I can also see that you care for him more than you even realize right now. If you don’t go after him now, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.” Another beat of silence passes before Yasirah is up and out of her chair, racing down the stairs.

That familiar head of platinum blonde hair is nowhere to be found when she reaches the first floor. She looks around frantically but there is still no sign of him. Yuta normally rides the free shuttle bus to and from campus but her feet carry her in the opposite direction towards the parking lot instead. Her shoulders sag in relief when she spots him tossing his bag into the back seat of his car.

“Yuta, wait!” He looks absolutely bewildered to see her running at him full speed like a bullet train.

“Jesus Christ I need to work out.” Yasirah pants when she finally reaches him, tightly wrapping her arms around his waist while she hides her face in the crook of his neck.. The adrenaline rush that had fueled her mad dash to the parking lot is quickly wearing off. Yuta gently tries to extricate himself from her hold but she simply holds on tighter.

“I’m sorry that I’m an insufferable bitch. I like that you buy me candles because they remind you of me. I like that you appreciate my stupid memes. I like that you’re you and I hope you still like me too.” She blubbers out in a rush. Yuta’s chest feels like it’s going to burst at any given moment. He imagines that this has got to be what it feels like to win the lottery.

“I like that you’re you too.” He whispers. The halo of curls tickling his nose draws him in with the intoxicating hibiscus scent that he’s missed so much. It’s so inherently her and he can feel the tension melt from his body with every deep inhale.

“Is this the part where I ask to be your girlfriend?” Yuta shivers at the words that Yasirah whispers against his neck. “I’ve never done this before and I’m tired of fucking it up so just tell me what to do.”

“Well first,” Yuta escorts Yasirah around the front of his car and opens the passenger door, “I’m going to take my girlfriend to get ice cream.”

“Fuck yes! Can we go to Boombalattis?” She pleads once he’s behind the wheel, turning up the charm just in case he’d entertained the thought of saying no.

“Anything for you.”

Yuta hums a made up tune as he softly trails his fingers up and down Yasirah’s bare back. Goosebumps follow his fingers as they glide across her skin. He knows she’s awake yet neither one is too keen on breaking the silence that’s wrapped around them like a warm blanket. The hand that had rested against his rib cage abandons it’s post as Yasirah reaches up to fiddle with the simple silver chain around Yuta’s neck. A glance at the digital clock on her desk across the room dumps a bucket of ice on his joyous mood. He has to leave soon if he wants to avoid her roommates. He’s surprised that she even let him spend the night to begin with. As if she can sense the change in the air, Yasirah clings to him.

“Babe, I have to go.” He doesn’t want to leave just as much as she wants him to stay. She fits so perfectly in his arms and he wants to keep her there forever, but she doesn’t want anyone to know about their relationship yet so he has to leave. The now familiar bitterness threatens to twist his face into a scowl at all of the time they have to sacrifice just for her to save face in front of their friends.

“No.” Yasirah shifts until she’s on top of Yuta with all of her limbs wrapped around him. “I want you to stay.”

His heart flutters at what that could mean. He wants nothing more than to hold her hand in the broad daylight. To proudly show the world just how much he cares for her. Yuta has learned not to get his hopes up too high though. This isn’t the first time he’s thought that she would give up this secrecy bullshit only to get let down. He allows her to stay there for a while. Too weak to lift her off of him so he can get dressed. Unfortunately, time waits for no one and he’s dangerously close to getting caught here if he doesn’t get moving. As tough as she claims to be, Yasirah isn’t strong enough to withstand Yuta digging his fingers into her sides playfully. The high pitched squeal she lets out brings a smile to his own face as he successfully tickles her to the other side of the bed. He leaps into action before she can gather her wits and is already half dressed by the time she catches her breath.

“I should beat your ass for that, Nakamoto.” She threatens as she glares at him. The thin sheet that had been covering her falls away when she crawls towards the edge of the bed. He curses the way his cock hardens at the sight of her on her hands and knees before him. She’s not playing fair.

It takes an act of God, but he manages to leave without giving into her siren call. His phone pings with a text message just as he about to pull out of his parking space. After seeing it’s from Yasirah, he puts his car back in park and opens it. Spit flies from his mouth as he chokes violently. He’s not sure what he expected but an aerial shot of her naked body spread out for him wasn’t on the list. The picture doesn’t show her face so he doesn’t feel bad about saving it to his phone before shooting off a reply and dropping his phone in the cup holder. She’s going to be the death of him one of these days.

Yasirah stretches like a cat in the sun. She imagines Yuta is somewhere in the parking lot choking on his own spit over the picture she’d sent him on a whim. The only thing that could make this sweeter is being able to see it first hand, but her imagination will have to suffice for now.

She’s just laid down after showering and changing her bed sheets when Yasirah hears the front door open and close. She quickly jumps up to go see her friends, but stops short when she sees Wheein sniffing at the air like a bloodhound that just caught the scent of a fresh kill. The girl has the strongest olfactory senses she’s ever seen in a human which is why she’d made sure to open some windows and spray down the entire apartment with Febreze. Apparently, her efforts were in vain.

“There was a penis in this apartment.” Wheein says with conviction, staring Yasirah down where she stands in the hallway.

“Man, Wheein. Just say there was a man in here.” Normani sounds exhausted and Yasirah is sure that between the long weekend training they’d had to attend and the energy drink that Wheein is clutching in one hand, she’s beyond tired.

“That lacks pizazz.” Wheein replies, hopping up on the kitchen counter, swinging her legs like a toddler. “So, who was it? Was he hot? Was his dick as big as Jaehyun’s?”

“What are you talking about, Whee? It was Jaehyun.”

“No, it wasn’t. Jaehyun smells like weed and cologne with a hint of sweaty balls. That is not what I’m smelling right now.” Yasirah should’ve known that she couldn’t fool Wheein. “So, who was it? Do I know him?”

Yasirah takes a second to figure out how to respond. She decides to play it safe. “No, I don’t think you know him. He doesn’t go to school with us.”

Her heart nearly beats out of her chest in the three seconds it takes Wheein to process and respond to her answer. She seems to take it as the truth, wishing her luck in her new dick endeavors before heading off to her own bedroom. Yasirah lets out a deep sigh of relief. She knows that everyone will find out eventually, but she wants to be the one to tell them and she wants to do it when she’s ready.

Car sex is absolutely abhorrent and Yuta is willing to die on that hill. His legs are bent at the most awkward angle. He’s hit his head on the door a concerning amount of times. He’s also quite certain that they’ve sucked all of the oxygen out of the vehicle with all of their panting. If it wasn’t for the fact that he is absolutely whipped for Yasirah, he’d have never agreed to putting himself through this type of torture after discovering just how awful it was the first time they’d tried it.

“Don’t you think this would be more comfortable in one of the beds that we get extorted to sleep in?” Yuta asks once they’re done. Yasirah rolls her eyes, knowing exactly where he’s going with this.

“We’ve gone over this already, Yuta.” The look in her eye is frosty when she finally looks up at him, but her glares have long since lost their effect on him. Even if they hadn’t, he is entirely too frustrated to care about if she’s mad at him or not.

“No, you’ve gone over this already and I just went along with it but I’m tired of that. What’s the point of dating if I can’t date you in public?” His mind calls up the memory of the day they went to go get ice cream after the cluster fuck of a meeting they’d had with Seokjin. That had been the first and last time they’d gone out together as a couple.

“Are you breaking up with me?” Yasirah’s chest feels tight with fear at the possibility that she could have pushed Yuta away with her selfish desire to live in this secret bliss. Every memory is their own. Untainted by the presence of others and she wants to keep it that way for as long as possible.

“No, I’m in this with you for as long as you’ll have me. I just wish everyone else knew that too.”

Yuta’s words play over and over in Yasirah’s head all through the night. What she wants and what she knows is right are at odds right now. She can’t continue to avoid the issue anymore because Yuta isn’t going to tolerate her hesitance forever. He deserves someone who loves him loudly and dammit she is going to be that someone.

Yuta rocks back and forth on his heels as he patiently waits his turn to place his order at Starbucks. Yasirah had texted him earlier about meeting up here before the exec board meeting so he figured he may as well grab a couple chai teas. Only one more person stands between him and the overpriced iced deliciousness he craves when he feels a pair of arms wrap around him from behind. The scent of hibiscus and honey teases his senses, striking him with both fear and joy.

“Hey, pretty.” The whispered compliment is followed by a chaste kiss to his temple.

“Hey, pretty.” He playfully repeats. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into her today, but he doesn’t question it in fear that she’ll stop and go back to pretending like she doesn’t beg him for kisses in private.

Yasirah rests her head on his shoulder, arms still tightly wrapped around his middle, as she waits with him line only letting go so that she can take her drink from the barista once it’s ready. She surprises Yuta yet again when she grabs his free hand in hers. This time he’s not successful at keeping his questions at bay.

“Who are you and what have you done to my girlfriend?” His heart drops when she slips her hand out of his grip. He knew he should’ve kept his mouth closed.

“Did you or did you not say you wanted everyone to know we’re dating?” She stops walking to stare him down in the middle of the busy sidewalk much to the annoyance of the people now forced to walk around them.

“I do but you said-” Yuta doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence.

“Fuck what I said. Now are you going to hold my hand or not?” Yasirah smiles victoriously when Yuta slots his fingers between hers. There’s still an uneasy feeling in her chest as they resume their journey to the political science building, but she pushes it down for his sake. No matter how much he wants this he’ll give it all up if he sees her panicking and she wants to do this for him.

Yasirah’s mind is racing with how their friends will react. Will they be happy? Upset? Various scenarios fill her brain to the point that she doesn’t even notice they’ve reached their destination until Yuta gently turns her head to face him.

“I know you’re doing this for me, but we don’t have to.” God, this man. She really doesn’t know what country she saved in a past life to deserve him. Yasirah leans in to press her lips against his.

“No, we’ve waited long enough.”

They step through the door hand in hand to a chorus of gasps. Yuta seems to believe it but Yasirah’s keen senses pick up on the scent of bullshit in the air. Something is not right here. One look at Wheein and she knows the truth. This is why she sucks at poker. She wears her thoughts on her plain as day.

“Spill.” Wheein gulps when all of the attention is turned on her. She avoids eye contact with Yasirah, knowing full well that her best friend and roommate is incredibly aware of all her trigger points to break her. Deciding to avoid the misery of drawing this out, she caves.

“I told them.” Wheein whines. Yasirah loves her to pieces but she couldn’t keep a secret even if you paid her so she’s not surprised that it got now that she knows that Wheein was in on it. The only question at this point is how she knew.

“Wheein, how did you even figure it out?” Yuta asks, beating Yasirah to the punch.

“I smelled you. You smelled just like the guy you had in the apartment that day.” Yasirah rolls her eyes skywards. Leave it to Wheein’s supersonic olfactory senses to expose the truth behind her lies. She thought she had dodged a bullet by telling her she didn’t know who it was only to realize now that she’d stepped right into the line of fire.

Wheein’s confession leads to even more shocking revelations as the rest of the exec board starts detailing little things they’d noticed but hadn’t given much thought to. An Iron Maidens t-shirt that Yuta had mentioned missing turning up in Yasirah’s laundry. The lingering floral scent of leave-in conditioner that an apartment of smelly men wouldn’t have any use for. To think that they’d thought they had everyone fooled with all of their sneaking around when actually everyone had been betting to see how long it would take for them to realize that they all knew.

“Well since the cat’s out of the bag now, let’s get this show on the road.” Seokjin prompts from his seat off to the side. This wasn’t one of the outcomes that Yasirah had envisioned but she’s happy about it nonetheless. She squeezes Yuta’s hand one final time under the table once they’ve taken their seats, hoping that it conveys everything she wants to say but can’t. He nudges her knee with his with a wink in her direction. If perfect was an achievable goal, Yasirah would definitely say that she’s reached it.

#ksmutclub #nakamoto yuta #nct yuta #yuta smut #nct smut #jaehyun #nct jaehyun #yuta fanfic #yuta scenarios

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fanficshiddles · 4 years

Text

God of Lies, One shot

Thanks for the prompt: delicioustar submitted:

Reader is part of an infamous criminal group (especialized in stealing), they had an amazing offer from an Unknow client (could be Loki himself or not actually), asking them to steal Odin’s crow (after his depart, it was safely kept inside the castle), baby reader is sent to Asgard to infiltrate the palace and gather information… turns out it was impossible to trick the master of tricks… reader was blinded by greed and to proud on her skills to see, until it was to late… 👀😨 haha i know is silly, but if you feel like writing (and is not to much to ask) could it be dark!? Hoho 🌚

WARNINGS: I went dark. Some blood play/cutting/permanent marking/non-con/Implied rape.

‘I’ll do it.’

‘What?’

‘I said, I’ll do it.’ She said determinedly, standing tall and proud.

The leader of her group sighed and rubbed his chin, thinking for a moment. No one else was stepping forward to volunteer for the job, they were trying to avoid looking at him.

‘Alright, you can do it. A woman may be less conspicuous.’ He nodded and handed her all the information she needed, along with plenty of gold. ‘Don’t let me down, this is too big of an offer. If you do this, it will set you up for life.’

‘No pressure then.’ She laughed, but she was certain she could do it.

She was given a week to plan everything through, come up with what she was going to do. Instead of just breaking in one night, she decided to try a different approach. Granted, it would take longer, but she thought it would have a higher chance of success.

Arriving on Asgard after leaving her home, Vanaheim, she made her way to the palace. She had heard rumours that Loki was the new King, how the heck that happened she had no idea. Odin disappeared, nobody seemed to know where. And Thor didn’t want the throne, so it was left to his adopted brother.

She was met at the doors by guards, they took her in to see the King.

King Loki was much more intimidating than she had expected, sitting on the throne with Gungnir at his side. His horned helmet large and made a terrifying shadow behind him. She took a deep breath and stepped closer, to the bottom of the steps of his throne.

‘My King.’ She bowed politely to him and put her fist to her chest. ‘I am from Vanaheim, here to ask for refuge in your realm.’

‘Why?’ Loki asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

‘I was only just able to flee from an abusive relationship, My King.’ She lied. ‘I heard about how welcoming Asgard was, so was able to find a gateway here.’

Loki tapped his lower lip as he eyed her up carefully. Inside, he was amused because she had clearly forgotten whom she was speaking to. He could tell clearly when one was lying. And it was as if there was a huge sign above her, saying she was a liar.

But he was in a good mood, he was in the mood to play and toy with her.

‘And what can you bring to my Kingdom? If I decide to allow you to stay?’ Loki asked.

‘I can cook, or I can clean. I’m a quick learner, could turn my hand to anything that’s needed.’ That wasn’t a lie, she was good at taking in new information, learning new skills quickly.

‘Hmmm.’ Loki thought for a moment. ‘Alright then. You’ve caught me on a good day. I shall give you shelter here, in the palace. You can have your own chambers down in the maids quarters, one of the guards will show you there. You will share quarters with some other maids. Speak to Agra. She will assign you some jobs to do.’

Her face lit up. ‘Thank you, my King. Thank you so much.’ She said gratefully, putting on a great act. If it had been anyone else but Loki, she would’ve had them fooled for sure.

She settled into the maid’s quarters, glad she had her own sleeping chambers. It wasn’t very big, but it was cosy enough. She wasn’t planning on staying long anyway, so it didn’t really matter.

As the days went on, she settled into her disguise as a simple maid. Doing well, finishing her jobs quickly and efficiently, so she would have time to scope out the palace. It didn’t take her long to figure out where all the rare items were kept, and she discovered where Odin’s magnificent crown was being kept, in the same room.

She was making her way along the corridors one day, heading back to her chambers when King Loki came gliding down towards her. She moved in to the side and clasped her hands at her front, bowing her head in respect as he passed by.

But he stopped when he got to her, raising an eyebrow at her.

‘What are you up to?’ He asked, turning to face her fully.

‘My King.’ She curtseyed to him and kept her eyes down at his boots. ‘I was just finishing cleaning the stairs to the treasury.’ She lied quickly.

Loki gave her credit where credit was due, she was a good liar. Quick at thinking. But still not quite good enough for him.

‘Oh really, that’s good to hear. I don’t think they’ve ever been cleaned.’ He said in a slightly surprised tone. ‘Are you settling in well?’

‘Very well, thank you, My King.’ She nodded, briefly glancing up at him.

If she had been more focused, she would have noticed the mischief in Loki’s eyes. She was so sure that she had him fooled, but Loki would never chit chat with a lowly maid like this. It was actually unheard of that he would’ve allowed an outsider of Asgard to live in the palace in the first place.

He dismissed her and she scurried back to her chambers. She did some planning, deciding how to take the crown without being caught. Over the following three days she did her best to hang around near the treasury, taking note of times for when guards were near.

She finally decided on a night to pull out the plan. She wanted to get home, get her pay and get on with her what would be her new rich life…

Once it was the middle of the night, when most of Asgard was sound asleep in bed, she quietly packed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. She crept quietly out of her chambers and out of the maid’s quarters. Being careful to avoid any night guards, she made her way to the treasury.

Tiptoeing down the steps, she took out her lock picking tools and popped a small torch in her mouth to see better. She slipped the tools into the lock and with a few wiggles here and there, she soon had it opened with ease.

‘Bingo.’ She whispered to herself as she entered the room. With a quick glance around, she saw Odin’s crown in a glass container at the back.

Being careful of any triggers on the floor, she cautiously made her way across the room. On the way, she passed by a stunning broach, that would definitely be worth a lot. So she carefully plucked it from its stand and slipped it into her bag.

She figured if she was stealing the crown, why not take some extras too? She would be long gone before anyone discovered items missing in the morning.

Feeling brave, she grabbed a few other small items that fit nicely in her bag. Then she got to the crown. She hadn’t been able to figure out if the glass was alarmed or not, it didn’t seem to be as wasn’t hooked up to anything. She checked the stand it was on and there was absolutely nothing there to be found.

She took a chance and got out her laser, cutting into the glass carefully. Just removing enough of it to get the crown out.

‘Oooo, now this is a beauty!’ She grinned in triumph, eyeing the crown carefully.

‘It certainly is.’ A voice drawled from behind her.

She let out a squeak, spinning around. Her eyes widened and she felt her stomach drop when she saw it was Loki.

Shit.

He was standing with his arms folded over his chest, looking at her intently. Without making it obvious, she tried to figure out an escape route. But the only way out was past him…

Pushing off as quick as she could, she made a bolt for it and did a wide berth past him. Running as fast as she could, she felt slight hope when she reached the bottom of the stairs and started running up them, taking two at a time.

She quickly shoved the crown into her bag while she kept running. But she had only gotten halfway down the corridor when she ran right into a solid body and fell to the ground on her bum, yelping.

As she looked up, her eyes widened. Loki was there. He had tricked her, allowed her to think she was getting her freedom.

He bent over and hauled her up to her feet, she tried struggling against him but he was too strong. Just with one arm he managed to carry her into the nearest room, it was spare chambers. There was a fire going and the bed was made up, as if expecting someone...

‘Let me go!’ She snapped and tried again to get away.

Loki chuckled darkly and clicked his fingers. Her bag was taken from her and her hands were suddenly hauled behind her back and tied together with some rope that appeared from nowhere. He grabbed her neck, squeezing hard to get her attention as she started spluttering for air.

‘I knew as soon as you walked into my throne room that you were up to something. Did you really think you could lie to me? Of all people?’ He laughed into her ear, pulling her flush against him, hand still clamped around her neck.

‘You should’ve done your research properly.’ He snarled.

In a flash of green, she was suddenly on the bed, naked and spread eagle. Unable to move as invisible bonds kept her limbs tied and stretched. Loki stood at the bottom of the bed, twirling one of his daggers around as he gazed down at her.

‘You will tell me who you work for. My little thief.’

‘Never!’ She snarled, shaking her head back and fore.

Loki narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Very well. I shall have great fun making you change your mind.’

He climbed onto the bed and started the torture. He dragged the blade of the dagger up and down her inner leg, making her tense up in fear. Then she screamed when he pierced her skin, just below her knee. He dragged it down, enjoying the blood that came from her.

‘NOOOOO! STOP!’ She shouted, the stinging pain too much.

‘Tell me who you work for.’ He demanded, moving the blade further up her body, deciding where to pierce next.

‘NO!’ She was determined to keep quiet.

Loki chuckled and started carving into her inner thigh. She hissed and cursed at him while thrashing her head back and fore. But she would be damned if she ever told him. She was stubborn and was determined.

Loki carved his name into her inner thigh, he was pleased with himself and chuckled at his art. He leaned down and licked at the blood dropping from her thigh, he sucked hard, making her yelp in pain. But then he surprised her when he moved his attentions to her cunt, breathing hotly across her.

He was watching her reaction and taking in every little noise that came from her. Suddenly he clamped his mouth over her cunt, his tongue delved between her folds as he sucked and licked her. When he latched onto her clit, he sucked as hard as he could, making her howl in pleasure and pain as it was too sensitive.

While she was distracted with Loki’s silver tongue, he started cutting into her abdomen with his dagger. The pain mixed with the pleasure, grounding her a bit more but it had the desired effect as she came on his tongue.

Loki laughed evilly, leaning up he licked his lips as he gazed up her body at her. He pressed against the cut on her abdomen, making her cry again.

‘I am a benevolent God, as you can see, I can give great rewards for good behaviour, just as I punish for bad behaviour.’ He slid a hand up and tweaked her right nipple harshly.

‘If you tell me who you work for, I will reward you, pet.’ He purred, his tone seductive. ‘And I will release you afterwards. You cannot take the crown, but I shall let you go with the broach. So you can sell it on, and start a new life wherever you choose. While I take care of your boss.’

She was panting hard, unable to take in the mixture of pain and pleasure, especially at the same time. She was torn.

‘N… No.’ She whimpered.

Loki brought the dagger down towards her cunt, he tapped her clit with the flat side of the blade, making her gasp.

‘Ok! Ok! I’ll tell you whatever you need to know!’ She cried out, hoping he wouldn’t cut her there.

The God smirked and took the blade away. ‘Clever girl.’ He sat back on his heels, between her legs and looked at her expectantly. ‘Come on then, tell me what I want to know.’

Swallowing hard, she couldn’t believe she was about to tell him who she worked for. But she did. She opened up and told him everything, answered his every question. Loki watched her intently and nodded once he had what he needed.

‘Very well.’ He grinned and got off the bed. He gathered her bag with the stuff she’d stolen.

‘Hey… You said you’d let me go!’ She said in a panic when he started heading to the door.

Loki stopped and turned to face her, the wickedest of looks on his face.

‘You may not be good at lying. But I am the God of mischief and lies.’ He winked at her. As he headed out the door, his words made her blood run cold.

‘GUARDS! Come and sort this thief out. Have your fun with her if you wish, then throw her in the dungeons.’

#Loki #tom hiddleston #one shot #prompt #fan fiction #god of lies

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pretendrocketships · 4 years

Text

What Am I Now?

A/N: I suck and so do guys so this has been floating around in my head so lets go

About: How do you explain a relationship you don’t even understand? The one where being away from each other hurts but staying together isn’t what it used to be. 2.5k, Lil thing, part 2? angst warning

Song: Falling by Harry Styles

The sun was hot and unforgiving, and the heat did nothing to help your mood. It seemed like everyone was out. People littered the cafes along the sidewalk of the city. Everyone toasting to whatever and laughing about jokes you probably wouldn’t find funny. Scents of pizza and pasta wafted through your nostrils. You swatted at your nose to remove the scent, and lingering flies, from your area. It always seemed like everyone around you was at their best when you were feeling your worst. Isn’t that something? You rounded the corner with a purpose, to get away from everyone who was making you feel more shitty then you felt when you left your house.

It wasn’t anything particular, just a bad mood. Yup, that was it. Just the wrong day on the wrong side of the bed. That’s all. There was nothing in the world that would make you admit that the headlines kept cycling around your head, that you didn’t skim, but read the full articles. “Harry Styles Seen Sneaking Girl Out Of Bavel Late Last Night,” “Who Could Style’s Girl Be? Here Are Our Guess,” and your favorite “Are You Harry Styles’ New Girl? Take Our Quiz and Find Out!” It was a circle. Headline after headline popped into your head. Snippets of articles flashed before your eyes. They were saying they haven’t seen a girl on his arm since you. They were saying she was the new you. They were saying that she was replacing you. Then, articles stopped mentioning you all together. That hurt. You felt that.

Another block zoomed by. You wanted to wear yourself out, to the point where your mind could only think about sleep and not stories you’ve read. The run keeps your mind everywhere but where it wants to be. One foot in front of the other. Don’t step on that crack, might break your mother’s back. The beat of this song is really good for keeping my mind off -- fuck. The next half a mile was a constant battle, to turn round and go home, giving up on a weak attempt at a distraction, or to power through and hope the next mile would keep your mind off your thoughts. By the time you reached the next stoplight, you were over it, submitting to your thoughts and turning home. Head down, feet to the floor you flew yourself home, desperate to get back to safe space where you could let yourself feel hurt.

“I’m allowed to be upset.” You kept mumbling those words over and over to yourself on the way home. “I’m allowed to be hurt and upset.” Tears threatened to fall. You ignored them. “I choose when and how long it takes me to heal.” The bastards fell. Oh like a flood, they fell. ‘No Crying in Public,’ a rule you actually had framed on your wall, was already broken. So, once you locked your door, you let the tears flow as freely as they wanted. For five minutes. Five minutes to mope then get up and go. The little saying seemed even stupider when you were upset, but you needed a reason to stop crying and get up. And that’s what you did, got up, got in the shower, and started the pile of work you’d been avoiding all week. A shower is usually your restart button, but with a desk full of papers that held no meaning, you couldn’t focus. You shook your head, rolled your shoulders and pressed your pen to the paper and attempted to “just get over it” like every friend who offered you unwarranted advice said. If your professors didn’t care about heartbreak, why should you?

It took a while, an hour and twenty-four minutes to be exact, to get your first assignment done, wandering thoughts occupying most of your time. The stack beside you was still overwhelming, much like your mind at the moment. You wagered a deal with yourself. Ten minutes to think through the situation, then twenty minutes doing work, a back and forth deal that appeased your mind.

No, he technically wasn’t in the wrong because technically he didn’t do anything since you technically aren't together. That was too many technicals. You always thought you were special. Special enough to think the whole “friends to lovers” thing would work out for you and a mildly famous popstar. Fuck, were you wrong. You remember laughing in your kitchen. Sunday morning and teasing him. Calling him “mildly” famous was always your thing. You would grab at his belt buckles and pull him closer, or brush past him to start the Keriug and remind him how much you loved your “mildly famous boyfriend”. Your rationale: making sure his ego didn’t get too big for your shared apartment. A place only you two shared when you were both in the city. He would laugh. A big one. The kind where his eyes were squeezed shut and one, or both, of his large hands were gripping the counter. Soon, he’d be wiping tears from his eyes and pulling you flush against his chest, whispering about how he loved his “little star.” The memory stung, like a fresh paper cut; the moment was small, but the pain mighty.

This is how your days went, seemingly productive until you got hit with the past. The smallest things could set you back months, stuck seeing a replay of what you thought was the greatest love story ever told. While coming back from grocery shopping, you remembered when you backed into the garage door and left your mark on Harry’s first home with a sizable dent. You told Harry about your accident, nervous as hell, while he doubled over in laughter, wondering how anyone could not forget to open the garage door whilst backing in at 25 miles per hour. You get into your garage and you’re attacked by the memory of Harry yelling up into the house that he found the succulent he’d lost, and that it was in the corner of the garage surrounded by boxes you’d been meaning to go through. He came upstairs, sheepishly holding a very much dead cactus. “Those things are so hard to kill, so tha fact that ‘ve managed to do so, quite impressive on my part, dont’cha think love?”

As days turned to weeks and weeks to the following weekends, you felt yourself less and less haunted by memories of what used to be. Going out for a run was starting to be just that, a run, not an escape from a mental prison you and your past love created. Things felt right --

HARRY STYLES SINGLE. CONFIRMED

This. This is why you hated twitter. Four words threatened to pause your progress. I mean, if this were a movie, he would’ve confirmed this weeks ago. And you would’ve been back together and everything would have been perfect. But this isn’t a movie. You logged out of twitter and deleted the app. You never liked it anyway, so why let it suck you back into a place you just crawled out of on your hands and knees? You can’t lie to yourself and say that he didn’t pop into your head late that night while you were surrounded by pillows on all sides. You weren’t sure if you missed him or the feeling of comfort his arms provided. Did you really need someone or were you just being weak. Did you need someone to hold you at night, or did you just want it. Your heart was racing with the possibility of any of this being your fault. You needed to stop. You needed to sleep. So, you turned on a podcast specifically about sleep and forced your mind to be filled with stories about someone else.

Last night threw you off. You had to admit that. It wasn’t the end of the world, wasn’t the end of weeks of progress, but it just made you realize you needed a schedule. Something to stick to that wouldn’t fail you. Wake up. Work out. Shower. Eat. Work. Free. You needed some freedom to breathe and not follow order, but the repetition kept you sane, kept you going. Wake up. Work out. Shower. Eat. Work. Go Out With Friends. Shower Sleep. Wake up. Work out. Shower. Eat. Work. Drinks with The Girls. Sleepover. Sleep. Wake up. Work out. Shower. Eat. Work. Family Game Night. Dinner. Sleep. Wake up. Work out. -- Answer the Doorbell?

Sticky. Sweaty. Gross. Your run felt good at the time, but left you itching for your shower as soon as you stepped inside. Whatever telemarketer or Jevhovah’s Witness that was at your door was about to get a version of you you didn’t even like. You contemplated just letting them ring the doorbell until they got the hint, but the chimes kept ringing through your house, now following by incessant knocking. You wanted to pick up speed so the noise would stop, but another part of you wanted to walk as slow as possible torture whoever was behind the door.

You should’ve peeped. You shouldn’t have just swung the door open thinking it was someone just trying to take your money or your time. You should’ve listened to every muscle in your body screaming no, because it wasn’t just from the workout. It was your body trying to protect you from someone who was trying to steal your heart.

“What the fuck.” The words fell from your mouth before you could even register the whole situation. He looks up, hands shoved in his pockets. That sheepishly smile he usually wore was plastered across his face, only this time the corners of his mouth twitched with nerves.

“Hi, (Y/N).” You laughed. Nothing. Absolutely nothing was funny, but it was almost comical how he thought he could come to your house, as if seeing him didn’t make you sick with emotion. You could almost feel his discomfort, or maybe it was yours, who could say.

“So again, why the fuck are you here?” You could feel your stomach bubbling, like a witch’s cauldron. You felt yourself getting red, hot, angry without any way to control it.

“I have three things to tell you, then I’m gone,” he blurted out quickly. Smart boy. You squinted at him, trying to guess what he would say before he could say it, so you could avoid a conversation all together. He sensed your hesitance. “Just hear it from me, I owe you that much.” Did you catch a whiff of Harry admitting his faults without you prompting him? The words were sickenly sweet to your ears. You moved aside, barley, admittedly finding joy in his large frame squeezing into the small entry you provided him. “Thank you,” he whispered.

He stepped in and looked around, taking in all the changes since he was last there. Your TV was bigger now, funny considering you always said he was the only reason you used your TV. The couch was pushed up against the back wall, instead of angled facing the tv. You moved around the loveseats. His favorite blue and white bean bag chairs were no longer hidden behind the couch. Harry had a bad habit of sitting too close to the tv, so you bought yourselves bean bag chairs, insisting he didn’t sit on the floor. He saw all the cook books he bought you from every country he visited no longer called the coffee table home, instead you had autobiographies of various artists, world leaders, and celebrities surrounding your candles and coffee mugs. His gaze landed on every single detail that changed since he last called this place home, your voice pulling him out of his trance.

“And you waited so long to come here… why?” Your attitude, the one he learned to love so much was oozing out of every word you spoke. He wished you would just drop the act and open up to him, but he also knows he deserves it. He wants to laugh and see the corners of your mouth twitch up into a smile, but he knows he doesn’t deserve that.

“I don’t know. --” he started.

“No, don’t. Don’t do that!” Your hands were up in the air. You were frustrated. The anger was radiating off you in waves, far enough to reach every part of the house. You knew him. You knew he had an answer he was afraid of saying. You turned to him, your eyes pleading with him to just let you hear the truth.

“I didn’t think you saw them, didn’t think you cared,” he mumbled, playing his favorite game: tracing the patterns on the brown, granite countertop while avoiding the impact of his words.

“You didn’t think I would,” you laughed, bitterly, humourlessly, “didn’t think I would see it?” Your voice got lower, and he got scared. Scared because he knew it meant your anger was not dissipating. You didn’t have to name drop the articles. You both knew what you were talking about, the emotion in your voice making that clear.

“I didn’t think you still kept up with me. I didn’t. . .” His voice trailed off. He didn’t know whether or not he should say it, because if he did, it would make everything he’d felt these past few weeks real. And he wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

“Didn’t think what.” You whispered this. To be honest, you were tired. You were tired of just how much you cared, tired of what feeling anything for him did to you. To hate him meant you had to harbor all of this anger and remind yourself of everything he did to piss you off. You had to keep that hatred bottled up inside you, shaking up your feelings every now and then so the feeling never died out. To love him? God. To love him you had to reach inside yourself and pull out the months of sheer adoration; the nights in the sheets; the blood, sweat, and tears that went into your most beautiful relationship yet. Everything and anything you felt for him took pieces of your heart you just wanted back. You wanted to feel again, feel anything that didn’t have to do with him.

“(Y/N)....”

“We have to talk, for real this time.”

#harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles angst #fan fic #harry styles drabble #harry styles drabbles #styles #hs

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aziraphale-rights · 4 years

Text

If there was ever a good place to pick up bad habits – it was Ancient Rome.

When Aziraphale arrived in Rome, he hadn’t actually eaten anything in about a century. No, that’s a fib; he’d eaten a bowl of goat curry on a high-altitude outpost in the Himalayas, and a side of boar bought somewhere in Gaul after narrowly avoiding a discorporation, and he could remember both of those meals with a depth of detail that was truly remarkable. So, not nothing, but not very much, not since he sent in his report about the Caledonian assignment.

The painstaking project of establishing a chosen family as a prosperous local influence was one that had gone rather well, actually, and he’d submitted his lengthy report with the hopeful expectation that Head Office would be pleased with him for once. He couldn’t have been more wrong. Michael was in his room not three hours after the report got sent up.

‘Three meals a day?’ she’d demanded icily, without preamble, holding the document aloft between a rather disdainful forefinger and thumb.

‘Er,’ Aziraphale had answered, recovering the unlit tallow candle he’d dropped on the ground in surprise when she manifested. ‘Yes. The humans really rather – ’

‘And you didn’t think that was disgusting?’ continued Michael, with dangerous calm.

‘Well… no,’ said Aziraphale, painfully aware that this was the wrong answer. Not that he’d known about it before now. He’d fallen into the pattern by accident, mostly, trying not to be too conspicuously inhuman while settling in to spend a decade with a close-knit tribe. Then it had become apparent just how much the pattern humanised him to his marks. So he’d embraced it. ‘Actually, it helped a great deal with the assignment, so I thought I’d include it in the report as a sort of – as a tip. They really listen to you, when you eat with them. The same way they listen to each other.’

Michael still looked calm. It still felt dangerous. She lifted an eyebrow.

‘You’re saying you want us to recommend that other angels do this kind of thing?’

‘Oh. Recommend is rather strong. I only meant it as a, as a, as an observation. In case anyone else might find it helpful. I just thought… well, as the only angel permanently stationed on Earth, I thought – ’

‘You’re the only angel permanently stationed on Earth,’ Michael took over, ‘so it’s inevitable you’ll be forced to do unpleasant things from time to time. For appearances’ sake. But it’s disturbing that you no longer keep degrading behaviour like this to a minimum, Aziraphale.’

‘Oh,’ he said again, nonplussed. ‘I see.’

To tell the truth, he was rather embarrassed at the discovery that he might have been blithely committing misconduct all this time. He wasn’t quite sure whether this policy against eating was new, or if he just hadn’t known about it before now, but it didn’t seem wise to ask Michael, in case it turned out to be the latter. (Come to think of it, there had been quite a number of times recently when his superiors had dropped in on him while he was eating. He’d found this disconcerting, but hadn’t thought the pattern was intentional. Now he wondered if it was a hint, and he missed it. Oh dear.)

Nor did it seem wise to ask whether the policy had really come from the Very Top. That might seem impertinent.

So he asked no questions.

Michael went on:

‘Luckily for you, I’d rather turn a blind eye than write out a reprimand for something so vulgar, but I must remind you informally: the more you stain yourself down here, the harder it will be to clean off.’ For a moment it seemed like this was all she had to say, but then she closed her eyes and adopted a perfectly revolted expression. ‘And, Aziraphale. Whatever you have to do to get by on this job… for the love of God, don’t make me read about it.’

Then she disappeared from his room without a farewell, as if unable to stand the sight of him for another second.

So, Aziraphale stopped eating.

This decision turned out to be less straightforward than he expected. Later on, he would struggle to remember when, exactly, the attempt to eat less had evolved into an outright ban. He just knew that it had proved worryingly difficult.

He’d simply never had to think so much about food before. It had always been a part of the job, of course. Not the most disagreeable part, either. He worked with humans, and their social practices made it inevitable that an affable, human-looking sort would get offered food fairly often, if he was hanging around them enough. If it was expedient, or pleasurable, to say yes – Aziraphale would say yes.

It was after Michael’s visit that he first encountered hunger, a feeling angels are not supposed to know. He’d always been able to go months without eating, during long journeys and famines and floods, and never experienced any discomfort. Now, for the first time, when someone offered him food, he had to remind himself to say no, even when it would have been expedient or pleasurable to accept it. And this made him notice something altogether new. Every time he said it, an unfamiliar something tugged at a spot in the middle of his chest. Not a painful tug, exactly, but there. Sometimes, difficult to ignore.

He observed this change in himself with concern. The more you stain yourself down here, the harder it will be to clean off. He’d never accepted so much food as he did in that little Caledonian village, never allowed his corporation to settle into a rhythm of predictable eating before. Clearly, doing so had left a lasting impression.

And why hadn’t he given it any thought? How had he not realised the other angels would be disgusted by it? He’d eaten so much he’d had to go to the midden every day, like a human, not just to pass water but the other thing – oh, goodness. And he’d told Michael about it. No wonder she had been upset. Aziraphale might as well have sent her a long description of his defecation habits.

When this thought dawned on him he went cold all over, and then he couldn’t seem to get it out of his head. It would come back to distress him several times a day, always at very inconvenient moments, and so intensely that he would draw alarmed looks from nearby humans as he groaned aloud and banged his fists on his forehead.

Not to mention the torture he went through after dark. He’d wasted plenty of nights worrying about his professional missteps, of course, but for some reason this humiliation crawled right under his skin in a way his previous errors had not. Aziraphale would go over and over and over the whole incident in his mind: what Michael must have thought when she read the report, what she must have said to the other archangels, whether they had laughed about him, what they now knew. Worrying about it was futile and painful and childish, and soon he was doing it every night without fail, robbing himself of his usual hours of privacy and peace. Just one more lasting consequence to his thoughtlessness. Along with this new need, this hunger.

Still, lasting didn’t have to mean permanent. He had trained himself into it, so he must be able to train himself out of it again. It wasn’t that he planned to avoid food forever. Only until the problem was fixed. If he fought it for long enough, surely, the hunger would go away.

Aziraphale waited to find out how long this would take. The answer certainly wasn’t ‘a short time’. In fact, the more time went on, the harder that something seemed to tug. Soon it was happening not just when he had to say no, but also when he heard others saying yes, or when he passed a group of humans eating together, or when he thought for too long about food. After a decade or so, the tug had become so insistent that occasionally, when someone started enjoying a meal in his vicinity, he would have to simply walk away, because the sight of it was more than he could stand.

But he didn’t give up on the idea of re-training himself. If anything, he felt more committed. His increasing discomfort only underlined the importance of getting rid of the hunger, and resisting it was relatively easy, if not very enjoyable, during that first century. Aziraphale faced little in the way of temptation, in most of the places he passed through. Head Office kept sending him to dusty little villages and remote backwaters, where people had so little that they couldn’t afford to offer any part of it to guests, and that meant there was more than one good reason to turn it down if they did. He got thinner, and people started trying to give him food more often. He miracled himself to look fuller, so they wouldn’t.

He felt pleased with himself, really. He didn’t know when the tug would go away, if a hundred years wasn’t enough, but now he knew how to ignore it, and that meant he could wait as long as it took, until it did.

And then Aziraphale walked into Rome.

Rome where they had just discovered dining culture, and takeaways, and celebrity chefs. Rome where all his wealthy marks flaunted the fact that they had far more to eat than they needed, where guests were routinely greeted by slaves with platters, where restaurant doors were flung open and street vendors sizzled their wares on the street and the scent of it was everywhere you went, like Gomorrah all over again.

Heaven hated them, these big cities, where they drank and danced and touched and ate. Aziraphale tried not to go into them, because of how much he liked them and how much Heaven hated them, but in the end he got an assignment that meant there was absolutely no avoiding the place that was currently the epicentre of everything, so he walked into Rome.

Aziraphale went almost a clean century without eating anything, and then he walked into Rome, and he could not think about anything except food.

(To be continued...)

#good omens #eating disorder cw #WIP wednesday wahoo #sorry it's such a long extract but that's how i roll #hnergh it makes me nervous to post this #aziraphale is hungry tag

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jasonbehrs · 3 years

Text

i wanna read every word, chapter 2

by airauralintensity (aka me, jasonbehrs!)

“Have you ever fallen in love with someone you’ve never met?” “Uh, do you mean like we’ve-been-doing-long-distance-slash-online-dating or like I’ve-been-crushing-on-the-cute-barista-at-the-library-cafe?” “Ummm, more like I’ve-read-their-poems-and-sure-they’re-very-talented-but-their-handwriting-alone-makes-me-smile.” “… That’s oddly specific.”

fandom: kpop, super junior characters: eunhyuk, ryeowook; guest appearances by the rest of sj-m and yesung ship: eunwook genre: romantic comedy themes: alternate endings, strangers to lovers, handwriting, identity reveal setting: college chapter: 2/4 word count: 5.2k

read it below or on ffnet, aff, wattpad

A/N (6.6.2021): Welcome to the next installment folks! Some clarifying things:

- This is the first of two alternate endings to the story, which answers the question, 'What if Ryeowook finds out first?'

- I got some interesting reviews/PMs about the last chapter? Eunhyuk isn't pining after Yesung or anything, and I didn't mean to indicate that would be an aspect of the story. If you were looking forward to it, I'll be disappointing you today haha. Feel free to let me know how much you hate me in a review ;)

Also, today would have been my grandmother's 102nd birthday, so I'm dedicating this chapter to her since she always loved seeing me write. Love you, Nanay!

~~~

He and Hyukjae haven't hung out alone before, but he's sure this won't be awkward. Their only real link may have just been Yesung, but Hyukjae successfully ingrained himself into their entire friend group in the short weeks since they first met. Besides, even if Hyukjae weren't so willing to help him with his twisted scavenger hunt for love, Ryeowook thinks he'd like to hang out with him some time anyway. He's grown to like Hyukjae, really.

At least, that's what he tells himself when he turns the corner and sees Hyukjae sitting alone on a bench in the quad with his legs crossed, a laptop over one knee and an open notebook on the other, waiting for him to arrive.

Ryeowook takes a breath to steel his nerves then heads over to plop himself right next to the other. He doesn't say anything and takes out his own work instead. They don't have to start with the crush thing.

"Ah, my favourite person under 5'2". How do you do?" Hyukjae snarks without pausing his typing.

In response, Ryeowook uses a single finger to tip Hyukjae's notebook onto the ground without remorse.

"Ya!" Hyukjae picks up his notebook and slaps Ryeowook with it.

On the downswing, Ryeowook freezes.

"Oh shit, did I hit you that hard? Sorry, I didn't mean to," Hyukjae hurriedly apologises, but that's not it at all.

Ryeowook had caught a glimpse of the notes hurriedly scrawled across the open book. He would recognise that handwriting anywhere.

"Why don't we get started then," Hyukjae offers uneasily, eyeing how Ryeowook's stance hadn't relaxed yet. "Um, did you bring a copy of one of the notes like we discussed?"

Of course he did. Ryeowook was so excited to be one step closer to identifying the person behind the song lyrics that took up as much space in his brain as his Food Sciences lecture notes, he had brought the whole ass scrapbook with him, eager to show off his favourites to a new and willing audience.

But now, Ryeowook is panicking. He found the object of his affections much sooner than for which he was ready; and said object is sitting right next to him, staring at him expectantly and eager to help.

Not letting himself think it through, Ryeowook rummages through his bag looking for viable scraps of paper. There is no way he is going to hand Hyukjae's own work to him, so he makes do with what he's got.

He bypasses the lyric samples he actually prepared for today's meeting and found ones of his own making which he had intended to recycle weeks ago but never got around to. He silently thanks himself for this terrible habit as he frantically smooths out the small squares of paper before handing them to Hyukjae.

The other raises his eyebrows as he reads through the papers. "Damn, I was hoping that maybe one of these things had even a little similarity to an assignment we've heard so far, but no dice."

Ryeowook nods, affecting understanding disappointment even as he privately rejoices.

"Do you mind if I keep these? I can, like, surreptitiously check people's notebooks during group assignments," he offers with a laugh. "Pearl blue sticky notes can't be that common in a class of 50, right?''

Ryeowook smiles, wide and fake. "Fingers crossed!"

~Even though we're making awkward conversation, it's clear that we're happy to be together.~

Thus proceeds their search for Poem Person. (The gender-neutral nickname Mi had come up with stuck even after Hyukjae revealed those were not actually poems being left behind. Alliterative nicknames are just so catchy.)

"Okay, what if we tie a balloon to your chair and hope Poem Person likes balloons enough to take it with them around campus?" "No way, they won't take it." "How could you possibly be so sure?"

Sometimes, it's Hyukjae coming up with ridiculous plots.

"Trust me. They curl their lowercase L's." "I'm gonna let this go, but I want you to know that makes zero sense."

Plots which Ryeowook foils with equally ridiculous reasoning.

"''We might have never known each other, but we crossed faraway paths and came together. We crossed the distance of a stranger that's farther away than space.' Huh, not bad." "You think so?"

Sometimes, it's Hyukjae asking to read more of the scraps that Ryeowook collects, partially so Hyukjae can make fun of him, but mostly so that he has more clues.

"Yeah. I mean, it doesn't help me at all, but your man's got a way with words. I wonder why he doesn't submit any of the stuff you've shown me for class. It's worth critiquing."

An ask which forces Ryeowook to wrack his brain for passable imitations of song-lyrics-that-could-be-mistakenly-construed-as-poems and to get used to writing with his nondominant hand.

"Pass. Pass. Pass. Pass." "Really? You're passing on Park Hyungsik?"

Today, neither of them are feeling very motivated, so Hyukjae pulls up the Facebook profiles of his classmates and let Ryeowook play smash or pass because "it's fun to hear strangers' opinions on people you know."

"Oh, absolutely. Does that guy look like he cares where he dots his i's and j's? Hard pass," Ryeowook maintains.

Hyukjae shakes his head in amazement as he pulls back his phone. "You'll meet him one day, and you'll regret this moment; mark my words. Hyungsik is universally loved. Honestly, I'm not convinced yet Poem Person isn't him. He fits basically all of your criteria."

Ryeowook has to actively smother a knowing smirk. "What a shame."

He didn't come clean to Hyukjae in the quad that day because he panicked. Ryeowook was not mentally ready to meet the object of his affections so soon, much more confess, so he acted on impulse to buy himself some time.

Once he had it, he got curious.

It's no secret that Ryeowook had built up an idea of what Poem Person is like. The lyrics provided some insight, of course; but most of his intuition came from the handwriting itself. From what he could see, Poem Person was supposed to be intensely passionate, excitingly impulsive, and almost sickeningly romantic.

"Okay, how about this guy?" Hyukjae asks as he passes his phone over again.

Ryeowook takes one look at the screen and snorts. "Very funny. Pass."

The app is opened to a photo of Hyukjae himself posed unnaturally on a couch wearing a forward-facing snapback perched atop his head and an awkward half-smile, and Ryeowook refuses to look at it any longer before he does something he'll regret, like coo affectionately.

"Pass!?" Hyukjae repeats with mock-incredulity. "Don't you think he looks charming and witty and oh-so-loveable?"

Ryeowook indeed had a lot of thoughts about what Poem Person would look like, and 'charming,' 'witty,' and 'oh-so-loveable' have indeed flitted through his mind. Actually, Ryeowook finds that Hyukjae and Poem Person aren't altogether dissimilar.

Hyukjae is passionate about his craft, to be sure, but it doesn't occupy every one of his waking moments like Ryeowook expected. He is as much of a romantic as the next person is, but really Hyukjae is poetic, a distinction Ryeowook learns and appreciates very early on. Hyukjae is a little too thoughtful to be so impulsive, but his quick wit and ability to do/say/become whatever a situation calls for more than fulfill the quota for chaos that underlay Ryeowook's original supposition.

So yes, Ryeowook is withholding the truth so that he can slot the person he made up in his head into the person Hyukjae is, but it's been worth it.

"He looks like a brat and like his feet smell." "YAH! My shoes don't breathe!" "Get better shoes, then." "Give me the money, then." "Get a job, then." "That's not fair! Helping you find Poem Person is basically my part-time job!" "Consider it more of an unpaid internship."

Before Hyukjae takes his turn to volley back, his phone rings in his hand.

"Ah, as much fun as this was, I gotta go. I have a mini-showcase coming up, and I've been slacking on rehearsals." He shakes his phone towards Ryeowook, and the latter could see an alarm screen that reads "get your dumb ass to the gulliver center!"

Ryeowook's heart beats a noticeable thump thump all of a sudden. "Can I come with?"

"S-sure," Hyukjae says, shocked by the offer. "But why?"

That's a great question. For now, he says, "Because your internship is getting in the way of your studies, and I feel bad," but later, he'll know it's because he didn't want his time with Hyukjae to end so soon.

A grateful grin spreads across Hyukjae's face, and Ryeowook will add that onto his list of reasons later as well. "An audience is always welcome."

In no time, Hyukjae is in a practise room in the athletic center stretching his limbs every which way while Ryeowook watches as intently as possible while feigning interest in literally anything else in the room.

The bass-heavy noise music that Hyukjae puts on startles his attention back onto the dancer, and Ryeowook can no longer hide how blatantly he stares.

Hyukjae moves through the choreography so fluidly it almost looks lazy. He goes from jagged angles and harsh lines to sinewy curves and rolling waves to strong stomps and high jumps with no hesitation. He plays with the rhythm of the music, and he makes full use of the space available to him. Ryeowook is barely processing one impressive move when Hyukjae executes another one; and before he knows it, the performance is over.

"So," Hyukjae pants, "what'd ya think?"

"It's…" Jaw-dropping. Powerful. Hot. "… impressive," Ryeowook says at last.

Hyukjae smiles tightly. "Thanks. It actually needs a bit of work for the showcase, but I don't think the routine is all too shabby."

Ryeowook watches as Hyukjae watches himself through the mirror, redoing parts of the choreography over and over again at different tempos just to fine-tune his movements, and he can't help but feel like Hyukjae needed more from him.

"Um, I wonder if maybe it's lacking emotion?"

All movement halts. "What?"

Ryeowook didn't mean to say that; but now that it's out, he finds himself needing to continue. "You move well, um, obviously," he gestures awkwardly to Hyukjae's person, fighting a blush. "It looks physically difficult, sure, but what is it that you're trying to say? Like, I'm guessing you chose that song, too, right? So, why?"

Hyukjae stands in the middle of the room, arms limp by his side, and staring at Ryeowook with an unnervingly blank look on his face. Ryeowook hastily backpedals, "But hey, what do I know? I'm sure your professors will watch you and see all the nuances I can't with my untrained peon eyes. I was just… talking to talk, I guess."

"No, but I think you have a point," Hyukjae interjects.

Ryeowook perks up. "I do?"

"Yeah, like… I was so focused on trying to show what I can do with something only I could do, but that means basically nothing when any one of my classmates could learn my routine with only a week of practise. The only way I would be able to stand out is from whatever I put into it, but you made me realise I didn't put anything into it." He plops on the floor, eyebrows furrowed in consternation.

Ryeowook shakes his head adamantly. "No, no! There's clearly something there! You just need to, like, bring it out more. You have that whole idea—that this is something only you can do. You can take that, morph your routine into a testament to your need to prove yourself. Start with some trepidation, throw some desperation in the middle, and end with triumph. Honestly, I think I saw a little bit of that in your performance already. Maybe it was an accident, but now, just… do it on purpose."

"'Do it on purpose,'" Hyukjae repeats to himself. His head is down, so Ryeowook can't immediately tell what he thinks of the idea. He's ready to apologise again, even offer to go home so that Hyukjae can concentrate better, but then Hyukjae raises his head. "Alright, let me give that a try."

His eyes are filled with will and determination. Ryeowook, of all people, put those there.

He sits back and watches Hyukjae rehearse his routine over and over again, getting better and more evocative each time.

The Hyukjae before him is not a Hyukjae Ryeowook would have been able to guess based on his handwriting and lyrics alone.

Ryeowook knows basically nothing about dancing; but over the past few weeks, he's really come to know Hyukjae. He's noticed how the other is prone to express himself through movement, like when he accentuates his stories with body language and physical reenactments. It belies a comfort and confidence with his body and what it can do with which Ryeowook could never empathise. It's a subtle thing, but impactful nevertheless.

He smothers it down because he doesn't want to give Hyukjae the wrong idea, but he wants to laugh.

Only he could fall for a dancer's words first before anything else, and only he could fall for the same person twice.

~Where should I start? When should I say it? Darling, our seconds, our minutes together were beautiful.~

"Ryeowook, why haven't you asked to see my handwriting yet?"

"What?"

They had commandeered a study room in the library, but honestly neither of them are making a lot of headway in their respective assignments. Ryeowook didn't want anything to do with Organic Chemistry, but this conversation is making him reconsider his previous stance.

"Isn't that what you're into? Trying to infer people's personalities based on their handwriting?"

"I'm not into it. It just happened."

"Okay, sure, but aren't you, like, good at it now? Read mine! Tell me what it says about me."

Ryeowook, desperate to squash this idea immediately, blurts out. "It… It won't work!"

"Why not?" Hyukjae pouts.

Ryeowook scrambles. "Because I know you already. Yeah. I'll see and interpret things in a way that confirms what I already know."

Hyukjae eyebrows furrow in what Ryeowook can presume is consternation. "Sorry," he offers feebly.

Some more time passes, and Ryeowook makes mild progress on his O-Chem work, before Hyukjae speaks up again. "So if you can't do me, can you do my friend?" he asks with an excited tone that makes Ryeowook wary.

"I do not want to do your friend." You, however…

"NO! I mean: can you interpret my friend's handwriting? Here. He left it at my place last time we studied together."

Hyukjae's smirk radiates smug self-satisfaction, and with one look at the paper, Ryeowook understands why. He actively controls every muscle in his body to prevent the facepalm that's threatening to break loose.

He has to give Hyukjae props, though. If Ryeowook weren't already so intimately acquainted with the handwriting on the page before him, the other's ploy could have worked.

Regardless, he still finds himself in the position he was trying to avoid in the first place.

All the best lies are based in truth, right? "So I can tell your friend has a very high-stress major. The handwriting is cramped and small, like he can't waste a single stroke or else he'll miss something he needs to write down. Ah, see how he doesn't fully cross his t's and dot his i's? He thinks he'll be able to read his own handwriting later. He probably has decent memory or just has a lot of faith in himself."

Hyukjae nods with an impressed frown. "Huh, not bad."

It would be so, so easy to stop there, but Ryeowook can't. He loves Hyukjae's handwriting too much. "And look here," he points excitedly to a cross-out near the center of the page. "He could cross out his mistakes with a single line or a little squiggle, but he completely blocks it out instead. It suggests he has more confidence with the obvious; but really, I think he needs the reminder. Like, 'Yeah, I made a mistake. I'll move on, but I won't let myself forget. That way I don't do it again.'"

A moment later, Ryeowook realises with a jolt that he had been holding and smiling at the scrap paper a little too tenderly. He whips his head up in embarrassment, an explanation-slash-apology at the tip of his tongue, but Hyukjae doesn't seem to notice.

In fact, Hyukjae has been silent the whole time. Ryeowook chuckles awkwardly. "Am I right?"

"Huh?" Hyukjae intones as he's brought out of his reverie. Ryeowook thinks he sees something in his eyes when their gazes meet, but Hyukjae blinks and it's gone. "I'm sorry, what did you ask me?"

"I was wondering if I was right. About your 'friend,'" Ryeowook reminds, air quotes clear in his tone.

Hyukjae shuffles uncomfortably in his seat. "I think you're more right than even he's ready to admit," he says with a hand at the back of his neck and a sardonic quirk of his lips.

The sight causes an unexplainable swell of affection within Ryeowook, and he turns away. "He can take his time," he assures, eyes trained on his textbook even though he can't read a damn thing.

Hyukjae nods his thanks and turns back to his homework, but Ryeowook doesn't feel right letting it end here.

"Hey, wanna give my handwriting a try?"

~You always lift your head to look up at me. I want to take my big hands and cup your small cheeks.~

Next time they're meant to hang out, it's the weekend; and Hyukjae texts him to meet him at Bomnal.

"Both of us were here just two days ago, and we have to be here again in two days. Don't we spend enough time in Bomnal as it is?" Ryeowook complains as soon as he enters the atrium of the academic building.

"Think of it like a field trip. Come on, Wook," Hyukjae says as he leads them to the second floor lecture hall.

"Pretty sure field trips are meant to take us out of the classroom, but sure, whatever," Ryeowook grumbles as he follows along.

He's testy. He knows it, but he can't help it.

This is the first time both of them will be in Bomnal 235 at once. It feels like a turning point, like he's going to learn something today whether he wants to or not. He wonders if Hyukjae feels the same sense of impending that he does, or maybe it's just worse for him because he's in love.

As soon as they open the doors, the automatic lights flick on and douse the room with a very awake yellow.

"So… where do you normally sit?" Hyukjae asks as he motions to the empty seats before them.

Ryeowook freezes. Now that it's upon him, he can definitively identify this as the thing he was anxious about.

What if he tells the truth, Hyukjae realises Poem Person is him, and he feels awkward about it? Their comfortable but still-very-new friendship would evaporate on the spot, and Ryeowook won't have him in any capacity, much more a romantic one.

So, in another impeccable display of judgement, he decides to lie again.

"Oh, you know… I change it up," he mildly comments as he moves to somewhere near the middle of the first row. He sits down and gives an unassuming grin to his friend, who makes a face. "You're one of those people? Haven't you heard of the same seats code of conduct? You fed me some crap about curling L's when really it's your fault the balloon trick wouldn't have worked," Hyukjae jokes in that way where he's completely serious but is phrasing it with humour.

Ryeowook feels a genuine, fond grin spread across his face before he can help it, and he quickly ducks his head. "Why are we here, again?" he asks instead of dwelling on the validating comfort of being known.

"Why not?" Hyukjae asks as he moves to sit down. "This is the place it all began, right? Might as well."

Ryeowook, for his part, only stares.

Hyukjae went up to a seat in the rear right quadrant of the lecture hall. Ryeowok's own, real seat is directly in front of where the other is sitting. That can't be a coincidence.

"Um, I'm guessing that's where you sit?" he asks as casually as possible.

"Huh? Oh! Haha, yeah. It's funny, I didn't even think of sitting anywhere else. My feet just automatically guided me here."

"So funny," Ryeowook squeaks out.

"Yeah, my friend in the class actually used to sit with me, but it became very apparent very quickly that we would never get anything done if we did, so he moved down there." Hyukjae points with his foot to Ryeowook's seat, and Ryeowook's breath hitches in his throat. "Sometimes when I'm bored, I just can't help but throw stuff onto his desk just to annoy him." Hyukjae mimes a free throw shot towards the desk and smiles.

Well, if there were any doubt before in Ryeowook's mind that Hyukjae was Poem Person, it has summarily been erased.

Ryeowook hums but says nothing else, letting a companionable silence stretch between them as he acknowledges the warmth that settles into his chest when he confirms with himself that yes, he is glad that Hyukjae is Poem Person.

"Why are you helping me?" he asks, curious and without judgement. The abrupt question startles the other out of whatever reverie he had settled into during their respite, but Hyukjae bounces back quickly, as he always does.

"You know, I had to figure that answer out myself," Hyukjae answers with a laugh. He leans back in his chair with his hands folded behind his head, staring out at the empty lecture hall. "I told you I would at first because it was obvious that I was the only one in a position to actually help. It wasn't even an option in my mind that I wouldn't… But even after my sense of obligation ran out, I wanted to keep going.

"You're cool, Ryeowook. You're fun to be around, you're sassy, you're down to try anything once. You're totally comfortable being yourself, and your 'self' is crazy. Like, who else trusts in their gut enough that this person you're chasing after is worth the effort? Who else would go to the lengths to which you're willing to go just to meet him? Honestly, I think that's pretty awesome. I don't know if I could have that same confidence you do."

He tilts his head towards Ryeowook then and gives a close-lipped, self-convinced smile. "If anyone's gonna find love based on a few scraps of paper and a dream, it's gonna be you."

Ryeowook nods mutely. He hopes the distance between them is enough to disguise the blush on his cheeks.

Hyukjae faces forward again. "If I think about it, I guess I'm being selfish, too. I want to believe a love like that is possible; and if I help you find him, I'll get to see it happen for myself… I really hope this guy is worth it, Ryeowook. I think it would break my heart as much as yours if he weren't."

He is, though. He's so worth it. "Me too."

~Longing is a beautiful pain I thought I could endure.~

Ryeowook walks out of the campus mail room, and life couldn't get better.

He just picked up a care package his mom sent him; he got a 94 on his last Nutrition Essentials quiz; and Hyukjae loves the new low-fat, protein-enhanced strawberry scones recipe he tried out yesterday.

Speaking of whom, he thinks this whole Poem Person plot is going to wrap up soon. The last time they must have actually worked on a strategy to find out who Poem Person was, like, two weeks ago at least; and Ryeowook's glad he can stop pretending he has any interest anymore.

Their friendship has wholly evolved beyond the point of needing a project to work on in order to spend time with each other anyway. Why pine after a fictitious man when he has a whole Hyukjae right there, who buys him coffee lattes simply because he's Hyukjae's dongsaeng and who helps him study for his quizzes even when Hyukjae himself is stressed.

Ryeowook tells himself that with some more time, the whole mystery will just fade into an inside joke between the two of them, a white whale they can reminisce about when they're sipping soju and reminiscing… preferably cuddled on a couch and with his head on Hyukaje's shoulder.

However, his friend group did not get the memo.

"So, uh. What happened to Poem Person?" Henry asks one weekend while everyone is at Ryeo-Mi's apartment.

"Shut up!" Kyuhyun admonishes with a slap to the back of Henry's head. "Ryeowook hasn't annoyed us with that in weeks. Aren't you grateful?!"

"I actually am very curious about what happened there. Weren't you and Hyukjae supposed to find him together?" Yesung asks.

"The gen—" "Maybe I'm manifesting, Mi! Ever think of that?"

Ryeowook cuts in before Mi's feelings get even more hurt. "Yeah, we were, but honestly I've kinda given up on the whole thing."

He expects some shock, but he couldn't have predicted who would be the most affected. "You're just gonna give up on finding love!?" Mi despairs.

"Actually, the potential for a romantic relationship was never confirmed," Henry quips. Yesung gives Henry a high-five.

"It was just a little crush," Ryeowook defends. "I've moved past it, as I was bound to do eventually." He says this last part to Kyuhyun, who he knows was the most annoyed with his actions back then.

"'Eventually' doesn't end in time for finals week, Wook," Kyuhyun retorts.

"Well, now you never have to worry about it, Hyun."

"Is love dead?" Mi desponds aloud, but no one pays him any mind.

Ryeowook pats his roommate's shoulders in a half-hearted attempt at consolation. If Mi turns out to be the only casualty in this whole ordeal, Ryeowook will count this as a win.

What he doesn't count on is the fact that Hyukjae would invariably hear about it.

"Is it true?" Hyukjae corners him after Ryeowook picks up his order from the on-campus cafe.

"You know, I don't think so. I think she's just Henry's accompanist for rehearsals," Ryeowook responds genuinely, certain that the latest gossip about Henry's potentially secret girlfriend is what Hyukjae must have been referring to.

"What? No!" Hyukjae stops in confusion but stomps after Ryeowook once he gets his bearings back. "No, I heard that you gave up on finding him, that you gave up a while ago. Is it true?"

Ryeowook hesitates to sit down at the open table he found, and Hyukjae's entire posture seizes in betrayal. "Alright, got it," Hyukjae says with an edge to his tone. "Do me a favour, yeah? Never talk to me ever again."

"Wait!" Ryeowook calls once Hyukjae turns on his heel and storms off. "Hyukjae, wait!" He pays no mind to the fact that he's abandoning his belongings as he chases Hyukjae outside. "I get that you're angry, but don't you think this is a little much?"

He reaches out for Hyukjae's upper arm, but the other immediately shrugs it off. Ryeowook flinches and retreats slightly. Despite the other's obvious fury, Hyukjae is stopped in place and seems willing to actually talk to him, and Ryeowook holds onto that hope instead.

"No, actually," Hyukjae sneers. "I think this is the perfect amount of much when you find out your best friend has been wasting your time for who knows how long!"

Of all the things Hyukjae could have said in that moment, Ryeowook didn't expect that reaction at all. It stings more than he expects, cuts through his defensiveness; and despite his position in the situation, he can't help but need comfort. "What do you mean?" he asks in a confused, desperate voice.

"What do I mean?" Hyukjae repeats exasperatedly. "Ryeowook, we spent weeks together trying to figure out how to get you your dream guy! We never even got anywhere, and, and… And it's all because of you! You shot down basically every one of my ideas practically from the beginning, even after I told you how much it would personally mean to me. That is, like, the textbook definition of a waste of time!"

"You weren't having fun?"

"What?" Hyukjae demands incredulously.

"All that time we spent together," Ryeowook clarifies as he steadfastly meets Hyukjae's angry gaze. "You didn't have fun?"

Hyukjae is silent, and his body posture screams obstinate defiance, but his eyes remain trained on Ryeowook.

"You didn't come to look forward to spending time with me? You didn't spend your free time thinking of ways to make me laugh?"

Hyukjae rolls his eyes. "So what? What does any of that mean when you were just stringing me along? You… you weren't even using me!?" he exclaims, voice rising in a hysterical question. "That was literally the whole basis of our friendship, and you couldn't even do that? Like, what could you have possibly gained from lying to my face like that for all this time?"

Ryeowook gives a watery smile at the non-answer and looks down at his fingers fidgeting together. "I did, too," he says in a voice so quiet it was like he intended to keep that to himself.

It's silent for a long time after that admission. Hyukjae's lividness has dissipated, and he is only left with a disappointment so painful he doesn't want to dwell on it any further. He moves to leave Ryeowook alone outside of the cafe, but Ryeowook's voice stops him.

"W-What did you say?" Hyukjae asks with apprehension.

Ryeowook ignores the tears falling from his eyes as he repeats himself. "I'm in a rush to catch you, but you're in a hurry to leave. Should I just surrender? Now we're like an old and worn notebook filled with scribbles."

Hyukjae simply stares, and Ryeowook takes that as his cue to keep going. "Take your beautiful smile with you. Don't leave it here. You saw me with tears in my eyes."

By heart,

"I was a selfish man, but my life is divided into before and after I knew you."

Ryeowook recites lyric,

"When I first saw you, it felt like a miracle."

after lyric,

"I'm thinking of you more today. I wonder how tomorrow morning will be. Will I miss you more than I do today?"

after lyric;

"I'm honest because I don't know lies before love."

and before he knows it,

"I'd place my feelings on the thawing snow. I'd hang my wish on a disappearing star, but only if you ask me to."

Hyukjae is within arm's reach.

"It's me?" Hyukjae whispers into the scant centimetres between them. "It's really me?" he asks again when Ryeowook had simply nodded.

Ryeowook can't even help it when he recites, "Even when you ask me again, for me, it's only you." with a breathy laugh as he shyly looks away.

Hyukjae moves to gently hold Ryeowook's hand. "And you're okay with that?"

Ryeowook wants to laugh and melt and cry and run away, but instead he settles for an earnest nod and a hesitant smile. "Are you?"

Hyukjae answers him with a kiss, and it feels like a dazzling melody.

~Together, we can make all our unfulfilled dreams come true.~

#super junior #super junior fanfiction #eunwook #eunhyuk #ryeowook #jaso*#iwrew

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eltanin-malfoy · 5 years

Text

THE QUIET

based on the song by Troye Sivan

pairing : draco/veryintroverted(quiet)!y/n (gender neutral :))

word count : 7.7k (i genuinely have never written anything as long as this)

warning(s) : abuse/self-harm/torture/trauma/depression/ptsd mention, fluff, angst, slight smut

requested : nope! (i am going to have a request from a while ago up soon so watch out!)

a/n : lots of pan-top! draco vibes. also based somewhat on this song by our boy tom. i conceptualised this quite a while back after sorta getting my own heart broke, so it’s kinda.. um.. sad. screw men! lol. not to mention, this is my 1st attempt at writing in 2nd person, so i hope it isn’t total crap.

taglist : @acciodracoo @drawlfoy @war-sword @socontagiousimagines

Silence is something Draco used to hate. With every fibre of his being.

When he was seven and sitting at the dining table, picking through his greens with his fork, his mother not letting him get up till he was done, everything was quiet. Forcibly so. His father thought that his chatting only got in the way of him finishing his spinach.

He’d overheard his parents talking about him when he’d sneaked out of his room late one night, to get his toy broomstick out of his father’s study after he’d confiscated it. (“You can’t be mucking about outside all day, Draco.”) He’d hidden behind his father’s desk, fingers wrapped tightly around the wood of the broomstick, while his parents had walked in, Lucius’ voice practically booming.

“Draco’s taken after me quite a bit. You’re right.”

“He definitely has.. Like everybody says, his fa-”

“No, not just that.. His behaviour. Just what I used to do.” “You haven’t told me about that.”

“He’s smart, isn’t he? He can babble on about anything and everything at dinner and you gush over him, and he realises it.” “Are you just pointing tha-”

“No, dear. I mean, he realises it. He hates eating his greens, you know that. He tips them into his pocket while you fawn over him when he speaks.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. I glared at him when I noticed it myself and put a stop to it this evening.”

“Wow.. he’s only seven and-” “He’s smart. At least we know he’ll be a Slytherin.”

Draco’s eyebrows had raised considerably since this conversation had started. He poked his head out the side of the drawers lining the side of the desk and couldn’t miss the smile lining his mother’s lips.

“At least we know he’ll be a Slytherin. I’ll just have to keep him quiet, I suppose.” She agreed, giggling as his father picked out a novel from the bookcase by the door. “So, this is the Waffling novel you so worship? Doesn’t look like much.” She took it from him and checked out the cover, turning towards the door. “Narcissa.. “ His father’s voice muttered off in a slow drawl as the two exited the room.

Draco clutched the broom closer to his chest and felt his heart racing, a smirk soon forming on his face as he realised he’d gotten away with what he so desired. He slowly crept out from his hiding place, carrying the broomstick with both hands now. He waddled over to the door, conscious of his movements as he tried his best not to make a single sound.

Tiptoeing on his tiny toes, he managed to get out of the study. The weight of his parents words suddenly hit him. For the first time in his life, he’d understood… his parents did in fact, notice the things he did. Little mischiefs here and there to somehow cajole an extra sweet or two from his mother. Their line of sight didn’t extend simply to his bad posture or hyperactivity.

Not only that, they’d figured out exactly how to combat his actions. Drat! It was such a clever idea.. how did he manage to see through it? Or, maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as slick as he would like to admit. Either way, he’d seemed to have gotten his broom out just fine, so maybe they weren’t that aware of everything he did. Right?

Wrong. It wasn’t long after he’d gone up the staircase towards his bedroom that he felt a hand press flat onto the top of his head. He flinched at first and then looked up, squinting slightly.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” His father’s voice came out in a whisper, while his features still seemed high strung, even in the dark. Draco simply stared up at him silently and handed over his broom. “Now, you’re not getting this back. Not for another month.”

Draco pursed his lips and trudged silently up to his room. “And I’m not going to keep it where you found it either. You won’t be able to search for it yourself.” Draco felt the slightest bit of rage pulsing through his temple but kept his gaze on the floor, knowing even a cruel glance back at his father would only earn him an even longer punishment. He felt the need to retort and felt his lips moving before he could stop them.

“I’ll find it, alright. Like you could hide it from me.”

Draco felt his father jabbing the tip of his broomstick into the back of his hip and winced, quickly reaching back to grip at where his father had poked him, where there was sure to be a purply red bruise the next day. It wasn’t even like he’d never been put in his place much as a child, but this one time.. just..

“Silence is golden, Draco.”

His hip wasn’t the only thing that was bruised that night. His lovely, large ego hurt too.

And since then, for some stubborn reason, Draco knew he wouldn’t be able to stand it being silent. Not when he knew he wasn’t alone. Not around anyone else. Being silent only meant submission. Giving into something he didn’t want to be.

Submission was weakness. His father had told him that himself. Giving up wasn’t something Malfoys did, and submission was practically the same thing. But apparently, the same didn’t hold for however his father wanted him to behave around him. Even then, Draco knew submitting to another’s will only meant the loss of his own intent. Submission meant vulnerability, and being silent, listening to what someone else wanted to say rather than his own will, meant he was giving himself up instead of getting what he wanted for himself.

And so, he began to treat it as practically his own responsibility to always keep conversations going. Sure, he’d want his peace and quiet now and then (his friends’ constant bumbling around did grow annoying after a point), but he felt that the only way he could truly enjoy silence was in absolute solitude. Pursuing his own interests, reading a book or listening to a song..

If anyone was nearby, he couldn’t really stop himself from saying something to them, whether it be rude or not. He always had a word to put in. He found that while what he said didn’t always reflect what he truly felt, it made people recognise him. Know who he was. Even if it was for the wrong reasons, he found that he liked it. Popularity (or even notoriety) felt good on him. Or at least it felt great for his ego.

Being heard meant being in charge, at least in his perspective. He realised that facing situations head on, that confrontation was the best strategy for him. Even if it didn’t always end up in the best way for him, he never had many regrets. Most of the time.

Even at Hogwarts, his confrontational manner had earned him some sort of following, at least in his own house. Sure, it was also the same manner that had made Potter his rival, but hey, if Potter didn’t know what a great offer he’d just declined, it wasn’t his fault. He could go hang out with Weasley as much as he liked, it wasn’t like it was Draco who really even wanted to be friends with him. Like, at all. He was just doing what he thought he should be doing, dutifully. After all, if he, the Malfoy heir, didn’t attempt to befriend The Boy Who Lived, would he even be a true Malfoy?

But what truly validated him, more than anything else, was knowing that.. people were interested in him. Not that they treated as some sort of queer phenomenon, but that they.. romantically liked him. Sure, it did sound plenty pathetic, feeling great about himself thanks to someone else fancying him, it shouldn’t matter as much to him, should it? But then again, he loved attention. Especially that sort of attention.

And there was Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Nott and Padma Patil and Wayne Hopkins and.. well.. there was a fair share of people Draco definitely wouldn’t mind a love note from. But even then, so far only one of them seemed to actually feel the same way about him. And after spending enough time around her, it was clear she felt even more intensely about their relationship than he did. And so, he ended it, because while he did love getting fawned over, even he had his limits. His type wasn’t.. people who were clingy, so to say.

The one main similarity he noticed between all those that he developed some sort of attraction for was that they were all outgoing. Not necessarily assertive, some of them even came off as unpleasant at times, but they seemed at least interested in getting their word across, some way or the other.

Of course, there are always, always exceptions to rules. Draco couldn’t even understand why he felt the way he did about you. It certainly wasn’t immediate, as far as he could tell. It was incredibly gradual. For sure. He wasn’t impulsive. Not at all.

He didn’t even really see you at first, per se. You were apparently in the same year but managed to avoid his glance for the entirety of your first four years. It was only really in Draco’s fifth year that he even noticed your existence, frankly.

The very first time was during the later hours of the day, after dinner one evening in September. He’d realised his first OWL practice essay for Transfiguration (homework McGonagall had assigned in the second week of school, Merlin) wasn’t up to the mark. He’d scanned through Pansy’s when she’d left her materials in the common room while she headed to the washroom and was not pleased with her seemingly improving essay writing skills. He certainly wasn’t going to let her do better than him. Not when he knew a victory like that would go straight to her head and make her stop basically kissing the ground beneath his feet, even though they’d been apart for quite a while now.

He’d gone off to the library by himself in an attempt to rework it. Roping in another student to do it for him would have definitely done the job as well, but for some reason, a churning feeling in his gut told him this was something he needed to deal with himself. Maybe there was something special about Vanishing spells..? Maybe this was the year he’d impress everyone and get straight O’s for each of his assignments. And of course, his actual OWL’s, O’s on all of those too. Maybe he’d even do better than that mudbl-

And suddenly, the usually-very-regal-in-his-gait Draco Malfoy fell to the floor, face first. He felt an uncomfortable flaring up on his nose and grimaced. His book bag fell to his side, and he heard his ink bottle crack open.

He got back onto his feet as quickly as he could and picked up his bag, narrowing his grey eyes as he watched a dark stain forming on the side of it. Merlin. His father had only bought it for him that summer. Shit. He quickly looked to see what had caused him to fall on his face, frowning terribly. But he definitely wasn’t expecting what he saw. He was figuring some overexcited Gryffindor first year had bumped into him and pushed him over but.. no..

It was you. You. Someone close to his own age, looking up at him with nervous, nervous eyes, anxiously darting all over his figure and his bag. “I’m sorry.” You managed out, reaching into the pocket on the side of your robes. You did seem familiar. He recognised you somewhat. Sort of, at least. You couldn’t possibly be trying to get on his nerves on purpose. Not with the finicky way you were picking through your coin purse.

“I”m sorry. I.. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Well, you should have.”

“R-right.” You paused and stared up at his face, avoiding his piercing gaze. “How much d-”

“You don’t need to pay for this. Just leave.” Draco uttered before he could even process his own thoughts.

“But I do.”

“No, i-it’s fine. I can handle it. Don't need you.” Why was he being generous? With this stranger?

“Your parchment..? And your b-books? They must be ruined too.”

“I know how to deal with them.”

“Oh.. oh. If you-you say so. I’m sorry. I can-”

“It’s alright. You don't need to bother.”

You offered him an awkward sort of smile and nodded before turning to leave. Draco blinked slowly and took a deep breath, holding the bag up a bit higher. He reached for his wand and did what little he could to deal with the mess. It was almost hopeless to begin with. And he couldn’t exactly understand why he was suddenly all jittery. Why his stomach suddenly felt like it was full of butterflies.

It really was hopeless. To begin with.

You were so not his type! Sure, there were no real physical aspects to tie into ‘his type’, but goddamn it! He now realised you’d been in his year all this while and he hadn’t thought of you once. Not once. You’d stay huddled up within your tiny group of friends most of the time. You’d shy out of uttering a word in class to anyone but those sitting right next to you, and the couple of times he’d heard your voice was when a teacher directly questioned you. Oh, dear god. He shouldn’t even care. If he actually had forced someone else to polish his essay for him, this problem would never even have manifested in the first place. He found himself wasting time, so much time, just pondering over you. Wondering over dumb, idiotic things. Time he could’ve spent studying for his OWL’s, practicing Quidditch, trying to butter up Umbridge… he was staring out the window by his bed, looking at the Black Lake, thinking about the color of your eyes.

Even during lessons, he’d find himself staring at you while you remained mostly unaware. Mostly, since at random moments you would peer back at him in fear. Why were you so goddamn afraid of him? What had he even done for you to think of him as such? Sure, he was intimidating, but he’d been nice to you. Right?

And before he knew it, he was pulling you to the side of the hallway after a particularly tricky Charms practical when he thought you seemed relatively.. alone. You looked up at him, again nervous, nibbling at your lip.

“D-do you want me to pay up now?”

“What? No.” Draco didn’t even understand why his heart was hammering out of his chest.

“Are you going to take me up to Umbridge?”

“No!” You were far from intimidating. Adorably rattled, if he were to be honest.

“Then? C-could I go?”

Oh god, what happened to his normal headstrong sort of preference in people? You and Draco were seriously total opposites.

But then again, opposites do attract, as a wise man once said (or at least Draco thought so).

“No. I.. was.. um.. we have a Hogsmeade weekend next week.”

“Yes..?”

“And I wanted to know if.. if you wanted to go with me.”

“W-”

“Just.. nothing more than that. We can just go there. As friends.”

“I don’t kn-”

“Please?”

“I.. I’ll have to think about it.”

“Alright.”

The shaky way in which he was gripping your wrist suddenly came to his attention and he drew his hand back. “L-let me know.” He muttered, watching as you slowly turned and walked away.

It was truly abnormal for him to be acting so.. unhinged. On edge, even. Really. This was all so pathetic. He was all worked up simply due to a crush. So very pathetic.

He spent the rest of the day walking around idly between classes, with Crabbe and Goyle following after him. They’d caught on to some extent, it seemed. And it deeply annoyed Draco that he wasn’t the one initiating a conversation for once. His nerves were much too on fire for him to even consider saying a word.

Unfortunately, Pansy noticed him being uncharacteristically calm as well. And what was even more unfortunate was that the Head Boy and Girl had made it such that the two Slytherin fifth year prefects had to do their rounds of the dungeons together that very night. Jesus. Christ.

Not only was his gut still seconds from turning in on itself, but he also had to face a girl who was as nosy as she definitely didn’t need to be.

“So… is everything alright?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? Pott-”

“Nothing to do with him.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Then what’s got your tongue?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Is there-”

“It’s nothing.” He responded somewhat harshly, hoping to force her silent.

But alas! Pansy wasn’t the sort to relent. She managed to nag and tug at his strings long and hard enough for him to actually snap at her. Thankfully then, she decided to stop sticking her nose into where it didn’t belong and fell silent herself. Oh, thank god. He didn’t want to have to give her the silent treatment himself, goodness knows how much his head would have hurt after that.

Even after his rounds were complete and all his work for the following day was complete, Draco found his stomach swirling with anxiety. It had been hours, hours, since he’d spoken to you. How long could it take for someone to come to a decision to something as simple as what he’d posed to you? Not to mention, there were an infinite number of ways for you to contact him. He had a lot of friends (all of whom definitely weren’t that intimidating and for the most part could easily be manipulated) who could pass on messages to him.

What did you quiet types even think of yourself? That you could keep everyone waiting and hope that they all just chalk it up to you being too goddamn demure? Annoying. You weren’t allowed to make his heart flutter by a simple glance. And with the way all your past encounters had gone, it seemed as if you weren’t going to give him much more than that. Gosh.

He was sitting by himself on his bed, legs crossed while he tried to somehow focus on his DADA textbook. Slinkhard could make even Common Defensive Theories and their Derivation sound plaintive. No matter how much he pretended to enjoy Umbridge’s presence, he had no idea how he was going to act like this textbook was actually usable.

As he found himself reading over the first few lines of the chapter for the seventh time, Nott burst into the dormitory holding up.. something. A piece of folded up parchment, perhaps.

“Y/L/N handed this to me. Just now. By the dungeons.”

“Thanks.” Draco took it from him, his hand trembling in excitement. Finally, finally, finally!

But then he paused. Nott must have read the message already. He wasn’t actually purehearted enough to simply hand over a message as asked. He ran his thumb over the parchment.

“Have you.. looked at it?”

“What? No. It’s private.”

“Don’t give me that.. you have, haven’t you?”

Draco suddenly wished he wasn’t in his silky pyjamas so he could use his prefect badge as a threat. What could you have possibly offered him for him to do this for you? He watched as his cheeks slowly turned crimson.

“No. Haven’t. Couldn’t. It… couldn’t open it.”

Draco raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips, nodding. Huh. He attempted to unfold it himself and found that it was in fact impossible. Theo was still staring at him, and Draco found that for once, he wasn’t enjoying the attention much. He sneered at him enough to get his message across and walked back to his bed, drawing up the hangings so he could continue with his efforts without any prying eyes around.

Physical efforts proved to be worthless and he found himself extremely confused. Could you have sent him a message just to tide him over for a bit? Give him some sort of hope but actually mean to just annoy him. Maybe you were more annoying than he’d given you credit for.

But then again, he had yet to put any sort of wizarding skill to the test. He brought his wand out from under his pillow and tapped the note.. and somehow.. it opened up! He honestly shouldn’t have been as astonished as he was, sealant charms weren’t new to him.

Draco,

I accept your offer. Let’s meet in the courtyard at ten o’clock on that Saturday morning.

See you,

Y/N.

And that was all it said. And for some reason, Draco couldn’t stop smiling.

You’d accepted his offer! Oh, yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! He wanted to jump around and sing and dance and just tell everybody. But maybe it would do him better just to go to sleep. It was quite late.. and well… he was tired. The unusual bout of anxiety he’d faced through the day had only made him weary.

Within the next few days, most everyone he knew, at least in his year, seemed to have gotten wind of him having received a secret message from Y/L/N, courtesy of Nott, of course. Gods, he should really have Crabbe and Goyle just let loose on him. Then maybe he’d learned his own place. Never mind, his face was still much too appealing to even imagining disfiguring as such. Maybe some other time.

Pansy didn’t hesitate to ask him, even tease him about it. He’d obviously offered no comment. It was obvious that her and her band of girls had already gossiped quite a bit about it, and he could only hope you weren’t being disturbed.

Surprisingly, you bothered giving Draco an actual smile a couple days later. A few times, in fact. It made him feel a lot giddier than he would have cared to admit.

Your actual ‘meeting’ with Draco turned out to be a lot more.. pleasant than he’d originally anticipated. While it was true that you weren’t one to talk much, you were a real pleasure to have around. You certainly weren’t the type to talk his ear off, and he found that he enjoyed that, for once.

Going to the Three Broomsticks hadn’t resulted in a prolonged awkward silence, as Draco had been expecting, but more of a.. blushy exchange of smiles. Sweet ones. It was totally new to him, what with always being surrounded by his Slytherin cronies meaning hours and hours of pointless banter. It wasn’t absolutely silent either. There were the greetings, exchanges of pleasantries and everything along those lines. Not much more, since, you know, you were.. shy. And it was adorable. Perhaps coyness wasn’t as annoying as he thought.

You’d even held his hand for a bit on the way back, and he’d loved it. (Obviously, he’d never tell a soul that.)

As the browned autumn leaves fell to the ground and left the trees bare, whatever it was between the two of you blossomed into something more. Exchanging letters later into the night (+hiding outside of the dungeons to even receive them) even stolen kisses when Draco knew you wouldn’t expect them (causing you to blush, which he so adored. Which was.. top secret, as well), became more commonplace. He grew accustomed to the frigid breeze that would blow around the courtyard onto his hands, he passed his own thick gloves to you while you walked, of course.

For once in his life, Draco understood that silence didn’t always have to mean subservience. Silence was tranquility. Silence was a symbol for.. intimacy. Sometimes the times when the two of you exchanged no words were the most meaningful of all. Sometimes holding each other close was all it took to calm him down, even after the wildest of days.

Feeling vulnerable didn’t have to mean you were shooting yourself in the foot. Draco now learnt what trust truly meant. Perhaps distance wasn’t the ideal, in actuality. Perhaps being superior wasn’t what he always needed to chase. Perhaps it was simply compatibility.

It felt nice to have you beside him. Or at least.. following nearby. All of his own friends had caught on to what was going on quite easily, and thankfully, Draco had gotten it across to them that there would be real hell to pay for teasing either of the two of you about it. He knew there had to be gossip. Hell, he could imagine some of it himself. But he knew how to pretend he didn’t care. Pansy’s jealousy had only grown, but Draco couldn’t find it in him to give it much thought.

One of his favourite instances was the one time he managed to sneak the two of you out to the Black Lake. It had taken some convincing and quite a lot of sneaking out here and then, but thankfully, Draco wasn’t one to shy away from using his prefect badge to further himself. He got out of his nightly rounds with Pansy and forced Macmillan to take them up instead. You didn’t like that very much but.. hey, Draco wanted to spend time with his significant other, doing.. important things.

Losing it (his.. virginity, shhh) was something he’d anticipated for much of his adolescent life. And he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t desired it, very very badly at that. (He was a teenager, wasn’t he? If he wasn’t allowed to be hormonal, who was?) The Black Lake was isolated in the dark of night, and a few Lumos Maxima’s did enough to offer some sort of romantic lighting. Setting out a makeshift mattress was hard enough, but he was ultimately just satisfied with the fact that you’d even agreed to it in the first place.

A lot of hand holding, quiet compliments, uncontrollable blushing and petting later, he’d managed to fit himself inside you. The slight tears in your eyes had made him feel like stopping it all right there, but you’d assured him it was all okay with a slight squeeze to his hand. Locking eyes with you had made him want to just… give in right then. He’d have thought the silence would have been awkward (and maybe it was, a tiny bit), but it felt ethereal to just be there.. to feel infatuated. To make love.

The only thing that had really bothered Draco was that your silence seemed to continue into then. Light gasps were all he could seem to coax out of your mouth, even at the tugging of tongue with teeth. He couldn’t tell if he was doing something wrong, or if it was just you. He held you close to his chest long after, grey eyes trailing over you with some degree of perplexity.

It had been very cold outside and you’d practically snuggled into him while you walked back, leaning back onto him while he tried to fit you into his coat. You couldn’t seem to get close enough to him, it seemed. He wanted to just carry you around wherever he went. Keep you on his lap and cuddle you.

And that was when he realised he loved you. And his lips felt oddly loose and he leaned down to whisper it into your ear.

And you said it back.

If only..

If only good things didn’t come to an end.

The Inquisitorial Squad was a beginning. A new start for the spring. But an end to his own free time. What he didn’t take seriously at first turned into an ordeal he was forced to take charge of. Responsibility, the word just didn’t roll off his tongue as easy.

Sure, he was allowed to take his liberty with practically every single decision he had to make. He didn’t have to give any kind of mercy to the people he took points from, and he didn’t plan on it. But it only seemed to force cracks into the foundation of your relationship.

The silence was slowly beginning to fade.

You weren’t enjoying the antics he’d begun to pull. Sure, his teasing was something that annoyed you to begin with, but now that bullying was backed by an official contract.. even watching Draco do his ‘prefectural duty’ and put the students in their place seemed to leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Draco.. I.. I just.. I don’t like it.”

“I have to do what I have to do.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t have to go around.. Being so awful.”

“I didn’t ask for you to approve of it.”

“Draco.”

“What?” He took a deep breath and looked up from the book in front of him to see you looking back at him, face more stern than usual. “Take me seriously.”

“I-.. I don’t see why this should matter. I’m not..”

“You’re being ridiculous. It’s horrid, you know that.”

“This doesn’t.. “ He huffed. “I’m not doing anything to you. This has nothing to do with you. Keep out of it.”

You got up all of a sudden, making him raise an eyebrow. You hurriedly started putting everything away, silent again.

“W-what? What is it now?”

“Maybe you wouldn’t be sporting a black eye if you didn’t go around on such a high horse all the time. I care about you, Draco. I’m only saying this because I do.”

You left soon after, leaving Draco in your wake, unsure of how to proceed. Your words only seemed to grow harsh when Draco was at his weakest. It wasn’t his fault Potter and the Weasleys were so goddamn sensitive, he thought.

As spring melted into summer, everything only seemed to grow colder.

His OWL’s were just as challenging as he’d anticipated them being but he hoped he hadn’t done too badly. The time he’d previously spent studying was filled with him trying to look for where Potter’s secret youth corps was hiding.

The Dark Lord was coming back to his full powers, Draco had known. But what Draco hadn’t expected was his own father being thrown into Azkaban after losing a battle to Potter’s preposterous student group (Dumbledore’s Army, really? The nerve of people!), of all people. The universe was truly bent on humiliating him. He could only feel rage. Red, burning hot.

You tried to comfort him, somehow. Surely, you had to be scared of him. He was the son of a full blown Death Eater.. of a prisoner of Azkaban, how couldn’t you feel afraid? Everyone else must have been. He’d seen the stares the younger children had given him, and he’d given them a taste of what was boiling deep within. His tongue had grown quicker, less patient thanks to all of this. He’d begun to crave the redemption of his family name above all else. Enough to try and seek revenge on the Hogwarts Express. (and fail.)

It was only a few weeks into summer when he’d been told that the Dark Lord himself wanted to include him in his ranks, even offer him a mission. One just for him. A special, secret task he felt Draco was up to. And how could he say no?

His mission was difficult, extraordinarily difficult. Getting rid of one of the most powerful wizards of all time was certainly much more than he could handle along with everything else going on in his life. His turbulent relationship with you, with whom he was still only.. sporadically exchanging letters, was not what he wanted anymore, it seemed. If you got to know about his goal, you’d only try to encourage him not to pursue it, and he couldn’t have any distractions, not when he was bearing his family’s status on his shoulders.

And so he wrote you one final letter. A short one, just to inform you of his decision on the two of you. At this point, he could care less about your feelings. He was simply more focused on being proud of the mark he wore on his forearm, the snake and skull etched into his skin forever. Eternal glory was what he was hoping for, and romance suddenly seemed irrelevant.

Y/N,

I have to end things between us. I’m sorry if this is very sudden. This is all just too much for me to handle, with father and everything, I find myself very stressed..

Good luck and I love you,

Draco.

And that was that. The end of an anomaly, of ten odd months of his life. He’d been happy for a while but it was time to move on and take life by the reins! His new mission was clearly something to be proud about and he knew it. But it was so simple to fall back into his old habits. Pansy…

She was far too eager to take your place. She was far too unconcerned about the mark on his arm. And he could care less for the consequences as she lay on his bed, kissing every part of him that was exposed to the cold air. Moving on was easier than dealing with his feelings, after all. If he moved fast enough, he wouldn’t have to think about you again.

It was clear you had thought about him. Made it clear. You’d sent him letter upon letter after receiving his own, your brown Athene noctua had twittered all over the place, chasing after him for a response. But Draco hadn’t even opened your letters, he’d tossed them straight into his fireplace upon receiving them.

Out of sight, out of mind.

And for the most part, it worked. He wasn’t hung up. He wasn’t moody. He wasn’t crying. He was using up whatever energy he had in bed. Over and over and over until Pansy was exhausted or simply excused herself. He flaunted her a bit, spent time alone with her. Looked you in the eyes while he held her hand. He didn’t even try to hide it. And he hoped his shamelessness helped you move on too. He knew you weren’t going to approach him, and that simply egged him on. The public displays of affection continued and you only seemed to continue to blend into the background, as you always used to. It was all for the best, really.

Except it wasn’t. The mission wasn’t as simple as it had seemed at first. It wasn’t something he could just.. do. It took effort and it took courage. Something he’d realised he lacked, greatly. It was much too much responsibility. Yet again, he struggled with it. His sixteen year old shoulders weren’t strong enough to bear so much weight, or at least that’s what he told himself.

But inside, he knew. He knew it was his own cowardice which would thwart his plans to save his family’s name, which would bring dishonour to his family. He had to try his best.

But he only seemed to fail. His plans didn’t seem to work for much. All that was working was the training Aunt Bella had given him. Compartmentalisation seemed to be the only thing keeping him going. If he gave in to his thoughts, he knew he wouldn’t be able to lift a finger.

And suddenly life began to move faster than he could think and he’d Imperiused Madam Rosmerta and Katie Bell was sent to St. Mungo’s and Ron Weasley had been poisoned and he was confiding his deepest thoughts to the ghost of a Mudblood.

All his feelings began bubbling up to the surface and he couldn’t attempt to numb the pain, the guilt, the fear by just forcing them away. He was making mistakes left and right, and perhaps.. his first had been you. Maybe if he hadn’t ever met you. Things would have been simpler. He could’ve gotten straight to Pansy. And.. there would have been no complications. Nothing in between. No guilt deterring him from looking you in the eye and just telling you to sod off.

Perhaps it had been true all along, that vulnerability was like holding your arm out on your own accord while it was permanently marked to show your allegiance. It was only regretful. For what reason would you bare your soul to someone? Why would you let down your guard? Was there anyone you could really even trust?

Draco didn’t know why. But inside, deep, deep inside him, he knew that there was still love for you in plenty. But he couldn’t acknowledge it. Not when he was so close..

And everything else after that point seemed to pass on in a vivid haze. It was like having an out-of-body experience, except the ‘experience’ wasn’t coming to an end. No matter how hard he tried. Scraping his nails along his skin drew blood, but nothing else. It seemed the pain had turned into something habitual. It was as if it lived inside him.

He watched himself grow paler, have to buckle his belt as tightly as he possibly could, give up his life of luxury in favour of serving the Dark Lord, as if he was simply looking in on someone else’s life.

His home was no longer his home. The Manor had turned into a place where turmoil and torture were everyday things. He could barely live with himself. His mother’s smile was all that kept him from knotting a rope around his neck and-

Well, it was that and… it was the memories. The few happy memories he had outside of the Manor. While now his childhood was tainted with what haunted his present, he remembered.. you.

The hours spent in silence, just being around each other. Giving each other smiles. Having no expectations of each other but to just.. give each other company. Cuddling. Kissing. This led his mind to a different path of thinking but he kept it at bay. He had enough of that from his time with Pansy, and he didn’t want to think about being with anyone but you.

It was no mistake. It was fate. It was destiny. That one day at the library was everything. And even if his heart still ached, he was better with the memories than without them at all.

He still loved you. But this damned war was in the middle of everything and the guilt was getting to him.

Hogwarts had succumbed to the Dark Lord’s forces only after Draco had managed to fix the Vanishing Cabinet. It was all him. He was the reason why so many first years would be filled with dread for years to come. He was the reason why so many people had to face so much more than they needed to. He wanted to end it all. Just. Get it over with.

But he wasn’t brave enough to.

Everything he set his mind to seemed out of reach.

And so, he lost his wand. And his sense of self. He betrayed the Dark Lord. And he endured his punishment for it too. The Cruciatus curse was more painful to experience than it was to watch, he’d learned. Hours and hours of it would leave a bloody taste in your mouth. Even the ruddy scars he’d scratched into his own skin burned. His Dark Mark was sizzling as if on fire.

The “Battle of Hogwarts”, they’d called it. It sounded so much more epic than it really was. It was pain and it was pain and it was pain. Over and over and over. The sight of the dead made him want to empty his guts and pull his eyes out of their sockets.

He couldn’t help but think about you. Where were you? Had you been evacuated? Or were you fighting too? He would have thought the former.. but the war drove people to extremes, he’d noticed. Bellatrix couldn’t have always been this bloodthirsty, surely.

He hoped and prayed and just wished that you were safe. He wanted to find you. And that he would. Perhaps after all of this. Perhaps you’d forgive him. Perhaps everything else would fit into place and you could live together. Maybe you’d be able to help him rid his memories of this insane, inhumane conflict.

But it wasn’t so.

It had been months since the war had ended. Since Potter’s side had triumphed and his had lost, if you could call it his. His family had managed to avoid going to Azkaban thanks to his mother’s courageous feat. His mother was braver than him in every which way, he understood that now. Perhaps if he hadn’t been such a goddamn coward, everything wouldn’t have been left in pieces.

The only thing he was glad about was that your name hadn’t been listed in the casualties of the war. He’d searched for it from paper to paper and had been glad it was nowhere to be seen, for once.

He was still in and out of St. Mungo’s and the memories still haunted him. The dreams would never end. Sometimes he’d see it all happen again in a rush, sometimes he’d imagine it was his parents they were hurting. Sometimes it’d be you. They were much too real. Once he imagined it was him hurting you. He’d woken up and gotten into the tub in his bathroom, writhing and shaking, clammy with perspiration. He wouldn’t have gotten out of the water alive if his mother hadn’t noticed his bed was empty.

And so he spent his days in bed, his body barely able to keep down what he took in, if at all. Their house elf practically resided by his bedside for a while, offering him glasses of water when he’d wake up in a cold sweat, nightmares as dark as always.

He wanted to, no, needed to find you. Apologise. Even kneel in front of you until you forgave him.

But he knew you never would. He’d hurt you and then gone on to aid in the murder of one of the most valuable headmasters of Hogwarts. He’d helped the Dark Lord harm all those that were supposedly beneath them. How could you even look him in the eye? You’d been afraid of him before you’d even spoken properly and.. he expected you to forgive him for essentially assisting in the taking over of the Wizarding World? It was impossible.

Draco found himself avoiding every sort of human contact. He’d stay in his room for hours on end with the door locked. The silence was everywhere, all around him. Swallowing him whole.

He’d spent ages just fathoming what it might be like if he could summon the courage to contact you. Maybe you would understand. Maybe you would forgive him. Maybe it would all be okay.

But the chances of that happening were too low. And so he let the quiet envelope him instead.

He was barely a shadow of himself. Of the person he thought you’d loved. He couldn’t tell you a single good thing about himself. He wished you would write to him instead. He wished there was some way he could retrieve those bloody letters you’d sent him all that while ago. But he could only be filled with regret.

The silence that had once disgusted him, then comforted him was almost mocking him. The loneliness, the despair, every negative emotion was as if a part of it. He knew the only way out of it and although he knew it was practically pointless to even try, he knew he had to.

Y/N,

I can’t take this any longer. I just can’t. I’m the most pathetic person on earth. I can’t live with myself anymore.

I love you. I still do. And I’m so deeply sorry. There is no way I can even attempt to justify what I did because it was just horrible. It was so terribly idiotic. You were right about all of it. I was such an arse. To everyone. You deserved so much better than me. You always have and you always will.

But I need to see you. Please. I need to speak to you. Just give me that much. I’m barely holding on. Just write back to me. Please. I know I sound desperate.

I understand if you decide against seeing me ever again. I do. I deserve it. Just give me this much. Please.

With love,

Draco.

And so he sent it off to you, putting it in his owl’s beak while spilt ink still blotched his fingers.

He could only hope that you would treat it better than he had treated your own letters. That you would even read it. Even two words of acknowledgement would be enough from you, really. He just needed to know that you had seen it.

He sat in his room, waiting for his owl to return. And it did a few hours later, but it was empty handed.

He laid down in his bed, even the thought of going to sleep having left him entirely now. The tears came dripping down his cheeks before he even realised how hard it had hit him.

He was alone. The one for him didn’t want him. He had been right all along.

Thus he spent the night crying into his sheets. The memories of the war and from everything between you flooding his mind and driving him senseless. Was this really the end? The end of everything he’d hoped for? Everything that he’d imagined would never come to fruition. Should he just lose hope?

There was always the proposition from the Greengrass family to consider. Astoria seemed.. pretty, for sure. But.. he wanted you. You over everyone else.

He didn’t even realise when he blacked out. Memories of you plagued his mind, almost as if he was dying and he thought he very well was. Was all that had been happy in his life flashing before his eyes as he lost consciousness? He could practically feel the ground turning to air beneath his body, how he lost his grasp on everything and fell into the void.

But then he woke up again. It was just a bloody dream. His consciousness was as it was. He should have expected as much. The healers had said shell shock was unpredictable.

What truly surprised him was the unusual bird cry that had prompted him awake. The familiar yellow eyed, flat headed, brown feathered, white spotted creature that stood on his window pane. Gripping a folded note in its beak.

And that was when he began to hope.

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