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star-girl69 · 5 months

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I Can See You

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!AphroditeCabin!Reader

—-

sypnosis: you and clarisse work together to get revenge on a mutual enemy, but when that plan involves pretending to date clarisse, something better than revenge happens. requested by anonymous!

a/n: I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS ONE HOLY FRICK. the beginning is so bad and just like worldbuilding but i PROMISE!!!!! keep reading!!!!!! pls ignore the fact im reusing jackie and tyla i’m attached to them anyways i hope you all enjoy!!

I Can See You - Taylor Swift

(also Dress by tay was the original title soooo…..)

warnings: not proofread, the beginning is so bad i swear it gets better, a little suggestive haha…., kissing ofc, fake dating!!!!!!!!!, JEALOUS CLARISSE JEALOUS CLARISSE I REPEAT JEALOUS CLARISSE!!!!!!!, swearing, violence, mentions of murder!, protective clarisse the loml, ALCOHOL!!!!! reader gets drunk, allusions to sex, MENTIONS OF SEXUAL ASSAULT please be VERY careful, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

“What the hell are you all doing?”

You had waited until nighttime for a reason, for the light of the full moon and hopefully some peace. You and your siblings looked up at the voice.

Xavier Bones was possibly the rudest and most self-centered person you had ever had the displeasure of meeting. His father was Ares, which made sense, seeing as he had a wicked temper and was strong as shit. Most of the kids from the Ares cabin could probably snap you like a stick if they wanted, but what scares you about Xavier is that he might actually do it.

He’s rude to everyone he sees, but he particularly has it out for the Aphrodite cabin. Just because Aphrodite kids didn’t have skill in battle like Ares kids, or aren’t wicked smart like Athena kids doesn’t mean they’re worthless. Xavier just didn’t understand anything except brute force.

He didn’t understand any other kind of power.

The whole reason you’re out here tonight is to finally finish the potion you’ve been making. Amokinesis was strictly a spoken sort of magic, and it was hard to do it to more than one person. But, you and your siblings had decided that maybe you could try and follow in the steps of sorceresses like Medea and Circe, using spelled objects and potions to execute your power. You had been collaborating with a Hecate kid for weeks now, learning everything you could about potion making until you were finally ready to try and make a simple truth potion- love and desire also opened the door to truth.

Aster, the daughter of Hecate who had been helping you, said it was a relatively easy first timer potion and hopefully with your Amokinesis it would come together.

You look up at Xavier, watching as he smiles in disbelief.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re trying to make some sort of love potion, huh?” He sits down at the picnic table, curiously leaning in to look at it.

“Get back,” Jackie, your sibling, hisses waving her hand at him so he’ll back up.

“Okay, okay,” he smiles, some glint in his eyes. He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just trying to figure out why you’re wasting all this time, seeing as it probably won’t work.”

“Shut up, Xavier,” you sighed. You needed this bad. You needed to prove to everyone that love wasn’t a stupid power. You were so sick of Xavier, of everyone and their treatment of the Aphrodite cabin. Jackie wanted so desperately to learn how to use a spear, but no one would pay enough attention to her.

You need this.

“I thought you guys were supposed to be nice?”

You opt to ignore him.

“Hm, okay, definitely not nice. Good thing I’m not either.”

He spits his gum out and drops it straight into the cauldron.

“Fucking bitch!” Jackie screams, Tyla looks like she’s about to cry, and the wooden spoon you’re holding in your hands is about to crack under the pressure.

The potion changes an odd color, a murky brown.

“Oops,” he says.

He laughs and walks away, and you faintly wonder what happened to him to make him so cruel.

—-

The next morning you’re all stewing silently at breakfast. Jackie is glaring daggers at the Ares table, Tyla is ranting about how you need to get all the ingredients again, and you’re trying to listen and join Jackie at staring maliciously.

“I’m gonna murder him, I think.”

“I’ll help,” you murmur, favoring staring at your hands instead of being caught staring at him.

“Do you think Clarisse will let me borrow her spear? How much would that sting, getting killed by one of your Dad’s weapons, huh?”

“She probably would,” Tyla mumbles. “She hates him too, ever since he beat her sparring.”

You resist the urge to scoff. You were there that day, and Xavier had played dirty.

They were sparring, she was winning, when he suddenly pointed behind her and shouted that Ares was there. Of course, everyone had turned to look, and he had disarmed her and kicked her down while she was distracted.

Of course, the next day he was walking around sporting a black eye, but Clarisse had never lived that day down. Xavier had never lived that down, either, exactly why they’re sitting on opposite ends of the table now.

Jackie stares off into the distance. She lets out a small laugh.

“I have a horrible idea.”

“What if we make Xavier fall in love with one of us, right?”

You and Tyla both gag.

“Wait, wait! But then we just lead him on, and maybe Clarisse will do us a favor and pretend to date-”

Tyla snorts. “She would never do that.”

You remember seeing the anger on her face that day. The rage, really, the betrayal. But you remember seeing the sadness too. A part of her had really thought Ares was gonna be there. You remember feeling so, so bad for her.

No one should deserve to feel like that, but it comes with the territory of being a demigod.

“It wouldn’t hurt to ask, right?”

Tyla and Jackie stare at you like you’ve just cursed out Hades.

“I’ll do it. Tyla, no offense, but I think you’d crack under the pressure. And Jacks, you would just start punching him.”

“Yeah,” Tyla murmurs.

“I would,” Jackie agrees.

“I mean, it might actually work.”

—-

You corner her the next day.

She’s outside her cabin, practicing some spear forms when you walk over to her. This is all moving so fast, but you can’t help the fact that revenge is so fun. Why wait when you can get it now?

Revenge is supposed to be served best cold, but you’ve always been a little too handsy, a little too greedy for your own good. You want revenge and you want it now.

“Clarisse, hi.” You smile, she spares you a glance and doesn’t say anything. “I’m Y/N, you don’t know me but I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor.”

The spear stops in mid air. She moves from a offensive position to a standing position, and she looks you up and down so painfully slow that you think your organs are gonna burst.

“What?”

“So, you know Xavier?” you sit down on the picnic bench behind you. “I’m sure you know him, and I’m sure you know that he’s an asshole. He ruined something me and my siblings were doing, and he’s been so rude to all Aphrodite kids for so long so, we just wanna get him back.

She squints at you. “How?”

“We’re gonna use our amokinesis to make him fall in love with me, then maybe, hopefully, we can fake date to make him lose his mind.”

She stares at you blankly for a second. Your heart drops, oh, Gods, you never should have done this.

You’re gonna be the laughingstock of camp.

“‘Cause, you know, you both hate each others guts. And if he’s in love with me, but then he sees you and me together- it was this whole thing about making him see the power of love, you know, ‘cause like-”

She grabs you by your cheeks, pinching your face together, your lips puffing out.

“You can stop rambling, now.” She smiles in a demeaning way, and you would feel insulted if the way she wasn’t gripping your face right now wasn’t addicting. “I actually think it’s a pretty great plan. Surprising, but, whatever.”

You ignore that.

“So, you’ll do it?”

“When are you gonna spell him?”

“As soon as possible, tonight, at the bonfire.”

“Okay,” she nods, thinking to herself. “Come meet me before you do it.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Clarisse La Rue touched your face. Clarisse touched your face, and you really fucking liked it.

—-

The three of you sit by the edge of the bonfire. You locked eyes with Clarisse a few minutes ago, letting her know you’re here.

Tyla fusses with your hair, even though you all spent an hour making everything about you perfect. It would be nice to look hot if you were gonna make him fall in love with you.

You watch as she makes her way towards the bathrooms.

Her golden skin shines in the light of the fire, she adjusts her shirt, and you swear you see her abs just under the orange fabric-

“Clarisse is pretty, isn’t she?” Tyla says. “I mean, I almost wish I was the one fake dating her.”

And she is. She is so painfully pretty.

“I’ll tell you all about it,” you wink.

When you step into the bathroom, Clarisse locks the door behind you. You turn around and she’s there. She looks you up and down. You can’t make out the look on her face.

“You’re really trying to impress him, huh?” she smirks. You ignore that.

The ceiling is low in here, so you walk to the corner and reach up at the loose board. You slide it over, reaching inside and grabbing the small bag.

Aphrodite kid secret- makeup is hidden everywhere around camp.

She stares at you. “Has that always been up there?”

You go to the mirror, taking out the mascara and applying another layer.

“Uh… yeah.”

She leans against the wall next to the mirror, watching you with such an intensity it’s like you’re the one beautiful thing in some bloody war she can’t take her eyes away from.

“We should probably set some ground rules,” you say. She hums. “This will probably only be for a month or so.”

“That’s fine.”

You stare pointedly at yourself in the mirror. You, Jacks and Tyla had dumped almost all of your plates into the offerings fire at lunch, hoping for good luck from Aphrodite. With the way your skin seems to glow, your makeup flawless, it seems she’s pleased by your offerings.

Maybe her and Ares are having a fight up on Olympus, and she’s itching to see him knocked down a peg, however vicariously through someone else.

“Well, you can do whatever you want to me.”

“I- what?” you blink, staring at Clarisse like she just turned into a cyclops.

“You can kiss me, hug me, whatever. I mean, we should really do this if we’re gonna do it. Sell it, or whatever.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, I guess you can do whatever too.”

Clarisse can touch you wherever she wants.

You look up discreetly. Please, Mom, you think. Don’t let me fall in love with Clarisse La Rue.

It’s fine to admit to yourself that you’d like to jump on top of her, but she’s still an Ares kid. She’s a bully, if you’re being honest. But can you say that you’re not one too after this?

Love can burn down cities, love can start wars, love can end them. Love is always there from the beginning of your life to your beginning. The doctor who delivered you loves their career. The woman who makes flower arrangement for your funeral loves flowers, even if she hates making them for funerals.

Love is always there, and when it’s used as a weapon you know it is one of the deadliest things.

But you’re too deep in this now.

She walks around so she’s standing behind you, adjusting her hair in the mirror.

She puts her hand on your hip. You take a deep breath, you pretend. You pretend so hard it might become real.

She smiles brightly in the mirror. “See you out there, baby.”

—-

You pull your top down. That’s the easiest way to get a man to look at you. Pull your top down. You get a few looks as you move through the tree trunk benches, careful that you don’t accidentally trip, because that would completely fuck up the plan.

There’s a part of you that comes from your mother. The part that some may call vain, but how is it your fault to enjoy the attention that other people are giving you? It’s not your fault they’re looking. It’s not your fault you look like your mother’s daughter.

You walk a little longer, finally setting your eyes on Xavier, sitting across the fire from Clarisse and her group. You eyes meet hers. She pretends to itch her nose, but you can see the laugh she’s hiding. You take one more deep breath, say one more please to your mother.

“Xavier,” you say. “Can I sit?”

He already seems a little shocked that you’re talking to him on purpose, but he quickly recovers and pushes his friend down the trunk.

You sit, your thigh touching his, folding your hands over your legs.

“I just wanted to say, Xavier, that you were right. The other night… the potion would have failed anyways. Thank you so much for ruining it when you did. Who knows what could have happened? It could have exploded everywhere.”

You laugh, putting your hand on his arm. He looks up at you, mouth slightly parted.

You said his name twice and he’s already sucked in.

“Really, Xavier, thank you.” You smile softly, looking at his lips before back up to his eyes.

His hand lands on your knee.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

You watch Jackie walk by. He doesn’t hear her whisper. But you see it in his eyes.

You pretend to blush, brushing your hand down his arm before it lands back in your own lap. He leans in closer, until his lips are brushing your ear.

“Why don’t I give you some more things to be thankful for?”

Tyla walks by. He doesn’t hear her whisper either.

“Oh, I should really get back to Clarisse. Sorry, Xavier,”

His hand tightens on your knee and he pulls back.

“C-Clarisse? What would you be doing with her?”

You feign innocence. “Well, she’s my girlfriend. I do a lot of things with her,” you giggle. “I just wanted to thank you, but I should get going. Bye, Xavier!”

You blow him a kiss as you stand up, and you can practically see the hearts in his eyes right along with the blazing rage. You can feel him stare as you walk away, hips swaying.

Clarisse is still trying to hide her laugh when you start walking over to her. The tree trunk around her is all full of people, and a few more are even on the ground.

You stand in front of her, smiling softly.

“Are you not gonna let your girlfriend sit down?”

“Of course I am.”

She leans back and pats her knee. She draws you forward by wrapping her big hand around your hip. When you sit down, she rests her hand flat against your stomach, pressing you right to her. Her other hand rests on your thigh.

Please, Mom, don’t let me fall in love with Clarisse La Rue. Don’t let me like her touching me like this.

Everyone is staring.

It’s exhilarating.

You twist your face into something serious, trying not to break out into a fit of embarrassing giggles.

Her breath tickles your neck.

“I gotta admit, you little witch, that was impressive.”

You smile and place your hand over hers.

“I know.”

—-

The day after the bonfire, everybody at camp is talking about you and Clarisse.

How long have they been dating? Why did they decide to become public now? I swear I saw Y/N and Xavier getting close, though, what happened?

You’ve been trying not to break out laughing all morning. During breakfast you blew Clarisse a kiss and heard one of your siblings gasp dramatically and mumble about how sweet young love is.

Jackie and Tyla made paper hearts for you during arts n’ crafts, talking loudly about how you were such a lovesick little thing. You know Xavier heard about all of those things, because he stares at you every chance he gets and glares at Clarisse at the same time.

You keep exchanging subtle glances with her, small smiles, secrets in between your gazes. It’s nice to have something like this.

After dinner, the two of you go to the woods to pretend like you’re having a secret date. Clarisse brings her spear and you bring a blanket.

You’ve been laying there comfortably for a while, arms under your head like a pillow.

“I wanna know how you did it,” she says, turning her spear in her hands. You open one eye to look at her.

“I say his name a bunch of times. With, like, a lot of intention. Then Jackie and Tyla came by and whispered “you’re in love with the girl in front of you” and other stuff like that. It’s hard to explain. It’s just, like, this power.”

“I was imagining, like, one of those mortal movies, you know? A potion, or something.”

“Oh, we’re trying that too. Medea used her amokinesis in the form of potions and spelled objects, so me, Jackie, and Tyla have been talking to Aster, who’s a child of Hecate, and we tried to make a truth potion.” You laugh, thinking of that night. “That’s why we’re doing this, actually. Xavier found us and stuck his gum in it, so… completely ruined. We have to wait for the next full moon and get all the ingredients. It sucks, whatever, I guess.”

She listened intently the entire time you were talking. Aphrodite kids are always jumping from one thing to another. Clarisse is so focused and single-minded. It feels good to be the center of just one person’s attention. Not having people look at you, but just one person look at you.

“Every time I see him I think about stabbing him 20 times. Now I’ll think about sticking gum in his ear, too.” She turns to you and smiles.

None of that stupid smirking shit she always does, or those over-exaggerated demeaning smiles, she really smiles at you.

Her smile is really pretty.

You laugh along with her after a second.

“I would love to see that,” you murmur, propping yourself up on your forearms. “What really made you agree to do this? I mean, I know you guys surface level hate each other but, come on, I was just rambling and you were all ‘let’s do it’.”

“I hate him,” she shrugs. “Why do you care, anyways? You got what you wanted. Enjoy my beautiful self while it lasts.”

“Yeah, okay,” you chuckle.

You don’t leave until the stars come out.

—-

The second day after the bonfire, Clarisse invites you to sit with her at lunch. Usually, you’re supposed to stay at your cabin tables, but Chiron is busy all day and no one would snitch on Clarisse.

You walk over with your tray in hand, watching as she whispers something to her siblings. You smile at them before she pats the seat next to her.

“Hey,” the boy next to you greets. “I’m Matty.”

He points to the girl across from him. “That’s Marjorie,” he points to the other boy with dark skin across from Clarisse, “That’s Daniel,” and finally your eyes land on the blonde girl sitting across from you.

“I’m Sarah,” she smiles. She seems nice, at least. So does Matty. The rest just seem sort of standoffish. There’s a scuffle under the table, then Daniel glares at Clarisse.

“Hi, Y/N,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”

Matty is sickly sweet nice, handsome too, and you almost wonder if he’s really a child of Ares. But he’s got that same focus like Clarisse.

He asks you questions and listens to your answers.

He had the bad stroke of fate in accidentally getting you going about your experiments in potions and amokinesis, and you find yourself shuffling closer to him.

“Sorry,” you laugh. “I’ll stop torturing you now.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I love a passionate person.”

You weren’t sure if he meant that to be flirting.

Usually you’re good at picking up these things, all Aphrodite kids have a knack for it, but you think he’s just really nice.

You stare at him, tilting your head to the side when Clarisse suddenly grabs your waist and pulls you closer to her. Her breath tickles your neck, just like the bonfire.

“You’re supposed to be my girlfriend, not his,” she whispers, her chin resting against your shoulder.

You roll your eyes. “Am I not allowed to have a conversation?”

“Not when he’s looking.” You spare a quick glance. Xavier is looking at you, a mix between glaring and starting longingly.

“He looks like a cross-eyed dog,” you giggle.

And to your surprise, Clarisse presses her face into your shoulder to muffle her laugh.

—-

All the time you spend with Clarisse is like some stupid board game you play with Tyla and Jackie when there’s nothing else to do. Jenga. That one where you crack the ice and try not to make the polar ball fall.

The games where you chip it away slowly, one by one, wondering if this time will be the time that it falls, if you’ll be the one to lose the game.

You push a little more each time with Clarisse. Each conversation, you learn a little more, you chip away a few of her walls.

It’s addicting to open her up slowly, to get to know her like this. And when it’s just you and her alone, when Xavier isn’t around to torture, you swear it doesn’t feel fake.

—-

The eighth day after the bonfire, you skip arts n’ crafts to follow Clarisse to the archery range.

While the Apollo kids have all that effortless, natural skill with archery, Ares kids are still deadly. You faintly remember seeing Clarisse shoot once. Even though it’s not her weapon of choice, her aim was deadly and she didn’t miss one shot.

You’re okay with a bow.

Clarisse sees the perfect opportunity to flaunt in front of Xavier.

As soon as you crest the hill, your eyes find his, and he beelines towards you.

“Y/N, sweetheart, what can I do for you?”

It’s easy to switch on that stereotypical persona. You twist your fingers into your shirt.

“Yeah, can you help me?” you look up at him, trying to be as disgustingly sweet as you can,

“What’d you need?” he takes a step closer, about to cage you in between him and the cart full of bows and arrows.

“Can you help me pick out a bow? I don’t know what one would be right for me, I don’t know anything about archery. Please?”

He reaches past you, coming close so your back hits the wooden cart. You can’t help the way your eyes widen. He’s bold, you’ll give him that. Everyone reacts differently under the spell, but their true personalities still shine through.

He picks one up, running his hand up and down the curved wood. He plucks at the string, nodding to himself.

“This one’s fit for a lady.”

You take it, fingertips brushing his. “Oh, thank you so much, Xavier.” You give him a small side hug as you run past him, eager to get away from him.

You just need to find Clarisse.

“Hey, don’t you need some help shooting?” you glance over your shoulder, watching him advance.

Where the hell is Clarisse?

You’re about to say you’re fine when you suddenly slide into someone’s arms. You would have slammed into her, if not for the way Clarisse softly reached out to touch your arm, and Gods, you recognize the feel of her skin.

You knew she was there and you gratefully walked forward, your chests touching, her arm around your shoulders.

“I’ll take it from here, Xavier.”

You look up at her. She’s smiling in that same demeaning way.

You’ve grown to like it.

He doesn’t say anything else. You hear him stomp off.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. When you open your eyes after a moment, you realize how close you are.

You’re so close it’s just one move and that’s it. One move and you both know that’ll change it all.

You think she just worked out. You can feel the muscles of her arm against you, you can see the sweat on her hairline, you can see her breathing heavily.

You could just press your ear to her chest and feel everything.

The way her brown eyes reflect the sunshine is mesmerizing. You’ve been looking at her for so long, but it’s like you’re looking into the surface of a lake you swear you recognize, slightly green murky waters, but there was a whole world under the surface if you cared to look.

But you didn’t care to look for the Clarisse under the surface. You don’t care. You don’t want to.

She clears her throat and let’s go of you.

You back up.

“Put that thing down, he probably fucking poisoned it.”

You turn the bow in your hands, but when you look up, she’s already walking towards the far end of the field.

“Wait, wait, what am I gonna use then?”

“Mine, obviously.” You drop the bow.

—-

After taking a few deep breaths, and Clarisse going over the basics again, you filled your mind with images of a bow and arrow and not of her eyes. Not of her lips.

Clarisse La Rue hates Aphrodite kids too, just not as much as Xavier, and not enough to resist revenge.

You focus on that. That’s why you’re here. Revenge.

Revenge for every fucked up thing he’s said, revenge for every time he’s come too hard at you during capture the flag, revenge for all of your siblings and everyone he’s ever tortured.

“Ok, there, that’s a good stance.” She’s raking her eyes up and down your body. But you’re here for revenge. She glanced over her shoulder. “Except for…”

She presses her body to yours from behind, molding against you like she was made to protect you like this, her hand covering yours, her stance just a little wider. She glides her hand across your arm.

“Up, up, just a little.” She’s whispering right into your ear. You let her hands guide you. Your mouth feels dry. “Then let go.”

And how badly you want to let go. You want to let go of these feelings rolling around in your stomach like stones, you want to let go and let them become butterflies and fall into Clarisse.

You prayed to your mother not to fall in love with her, but maybe you should trust your mom. Maybe you should let go.

But you don’t.

You let go of the arrow instead, you keep your tumbling feelings inside, and to your shock you only hit a few inches from the bullseye.

The bow swings in your hand.

“Holy shit. Did I- did I just do that?”

Clarisse laughs. “You did, baby.”

You turn around and throw your arms around her neck, smiling wide and laughing hysterically. The bow was the one weapon you thought you could never master, and here you are after one lesson with Clarisse.

She wraps her arms around your waist, and even though you’ve hugged like this a million times, you both know it’s different this time. And you both ignore it.

But for one second, you’re pretending so hard it’s almost real. It’s almost a real date.

—-

On the ninth day, it all goes to shit.

Sword practice is held just after lunch, when the sun is still high in the sky. The Ares and Aphrodite cabins share the field first, and you, Jackie and Tyla take your time stretching to enjoy the show.

Tyla has to turn around to hide her laugh as you bend over slowly, making sure Xavier is watching, then when you face comes up flushed you smile at him. He smiles back.

You wave to Clarisse and he glares at her.

Jackie says it will take him 5 minutes to ask her to spar. Tyla says 5 too. You say it’ll take him maybe 3 minutes.

He spars with one person, a two minute match, then marched right up to Clarisse.

“How about we go, huh? Want another chance to try and beat me?”

Clarisse was smiling before he walked over, talking to her friends. Her smile fades and is replaced by the dark mask of pure focus.

“I’d love to beat you, Xavier.”

She walks past you to grab a sword from the rack.

Her eyes meet yours. You reach out and put your hand on her face, softly pressing her lips against yours. It’s a peck. It’s barely there. At least now you can check off a box and say you’ve kissed Clarisse La Rue.

She seems so shocked that you’ve actually kissed her you swear she loses her footing for a second. You swear her cheeks are a little flushed. By she stands up taller and ignores it, just like you’ve both been doing for so long.

“Good luck, baby!” you call as she walks off to the circle marked off for sparring.

Xavier looks like he’s about to light the grass on fire.

“She’s gonna beat his ass,” Jackie whispers.

“If he loses, do you think I should comfort him after?”

“Oh, Gods, yes,” Tyla smiles. “That’s so mean. We’re so mean.” It feels too good to stop.

Kissing Clarisse almost felt too good to stop. Even that second, one more longer and you would have been sucked in. You decide not to kiss her for however long this goes on.

Once you start kissing her, you’re scared you’ll never stop.

Revenge feels to good, and you need this.

As soon as they face each other Xavier springs out with a million offensive attacks, slightly sloppy- you can see his anger. Everyone knows you can’t let your emotion get in the way of battle.

Clarisse is calm and counters all his attacks. She even smiles, which makes your stomach flip in a way that isn’t fake.

Her sword flicks along his cheek. It’s a paper cut, barely.

“Oh no,” Clarisse fake frets. “You need me to walk you to the nurse?”

He grunts and launches an attack that’s just plain stupid. It’s messy. He swings too wide. She knocks his sword out of his hand.

He goes to dive for it but her sword is already at his neck.

He breathes heavily, staring at her, and it’s suddenly dead quiet. No more talking, no more swords clanging.

Your eyes are flicking in between them like a ball bouncing up and down. But they linger on Clarisse. Of course they linger on Clarisse.

It’s so quiet you swear you can hear her heartbeat.

“Daddy’s behind you,” he whispers.

She whips around, taking her sword with her, but no one is there. Of course no one is there.

Xavier runs away laughing, and Clarisse turns around. Her cheeks are flushed, she’s gripping the hand of the sword so tight you’re surprised it hasn’t broken off.

Clarisse is not your girlfriend. Clarisse is not even your friend.

But she’s someone, she’s someone to you, and you can’t stand to see her like this.

You walk forward and put your hand on her wrist, taking the sword from her. You’re not even in control of your arms and legs.

She stares pointedly at the distance.

“Let’s go,” you whisper, giving her no choice and pulling her along. You throw the sword at the rack.

—-

You end up in Clarisse’s cabin, door clicking shut behind you as you press your back to it. She stays silent for a moment, until she screams and throws someone’s pillow at the wall. You don’t say anything.

You don’t say anything but you follow her to her bed.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, watching as she sits down, fists clenched so tight you hope she isn’t bleeding. “I’m so sorry, Clarisse.”

“You weren’t the one who fell for it. You weren’t the one who fell for that stupid, stupid, childish trick. I did.”

“You wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for us and our plan. If it wasn’t for me.”

You sit down on the bed next to hers.

“Why are you even here? We’re not actually dating, dummy. You can go.”

“I know,” you murmur. You know. You know you aren’t dating. You know you shouldn’t be here. “But you’re still something, Clarisse.”

She slips off her armor.

“I’m not something to you.”

She wants someone else to hurt like she does. She wants someone else to take the fall, to be embarrassed and the center of everyone’s attention so she doesn’t have to.

“I’ll never be something to you, Y/N, just- just go away. This is over, I’m not doing it anymore.”

“Yeah, okay,” you mutter. There’s something wet in your eyes and your throat tightens up. “That’s fine.”

You leave silently and you cry in the woods.

—-

When you finally make your way back to your cabin at nightfall, everyone is fussing around you. Your hair’s messy, mascara streams down your face, your shirt is wet with tears.

“Where have you been?” one of your brothers asks, and the rest of your siblings echo the sentiment.

Tyla doesn’t say anything when she sees you. She just wraps her arms around you. Jackie stands just behind her, eyes locking with yours. She knows. She doesn’t move. She can see it on your face, she can see it in your eyes.

Aphrodite children are predisposed to fall in love fast and hard. You’ve all gathered around your siblings time and time again when their hearts inevitably got broken.

No one wants to date an Aphrodite kid. Not really.

They all think you’re vain and self-centered. They all think you’re weak and useless.

When it comes down to it, that’s what you are.

How can you claim to wield the power of love when it brings you to your knees too?

You thought Clarisse was hot. You thought you could leave it at that. You thought you could pretend, you thought you could ignore it.

But the more you think about it, the more tears fall down your face, the more you realize you were ignoring the wrong thing. You spent so much time trying not to want Clarisse you forgot that she doesn’t even want you. It stings, like a knife in the chest, it hurts to know you’re making it all up.

But it was always pretend. It was always fake. That’s what fake dating is. The Aphrodite side of you just forgot that you couldn’t find comfort in her arms, you couldn’t memorize the feel of her skin, you couldn’t hear the sound of her heartbeat and pretended it beat for you.

You look up at the sky and you want to curse your mother. You want to know why she has abandoned you. But in your heart, you know she hasn’t abandoned you. The Goddess of Love is right next to you, and this is what it feels like.

Knives in your heart. Memories of heartbeats, memories of skin, memories of soft voices and secrets and the feeling that something was yours, something was quiet and shared.

“Y/N,” Jackie breathes.

The words hurt. You say them anyways.

“I fucked up,” you sob. “I fucked up, Jackie. She doesn’t- she won’t, she never will-”

“Y/N,” Tyla coos.

“I fell in love. I fell in love, and it’s over.”

—-

You give up on wearing makeup. The sadness still seeps through your face, and you end up crying most of it off anyways. A few of your hoodies are just permanently stained with mascara with how much you cried. The tears stream down your face and carry the little black specks with it.

You try to visualize everything you feel leaving with the black specks. The love, the anger, the sadness, the regret. But it doesn’t leave, and you’re too tired of trying to hide from it.

Everyone thinks you miserably broke up, and it’s mortifying to know that Clarisse knows you’re like this, she knows you’re absolutely ruined over this- and it was never even real.

You keep telling yourself that. It was fake. It was never real.

But it feels real, the memories feel real. You know they happened, you know Clarisse touched you so often it’s like you’re burned with it. You say she had to have felt it to, because the more you remember the more you remember the electricity, the charge in the air.

But you might just be making that up.

Lunch is the worst time. She’s always so happy at lunch, her and her table laughing loudly. She mentioned to you once, one of those fake star-studded dates in the woods, that she’s always to tired by dinner time because she trains so hard for most of the day.

You stare at her when no one’s looking, and everyone can see you better in the bright light of day- and you can’t look away.

Tyla mumbles that they’re gonna get up to make their offerings, she doesn’t ask if you’re gonna come. You’re probably not even going to eat more than a few bites again.

You’re alone at the stone table.

Xavier sees that as an opportunity.

Love spells are best to break on a full moon. You thought it would go on longer than this, and he’s only become more emboldened by what everyone sees as a breakup.

He sits down next to you, smiling sadly. You prop your head up in your hand.

“Y/N, you sad angel.” His hand grazes your shoulder, you can’t be bothered to tell him to stop. He places a flower in front of you. “To cheer you up.”

“Thanks, Xavier,” you mutter. He stares at you for a moment longer. Jackie comes back, slamming her tray down onto the table.

“Go away, Xavier,” she says, the same thing she says every day. Jackie has this look in her eyes that lets you know she’s ready to jump on you if she has to.

You think he would stop trying, but he can’t. He can’t because of this stupid love spell that ruined everything. And you can’t even take it off of him, not until the full moon.

You wouldn’t feel like this if it wasn’t for that love spell.

—-

There is one a day a year that Chiron turns a blind eye to parties. The summer solstice all of the cabin leaders come together to throw a huge party, mostly centered around the bonfire, food and drinks and even music. It’s the one night a year where you’re allowed to be teenagers, and it’s not taken lightly.

It even makes you feel a little excited.

“So what if all that shit happened?” Tyla asked. “We’re gonna make sure you look as hell at this party, and then you’re gonna go find someone and make out with them in a dark corner. Don’t even look who it is. Just grab the first random person and kiss them.”

“Okay, well, I’m not doing that, but I will do something of the sort. There is definitively some making out on my list tonight.”

“Oh, as long as it’s not with Xavier,” Tyla frets.

Jackie kicks her. “If Y/N makes out with Xavier, I will personally pay Chiron a million dollars to feed both of them to some horrible monster.”

“Supportive,” you muse.

Jackie gasps. “I forgot about this dress.”

“For which one of us?” Tyla asks.

Jackie turns around, holding up the back dress. It’s sparkly, a slit up the side, going just to your knees. It’s ruffled at the chest, thin spaghetti straps for the top. You can’t wear it. It’s too much, too revealing.

You look around the room.

Most of your siblings are wearing worse.

And you need to get your mind off her.

“I’m wearing that.”

Tyla squeals and Jackie lays it out on your bed.

You’ll forget about her tonight, you promise yourself.

—-

The bonfire burns high and bright, and even 20 feet away from it the feeling is burning. It’s so hot you’re glad you wore this barely there grass, it frees up your skin to touch the cool summer air.

You, Tyla and Jackie had gratefully taken a few too many sips of the alcohol someone had managed to sneak in and was now passing around.

Everything is so funny in the firelight.

Tyla’s tall heels keep sinking into the grass, and you keep giggling when your own do the same. You’re all holding onto each other, barely able to stand.

There was more nail polish fumes in the cabin than usual, and you’ll swear on your life that it gets to your head.

“Noooooo,” Tyla moans, sinking yet again into the grass. She gasps, pointing at the logs currently abandoned. “I’ll just walk on those!”

Your heels sink into the dirt.

“Me too,” you say, smiling as you grab Tyla’s hand and begin your ascent. Jackie ran off with an Apollo boy a minute ago, the first of your group to leave.

You grab onto each other, laughing boisterously as you keep almost falling.

“I-I can bare-barely stand!” you shout, giggling as you throw your arms to the sides.

“Me either!” Tyla shouts back. She jumps off, walking between the end of that one to the beginning of the next log.

“Hey, do you think I can jump and make it?”

Tyla judges the maybe 4 foot jump.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I’m gonna try,” you giggle. “I’m gonna jump!”

“Whoooo!” Tyla shouts, laughing too. This entire night is just about you and your friends and laughter. She starts clapping. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N,”

You jump, eyes screwed shut, slamming into something mid air and being brought to the ground.

“Wh-” you mumble, and Tyla let’s out a gasp.

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” Clarisse scolds, her hands quickly falling from your waist.

And, of course, the first instinct of your intoxicated brain is to start screaming.

Clarisse grabs your arm and drags you off, past the light of the fire and into a space between the cabins. She slaps her hand over your mouth and you shut up.

“Are you going to stop being such a baby now?”

She lets go of your face and you immediately stumble forward so she has to catch you, pressing your finger into her chest.

“You, demon, are not my mother! So, I don’t know what you’re doing.”

She laughs, holding you up.

“Oh, you’re drunk.”

“Tipsy,” you correct. “As I was saying, don’t you remember, Clarisse, we will never be something to each other.” You push her away from you, heels sinking into the ground and keeping you upright.

Her face falls.

It’s so dark in here but you’re so close to her you can tell.

“Y/N, I-”

You can’t listen to her talk so softly. Being away from the heat of the fire clears up your brain.

“Where’s Tyla?” her hands fall from your hips. “Tyla?!” you dig you heels out of the mud, finding her sitting on the log, talking animatedly to Matty about something. “Oh,” you mumble.

They’re both so absorbed in each other they don’t hear you. And suddenly, you’re the last one left.

You head to a nearby table and chug a bottle of water, shoving a cupcake into your mouth.

“I’m not gonna be alone tonight,” you mumble to yourself. You look up at the almost full moon. You eyes scan the crowd. Xavier isn’t exactly bad looking, and you just need someone tonight. You need anything.

You don’t know where Clarisse is. You tell yourself you don’t care.

You move through the crowd, adjusting your hair, breathing in and out. You won’t be alone tonight. You won’t.

You spot him sitting off to the side with his friends, the group of them sharing a bottle just like you did.

“Xavier!” you shout. His eyes turn to you immediately. He shoves the bottle into his friends hands, standing up and walking over to you like it was his entire purpose to.

“Y/N,” he eyes you up and down. “You look- you look fucking hot.”

“Thank you. Now, dance with me.”

He follows you, his arm gripped in your hand, you can feel him staring at your ass and you don’t care, dragging him towards the music, towards the dance floor.

His hand is all over your ass, your thigh, your hips, drawing you closer to him as you spin and his other winds it’s way around your face.

He’s not her. You can’t bring yourself to feel guilty about imagining her hands on you.

You put your arms around his neck, dancing in a way that would probably make your mother blush.

When you open your eyes, they’re locked with hers.

She seems to have made her way back to her friends, sitting on a log, leaning against her arm and staring at you. Her hands are clenched the same way they were that day. You can see her, you can see her perfectly and she can see you perfectly. She can see you and him.

Good.

You smile at her, waving the way you would have done to Xavier, except now the roles are reversed. He gets to have you, and she has to watch.

His mouth finds your neck. You laugh, throwing your head back, you don’t imagine her lips there. You just sink into the moment.

When your lips crash against his, there’s nothing except hot, hot desire. Like a blue flame, you’re all teeth and tongue, clashing together in a way that is purely carnal.

His hands are everywhere and you love it. It’s like a game, trying to guess where he’ll go next, and it keeps you so wonderfully distracted.

He tugs at the slit of your dress. You pull away for air.

“N-not here. Not yet.”

His greedy hand remains where it is until you shove it down, laughing lightly.

“Maybe later,” you whisper.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles into your neck. “Just let me…” he spins you two around, his hand slips under your dress, against your bare ass.

“Xavier-” you push at his greedy hand again.

“So, so beautiful, like you’re a witch-”

He’s ripped away from you.

You watch in horror as Clarisse grabs him by the front of his shirt and punches him square in the face.

You start screaming obscenities at the top of your lungs.

Xavier only seems to find it funny.

“You fuckin’ jealous, Clarisse?” he laughs. “Fuckin’ jealous, wonder if he’d be proud of you now, beating up his own son for a daughter of Aphrodite?”

She punches him again. Again.

“Fuckin’ jealous?” he says again, laughing, spitting out blood. “Are you fucking jealous?”

One of her siblings finally grabs her and pulls her away. She shoves them off of her.

“I’ll kill you,” she whispers to him. He doesn’t seem scared at all. You stand there and watch, stupidly, feeling like a bird from the skies watching it all unfold, unable to do anything. “Stay away from her. Stay the fuck away from her.”

She looks at you, you faintly realize the music’s stopped.

“Clarisse-”

“She’s not yours!” Xavier laughs from the ground. “The weak Aphrodite girl doesn’t belong to you, that’s gotta sting, Clarisse-”

A love spell only change’s one’s emotions towards a person. Their personalities are the same. They way they behave under a love spell is the same way they’d behave in a regular relationship, except with a lasting relentlessness.

“Shut up, Xavier!” you shout. You’re so sick of him. Sick of his bullshit. He can’t even make out with you without thinking about the next step.

You see it fade from his eyes.

It shouldn’t be.

You watch in horror as the spell falls, you realize this all wasn’t supposed to happen. You were never supposed to actually kiss him.

“Witch,” he mumbles. He was just moaning that against your cheek a minute ago.

He holds his hands to his already red face.

“You’re a fucking witch.”

Everyone is looking at you, for once in your life, you hate it.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” you whisper.

Your eyes meet Clarisse’s. You can’t tell what’s on her face. You walk away.

—-

She finds you under the stars. Of course she does. You didn’t know where else to go. Cabin too stuffy. The lake is too far. The only place left is the woods, the spots where you would go with her.

She stands behind you. You can hear her breathing.

“Do you need something?” you mutter.

“I was selfish,” she starts.

You snort. Clarisse La Rue is a lot of things, you’ll be here all night.

“And I was hurt. So I took it out on you, which I really, really regret. You didn’t deserve that and it wasn’t true.”

It wasn’t true.

“Um, I was scared. So I made a decision for the both of us. But I’m not scared anymore.”

You place your hand on the grass next to you.

She sits, you don’t look at each other.

“That was all I had planned, but more has happened, so… uh, I was watching you the entire night, I guess. Not in a creepy way. I mean, you look, that dress… I couldn’t take my eyes away. Then you almost killed yourself on the logs.”

You smile.

“And I touched you again and I just, it was so much. Then you were on the dance floor, and he was all over you and- I was jealous. I was so jealous, like, I was actually about to go insane. And I saw you push his hand away, I saw him do it again, and I…”

“Went insane, berserk, crazy? Lost all proprietary?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “All of that. I’m not gonna apologize for punching the shit out of him. But I am sorry for the things I said.”

“Did you mean it?”

She just seems grateful you’re talking to her.

“Mean what?”

“That it wasn’t true.”

“It wasn’t true.”

You finally look at her. It feels so good to let go. To finally look at her, finally see her.

“I-I was just angry, and I-”

You’re sick of hearing her talk.

It’s nothing like the kiss with Xavier.

Its slow and sweet, heady like syrup, and you feel like you’re sinking beneath the current of some river. Your hands are on her face, she rests hers on your neck.

The kiss was Xavier was pure passion, no love, just bodies and bodies and no thoughts between them. This is all care, this is all slowness, this is all appreciation. It’s faces and faces, singular focus, one intent.

You pull away.

“I was so jealous,” she breathes, like it’s an explanation for the way she grabs you closer, harder, more, kissing you like Xavier did except it’s all erased. You can’t even remember what it feels like for someone else to touch you, let alone kiss you.

It just feels like her. It all feels like her, before her and after her.

When she finally starts to kiss down your neck, it’s so slow again, it’s like she can’t believe you’re in her arms, it’s like she can’t believe she’s got your hands on you. You grab her shoulders, you have her.

You look up towards the sky. Sorry I ever doubted you. Thanks, Mom.

You could see her across from you, you could see her on the dance floor, but now you can see her.

—-

y/n, talking to matty: yes i’m like about to slay amokinesis in a way it has never been slayed before

clarisse, who is NOT catching feelings: what the hell is this bitch doing to my girl

clarisse: ykw… im just gonna…. take her back thank you oh wdym no he’s looking we gotta fake date obvi (clarisse does not care if he’s looking)

—-

y/n, about to fucking die: i’m a bird! i’m jumping!

clarisse: no the fuck you’re not!

—-

clarisse when y/n is dancing in THE DRESS: oh i’m bricked up

—-

clarisse: if this bitch doesn’t get OFF my girl i’m gonna KILL SOMEONE

literally everyone: YOUR girl????

clarisse: nvm i’m just gonna fight him

everyone: not a logical solution???

—-

shoutout to jackie, tyla, and matty the loves of my life COULD NOT DO THIS WITHOUT THEM

also the tyla and matty agenda WILL be pushed

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #pjo tv show #pjo x reader

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ohbabydollie · 3 months

Note

more mutual break up content pls 😗 maybe something smutty?

im getting the vibe that you guys might like the mutual break up

Another failure of a date set up by your friend, she sets you up with all these dudes who she promises “are like schlatt but better!”

ugh, as if

this was the arguably most successful date, some dude named Marcus who looked like Schlatt, he shared the same nose and eyebrows, just that his hair was darker and curlier and his eyes didn’t have the same soft sweet look

It was going good until he noticed a patch of hair on your leg, almost disgusted

he started saying how a good woman should shave, not have a single hair on their legs and especially not between them

so you gave him enough to cover your half of the bill and walked out, not turning back

he made you feel inadequate as a woman, he made you feel bad for qualities that are human, he made you look in the mirror and think

so you thought for a bit and called schlatt

——

“he said what?!” schlatt asked angrily as you nodded

“he said it was disgusting that i had a some hair on my legs” you said “something about real women don’t have leg hair”

“so ya missed a spot while shavin’ it’s not a big deal!”

“right! it’s not even that big of a patch” you said putting down your wine glass and lowering you sweat pants to show him the small patch of hair on your calf

“no way, is that it?” he asks in complete disbelief, rubbing the patch softly “poor bastard would’ve had a heart attack seein’ your bush” he jokes causing you burst out laughing

somehow that small joke ended up with him pressing soft kisses to your clit through your underwear. he gently pulled them down, admiring you softly and muttering soft praises

he was kissing your thighs and suddenly his face was practically buried in your cunt as his tongue lapped at your slit. his hands spreading your legs making sure to keep you from closing your thighs.

he was groaning at the taste of you, grinding on to the bed as you came for the third time with a whine.

"Jay air" you muttered, tugging his hair softly

as much as you didn't like when he would separate his tongue from you, he had to unless he has a death wish

"Sorry princess" he pulled away from you, "you jus’ taste so amazing" he said pulling away from your pussy, softly thrusting his middle finger into your sloppy cunt

“how was he able to stay away from this cute little cunt for so long?" he asks with a smile as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, listening to the sloppy noises

“sounds like fuckin’ heaven”

#schlatt x reader #jschlatt x reader #jschlatt x you #jschlatt x y/n #schlatt x y/n #schlatt x you #jschlatt x reader smut #jschlatt smut #schlatt x reader smut #schlatt smut #mbu!jschlatt

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solomons-poison · 1 year

Note

my mind is going in circles right now

okok whats ur opinion on ex hubby sol and mephisto

i always type sol btw because it’s awkward writing his full name (dk whyy)

with mephisto there would be angst potential, maybe he let his pride get in his way and ended up hurting you along with his pride, he doesnt rlly believe in ‘divorce’ so he’ll try to act like nothing is wrong but inside of him its killing him, hes in denial, disbelief of himself and the whole situation

with sol i cant rlly imagine divorcing him (maybe bc im biased with him) but for the sake of this, there would be so much angst potential like so much, the first human in a very very long time he had deeply loved until it was all shattered by his own hands

jskajskaakao

Ohhhhhhh yes ex-husband angst, it just hurts so good.... (Sol is under the cut, this just got very long lol; also unintentionally wrote this as reader suggesting the divorce, cause both guys seem like ride-or-die with their partners to me and I cant see them bringing it up without good cause...)

Divorcing Mephisto would absolutely be so dramatic and very painful. He's either going to explode on you, yelling and gesturing wildly and maybe even making baseless accusations against you (that he will 100% regret later and you'll never forget what he said). Or he'll suddenly get unnaturally quiet/ignore or avoid you. Even if you need to get documents signed or need to talk about how to break up assets, etc, he avoids you at all costs. The only thing that might turn him around is if people start rumors about you or your relationship (or lack thereof), because he still cares about you and doesn't want your name slandered like that by others.

He'll definitely be in denial for a while, and hurt you that way by saying things like "you don't mean it/want this", "just give it some time and you'll see you're wrong". He absolutely won't listen to you until you have to get a third party involved that he can't ignore, like Diavolo. It is a super messy affair...

There would be so much tension between you two, and if the divorce is for anything other than falling out of love, I can bet there'd be a lot of instances of angry sudden makeout sessions or breakup sex tbh. If you're not careful, you might get stuck in a cycle of hookups/dating again and then sudden breakup.

—

Now, divorcing Solomon... He definitely isn't explosive like Mephisto would be. I can see him being very quiet about the whole ordeal, but the pain and sadness is so evident in his eyes. His smiles afterwards are all strained and forced. Cause you know that you were the light in his life, the color in his world that he had initially lost after becoming immortal.

I think initially, you two would come to an understanding about the divorce, it would be a mutual agreement with little argument or fights. But he will ask for some time to think about things beforehand (meaning time for you to think about it too). And don't get him wrong, he is absolutely upset about the whole ordeal. But it's not your fault that you feel the way you do, you have a right to be happy and he wants to support that. But it's definitely painful to him.

I think even after becoming a full fledged sorcerer, you two would still have a kind of mentor-student relationship since he's so knowledgeable about spells and magic. So during/after the divorce, he may want to stop teaching you because being in close quarters with you is too much to stand. As much as he wants to be by your side, it's so bad for his own mental health and he'll put distance between you two.

—

Like I said, these are kind of focused on reader wanting the divorce, for whatever reasons, just cause I can't really see either Mephisto or Solomon ever wanting to divorce, they'd try everything to make things right again. But if you have thoughts about it going the other way, I'm very interested. Sorry for the word vomit, I've been really into the ex-husband angst vibe recently and it's so bad for me lol

#mephisto x reader #mephistopheles x reader #solomon x reader #obey me angst #obey me shall we date #sad thoughts rn :(#˗ˏˋ꒰ minx replies ꒱

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bitchlessdino · 2 years

Text

guilty pleasure pt.2

Pairing: Jihoon x f!reader x Mingyu

Genre: smut, some plot

Word count: 3.3k

Tags: mingyu and reader pov, siatuationship!mingyu awkward moments, producer!woozi, dumb banter, subby gyu, ma'am, choking (giving)

Summary: You know what’s shittier than liking someone taken? Liking someone taken by your best friend.

author note: im so tired yall, why does life get so busy like this? Anyways hello! I'm glad you guys are enjoying the series so fair. Im unsure how many chapters there will be but expect more as we move along w the plot. And sound off any thoughts you may have.

Chapter list

Mingyu couldn’t get enough of you. You hardly gave him the time of day the first time he laid his eyes on you, but the chase was absolutely worth it. Adorned with that tight outfit, hugging your body like a second skin, you were all he thought about that night. He was lucky enough to have met you through your mutual friend group, but unlike every other friendly face, you didn’t even show the slightest interest.

Mingyu got what he wanted most of the time and was well aware of the fact, so he was taken aback by your aloofness and failure to recognize the effect he had on every other man, woman, or nonbinary person that night. When he reaches over to graze your hand to retrieve his drink purposely, you pull away. When he tries to lean in close to talk to you over the loud music, you ask the friend next to you to translate.

You really made it your life’s mission to ignore him at every given opportunity. He then realized his goal tonight was not to get you to sleep with him, but instead, he had hoped to achieve your respect.

“Hey.”

You glaze over him like you did every time he called out to you. “What’s up?”

“You like music? Like good music.”

You furrow your brows, “What’s good music to you?”

“None of this over-produced, over-remixed, club shit. Some good fucking music.”

Your interest was slightly piqued the first time that night, slipping the remaining contents of your watered-down drink. “I guess.”

“This probably might raise some interest for you then. I actually have an interesting collection back in my place–”

“Wow.” You exclaim in feigned disbelief. “That’s all you got? You think you can just win me over with some self-produced music that’s probably shit?”

“Yeah, but,” his lips slightly ghost over your ear, “aren’t you the slightest bit of interest in finding out if it’s actual shit like you think it is?”

You scoff. “No. Should I be?”

He shrugs, glad to finally get that smile’s first appearance. “The worst that could happen it sucks. And if it does, I’ll grant you access to kick me in the balls.”

You guffaw at his offer, almost spitting up your drink. You set it down at the high table, luckily finished, and turn to give Mingyu something that gave him a glimmer bit of hope. “You really can’t stop thinking about me, can you?”

A very flirty way to ask, ‘Are you really that desperate to get my pants?’ Things were heading in the right direction finally.

“Maybe I just know you’d appreciate some good music.”

Whatever he did seem to have worked enough to convince you to follow him back to his place. You sit back on the well-worn couch and wait for the man of the hour to come back with a laptop you assumed was his and a set of Bluetooth earbuds to share. You peer over at the screen as he handed you the right piece and you notice the unfamiliar name.

“I thought your name was Mingyu. Who’s Woozi?”

The taller man chuckles, putting the left ear in and seats beside you. “Just about the most talented person I know.”

“Your friend? What are you, his publicist? You get girls to come back to your place and get them into his music as a marketing ploy?”

He laughs, “No, but that is a pretty ingenious method of getting people to listen. I’ll take that idea into consideration.”

He makes sure your earbud is in place, lingering in your personal bubble momentarily. He taps the space bar to play the track. When the studio plays out, you are immediately drawn in by the smooth and alluring introduction. A man’s voice plays in the background, somewhat soft yet powerful. It's addicting how he hit several notes effortlessly while singing about what you could only assume to be sex. It was actually listenable.

“Not bad, good even.” You turn to him with a grin, a corner of the lip slightly higher than the other. “Your balls are safe for tonight.”

He chuckles, drawing attention to the attractive canines that completed his smile.

“Wasn’t even worried for a second.” So he says, one hand cupping over his crotch.

You cover your mouth the suppress the little giggle from escaping you and then you lock contact with his pretty brown eyes. Perhaps it wa steh fact you were listening to music for with him and without notice for around 10 minutes or so, but time felt still and this “Mingyu” felt alright.

You managed to avoid him all night under the concern of waking up in some random guy's bed, but maybe this time it wouldn't be so bad, at least not with him. He didn’t seem like such a bad guy, despite the fact he's been trying to get your attention all night. You could do worse.

When you first kiss that night, you made the first move against your better judgment, immediately melting in the plush feeling of his lips. When Mingyu pulls away, the sensation of his fleeting lips lingered against yours. You see how he places a finger on them and scoffs in disbelief. “I thought you weren’t the type to fall for this kind of stuff.”

“So you admit it was a way of picking me up,” you point out.

“…I have no smart response for that.”

“Then just follow through with your plan.”

You reunite with his lips, hand settling with his chest. Shifting more comfortably, his hands naturally found the shape of your waist. The music still plays in your ears, having you both making out to the beat of electric guitar. You feel his smile, his hair pushing a lose strand of yours away and his gripps get tighter as his lips moved loser.

Having sex to music wasn’t anything rare for you, but the intimacy of the two of you being the only ones able to listen to Woozi playing was admittedly arousing on a different level.

Mingyu with his gorgeously aesthetic body and limitless stamina fortunately did not disappoint you that night. His hands wrapped around your body felt like pure heat and animal instinct. He rocks himself into your core with no hesitation and you reciprocate with the reward of hearing his name from your lips.

His growls resonate in your ears despite the music, embracing you from behind. His lips aggressive and hungry engorges the skin of your neck, hips thrusting deep and hard into your bottom. He feels right, he feels comfortable, and some reason pliable, like he’d do anything you would’ve wanted that night.

When both climaxes came, yours before his which was always a good sign, he offers you to stay the night. Reluctantly, you accept his offer, giving him a gracious smile, covering the bits and pieces of yourself for most of the rest of that night. Mingyu couldn’t help but smile, feeling beyond the sense of pride or relief that he usually got with the accompanionship of a stranger Tonight he couldn't help but feel something he couldn’t exactly put his finger on. Joy, perhaps.

“Would you want to do this again?” He asks, hope settling in the pit of his stomach.

“We literally met today,” You rest your head on a propped up arm, “Plus you don’t seem like the type to get into anything deeper than hookups.”

He sighs, slightly offended by your answer but decidedly responds in a way without revealing so, “We can just to get to know each other. Nothing serious. If that’s how you want things to be.”

You eyes daze over his naked body, glistening in his perspiration, chest heaving in anticipation, and that puppy dog look in his eyes that you couldn’t help but get momentarily lost it. You were always a dog person. You feel it for the first time in body, entrapped in the boyish charm that you missed out on initially.

“We’ll see in the morning, hmm? I can’t really think clearly right now,” you vulnerably confess.

A smile bridged his face, arms wrapping and tucking you inside his embrace. You take advantage of his advances and lay your head in his chest between his firm pectoral muscles, where it was admittedly homey and familiar. You could get used to this if you tried.

You were happy to drift off to sleep and wake up in those same arms the next morning. MIngyu seemed to sleep contently snuggling with you, but you worried whether the numbness appeared in those elephant trunk arms of his. You try gently prying him off, seeking refuge in that bathroom and finding yourself successful. Picking up whatever clothing you had on the ground and quickly covering yourself in it.

You escape the room with ease and turn into the common area where you lock eyes with a new character enjoying cereal by himself on the kitchen counter. He seemed quite solemn about your appearance and makes little to no effort to acknowledge you as you do to him initially since you beeline straight to the restroom. That couldn’t have been more awkward, you thought.

Having quickly freshen yourself up, you meet eyes with the stranger once again and instead of retreating to Mingyu’s room, you join him with a friendly smile. ”Hi…”

“Hey,” he greets still munching on what looks to be captain crunch, “Did you want some?”

“No, no. I’m good. I just thought it’d be rude to not say anything.”

“Cool.”

He’s not much of a talker, you realize, but end up taking the stool chair on the opposite end anyway, seeing as you’ve made it this far. “I’m guessing Mingyu’s done this a lot. You’re not surprised to see me.”

“Yeah…Your sex lives. I dont judge.”

You nod, grinning a smile that says, ‘well alright then.’

“Just in case I see you on the street or something, I’m Y/n.” God, please stop.

He nods. “Jihoon. His roommate.”

Your eyes grows twice his size. “Roommate, god that would’ve been some good information before i decided to stay over,”

He shrugs. “I’m used to it.”

“Well, if I can help it, I’ll try getting him out of the house or something.”

“You will?” He pauses.

“...Yeah. We’’re thinking of seeing each other.”

“...Hmm. Okay. That’s new.”

His tone comes off slightly dubious but not enough for it to come off offensive, you let the matter go. The tension breaks when the man of the hour leaves his bedroom in a lone pair of boxers, coming up to embrace you from behind. His lips nip at your ear and you can’t help but feel self-conscious of the other person there. His voices makes the hair on your shoulders stands as he whispers, “Morning gorgeous. Missed you in bed.”

“Thanks. Just ignore that I’m here, Gyu.”

Mingyu’s tone perks into something more peppy for his rather stoic roommate, grinning from ear to ear. “Jihoon! When did you come home?”

He didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered by the possibility of giving his roommate a free show, and you feel just a bit pity for the man.

“I don’t know. One, two am? Reminds me I need to buy some travel noise cancelling headphones.”

The man, noticeably shorter than Mingyu, trods off to his room and leaving you and your nightly partner alone. That day marks the first of many awkward small talks and empty silences with Jihoon, a man of what you find to be of many surprises. One of the next few times you woke up in Mingyu’s bed, you greeted his roommate once again, seeing as he’s working something on the designated ‘Woozi’ labeled computer you remember Mingyu using the first time you came over and bring it up to his attention.

“You aren’t perhaps, the Woozi, are you?”

“...I am? You heard of me?”

You smile at him, finally something to pique some of his interest. “Mingyu showed me some of your stuff the first time we met.”

“Oh. sorry.”

Your eyes blow open, “No, no. Your stuff is really good. Lucky too, MIngyu would’ve gotten his balls knocked back into him if it wasn’t.”

You try holding back most of your laughter but fail and Jihoon joins you, sporting quite the attractive smile. “Honestly, sucks to miss out on that. It’d be funny to see Mingyu struck out for once. Literally.”

“Wow, you’re mean,” You comment back laughing.

“You’re the one that wanted to go through with it,” he retorts, a grin wide and apparent.

“I didn’t think the music would actually be bad, and if it was, I still wouldn’t!”

“Right…”

You were both laughing about five minutes before Mingyu joined the both of you, wondering what he’s missed and eventually there was this natural interaction between the all of you. It almost became routine. Mingyu and you had sex as often as possible with the days and time you had available and that meant you saw Jihoon as often as expected. It was like clock work how your dynamic became how it is. And if you were bing honest, You were as comfortable with Jihoon as you were Mingyu, if not more.

“I’m starting to think you use our bed creaking or voices in your songs without our permission,” You instigate one day.

Jihoon snorts. “In what god’s name makes you believe that?”

“I see you almost all the time. It’s like you’re always here. Not that I’d mind though.”

You’re sitting next to him this time in Mingyu’s obnoxiously big t-shirt, sharing a brew of coffee that Jihoon decided to make for the day while he’s writing in that music journal of his. He looks at you unpleasantly, playfully offended by the accusation pointed toward him.

“...Well, I’m not. That’s be perverse. Not that I need to defend myself, but I’m not.”

“Okay, then,” you tease.

“It may be hard to believe, but I have a life outside the both of you, you know.”

“You’re right, I don’t believe you.” You knock into his shoulder, giggling, only to see him roll his eyes back at you.

Jihoon is silently for a short time, and that silence falls in the between the lines of awkward again once he fakes a random cough. You hum back at him, sipping your coffee and wait for him to give a response. Instead, he lingers a little too long into his thoughts before he settles into a simple, “Fine…Believe what you want to believe.”

He’s quiet for the rest of that time before Mingyu finally joins us and you start to miss talking to him. Since that day those interactions started to die out, and you’ve wondered why. His conversations with you are alot more cut and less detailed. It hurt to be honest. Jihoon was refreshing and gave you insight that MIngyu couldn’t provide. Then again, Mingyu wasn’t awful company.

“God, you’re so big…”

You ride MIngyu’s hips like you were aiming for the blue ribbon. That confident side smile stretches over his cheeks feeling you clench around him marvelously. His hands find home on your breasts, feeling their soft and perfect they were in his grasps. You’d moan against his jaw, pressing kisses over his skin, making him shudder.

“Fuck yes.” His hands travel down to your hips, guiding you to which suit him best, and you feel the jerk of his cock pump into you.

You mewl over his intiative and run your lip messily over his. He clutches your frame with much desperation and moans in your mouth as you suck on his tongue. Your hands run through his bed hair, whining to the clap of your butt cheeks when Mingyu decides to get ‘playful.’ That’s when you try out one of the things you’ve discussed in the past. Your index and thumb presses on either side of his neck, squeezing just slightly and Mingyu just lets out a single breath.

“Mm…” he only says.

You had came enough times tonight and finally it felt like it was MIngyu’s turn to get fucked stupid. You had no complaints for teh arrangement you had with him so far. You squeeze on the base of his neck a little tighter along with another set of something clenching around him. “Yeah? You like that?”

“Mmh, yes…”

Your hips buckle faster, mouth ajar anticpatingly, the voice that leaves you sounding domineering as possible, “Yes, what?”

With a smile laced was ecstasy on his face, he answers. “Yes ma’am…”

“What a good boy. Should I let you cum, baby?”

He nods, aching to get that bit of breath from the small opening you’re allowing oxygen through.

“What have I told you about talking…I want to hear you, Gyu. Tell me how much you want to cum.”

“Please,” he says without a beat in between, “I want to come so bad…please…ma’am.”

You audibly moan, feeling his hips fuck in you faster, only fueling you more. “Yes, baby. Cum for me. You can cum.”

Your hand still around his neck, his eyes rolls back, his neck giving out and falling to his bedframe as the heat of his load vilolent spurts into his latex encased cock, weakly jerking back into you. His hand catches the back of your head and hold against the crook of his neck. You chuckle in the skin of his neck, running your lips over it.

“You’re amazing,” he finally says when let go of the chokehold.

You kiss him as thanks, smiling at him with dopamine still running through your body. “I’m going to the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

He nods, chastely kissing you back before letting you go. You hastily threw another shirt on, but don’t bother to get underwear. Leaving him a small smile, you close Mingyu’s door behind you and strut to the bathroom door where its starts opening on the other end.

Startled, Jihoon faces parallel to you with wet strands of hair dripping down to his broad exposed shoulders. His tone arms were no surprise as you’ve seen (not stared) from the sleeveless muscle tees he occasionally sports. The tiny waist and sculpted torso, however, was more than enough to get that sex high to return.

Your eyes linger on each other for some time. His gaze scans you from top to bottom, your legs only being the thing to be apparent from your otherwise covered body, before he meets your eyes solemnly, lacking much of a reactive response. “Mind moving?”

“S-sorry, “ You step aside to take in his appearance.

Only in a pair of gym shorts, Jihoon steps out of the bathroom, clutching a familiar article of clothing in his hand. “Isn’t that the shirt I borrowed?”

The tips of his ear turn noticeable pink, and a deafening silence resonates before he finally decides to respond. “Yeah, I took it with me thinking it was a clean shirt. I was gonna throw it in the wash.”

He clutches it harder in his grip for you to make out what looks like a dark wet stain. “Huh, okay. Thanks about that again by the way.”

“Yeah. bye.”

He trods off again but offers you a show without meaning to. With his incredibly delicious upper body down to the round thick ass to follow, you grew increasingly aware of the moisture between your legs. You were no better than any man.

You close the bathroom door discreetly behind you, images of Jihoon’s taken aback expression (which happened to be a normal amount of endearing) before showing off one of the godliest bodies you’ve ever seen on a human being. You swallow your own drool, hands creeping down to the arousal seeping out of your already lubed-up cunt, regretting not wearing that underwear now.

“What the fuck was that?”

#mingyu smut #woozi smut #seventeen smut #jihoon smut #kim mingyu smut #seventeen #lee jihoon smut #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #mingyu x reader #seventeen x reader #woozi x reader #mingyu x you #woozi x you

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wormchaser · 3 months

Note

i know you say youre not autistic but like.... you sure? youre something right? i dunno you dont seem not autistic. have you gotten checked and they said no???? youre my mutual and i trust you im just in disbelief

hi that picture is really awesome thanks for including it. to answer your question though, yeah, i went to a psychiatrist through this public mental health thing, and she said i think what basically boiled down to you 'you have traits, but your developmental history doesn't line up with autism', but i talked it over with a couple of friends and stuff, a lot of whom think i might be on the spectrum, and then i went back to my therapist (who was there when i met the psychiatrist) and he said he wants to get a second opinion. so all in all, not really sure

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lyndseyib · 9 months

Text

mourning my momma

introduction-

hi there. my name is lyndsey. i dont know how relevant blogging is anymore, but as a 21 year old teenage girl and former chronically online individual, i figured this might be a good outlet. so, hi. im 21 as state, im a pisces sun, cancer moon, and libra rising, im also a swifite. i lost my mom 106 days ago. mourning her has hands down been the hardest experience of my life. and it doesn't seem to be getting an easier.

i know how this works. you're probably harmlessly curious about what happened. i dont mind sharing. at around 6:30 on the morning of may 29th, memorial day, i woke up to my boyfriend in a panic and an awful gut feeling. i knew what happened immediately, i hate intuition. this is sadly what i had been preparing for my entire life. i just didn't think it would happen this soon, it wasn't supposed to happen this soon. my partner had said something happened, everyone had texted him saying there was an emergency. 911 they kept repeating. my phone had been on do not disturb. everyone had called and texted multiple times, telling me to call my dad. everyone but my mom. i just knew. mom had died. i dont remember much. i know i called someone, probably dad, and he said we lost mom. i hung up at the confirmation, and my boyfriend help me so tightly as i breathed out no in disbelief. this wasn't supposed to happen, this was my worst fear in the entire world. we had just seem mom. i visited home after not being there for a few weeks, i gave my mom candy. chocolate was always her favorite. peanut butter cups were what she always asked for, but she never discriminated against chocolate. we had a good chat that night, she told me as long as i was happy that was what mattered. those were her last words to me. i hugged her tightly, said so many i love yous. i missed her, but i didn't realize i would be missing her for forever as soon as the next day.

my mom and i always added on an ib to the end of i love you. it meant to infinity and beyond. i love you to infinity and beyond. we said it every single morning, day, and night. even if we were upset with each other. i was lucky to get a final i love you ib, to have her handwriting with that phrase so i could have it tattooed on me forever. i see it everyday, written in her beautiful cursive.

my momma's life was taken from her, her heart gave out. she left me, my dad, and my siblings a nieces all to our own devices, to live a life without her. i miss her more than anything. though in the three months she has been gone, i've become someone i'm not. i've isolated myself. i don't want to live like this anymore. that is why i am starting this blog, i would like to be able to have an outlet, to find a community of mutual mourners. i know im not alone. thank you for listening.

#mourning #grief #grieving #dealing with grief #loss #trauma #trauma recovery

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justalildumpling · 2 years

Text

chapter 4: your lipstick…

You would be lying if you said you weren’t caught off guard by him.

Not just the fact that he had in fact stolen your first kiss, or that he had just announced to the world that you were his.

But his presence as a whole.

The two of you sat on the front steps outside the house, the booming party inside providing some form of distraction from your racing heart. Though you couldn’t say it was helping a whole lot.

His jacket rested on your bare shoulders, shielding you from the gentle autumnal breeze that occasionally danced past your figures. You peered over to the silent boy; he sat with his arms placed on his legs, though his eyes held an unsettled gaze, darting from corner to corner.

Between the two of you was an unspoken agreement that it had been silent for too long, yet no one seemed to want to speak up first. You began fiddling with your lipstick cap, twisting it up and down, contemplating your response.

“You know,” You started. “You can’t just come back into my life and pretend to be my boyfriend.”

Jaemin’s head whipped around to face yours, though he remained silent for a few seconds, his eyes still holding the flustered gaze.

“I know.” He responded quietly, guilt lacing in his voice. “I hope you understand that I was trying to help you.”

“And you thought announcing that you were my boyfriend and kissing me in front of the whole party would help?”

“I didn’t mean-“ Jaemin paused momentarily before sighing. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I know you meant well.”

A wave of silence had enveloped your conversation once again, as the two of you avoided each others eyes.

There was a faint yet shrilled call of your name from inside the house. It was Ryujin, and you knew that once you were caught you were dead as meat.

You stood up abruptly, shrugging off Jaemin’s jacket and folding it flimsily to place on his lap.

“It was nice seeing you again.” You blurted, hastily grabbing your things, “but I really got to escape from my friends.”

Jaemin peered at you like a deer caught in the headlights, but nodded nonetheless.

You weren’t exactly sure whether he had registered your words or not, but the thought of Ryujin being seconds from murdering you was the bigger concern at the time.

Rather too concerning as you failed to register Jaemin’s fleeting call from behind as you fluttered into your ride for the night.

Jaemin stood in the driveway of Sunwoo’s house, staring at your lipstick in disbelief.

He sighed heavily, slumping on the cold concrete path with his hands cupping his cheeks.

“Might as well head home.”

masterlist || previous | next

pairing: jaemin x fem! reader

synopsis: after getting ghosted by your crush in high school, you swore off dating in university, earning yourself the title of ‘the unattainable’. after 3 years you were convinced that there would be no way the two of you would ever cross paths ever again. well, that was until he announced that he was your boyfriend at a party.

genre: social media au, fake dating au, college au, fluff, crack, mutual pining, acquaintances to lovers

warnings: swearing, murder jokes

taglist: open! feel free to send an ask or comment to be added :))) ~ @w0nderr @qghosty @luxebeautystyle @mafegarcia @watermelonxes @carelessshootanonymous @finmls @sassy-author @strdaydrp @her33n @haechansgfreal @smolpeyy @cupid-yuno @pckeia @icecreamjaem @xxxx-23nct @euphoricjaemin @calssunflower @fullsunld @dandelionxgal @luvrboyjeno @simtone @purpleheejin @yutensoul @tamakofever @yoonrimin @viagumi @rinrinslovebot @kkotjia @000rpheus @iwouldbangchan @leeknowsredeyeliner @user103843 @abcd-fghijkl-nopqrstuvwxyz @chocopie16 @hem-lyss @kudzzzz @bbnana @im-just-trying-to-survive-man @hyucupid @studywoo

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host-club-hq · 2 years

Text

Jasmine

➼ pairing: kyoya ootori x reader

➼ summary: you and kyoya are subjected to an unfavorable fate via your parents, but when the both of you become vulnerable, you close back up just as quickly. (i don't know if i wanna end it here, but idk if i can write more. you guys lemme know if you wanna see more of this drabble)

➼ word count: 7.4k, got a little carried away

➼ what to expect: "It'll be mine soon enough, might as well use it."

➼ warnings: slight angst, mutual pining, slow burn, steamy, language

➼ im actually supposed to be writing an essay right now but i have kyoya on the brain, so here's this :) also tumblr ate half this draft as i was almost done, so you can thank them for this taking so long

➼ chapter navigation

You wouldn't call your parents... neglectful, per say.

More of just... inattentive.

Although they support your lavish lifestyle and provide you with many of your wants and all of your needs, they never seem to know you personally.

It's always been like this. It's not your father who drives you to school, it's your driver. Although that isn't unusual for a kid of your financial status, there are some things that your parents don't do that they should.

There's a syllabus or permission slip you need signed for school? Your head butler, Ren, signs it for you. Your parents have appointed him your caretaker, never mind the fact that they were actually present in your life. On the school emergency contact list, Ren's name is the only one present.

Well, not the only one. Your aunt volunteered. Although she's usually very busy, she felt sympathy for the way her sister and brother-in-law have raised you.

You have a personal shopper. Although your parents never believed in needing someone to dress you and do most basic human functions for you, you need someone like a motherly figure to shop with you.

She helps you pick out your clothes, try things on, encourages you when she sees something she likes, advises you on what to pair together and how to style accessories.

Her name is Lindsay, you enjoy her presence often, which is why you shop often, even if you don't purchase anything.

Only once did your parents hire a professional to teach you how to do your own hair and makeup. But, that was a one time thing. One lesson was all your parents believed you needed, if even that. The next day you were expected to remember everything she'd breezed through.

Not surprisingly, you did.

You parents were not your mom and dad, rather your mother and father. To you, there is a very clear difference between the terms.

A mother and father biologically have a child together, a mom and dad parent a child together.

You didn't even know your parents' real names until you were 11 years old.

And it was Ren who'd told you when you asked.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

"Miss y/n?"

You're busying yourself with homework when Ren calls your name from the doorway to your bedroom, already open.

"Hm?" When you acknowledge that it's him, you return to your writing and vaguely listen to what he has to say.

"Your... parents would like to have a word with you."

Your pen stills in your hand mid-word. You crane your neck over your shoulder and stare blankly at Ren, in disbelief. He nods in reassurance.

You shoot up from your chair and dart into your closet, picking a modest pair of earrings and a necklace. You stand straight in front of your mirror and dust yourself off, spinning around to face Ren.

"How do I look?" you breathe out slowly.

Ren steps forward and gently takes two strands of your hair on either side, adjusting them softly.

"Wonderful. Now, they're waiting." Ren pats you gently on your shoulder. You squeal to yourself and hurry into the living room with a skip in your step.

You arrive into the living room and compose yourself, watching as you parents stand professionally in the center of the room.

You inhale deeply and straighten your posture, folding your hands in front of your body and waiting to be spoken to.

"y/n, we have a matter to discuss with you." Your father speaks first, your mother on his arm.

"Yes?" You reply timidly.

"As you may know, we have recently entered a business relationship with the Ootori family." your father informs, but unbeknownst to you, quite grimly.

"You may know their son, Kyoya Ootori." your mother adds quickly.

"Yes, ma'am, he's in my class." you nod curtly, taking another deep breath.

"That's good, because you will be married to him in less than a year."

Your face pales and you stop fidgeting with your fingers, "What?" your voice is no more than a mere whisper.

"In order to secure the deal, Yoshio Ootori would like to marry off his third son in order to merge our companies, seeing as his older sons are already engaged and/or married."

"And, seeing as you are our only daughter, we offered your hand in marriage."

"You don't have the right to offer my hand!"

Your sudden outburst is seemingly unwelcome, judging by your parents' expressions. Your voice echoes off the living room walls from the mere size. There is a painful moment of silence.

"What's done is done, you will be married to Kyoya Ootori by December of this year." Your father extracts his phone and beings to distract himself.

"It's April." you inform like it wasn't a well known fact. April seems so close to December for you, especially if you will be married by then.

"And?" Your father lifts his cell phone to his ear, giving you once last emotionless glance, then strides from the room with a greeting to the individual over the phone.

Your mother's eyes display the smallest amount of sympathy before following your father wordlessly.

This year, you and Kyoya will be finishing your last year of high school. You will turn 19 by the end of the summer, and Kyoya already is. He'll be turning 20 in November. A month before you're married.

You always knew you would marry a wealthy man, especially because of your parents' bizarre expectations, but you always thought it would be because you loved him.

You should have seen this coming. Marrying you off is exactly something your parents would do.

Your world is falling apart.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

School the next day is excruciating, to say the least.

You're constantly steering clear of the Host Club, especially Kyoya in particular. He, of course, would know of his father's decision. You can't think to face him like this.

You and Kyoya are friends, alright. Not obscenely close, but not strangers either. He knows of you, talks with you, and invites you to the Host Club on different occasions, sometimes to their private events.

How could you face him now? Your fiancé? The word makes you shiver, especially when you think about spending the rest of your life with him.

The bell rings abruptly in your ears- you've zoned out. You shake yourself from your thoughts and gently push your notebook into your book bag. Most students have already packed their belongings and strode out of class.

"y/n."

You freeze mid-shove. You turn slowly at the voice, acknowledging the tall male with jet black hair. You immediately know who it is, reluctantly glancing at your reflection in his thin, shining glasses.

"Hm?" You reply shortly.

"The Host Club is hosting an event to celebrate the end of our last year in high school. Seeing as you're in our class, I thought you might like to attend."

Ah, so he's asking you as a student. Not a friend. While you're slightly disappointed, you're also relieved.

"How should I dress?" You ask, slinging your bag over one shoulder and standing timidly to face him, refusing to let your eyes rest comfortably on his face, rather the wall behind him.

"Formally, as most events directed by the Host Club tend to be."

That seems like a backhanded statement. You frown. "Fine." you huff definitively, spinning on your heel with your head help high, nose stuck up into the air.

"What time should I pick you up?" Kyoya asks like it's the most casual question in the world. Really, it should be, but it isn't.

"You're picking me up?" You halt in your tracks to face him in confusion.

"Of course, how else would you be getting to the function? I thought since we're to be married, we might as well make our parents happy and spend more time together."

A beat of painful, agonizing silence. Kyoya knows. He knows to a degree that this isn't what you want, and on some level, he doesn't want it either. He's lived his whole life pleasing his father, and nothing's going to stop him now.

You grip the strap of your bag tightly, tears pricking your eyes when reminded of your inevitable fate. Neither of you move to leave, or to speak. Just a very uncomfortable silence.

"Might as well." Your voice is squeaky from lack of use, you clear your throat.

"Any time past 5:00 is fine." you breathe out as quickly as possible, whirling around to make your exit, bringing a single finger up to your face and dabbing gently under your eyes as you scurry away.

Kyoya remains silent and emotionless, his expression unchanging. Although he feels a twist deep in his stomach when he noticed you drying your tears. He never meant to put you in this position, but it wasn't his fault, was it? No. He hadn't had a choice either.

But you both will do anything to please your parents, won't you?

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

You slide your hands over your hips, the sleek, black dress with a plunging neckline accenting your body wonderfully. The material clings to your body, all the way down to the slit that travels as far as your upper left thigh. Very classy, yet sensual- just what you're going for.

You adjust your earrings, your necklace matching perfectly. A knock comes to the frame of your doorway and you acknowledge it by swiveling, your hands occupied with your earring.

Ren stands fondly at the entrance to your room. "I believe I caught word of Mr. Ootori arriving here soon." he smiles knowingly.

You give a weak smile in return, clasping the back of your earring in place and dusting yourself off.

"Your evening clutch, Ma'am." Ren presents you with a stunning silver bedazzled, strapless hand bag. Your grin widens.

"Is this Aunt Elise's?" You recall her wearing it to a fair few events and occasions. Ren nods. Your heart swells with appreciation.

"She thought you might like to use it tonight." Ren informs you. You nod, turning the precious accessory over in your hands, marveling.

"Now, he will be arriving soon." Ren pats your back as you shove a few last minute things into your clutch. You carefully stride to the door in your heels.

When you open the door, Kyoya's just now arriving. It would be traditional for the gentleman to come to the door to pick up his lady, but you've had enough of doing things the traditional way for now. You will make your own decision, this time.

You watch the sleek, black limousine come to a clean halt near the steps leading to the entrance of your home. The windows are tinted, but you can still make out a silhouette in the back, neck craned down, a slight glow. He's on his phone. On cue, your phone vibrates.

Kyoya: Are you ready?

You scoff mockingly to yourself, replying.

You: If you bothered to look up, you would know

The silhouette moves, facing you. You make a show of descending the steps, your hips swaying, heel to toe, heel to toe.

The limousine door opens and you're met with Kyoya in a clean, crisply straight black suit, black undershirt, and black tie to match. If it weren't for you new-found confidence, your jaw would have hit the ground by now.

"You look stunning." Are the first words he greets you with. Your cheeks flush a red hue under your makeup.

"Thank you. I like this suit." You adjust his collar with your fingers and gleam up at him. He offers a small smile in return.

"I had a feeling you'd want to wear black. Shall we?" He offers you his arm politely. You nod, slipping your hand and wrist through the gap between his arm and his body.

Being this close to him, you can smell the cologne he wears. The scent is inexplicably addictive, unmistakably him, like a warm cup of coffee, but like spicy cinnamon at the same time. You inhale deeply, savoring the fragrance.

It seems like a thousand steps from your front door to the limousine in the heels you've chosen, but you find relief in the plush leather seats as Kyoya escorts you inside.

"Comfortable?" He shuts the door and settles in next to you.

"Mm, wouldn't you like to know." you cross your ankles delicately and fold your hands in your lap, back straight.

"Alright, I see how it'll be tonight." Kyoya suppresses a smirk and straightens next to you.

The entire ride consists of a surprisingly comfortable silence. It's not often that silence with Kyoya is pleasurable, but neither of you feel the need to say anything amidst the quiet nature of the car.

When you arrive, anxiety fills the cavern of your chest and you feel as though it's constricting. The limousine comes to a perfect stop at the entrance to Ouran Academy's ball room. You know the room very well. Although now, it seems unfamiliar, like you've never stepped foot inside all your life.

The open doorway is decorated with lights and silk banners as students file in with their partners, some individually.

You haven't noticed that Kyoya has opened the door and is offering you his arm to pull yourself up and out. He allows you to hesitate a moment longer, then clears his throat gently.

"Is something wrong?" His voice is soft and concerned.

"No." You reply immediately, gripping onto his arm and pulling yourself out.

You're half expecting paparazzi's cameras to flash the moment you exit the automobile from the way you're dressed and the stunningly handsome man who's arm you're attached to, but you're thankful that it doesn't happen. You're not sure you want this night documented just yet.

As the name of your purse suggests, you clutch it tight as you stride with Kyoya up the stairs. Naturally, the pair of you have arrived a bit early, seeing as he is part of the club that is hosting the event. Nevertheless, the early birds are starting to arrive as well.

Kyoya is starting to think this might be the event he's been the most nervous for in a long time. Having someone as astonishing, stunning, and captivating as you on his arm? He might be the luckiest man alive. Despite this fact, he remains poised and elegantly emotionless.

He manages to sneak a glance of your side profile, your features remaining unfazed and stoic. He adjusts his glasses with his free hand, the lenses giving a sharp glint from the light of the chandeliers looming above him in the ballroom.

You and Kyoya are greeted with the remaining hosts as they've all seemed to have arrived quite some time ago. Unusually, the rest of them are without dates. Although, you assume Tamaki would have a date if Haruhi wasn't expected to be a male host for this occasion.

"y/n! So glad you could make it! It's so nice to see you!"

You should expect what Tamaki does next- embracing you unabashedly and gripping you tight. You grunt and stumble, reciprocating as a reflex.

"Nice to see you too, Tamaki." Your voice strains as he releases you and you take a deep breath.

"Senpai, if you want to see her again, you'll have to stop suffocating her." Haruhi deadpans behind him. You giggle at her comment. She beams.

"Can we steal her? Please, Kyoya?!" Tamaki begs pitifully with his infamous puppy eyes. Kyoya does all but give in, sighing.

"You can. I'll just be going over some last minute preparations if you need me." Kyoya directs his last statement your way. You nod.

"Okay."

Tamaki tugs on your arm and you allow him to drag you behind him, vaguely listening as he goes on and on about how much he's missed you. Haruhi trudges behind the two of you, grumbling.

As Tamaki steals you away to mingle with the rest of the hosts as Kyoya tends to his responsibilities, the party begins to fill out, guests arriving left and right.

The party is now in full swing. Kyoya is still tending to guests and budget related issues. You've gone to procure yourself a drink, leaning as lady-like as you can against the beverage table and sipping quietly.

Out of thin air, two arms perch themselves on either of your shoulders. You choke on your drink and pat your own chest, coughing.

"Whoa there, y/n." Two voices harmonize in either of your ears.

"Hello, boys." you sigh, letting your shoulders slouch under the weight of their arms.

The twins snicker deviously on your right and left, dressed identically.

“So what’s this rumor about you and Kyoya-Senpai?” you can only guess which twin is speaking to you, although you determine that that’s not what’s important right now.

“Depends, what did you hear?” You glance up at who you can only assume is Hikaru.

“Oh, so it’s not the only rumor?” the second twin infers, and you turn your head to him.

“That’s not what I said.” You shake your head, cup balanced in your hand.

“But it’s what you implied.” Both of them together, this time.

“What do you want to know?” You take a long sip from your drink, eyeing them in your peripheral vision. They both turn and gaze at your side profile with mischievous smirks.

“We heard that you might be engaged-”

“-so we’re wondering where the ring is.”

You snort at their question. They tilt their heads, confused. “I don’t have a ring.” you flourish your left hand, which has three rings, but none of them are on your ring finger.

“That seems a little untraditional, doesn’t it Kaoru?” Hikaru hums.

“It does, Hikaru.” Kaoru nods. You laugh humorlessly, “You’re telling me.” your shoulders almost shake with your laughter.

"We wouldn't peg Kyoya-Senpai to skimp on an engagement ring for his fiancé." The twins shrug in unison. You grimace.

"Please don't call me that, it makes me feel old." your body shudders involuntarily, the twins' brows furrow further, now more confused than ever.

"Huh?"

"You should be glad that you'll probably never have to subject yourself to something like that." You sigh wistfully.

Before Hikaru or Kaoru have a chance to reply, your eyes find Kyoya approaching the three of you. You breathe a sigh of relief and set your drink on the table behind you.

"Hikaru, Kaoru, would you mind if I stole y/n away a moment?" He asks politely, offering you his hand.

"Not at all." The twins shove you forward and you lurch, your reflexes causing your hand to find its place firmly gripped in Kyoya's.

You're gently pulled to the center dance floor, your arm instinctively placing itself on Kyoya's shoulder and the other in his hand. His own hand secures around your waist and holds you reasonably close, but not close enough to cause suspicion among guests. He is still a host, after all. He can't be showing any favoritism.

"Just wanted to dance with me, Ootori?" You question in the silence save for the orchestra playing beautifully in the background.

"Only using my last name now? y/n, I thought we were friendlier than that." Kyoya dodges the question expertly.

"It'll be mine soon enough, might as well use it." using humor to avoid pain, often a tactic of yours. Kyoya smiles nonetheless.

"Touché, well played." Kyoya smirks as you sway together.

Meanwhile, Haruhi approaches the twins, arms crossed.

"It's awful, isn't it?" she jumps into conversation without context.

"Awful?" the twins follow her eyes to the pair of you, moving rhythmically to the music.

"Yeah, I can't even imagine." Haruhi's reply is vague, confusing the twins further.

"Hikaru, Kaoru, Haruhi! What are you doing over here, we have guests waiting." Tamaki all but storms over to the trio and points to the meandering patrons.

"Just watching Kyoya and y/n-Senpai." Haruhi shrugs. She prays she won't be pushed onto the dance floor by her boss at this moment.

Tamaki follows her line of sight and finds the two of you as well, eyes softening. He settles for watching the pair of you along with the other hosts.

"I still can't believe I wasn't the first person Kyoya told." Tamaki pouts with his arms crossed against his chest, slouching.

"What are we missing here?" Hikaru demands, having had enough of being oblivious, Kaoru voices his agreement.

"You didn't know?" Tamaki cranes his neck to catch a glance of the infuriated twins.

"Kyoya-Senpai and y/n-Senpai's parents are becoming partners and they're expecting them to get married." Haruhi informs grimly.

Hikaru and Kaoru glance at each other with shock, then back at the pair of you. Although you're talking to Kyoya casually, with the new information, they see you in a different light.

"Oh." Is all they have to say.

"Do you think they'll be okay?" Haruhi blinks owlishly up at Tamaki in question. He casts his eyes down to her own, then back to you.

"I think it'll take a while. I don't even think they know." it's one of the rare occurrences when Tamaki's wisdom shows through his facade.

"Know what?" Haruhi inquires again, following his sight.

"Look at them." Tamaki gestures with his arms to the both of you.

On cue, you shove Kyoya playfully and he only smiles down at you, his eyes shimmering with something undetectable.

"There's something there. But, as stubborn as Kyoya is, there's no use in trying to tell him. They'll have to figure it out on their own." Haruhi watches Tamaki's soft eyes follow your form, darting back and forth as you dance.

And slowly, the world feels as if it's falling away. Piece by piece, the party in the background, the guests and other hosts fall into nothingness, and you're dancing among the stars, weightless and effortlessly. The orchestra continues it's smooth rhythm, echoing through the universe. All that's left is you and Kyoya, and you don't even seem to notice.

That is, until you do notice.

You realize the proximity, the way he delicately grips your hand and your waist. Your breath gets caught in your throat and you have the sudden urge to pry yourself away.

"I'm- um, I need to powder my nose." You lean back, removing your hand from his shoulder.

Kyoya raises a single brow. It's the middle of a song, but he can sense the sudden panic swimming in your irises. He releases you gently.

"Alright-" but you're already gone, weaving through guests and other hosts and slipping from his vision.

And so Kyoya stands in the midst of gyrating bodies and blinding lights, watching you disappear in the crowd. But, it isn't long before a few guests approach him.

"Kyoya~ Would you mind if I stole this dance?" another girl peers at him from behind the first one, anticipating his reply.

He gives them the most polite smile he can, as genuinely as he can, but inside he feels the opposite. "Of course, my dears. That's what I'm here for." he takes her into his arms and begins to sway to the rhythm.

But it's not the same. Although he's doing his job and he's never had a problem with it before, it doesn't feel right. She doesn't fit into his arms like you do, like a long lost puzzle piece finally slotted into the right position. She feels... wrong, for lack of better words.

Nevertheless, he is a host, and a host exudes chivalry.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Never have you struggled like this over an assignment. Naturally, most of your classes come easily to you, and that's why you guess that you and Kyoya get along easily.

But this is different. Your college essay. Academically, you can write sophisticated essays about most topics. But, when it comes to yourself, you have little to say.

You stare at a blank page, your cursor flashing without a purpose. You lay comfortably on your bed, blinking owlishly at the white screen. Not a single idea has popped into your head. What are you even supposed to write about? Why can't you just pick an academic topic and write about that?

Of course, for middle school or even early high school, you've written ice-breaker papers about things the teacher wanted to know so that they could teach the class with prior knowledge- but this is requiring to delve deep into your inner soul, you don't think you've ever even done that yourself.

You reluctantly pick up your cell phone and select a contact that you assume won't answer at this time. It's late.

Meanwhile, Kyoya's cell phone rings suddenly. He shamefully admits to himself that he's startled by the bright light and sudden noise. Once it registers in his mind, he puts down his book and picks up the phone instead, reading off the contact name.

y/n l/n

He thinks for a moment that maybe he should add something more to your contact name, but the thought vanishes as quickly as it had come to him. Kyoya answers.

"Hello?"

There's a silence on your end. You hadn't been expecting him to pick up.

"Hi." is all you can manage.

Kyoya firmly resists the urge to chuckle fondly, but replies semi-mockingly instead, "Hi, y/n."

"I, um... I need help," you sigh in reluctance.

"May I ask with what?" he hums in reply, saving his place in his novel and setting it to the side, focusing on his gentle conversation with you.

"College essay..." you almost whine, almost ashamed.

Kyoya furrows his eyebrows on his side, "Isn't it a little late for college essays?" He has already submitted and been accepted into to a college- Chiba University.

"I know... I just, I think I'm going to take a break next year. I need some time off." You sound exhausted. Kyoya almost cringes in sympathy.

"That's understandable. Besides, it's not like you'll need to support yourself once we graduate."

A stinging reminder of your future after high school. You do suppose you can consider yourself lucky, he's right. You don't have to support yourself, and you don't even need a college education if you really think about it. But, you want one. For you, not for him.

"I guess you're right." you lay back on your bed loudly, sighing.

"I'll come over and help you, yeah?" Kyoya hoists himself off his bed and slips into his coat, his slippers sliding onto his feet and he makes his way out of his room.

"What? I thought we could just talk over the phone." you sit up in panic. You're in your pajamas and not prepared for company.

"I know, but it'll be easier." you can hear that on his side, he's already out the door and walking to his car.

"You're driving yourself?" you question incredulously.

"I don't want to bother the drivers right now. I got my license about a year ago, thought it would be useful to have." You hear the car door shut on his side and the engine starts.

"Okay..." you can't think of anything else to say.

"Be there soon."

You nod, "Yeah, see you." you hang up, anticipating his arrival as you sit uncomfortably on the edge of your bed.

After a moment of thoughtful silence on your part, you straighten and smooth out your pajama set, which is a pair of shorts and a skimpy tank-top, but you're sure that won't be a problem.

The sound of your bare footsteps pad into the kitchen and on into the entry hall, passing Ren on your way.

"Miss y/n. Do you need something? It's very late." Ren checks his watch and straightens his posture as you pass him.

"Oh um... Kyoya is coming over a minute. Just wanted to meet him at the door." You rub the back of your neck awkwardly, averting your eyes to the chandelier above you instead of Ren's questioning gaze.

"Mr. Ootori?" Then, Ren seems to have it figured out.

"Oh... would... would you like me to...?" Ren jabs his thumb to the exit of the room, suggesting he turn in for the night.

"What? No! Oh, God, no!" You wave at him in urgency, denying his implied claim.

"I understand. Just let me know if you need anything." He bows and turns on his heel to leave you be, standing in the middle of the kitchen in your pajama shorts and tank-top.

It isn't long before there's a soft knock on your front door. You briefly acknowledge the fact that he's neglected to ring the doorbell because of the hour. Your heart pulses at the consideration.

You turn the knob gently and swing it open to reveal Kyoya, dressed oddly domestically, laptop, notebook, and writing utensils brought along with him.

The odd silence between you feels tensed. Finally, he speaks up and cuts through the tension with a dull butter knife.

"Hello." It's a simple greeting, almost awkward, before you stand aside to let him inside.

"Hi. Thanks for coming." he strides past you and nods gently.

"Bedroom is... this way." You gesture vaguely down the hall from the kitchen and lead the way. You can hear his soft footfalls on the floor in the slippers you've provided him with and you heart picks up the pace.

"I don't think I've ever been to your house before." Kyoya takes in his surroundings, the hallway leading to your bedroom is pristine and lengthy.

"You've been to my parents' parties here, right?" You glance at him over your shoulder and suppress a smile at his expression.

"Well, yes. But those parties were held in the ballroom and it isn't too dissimilar from my own." Kyoya reminds. You hum in acknowledgement and turn the corner to the door to your room.

"Just in here. It's a bit of a mess, when I get stressed, I get disorganized, and when I'm disorganized, I'm stressed. It's a relentless cycle." You grumble before pushing open the heavy wooden door.

Kyoya expects much more of a mess than he's greeted with. Despite a few papers strewn about your bed covering and your laptop open near the edge, nothing else seems out of place. He doesn't know what he expected of your room, but it fits you more than he can describe.

You fold your legs beneath your body and pick up your laptop to place it in your lap, ready to begin work. Your eyes dart up from the screen to gaze at Kyoya, standing in the middle of your room as his eyes bound across the room.

"Aren't you going to sit?" You gesture to a number of comfortable surfaces in your room. There's plenty of room on your bed, given the size, but a chair would also suffice. Anything but watching him stand in the center of the room awkwardly would be acceptable.

"Right." you seem to have ripped him from a dizzy daydream and he settles for a chair near your bed. You don't pay his decision much attention and open your empty document.

"I just... can't come up with a single thing to put in this essay." you toss your hands up indignantly, creasing your brow in irritation as your blinking cursor continues to mock you.

"Typically these essays are supposed to reflect your inner workings, tell your university of choice who you are." Kyoya opens his own laptop and begins a new document.

"That's the problem, I've got nothing." you huff, tossing your laptop gently to the side and lying back on your sheets.

"What do you mean you've got nothing?" Kyoya all but chuckles at your antics. You sit halfway up to glare at him.

"I mean I've got nothing! Absolutely nothing comes to mind when thinking about myself. I feel like I can evaluate others just fine, but when it comes to myself... I'm just-"

"Oblivious?" Kyoya's eyes cautiously find yours over his laptop screen. He took the words right out of your mouth.

"I-... yeah, exactly." You're at a loss for words. How did he know?

"I can relate to that to a certain extent." Kyoya resonates with you on a deep level.

You cross your legs casually, "What did you write about?"

Instinctively, Kyoya's eyes fly to your legs where your shorts ride up as your leg folds over your other leg. He physically shakes the thought from his head and meets your eyes again. Or, at least your face.

"Me?" it's a stupid question. He can't say he's ever asked a stupid question before. But there it was, coming right from between his lips.

"Yes, you." You giggle at his question. He curses himself and his hormones for his behavior.

"I just..." What did he write about? Why is it suddenly so hard to remember? When did it get so hot in your room?

"I remembered what my sister told me... when I was struggling with my essay. She said just to tell them that 'Kyoya Ootori is blank', and that seemed to be a good outline for what I wanted to say."

"I think plenty of stories from your adventures in the Host Club helped with that, a little." you tease as you crawl up onto your bed, feeling more comfortable in his presence.

"Indeed it did. Aside from that, you want to be sure not to reiterate anything in your resume. As much as the Host Club is a large part of mine, I tried to avoid restating it too much." Kyoya advises as he pulls a copy of his essay from the depths of his many documents.

"Right. That's smart." it seems like a silly thing to say. Most of what comes from Kyoya's brain and out of his mouth is smart. You dig into your files and find your resume, opening it up and scrolling through it.

"Hm. See, I've already got my family history on here... let's see..." you squint at the bright screen in your dimly lit room.

"And your family doesn't define you." Kyoya's statement is bold and garish. You glance at him.

"How do you mean?" You tilt your head.

"I didn't put my family in my essay at all. It didn't seem like something I wanted them to define me as." Kyoya finds the words to say easily.

"I see what you mean. As much as they don't know about you, your family should be one of the unknowns." You try to comprehend his advice in your own way.

As you begin typing away, you glance at him one last time. "Why're you still all the way over there? Come up here." you pat the bed next to you firmly, a clear gesture to join you on the mattress.

Kyoya hesitates a moment. Finally, he complies and sits cross-legged next to you on the bed, laptop in a similar position to yours. He tries his best to keep his posture straight, God only knows how that will feel in the morning if he doesn't.

The clacking of your fingers on the keys and the clicking of his mousepad ring in the silence. Occasionally, your typing stops and Kyoya glances up to find that you're stuck- eyebrows furrowed and tongue poking the inside of your cheek as your eyes read and reread over your draft.

Eventually, you let out a frustrated hum and scoot closer to him, much to his surprise. "Alright, here's what I have so far."

It seems you really only need someone to bounce ideas off of. Kyoya hasn't provided much help, although a few pieces of advice, but most of what you're writing you've come up with on your own. He finds himself not focused on what you're saying at all, but the way your lips form around words as you speak, the way your fingers slightly tremble as they grasp behind your laptop as if you're nervous, the way your eyes flit to and fro across the screen as you read.

And suddenly you're finished. You glance up at him, gauging his reaction. Once he notices that your lips have stopped moving, he glances up to meet your eyes as well. Nothing of what you said made it to his ears. Not one bit. A faint blush spreads across his face at the thought of being caught staring.

"Well?" you ask in the silence.

Kyoya's eyes linger on you before casting down to his own laptop. "I-um... good- it's good, yeah." he scratches the back of his neck and chews anxiously on the inside of his cheek.

What kind of spell have you put on him? What kind of creature are you to render the Kyoya Ootori unable to concentrate or form a coherent sentence? What kind of sorcery is this?

"Kyoya." You call him out of his thoughts in a stern voice. His gray irises move up to you in a hurry.

"You didn't hear a word of what I just said."

And there it is. You pointed it out. Kyoya feels his heart twang. Damn his sudden emotions, they aren't supposed to come to him in a rush like this.

"I'm sorry, I was... distracted." he decides on after a moment of thinking.

"What could you possibly be distracted by?" Kyoya can hear the irritation dripping from your voice but he can't help when his eyes glance at your lips at your inquiry.

You, you seductive wench.

You follow his gaze and know exactly what he's looking at. You feel a sudden confidence bloom in your chest at his incapability to speak.

Kyoya only looks back into your eyes when your lips tug up on one side, simpering up at him.

"Would it help to... take a break?" you gently shut the lid of your laptop and set it aside. Kyoya's heart picks up the pace.

"Potentially... yes. We should do something else. We should-"

You yank him by the collar and firmly press your lips to Kyoya's. His lips are pressed into a thin line, eyes wide and unsure of how to react.

You're kissing him. You're kissing him. Oh, God. He should do something, he should-

"You talk too much." you whisper against his lips and close your mouth again against his.

Kyoya can't help his eyes that flutter shut, can't help but inhale deeply, your scent overriding his senses. His mind screams your name because that's all he can think of. y/n, y/n, y/n.

He would stop himself, but... he remembers...

First of all, you're his fiancé. This is what fiancés should do. It's almost expected.

And second of all, it's you. You're clouding his senses.

Self-control? Who's she?

Kyoya has no idea what he's doing. Not only has he never kissed anyone before, his mind is also melting, falling apart, how ever you want to describe it. It's useless, and he can't even comprehend how to reciprocate. And, oh, your lips are so soft. You taste like jasmine, lavender? No, jasmine. Jasmine is much more rich and seductive.

Luckily, you know what to do. Your lips are moving, almost mouthing at his own. Kyoya remembers what he's always heard; just mimic your partner.

He tries to do what you're doing, and it seems to work.

Speaking of you, your mind is screaming at you; what the hell are you doing?!

But when Kyoya starts to kiss you back, his lips moving in sync with yours, your nerves settle. You can't help your mouth stretching into a thin line, smiling as you acknowledge that his arms are stationary at his sides.

"Your arms go here." you grasp his wrists and place them on your waist. His hands feel tense, stiff.

Kyoya emits a noise and gently pushes against you, detaching his mouth from yours and taking a deep, open-mouthed breath in, like a man drowning and finally surfacing for a breath of air.

"I can't breathe." He exhales deeply, then. Now that you can get a better look at him, you can see his flushed cheeks and glazed-over eyes. His lungs were burning, otherwise he wouldn't have pulled away.

You giggle at him and Kyoya swears he hears angels from on high. Is this heaven? Has he ascended to the great beyond?

But when the neurons in his brain start firing again, all he can see is your and your cheeks painted a pretty pink, eyes hooded as you gaze at him with a look he's never seen before.

You? Heaven? Same word, different letters.

Suddenly, as much as Kyoya needs air, he needs you again. But, he's not sure if he wants to move toward you. He's conflicted. He should have much more self control, but when you intrude on his thoughts (a very much welcomed intrusion), he can't find himself caring enough to stop.

"Who would've thought? Kyoya Ootori, you are a very talented kisser." You chuckle seductively as you release your grip on his collar.

"Had some experience?" there's a certain type of humor in your tone. You've always resorted to using jokes to cover up negative emotions; like jealousy, in this case. Kyoya really is a good kisser... you can only wonder where or with who he learned how.

"No." Kyoya answers immediately, shaking his head defiantly. You raise an eyebrow, relief flooding your senses.

"Oh?" is all you can say. You can feel the dread of a sudden lull in the conversation.

"No, I just... mimicked you." he admits, thoroughly winded.

You bite your lip to suppress a much too large smile, reaching for your laptop and pacing to your desk to set it there.

"I think we've done enough for tonight. Thank you... for your help. And, everything else." you tease, clasping your hands behind your back and swaying on your feet. You leap back onto your bed and tuck your legs beneath you.

Kyoya exhales, then fumbles with himself and then his things. "Right. Right, I'll just..." He's almost to your door, but you tug on his shirt to keep him from going too far.

"Won't you stay the night?" Your voice is soft and pleading, quite contrasting to your earlier confidence.

Kyoya takes a glimpse of your hand grasping the fabric of his clothing.

"With me?" you clarify after a moment.

"But, your parents..." Kyoya reminds you that the two of you are not alone in this house.

You laugh humorlessly, "You've met my parents, haven't you? I'm not so convinced they'll care if you stay or go."

"Do... you care if I stay or go?" Kyoya tries cautiously. Because that's all that really matters. It's your opinion he cares about. For once, he finds himself putting someone else's opinion above his own.

"Do you want me to care?" that's not really the response he's looking for. He wants you to be vulnerable first.

The silence in your room is deafening. Neither of you speak but you can practically feel the nerves radiating off of one another.

"I should probably go."

Kyoya regrets it. Oh, he can't even begin to describe how much he regrets what he's said, but he can't let his guard down for longer than he has.

You feel your heart wrench at his words, "Yeah, yeah. It's probably best." You wrest yourself from your bed and swiftly move on to your nightly routine so as to distract yourself.

"Right." Kyoya gathers his things and waits at your doorway, silently begging for you to call him back to you. Back into your arms, back into the warm safety of your embrace.

But you don't. You don't even spare him a glance as you make your way to your bathroom.

"I'll see you soon." he calls. The end of school means he doesn't get to see you everyday. Not without initiating.

"See you. Goodnight." Kyoya can almost hear the pain in your voice, the trembling. He winces at himself.

"Goodnight." he walks himself to your front door, slipping out without another glance behind him.

When he leaves, the pain sets in. You grip the edges of your sink with fervor and your eyes squeeze shut tightly. You shouldn't have taken a chance, how could you think something like that would work out for the better?

Soon after your routine, you wrap yourself in your blankets and swaddle yourself in sorrow, your heart pounding with a dull aching pain. You find it hard to breathe, hard to catch your breath. You groan and bury your body beneath the blankets, settling in for a dreamless sleep.

Whatever troubles tomorrow brings can't compare to the agonizing pain of the present.

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notnctu · 3 years

Text

push & pull | kim doyoung

❀ slytherin!doyoung x hufflepuff!femreader ❀ genre - SLOW BURN, smut, fluff, a bit of humor (idk not rlly) ❀ details - hogwarts!au, fwb to lovers?, y/n is a player lol, jealous doyoung, mutual pining, doyoung is a lil mean ❀ word count - 9.7k ❀ warnings - explicit language, possessiveness (a concept of marking), dom!doyoung, angry sex?, slight dirty talk, penetration, fingering, praise kink ❀ synopsis - in which a prideful slytherin and an oblivious hufflepuff play a clueless emotion game of tug of war.

❝I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?❞

❝People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you pursue me?❞ ❀ a/n - i changed the plot a little bit as i was writing lol but hopefully it still fits everything! i said this in the teaser, but i want to preface and say that the magic/marking is not canon to harry potter, and that the only thing im using are the sectional houses/subjects. besides that, everything is made up LMAO also pls b lenient with me, i read hogwarts!au but writing it is very out of my comfort zone and am very bad at creating anything magical

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Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin boy of your dreams, mindlessly and imperfectly steals glances your way across the dining tables and under several hundred floating lit candles. He sits huddled with his few posh friends that wear the same green and silver tie situated so tightly underneath their necks. And you, just looking as dazzling as ever, with your yellow and black tie hanging loose and a few buttons undone from your dress shirt.

He hates how easily you catch his attention and his ability to spot your figure in a dense crowd. You barely even look his way in public now, often distracted by a broad Gryffindor that tries to make flirtatious advantages at you. And when he thinks it can’t get any worse, it does… as you’re flashing your bright beautiful smile back at him and the shift in your body language.

“You’re staring again.” Yuta flickers between his friend and the subject of his focus.

Doyoung clears his throat, smooths his tie and physically turns his body away from the horrendous scene. “It’s very hard not to stare when she’s flirting with other men in front of me.”

“Does she do it on purpose?” The silver haired boy raises a questionable eyebrow and Doyoung reacts before he can speak.

He perks up and narrows his eyes at Yuta. “Purpose? Like to make me jealous?” Doyoung scoffs, laughs almost at the ridiculous thought. “The answer is no. We’re not exclusive, we’re nothing.”

“If you two are nothing, then why are you acting like you two are something? Get a grip, it’s practically sickening watching you fume over a ditzy Hufflepuff.” As Yuta prepares to bite into his delicious soft bread roll, it flies out of his grip, down the long table and onto another person’s plate.

Both boys are quick to stand to their feet and face each other chest to chest. Neither one of them is intimidated by the other, but their other friends around them are rather shocked by the sudden discrepancy.

Doyoung forcibly brushes off an imaginary dust off his good friend’s shoulders and draws a perfectly strained fake smile, knowing that others may be watching and he is a Prefect after all. But most importantly, you could be watching. “Call her that again, and your dinner won’t be the only thing that’s thrown across the table.” His threat is loud enough solely for Yuta to hear.

Yuta, with glaring eyes, picks up his dinner tray and walks off with his chin held high and a brisk in his stride. Doyoung clears his throat in the midst of the brief silence and out of habit, fixes his tie back in place. He takes a seat back down and the chatter at the table resumes, but he’s beyond embarrassed and disappointed at his loss of temper that everything drowns out.

Almost everything. He feels a light tap on his shoulder and out of annoyance, he spins around hastily and sharply snarls, “what?” But his eyes land on your fearful wide eyes and the slight cower in your stance, knowing that you caught onto his bad mood. And he’s half in disbelief that you’re approaching him right in the center of the Great Hall, that you’re standing so beautiful a foot away from him.

Instant regret and guilt fills his chest, his sharp eyes soften at your pout and the concerned furrow in between your brows. Nonetheless, he doesn’t have any words to say… he can’t get himself to apologize for his behavior.

“Do you want to walk to Herbology with me?” The quiver in your voice made you seem so small, so desperate for him, that he can hear the reactions of his friends. They’re laughing, at him, at you, at the whole scene that’s unfolding. He feels mocked, being a laughing stock isn’t something he’s very fond of.

His lips form a tight line, and in a snarky tone, “you don’t know your own way, Puff? Mind you ask your own Prefect to guide you.” Fuck. He tried to find the nicest way possible to brush you off, but his friends laugh a bit louder and intensely. And you didn’t like that one bit.

Your lips part slightly in a frown, an eyebrow raised and a hand on your hip. You look as if you’re ready to attack him, to jinx him, to probably pinch at his skin. But he knows you, and you’d do none of the above. Instead, you say the one threat that causes his heart to sink into the pit of his stomach, “don’t talk to me in class.” You’re slipping away from him as you pick up your pace, exiting all the commotion in the Great Hall.

He tries to hide the disappointment that stems from his chest, and his heart beats with an inexplicable dull pain. All he can think about is the twist of your expression and he’s gathering his things rather quickly to follow after you, without even a bid goodbye to his clique.

Without any knowledge of what you two do behind closed doors and the complex history that you two share, one may view your relationship as practically nonexistent; you two are strangers, barely passing acquaintances.

Doyoung does not approach you in the halls, in anywhere that necessarily has many witnesses. You smile at him, maybe even a wave depending on your mood, but no one questions it … as you wave at almost everyone who passes by you.

Classmates might see interaction during the one class you two share, if they pay attention close enough. However, you and Doyoung are much more to each other than passing acquaintances. Although he’s starting to see himself as another name on your list of individuals you sleep with, you are much more to him than you could ever know.

He’ll never forget the first time you two met. He was patrolling the halls for anyone lurking past curfew with his nose dug deep in his heavy book on magical creatures, when you walked right into him and caused the both of you to fall to the granite.

He was beyond ready to dock off points for whoever the rule breaker may be, but you took his breath away when you hovered above him and clasped your palm over his mouth before he can scold anyone. You looked a bit frazzled as your hair was all over the place and he noticed your minimal amount of clothing in the middle of a cold winter night.

He saw the signature Hufflepuff badge on your thin sweater and the sound of your voice completely threw him off his tracks.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper at the stunned Prefect underneath you, whose body feels warm against your own. But your eyes remain frantically on the lookout for anyone else passing, despite the lack of light in the cobblestone hallway. You most definitely do not belong in this wing of the castle and knocking down a Prefect caused more of a problem in your escape route.

Quickly standing up, you lend your hand out for him to take. His long fingers accept your hold as he pulls himself up and dusts the dirt off his robe. His green emblem glows in the dim light and you’re internally screaming at the mess you just made for yourself. But you recognize his features: the sharpness in his eyes, the small curves of the corners of his lips, his neatly parted black hair.

“You’re in some deep---”

“---Kim Doyoung.” The boy freezes at the sound of his name and he blinks at you, curious as to where you know of him. Being a Prefect has its small perks of popularity, but he didn’t expect for it to go this far. “Y/N, we had brooms together.”

As he repeats your name and examines your pretty features, a light bulb goes off in his head. “The clumsy Hufflepuff that fell off her broom in the highest altitude?”

“If that’s how you remember me by.” You smile proudly, and he scoffs at how someone could possibly hold pride in something so silly. “It’s nice to see you around, you’re a Prefect! Wow! That’s incredible.”

“And you’re still as clumsy as you were a year ago. Falling all over the place.”

“Unfortunately, some things don’t change! But you certainly have.” Doyoung looks at you with hooded eyes and a cautious gaze, but you’re so outlandishly bold despite swaying with your hands behind your back. “Please, don’t take that the wrong way. I meant it as a compliment! I used to have a tiny crush on you, baseless, but you helped me catch my broomstick and I’ll never be able to forget that.”

Doyoung, unknowingly, lights up at your shameless confession and takes another good look at you. You're much more mature now, and if he stared into your alluring gaze any longer, he’d be completely mesmerized without the need of a love potion. “So you liked me over a meaningless chivalrous act?”

“I liked you because you were charming and yes, perhaps I am someone who finds attractiveness in men who are chivalrous. There’s nothing wrong with that.” You bat your sweet eyelashes at him so endearingly, and he’s a blushing mess all over the place.

Doyoung has had anonymous love letters passed on from his friends, but they were all Slytherins who yearned greedily to be associated with his status. So knowing that a Hufflepuff, with an innocent youthful approach to love, festered some form of infatuation with him does flatter him quite well. “I’ll let you go.”

You’re about to exhale an exasperated sigh of relief until Doyoung continues, “under one condition.”

“Okay, I’ll do anything.” Your gleaming eyes sparkle like stars paired with the night sky.

He rolls his eyes at you, “don’t be so quick to jump at conditions without hearing them first.” Doyoung groans and you passively brush off his comment.

“If it’s harmless, I’ll do it.”

And in the dead of the night, where only you two stand in the middle of an empty cobblestone hallway, Doyoung requests, “I want to see you again.”

Although that night marked the beginning of your friendship, public interactions were still scarce and this was mainly on the fault of Doyoung. The times you met were late nights past curfew where he was stationed at and he grew to enjoy your wondrous personality. This boy grew up in a Slytherin bubble his whole life, no one outside of his house ever dared approached him … at least, not with the warmest smile as yours.

You were everything he was not, but he liked it so much. You were a half that completed his whole, and there were growing pains he couldn’t confide in anyone else. Surprisingly, you knew his imperfections more than he did himself and yet, you still wanted to be around him to encourage him. Not to mention, you had a sudden growth in other parts of your body and formed into your features very beautifully.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed, as there were more male counterparts who smiled at you, talked about you, fawned over you. And he felt something heighten inside of him along with his existing romantic feelings, and that he began seeing you in a new light.

With you experiencing new things, like hand holding and being showered by love letters on Valentine’s Day, it was wrong of him to fester such envy over the ones who publicly adorned you. He was so blinded by his hot headed rage that he completely missed the fact that you never accepted anyone who confessed, maybe the hand holding, but everyone else was a complete rejection.

All this time, you had been waiting for him and when you two shared your first kiss together, you had an assumption that Doyoung was going to finally confess that he felt the same way. But he never did. You two did, however, further your relationship into something more intimate and taking each other’s virginities opened a whole pathway of possibilities --- none being one where you two end up officially together.

He was the first to sleep with someone else, that was his first of many mistakes that he was going to make in his relationship with you. It also became the drop of the needle for you to start seeing other people as well, to explore what Doyoung couldn’t offer, to rid yourself of the feelings you had for a boy that didn’t seem like he wanted anything more.

Chivalry was dead and Doyoung believed that the innocent youthful Hufflepuff love had disappeared from within you.

As his present day runs after you, you’re abruptly stopped by a Ravenclaw for a small chat. Damn you Hufflepuffs for being friendly and social. So, he rushes past the two of you and into the classroom to await for your arrival. The quick shade of green flashes by your side and you’re fuming incredibly at how Doyoung continues to play you like a harp.

When you slide into your assigned seat next to him, he goes off like a canon. Doyoung starts spewing backhanded excuses and endless shameless rambles about his behavior. “I told you. Don’t talk to me during class or I will jinx you. Won’t be able to talk with your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.”

“You’re not going to jinx me.” With a subtle flick of his wrist, your chair is pulled closer to his. “And if you were to do so, you wouldn’t do something so cynical.” Yelping at the abrupt usage of his magic, you’re irritably pressing your ink into your journal with a newfound annoyance.

“You’re right. I’d turn you into a duck, so at least, you’re still cute to look at.” The mindless scribbles on the paper make no sense in your head, as you’re primarily zoned in on the disrupted energy you have about your Slytherin companion. These ill feelings make you almost sick, wanting to shut out any bad replay of the moments before and forgetting about the attention you seek so much from Doyoung.

“For you to successfully cast a jinx on me, you must make eye contact first.” His finger lifts your chin and you’re eye to eye with his lustful dark stare. Doyoung licks his lips, a shine shimmers from his saliva, and he’s tempted to bring you into his chambers for an intimacy he’s been craving. “My, oh my. You’re looking very charmed today.” A grin curves up and taunts you, and you’re blinking away down at the table.

“Doyoung, we’re in class. Please, focus.” Your desperate whisper turns into a whine once his cold hand slyly smooths over your bare knee.

“Are you free later tonight?” Doyoung peers over at your side profile and your skin feels soft at his fingertips. He’s imagining your intoxicating scent mixing with his sheets, your light playful kisses along his neck, and gripping onto every naked part of you. For a whole minute, he’s forgotten that he’s in class with other no name individuals and a boring professor. He has tunnel vision whenever he’s with you.

“I have an arrangement.” The grip on your knee tightens at your quiet answer. An arrangement.

“The Gryffindor who had leafy greens in between his teeth?” Doyoung treads lightly, because you’re both well aware he’s made harsher insults than that. He retrieves his hand and picks up his pen as if he’s never touched you.

He sees your head shake out of the corner of his eye, you’re rolling your lips together sheepishly. There’s something odd about your stance and he’s growing a bit more curious…. A bit more spiteful at how closed off you are being. There’s something you’re hiding from him. “Then, who?”

“Is there something you’d like to discuss with the class, Mr. Kim? If not, I’d like for everyone to head over to the greenhouse.” As the class slightly snickers and the classroom empties, you and Doyoung are stopped by your professor.

Professor Sprout, wearing her worn out Dragon hide gloves and a thin lined smile, shoves a potted plant into Doyoung’s hands, “behave, you two. Your conversations are never very secret when spoken aloud.” She gives both of you a warning before proceeding out along with the rest of the class.

Doyoung scoffs at the absurd encounter and rolls his eyes. “Ah, you’re getting me in trouble with you now.”

“I’m sorry, Doyoung. It’s better that you don’t know.” You say this every time, when will you realize that keeping your hookups a secret only causes him more agony? He catches your wrist as you both exit the corridors, he barely ever has you alone now. And to say the least, he fucking misses you.

“Spare me some of your time after class.” He’s disgusted by himself, knowing that his eyes are begging for you to say yes. Him, a highly admired Slytherin, has settled for scraps and if anyone knew, they’d never let him live.

Your hand gently clasps over his and when you look up with your starry eyes, something inside him feels at peace. “Did you miss me?” He gulps at your question and blinks at you like a deer in headlights. If said by anyone else, he would not hesitate to snap his fingers into a malicious spell. But you ask the million dollar question so sweetly, there’s no taunt… there’s no mockery in your tone. It’s full of genuine curiosity.

So, he answers you with part of his heart that you know too well. “Unfortunately.” His body falls slightly in defeat, and suddenly the potted plant is alive in his hands. It’s wailing a dangerous and annoying loud cry, completely ruining the moment.

Doyoung quizzically ponders the monstrous green plant and its magical capabilities puzzle him, possibly reminding him to pay more attention to the actual curriculum than on your unbuttoned shirt.

Moreover, your giggle surprisingly calms him in this stressful situation and you lightly pat his hand that’s still gripping your wrist. “I’m all yours after class.”

Taking the wretched plant, you hurry off toward the greenhouse to find someone to diffuse the crying creature. Doyoung laughs in disbelief at your comical animated figure running around with a pot over your head and shouting for any student to help you. So you’re not paying attention in class either?

Doyoung takes you to your favorite place, despite the rule that you’re not allowed access to it. The Prefect Bathroom remains spotlessly clean and fresh paired with an immediate scent of rosewater and wild honeysuckle. The white polished marble gleams prettily under the twinkling diamond chandeliers and you’re twirling enthusiastically in the center of the large undressing area.

He observes and smiles widely to himself at the sight of your happiness and cute giggles. It’s always a risk to have you use their bathroom, but he is always abusing his privilege to seek your enjoyment that he truly doesn’t care about anything else. Your morality has beaten him enough and he’s heard plenty about his wrongdoings, yet here you are… sweetly dancing in the one place that’s absolutely wrong. Perhaps, you two have rubbed off a little too much on one another.

“I can never get sick of this place.” As you plead to Doyoung to cast a bubble bath, you’re already stripping out of your skirt. He shields his eyes to give you some privacy and recites the charm to run hot dazzling water in the ginormous pool. A nice soothing bath is exactly what you two need after a stressful day playing in the dirt.

“This is your favorite place.” says Doyoung with a matter of fact edge to this tone.

“It’s my favorite place because I only get to come here with you.” You jump on his back and he hoists you up by your thighs. His heart skips a happy tune. “I refuse for you to tell me the password, even if you do wish for me to enjoy the simple pleasures of a bubble bath.”

“You and your right and wrongs.” With eager hands, you’re loosening his tie from around his neck. “You stripped so fast that you’re going to get a cold.”

“It’s going to get steamy really soon. Plus, I know you like me best without any clothes on.” Your hot breath tickles the shell of his ear and a blush scatters across Doyoung’s cheek. Button after button, his open shirt exposes his toned build. He sets you on the edge of the elevated step before the bath.

Doyoung smirks at your nakedness and your hot lustful expression. Leaning in until he’s practically breathing against your lips, he stares straight into your eyes. “My Puff knows me best.” And dives into you with all his soul. Fruitful drags of his lips along yours, his long tongue enters your mouth. His large hand carefully caresses your cheek to pull you further into the kiss, noses pressing into skin and with a desire to never part.

His heart swells lovingly, kissing you feels like the best thing in the world. There are no tricks, no spells, no recited charms, but you are more than magical. The same surge of energy runs through his veins, but unlike his impressive ability as a notable wizard, he can’t control it. You make him lose control. As meticulous and cautious as he is, you’re the first thing he doesn’t think through.

Your needy hands push off his dress shirt and he hurriedly unbuckles his belt. When you break the kiss, he automatically pouts and pulls you back in for one more lingering peck. “Are you going to scrub my back for me?” You smile, dragging him closer to the overflowing bathtub.

Large puffs of white bubbles spill from the rims and disappear with your every step. It reminds you of sea foam that washes upon the shore, with a floral fragrant that fills your lungs. “That’s quite an intimate gesture, but yes.”

After removing all his garments, he joins you in the large pool of glossy bubbles and the clouds of steam that rises from the water suffocates him warmly. He sits with his back against the wall and eyes unwavering on your alluring expression.

The bubbles do a great job at covering your breasts, but his sneaky hands snake under the water to grip them. Doyoung grabs a full tit and thumbs over your erect nipple, all while he holds the most sensual gaze with you. Slowly, you naturally end up in his hold and your wet back relaxes against his chest.

The beating of his heart is too loud and surely, you can feel the way it jumps out of his chest. Doyoung attaches his lips on your skin and as you’re melting at his harsh suckling. However, you perk up and snap out of your dazed arousal at the realization of his purposeful licks. “You’re trying to mark me?”

His hand continues to rub and twist your aching nipples. The sensation stimulating the growth of pleasure to sprout below and your mind to wander.

“Possibly.”

A lovers’ mark is the ultimate testament of mutual love. Engraving the skin with your beloved’s Patronus, wherever the giver chooses to mark. Love emblems are meant to be something sacred to the couple, a way to make someone completely untouchable to everyone else. Not only does the symbol glow with an iridescent shine whenever love is felt, it also numbs any romantic feelings for all others besides the partner.

Besides the use of possessiveness, it’s a beautiful way to discover one true love since the engraving of their Patronus shows up on the skin under the conditions that both individuals must be madly in love with one another. And if it doesn’t end up forming, the receiver is left with a bright, sparkling star hue in its place before fading away completely. If it does appear, it fades when both fall out of love.

“Doyoung--” His name falls from your lips as a moan and he’s running down to explore the beauty between your legs. “--can’t do that unless you actually want to commit to me.”

“I am committed to you.” The more your neck cranes off to the side and exposed to him, the more he wishes to etch the symbol of his love for everyone to see. A hand is hooked under your thigh to keep your legs spread open and you’re gasping at the slight pressure from the water.

“Romantically committed to me.” You remind him, but your train of thought is cut fairly short as Doyoung begins rubbing circles on your needy clit.

“You’re afraid of it showing up?” He’s lathering your breasts with bubbles and dragging his long finger along your slit. His greediness overtakes him and with wandering hands, he’s gripping every part of you that they can reach. Doyoung’s guilty pleasure is always going to any form of physical affection from you specifically. When he finally gets ahold of you, it’s hard for him to let go.

Your warm skin is delicate and smooth beneath the very tips of his fingers and every exploration of your terrain makes him feel inexplicable explosions of fondness. Perhaps, you’ve captivated him and although he believed it would take something as extreme as the Amortentia to have him falling for someone, you did it as easily as being yourself. His better half.

So, he’s impressed by your genuineness and how he’s willing to give up parts of his reputation to unapologetically be himself around you. No one else matters, nothing else matters, but why must it be so difficult to tell you that?

“I’m afraid of it not showing up.” You’re more than convinced that Doyoung has confused his strong sense of lust with love and there would be no possible way his Patronus would appear. It’s better to save the embarrassment for the both of you.

Spinning in his arms, the water twirls to the curves of your body and he’s admiring parts that expose above the surface. He’s matched with your beauty before him, resemblance to the stained glass window that situates above the large bathroom.

However, the doubt in your statement finally reaches his ears and he’s grabbing your ass as you settle over his thighs again. His furrowed eyebrows bring together a rather upset expression --- lip pout and all.

“Why wouldn’t it show up?” Doyoung puzzles, bringing your arms to wrap around his neck. Leaning into him, your pruney fingers trace his smooth chin and he notices your quick flicker between his eyes and his lips.

While your gentle kiss reassures him of your subtle endearment, your next words do the opposite. “You tell me.” All you do is push him away with your vague doubtfulness, like you’re constantly testing him and using his poor guessing skills to your own advantage. He can pull you close after any altercation he wants, but you push him away in any emotionally romantic sense.

“You’re rather mischievous and mysterious today,” Doyoung squeezes your ass and smacks it lightly, causing ripples in the water. “I liked it better when you told me everything you felt.”

Suddenly, his fingers poke at your entrance and his other hand drops in between your legs again. Your mouth opens in shock when his long fingers enter slowly and he enjoys the pleasurable contour of your reactions. “Like this, for example.” The pad of his fingers working rapid flicks against your sensitive bud. “How does this feel?” His whisper dances across your shoulder, landing a kiss at the end of his question.

Your moans echo in the lavish bathroom, bouncing off the marble walls and encouraging Doyoung to keep a steady pace. There’s no worry about how loud you may be, Doyoung charms every room before every lustful encounter. This allows you to let go, let free, let him know how he makes you feel.

He curves his fingers into you, pumping and dragging into your tightness until you’re practically screaming. He only has one thought, as his eyes trail down your intoxicated needy figure, how beautiful you are as a moaning mess under his control. Your head is thrown back, eyes are squeezed shut and opening them to see nothing but tiny yellow starlight.

Dainty kisses line your exposed neck line and his ego swells with so much pride. Doyoung has mastered every flick of his wrist to have you under his trance, spewing nonsensical words and forgetting anyone else that exists. He gives your erect nipples harsh licks and with a faint drag of teeth, the sensation pushes you to your end.

Sporadic pleasurable convulsions cause your legs to close around Doyoung’s hands, but the strength of his knee keeps them apart. “Doyoung… I’m going to free fall.”

Leave it up to you to beautifully announce your climax. He snickers, applying more pressure on your clit and a rubbing motion against your walls. “I’ll catch you.”

Moon crescents embed into his skin as you’re holding onto him with your whole life. As your scream hits every octave, the massive collection of bubbles that cover the surface of the bath fly and splatter every corner of the pristine room.

White and wet bubbles drip down from the walls, falling from the diamond chandeliers, and coating every steamy mirror. Doyoung’s eyes light up from the chaos, making sure you’re riding out your high for as long as he can provide.

Your body trembles with euphoria, falling forward into Doyoung’s chest and squeezing around his lazily pumping fingers. For a brief second, your mind is wiped and nothing in the world feels better than being in this perfect moment with the one person who’s Patronus you hoped would etch your skin.

If one possesses feelings that are practically unbearable to contain, one should confess… right? For all your life, you’ve lived by this statement. Friends do not hear the end of it and most surely, one should follow their own advice… right?

So why do you yearn for Doyoung in your gaze as he stands across the Great Hall as if he doesn’t know of your existence? As if he wasn’t kissing you in the Prefect bathroom a few days prior?

It’s not an understatement to say that you catch the attention of almost every person in the room, but the one head that refuses to turn your way… the one who’s looks you wish to steal… is the one person who looks right through you.

Feelings have become a nuisance ever since the first time you confessed to him and it was worse than landing on cobblestone after falling off your broom. The reason why you’ve buried them deeper than any chamber is that you’re positive that the prized Slytherin would rather be with another, preferably one from his own house.

While you try to remain optimistic and playful for the time being, you’re simply replaceable to him. He can barely care to acknowledge you in public when Gryffindors boast about you in their arms like winning a trophy. You’ve kept good relations with every Ravenclaw you’ve slept with. You’ve kindly rejected every romantic gesture another Hufflepuff has offered.

But if there is one thing you’ve learned about him is that he’s lived in his Slytherin circle for as long as he lives. And it will stay that way. You’re his sweet Hufflepuff that he’ll push away at no cost, then pull you back in secrecy.

Now if one feels as if they’re wasting their time, one should leave… right? Wrong. Kim Doyoung has skewed with your morality… and your feelings remain loyal to him since the day he confessed to see you again.

“Lemon-drop, I’ve been looking all over for you.” An arm slings around your shoulders and the notable red and gold tie is the first thing you see. Jung Jaehyun, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, flashes his deep dimples at you. “Walk with me.”

He extends his palm out for you to take and your friends painfully elbow your sides to wake you from your hesitation. Taking his hand, you get up from the dining table and follow him out the Great Hall.

Doyoung sees the scene unfold before him and rolls his eyes at how Jaehyun’s dimples are all it takes to have you wandering off with him. Despite every wicked intent to follow you two, he heads out in the direction of the dormitories to fume in his room.

“It’s such a nice and sunny day today.” Jaehyun runs a hand through his luscious brown locks. You both exit into the front courtyard as other students are scattered on the lawns mingling with one another. When you peer up at the sky, the sun is barely seen past the layers of clouds.

“Jaehyun, is there something you needed to speak with me about?” His laughter roars, full of hefty song and amusement.

“Listen, lemon-drop. I like you and I have a feeling you feel the same way. I want to mark you if you’d let me.” Jaehyun smirks and just as he brings your hand up for a kiss, you gently let go. “Am I coming off too strong? We don’t have to do it today, I just wanted to see if it would show.”

“Jaehyun, you’re going to find an extravagant person one day. A person who is going to know all your favorite castle balconies to swing from and how you like to be kissed on the nose.” His ears grow a bright red and for once, his gaze drops to the ground. “I am, unfortunately, not that person for you so I must kindly reject your confession.”

As you turn on your toes, Jaehyun lightly holds your wrist to stop you. “But, you know all those things about me. Is there anything I can do to prove that we belong together?”

“I know them because I care enough to remember things you tell me, not because I loved you enough to observe these things about you. I give you my word that there is nothing you can do to prove me otherwise.” The corners of his lips dip downward and you’re running to the one person that will erase this sad rejection from your memory.

When you’re scanning the Great Hall for any sign of him, he’s not there and it leads you to his only hiding place. Doyoung loves to shut himself out from the rest of the school whenever he gets the chance. However, a lost Hufflepuff wandering outside the entrance of the Slytherin dormitories is rather an odd sight to see and you haven’t had the chance to form many connections from this house.

The sparse amount of Slytherins you know aren’t going to be passing by, unless with some stroke of luck, someone will be kind enough to open the door for you. Every person passes by you with questionable stares until a silver haired boy blinks at you with wide eyes.

“Who is it that you’re trying to see?” He asks abrasively, but softens his tone when he realizes that you mean no harm.

You bid him a small grin, “your Prefect.”

“And what for?”

“There is an urgent matter that involves him and he’s practically unreachable when he’s hiding away in his private room.” The boy narrows his eyes at you, but beckons you to follow him down to the Slytherin dungeon.

Excitedly, you hurry behind him and whisper over his shoulder, “what’s your name?”

“Nakamoto Yuta. No need to tell me yours, I’ll doubt he’d want me to know.” He spits and then, mutters the enchanted password to reveal the large green common room. “Come this way.” He leads up the boys’ dorms and walks briskly. Although you never mentioned a name, Yuta seems to already know who you’re here to see and it makes you wonder how he must know.

“Open up.” Yuta stops and knocks at the wooden door, Kim Doyoung written in a fancy penmanship on the center. “You have a guest.” He looks your way before rolling his eyes at Doyoung’s irritated tone through the other side.

“Tell them to leave.”

“He wants you to leave.” Yuta repeats, mostly to satisfy Doyoung’s nag.

“That’s fine. Thank you for bring---” The door swings open abruptly and Yuta almost loses his balance. Doyoung frantically turns his head side to side to comprehend what he is seeing. His ears felt deceived, hearing your voice through the door, he had to make sure it wasn’t you.

But you stand before him and Yuta. Here you are approaching him whenever he least expects it. “What are you doing here?”

“I came by to see you. I’ve been here plenty of times.”

“What are you doing bringing her in?” scolds Doyoung and the other boy shrugs carelessly.

“What was I supposed to do? Let her bat puppy eyes at several other Slytherins and have her telling everyone who passes her that she came here to see our Prefect? It was also getting cold out.” Yuta mumbles, but finds great entertainment at seeing how frazzled Doyoung has gotten by your presence.

“It was a bit chilly.” You admit and Doyoung groans, pulling you into his room and shutting the door on Yuta. “Thank you, Yuta.” You whisper through the crack between the door frame.

“It’s too risky for you to be searching for me around other Slytherins.” Doyoung paces the room and you notice his tie is loose and shirt is unbuttoned around his neck. “Why are you here?”

“A Gryffindor blew me off. I thought I’d come and see you with all the free time I can get.” Taking a seat at the end of his neatly made bed, your legs swing adorably and Doyoung almost doesn’t hear you.

“Jaehyun? Does he think he’s too good for you or something? That cocky dimple Gryffindor, with the draw of my wand---” Doyoung whips out his intricately customized Dragon Heartstring, and you’re on your feet to calm his temper down.

“Will you put that thing away? I’m here for you.” Your giggle warms his tight chest and puts out the fueling flame for anyone who dares to hurt you in any way. “It’s not a big deal and it’s not the first time it has happened.”

Doyoung uncomfortably clears his throat and withdraws his wand. Buttoning up his shirt, he fixes his tie back in place. To say the least, your words erupted his festering jealousy and this may have been a small tipping point.

Before you had entered, he was so frustrated with himself and you. You can just walk away with another man without a second thought, in front of him too. He remembered the soft feeling of your body and how he’s not the only one who’s needy hands ran their course over you. That may be the one pain he can never get rid of.

“I never understood why you give other men the time of your day when they just brush you off undeservingly.” He stings and you’re slightly surprised at his sudden attack. When you respond in silence, he continues.“I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?”

Crossing your arms, your weight is barred on your left leg and there is a shift in your overall mood. With an eyebrow raised, you sass him back, “People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you chase after me?”

Doyoung swallows hard and blinks at you speechless. A clammy hand runs through his black strands as he tries to find any possible explanation without confessing his feelings. If he had a plan to confess, it would never be in the middle of an inquisition with you.

“I guess you didn’t think before acting on your desires.” And how he hated how correct that statement is. He doesn’t ever think whenever he’s around you. All his actions are conducted with his emotions and the feelings that overtake him.

Doyoung scoffs, rolling his eyes at your rash comment. “Aren’t you supposed to have the strongest morality among all the houses?”

“Sleeping with multiple men isn’t morally wrong. There’s nothing wrong with it…” The slight hurt from his question is difficult to ignore, but you must remember one thing if you want to protect your heart on your sleeve. This is nothing serious to be bickering over. You two aren’t anything serious, so why feel the need to squabble over nonsense? “... it would only be wrong if someone liked me and wished to commit to me.”

Your eyes meet and Doyoung blinks at you with wide eyes. His Adam’s Apple bobs as he gulps again, completely whiplashed at how the conversation has turned. “And if that’s the case and you like me, would that make you jealous, Doyoung? That’s why you’re trying to poorly attack my character?” He’s never heard such a strong taunt in your tone and he’s baffled by it, slightly aroused, but shocked.

“I don’t like you.” His voice is small and he pouts his lips at you. Doyoung crosses his arms and perhaps, his sad expression reveals a little more than it should have. Your heart softens at his ridiculously cute response, had you expected something much more angry and vindictive.

“Then this conversation is over, right? I’ll be on my way now. I have herbology.”

“We have the same class.” He grumbles, grabbing his robe from his desk chair.

You open the door to make your exit, “but since you don’t want to be seen with a Hufflepuff, I’ll go ahead first.” When you stumble out into the hallway, a recognizable face brightens at your appearance.

“Haechan! Hello, I haven’t seen you in a while.” You’re cheering and Doyoung chews the inside of his cheek. His pride is left at the door and along with all the things that hold him back from you, he doesn’t want to push you away anymore.

“My favorite Hufflepuff, are you just leaving?” Haechan walks up to open his arms, wishing to embrace you in the longest hug. However, Doyoung quickly takes you by your hand and rushes past him.

“She came to walk with me to class. Bye Haechan.” And Haechan is left standing in the middle of the hallway, confused and watching your backs as you’re both briskly walking out the common room.

Doyoung looks back at you, “you think I’m going to let you walk out of my room and have another Slytherin walk you to class? Don’t be so foolish.”

But you are foolish. Your heart beats foolishly and loudly for Kim Doyoung. And may you be foolish enough to wonder if his heart does the same for you.

And it does. Foolishly. Loudly. Lovingly.

You both wonder if this vicious cycle will ever meet its end. Doyoung pushes you away by ignoring your existing relationship, but pulls you back into his embrace as if it never happened. You push him away by running off with other men, but come back to him as if he’s the one person you’re loyal to.

But on this particular night, after mass circulation of rumors reaches the ears of the lovesick Slytherin, Doyoung is pulling you away from your huddled group of friends in the middle of the long corridor hallways. Without any greeting, any spoken words, he’s dragging you to his room right in front of everyone to see. His hand around yours like it was two days prior, but with an expression so grave on his sullen face.

The silence between you two brings no comfort, but you don’t dare say the first words. Doyoung, finally, approached you first in public and it is possibly for a greater reason. Perhaps you’ve done something horribly wrong, and the moment you two step into his room that you’ll hear a mouthful.

However when he closes the door to his room, your hand immediately drops from his embrace and he turns to face you. There is a darkness in his eyes, one that light cannot touch, and his lips are tight in a line.

There is an eerie silence that fills the dark room and the murky windows paint the area an ominous green. Doyoung focuses on your confused, yet adorable expression. “Why did you lie to me?”

The door catches your slight stumble and you’re blinking cluelessly at him. “About what?”

“Jaehyun.” He breathes the name in spite and aggressively loosens his tie. “He didn’t blow you off. You rejected him and he’s telling everyone it's because you’re in love with someone else.”

You scorn at such a ridiculous rumor and for the fact that it’s even made its way around to Doyoung. Another realization hits you. All it took for him to approach you in public is a meaningless rumor.

So in response, you laugh and it mocks him further. “This is not a laughing matter, y/n.”

“I’m sorry, but why are you so upset at that? Fine. I did lie to you, but I never told Jaehyun I was in love with anyone else.”

“Are you in love with someone else?” Doyoung says with balled fists at his side. There is a mixture of anger and sadness running through his veins and he’s so sick of feeling this way.

Your hesitation speaks for you, “It’s better that you don’t know.”

“You say this every time and it does nothing to ease my conscience.” Doyoung throws his hands in the air and stares at you with sharp eyes. “Is that why you were afraid that my emblem wouldn’t show up? Because your heart belongs to another. Yeah, I heard Jaehyun wanted to mark you too.”

Men and their constant want to prove something to themselves with their marks. Everyone has a twisted reality of markings now. There have been many others who have tried to mark you, feeling as if lust would be enough to suffice its appearance. As one's Patronus is special to their own protection, a beloved’s Patronus mark holds the same value.

You’re quite at a loss for words, “I was afraid that it wouldn’t show up, not because of myself, but because of you.”

Doyoung points at himself in disbelief. Him? He loves you more than anyone he’s ever encountered, even if you didn’t know it. “I wouldn’t have almost tried it if I wasn’t sure of myself.”

“You don’t love me, Doyoung. I don’t even know if I can even say you romantically like me.” Those words hurt the both of you and it lingers in the room for longer than you’d like.

“Do you think I fuck you meaninglessly like all those other losers you sleep with?” Doyoung steps forward, pulling you into his chest and admiring everything he’s fallen in love with. A pain spreads across his heart as he thinks of you with another person, of someone else kissing you, of someone else making you happy.

“You really don’t feel it in the way I kiss you?” He asks once more and your own stare drops to his shoulder, a bit ashamed to maintain eye contact with such pained eyes.

“And if I did? How would you explain that? That you are actually in love with me?” Your questions pelt him like rocks. As he pushes you on his bed, you pull him down with his tie.

Doyoung drinks you up like fresh water, a crisp and refreshing love that encourages him to reach heights. His hand cups your face and his feather touches reminds you of his gentleness. Your lips taste like sweet honey, dripping and coating him with a sticky sugar.

He’s happier with you and he’s the happiest kissing you. Perhaps, it’s hard for him to express with words, but he’d always hope his actions speak louder. So, his lips press against yours with a whirl of passion and every good feeling that grows in his chest.

The collar of his shirt is wrinkled in your fist and you’re holding him as if you’re afraid of him letting go. Doyoung runs a hand down your torso and lifts the end of your skirt up. A warm hand pushes your legs apart and a finger presses your clit through your cotton panties.

Your mouth opens into a moan and he takes this opportunity to shove his long tongue inside, lapping with your own. As a wet spot forms on your panties, he pulls them to the side and gathers the slick to gently rub your erect clit. His name is lost and muffled in the kiss, but you tap at his chest.

When he breaks away and halts all movement, he looks down over you with a fire burning in his dark orbs. And a confession falls from his swollen lips, “may I mark you?”

“And if it doesn’t show up?” Though, you’re wishing to the most powerful wizards that it does or else your heart would shatter into a million pieces beyond repair.

He bites his lip and every possible outcome scatters his thoughts. It’s too hard to concentrate, so he doesn’t at all. He focuses on your pretty lips and the way you look at him like he’s the only person that matters. “Then, we’ll deal with the consequences later.”

With your quick nod, Doyoung attaches his lips to your neck and harshly sucks at your skin. For the most part, it’s a pleasurable feeling and sends a shiver down your spine. So, he licks and nibbles until he can barely breathe. Your faint scent of patchouli and ginger intoxicates him, wraps him up in a fuzzy coziness that is unmatched.

Your hands unbutton his shirt and a final gentle bite seals his mark. If the love is reciprocated, the emblem would take a moment to form. Doyoung is rather hopeful and excited, as he’s never seen his Patronus before. “You look beautiful.”

“And you look dazed as if someone charmed you.” You giggle and kiss his red lips.

“You’re quite the powerful one, my Puff.” He smiles against your jaw before proceeding to your mess down below. He gives your aching clit a few licks, which cause your body to twist and turn at the sensitive sensation.

“Please, I haven’t felt you in so long.” Whining and tugging at his hair, Doyoung leaves a lasting kiss and gets up to remove his pants.

“Did you miss me?” Doyoung raises a suggestive eyebrow and cocks his head to the side in mockery, a smirk growing on his face.

You reply with a silly response that only he knows and causes him to chuckle, “unfortunately.” And he’s finding every way not to confess his endearments for you.

His dick stands tall and proud against his abdomen, giving it a few jerks as he watches you strip out of your own clothes. You turn around and sit on your knees, with a slight tilt forward and the arch in your back to accentuate your ass.

Doyoung rolls on the protection as quickly as he can. His hands lightly smack your cheeks and slowly enters your dripping hole. His hands grip your hips as he slides deeper into you, both being moaning messes at the delicious feeling.

“Have you always been this big?” You look back at him and to which he devilishly smiles at you.

“You know just the way to fuel my ego,” when his length is fully buried inside of your tight walls, he wraps an arm around your waist and a hand on your tit. “After all the times you’ve been fucked, your pussy is still as tight as ever.”

Doyoung slams hard into you, showing no mercy and causing you to jolt up. He takes every frustration, every feeling of anger, every ounce of jealousy into his thrusts. “But you take me so well, darling. I’ve never seen someone as pretty as you.”

His compliments cause your heart to soar, despite the soreness you’re beginning to feel in your pussy. He’s relentless, bottoming out until his tip is practically in your guts. “Just like that, baby. You’re the only one who fucks me this good.”

He blushes under the low light and leans forward to kiss the top of your head. “My Puff, you’re so sweet to me.” The loud squelch of your tight pussy gripping his dick fills the hot room, “and so wet.”

You’re shamelessly dripping on his green velvet blanket and Doyoung picks up his speed. Your knees give out as you fall face forward into the mattress, hands in fists from the incredible pleasure of every hit. Your ass now in his full view and every tingle of magic lights up in his veins.

Your throat is raw from screaming and moaning, Doyoung holds your hips steady to thrust into a new angle. Automatically, your body twitches as his tip hits your special spot and he’s well aware that you’re close to releasing.

And with his fast thrusts, he asks you an intimate question that is fueled by envy and rage. “If I fuck you the best, then why do you sleep with other men?”

There are no thoughts in your mind to even give him a white lie, to mask the truth of your actions. He’s fucking you into an oblivion that it’s hard to even focus on anything besides pleasure. The books on his shelf begin to tremble as you’re crying out, “I- I don’t know! Fuck, please… ! I’m tipping over.”

“Answer the question or I will stop.” He’s absolutely cynical and you have every reason to believe his threat. Doyoung lifts your limp body upright, against his torso and an arm secured around your middle as before. His hand snakes to your clit, rubbing feathering circles over the neglected bud.

Nonetheless, his single action paired with his tip grazing harshly against the particular spot causes your legs to tremble. “Do you want me to stop?” His threat rings in your ears when you still left him without an answer.

You’re so close, you’re starting to see white. So, you say what your heart tells you and the truth falls from your lips in a loud confession. “Because I wanted you to love me instead! I fucked them to forget about my love for you… fuck, I’m--”

“I’ve got you. Let go of yourself, baby.” Doyoung slows his hips when your walls squeeze around him sporadically. Every book flies out and hits the opposite wall, clattering the floor with heavy academia. However, he repeats your proclamation endlessly in his mind and his heart surges with the most intense romantic desires.

“I do love you, y/n.” He whispers, cumming into his rubber and simply holding you tightly. He lets go of every prideful arrogance in his body, tossing the lame reputation he always tried to hold onto. He didn’t need that if it meant losing you. Doyoung chuckles to himself for being an obvious cliché, announcing one’s love in the midst of a lustful act. He pulls out and gently tucks you into the covers.

Breathless, you’re finally realizing his confession. “You do? Are you sure?” Any subtle movements has your aching lower half in pain, so you settle with resting on his plush pillows and await for him to join you in bed.

All this time, from beginning to now, you’ve been oblivious to his yearning looks across the Great Hall. The intensity of his kisses had been lost upon you completely as you had convinced yourself that he was incompatibly of loving you back. Even now, as you lay in slight doubt, you’re wondering how you managed to have everything fly over your head.

When he discards his used protection and with a quick flick of his wrist, every book finds its original place on the shelf again, he enters the warm covers. Your arms wrap around his neck and you’re admiring each other’s expressions in the low light. He spots the notable twinkle in your eyes and his thumb lightly rubs your cheek.

“If the symbol of my Patronus doesn’t show, I promise to love you harder until it does.” Doyoung leaves the softest, most loving kiss on your lips. He’s more than thankful for the lack of light as he’s bashfully red all over his cheeks.

“Usually, people just give up.” Your voice is harsh, possibly from the deafening screaming of pleasure prior.

Doyoung shakes his head. He’s made too many mistakes in this relationship with you. Sleeping with another. Ignoring your existence. Being too prideful to be seen with another house. All these incidents have made him feel nothing but ugliness and distraught, and pushed you away further than how much he is able to pull you back.

He loves you. He’s in love with you. He’s fallen for you recklessly as you did off your broom the first encounter. You’re everything he’s never been and never will be, yet you don’t care. You’re by his side, despite his spitefulness and you never miss a beat. That innocent youth approach to love, oh how he wishes it never faded, and though he thought it did, it didn’t. You remain true to your character when he fights with himself internally.

“That would be a mistake and I can’t afford to keep making them.” A glossy sheen over Doyoung’s regretful eyes, but you pull him closer and you refuse to let his eyes wander.

A tired harmless sigh escapes your lips and a dreamy haze overcomes you. Besides the reminder of needing to use the bathroom flashing in your mind, there is nothing else you want to dissect. Feelings are too complex to discuss at the moment and the resolve has already passed.

Regardless of the marks appearing, you’re content with the night and for the rest of your days. Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin boy of your dreams, loves you back and the power of that alone beats any spell in those dusty old textbooks.

“Why can’t we lay here forever?” Your heavy eyelids fall slowly and your voice grows small.

Doyoung kisses your shoulder, then your neck. “That’s impossible. I can’t give you forever.” He mumbles against your skin, sending vibrations across your throat.

“You are my forever.” Doyoung halts and is left speechless as a white glowing entity catches his eye. And the absolute perfect outline of his Patronus sits underneath your jaw, brightly shining with iridescent brilliance --- he makes out the outline: a White Swan, representing his love for you. Doyoung smiles to himself and hopes for it to never fade. Perhaps, he can give you forever.

some fun critical questions to think about hehe -

why do you think y/n lied to doyoung about jaehyun confessing? why do you think yuta helped y/n enter the Slytherin dormitories? what is the meaning behind the White Swan Patronus? Why do you think y/n continued to like doyoung after all this time?

there are no right or wrong answers, just something fun to have you thinking a little more about the fic haha if you want, you can send me an ask about it :) but overall, no pressure and thank you for reading! please leave me some feedback if you can! happy new year!

4K notes · View notes

forever-rogue · 3 years

Note

hi! if requests are open for bucky, i like the concept of him being unsure of himself with reader (not a superhero/avenger, maybe just a mutual friend) and pining after them compared to how easy it was to get dates in the 40s. thank you!

tfatws revived my love for bucky im not ashamed

A/N: tfatws has definitely done the same for me! no shame whatsoever!

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: none

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

You tore your gaze off of the television before you turned to look at Bucky. His blue eyed stare was trained on you, intense and unwavering. Sometimes it had managed to unnerve you, but you’d gotten used to it over the year you’d known him. He was more than just silent...he was calculating, but it never felt wrong. Waving your hand in front of his face you made a small sound to get his attention.

“Bucky?” you whispered his name softly and that seemed to snap him back into attention as he opened and closed his mouth a few times. Even in the dim lighting of the room you could see that a warm flush of red had crept up in his cheeks, “everything alright?”

“Y-yeah,” he shook his head, more at himself than anything else, a self-annoyed look crossing his features, “spaced out for a minute. What were you saying?”

“I wasn’t saying anything,” you couldn’t help but laugh at him, watching his features soften when he realized you weren’t going to chastise him for zoning out, “I for one was watching the movie, which is more than I can say for you - you should love the Hobbit if you actually read the book when it first came out. And these movies are actually good. Pay attention, Bucky!”

You grabbed one of the pillows off of your couch and lobbed it at his head; but he was quicker, reflexes still sharp and honed after all this time. The corners of his mouth pulled into a smirk as he held the pillow before determining whether or not to throw it back at you. Immediately sensing what he was doing, you shook your head and jumped up, ducking behind the couch.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart, why are you hiding?” you could practically hear the smirk in his voice as you peeked up at him. The nickname rolled easily off his tongue as it caused a shudder to run down your spine. You knew it meant nothing, that it was just something he tended to call people; it was definitely just a thing. It was nothing particularly about you or targeted at you but you couldn’t help but pause. You knew that you wouldn’t have minded if he called you that intentionally. But that could never, ever happen. This was Bucky after all and you were just...you.

“I know your game, Barnes,” you grinned at him, deciding to let the nickname slide, “I’ll call it a truce and we can go to your favorite place to get some dinner. I’ll pay! I’m waving my proverbial white flag.”

“Now there’s an offer I can’t refuse,” he set the pillow back down on the couch as he stood up and raised his hands in surrender. Slowly you raised to your full height, but kept a wary eye on your best friend, “I keep my promises, you know that.”

“Fine,” you agreed as you grinned at him. Bucky’s breath hitched in his throat as he looked you over and he felt his knees go weak momentarily. He could stare at your smile for hours, “get your jacket and let’s go old man.”

He scoffed in jest as you grabbed your shoulders and jacket off the coat rock and motioned for him to follow, “I’m not that old-”

“106? Isn’t that old?” you raised an eyebrow, barely able to contain your giggles as he rolled his eyes dramatically, “just kidding, Bucky. You know I just love teasing you.”

“I am in my 30s,..technically, thank you very much,” he insisted as he slipped on his shoes and you handed him the leather jacket, “don’t push your luck, kid.”

“See,” you grabbed the keys and he opened the door, ushering you out with a hand on the small of your back, “I swear Bucky Barnes, you’ve been an old man since you were a kid. Now let’s go! There’s pancakes with my name on them waiting.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Dinner with Bucky was easy...then again, everything with Bucky was easy. Every time you were with him, things just felt natural and normal, conversation and everything flowed freely. You’d met Bucky completely by chance, running into him, quite literally, on the street as you walked out of your favorite coffee shop and proceeded to spill coffee over both of you. He’d been apologetic, claiming it was his fault, but you’d been insistent that it was yours. One thing had led to another and soon enough you became inseparable friends.

Much to his surprise, and delight, you’d never treated Bucky as anything but...Bucky. That’s how you’d met him and that’s all he was to you. Bucky. Of course, he was much more than a friend, at least in your mind, but you weren’t about to divulge that little piece of information. At least not yet. Maybe one day...or not. Probably not. No. You weren’t about to make a fool out of yourself and confess your feelings for a man that saw you as nothing but a friend.

Bucky, always alert and cunning, had noticed you’d become quiet throughout dinner as you both ate in silence. Normally he wouldn’t question it, but he knew your tells and could easily read you by this point and knew that something was up.

“What?” he gently nudged your foot with his and you snapped back into attention as you looked at him, “you’re awfully deep in thought for someone that just wanted some pancakes.”

“It’s nothing,” you insisted nervously, swallowing your bite down and clearing your throat, “just...tired?”

“Mhmm,” he wasn’t going to push you, know you’d come around eventually, “whatever you say, sweetheart.”

There it was again, and you felt a warmth flush over your face as you focused your attention on the syrupy mess on your plate. It was silent for a few more minutes before you noticed a few women sitting at the diner’s counter, giggling among themselves as they cast longing glances at Bucky. Something in your stomach twisted and your heart constricted. Of course they were looking at him, women often did. And you couldn’t blame them; Bucky was handsome in almost every way, and you yearned after him as well. But unlike most other people, you weren’t about to be so obvious about it.

“Looks like you have a little fanclub,” you murmured softly under your breath as you lightly motioned towards them women. Bucky slyly followed your gaze and studied the newcomers and huffed in annoyance. He abhorred any sort of extra attention, especially when it came from people that only liked him because of his looks. Besides that, it often didn’t last terribly long; usually people realized who he was - used to be - and that scared them right off.

“They’ll leave soon enough,” he shrugged them off before turning his attention back to you, “besides, I-I’m not interested. It’s not like it used to be…”

“Back when?” you quickly snorted in amusement as he jokingly glared at you, “back in your day? I bet you had them all over you then too.”

“Well, it certainly was easier,” he admitted as he played with the straw in his almost empty milkshake, “nowadays people are harder to read. They all either want one thing, or they just stick around until they find someone else. It’s not worth it...and honestly, now one has caught my eye.”

“No one?” you asked as you pushed your last bite around the plate, letting the fluffy pancake soak up the syrup, “I find that hard to believe, even for you, Buck. Everyone has someone they’re interested in.”

“Huh,” he mused as drained the last of the milkshake, “well then, is there someone that has captured your interest?”

“I...no, not really,” you lied, hoping he wouldn’t pick up on the lie. Instead he immediately made a sound of small disbelief; you should haven’t even bothered to try and lie to him. He could see right through you, “there’s nobody.”

“I thought you said everyone has someone that they’re interested in?” oh yeah, he definitely wasn’t going to let this go at all.

“Except me.”

“I find that doubtful.”

“What about you then, Bucky Barnes?” you decided to deflect by throwing the question right back at him, “has anyone captured your interest?”

Bucky paused for a moment, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he mulled over his next words carefully, “yes. There is someone.”

“O-oh,” you stammered as his gaze shifted back to you, blue eyes keenly studied your features, “you gonna tell me who it is?”

“Well,” he started slowly, tapping his fingers on the table as he leaned towards, "there is someone, but I don't know if she knows or thinks of me as more than a friend, but god, I hope she does. She's been my friend for a while now and I kind of want to ask her on a date, a proper date, but don't quite know how."

"Do you...do you think she could feel the same about you?" butterflies erupted in your stomach as you tried to calm the rapid beating of your heart. Surely he couldn't mean you. But then...why was a light flush of pink in his cheeks? Why was he watching you so intently?

"I don't know," he confessed with a light shrug as he sat back in the booth, an arm extended over the back, the picture of ease, "sometimes I think she might, but I don't want to think she does and mess anything up. I'd rather keep her as a friend than lose her."

"I guess you won't know unless you ask her…" you were positive that he could hear your heart beating rapidly, "you never know until you try. I have a feeling she won't turn you down if you ask...just a hunch…"

"Hmm…" a smile, dazzling and brilliant, grazed his features, "well then sweet-"

"Excuse me," one of the girls from the counter had approached your table and was leaning into Bucky, with her back to you. She was twirling her hair around her finger as she offered him her most dazzling smile. She was definitely beautiful and you really had nothing to base your annoyance off of, but she rubbed you the wrong way, "I was just wondering if you'd-"

"Hi, excuse me?" you couldn't help yourself as you gently tapped her arm. Bucky raised an eyebrow as she gave her a surprised look on her face, "I don't want to interrupt but he's mine. And if you don't mind...we're on a date."

"O-oh," her eyes widened as she looked between you and Bucky, who was currently sporting the most shit eating grin, "I didn't know. Sorry…"

She scurried back to her friends as you looked back down at your plate. Bucky cleared his throat as he leaned in, hardly believing what had happened. You could feel his curious blue eyes on you, searing and questioning.

"So she feels the same way or she's a good liar," he said softly as you chanced a glance, biting on your lip, "I'm yours, huh?"

"Shut up," you groaned, "it was to get her away from you, so you're welcome."

"Mhmm…" god that smile made you want to melt.

"Bucky!"

"Thank you," he bowed his head slightly, "what are you doing tomorrow night?"

"Nothing...why?"

"Can I take you on a date?" he asked as you looked at him in surprise, wide doe eyes meeting his, "a proper date?"

"I...yeah, Bucky. I'd like that a lot," you agreed softly, "see...I told you she won't turn you down."

"Guess you were right," he was causal, but inside his heart was fit to burst as he reached across the table and gently put his hand on top of yours, "I'm already hers, but she's my girl too."

Yeah. You could definitely get used to that.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Permanent Taglist: @secretsweetscollectionblog @sheridans-dynamos @queenbbarnes @persephonesnebula @ah-callie @blushingwueen @thisis-theway @rosetophighlander @rae-gar-targaryen @hiscyarika @readsalot73 @huliabitch @ollyoxenfrees @coffeeandtodd @beepbeepsephy @scarlettwitcher @nerdyknightwritersblog @choicesarcade @arrowswithwifi @everythingaboutnothingstuff @suckerfor-fanfics @bestintheparsec @javihoney @aeryntheofficial @hail-doodles @engineeredfiction @asgardianvamp21 @keithseabrook27 @karmezii @dearspacepirates @thatsuitlooksgoodonyou @paintballkid711 @mrpascals @lv7867 @artsymaddie @gooddaykate @rosiefridayrogersunday @heyitmelexie @criminalmind1927 @justanotherblonde23 @coni-martina @thewayofthemandalorian @phoenixhalliwell @lucifer @cosmoschick @kochamcie @linkpk88 @leaiorganas @nikkixostan @haley-the-comet @chibi-yuki @computeringturtle @4ng3lf43 @intu-witch-tion @wondergal2001 @gingerbreadandpaper @willowtheewisp @milkxxkookies @smollpinkgirl @zukoyonce @boomtownboy @velia27 @discowitchyy

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x reader #tfatws #bb imagine

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behindyourbarrette · 3 years

Text

night shift

summary: You and Spencer retell your fated meeting; while it's not picture-perfect, it's still yours. Neighbor AU, slight enemies to lovers, mutual pining all that good stuff

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

category: fluff and slight angst?

warnings: descriptions of a cut/injury

a/n: yayyy i literally wrote most of this in a single evening? the idea hit me like a sack of bricks and i just ran with it. @candlesandsoftrain did a great job beta reading—can't emphasize enough how much y'all should hop over to her page and check her out! as always, if you enjoyed reblog and join my taglist! all of the above help me out tremendously and help other people enjoy my fics, too. (sorry if u hate the italicization im new at this lol but enjoy anyways!)

masterlist | taglist link

---

It’s a summer night; the air is a little thick and you’re just hopeful enough to wonder if it might rain. Rossi invited the whole team (which is a very large group, these days, considering everyone’s ‘plus 1’ has bloomed into ‘plus a whole family’) over for penne alla vodka, and after a long time spent laughing over tomato-stained plates the kids break off into their own group, chasing each other down the moonlit stretches of grass. JJ’s quick to fall quiet in favor of keeping a careful eye on them, her gaze trailing across each one of them as they knock each other down, but invariably get back up. After a beat, you feel Spencer rise from his seat next to you. He reassures JJ with a look and crosses the backyard in a few long strides; before you get the chance to look back at him he’s seamlessly entered their game, running and inciting gleeful squeals of pleasure from Henry and Michael. You prop your head on your fist as you watch, a small smile playing on your lips as you observe Jack, ever his father’s son, lead a game of tag.

“Cute, aren’t they.”

You shoot JJ a soft smile as she catches your eye, something mischievous playing across her face as she takes a sip of her chardonnay. You shrug, and laugh as you watch Spencer tumble down the yard.

“Yeah. I got floated to OB the other day, and it was seriously tempting.” You scrunch your nose at the memory of tiny feet and hats with bows. JJ nods sagely, and you exhale. “I like holding babies, but it’s nice to hand them back after like, twenty minutes.”

This earns you a laugh from Emily, who agrees with a vehement nod. Your chest warms as the team regards you with a collective chuckle and anecdote about their kids, newborns, baby fever. Your eyes draw back to Spencer, and from his position on the grass he waves you over.

“That’s my cue. Come on over if you like, the grass is cold.” You laugh lightly, and pull yourself up from your chair. Up close, you can tell that Spencer has the kids’ full attention; they’re laid with their heads propped on their hands, eyes looking at him like he has the world in his hands. You sink into the grass, folding your legs to feel the dew and dirt seep into your skin. You feel incredibly old and young all at once; Rossi’s backyard has that effect on you.

Spencer presses a chaste kiss to your cheek in greeting, pulling you a little closer to him, and it’s this that reminds the kids that you’re together. Henry looks delighted to have pieced this together, and poses a question with all of the breath in his lungs. He mispronounces your name a little, but you smile as he continues on.

“How did you meet Uncle Spencer?”

You laugh in disbelief, reaching up to nervously tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Spencer turns a single shade of pink darker than usual, and straightens his collar. Henry, who you’ve always considered wise beyond his years, reads this as discomfort, and jumps to explain himself.

“Well, it’s only because Mommy met Daddy on a case, and I was wondering, and she said that you—“ He points with a very small index finger in your direction, “work at a hospital, so you couldn’t have met him on a case, and I was wondering.” Spencer nods with each sentence fragment, a smile building with each pause. You exchange a dubious look—are you really going to get into this? The moment is interrupted when Derek, who’s holding a very giggly baby Hank—sinks into the grass across from you.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard that story.” He says, a sly grin on his face. You pale a little; he’s not wrong, you’ve only ever told people that you and Spencer met because you lived in the same building, and the tale ends there, but Spencer seems elated. His face is a little shrouded in shadow as he leans back, propping himself up on grass-stained hands.

“Do you want to tell them, or should I?”

You shrug, a blush blooming across your cheeks.

“It’s a long story.”

He sees you first in the elevator. It is a Thursday—of course he remembers this—and it’s nearly midnight, but you’re headed to his floor. The elevator smells faintly of gardenias and laundry detergent. You’re balancing the basket on your hip, wearing ratty jeans and oddly, leather clogs.

“I think I knew I loved her then.” Spencer says, eyes alight, and the kids gasp.

“Already?” Jack asks, suspicious. You laugh and shake your head, much to Spencer’s chagrin.

“He’s lying. We’re not there yet.”

He considers the clogs longer than he should. Based on the assortment of clothing in your basket and the band t-shirt you’ve got on, it’s clearly laundry day, and your fashion choices aren’t indicative of much. You have headphones in, and he can hear faint ingredients to something like rock leech into the air as you bob your head to the beat. The elevator dings, and before he can make a move, you step off and disappear into the apartment at the end of the hall, clogs and all. They look a little too big for you, scuffed with wear and tear. He isn’t quick to judge—maybe you’re Dutch. Maybe you just like clogs. It is uniquely fun, to admire someone from afar, to cast them in all the different lights in which you’d still find them hauntingly beautiful. He’s left, dumbstruck with possibility and the idea that maybe, just maybe, things will be different this time.

“I called Penelope first.”

Henry nods at what Spencer says, and looks down through his mop of blonde hair to confirm that yes, Michael should be nodding, too. By now Garcia’s joined Derek and Savannah on the grass, her floral print dress blending perfectly in with the landscape. She nods, smiling with her whole face.

“So Auntie Penelope helped?”

“She did. I was instrumental to the whole thing.” Penelope smirks. She is the only one who knows even part of this story, and seems pleased with this fact. She sticks her tongue out at Michael, who mirrors the gesture. You reach for Spencer’s hand, heart picking up as the story continues.

You’re definitely new to the building. While Spencer isn’t around all the time, he knows the basics, and he’d definitely remember someone like you. Let alone someone like you, just a few doors away. After arguing with Penelope over the best way to introduce himself, he decides that a plate of homemade cookies and a welcome speech are foolproof. The recipe Garcia sends him is easy enough—who doesn’t love chocolate chip?—his rookie mistake of using butter instead of shortening causes the cookies to spread thin, just a little. All things considered, they turn out pretty nicely. He works up the courage on a Wednesday morning, and decides that you’re most likely to be home just before the average American work day starts. The sun is rising a little more pink than usual as he rings your doorbell.

You’re…wearing cupcake pajamas.

He’s stunned by this and about a million other aspects of what he finds when your door swings open. You’re wearing faint purple pajamas with cupcakes on them, a little bleary eyed as you rub at the space between your cheek and your nose. You don’t look happy to see him.

“I need to know where you get your PJ sets, darlin’. They’re adorable.”

“Can I help you?”

Spencer is trying to process a thousand things at once, but the only coherent thought he can form is ‘holy fuck you’re pretty in the mornings’. Your face sours into annoyance as he balks, and after a beat he silently offers you the cookies.

“I’m Spencer. I live down the hall.”

You’re trying to place him; he recognizes the look in your eye as you scan his face. He catches a glimpse of your apartment, through the crack in the doorway, and he finds total darkness. Weird. While he assumed there was no way you’d turn out to be anyone particularly strange, maybe he was wrong. You eye him and the cookies suspiciously, yawning. It’s a work day. How could he possibly have woken you up.

“You’re the guy from the elevator.”

His heart soars, and he is reminded, for the first time, how nice it is to be remembered. You seem perturbed by his excitement, watching as he launches into an explanation.

“Yes! That day—the ground floor—headphones—you were doing laundry, I think.”

You narrow your eyes, and his heart sinks. You mutter something that sounds like ‘creep’ and move to close your door, but he catches it with his free hand.

“Did I wake you?”

You chuckle, rubbing at your eyes. He opts to totally ignore the way the hem of your shirt lifts when you stretch, yawning again. He’s definitely going to catch one of your yawns, soon, and he isn’t sure if he’ll survive the embarrassment of doing so. Penelope’s advice rings in his ears. Ask for her number, give the cookies, rejoice.

“It’s really not hard.” Penelope muses, and Spencer shoots her a glare. Emily laughs loudly from behind her, and Jack shushes her in favor of letting Spencer finish.

“What? She’s right.” Emily whispers, tugging her jacket’s hood over her head.

“Hardly. I was trying to sleep.”

It’s becoming increasingly clear that you’ve put this conversation on a timer. Your grip on the side of your door is tightening, and he’s running out of time. With each passing moment, he considers just asking, but the sight of you is uniquely disarming and renders him tactless. He readjusts his hold on the cookies, saran wrap crinkling, and decides to switch tactics.

“It’s nearly eight in the morning.”

Emily makes a buzzer noise, and you dissolve into laughter. Spencer looks around, clearly jolted out of his retelling, and you rest a comforting hand on his arm.

“That was his first strike. Let the lady sleep.” Derek raises his hands in surrender, shrugging. Hank babbles in his arms, and winds a tiny finger around his father’s thumb. You don’t miss the way Spencer’s eyes follow the motion before he resumes.

You shift your weight, squaring your stance, and he think he might be in for it. He’s right.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to work three in a row? Three night shifts? In the emergency department?” Your voice isn’t laced with any emotion in particular, but your eyes. Your eyes, man. They’re beautiful, but uniquely able to deliver the message that you’re angry.

Spencer balks, and can’t bring himself to shake his head. You press on, the scratchy quality of your voice gone in favor of resolve.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to hold a man’s actual heart in your hand? On a random Tuesday evening? Do you?”

He gets the sense that you are overtired, and clearly overworked, but he cannot decipher why, exactly, he is the person you’ve decided to unleash this vengeance on. His grip on the decorative plate tightens in defense as you glare at him, daring him to respond.

“Kind of. Only in a lab, though.” His voice is small, tinny.

“What are you, a professor?”

“A doctor, actually—“

You laugh, but the sound is humorless.

“Sounds about right. Do you know how many doctors have condescended me in the past 72 hours? More than I can count. Now if you’ll excuse me—“

“Wait! These, uh. They’re.” He clears his throat, cheeks burning. He extends the plate to you one last time, smiling crookedly. Finally, mission accomplished. “They’re for you.”

“Keep the cookies, dude. See you around.”

“That’s cold.”

Derek winces, miming a slap across the face, and your cheeks burn. Spencer shakes his head wistfully, hair falling into his face as he considers it.

“I kind of deserved it.”

Michael twists around from his seat on his mother’s lap. Pretty much the entire dinner party is here, now, listening. You’re looking forward to your turn, but Spencer’s doing a pretty good job of painting the picture in the meantime. Michael raises his hand, like he’s in school, and you call on him with a smile.

“So you didn’t love him when you met him?”

The adults laugh, but you shake your head as affectionately as you can. Exchanging a glance with Spencer, you shrug.

“Not yet.”

“When did you love him?”

Great question, kid. You turn to Jack, and after confirming that it’s your turn to narrate, begin with a flourish.

You regretted it immediately.

Well, almost immediately. After you woke up that afternoon, the events of what you originally deduced to be a very strange dream turned out to be cold hard reality. You mourned the possible friendship carefully, with the help of store-bought chocolate cookies and a few texts to old flames. Nothing you couldn’t fix.

He was the guy from the elevator.

You had been curious about that guy since that evening, laundry day. He had looked at you a little funny, and after you got back to your apartment you realized that your headphones had been blasting. You blushed to nobody and went about your day, but you remembered him. The guy from the elevator, who you’d seen enter the apartment three doors down at crazy times of night, looking exhausted. The guy from the elevator, who was never around. The guy from the elevator, who was easily one of the best looking people you had ever seen. A sharp jaw, high cheekbones. Inquisitive eyes. Slicked back hair, tall.

“So you did love him?”

You think you catch a glimpse of Hotch’s smile, rare as a blue moon, but you can’t be sure. You shake your head at Henry, one hand buried in the grass as you smile.

“Not yet.”

You mourn what could have been. It’s easy to picture Spencer; that’s his name, right? alongside the typical happenings of your life. If you had been less sleep deprived, if he was less aloof, maybe things would have turned out differently. You look for him in the laundromat, the grocery store. Anywhere that you can easily amend your wrongs. He hadn’t just wanted to introduce himself to be polite, right? Was he flirting with you? Or trying to, anyways?

You decide that the best course of action is a total do-over. It can’t be that hard to find him, can it? He lives down the hall. You leave a gift basket at his doorstep, but it remains untouched for nearly a week, and by the time it disappears you’re sure that the expensive brie inside has gone moldy. Does he even still live here? You never see him around—it’s like by telling him that you would, you’ve cursed yourself to never seeing him again. It’s shitty luck, and even shittier to be unable to apologize.

“Language!”

“What, I can’t say shit?”

After a while, though, you see him. You’ve just gone out for a run; you’re sweaty and exhausted and probably not any more capable of kind conversation than the first time, but you enter the lobby and the cool air is at least a little comforting. At least you’re almost home; you hit the button for the elevator and decide to recover while you wait. Hands on your knees, you’re too busy taking deep inhales to realize that he’s in the elevator, and he’s looking at you.

“Wait!”

You’re too slow, though—he hits a button and the doors close, and before you can even react any glimpse of him is gone in favor of your own reflection, mottled and washed out in the door’s metallic sheen. Out of breath, and more than a little defeated, you go back to hoping that the next time you see him, he’ll have a change of heart.

While it’s easy to look for him anywhere, you don’t expect to find him among a list of admitted patients, a few weeks later. It’s a relatively quiet night in the ER (while you don’t dare utter the word) and you’re sure that there are dozens of Spencers residing in Quantico. Statistically, it’s not him.

“It was him, right?”

Jack is the first to draw this conclusion, and Spencer high-fives him triumphantly. The evening breeze cools the lawn off nicely; from the glow of the kitchen, you can tell Rossi’s working on dessert. You clear your throat, and wink exaggeratedly.

You confirm your suspicions by poking your head past the privacy curtain. A total misstep, on your part, but to your simultaneous delight and dismay he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a bandage up to his brow bone.

“It’s you.” He says plainly, no emotion behind it. You clutch the chart in your hands against the front of your scrubs, contemplating how fast you can run away in your Danskos. His eyes drift to your feet and he sighs, defeated.

“I should have known you’re a nurse. The clogs.” He groans, and after his disappointment plays off his face he winces in pain. This plucks at your heartstrings. He’s in pain, and you step forward to peek at the cut on his brow.

“You’re not my patient, but you’re also not a snitch.” You mutter, grimacing at the sight of the wound. It’s pretty substantial; according to the whiteboard on the wall he’ll need stitches. How the hell did he get that? Despite the somewhat disastrous way he entered your life, he doesn’t strike you as the type to start nor end a fight. You pretend not to notice the outdated looking revolver on his hip, hovering over his face as you determine that no, the cut isn’t infected.

“A snitch?” He asks, incredulous. You find it within yourself to laugh, and you press the bandage back onto his skin as gently as you can. He relaxes under your touch, sat cross-legged on the bed, his sweater vest speckled with dots of blood.

“It won’t kill you, but I can tell it hurts.” You say, offering your professional assessment. He shrugs, too smiley, and opens his mouth. You get the feeling that he’s about to tell a joke before he can even start; he looks excited to say it.

“You should see the other guy.”

“He didn’t.” JJ places her hand over her mouth, eyes wide. You nod your head, watching Reid grow redder every second.

“Reid, come on.” Derek shakes his head in disbelief, laughing lightly.

“I couldn’t think of what to say! I was in pain!” He cries, voice going up in pitch like it does when he feels ganged up on, and you smile, at this recognition. He squeezes your hand, taking the joke, and the team looks at you as if to urge you on.

“I’m really sorry, about that day. I was exhausted, and you weren't even that mean I just blew up at you—“

“Don’t apologize. They were just cookies. I didn’t mean to wake you.” He looks terribly sad; to be fair, this hospital is not a fun place to converse. It’s cold, and smells vaguely of disinfectant. You’re entirely sure that you look terrible; you’re on the second of three night shifts, and you didn’t walk in to work expecting to see anyone who cares what your hair looks like. You learn later that Spencer doesn’t care, either. He is simply happy to have you at all.

“It was just a horrible circumstance. I’ve wanted a do-over since.” You clasp your hands together, ignoring the thump of your heart against your ribcage as you continue. He seems to perk up a little, though, shifting his arms as he watches you stammer.

“So, uh. If you ever need help with the stitches,” you make a vague gesture towards your eyebrow, laughing. “You can call me. For a follow up.”

His eyes light up, and it occurs to you that you’d watch them do so a million times over.

“A follow up?”

“I don’t think you’re a medical doctor, so yes. A follow up. To see how you’re feeling.” You shoot him an over the top wink, and before you lose your nerve you take a few steps closer and remove the pen from your pocket. He gives you his hand without question and you scribble your number on his palm, the ink blurring with each line but legible regardless. He twitches a little as you go over the lines, but you manage to get each digit down. With a click of a pen and a hopeful smile, you’re done.

“Okay. And if I feel fine? If I don’t need a follow up?”

“Call me anyways.”

You leave him alone, behind the plastic curtain, because you have lives to save and people who need you. The same can be said for him; he will explain to you, later, how he got the now tiny scar that’s stamped over his eyebrow. It will scare you to no end, but somehow sweeten the fact that he was able to joke with you after, that he comes out of each case able to smile and laugh, at least a little. That he’s happy to stare at his own hand, watching the ink dry and the pain above his eye ebb into nothing.

“So that’s it?” Henry seems dissatisfied, pouting a little. Spencer laughs, shaking his head. While the story is mostly over—a few of the adults have migrated inside, sipping on wine and watching from behind the glass—there’s a few details left to regale.

He turns up at your door a few days later; already you know more about him than before. Namely that he hates texting, but apparently is willing to grin and bear it for the sake of making plans. You invite him in, revealing that your apartment isn’t totally blacked out all the time. On the contrary, it’s bathed in light. He notes that you have much nicer windows than he, your decor eclectic but overall sunny.

“Are you analyzing my stuff?”

You ask, laughing. There’re baking ingredients on the counter—he notes that you left the eggs out to get them to room temperature, meaning you likely know what you’re doing. He turns a delightful shade of pink and shakes his head, though you already know he is.

“Not totally. You have a lot of, uh, pictures.” He scratches behind his ear, and assumes a position at the counter. The deal was that you’d bake cookies together, but to his credit he’s mostly watching you do it. You don’t mind; it’s nice to talk and laugh while worrying about things other than people literally dying.

“I like to remember things.” You say, a little defensive. You keep a Polaroid camera around; it’s nice to take photos and pin them on the walls. Little pieces of moments you’d rather not forget. You look up from the cookie dough to find Spencer smiling wistfully, his grin wonderfully crooked.

“Me too.”

After the cookies are done baking and the apartment smells like vanilla and the rich, caramelized tone of brown butter, you pull out the camera and snap a photo. Spencer looks a little off guard; there’s flour in his hair, and dusted on the front of his sweater, but he’s smiling wide and you’re there, too. The photo emerges from the other end of the camera slowly, a little warm from the printing process, and you hold it up to the light. He seems uniquely happy to look at the photo—before you can talk yourself out of it, you turn your head and kiss him, a little tentatively. Your nerves color the moment in your memory, the thrill of it all. He’s softer than you expect, sweet and warm, and your awareness of the kitchen fades in favor of the feeling of his hands on your waist, yours in his hair.

“Do you still have it?”

You’re quick to shake your head. Between a few moves and the years since that fateful first date, the photo is lost to time. Penelope deflates in disappointment, but you feel Spencer move beside you. The kids watch in awe as he pulls his wallet out of his pocket, and as he extracts the polaroid between a few dollar bills and his driver’s license you feel a sort of wave of emotion rise and fall. You peer at the photo and it’s not quite how you remembered it; you both look so young, joy lighting you up from the inside out. You didn’t even know it, then, that you’d look back at yourself from a grassy backyard, passing the moment in time around for everyone to see, wondering where all the time went. You feel incredibly old and young all at once, but with Spencer’s hand in yours, you think that you’re exactly where you need to be.

taglist <3

@everyonesfavoritepipecleaner@idonotexiste @coldlilheart @onyourfingertips @uptowngotmedown @infinite-tides @whentheskiesareblue @winniemjf @aanubisbackwards @just-another-persona123 @okivia @thedancingnerdmermaid @the-chaotic-cow @drayshadow @measure-in-pain @allybatch @reidonfilm @luredwithpretzels @rexorangecouny @thatsonezesty13 @rare-breed-of-human @ceridwen-02 @briefgoateeking @kuolonsyoja @multi-worlds @me-a-hopeless-romantic @wifeyprentiss

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samanthadalton · 3 years

Text

Star Crossed Lovers (part 14)

Do my eyes deceive me???? part 14???? we did it. im so sorry its taken forever, i will try my best to be more consistent with my writing. love yall for being patient with me it means the most. thank you, thank you.

warnings: throughout this fic there will be mentions of substance abuse, homophobia, sexual abuse, violence, NSFW, mentions of abandonment, depression and death including suicide

reader discretion is advised

warnings: angst, swearing (lots of it)

taglist: @drmmyrs @cloud9in @somewillwin @save-me-the-last-dance @baexpoppy @stanzoeywade @ognenniyvolk @thepotatobleh @crazzyplays @fall3ngods @helpconfusedpersonhere @clowneryme @dopeyouth @boys-girls-i-cant-help-it-baby @vonda-b-real @uselesslesbianfr @veenast @cloakanddaggerthings @somethindarker (sorry again if ive missed anyone, if you wanna be added on this taglist or my general one just let me know 😊)

word count: 4k (i feel like its short considering how long it took me to write but i still hope you guys enjoy) (also i didnt check for grammatical errors properly so sorry if you find any)

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12 part 13

The first steps to moving on

“Bea please,” Poppy whispers, a repentant look creeping up to her face as she looks away from her girlfriend. “It can’t wait.”

Bea sighs, her shoulders slumping as the last remains of her anger disseminates from her body. “Okay fine, lead the way babe.”

Poppy stiffens that the pet name but she doesn’t let her awkwardness slip as she leads Bea to a secluded classroom, far away from prying eyes. Both her and Bea turn to look at each other, and both simultaneously open their mouths to talk.

“I know you wanted to tell-”

“We need to talk-”

Both clamp their lips shut, a mutual smile playing on their lips as they look at one another.

“You go first,” Poppy gestures towards Bea, as she moves to sit on the edge of a desk.

Bea inhales softly, her tongue darts out licking her lips as she looks down at the ground, her face calculating. “Why does Chloe hate me?” She looks up to Poppy, her eyes boring into the strawberry blonde’s, sadness swimming inside of them, “I just don’t get what I’ve done for her to hate me.”

Poppy sighs heavily, her eyes awkwardly darting away from Bea’s. “It’s complicated Bea.”

“Complicated?” Bea lets out a humourless laugh, “I almost just went off on Chloe after she gave her condolences for my mom dying because I just felt she wasn’t genuine and you wanna tell me it's complicated?”

Poppy sharply inhales, contemplating for a few moments before saying, “it’s because of your mom.”

Bea scrunches her brows up in confusion, “my mom? What the hell does she have to do with this?”

Poppy ineptly plays with her hands, not being able to look Bea in her eyes, “at first it was just a classist thing. When you first came to Belvoire, she just wanted to make herself feel superior over you, but in the last year you’ve noticed her getting more mean right?”

“Right.” Bea stares at Poppy, her expression emotionless.

“Chloe’s parents have been fighting non stop recently, and it’s been affecting her a lot.”

Bea’s brows furrow in confusion, “what does that have to do with me or my mom?”

“Just let me explain first before you react, please.” Bea’s eyes bore into Poppy’s for a few seconds before she nods understandingly. “Her dad cheated on her mom. A lot of times actually. But he was blackmailed by one of the women he slept with.” Poppy pauses for a few seconds, “your mom.”

Bea lets out a shaky breath, her eyes blinking in disbelief, “no, you’re lying.”

Poppy nervously bites her bottom lip, “look Bea-”

“How long have you known?”

Poppy’s face scrunches up in anger, “this isn’t my fault Bea. I only found out that day I went to talk to Chloe about us. Chloe made me promise not to say anything to you-”

“Poppy! My mom OD and I don’t even know why. And now you’re telling me she was blackmailing the St James family and it doesn’t occur to you that might have had something to do with her death?”

“They’re not the fucking mafia Bea, jesus. They were trying to settle it quietly by giving your mom some money and make her sign some stuff so she couldn't threaten them anymore.”

The devastating ramification of Poppy’s admission hangs in the air as the two girls let the words settle into them. “Chloe really is sorry about your mom Bea, we all are.”

Bea sighs, staring off into space, as a few tears begin to fill up in her eyes. “I just don’t know what to do.” Bea begins sniffling, but Poppy makes no movement to console her girlfriend. Bea notices and her expression sobers, “so, uh what did you wanna tell me?” Bea sniffs a few more times, before looking up at Poppy, giving her a small encouraging smile.

Poppy looks away, guilt creeping up on her face, as she tries her damndest not to catch Bea’s small smile on her face. “Bea…”. Bea carefully assesses her girlfriend’s demeanour, noticing the similar body language during when they first asked to take a break, she thinks back to the last couple of days, she had barely heard from her girlfriend, and now she’s not affectionate, even after she almost had a mental breakdown in the middle of the hallway and her smile drops. “We have to break up,” Poppy says, her tone so monotone and dry as if she didn’t mean the words she was saying at all.

“I don’t understand,” is all Bea can muster, evidently hurt by Poppy’s admission. Poppy winces slightly at Bea’s tone, finally breaking her robotic demeanour as she lets out a few sniffles. “So is that it? We have to break up,” Bea retorts mockingly, “is that all I get after all these years?”

“Bea..” Poppy reaches out but Bea immediately takes a step back, tears flooding in her eyes.

“No,” she holds her hands up, “I don’t get it, things are going good, or at least whatever twisted definition of good we’ve made up. Where the hell did this come from?”

“Bea my dad-”

“Of course! Hayden Min fucking Sinclair had something to do with this. Why do you still live under his shadow? You talk all this shit about breaking out of your father’s prison and wanting to achieve your own goals but he sucks you back in.”

“That’s not fair Bea,” Poppy interjects, balling her hands up into fists in an attempt to subdue her trembling, “my dad has given me so much and he’s threatening to take it all away.”

“Yeah, all you have to do is get rid of me. Me or the Min Sinclair name.”

“Bea this is the life I have, okay I’m not like you, I’m not built like you.”

“So what? I can grow up without a dad and now without a mom but it’s okay because I’m used to pain and disappointment?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, you have a plan, things you can achieve, I need the Min Sinclair name, I’m nothing without it.”

“Wow.” Bea shakes her head, “So I just meant nothing?” Bea wildy throws her arms in the air, anger bubbling under the surface of her demeanour. “We’ve practically been together since we were kids. And you’re just gonna fucking throw that away? And for what? Fuck you Poppy.”

Poppy takes half a step back, dumbfounded by Bea’s outburst. She scrunches her brows, evidently hurt, “you don’t get it Bea. Even though your mom wasn’t the best, she still supported you, even if you didn’t know about it. My dad he- my mom what would she think?”

“Your mom? Poppy what kind of shit is your dad brainwashing you with? Your mom is dead! You have no idea how she would react to having a gay daughter, but I know she’s probably disappointed in you.”

“Fuck you Bea.”Poppy runs out of the classroom, tears streaming down her face, leaving Bea on her own.

“Shit,” Bea whispers to herself before throwing a bunch of punches at the wall, each more cathartic than the last until she can’t physically hold herself up anymore. Bea defeatedly slides into a chair, cradling her head in between her hands, letting the tears free fall, as reality begins setting in that she lost the one thing in the world that was her everything. Poppy Min Sinclair was her rock, the girl who she gave her heart to, the love of her life and just in a matter of moments it was over. Maybe it was too good to be true. The beautiful, perky popular rich girl and the girl who had almost nothing, complete polar opposites, it never should’ve worked. But time and time again when faced against the world they persevered so why was this time different? Poppy had chosen her namesake over the love of her life. She chose the life of glitz and glamour over the girl who gave her her entire heart. Bea feels her entire world crashing down, how much more heartbreak could she take? Was her life always going to be so hard? So full of hurt? Full of pain? She winces at the thought, her head hammering as she comes to the realisation that she understood her mother’s pain more than she thought.

….

Bea hops off her bike, parking it in front of her house, as she pulls her phone out to look at the time. ‘It’s lunch time,’ she thinks to herself. After the day she had today, school wasn’t the best option for her right now. She makes her way to her front door but stops in her tracks when she realises her front door is slightly ajar. Her survival instincts kick in as she effortlessly pulls out her pocket knife, carefully pushing the door fully open. As she steps into the living room, her eyes dart to the closed door of her mother’s room, but when she hears a creaking sound coming towards her bedroom, she cautiously moves towards the source of the noise, the grip on her knife tightening. As she creeps up, she sees the door of her room half opened, a hooded figure standing by her bed with their back facing her.

Bea stealthily sneaks up to the figure placing the knife a few inches from their throat before lowering her voice to a threatening tone, “who are you and what the fuck are you doing?” The figure gasps, dropping a bag that’s in their hands with a deafening thud before raising their hands in a sign of surrender.

“It’s me, it’s me,” the voice whimpers out.

“AJ?” Bea raises her eyebrows, retracting the knife from his throat while pulling down his hood with her other hand. “What the fuck are you doing?” Bea takes a step back while AJ scrambles grabbing the bag he just dropped moments before. When he turns to face Bea, his eyes are wide, filled with fear as he clutches the bag closely to his chest.

“I have to go,” he says as he attempts to run out of the room, but Bea pulls him back, her face crumpled in suspicion.

“No we’re not doing this, give me the bag now,” Bea snatches the bag out of his hands before he can protest and opens the zipper to find it filled with cash. She grits her teeth, anger settling into her features as she whips her head up to AJ, “is this my fucking money?”

“Bea, I- I can explain-”

“What the fuck AJ!” Bea throws the bag onto the bed, the cash spilling out as she jabs an accusing finger at AJ’s chest. “You’re stealing from me now? I haven’t seen you in god knows how long, you don’t call, text nothing. Even after everything that’s been happening in the last few weeks but you have the audacity to fucking steal from me? Money that I’ve spent years saving? Money that I’ve bussed my fucking ass off for, are you serious right now?” Bea’s voice is filled with rage as she’s practically screaming, her voice now thundering. AJ winces, guiltily averting his gaze to the ground, unable to meet Bea’s eyes.

“I’m sorry about your mom Bea, I wanted to visit-” AJ croaks out.

“But you didn’t,” Bea interjects, her voice lowered but filled with hurt. “And now you’re taking money- I mean what is so important you had to steal from me.”

AJ paces towards the bed, hanging his head in shame, when he speaks his voice is quiet, full of fear, “I’m in some bad shit Bea. These guys aren’t playing around.”

“I told you not to fall into the wrong crowd, I warned you this shit would happen.”

“Bea please, I’ll pay you back I just need it.”

“No! What the fuck, when will you pay me back huh? This is my college money, I’m not letting you give that away to your crackhead friends.”

“Bea please,” AJ clasps his hands together, his tone pleading, “I don’t know what to do.”

“AJ I have too much shit on my plate right now, I can’t deal with this. You need to find something else, I can’t help you.”

AJ’s face pales but he stands up, and makes his way towards the door, before leaving he turns to look back at Bea, “I’m sorry about everything.”

Bea keeps her eyes trained on her bed where the money is sprawled all over the mattress, “yeah me too,” she replies quietly. Bea hears the front door close and she collapses to the ground, letting the tears flow.

……

A few days later, Bea sits in her dark living room, curtains shut and lights completely off as she wallows in her sadness, drinking from a bottle of cheap beer, as she stares absentmindedly at the ceiling, so drowned in her thoughts she doesn’t hear the resounding knocks on her door until she hears a voice call out, “Bea! Are you there?”

Bea crumples her brows, forcing herself to stand as she makes her way to the door, she wearily makes her way to her front door only slightly opening the door before poking her head out. “Veronica?” Veronica gives the girl a wide smile before pushing the door more open, ushering the figure behind her into the house too, “Carter? What are you guys doing here?’

Veronica looks around the dark room, noticing the pile of empty beer bottles on the floor, “yikes, drinking on your own on a friday night Hughes? That’s really sad.” Carter stands near the edge of the living room, as if he’s an explorer, his eyes darting all over the living room as he assesses this new environment.

Bea on the other hand scowls at Veronica, “what the hell do you want Veronica, I’m not in the mood.”

Veronica frowns slightly, pouting her lips together, “we heard about you and Poppy.”

Bea rolls her eyes, “yeah well I’m trying to forget about her.” Bea picks up her beer bottle from the ground and makes a show by exaggeratingly drinking from the bottle until it's empty. She discards the empty bottle along with the other ones before turning to look at Veronica and Carter, “so if you’ll excuse me.”

Veronica steps towards Bea, wrapping her hand around the brunette’s arm, “we’re not here for Poppy stupid, we’re here for you.”

Bea raises an eyebrow, “for me?”

Veronica turns to look at Carter, beckoning him forward, Carter breaks out of reverie and clears his throat, “yeah uh, we wanted to take you to a party.”

“A party?” Bea looks between them confused, “I’m not that interested guys.”

“Wait, wait, wait Bea,” Veronica pleads, pulling Bea closer to her, “you’ve never been to a Belvoire party and the year is almost over, we thought we should take you to at least.”

“I don’t know guys,” Bea says skeptically, “a lot of people don’t like me.”

“Who gives a shit? You just had your heart broken and you need to let loose.”

Bea sighs, pulling away from Veronica, “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Come on, it beats drinking in the dark on your own.”

Bea sighs, dropping her shoulders, “what about uh Poppy?”

“Poppy?” Veronica arches a brow, “her and Chloe are staying in tonight, she said she needed to catch up on homework or something.”

Bea purses her lips together in thought before sighing, “fine.” Veronica cheers, “but,” Bea over enunciates, “only for a few hours and if I don’t like it I’m going home.”

“Okay, deal,” Veronica squeals, wrapping Bea in a big hug. Carter chuckles as Veronica gestures for him to join the hug, he awkwardly wraps his arms around the two girls, before pulling away.

“Okay, I’ll wait in the car while you girls get ready. Just uh don’t take too long.”

Veronica playfully rolls her eyes as she Bea towards her bedroom, yelling back “thanks Carter.” Giddy, she rushes to Bea’s closest, assessing her clothes until she finds a short red dress hidden in the back. “This!”

“No, no, no,” Bea shakes her head, pulling the dress out of the ombre-haired girl’s hands.

“Why not? It would look so hot on you,” Veronica’s eyes trail down Bea’s body, as she sharply inhales. “Bea, you’re single and sexy, stop holding yourself back okay?”

“I’m not,” Bea pushes back defensively, “I just-” she sighs heavily, “no one at Belvoire has ever seen me dressed up, I’m just- I’m nervous I guess.”

“Then we have to show them what they’ve been missing for the last three years,” Veronica gives Bea a devilish smile as she takes the dress from Bea’s hands, sliding the dress off the hanger before handing it over to Bea.

“Uh you gonna stay in the room?” Bea nervously wrings her hands together.

“Why, are you offering a show?” Veronica lifts a teasing brow, noticing Bea’s cheeks redden slightly, which prompts her to let out a small laugh, “I’m kidding, don’t worry I won’t look.” Veronica makes a show of raising her hands to cover her eyes. Bea laughs as she slips out of her clothes and into the dress, she awkwardly clears her throat, grabbing Veronica’s attention.

“Hey, uh help a girl out with her zipper?”

“Sure,” Veronica moves to stand behind Bea, her hands ghosting around Bea’s exposed back, her breath momentarily taken away. She sturdies herself and places one of her hands on the small of the brunette’s back while the other moves towards the zipper, zipping the girl up. Bea smooths the dress down with her hands appreciating herself in the mirror, “you look gorgeous,” Veronica whispers into the shell of her ear.

Bea’s face completely flushes red and slightly jerks at Veronica’s admission, “uhh thanks.”

Veronica notices the awkward shift in the atmosphere, and promptly changes the subject, “so where’s your sister?”

Bea sits in front of her mirror, a comb in her hand as she brushes her long locks, “she’s staying at a friend’s tonight.”

“Cool,” Veronica answers back but her tone falls flat. The girls bask in the awkward silence as Bea continues to get ready but when Veronica notices Bea struggling to do her winged eyeliner she breaks the silence. “Hey do you need help?”

Bea smiles bashfully, “yeah.” She rubs the back of her head with her hand, “sorry Poppy used to help me with my makeup.”

“Right,” Veronica’s face slightly falls but she quickly covers it up, ushering Bea to come and sit on the bed. “Come on, I don’t bite,” Veronica bites the bottom of her lip, “unless you want me too.” Bea laughs but obliges sitting on the edge of the bed. Veronica clambers onto her lap, her thighs settling on the sides of Bea’s legs, and in response, Bea’s eyes widen in surprise but she remains glued in her spot, too shocked to move.

“V, what are you doing?” Bea whispers, her voice attempting to come across as reprimanding but it comes out as breathy.

“Relax, I’m just doing your eyeliner.” Veronica plucks the wand from Bea’s hand and angles herself close to the brunette’s face, as she begins drawing on the wings on Bea’s eyelids. Bea steadies herself, as she feels the heat of Veronica’s body so close to hers and when Veronica is finished with putting the finishing touches on her eyelids, she hops off Bea’s lap, making her way towards the desk, scuffling through Bea’s makeup bag before taking up her place on Bea’s lap once again. “Now I think this colour would look good on you,”

“You don’t think it’s too much red?”

“Oh babe, red means power, dominance, you don’t wanna be thinking about Poppy the entire night, you wanna have all eyes on you Bea Hughes.” Veronica uncaps the lipstick, her eyes burning into Bea’s lips as she carefully applies the red colour to her lips. “Perfect.”

Bea smacks her lips together, evenly spreading the red on her lips. “Thanks V.”

Veronica’s eyes dart to Bea’s lips, her tongue slightly running along her bottom lips before she breaks out of her reverie flashing Bea a smirk, “don’t thank me yet, thank me when you’re having the time of your life at the party.” Veronica slides off Bea’s lap, holding her hand out, “come on let’s finish up because Carter’s been waiting for a while.” Bea smiles up at Veronica, taking her hand as she lets the ombre-haired girl pull her off the bed, as they continue getting ready.

………

Once they arrive at the party, Carter drops the girls off at the front of the huge house before telling them he will park the car. Veronica’s gaze darts to Bea, who’s nervously toying with her hands, looking up at the intimidating house, the lights blaring and as the music echoes throughout, the bass thumping in their ears. Noticing the nerves settling into her, Veronica slips into Bea's, giving her a reassuring squeeze, “hey, it’s okay, it’s just a bunch of drunk, preppy uptight teenagers, nothing you don't usually face everyday.”

Bea lets out a small laugh, “just in a big ass house,” she jests.

“Yeah, just in a big ass house,” she gives Bea a light squeeze as she starts pulling Bea into the house with her. Automatically, they’re met with stares and whispers, as the students look astonished at Bea, some appraising her outfit, while others are confused about her presence. “Hey, just stay with me okay?” Veronica whispers over to Bea. Bea nods, her eyes roaming the room. “I’ll get us drinks.” The ombre-haired girl gives Bea a reassuring pat on her arm and leaves her side and Bea walks into the living room, observing the difference between the vibes of the party between the north and the south. Her thoughts then move to think about Poppy, how Poppy would love going to parties in the north but Bea couldn’t find the appeal in it. Poppy. Poppy, who broke up with her. She’s interrupted from her thoughts by a tap of her shoulder, and Bea turns around to see Veronica offering her a red solo cup, Bea takes a sip and winces.

“What the hell is this crap?”

“Yeah for a bunch of rich kids, their taste in beer isn’t the best,” Veronica jokes, slightly nudging Bea.

“We have way better beer in the south side.”

“That I can agree with.” Veronica looks over to Bea who looks lost in thought, “hey what are you thinking about?”

Bea sighs heavily, “Poppy,” she mutters.

Veronica nods once, “right, yeah.”

“Poppy would’ve loved a party like this, big fancy house an-”

“Bea,” Veronica says, her tone slightly agitated, “this,” she gestures around the room, “is a no Poppy zone. That means we don’t think about Poppy, only about fun.”

Bea nods, “fun. I can do that.” Veronica lifts her cup in the air, “what are we cheering to?”

Veronica gives Bea a smile, “here’s to the first steps in moving on.” The girls tap their cups together before downing their drinks. “Now if we wanna get drunk, we’re gonna need a lot more of these.”

The party is still ongoing, and Bea sits in a circle with a few girls from the volleyball team and a few of the football team and other people she doesn’t recognise while Veronica sits beside her.

“Bea you look so pretty,” one of her teammates says.

“Yeah Bea your makeup is literally gorgeous,” another chimes in.

“Who knew strip tease can clean up well,” Ford jests, but Bea slumps her shoulders a little, remembering that these people are not her friends.

Carter enters the circle slapping Ford on the head as he goes, “shut up, Hughes is cool.” Bea gives Carter a nod of appreciation before looking down at the drink in her hands. Her thoughts move a million miles a minute, but there’s a constant one stuck in her brain, Poppy.

Veronica looks over at Bea, frowning. “Hey come with me.” She stands, excusing herself from the group and Bea follows her close behind.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re gonna play a private game of truth or drink.”

#playchoices #queen b #poppy min sinclair #poppy x mc #star crossed lovers #thank you for waiting #i promise to be more consistent #love you guys

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mjxmoon · 3 years

Text

sapnap takes you to meet his family II

sapnap x black reader

word count: short lol

request: Okay but part 2 of the Sapnap fanfic? like what happened in the car ride home? Did he call his family out or cut them off? Is the reader gonna get hate crimed at thanksgiving next year? these are questions I need to know- 🍫

pt. 1 here :)

a/n me?? POSTING CONTENT????

warnings: swearing

Sapnap chews on his bottom lip nervously as more time since you’ve last spoken to him passes. Ever since leaving his family's house, you've sat slumped up against the window, ignoring all of your boyfriend's attempts to try and lighten the mood. "You aren't talking to me." Sapnap points out.

"Mhm," You hum back, confirming his remark. It's silent for another moment before you finally decide to say your piece.

"Why did you bring me there?" You turn in your seat to face him. "To their house? In that neighborhood? Knowing you had a family who would obviously think negatively of me?"

"I thought they'd be different with you."

His heart was in the semi-right place, but you find it weird that he would bring you to a low-profile KKK meeting without any thought. "So you knew they were racist and decided, 'hey, let me just bring my Black partner anyway?' seriously?"

He throws his hands up in disbelief. "Well, what did you want me to do? Just hide you from my family?"

"If they're racist, then yeah." You mutter, turning to look back out the window. "Racist people just don't magically change."

"I just wanted them to get to know you." He pouts.

You sigh, getting a little frustrated that he still can't seem to understand why bringing you there was the worst thing he could have done. "Sapnap, the minute they saw what I looked like, they didn't care about getting to know me. I know you love your family, but please don't bring me somewhere where I'll be treated differently because I'm Black. It's not fair."

He nods his head, but you still can't tell if he's fully comprehending what you're saying. "So what should I do? Do you want me to talk to them?"

"Well-" You pause, trying to lay out your response carefully. With family it's complicated, and you would hate to cause any tension amongst Sapnap and his, but on the other hand, you don't want them to get away with their racist bullshit. "I don't know, I just don't want to ever have to see them again."

Maybe that last bit was a little harsh, but it's exactly how you feel, and you figure it's a great time to be honest.

"You're right-"

"I know I'm right." You interrupt with a slight grin.

Sapnap chuckles. "Of course you're right. So, I'll talk to them, and I'm sorry."

"Thank you." You say with a smile, finally feeling like you can relax after such an intense and draining day. There's still a lot you two will have to work through, and a lot Sapnap will have to learn, but you're happy conversations like this are built on a mutual understanding of wanting to educate and support each other.

"But you still wanna come to thanksgiving, right?" Sapnap jokes.

You roll your eyes as you reach for your phone to queue up some music for the rest of the ride home. "Of course! Unseasoned food and racism is exactly how I want to start my holiday season!"

side bar: might do a part 3 because this is fun also this tiktok perfectly encapsulates how i feel about people bringing poc over to meet their racist family, like damn are you stupid fr? ok im done

#sapnap x black reader #sapnap x reader #sapnap #dream team #dream smp #black reader #dream smp x black reader #mcyt #mcyt x black reader #racism core #sapnap🌿

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shibaraki · 2 years

Note

ooo thank u for bringing up the belly bulge thing lmao. like baby... im not seeing a dick in my stomach no matter how big it is.

i dont get turned off by tropey things like that often but belly bulges and certain "he folded you xyz way" things in fics take me out of the immersion immediately. but, im aware not all fics can cater to everyone so its not a big deal. still, i've heard belly bulging isn't even a normal thing for thin people so *shrugs* maybe its just one of those fanfic-y "can and does happen in real life but isnt as common as fics make it sound" sort of things.

Honestly I’m thin myself so there’s no need to thank me for it love. It’s just something that I know bothers my friends and mutuals and that post reminded me of it (which is why I mentioned that I shouldn’t really be leading this). But as you said, not every fic will cater to you and that’s fine!! Even though people write ‘reader inserts’ it cannot be ambiguous enough to suit everyone, that’s just a fact. And there is of course a level in which you might need to suspend your disbelief to enjoy a writers work!! But descriptors of the body, lifting of the reader, belly bulges etc I think should be tagged just to forewarn — easy peasy! Hell, I even tag if my reader eats meat or fish. Then as the writer it is no longer in your hands, the reader can consent to whatever is in that fic and it isn’t your responsibility. Everyone wins!

#asks #*bangs gavel*#let me be clear there is no discourse!!!

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rosaliepostsstuff · 3 years

Text

Yours truly - epilogue

warnings: food mentions, vague mention of war, a disgustingly sweet happy ending

word count: 2369

a/n: haha! you thought the series was over? well, now it will be. i totally did not cry while writing this, no no. also - i recommend, if you’re reading on desktop, open this on my blog. i recently changed my theme and i think the layout is great for reading.

tags: @izzyyy-1 ; @pandaxnienke ; @messagesinthesky ; @valwritesx ; @pineapplesandpinas ; @sirenswhispers ; @mitsukui ; @4amhotchner ; @theweasleysredhair ; @barneswidow ; @anxxi0s ; @scoobiessnacks ; @unseensilver ; @softlyqoos ; @amourtentiaa ; @anripoot ; @vogueweasley ; @subaehun ; @prismarts ; @harrysweasleys ; @mamawheeze ; @lumos-barnes ; @ickle-ronniekins ; @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 ; @dontreallywannabehere ; @28cnn ; @euphorictraveler ; @littlemisswitt ; @onlyfreds ; @latenightmiraclesss ; @weasleygrapes ; @hufflepuffalice ; @slytherclawbitch ; @freddie-weaselbee ; @famdomhideout ; @mollenniumfalcon ; @accioweaslcy ; @lunarlovegoodx ; @weasleysprofessionalhoe ;

series masterlist | main masterlist | taglist form

It felt odd. Exciting and nerve-wracking at once.

You tried to go about your day as usual. Occupying your overthinking mind with last bits of unpacking and tidying your room.

The idea seemed strange to your parents at first, that a friend of yours would come by for a visit the day after you arrived back at home. Which, after a month away, to them was equal to knocking on your door as soon as you closed it behind yourself.

It was the first time you had to have that type of conversation with your parents, naturally, it felt awkward. But when you told them the truth, they were respectful.

The hand of the clock on your bedroom’s wall, right above your desk, was getting dangerously close to 1.

You changed your clothes and put your hair up, just to sit behind your desk, having nothing else to do. That’s when the clock really started racing. It was a few minutes to 1 PM when your mum called from downstairs.

It was like nothing else you’ve felt before. Like meeting someone you know so well, and yet a completely new person.

Of course, you knew Fred from school. Who didn’t, at least from the rumours? And you had been one of the people that were on speaking terms with him, sharing a few classes, some mutual friends.

Fred never seemed like the type of guy that would be into you. You didn’t hold any significant feelings towards him back then, to be bothered by it, it was just a fact. You enjoyed interactions with him, nonetheless. Maybe subconsciously, enjoyed the rare attention received from him. And maybe that was the reason you had agreed to give him your address at the end of last term, instead of telling him to sod off.

Since then, you were lucky enough to catch a glimpse of a different side of him. To fall in love with him.

And how much has he changed. Not only physically, having his hair cut short and growing yet another few centimetres. The biggest change happened inside.

It was better than he could’ve ever imagined. When he felt all those things while still at school, he couldn’t have expected what would come out of it. Nothing he’s ever experienced was quite like this.

At the end of last term when he realised that - caught up in everything that was happening - he hasn’t made any progress with you, he came up with the idea of writing letters throughout the summer on the spot, running to catch up to you in one of the courtyards. Best he hoped for was some banter, maybe getting to know you a little better. Mostly, just making sure you didn’t grow apart throughout those long, two months – or even worse, start dating somebody else - so that he could properly take action as soon as September rolled around. He couldn’t know he’d fall in completely. Or that you’d fall too. And that he’d be welcomed in by your mum at that very moment.

You waited at the top of the stairs. The bannister you held onto could’ve been the only thing keeping you from collapsing once he appeared at the bottom and looked into your eyes. With that damn smile.

You didn’t know what that moment would look like before it happened. In your head, you wanted to hug Fred, hold him, kiss him. You were in love with him - you wanted all that. But you didn’t know if you could, meeting him for the first time. Would you still want that with a person you hadn’t actually developed any physical closeness with?

But once more, his words came useful, as you realised you had worried unnecessarily.

‘Stop overthinking and enjoy the ride, sweetheart.’ – he advised you a while ago.

So when he ran up the stairs your arms outstretched themselves on their own accord, waiting.

“Hi,” you giggled while he wrapped his arms around your waist, picking you up in a tight hug. His emotions exhibited themselves in a spin he gave you. Pressing your face to the crook of his neck, you recognised the scent you knew from his letters before he put you back down.

“Hi,” he replied, finally, pulling away from the hug a bit to look at you once more. His hands still rested on your waist and as he looked into your eyes and both of you thought the same thing. It was the perfect opportunity for a kiss.

Fred swallowed, running his eyes over your face, taking it in.

“Good to finally see you,” he said, standing straight, and you chuckled, letting him know the feeling was mutual.

Seeing Fred Weasley in your room, your personal space, felt odd as well. Once again, the thought of being lucky enough to call yourself his girlfriend (even though the two of you haven’t specified your relationship just yet) appeared in your mind. But he called you that.

And there he was, standing in the middle of your bedroom, looking around. Looking even more handsome than you remembered. You wanted to learn Fred, learn him physically.

He turned back to you and you locked eyes as he caught you with that shy, yet giddy smile on your face. The smile you got back in return made the butterflies in your stomach go crazy. With newfound confidence you stepped closer to him and took his hand, intertwining your fingers together. It fit perfectly, like magic.

“See, that’s the wardrobe door I told you about in the letter, that gave me this battle scar,” you told him, pointing at the piece of furniture first, then the faint mark left on the skin of your arm.

Fred didn’t hesitate to take your arm in his hand and brush his thumb over the scar. Apparently, Fred was very touchy. It was exhilarating, but nice. You could get used to that.

“Seems like a lifetime ago, doesn’t it?” he chuckled. You agreed with him, thinking back to those first few letters you’d exchanged at the beginning of summer. “Oh, that reminds me!” you perked up suddenly. “Make yourself comfortable here, ok? I’ll be just a moment, I have something prepared…” you explained, receiving a nod from Fred, before dashing out the door.

This gave Fred a chance to have a proper look around. He wasn’t invading your privacy since everything he was looking at was out in the open, but it would’ve felt weird, just analysing it in your presence.

Taking a seat by your desk, he could take out much from the objects lying around there. And in the corner of the desktop, sat a pretty box with its lid slightly open. He didn’t want to look, but through the crack, he saw something paper.

“The letters…” he whispered to himself and without further thought slid the box over to himself. There they were, his letters – each and every one of them, placed neatly and chronologically. No one has ever cherished anything received from Fred as much.

“See you helped yourself,” you quipped, having walked into the room with a plate of muffins in your hand. “What if I hid something else in that box? Something real embarrassing?” you asked, walking over to him after placing the tray down on your tea table.

“It wasn’t closed properly, I could see it was letters,” he explained, turning to you. “Unless you’re exchanging letters with some other boys too?” he joked. “You think only boys could be your competition, Weasley?” you swung back, placing your arm at the back of his shoulders with a mischievous smile. “But no, not like with you, I don’t,” you reassured him in the end.

Another moment of meaningful eye contact passed, before Fred changed the topic, noticing the baked goodies. You could watch him stuffing his face for hours.

Still enjoying a muffin, you walked up to one of your cupboards, to retrieve a box with your surprise.

“I’d like to remind you that I’m still very much a beginner with clay so it may be simple, but one day I might make something nicer. If you’ll still want it, of course,” you said, handing him the box. You sat back down on the sofa next to him, with an anxious smile.

He opened the box, revealing a mug, painted with his nickname on the side. His face lit up in a smile. True, it may have been simple, but he could also see the effort you had put into it, and that was enough to melt his heart.

“Do you like it?” you asked in a small voice. “I love it,” he replied simply, still moved by the gesture. He gave you a one-armed hug, still holding the mug in one of his hands – already thinking of using it every day, for as long as it could serve him.

“Ok, let’s not forget,” he began, composing himself, “I promised a surprise for you too.” “You did,” you replied, leaning back against the couch and flashing him a smile.

You watched as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a tiny firework.

“Freddie,” you pleaded, in disbelief of how typical of him that was. “It’s indoor safe, I promise!” he laughed, “I haven’t blown myself up yet, have I?” he asked, looking at you expectantly with his gleaming eyes.

So after a deep sigh, you nodded, allowing him to proceed.

He pulled out his wand and after throwing the firework into the air, lit it up. It was beautiful, golden, pink and white, mesmerising shapes changing constantly. In the end, a sentence appeared, lighting up the whole room, along with your whole world.

Will you be my girlfriend?

“I told you already in the letters how in love with you I am… you said you feel the same. I wanted to make it official,” he said, looking at you now, as the fireworks slowly faded away.

“Yes. Of course,” you answered, positive your heart has melted at the gesture. Your hands reached out a bit awkwardly, unknowing if you wanted to hold his hands or hug him.

Fred leaned close to you and placing his hands on your waist, kissed you.

Was true love really magic’s work, or was Fred just a really good kisser? You couldn’t know that, but you also couldn’t care less as you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck. You just never wanted to kiss anyone else, and kiss only him, for as long as you both shall live.

He was delicate and loving, one of his hands moved to the side of your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb as he kept placing soft pecks on your lips, unable to pull himself away.

“You’re intoxicating,” he muttered against your lips before kissing you on the forehead, then sitting back straight. “I could tell you the same thing,” you replied, dumbfounded.

“I got something else, too…” Fred admitted sheepishly, diving into his pocket once more to retrieve a small box. He opened it in front of you, revealing a bracelet – a dark, simple, aesthetical string with a small shape attached to it. A tiny, silver envelope.

“It’s beautiful, Freddie,” you whispered, brushing your finger over the metal. “I’ve got one too, so if you want-” he began, taking another bracelet out of his pocket, without a box this time, but you didn’t wait for him to finish.

You took your bracelet out of the box and gestured for him to help you tie it, then took his, and tied it around his wrist. You were admiring the view, when Fred interrupted you.

“Want to see something cool?” he asked you with a smirk, then took your bracelet hand in his and you watched the pendant emit a soft, magical glow.

“You really are a romantic, Fred Weasley…” you stated.

“You made me one.”

You’re probably wondering what happened next, dear reader? Very well, I can’t just leave you hanging. After all, it would be a dishonour to cut off this beautiful story of Y/N and Fred’s love like that. And what a beautiful love it was.

That September was the first time the both of them were that happy to get back to school. It allowed them to see each other every day, after all, even if Y/N took quite a few more classes than Fred. They quickly realised what they had was more than just a school romance. They used their last year at Hogwarts to its fullest, before Fred took off with his twin brother and Y/N graduated, according to plan, in June.

The current state of the wizarding world meant Y/N had to put her career plans on hold, but she was happy to help Fred and George in their shop instead.

As Fred had Y/N’s promise, to help him with raising a puppy – they adopted one together, one that they both fell in love with at first sight. The dog later proved to be a valid, contributing member of the Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes.

Their relationship flourished, they complimented each other perfectly, supported each other during the war when they both needed it most.

After Voldemort had been defeated and Y/N got her dream job, she and Fred decided to rent a nice, comfortable flat in London. Just like they planned, they used a lot of their time off from work to travel together – taking their dog with them whenever they could. It was during one of their trips, when Fred proposed to Y/N, with a crazy, elaborate scheme.

They got married in a simple, yet beautiful ceremony, surrounded by loved ones. They had three children – two girls and a boy.

When Fred’s business started doing really well, they moved to a ridiculously charming old house, but in England, so that he could focus on his family more. How did they spend their days? I’m sure you can imagine. And when they retired, their lives slowed down, just a tiny bit.

But Fred Weasley remained a romantic, even as they were both old and grey. And the act of exchanging letters remained special for them, throughout all of their happily ever after.

The end.

#fred weasley series #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fanfiction

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