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iiwontgiveuponmilkk · 6 months

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I Hate You. | F.W.

summary: They had been friends since the moment they met, but what happens when she falls in love with him and he seems to blind to notice?

pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader

word count: 5718

warning(s): ends in smut

notes: I have not posted in quite some time, nor have I wrote anything in a long time. I tried to avoid the use of y/n. Fred calls her 'little red' or 'red' ocassionally, this is explained in the writing.

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Six years of friendship. Six years of falling for Fred Weasley, really. If she were to be honest with herself, she knew she loved him two years ago. It was just easier to ignore as a 15 year old girl. She initially tried to write it off as just feeling that way because they were so close already, but she knew that wasn’t true. She was just as close with his twin brother, George, and she wasn’t in love with him. Fred was different. They knew each other on a different level. They could be overly affectionate with each other. When she saw him at the platform this year, she ran to him and jumped into his arms and stayed there despite George whining that he hadn’t seen her in just as long. On the train ride, she fell asleep with her head in his lap whilst he and George started scheming their first prank of the school year. He would hush George any time she would start to stir, then gently play with her hair until she settled again. She had fallen asleep on George’s shoulder once, and swore to never do it again. Whilst he was also one of her best friends, he did not hold the same kind of soft spot for her as his twin did. He had used a spell to turn her hair bright green. She was livid when she realised. Poor George was afraid to turn his back to her for the next four months. She had waited six months for her revenge, perfecting the same colour changing spell, but turning all of his clothes pink.

Now at 17, her feelings were harder to hide. The pangs of jealousy at every Gryffindor party after a quidditch match when girls would shamelessly flirt with him. And he seemed to love it. Tonight was another one of those nights. Gryffindor had destroyed Slytherin on the quidditch pitch and were, of course, throwing their usual celebration. She sat next to George and Angelina on the couch, her eyes following Fred. Her gaze only left him as Julie came up to him and was heavily laying on the charm. She felt the jealousy bubbling in her like a failed potion about to go horribly wrong. She felt George shift and wrap an arm around her shoulder, giving her a slight squeeze. “Love, why don’t you talk to him?” Angelina asked, reaching over George to squeeze her hand. Her gaze moved from her knees to her two friends, a heavy sigh leaving her lips. “I couldn’t possibly talk to him about this, Ang. I’d tell him everything and feel like an absolute git after.” She admitted, letting out another huff. George shook his head, opening his mouth to speak but quickly closing it. Ever since the start of the year, she had grown closer to George and his girlfriend, Angelina. Unfortunately, closer than she was with Fred. They were definitely still close, but something was different between them this year. And it wasn’t that she was head over heels in love with him. It was him that was keeping a distance between the two of them. Every year, she sat with them at the Gryffindor table. Her Ravenclaw robes made her stick out like a sore thumb in the sea of red, but Fred and George were her best friends. In fact, she only ever sat at her own houses’ table a handful of times. The sorting ceremony, the last day, and that couple of months last year when Fred had a girlfriend who absolutely hated her. She had friends in Ravenclaw, but she wasn’t as close to anyone as she was with Fred. George was a close second, but her and Fred always just clicked. They clicked from the first train ride to Hogwarts they ever had. They were nearly inseparable. If Fred wasn’t with George, he was with her, or they were all together. She spent a few weeks with the Weasley’s every summer. Molly was like her second mother at this point. She loved spending time with all of them. She loved answering all of Arthur’s questions about the muggle world. She loved hanging out with Ginny, the only other girl around her age in the Weasley household. It was usually the highlight of her summer.

A loud cheering pulled her attention away from her two friends as they all turned to the source of the noise. It felt like her heart shattered into dust. Don’t cry. Do not cry. Not here. “I-, I have to go.” She quickly stammered, slipping away from her friends and blinking back tears. There he was. Fingers tangled in Julie’s hair, kissing her passionately. She tried to keep her head down as she pushed towards the door. She knew better, but she looked up anyway. Another stab to the heart. Her tear-filled gaze met the eyes of Fred Weasley. Fred Weasley, best friend, heartbreaker. She tore her gaze from his and moved as quickly as she could without running. She pushed out of the door, finally letting a tear fall as the door shut behind her. She could’ve swore she heard George yelling at his twin as she stepped out, but she could be wrong. She stood in the hall for a moment, unsure of what to do. Her feet were moving before she registered that she was moving. She knew Fred, she knew he would try to come after her. He was her best friend, after all. Part of her wished he would push through the door, catch up to her and wrap her in his arms. The other part of her, the hurt, told her to stop hoping he would feel the same way. Though, he would ask George what happened first, which bought her some time, yet not enough to get to her common room before he caught up with her. Even if she ran, he could easily catch up to her. Before she knew it, she was standing in the middle of the hall, watching the door to the room of requirements take shape. She heard him calling her name, and heard his footsteps. She didn’t want him to see her like this, not right now. Not when it was so fresh. She shouldn’t be crying. They were only friends, she was the one hopelessly in love with him. She reached for the doorknob, sliding into the room and quickly shutting the door behind her. Merlin, please let the door disappear before he gets down here. She slid down the wall next to the door. How absolutely foolish could she be? Her and Fred would never happen. It was clear at this point. She was terrified that if she told him how she felt, it would ruin their friendship. Not only would she be heartbroken, but she would lose her best friend too.

She had no idea how long she sat there for. Maybe an hour? Maybe two? It took nearly another hour before she gathered the courage to leave. Even if he had seen her, she doubted he would’ve waited for her. Maybe two years ago, but not now. Not with this weird distance between them. Definitely not after close to three hours of her hiding. She could still confidently say that Fred was her best friend, but it was different. It wasn’t like before. They weren’t joined at the hip anymore. This summer made that clear. She spent most of her time with Ginny and Molly. The few times they had spent together went from comfortable and playful to awkward. There were moments when it felt like he may also feel the same way about her, but he always seemed to pull away a little more after. She could’ve sworn he was going to kiss her one night, her heart felt like it was beating in her throat. But he just cleared his throat and awkwardly scratched the back of his head as he took a step back from her. Maybe she should’ve just kissed him then, and let whatever would happen just happen. At least she would’ve known how he felt. She might have lost her best friend, but she wouldn’t constantly feel this hurt and jealousy.

She pressed on the wall, waiting for the door to appear to make her exit. She slowly pushed the door open, only then realising she should have left from the other side of the room. There he was. That beautiful, heartbreaking idiot. His head leaned back against the wall, mouth slightly open as he slept. She realised she really had been in there for much longer than she thought and it was a miracle Fred hadn’t been found by Filch or Mrs. Norris. She kneeled in front of him, resting her hands on his knees. “Freddie.” She whispered lightly, pushing against his knees to hopefully wake him, but she knew he could sleep through the whole castle crumbling to the ground. “Freddie!” She whisper-yelled, shaking him harder, earning a groan from him. “Fred Gideon Weasley, get up before Filch comes and kills us both!” She whispered harshly, causing Fred to finally open his eyes. His sleepy gaze quickly turned to a soft look when he took her in. She knew her eyes had to be slightly puffy and her nose was red. It always turned red after she cried, and she hated it. She also hated that Fred always knew when she was upset or had been crying, and he always knew exactly how to make her feel better. Whether she needed a hug, or to be held, or if he needed to go to ridiculous measures just to make her laugh. Fred reached out and pulled her to him, stretching his legs out so she was in his lap. She fell forward against him as he hugged her. She let her head rest against his chest, feeling tears threaten to fill her eyes again. “C’mon little red.” He whispered, moving to get up. “I don’t have red hair.” She mumbled, she didn’t know where the nickname had come from. Fred had just started calling her it one day. The only answer for why she ever got was that she was now an honorary Weasley and she was tiny. It used to annoy her to no end, which is probably why it stuck. Fred loved getting reactions out of her, because even if something annoyed her when it came to him, she secretly loved it. It was like he knew it.

She walked next to him, keeping her head down. She watched her feet as she walked. She wasn’t paying attention, she just let him lead the way. She figured they would go to his dorm. It was the closest and safest bet. The chances of not getting caught on the way to her common room were slim to none. It was way too late to even consider being out of the common room, everyone was most likely asleep by now. She knew they were entering the Gryffindor common room. The Fat Lady had long ago stopped putting up a fight about her being snuck into the common room after hours. It happened so often that it wasn’t worth it. She didn’t bother to look up, just followed Fred to the stairs. The floor was a mess and she was afraid to look up. She didn’t want to relive her most recent memory in this room. She followed Fred into his dorm, noting that it was empty. He shared a room with George and Oliver Wood. Neither of the other two boys were here. She stood there silently as Fred moved around. He pulled out a jumper and handed it to her, turning around for her to change. The normalcy of this pained her. She knew Fred had seen her almost completely naked. He had stayed with her when she was sick last year. She had a fever that wouldn’t break and she had stripped out of her shirt and pyjama shorts in her sleep- with Fred sharing the same bed. She pulled the jumper over her head before pulling her jeans off. The jumper hung down to her knees, Fred was nearly a foot taller than her, if not more. She didn’t say anything as she climbed into his bed, only huffing as she rolled over to face away from him.

She felt his weight as he slid into his bed, turning to face her back. “George told me what happened. She kissed me, and I didn’t…” He whispered so quietly she could barely hear him. Her whole body seemed to tense as she registered what he said. Of course George told him. Bloody hell. She felt Fred’s hand brush over her arm. He grabbed her shoulder, gently trying to turn her to him. She fought him on it, but it was no use. He was stronger than she was, no matter how determined she was to keep her back to him. “You know you can tell me anything. Hell, you’re my best friend.” Fred whispered, his eyes on her face. She stared at the ceiling, feeling tears well in her eyes again. “That’s the problem, Freddie. I’m your best friend.” Her whisper was soft, not trusting herself to speak without starting to cry again. “And I hate it.” She finished, closing her eyes tightly to press the tears back. She could still feel his eyes on her, but she knew she couldn’t look at him. She knew she would break. She knew he would hold her until she either calmed down or fell asleep. Merlin’s beard, they were more than just friends. Friends don’t do this. Friends don’t share a bed. Friends don’t sleep in nothing but the others jumper and their underwear and cuddle. Friends don’t wake up wrapped in each other's arms. Friends don’t cling to each other the way they usually do. She loved George like a brother, he was one of her closest friends. Her and George are not friends like she and Fred are. She felt a tear squeeze its way from her eye. She let out a shaky sigh as she felt Fred brush it away with his thumb. He pulled her into him and she hated him for it. She hated him at that moment. She hated that he made her hurt, but he was the only one that could make her feel better. A sob escaped her lips as the tears began to fall. “I hate you. I hate that you’re so damn oblivious to me. All I am is your best friend and I’ve been in love with you for two years, you idiot.” She cried into his chest. He cradled her head with one arm and pulled her closer with the other, holding her there as she cried. “I’m sorry, Red, I-i didn’t know.” He held her tighter, placing a kiss on the top of her head. His fingers drew circles on her back as her cries slowly stopped. He hadn’t realised she had fallen asleep until her grip on his shirt slowly loosened.

She woke up pressed to Fred’s chest and her legs tangled in his. His fingers were drawing slow shapes on her side. God she was still so hurt. The image of him kissing Julie replaying in her head. She went to pull away from him, only to be pulled against him tighter. “Let me go.” She mumbled, pushing against him again. “No can do, doll.” He mumbled back. “I still hate you.” She bit back, trying her best to ignore the comfort she felt being pressed against. “You don’t mean that.” His voice was gentle. He was used to her little fits. She had told him multiple times over the years that she hated him. The first time when he accidentally broke her brand new quill that her father had sent her as a gift when she found a new hobby of writing. It was their second year. He had saved up anything he could get until Christmas that year to buy her the same one. She had cried then too, but those were happy tears. She had told him she hated him the day he told her that he couldn’t come see her that summer, that was year three. Then she wrote to his mother and asked if she could come there to see him and George. Of course, Molly said yes. She was so delighted to finally meet the twin’s best friend. She was glad they finally had someone to level out their antics, but that didn’t last long. They were always up to something. She had told him three times in year four that she hated him. Once was when he had her pinned down and was mercilessly tickling her. She gasped it out between laughs. She even used his full name. He couldn’t help but smile, only to stop tickling when she rushed out that she was going to pee her pants if he didn’t stop. But he kept jumping at her, pretending he was going to tickle her again. The second time was when he was dating Hannah. They had gotten into a fight, screaming at each other. She was sad because she felt like she was losing Fred as a friend because Hannah hated her. And he called her bitter and jealous that she had never had a boyfriend. It was then that she told him she hated him. He could see the hurt in her eyes. That was the first time it truly hurt when she said she hated him. It felt like she meant it that time. The third time was towards the end of the year. They had made up and were thicker than thieves once again. She had conned him into going to the library to study. He was messing around the whole time and trying to make her laugh. He took it a little too far, accidentally hitting her inkwell. It shot across the table, they both moved to catch it and they both missed. It had spilled all over her skirt. She said she hated him then and told him he was lucky he was her best friend, otherwise he’d have to buy her a new skirt. Last year, year five, there were odd bits of distance between them, but when he thought about it, they weren’t odd. They were distant every time he had a girlfriend or was chasing after some girl. He had been slightly jealous of George since last year. She seemed to latch on to him, but it all made sense. She was distancing herself to protect herself and George was there for her, probably to tell her that Fred was an idiot and he’d come around one day.

“Look at me.” He said as he rolled on to his side, sliding her off his chest. She stared at his chest, not meeting his gaze. “I am.” She mumbled and he had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Her full name left his lips as he gently pushed her chin up to force her to look at him, but she kept her eyes trained on his chest. “I swear, you are so stubborn that I wonder how you weren't sorted into Gryffindor.” She looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “What Fred? What do you want? I don’t care if she kissed you. You didn’t have to kiss her back.” She bit out. He had to hide his smirk. If she wasn’t so upset with him, he knew she would’ve rolled her eyes and made a ridiculous comment on how she was surprised he wasn’t sorted into Slytherin. He suddenly missed her jests, wishing he could rewind to before the party. George had told him that someone they knew was pining after him. He just didn’t think it would be his best friend. But then again, how could it not be? They spent most of their time together, either alone or with George. If he wasn’t with George, he was with her. People often commented on them acting like a couple. Fred would walk her to class, arm slung around her shoulder. “I’m an idiot-” He started, only to be cut off by her. “I know you are. You’re the biggest idiot I know.” She tried to hold her glare, fighting a small smile. “C’mon, little red, let me finish.” He raised his brow as she opened her mouth to talk then closed it. She let out a sigh, waiting for him to continue. “You say I’m the biggest idiot you know, which may be true. But I’m the most handsome idiot you know.” He paused as a small smile tugged at her lips. “I’m an idiot, I’m sorry. You could’ve just told me. Could’ve said ‘hey, you big, handsome, idiot, I love you’.” He paused again, reaching up and tucking her hair behind her ear. “I would’ve said, ‘hey, little red, I love you too’.”

“Stop calling me that.” she mumbled and Fred let out an exasperated noise. He noticed the small smile playing on her lips. “I still hate you, at least for the next five minutes.” Her voice was much softer this time. “You’re so stubborn.” he mumbled, smiling when he felt her fingers grasp his shirt. “And you’re an idiot for not kissing me.” She mumbled, her gaze still locked with his. He slowly leaned in, his nose brushing hers as her eyes fluttered shut. “I’ve never kissed anyone before.” She whispered as he leaned in. Her lips just barely brushing his as she spoke. He paused for a moment. He knew she had never dated anyone, but he didn’t think she had never kissed anyone before. He closed the gap, gently kissing her. The kiss was slow and soft, until she took him by surprise when she nipped his bottom lip. He groaned, pulling her flush against him as he deepened the kiss. “Never kissed anyone before, unbelievable.” He mumbled against her lips. She pulled on his shirt in a futile attempt to get closer than they already were. It was when she slid her hand up her chest and around his shoulder up to his hair that the door to his dorm opened. He reluctantly broke the kiss, looking up to see George standing in the doorway. “Well, I was coming to tell you that no one has seen our little friend here since last night, but I see you’re snogging her.” George grins. You roll over at his comment, turning to look at him. George winks at you and then turns his attention back to Fred. “I am now obligated to help her hide your body, doesn’t matter that you’re my brother.” George states, causing her to laugh.

“George, leave. Please.” Fred groans. “I think he should stay. This is fun. Hey, Georgie, isn’t Fred the biggest idiot you know?” She asks, smiling sweetly at Fred. “That’s likely!”

After George had left, they spent the entire morning in bed. Fred stealing kisses from her when she wasn’t dozing back off. “Freddie?” She whispered, curled into his side, her head laying on his chest. He hummed an acknowledgement. “Did you mean it?” She asked, her fingers grasping his shirt again. A small chuckle came from him as he squeezed her to him. “I love you, I have for some time. You’re also my best friend and I didn’t want to lose you.” He said, placing a kiss on the top of her head. “I love you, you big, handsome idiot.” She said as she lifted her head to look at him. “Don’t think I won’t ask George to help hide your body.” She grinned as he laughed.

The rest of the year seemed to breeze by. Two months of Fred pulling her into random broom closets between classes and sneaking into the room of requirements before curfew. Countless nights spent in there, hidden away among the mess. Before she knew it, everyone was packing and getting ready to leave for the summer.

“Fred, I’m too tired, carry me.” She whined as he gently woke her when the train finally stopped at the station. He let out a sigh as George laughed at him, shaking his head. She was going to the Weasley’s for the summer as her parents were away until November. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, looking up at Fred. “After we get off the train, then I’ll think about it.” He reached a hand out to her, helping her up. The journey to the Weasley’s was rather quick. They travelled through the floo system. She dramatically collapsed into Fred’s arms when they got back. “So tired.” she mumbled. “You’re going to kill me.” He laughed, picking her up. This wasn’t entirely unusual for the two of them. Everyone was used to Fred and her clinging to each other. Molly would often give Fred a knowing look when she would walk into the den, finding her sleeping with her head in his lap or curled up against him. Molly also knew that, most nights, if she were to peek into Fred’s room, she would find the two of them together. She often heard them talking in loud whispers and trying to hide their laughter in the middle of the night. It didn’t dawn on her that only a handful of them knew they were together, not until George opened his mouth. “Hey ma, did you know that Freddie has a girlfriend?” A groan left Fred as he stared his twin down. She buried her face in his chest, trying to ignore the slew of reactions from the older Weasleys. Molly was utterly delighted, commenting on how she was surprised that it took this long.

The days seemed to fly by spending them in the Weasley household. Lots of stolen kisses and sneaking around. It wasn't until mid-July that her and Fred were alone in the house together. Everyone had gone out for one reason or another and it was just the two of them. They spent the morning in Fred’s bed, tangled together. She was constantly falling back asleep and Fred was just content to hold her. It wasn’t until she was the one to lean up and kiss him that the day seemed to take a slight turn. They had shared a bed countless times, kissing had almost turned into more countless times as well. But this kiss was needy and built a fire in the both of them. She started the kiss. It was soft, loving at first. Then she nipped his bottom lip and a groan left his lips. His fingers dug into her hips, the feeling giving her the courage she needed in the moment. She moved to straddle him. His hand pushed up the jumper she stole from him, revealing her bare thighs. She really would be the death of him. She never seemed to wear pants. Just his shirt and a pair of panties, she was a constant tease seemingly unknowing to the fact. The kiss was still innocent enough, until she ground her hips down on his. The almost whiny moan that left her lips had him flipping them over. His lips trailed down her neck, nipping and sucking at the skin, most likely leaving marks in his wake. The sounds that left her lips were driving him wild. “You’re killing me.” He mumbled against her neck. His hands slid around her body. He gripped her hips before sliding a hand up her shirt. His fingers pinched and rolled her nipple, a lewd moan leaving her lips.

“Freddie, please.” She whined, pushing her hips up against his for any sort of friction. She tugged at his shirt, pulling it up until he reached up to pull it over his head. He leaned down, capturing her lips with his. She deepened the kiss, swiping her tongue against his bottom lip. He still found it hard to believe she had never kissed anyone before him. Not when she kissed him like this. She continued to grind her hips against his, moaning into the kiss. Her hands slid down his chest, her fingers hooking under the waistband of his pyjamas pants. She started to push them down when Fred broke this. “Baby-” He started only to be cut off by her leaning up and kissing him again. He knew she was virgin, while he may not be, he didn’t want her to feel like she had to do this. He was content just being with her. “Freddie, please. I want you. I-,” She paused, looking up to meet his eyes. “I want you to be my first.” Her breathy proclamation almost made him groan, but it was her reaching down and palming him through his pants that made a groan fall from his lips. Fred reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it off and tossing it on the floor. His eyes dragged over her body. She was perfect. “So pretty, baby.” He groaned, she would’ve thought he was talking to himself until his eyes met hers. His hands slid from her hips and over her stomach before he leaned down, kissing down her neck to her navel. It was then that her nerves started to build up. His lips pressed to her hip as he looked up at her. “If you want to stop, we will. At any point, baby.” He nipped at her hip as he pulled her panties down. She felt her cheeks flush, suddenly feeling exposed. Fred’s hands sliding up her legs seemed to calm her nerves. He pressed a kiss to her knee first, then trailed kisses down her inner thigh. It was the kiss that he placed closest to her sex that had the first moan falling from her lips. She gasped when she felt his tongue against her clit. He slowly added more pressure as he worked her clit. She didn't know how much more she could take, every pass of his tongue on her was overwhelming. Her hips bucked into his face. She was sure if she wasn’t so consumed by the building warmth in her abdomen that she would have been embarrassed. His name fell from her lips as he slowly worked a finger into her. His pace was painfully slow but every move made her feel like he already knew her body better than she ever could. It wasn’t until he worked a second finger into her and sucked her clit between his lips that she felt like she was falling apart. His name left her lips in succession until all she could do was moan. She moved her hips against his fingers, riding out her orgasm.

“Please, Freddie, I need you inside of me.” She let out a breathy whine. This girl would really be the death of him. He turned his head, leaving a hickey on the inside of her thigh. His lips were on hers in an instant. When she reached to push his pants down, this time he let her. He deepened the kiss, running his tongue along her bottom lip. He slipped his tongue against hers, taking his time kissing her. He ground into her, sliding his dick through her folds. He teased her with his tip before gently pushing into her. She gasped into his mouth, her body tensing at the intrusion. “Relax, baby, okay?” He whispered, kissing her jaw. He didn’t move his hips, but his hand snaked between them. His thumb pressed against her clit, causing another gasp to leave her lips. He continued to toy with her clit as she looked up at him. The look in her eyes as a quiet moan fell from her lips had his resolve wavering. It was when the next breathy moan fell from her lips that she took him by surprise. She pushed her hips up, taking more of him in. His ministrations continued as he tried to ease any of her discomfort with pleasure. She rolled her hips into his, fucking herself like she had done on his fingers. Fred moved his other hand to her hip, holding her hips in place. It was then that he pushed into her until she took all of him in. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, her nose, then her lips. The kiss was slow, gentle as he gave her time to adjust. She broke the kiss, brushing her nose against his. “Freddie.” His name left her lips in a breathy moan as she pushed against him. His thrusts were shallow at first, his forehead resting against hers. They moved slowly together, quiet moans falling from her lips. His name fell from her lips as he thrusted into her harder, faster. Her hands ran up his back, her nails digging into his skin as she gripped his shoulders. “O-oh, Freddie.” She gasped, tilting her head up to press her lips to his. She could feel her orgasm building again when he slid a hand between them, pressing his thumb to her clit. Fred could feel himself getting close to the edge.

“Fuck, baby, cum for me.” He groaned against her skin. His thumb pressed into her clit harder, circling until she threw her head back. His name fell from her lips, her nails digging into his back. The feeling of her walls clenching and spasming around him as she came sent him over the edge. Her name fell from his lips as he pressed his forehead to hers. “I love you, Freddie.” Her voice was a whisper. She leaned up to steal a quick kiss from his lips before he could speak. “I love you.” He mumbled between kisses.

They spent the next few hours tangled in each other, whispering sweet nothings, and her dozing off a few times. Fred woke her when he heard the first noises in the den below. Fred scrambled to find his clothes as she waltzed around his room to find hers. She pulled on a pair of leggings and his jumper. Her fingers slid across his sides as he pulled his shirt on. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing herself against him. His arms snaked around her, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

#harry potter #one shots #one shot #imagines #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley #fred weasley smut #fred weasly x reader #fred wealsey fic #fred weasely x y/n #iiwontgiveuponmilkk

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bulbabutt · 2 months

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i think its weird that arcee is like. a core member of transformers groups now, cuz it makes her stick out like a sore thumb being the token girl when at the time she wasnt exactly supposed to be? she was part of the second generation of characters (even though I know the movie was being made first)

like it seems like modern stuff tries to do this with her

which just shows off how much that design doesnt fit and comes off like it was made to be "i am THE girl. you need no more girls we have made the one girl”

but when she was actually designed to match the movie crew, a bunch of more futuristic (the far off year of 2005) cybertronian vehicle transformers with her rounded shapes and pastel colours and she isnt even the only pink one because hot rod is also pink, albeit a much darker pink

(leaving ultra magnus out cuz he was designed to be a brick holding optimus doesnt count)

the point like yeah shes still the only girl but its less egregious when you look at what she was actually supposed to match. i dont think shes designed perfectly but i think its weird that because shes the most recognizable girl transformer she has to be pulled away from her crew and forced into a group she doesnt share the design philosophy of (let alone for her character its sad like... are those not her friends? she’s not allowed to hang out with her own friends anymore cuz she’s the only girl who’s marketable? sad)

it’s extra weird when you realize there’s this crew who were the original girl transformers shown on screen

they’re not perfect either but I like that they have the same busy more squared off shapes and more strong colours, and I just think if they got added in arcees place you could have a less skewed view gender binary for the robots

there’s also the part where it would be cool to have more than one girl in a group, but again arcee with her iconic leia space buns head fits in aesthetically better with the movie crew

#the tf binge thoughts #maccadam #transformers #I HAVE NOT SEEN EARTHSPARK so if there’s something to that don’t tell me I’m starting soon #I made this after just finishing animated #I found this in my drafts and realized made these edits for nothing if I don’t post them lol #(also the editor was mad cuz they wanted the images)#we’ve just finished wfc and this problem was there too #I also think where I sourced these images toned down just how pastel the movie colours are for that crew #cuz hot rot is bright magenta in the movie they’re Al very light colours

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lexirosewrites · 8 days

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The only thing worse than having to get braces put on as an adult is presenting as an omega on the exact same day— both far later than is typical.

It results in utter chaos.

At least, that’s how Steve felt about the whole ordeal.

Robin had been kind enough to stick around for his long appointment so she could make sure he had everything he needed afterwards.

Ice pack, pain killers, mouthwash. All the essentials.

They were prepared.

Just… not for a sudden presentation heat to start on the way home.

“Oh god. Oh god, Steve, okay listen— don’t panic. I know you’re in pain, but you need to hold tight so I can go get stuff to help you. Shit!”

Steve’s entire face feels worse than after Hargrove got through with it. Like ground beef.

His gums throb and his jaw aches terribly.

And now Robin’s leaving. Why is she leaving?

“Robsh?” Steve slurs out in a yell. The action makes the bands pull tighter.

“Be right back!”

She’s out the door and he’s left on the couch by himself. In pain. Awful, agonizing, burning pain.

Steve squirms around, trying to get comfortable.

Everything is hot. Too hot. It’s more than just his face— it’s his whole body. His muscles are twitchy, like they need to be stretched.

He’s laying in something wet. Blood? Could be. Maybe his mouth is bleeding. Seems reasonable at the moment.

“Owwww,” he whines to himself. “Fuck.”

The orthodontist said it would be mildly agitating pain and discomfort afterwards, not whole body sweats or cramps.

His head spins.

Where did Robin go again? She left so quickly, it’s hard to recall her reasons for leaving in such a rush.

Is he gonna die from braces? Can that even happen? Would he be the first?

“Hey, Stevie. As promised, I’ve got a strawberry banana smoothie with your name on it. Did Robin go home? Her car isn’t in the drivew—”

Huh?

“—and what in the hell is happening here?”

Steve rolls over to confirm that it’s not a burglar in his living room, but it’s just Eddie.

Oh. No? Hold on a moment.

Eddie has never smelled like that before.

He’s always had a faint smoke and leather sorta scent that even Steve’s unrefined beta nose could pick up on, but it’s much stronger than that now.

It’s deeper, more powerful and overwhelming.

It’s mouthwatering. Thigh clenching, even.

He whines in want.

“Alpha?” slips out before Steve can overthink it.

Eddie freezes and his eyes widen for a second. Then they narrow in a calculating way, like they’re trying to figure him out.

He sets the smoothie down and kneels next to the couch, one hand reaching out to cup Steve’s cheek lightly.

Steve winces at the touch, but his fingers are cold and they actually feel good on his sore face, so he relaxes into it.

“Hi there, pretty boy. Pink bands, huh? Cute. But it seems braces aren’t the only new thing today. You doing okay?” Eddie asks gently, soothingly.

He sounds more alpha than Steve’s ever heard him speak. The tone is comforting and reassuring.

Steve still isn’t entirely sure what they’re talking about though. He knows he had braces put on and then Robin left him alone. There’s some gaps in there somewhere and he feels like death.

His head is spinning too fast.

“I don’t know where Robin went,” he confesses in a whisper.

Eddie nods slowly, his expression understanding and kind. It makes Steve feel safe, unjudged for losing his best friend.

“I’m guessing she went to get some supplies for you, sweetheart. I’ve heard that the first one isn’t usually too bad, but Robin worries about you, ya know?”

He smells so good. How is Steve supposed to pay attention when Eddie smells that good?

Confused, he asks, “She was worried about my braces?” Too many words. It pulls at the bands in his mouth and he winces.

Eddie’s thumb brushes along his cheek sympathetically.

“No, baby… not quite. You’re in heat, Stevie.”

Heat?

No, that’s for omegas. Steve would know if he was an omega. He’d have heats. His body would be too hot and he’d produce slick and be attracted to alphas.

Ah.

“I’m an omega?” It’s as much a question to the universe as a shocked statement.

Eddie purses his lips. Conflict.

“You’re presenting a little later than usual, but evidently so. I’m guessing your lack of a pack before didn’t help anything, but you have us now. We’re gonna take care of you, honey… I’ll keep you safe, omega,” he promises solemnly.

The wetness between Steve’s legs becomes far more apparent.

It’s not that Steve never looked at Eddie before and thought he was attractive or that he’d make the perfect alpha to some lucky omega.

Steve just didn’t think he was that omega.

Or an omega at all, for that matter.

Eddie deserved more than some fucked up beta. He’s brave and kind, a good man.

He can visibly see when the scent of his fresh slick hits the alpha’s nose. The way Eddie’s nostrils flare and his breathing catches in his throat, like he’s trying not to inhale too deeply.

“Eddie?”

His eyes instantly dart to Steve’s mouth. He looks hungry. Starving, even.

For once in his life, Steve’s confident he won’t be rejected.

It’s in Eddie’s warm scent, in the way he’s always glanced at him a little too long, and never breaks his promises to him. Steve can see it clearly now.

This has been a long time coming.

“Anything.”

“Kiss me, alpha?”

Eddie doesn’t question whether he’s sure. He doesn’t tell Steve that this is a conversation for later or even hesitate.

He just holds Steve’s face like something fragile and precious when he kisses his lips far too carefully. Soft. Gentle.

They’re chapped from his appointment. Neither seem to care.

It’s a slow, lingering kiss. It ends much the same way.

The rush of pleasure and pure joy floods his entire body, making the pain in his jaw negligible when he lets out his first omegan chirp of happiness.

He still aches and yearns, but the ache is focused now. His inner omega just wants Eddie— his alpha.

“Please, Ed,” Steve whimpers, tucking his face into Eddie’s neck and getting his scent right from the source.

The alpha scratches down his back slowly, trying to calm him.

It’s an act full of love and kindness, Eddie’s attempt to not take advantage of him in his current state.

In any other situation, it would be noble. Steve would be flattered by the self control it cost an alpha to not ravage in omega in heat who’s begging for attention.

But he needs this. He’s also technically only in late pre-heat. That’s as far as presentation heats usually get.

Fever and need are there, but not the complete lack of awareness that accompanies full heats. He can make decisions.

“How can I help you, sweetheart?”

Steve can tell the effects of heat are taking ahold of his inhibitions though.

There’s no other reasonable explanation for the way he blurts out, “Cum all over my braces?”

#part two with actual smut to come soon!!!#steddie #steddie omegaverse #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #steddie ficlet #omegaverse #a/b/o #braces #my fics

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audisive · 8 days

Text

♪ MILLION DOLLAR MAN. (💌)

౨ৎ simon 'ghost' riley | reader

synopsis: you need a bodyguard, and simon's the only one you can trust. for now.

tags: fluff, angst (ish), hurt/comfort, romance, soft!simon, bodyguard!ghost, model!reader, trust issues, hints to a panic attack, you have a bad dad (and family)

There's an ugly yellow folder on your vanity, sticking out like a sore thumb.

That's the first thing you see.

There's a hitch in your breath before you speak. "Vel," you walk over to your desk and call out to the lovely girl with your coat over her arm, your favorite maid. "What's this?" With manicured nails, you pick up the folder cautiously with the feeling of familiarity and déjà vu.

Veliana tilts her head to the side, the clueless little bird she is. "A folder, miss." You huff a smile out at her simple response, the pretty little thing never knowing better. "Please give Noah a call." You tell her and she nods her head automatically, still smiling at you.

When she carefully places your coat on the rack, she scurries off to who knows where. You're left in the comforts of your too-large room, a delicate piece of work that you'd paid thousands of dollars for after your face had snatched the interests of magazines, reporters, and such. You find that there are even uglier men inside when you open the flimsy thing in your hand.

Veliana is breathless when she comes back to you like the obedient girl she is, handing over the phone with your manager's name on it.

"What's wrong, darling girl?" Noah asks, annoyance seeping into his tone despite the usual pet name. "What's with the profiles?" you question right back, flipping through the folders, carefully scanning each gruesome man with horrifying detail. You already know the answer, but you dread it.

"About time you actually considered my suggestion," he voices out. "You need a new bodyguard."

You find that your new bodyguard is just as noticeable as the folder you threw away without much thought. There's people staring at him when they would be gawking at you.

Simon Riley is a trusted man; at least that's what you try to tell your manager. A remarkable 6'4 military man who should be off in a bar with beer – he drinks whiskey, imbecile – or resting in a broke-down apartment, not babysitting his model of a friend. Honestly, you wouldn't have minded it if he acted just a little annoyed at you, but he doesn't even spare you so much as a glare. You're not sure if you should be glad or not.

You have to admit that you do feel a little smug when your manager avoids yelling at you with Simon glaring daggers at him. Then again, there's this anxious feeling pooling at your stomach when he gets a little too close. He's certainly scarier than the last one.

His large hand calms you down when it lands on your lower back and sneaks his warmth through your thin clothing. You let out a breath, as if he'd just commanded you to do so without a word.

Simon should be in his awfully empty apartment, sleeping the day off or making a small trip to the groceries for necessities fresh out of deployment. But when he opened the door to you, who's clearly so troubled and almost begging to help you out with.. whatever it was you asked, how could he say no?

"It's just temporary, I swear. I just need some time to do a proper background check on the other bodyguards."

Given that your shitty father's in jail with unfinished as well as illegal business, it wouldn't be proper of him to let a civilian walk around with danger right at her back. That's what he says to himself, anyway.

He's just not so sure he signed up for the right job as a bodyguard. Truth be told, he would've preferred to be your boyfriend.. but as long as he has rights to protect you, then he won't complain.

He's well aware of the men coming for your neck for a variety of reasons. Some out of jealousy – Simon thinks that the fashion industry might as well be a warzone. Maybe that's why he accepted this in the first place – and some because of your problematic family.

He's also heard about your past cowardly bodyguards, if you can even call them that after they'd left you in the face of death. It's a wonder how you're still alive, but he wouldn't dare question it.

It doesn't help, not really, when there's an ear-deafeaning explosion and a panicked angel in his arms, clutching onto him for dear life. "Simon," you all but whimper, labored breaths and uncontrollable tears slipping out of you.

He hushes you, coos at you as sweet as he possibly can. He soothes you and cradles you against his chest as he shoots back at death and carries you to safety when the storm of chaos calms. And he never leaves. Not once.

Not even when you're well and sitting on the cold bed of an even colder hospital room. You'd begged him to stay and lay with you, and when he does, you insist that you owe him your life, and he tells you he's just doing his job.

Still, you can't help that you push yourself closer to him. "Thank you," you whisper, "for staying."

"'M yours to keep." Simon gruffs out, "my loyalty and life belongs to you. All of it." And so does his heart.

(bodyguard!ghost is just modern knight!ghost to me :3c)

divider by @cafekitsune !

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meowpupp · 4 months

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Lord have MERCY THE PRIXE PUPPYGIRL FIC IS KILLING ME 😍😍😍

May i please request a price with his puppy girl fic, but she is in heat? Poor little reader cant take care of it without him :((

this isnt super edited but we ball.

tw// spit play, hyrbid smut, uhhhh idk

ownerprice! who comes home from work to find his poor pup splayed out on her back, legs spread, stuffing her cunt with two of her fingers. his poor girl, all achey and sore. you drip slick, the sticky fluid running down your thighs and ass.

part of him wants to scold you. you're a smart girl, well-trained and obedient, and yet you've soaked the bed with your fluids. another part of him melts, your teary face and puffy cunt making his heart ache. he watches you from the doorway for a moment longer, before stepping inside the room.

“oh poor pup, i know, i know,” he reaches forward, gripping your ankles, pulling you towards him. he spreads your thighs, exposing your sore cunt. his fingers, still clad in his work gloves, gently rub circles on your clit, fabric making your poor cunt sting slighty, “my poor girls in heat- thinkin with her cunt hm? tell me pup, what do you need?”

he does let up, even as you yap and whine for his cock, making you beg until tears are streaming down your face (which doesn't take long.) he circles your swollen clit, occasionally pinching it as he makes tortures your poor body. its only when youre in hysterics, crying and throbbing for his cock that he decides to take mercy.

a hand cups your face, kissing away the tears as he grinds the rough material of his jeans against your soaked cunt. it hurts, poor body sensitive and twitchy. “im sorry sweetheart, such a mean owner aren't i?” he reaches down with his other hand, squeezing at the fat of your hips, gliding his hand along your pudge as he moves to roughly grope your tits. “shhh, shh, i got you pup. gonna stuff your cunt real full, fuck you real good.”

the hand on your face slides down to your throat, the other leaving your tits to unzip his jeans. he laughs at you as you buck and squirm, hands reach up to claw him closer, begging and whining for him to fuck you, fill you, breed you.

when he does stuff you full with his fat length, price is mean. He fucks you like a toy, hips slamming into yours as he buries himself in your cunt. his eyes dont stray, train on your cockdrunk expression, how your mouth parts, tongue slightly sticking out and eyes half lidded as you moan. He grips your jaw, forcing your lips to part further so he can spit a fat glob of salvia onto your tongue. grinning as your cunt squeezes down around him.

his hands move to grip your waist, holding you still, thrusting as deep as possible. “yeah- fuck- feel better pup? just needed something in that desperate little cunt. cant go five minutes without cock, huh?”

you cant reply, mind focused on the delicious stretch he provides, “such a desperate pup,” hes panting now, fucking you harder, “sloppy cunt- fuckin hell, so fuckin tight”

he stuffs you full for the entire night, pumping load after load inside you. after four or five rounds, when you've lost your voice from begging and whining, he finally pulls out.

a large hand splays over your tummy, forcing you to lay flat on the bed. your legs twitch when you feel something cold press against your fucked out cunt. “cmon now, take it like my good girl. can't have you leaking cum everywhere.”

he slowly pushes inside a plug, letting you feel the slight burn. “there we go, good girl,” his thumb presses against your clit, rubbing slow circles, smearing some of his cum over your throbbing clit.

#mw2 smut #mw2 x reader #price x reader #john price smut #john price x reader #price #price x chubby!puppygirl #price x female reader #price x reader smut #fem reader

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qierxing · 10 months

Text

A/N: An interpreted continuation of @shiny-jr wonderful fic. This is one of the longest fics I’ve written…..carried by my love for Heartslabyul. Been chipping away at this every so often until now. I would strongly recommend reading Shiny’s part first, or else a good part of this will not make sense. Part two will be something that will be floating in the future.

TW/CW: Graphic descriptions of PTSD & panic attack symptoms, self-harm from bad coping habits, dissociation, dismemberment, references to Alice in Wonderland, made up lore LOL

I. II. | Isekai AU | Yan! Heartslabyul x Reader

"So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all would change to dull reality…"

– Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Caroll

i. Cremation

Ramshackle's mailbox is a pitiful thing.

It sits right in front of the small graveyard near forgotten covered in tangled vines and weeds. Unlike its surroundings which shine from recent renovations and repairs, the hinges still squeak loudly when the latch is opened and the outer parts are scratched and dented. On bright sunny days, it sticks out like a sore thumb.

And today, it's even more obvious.

The box now is in danger of tilting off its support pole, filled with the weight of lumpy letters, spilling out envelopes upon the dirt. Around it sits various colorful wrapped boxes and packages that are piled haphazardly across each other. You swear it gets larger each passing day.

“How many does this make?”

A battered top hat pops into existence next to you, one of the resident Ramshackle ghosts who's been helping you around lately. (He had said you remind him of his siblings when he was alive. You're still unsure whether that was a good or bad thing.)

You let out a sigh through your nose. There's nothing to say about the situation in front of you. You wish they could disappear the minute you wish for it, yet the colorful wrappings and the various envelopes scattered around your feet don’t vanish the more you stare.

“I’m really sorry about all this.”

The ghost shakes his head, frowning at your apology.

“It’s not your fault, prefect.”

The words are reassuring, but they don’t make the gross feeling go away when you crouch down and start picking up letters that have fallen out of the mailbox.

From: Azul Ashengrotto

Sender: Vil Schoenheit

Sent by: Riddle Rosehearts

All of them are addressed to you, of course. You can already imagine their contents: filled to the brim with regret and guilt, blotted words begging for forgiveness for the wrongs they’ve done. When you told the Headmaster that you didn’t want anyone visiting Ramshackle, that wasn’t an invitation for them to flood you with unwanted mail. Then again, perhaps you should have foreseen that they would do this. All of them are stubborn to a fault. It wasn't like your phone was any better until you’ve blocked all numbers making it go off endlessly like a shrieking parrot.

The resulting letters alone are thick enough to rival the textbooks Professor Trein assigns students. Pressing your lips together, you turn around to start heading back to your temporary home.The rest of the bulky packages can wait. The ghost helps swing the door open and Grim perks up from his seat in the living room as you set down the letters.

“Grim, can you get a fire going?”

“Now?”

He eyes the thick pile of letters with wary slit pupils and asks, “Aren’t ya…gonna read ‘em?”

You did. For the first few ones, at least. They were barely discernible, their apologies blurring by as they begged for your grace and mercy. That they would do anything to right their wrongs. If you didn’t know any better, you would say their reverence was akin to a cult.

It makes your skin crawl.

After that, you stopped bothering to even skim through. What is the point of continuing to make sense of lunatics? Of cruel games and intrepid players?

"We have the wood, and the house is a bit chilly, so why not?" You reply. Grim scrunches his eyebrows but doesn't object as heavy wooden logs are dumped into the grate. He takes a deep breath and blows upon the letters scattered on the wood, encasing everything in familiar neon blue flames.

You settle into the armchair next to Grim, staring into flickering blue flames. Grim curls up next to you, purring contentedly. All too easily, your eyes lull close to the sound of crackling flames consuming paper.

–

When you step out onto the front porch the next morning, you're overtaken by an overwhelming fragrance.

There's crimson red petals floating through the air. Fluttering in the crisp morning wind, they fall in your hair and the rest end up crushed under your feet. You'd feel bad if it wasn't so pungent; the very air feels like it's infused with the scent of roses.

Your nose crinkles as you pick up the impossibly huge bouquet that is wrapped in silk and ribbons. It's certainly beautiful, you'll give it that. Yet this scent doesn't bring back good memories. It only brings vivid flashbacks of being lost among rose bushes, covered in dirt and scratches, trying so frantically to find a way out. When every single crack and snap was a possible life threat.

You don't realize you're crushing the bouquet until something trickles down your fingers. It doesn't feel like blood pooling between your skin. Relaxing your grip ever so slightly, you find pin sharp thorns running down the stems where you were gripping. The fleshy meat of your palm is punctured cleanly in the shapes of the thorns. Was it left unclipped on purpose?

The card is the next thing you find with bloodied fingers, rumpling white cardstock and soiling it without a care.

To our beloved player,

We deeply apologize for the pain we have caused you and beg for your forgiveness. We will make sure to atone for our sins of harming you.

The initial and the bouquet is too obvious of who it's from. Riddle must've penned it, because none of the card soldiers would ever write this formally. But it must've been Cater's idea to send the bouquet–Trey nor Riddle would've come up with such a sentimental and sappy idea. And Ace and Deuce would rather die than do such a cringey thing.

The door opens again behind you. You turn to see a half-awake Grim groggily yawning. He stops once his blue eyes land on the bouquet in your hands.

"Whazz that?" He points a paw at the rumpled roses, and you hastily shove them behind your back.

"Nothing." You say.

Grim makes a face before finally breaking the awkward silence with, "Do ya want me to go tell 'em off–"

"No."

The answer is rushed and makes Grim's eyes widen. It's crazy, you know. But to have Grim try to solve the problem for you doesn't sit well with you. It's not like it's his fault for what you went through.

And maybe, deep down, you couldn't bear the thought of telling them nasty insults and curses to make them hate you more.

"I'll take care of it." You add, trying to reassure Grim, who only stares impassively. He shakes his head.

"Am I making another fire?"

"...if you can, please."

ii. The Morgue

It’s been a couple of weeks since you’ve been brought to Twisted Wonderland.

Yuu’s…body has been moved to another room. It freaks you out more than you would like to admit. It’s familiar, yet it’s not. It’s carved to your image, but with none of your personality. There’s something wrong with the way its eyes are tilted, the dip of its cheeks, the curve of the chin. An idealistic, dreamy mirror of yourself.

Still. You’ve seen many dolls in your lifetime, and even you cannot deny the life like artisanship. The seams of the joints are cleverly hidden and the skin is smooth and unfettered without any misshapen resin(or clay?)–these are marks of a true doll-maker.

“It’s your vessel.” Grim had said with a matter of fact tone. As if you weren't looking at an unmoving human body. “Everyone was freakin’ out cuz’ it just shut down outta nowhere.”

It must’ve been because you were brought here at that moment. The hypothesis doesn’t really make you feel any better. You should know better than to blame an inanimate shell of a vessel, but...

You jerk awake, cold sweat running down your neck and face. It takes a second for you to realize you're not being encased in burning scarlet flames and it's not claustrophobic verdant green hedges surrounding you. The bed sheets are tangled, wrapped in a chokehold around your legs and torso. Instead of translucent leaves, the bed canopy curtain shields you from the moonlight pouring in. The soft snores of Grim sync with your ragged breaths in time.

Tonight's nightmare had been recurring for a while. Every single time you thought you had shaken it off, it comes back like a bad omen.

Instinctively, your hand runs over the bumpy raise of scars running down your back and neck. Most of them had faded with magical treatment and time, but there are some that still have rough skin that has hardened like scales on a dragon.

Your fingertips curve inward and dig.

You thought you were safe. The rose maze is large and encompassing: hiding would be the best move. You breath in–

– and you were face to face with the Crimson Tyrant himself.

His face contains no humanity, his eyes only reflect dark, dark anger and resentment. You thought you were staring into a never ending abyss. Something inky black catches your eye, and you realize with horror that blot is trapping your feet and leaving stains upon your skin.

"Stop right there, imposter!"

Your nails scrabble at the bumps and raises, tearing through them with obsessive speed. Faster, faster–it doesn't feel right, you have to scrub your skin clean of those foreign textures.

Adrenaline is the only thing keeping your legs from collapsing to the blot climbing its way up. You have to do something–

–something wraps around your neck and torso, and all air leaves you as it squeezes and knife sharp needles gnaw into bone.

Your breathing grows more hoarse as your nails scratch faster and faster, desperate to remove more of those vile clumps of impurities.

"You will suffer as Yuu did." The verdict is declared with deranged gleeful vengeance. The tyrant points his scepter at your fallen body covered in thorny vines reminiscent of roses. Blot swallows your form and screams whole–

It's only when the familiar smell of iron registers in your mind, that you finally snap back to your senses. When you finally draw your hand back to view, it's covered in clotted blood and torn skin, both dead and fresh, all clogged under your nails. The open cold air now makes your neck and back sting sharply as blood trickles out of reopened wounds.

It's with a heavy heart that you quietly leave the bedroom entirely to wash away the blood in the kitchen sink. Crimson dyes the white ceramic for a brief moment before swirling away down the drain.

The wounds sting and ache, but you can barely be bothered to tend to them as you resign yourself to the living room couch with a thin blanket. You think of Grim sleeping unaware upstairs and close your eyes. The old weathered grandfather clock in the corner ticks on and on with each second.

No, you can't blame a puppet for functioning for its purpose.

But you could tear its limbs out of its sockets so it could never walk anywhere again. If you plucked out its fingers and eyes, it wouldn't be able to find its way around anymore. Sewing the mouth shut would seal the deal.

Then it would truly know how it felt to have no choice.

–

Working as Sam's assistant helps take the mind off things. Crowley had begged you to resume classes as Grim's 'beast tamer', but something in you screamed at the thought of having to shed your feelings aside to return to what normalcy was. As if this world didn't run on the giant malicious cogwheels of fate and lines of code.

How painfully obvious it is that your mere presence is just a substitute.

"Ah!"

You look up from sorting products on the shelves to a surprised looking Riddle Rosehearts. No no no no–

You take in his sunken gray eyes and pale skin, before going back to shelving products. It takes strength to play dumb. Your shaking hands betray the fear growing within as they sort through stationary merchandise. Finally, the products are lined up neatly and you're trying to bustle away as quickly as you can–

"W-wait!" You try to ignore the half whispered plea, moving behind the counter with an unnatural speed.

"Please, wait, I need something!" You do stop, because unfortunately, you can't completely ignore a customer in need. So you take a deep breath and grit your teeth, turning around with a polite smile. Stare straight ahead. Think not of smoldering flames and knife like rose thorns–

"What can I help you with?" He stares into your eyes, frantic and desperate. It's clear with the way his mouth opens and closes that he wasn't sure how to continue his case.

"If you aren't sure, take your time to browse, dear customer." The grin was starting to wear on your cheeks already with how much you struggle to keep it in place.

Please just leave, you internally beg. You settle behind the counter, watching as Riddle bows his head and disappears among the shelves for his items. A tired sigh leaves your nose.

Your hands keep shaking no matter how hard you clench and unclench them.

He can't hurt me here.

Sam is just a yell away and there's mace and a knife in your bag underneath the counter.

It'll be fine. It's not the Tyrant.

A clink of glass catches your attention, as some ink bottles are pushed on the counter.

"I've finished." Riddle's smoldering eyes choke you under their hues.

"I'll ring that up, then."

The exchange happens quietly yet as you hand him the bottles, he pauses, looking down. "What happened to your hand?"

Shit. There were still obvious swollen scratches and puncture holes imprinted on your hand. You completely forgot about bandages after Grim caught you with the bouquet the other day. You quickly hide your hand in your pocket. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He seems to want to say more, but is cut off when someone else comes up behind him, waiting to pay for their items. He only swallows hard and nods, setting out with only a guilty look back.

You finally breathe out a long sigh of relief when the door chimes echo behind him.

"That'll be ten thaumarks and thirty madols."

This is the fifth time Riddle's shown up during your shift and bought ink. This time, it's a deep crimson color not unlike the shade that saturates his dorm. It reminds you of torn skin on nails from that night, and it takes a minute to shake those thoughts off as you pick up the bottles.

"Prefect, could I talk to you after your shift ends?" You turn to fix him with an incredulous stare, and he grimaces.

"I promise I won't harm you! Did you not get our letters?" But how can I trust you? On this cracked chessboard you are forced to play upon, you don't know where to place Riddle at all. He is too much of an unstable bomb that could blow up in your face at the wrong impression.

"Fine." He definitely won't back down until you agree to hear him out, and it's best to let him state his case once and for all. "My shift ends in an hour. I'll meet you outside."

"Excellent. I shall wait for you then, prefect." He takes his bag and leaves with a small bow.

The time passes all too quickly. Sam shoos you out before you can try to coax some overtime hours from him. And much to your annoyance, Riddle is waiting for you promptly as you step outside.

He looks nervous as he bows his head in acknowledgement of your presence. You'd almost feel bad, if it weren't for the fact that he nearly beheaded you at first sight.

"Have you received our recent letter and flowers?" A long silence follows, before you reluctantly nod. Your hand throbs as you open and close it out of habit. You just removed the bandages this morning, but the unbearable itch to reopen the scars is too tempting. Steel eyes are immediately drawn to the movement. "I see. Then I won't drag this out. Prefect, could we prove to you our sincerity to make amends?"

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly as I said. Please let our dorm express to you our sincerity to mend our relationship." The intensity of his eyes makes you sick to your stomach.

"You've apologized enough, Housewarden Rosehearts. I'm sure your card soldiers have too." Subconsciously, your hand drifts toward your neck.

He winces. No doubt it must be a sting to his pride that his numerous penned letters weren't acknowledged. "It's not just about apologies. We want to start over–turn over a new leaf, if you will, for our relationship. It would be a disgrace to the Queen of Hearts herself if I could not atone for what I've done."

Always with the rules. You're not entirely sure what Riddle means when he says 'mending your relationship', but it seems he's already set his mind to it. It would be hard pressing to get him to change his mind now.

"...sure." You reluctantly acquiesce. The tips of your nails brush against scarred skin before drawing back. You shouldn't. It took so long for the wounds to close again, for sinew to piece itself together, and for skin to finally grow back. You don't want another lecture by Crewel or Trein.

He brightens considerably with a look of relief. "Good. Then, please wait for our call."

You watch in confusion as he trots off hurriedly after another deep bow. Wait for our call? What does that–

Something buzzes, and you realize it's your phone, lighting up with a notification from Magicam. You frown, tapping on the icon. A message?

cay4cay sent a message request

The second you processed the username and profile picture, you instantly hit the block button. With a frustrated scowl, you shove the phone into your pocket. You deleted Yuu's account and only had a burner account for info purposes. How the hell did that social butterfly find your handle?

You groan. This is all too much.

iii. Paying Respects

A letter arrives, but not by mail.

A jarring commotion rudely rips you from sleep's embrace. You groggily sit up, blinking once, twice, before realizing the noises were very much real and still happening. Who is this loud on a Sunday morning? Grim continues to snooze right next to you, unperturbed by the disturbances. You debate whether it's worth it to get out of the comfy covers. Then another yell echoes up to the room and you groan in annoyance.

You slam the entrance doors open, ready to give the lecture of a lifetime before you stop in your tracks.

Deuce Spade looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up whole. Even Ace Trappola, haughty asshole that he is, looks thoroughly ashamed to be caught in a compromising pose. The scene is so familiar that you can't seem to be confused. It takes a second of awkward staring from all three of you before you realize that you're still standing in your thin pajamas, out front in the public entryway in the cold.

"...May I help you?" The distant polite inquiry has them both flinching. They scramble to their feet, brushing off dirt and debris from their fist fight.

"We're very sorry!" Deuce bows deeply, while Ace scoffs and looks away.

"Housewarden Riddle told us to give you this, so…" Ace shoves a white envelope with a seal boasting a crown insignia into your hands. The Queen of Hearts. You exhale through your nose. So this is what Riddle meant earlier.

You open the envelope gingerly, carefully inspecting it as if it were some kind of trap.

"We're going to have a party soon." Ace is still determinedly avoiding your eyes. "You can come…if you want."

You hold back a sardonic chuckle. Even after everything that's happened, he's trying to act like some kind of cool, suave guy. Your eyes drop down again and you open up the flap to reveal the elegant crimson cursive that decorates the paper.

You're cordially invited to Heartslabyul's monthly tea party. Please send your response ASAP.

Date: XX/05

Time: 14:00 - 17:00

A silence lingers in the air, heavy as a rock. You can tell without looking that the two were holding bated breaths waiting for your reply.

This certainly was out of the blue. But. It was Ace and Deuce. Riddle may have issued the order, but they must've taken initiative in delivering her majesty's decree. Stubborn and tenacious, yet they were still endearing with their loyal friendship. Who in this world would run across a whole desert for you?

That wasn't for you though. The intrusive thought immediately makes your lips thin. The card soldiers shift at the subtle expression change, nervousness painted all over their faces.

You would be lying if you said you weren't curious. Why an invitation to a tea party? It was rather unlike Heartslabyul–or at least most of them–to be indirect like this.

"Sure. I'll be there. I can bring Grim, right?" You flip over the card and envelope, raising an eyebrow at their stunned faces.

"Wait, you serious?" Ace stutters. His ruby eyes blink rapidly as his mouth gapes open. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting you to actually say yes.

"Why would I waste my time lying to you?" You sigh, crossing your arms. Granted, you never did send any response back to that ostentatious bouquet, but you were already preoccupied with the hundred of other letters and packages flooding your mailbox.

"In that case, of course Grim can come!" Deuce says, looking like he's been released from an entire burden off his chest. It was no doubt plaguing him on what your answer would be.

"Great." You wave a careless hand, turning to close the door. You're so ready to go back under soft bed covers. "You can give my answer to your housewarden. See you then."

A hand grabs at your arm and tugs you back suddenly. You turn and open your mouth–

"You! You're the one that caused Yuu to shut down!!"

Wind blasts past you, leaving a thin trickle of blood down your cheek. Eyes wide, all you can do is stare at furious crimson eyes glaring you down.

"-Hey!"

Those eyes. It's the same bloody crimson. The same sharp glint of raw bloodlust. Your right cheek aches terribly. Cold sweat runs down your back. Try as you might, you cannot suppress the reactive instinct to flee.

"Don't touch me." Your terse response has Ace retracting his own hand immediately.

"S-sorry, sorry–" He’s scrambling to get past his mistake. If you were in a better state of mind, you would've laughed at his genuinely flustered state. "I–I didn't mean to grab you like that, it’s just that–"

"We also have something else.” Deuce cuts in, trying to cover for Ace’s blunder. He shoves something warm under your nose, and it takes a hot minute to process what you’re smelling.

Lavender. The cookies within his hands are simple and aren’t decorated, but the buttery floral aroma they emit leaves you salivating. You slowly take it from his hands, staring at the carefully packaged bag.

“...From Trey,” Deuce offers hesitantly after seeing your surprised expression. His tight expression and stiff posture betrays the way he is attempting to look respectable. “He's wanted to send you something for a while now.”

For a while? His dorm mates were all clambering to get any crumb of response from you. He might've had the manners then to understand that you wouldn't be delighted to hear from someone who only watched from the sidelines as you were being attacked. Did he only wait because his beloved housewarden didn't move yet? How typical.

“Tell him thanks for me.” The two of them shuffle their feet while exchanging glances at your freezing cold tone.

"Don't mind us, prefect." Deuce elbows Ace, causing the red head to click his tongue and glare back. "Sorry for bothering you like this–we'll get going now!"

The two actually leave without more fuss, leaving you to twirl the invitation in trepidation.

When you look down again, the flowy calligraphy has been smudged by your fingers, ink blooming on your skin like blood.

–

"What does one wear to a tea party, Sam?"

The question slips out before you know it, making the store keeper turn around and raise an eyebrow at you.

"And why is our little imp curious?" He teases. At your unamused face, his face splits into a garish grin.

"Perhaps you should ask Professor Crewel. After all, he does have quite the fashion sense." Sam strokes his chin in thought. "While we do have some outfits here, it might be best to get advice from someone who has been to these kinds of events."

And so, you find yourself standing in front of an indifferent Divus Crewel, who takes one look at you and takes another drag from his fashionable cigarette holder. He continues to shuffle through papers, all the while shaking his head.

“I should’ve known Sam would be the one to send you.” His voice sounds annoyed, yet carries no weight of anger. Much like how his bark is worse than his bite, Crewel isn’t one to heartlessly turn you away. “A tea party, you said?”

“Sam recommended that I go to you since you have more experience in this sort of thing.” Crewel does another critical once over of you, no doubt estimating your measurements for the look he’s thinking of. As expected of a former Pomefiore housewarden. He seems to already have an idea of what outfit would be best.

“I’ll help you, but you’re running some errands for me first, pup.”

You shouldn’t have expected anything less from the alchemy professor. Now you’re stuck picking out ingredients in the botanical garden while you’re waiting for him to get the materials together for your outfit.

Of all the botanical zones, it just had to be the tropical zone. The harsh artificial lights shine down as you lean down to pick herbs. While the temperature is bearable, you don't know how much more sweat your outfit can take before it gets soaked completely. The humidity is choking, and you feel dizzy from both the moisture and heat clouding your senses.

“Prefect?”

You look up wearily from basil plants to see Cater Diamond in his labwear, with a face that mirrors your stunned expression.

Give me a break. Immediately, your awkward customer service smile falls in place. First her Majesty, then Tweedle Dee and Dum, and now the March Hare? But Cater knows how to read the room. Maybe he'll know to let it go–

Your hopes are dashed as he immediately bounces up to you with a grin. “Didn't think I'd run into ya like this. Whatcha doing here?”

“Er, Crewel wanted my help with getting him ingredients…” This conversation was quickly swerving into awkward territory. “Why are you here?”

“Ah, you know…” Cater chuckles sheepishly, “I got assigned to water the plants…”

You take notice of the steel watering can in his gloved hands, then the long green hose by his boots. “Ah.”

“Guess that means we’ll be working together!” He chirps cheerfully and you cringe. Seven, anything but that! You quickly turn back to your basket and begin to pick up the pace in harvesting the basil. The quicker you finish, the faster you can get out of this deathly awkward situation.

“By the way, Acey and Deucey wouldn’t stop chatting about you accepting our invitation!” You flinch as Cater idles up next to you, using the hose to spray a generous amount of water over the patch of herbs. “It was pretty cute to see, y’know.”

“R-really?”

"Trey was also glad too. He and Riddle have been planning to make it the best tea party ever," he mock emphasizes. "They've been running the dorm ragged over the party deets. Cay Cay's been so busy with planning stuff!"

"That's not really necessary…" A feeling of guilt worms into your guts for a moment. You squash it. What Riddle and the others do is none of your business and no obligation of yours.

"Right? That's what I said too!" Is he implying that you're the reason there's more work than usual? How shameless is he?

After a good minute of dead silence, Cater pipes up again.

"Sooo, prefect, whatcha been up to lately?"

You can't take it anymore.

“Why are you talking like I have a gun to your head?”

Ever since he made his presence known, he's adopted a high pitched cheery tone that grates on your ears. It was akin to a customer service voice, but you know Cater. That's his influencer speak.

Cater's chipper smile vanishes instantly.

"Whaaaat?!" You catch a glimpse of his snaggle tooth in his exclamation. He quickly turns and moves to water a patch of sprouts further away, "Like, what are you even talking about? You know ol' Cay Cay's just trying to lighten the mood!"

More like he's desperately trying to appeal to you. He knows which attitude will get him the most views, and the best expressions to rake in likes and comments. You often thought that trait was endearing in its own way when you saw him as a fictional character. Now that you're dealing with him as a human being, it just pisses you off to no end. How could he? You know Cater isn't known for his genuineness but….you thought he would at least act his usual aloof casual self. Then you would know that it wouldn't matter if you offended him.

The straw basket is finally filled with everything Crewel asked you for. It's with dirtied skin and sore muscles that you turn towards the exit without sparing Cater a glance.

"If you say so, Diamond." You hurl the words like a molotov cocktail, and it's very effective. Cater's eyebrows twitch and his hands clench around the watering can. It's one thing to call him by his last name, it's another to completely blow off the nickname he blatantly shoves onto you. "See you later at the party."

“Wait, wait, time out for a second!! Can you at least unblock me on Magicam?” The last sentence makes you freeze in your tracks.

When you turn around, Cater’s somehow still smiling that insincere smile of his. Your neck prickles with dread.

You trust me now, right? His crinkled lime green eyes gleam.

You're not fooled. He is desperate to appeal to you not from genuine adoration, but rather guilty obligation. Although he tried to scrub it from his Magicam profile, you saw the blurry reels and pictures of you fleeing for your life. The detailed descriptions underneath. Each one boasting deliberate timestamps meant for best exposure. He put a bounty on your head with his own hands.

Two can play at that game.

"Block you? I don't have a Magicam account," is your dry response. Cater continues to smile as his eyes close.

"Really? I swear that it was you…" His lips jut out in an insincere pout, tilting his head. You shrug apathetically, hoping the conversation runs itself dead.

"Well, if you do make one, hit me up okay?" Cater calls out after your retreating back.

Once you're in the school corridors and catching your breath, you dig your phone out with shaky hands and pull up Magicam.

Hitting delete account has never felt more relieving.

–

The outfit, in your quiet opinion, was not worth the mental gymnastics you had to do in the botanical garden. Not that you were going to say anything to the very teacher who has been known to treat his students like barking dogs.

"It should fit just fine," Crewel smooths out the crinkles in the fabric before handing it to you. "Go on now. Try it on."

A simple white with a red ribbon bow tie and black slacks. It was rather simple, which is just fine. You didn't need or want to stand out in this party. But you certainly didn't want to end up looking like a slob either. This suit your needs quite nicely.

Smoothing down your shirt, you give a spin as Crewel looks on unimpressed. He waves you off with a dry "Don't expect me to do any more favors for you, pup." You mischievously grin and wave him goodbye as you trot off with your clothes in tow.

The last rays of the sun sets the hallway ablaze with orange and yellow hues. You hum as you take the familiar pathway back to Ramshackle. With everything crazy that’s been going on lately, it gets too easy to be swept up in the moment. As you watch the shadows flicker between the stone pillars, you slow down to observe the scenery for a bit.

The sunset catches a glint and reflects bright white for a moment. You blink and it’s gone when you focus. You stop, confused at the intrusion.

A loud click echoes behind you, but when you whip around, there’s nothing but the empty hallways.

You stand for a moment in place, waiting and listening apprehensively. Nothing else happens, and it’s with cautious paranoia that you turn around and start speed walking.

iiii. Funeral

It would be impolite to show up to a party without something.

But now as you're standing before the mirror leading to Heartslabyul, you're having second thoughts.

What if it isn't good? You glance down at your box containing the simple custard puddings you were able to make just last night. You didn't really have the skills to make complicated sweets and the puddings only took three ingredients. And your outfit, what if it isn't up to the Queen of Hearts' rules–

"C'mon, [First]! Or else the food will be gone by the time we get there!"

You breathe out a giggle. "I don't think anyone can beat you on your eating speed, Grim."

"You don't know that!" He hops up and down impatiently, waiting for you to adjust the box in your hands.

Right, who cares about any of that?

You follow your companion through the warped glass.

The fresh spring breeze graces you first, then the refreshing scent of flora, and finally, the warmth of the sun on your skin. When you open your eyes, the stretch of viridian green pastures and vibrant flowers greets you. The land of Heartslabyul is as picturesque as you remembered on screen. It feels unreal.

And waiting for you at the end of the path is the very first dorm you've befriended.

"Weird. Where's everyone at?" Grim grumbles, ears twitching in irritation.

The entrance is completely devoid of any human presence. You don’t sense anyone in the building either, which is completely strange.

Grim's right. Where is everyone? For an incoming tea party, wouldn’t there be various students rushing in and out for the preparations?

“Perhaps they’re in the maze?” You glance warily over to the tall hedges that bloom with beautiful roses. “Should we wait?”

“Ugh, that’s so rude of ‘em to keep us hangin’ though! I say we go lookin’ for them. Who knows how long we gotta stand out here!” Grim shakes his head, distraught at the thought of having to wait for his food. "Let's go to the kitchen!"

"You just want to see if you can eat something." You tut at Grim's scheming face.

"Mya, so what?!" He yowls. "I'm going and you can't stop me!"

"Grim, wait–" You call anxiously, but your companion is already scampering off into the dorm. You're left with no choice but to take a deep steadying breath and press on.

But the kitchen room is also empty when the two of you pop in. However, it seems like it was used recently, if not for the smell, then the sight of various dishes laid out on the counter would have clued you in. You sneakily compare your puddings to the spread laid out before you and wonder again if it isn't too late to put them away in a dark corner.

"What do you have there, prefect?" A low voice breathes in your ear.

You and Grim shriek in tandem, with you almost fumbling and dropping your box and Grim’s signature sharp nails digging into your shins.

The looming presence behind you is revealed to be Trey Clover, who has an apologetic face after spooking the two of you. At least he is conscientious.

"My bad, my bad," he chuckles, "I should've been more obvious about my arrival." He places a steady hovering hand behind your back. Just barely touching, yet close enough to feel its heat. Embarrassingly, the feeling is soothing enough that you can't find it in yourself to pull away.

"Sheesh, for real! You took some of my life with that, y'know Trey!" Grim hisses, detaching his claws from your poor legs. Trey only laughs and ruffles his head.

"I’m sorry about that Grim. Anyway, you guys came just in time," Trey begins to transfer the dishes onto a wheeled cart. "Food just needs to be carried out and the tea party can begin—but you have something, don't you?"

Regret seeps in when you think of your sad puddings next to all these gorgeous pastries and appetizers.

“Uhm, I don’t think it’s really needed since you got all this,” you laugh sheepishly as your hands automatically hide the box behind your back.

“No way.” Trey’s smile is warm but firm. When he gently guides your hands to give up the box, you can’t find it in yourself to protest. “It can’t be that bad, since you made it.”

You're struck silent, and Trey immediately takes advantage of your state to press his hand to your back to usher you forward. His fingertips graze your side, and for a second, you swear his lips quirk into a smirk.

You follow alongside Trey as he pushes the cart out through the door.

"By the way, I'm happy to hear you liked the lavender cookies." You look over to see the baker smile warmly. "I would've tried something with the candied violets I had, but I ran out just as I was making them." He sighs as he shakes his head.

Something with the way he's worded it makes it sound like there was more to the story, but you don't care enough to pry further. Trey's golden orbs slide to meet yours discreetly, and you realize he's waiting for you to respond. You murmur an apathetic response back, and he visibly droops.

It's a long, quiet walk through the rose maze.

It seems your arrival with Trey threw everyone off guard. You don't know why they look so alarmed: the venue looks absolutely resplendent. Colorful lanterns dot the tree lines, swinging back and forth cheerily with brightly colored flags. The long table is draped with fine cloth embroidered with intricate lace patterns. There's not a single wrinkle to be seen in the fabric. And the rose bushes, blooming with both red and white roses, are pruned cleanly, not a leaf or branch out of place.

It is a tea party fit for the Queen of Hearts.

"And the guest of honor is finally here!" Easygoing as ever, Cater calls out jauntily to you both. He seems to be the only one not visibly panicking. "Trey, what took ya so long?"

"Had to get the dishes here, you know." He shoots a knowing glare at Cater, who flinches with a sheepish smile. "Someone was supposed to help me, which would've made it a lot faster."

Ah. Cater giggles nervously while twirling his hair. Ace and Deuce exchange disbelieving looks before shaking their heads.

“Welcome, prefect.” Riddle greets you with a stiff bow. "And Grim." He hastily adds, seeing your companion’s face twist sulkily. The action makes you smile, if only for a moment.

“We’ve been waiting forever for you, Yuu—” Deuce jabs an elbow sharply into Ace’s side, making him cough and sputter mid sentence, but the damage has already been done. Another awkward silence reigns as everyone’s fearful faces are directed at you, trying to figure out how to best traverse the conversational minefield.

“W-What Acey meant to say is–” Cater is cut off immediately.

"Uh, er, come to think of it, what's your actual name?" Deuce is the one who pushes forward despite everyone else’s horrified looks. As if he had uttered a profane exclamation.

"My…name?" You echo back.

Right. Since all they knew was the puppet, they didn't know your true name. Heavy silence hovers in the air, even Grim was looking at you in anticipation.

"My name is…" Something chokes your throat. Reluctance? Or fear?

"[First]. [First] [Last]."

They mutter it among themselves, tasting the syllables and weaving the rhythms of the letters. How strange. With sugar coated lips, their voices ring like church bells for prayer. You're born anew, for the way they look at you is enough to make your heart soar for several fleeting seconds.

For a brief moment, you could believe that you were with your Heartslabyul again.

The tea party begins like a baby animal: slow, unsure, and always in danger of stumbling to the ground. But it’s Heartslabyul, and who else would know how to best host a party for its guests?

By the time the tea is being poured into your cups, a steady conversation has started naturally flowing between all of you.

“Is there something the matter?” Riddle asks for the nth time as he worriedly gazes at the way your eyes stray to the hedges and whimsical decorations beyond the table.

"Oh uhm…” You hesitate, still not meeting Riddle’s worried face. “Why are the roses both red and white? I thought one of your rules is that tea parties always have white roses."

Riddle exchanges a look with Trey at your question.

"That is true, [First], however…" He pauses, before continuing with a determined look. "Red and white roses are customary for parties celebrating with new friends."

“New…friends?” Your hand is frozen at your teacup.

Something fiercely warm fills your chest. There's cautious hope glimmering in Riddle and Trey's eyes. That wasn’t fair. How could they say something like that and not expect you to react?

The party ends on a light note unlike its stiff beginning. The soldiers gather to see you and Grim off, but once Grim scampers off with his leftovers in paw, her Majesty moves to your side.

“Prefect–no, [First], would you come again?” He asks. His hands are trembling, tugging at your sleeve timidly like a young child again. “F-For an Unbirthday party, of course!”

It’s a request that’s not selfish, you note. Her Majesty’s card soldiers look on expectantly behind their monarch, and it takes everything within you to not collapse.

“Of course. I can’t wait for it already.”

Your heart weighs heavy. They do not know that the promise is an empty white lie. Though you cherish them, you do not wish to act the role of a doll whose purpose is to play house.

When they looked at you with those pleading eyes, who did they see?

Yuu, the puppet they adored for its safe default responses and supportive words?

Or you, the player who has their own flaws and biased personality?

It's okay, you reason.

They won't be able to tell the difference between clay and flesh.

v. Burial

You have a hunch about Yuu.

Only a guess based on many hypotheticals, but better than nothing.

If the puppet stopped working when you arrived, then shouldn't it go without saying that if you left this world, that it would return back to life?

The wooden door creaks open, stirring up dust and sending it flying into the air. You cough and sneeze, waving your hand to disperse the irritant. Serves you right. After all, you refused to step into this room since Yuu's body was hauled here. Didn't even dare to come clean the room. The dust settles and you can finally make out the puppet's silhouette from the waning light rays of the window.

It still adorns its proper NRC uniform, wrinkled in the spots where you had lifted it. It hasn't moved at all from its sprawled pose on the sofa. You remember the dread at realizing the only fitting school uniform you could possibly wear was on this puppet. It only cemented your resolve to break away from the puppet's image. Even if you had to resort to clearing out ancient closets and haggling with faculty, you'd rather take the raggedy shawls and worn flannel over the crisp blazer and button up the puppet wore.

Its skin has become ashen gray, drained of any life. Old joints creaked in agony when you adjusted it to a sitting position for better examination. For a while, the both of you stare at each other.

Despair tugs at your mind. How long will you be trapped in this world? Has the Headmaster even done anything to help you get home? You snort. He couldn’t even bother doing anything when it was just the vessel. Why would that change now?

Can you hear me?

The voice, so quiet yet clear, makes you whip your head around. No one's in the room. Are you finally going crazy?

You can hear me, right?

Is one of the ghosts playing a prank on you? You can't pinpoint the source of the voice at all.

I'm here–look!

With dread and fear pooling in your heart, your head turns slowly to meet the doll's eyes; whose pupils are now fixated on you.

The urge to scream and push away the doll is overwhelming. But in a world where the supernatural is natural, you suppose that dolls that can speak are the least impossible thing out there.

I can help you find your way home.

You swallow thickly. Pursing your lips, your grip on its arms tightens as you lean in. Something stirs, and it’s crazy, but you swear it hums in pleasure.

Listen to what I say carefully…

Decorations? Check. Refreshments? Check.

Outfits? Check.

So why does it feel like there's something missing?

"What's wrong, Riddle?" He turns to see Trey's concerned face. He gives an awkward smile back.

"I'm not quite sure, but something feels amiss." He explains, rubbing his neck. It's obvious enough to make him feel the familiar slivers of irritation slither through him.

He tries to will it away. It's a good day, and there was nothing to be angry about. The player–no, [First]–had decided to give them a chance and agreed to come over to celebrate an Unbirthday party with them. Ace and Deuce are behaving as good, law-abiding card soldiers should be. The roses were saturated with dripping red, the dormouse had its nose smeared with jam–so what is this itch that won't go away?

"We can do a double check of everything again," Trey offers gently. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

Riddle shakes his head. “It’s almost time for them to arrive. I will not have them waiting on something that isn’t even a problem.”

“Housewarden~!” Speak of the devil. He turns with a frown at Ace’s loud shout, but it fades to a small smile when he sees you trailing after Ace.

"Hello, Riddle." You smile warmly at him, and his cheeks flush pink.

Wait. He stops. Have you ever called his name? He doesn’t have time to ponder this before he’s interrupted by Trey and Cater bringing in the food.

When everyone is seated and the party is in swing, he notices something.

“Is the food not to your liking, [First]?” He inquires as politely as possible, softening his tone to make it sound less accusatory.

You fluster, waving a hand. “Not at all. I’m just not that hungry right now.”

He decides to leave it, because it’s not as if it’s wrong, per se, if the guest wasn’t eating. He recalls Ace’s previous words to him.

“Housewarden, you really should loosen up a bit! Otherwise you’re gonna end up being a killjoy!”

He may be many things, but he is not a killjoy! Just because he was particular about certain things doesn’t mean he didn’t know how to let go.

But something feels off.

Then he realizes that while the conversation is flowing as usual, you are hardly speaking at all. You only speak when directly spoken to, and even then, it’s short, clipped responses.

He watches incredulously as you pour yourself a cup of tea and then drink it.

The golden scepter materializes in his hand as easily as breathing.

Everyone else reacts explosively, looking alarmed at the scene unfolding. Meanwhile, you merely stare blankly at the end of the scepter nearly several inches from your nose.

"Riddle, hold the phone, what are you doing?!" He barely hears Cater's frantic voice to his left. He's too focused on the way that…that thing is not reacting at all.

"You. Where is [First]?"

It's silent for a moment, and then a disturbing crooked grin breaks out from its poker face. It starts cackling loudly and it makes his blood start boiling.

"Start speaking or it's off with your head!" He screeches, scepter shaking uncontrollably in his hands.

"Boo, I was hoping you guys were stupid enough to fall for it.” The thing taunts, leaning back in their chair.

Red fills his vision. How dare this thing use your visage and breath such vile words? Before he could register it, his arm swipes across. By the time his eyes clear and his breathing steadies, he's staring at a decapitated body that is mangled beyond repair.

It takes another moment to realize he is not the only one who has raised their magical pen.

Trey is at his right, golden eyes dark as Riddle realizes he positioned himself to shield him. Cater mirrors Trey, but his arms are visibly shaking and his eyes keep switching from him to the broken body on the trimmed lawn. Ace and Deuce had positioned themselves to the backside, but they too, barely seem to be holding themselves together, clenched fists at the ready for physical blows.

“What…” he breathes, “is going on?”

The only answer he gets is the wind whistling through the grass blades.

He collapses to his knees as he fumbles with a body that has been torn asunder, but instead of flesh and bones, he only finds clay and chipped resin.

“What have we done?”

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere heartslabyul #my works #if this gets good reception i'll have a easier time of writing part 2

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storiesfromafan · 2 months

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The Waltz

A/N: yes I am back with Part 3 (Dance Class 101 and Beautiful Swan). I have to say I've enjoyed writing this small series, and have enjoyed the comments.

I also want to thank everyone who has followed this story blog, I cant believe I have got 326 followers!!

Also, don't hesitate to request stories. Sometimes it helps with my writing block lol.

@littlebookbengal @bewitchingbrie @anehkael -unfortunatly I couldnt take a few people :(

The Waltz

The booming voice of Professor Dumbledore in welcoming all to The Yule Ball. Gathering with other couples, you and Lorenzo watched the Professor with everyone else. Dumbledore spoke about the ball and how it was a tradition that is kept up to bring Hogwarts, Beauxbatons Academy and Durmstrang Institute together. And it did bring you all together. Besides most of the males of Hogwarts being intimidated of the male’s students from Drumstrang, the female students from Beauxbatons had taken to the females of Hogwarts.

Once Dumbledore was finished, he introduced each of the school’s champions. They all entered in a line, before coming to stop in the open space of the dance floor. They opened The Yule Ball with the first dance for the night. You and Lorenzo sniggered at Harry Potter and his date, the only couple to stick out like a sore thumb.

“Looks like old mate has two left feet” commented your friend.

You snort laughed. “Don’t be so mean Enzo” you hit his arm softly.

You both went back to watching as your professor’s joined in. Of course, Snape and the female professor, who had been your dancing instructors, paired up and took to the floor. You and Lorenzo held it together as best you could. The female professor still looked like she wanted to run for the hills, while Snape was as rigid as ever. Only now the rest of the students got to bare witness to what the Slytherin students had been privy to for two weeks. You heard the whispers and the sniggers at Snape’s expense.

Once the dance was over, Snape left the dance floor in a sweep of his cloak, his dance partner moving off in the opposite direction. The champions all took their leave of the floor, while other students braved the dance floor.

Lorenzo shot you a smirk before taking your hand and dragging you to the floor. All the while you softly protested, which he chose to ignore. Coming to a spot on the floor, Lorenzo stopped and swiftly turned to face you. You on the other hand, staggered for a moment from his motions. But quickly you corrected yourself, standing tall shooting your date a glare.

The live band started up with the perfect melody for the dance you were all about to partake in, The Foxtrot. It was the second dance Snape taught Slytherin, it was easier to learn then The Waltz. Which made you wonder why he hadn’t started with that dance. Oh well, you had learned the steps in the end.

“Ready?” Asked Lorenzo.

You continued to glare. “No”.

He chuckled. “Well, you better get ready”.

And with that you both began to move along with the music, Lorenzo leading you around the floor in a medium tempo. At first your steps were unsure and a little sloppy, but after a little bit, you got comfortable and confident in your steps. And before long you and Lorenzo were moving smoothly around the floor. Lorenzo shot you a knowing smile, which you rolled your eyes at but none the less you sported a beaming smile.

Like the other students, Mattheo and Daphne watched on. Mattheo’s gaze following your every movement. He felt jealousy rise as he watched Lorenzo smile at you, to which you rolled your eyes but gave him a happy smile. That should have been him out there with you. Smiling at each other and laughing. But instead, it was his good friend with you.

“Who would have thought Enzo would pity (Y/N/N) enough to be her date?” Remarked Theodore as he came to stand next to Mattheo.

“I don’t think it was pity” retorted Mattheo. “He did it out of friendship. Enzo cared about her to give her a good night”.

Theodore shot his friend a bored look. “Whatever, he was the idiot to give up a night with any willing girl. What to ditch and hang out somewhere else?”

Feeling appalled by his mate’s words, Mattheo got serious. “He’s not an idiot. Enzo chose a friend over some conquest. He always cares about a person’s wellbeing”.

Theodore laughed with a hand up. “Alright, alright. Don’t need to get your knickers in a knot. It’s fine they came together, happy?”

Mattheo huffed turning back to you on the dance floor. He could see Theodore looking at him, then to you and Lorenzo, and then back to him. A look of recognition flashed on his face before he chuckled.

“How did I miss it” he mused, “how did I miss your crush on (Y/N/N)?”

Mattheo looked shock, looking to his date, who was busy chatting with Theodore’s date. He then turned to his friend and said in a lower voice, “you’re wrong. I don’t have a crush on (Y/N/N)”.

Theodore laughed. “Lie all you like mate, I can see it plain as day now. And quite frankly, it took you long enough”.

Mattheo shot his friend a confused look.

Theodore laughed hard. “Wow, come on I’ve known you a long time. I could see how close you and (Y/N/N)’s had gotten. I just thought you’d had worked it out by now. Both Lorenzo and I could see how you both were crushing on each other, even have a bet going on who would confess first”.

Shock and surprise crossed Mattheo’s face. You, crushing on him? No surely, they were mistaken. Not once had you ever shown any interest in him in that way. You never flirted, never dropped hints, never jealous of other girls. You had always seemed uncaring and uninterested.

“You’re wrong” Mattheo began, “(Y/N/N) doesn’t have a crush on me. She’s never shown signs of liking me like that”.

Once more Theodore laughed. “Oh, my friend how wrong you are. That beautiful creature out there” – he pointed in the direction of you on the dance floor – “does have a crush on you. And just because you haven’t seen the signs, I can assure you that Enzo and I have”.

Mattheo shook his head, not once taking his eyes off you.

“I can tell you firsthand that the look in her (colour) eyes when you would bring your latest conquest around the group, the evident hurt in those eyes as she watches you together. Or how she would ‘off handedly’ help you study, when really, she wanted to be near you. Probably hoped you would read between the lines of all her help to see that she did like you more than a friend. You my friend have been oblivious to how she show’s her feelings, as you are used to girls throwing themselves at you”.

If Theodore was right, then Mattheo had made a mistake, a big one. If he had been able to read you better, then he wouldn’t have had a reason to hold back his feelings. It would have been he who had escorted you to The Yule Ball. It would be him out there dancing with you, smiling and laughing.

Theodore clapped Mattheo on the back. “If I was you, I’d come up with a plan to get to (Y/N/N) and sweep her off her feet. Or else she might fall for Enzo instead”.

With that Theodore took his date and left Mattheo to his thoughts. Daphne brought him back when she asked when they would dance. He winced at the idea; his poor feet would hate him if he danced with her. Dancing, that was it. With a few words to Daphne that they would dance soon, the cogs in Mattheo’s head were turning, a plan coming together.

The song came to an end, you and Lorenzo stepped back from each other before bowing and curtsying to the other. Coming to fully stand once more, you both shot the other a warm smile. Lorenzo then took your arm before leading you from the dance floor, and over to a space by the wall. You both took the moment to cool off.

“I had my reserves about dancing but thank you for dragging me against my will. It was fun”.

He laughed. “You are welcome, any time I would happily drag you to dance”. Lorenzo winked at you, making you laugh.

Lorenzo smile at you before his attentions turned elsewhere. “How about I get us some drinks. I’ll be right back”.

Before you could say a word, your friend walked off, leaving you a little confused but looking forward to some refreshments. You decided to lean against the wall, hands resting behind your back and against the cool stone wall. It was grounding, the coolness against your warm flesh. Your eyes roamed over the room. You noticed couples and groups in conversation. Those on the dance floor that were strong dancers compared to those that were trying their best.

Finally, you spotted Lorenzo with drinks in hand, but it was the person walking next to him that he was in deep conversation with that made you stand up straight. He was talking with Mattheo, and they looked to be quite serious. But just as quick had you seen them, did Mattheo part from your date. What had they been discussing, you wondered.

Joining you once more, Lorenzo held out a cup with punch in it, you accepted the cup and took a gracious sip. Once the cup left your lips you turned your gaze back to your date, studying him. You wanted to question him, find out what led to their talking or what Mattheo had to say. So, you decided to just go for it.

“What did Mattheo want?”

“Hm?” Lorenzo asked before taking a sip from his cup.

“I saw you two talking before you came back with my drink. What did he want?” It might have sounded rude, but you were dying to know. Though it went against your not caring mantra for the night.

“Mattheo? Oh, he was just commenting on the dancing. Thought we looked good” Lorenzo said off handedly turning to watch those on the dance floor, while leaning against the wall.

“Oh really? Is that so?” You questioned further.

“Mmhmm, said you looked graceful. And had a glow about you. Which he’s not wrong about” he laughed.

You nudged his shoulder with your own. You left it that. Your heart swelled at Lorenzo’s words. Mattheo had complimented you. You felt the soft smile form on your lips at the compliment. But then reality set in. You were at the ball with Lorenzo, not Mattheo. He had chosen to take Daphne Greengrass and was probably having a wonderful time. He was probably being nice with his compliment. Possibly a ploy to get back in your good graces. The smile slipped from your face, the hallow feeling returning to your chest in realisation.

Silence rolled over you both as you continued to watch those around you and on the dance floor. Soon time slowly passed before Lorenzo moved from the wall, taking your empty cups, and setting them down on a table off to the side. He shot you a bright smile before holding out his hand to you.

“May I have the next dance my lady?”

You laughed. “Why yes good sir, for this time you did ask me”. And placed your hand in his.

Lorenzo led you to stand with those spectating the dancing students. You both stood there waiting for the current dance to end, so that you both could join the next dance. With the final notes of the song, the students on the floor stopped, bowed, and curtseyed to each other before vacating the dance floor. Sharing a look, you and your friend took to the floor, along with four other couples. Standing before your partner, it was the movement from the left side that caught your attention.

Making their last-minute appearance on the floor, both Mattheo and Daphne moved over to stand on your right side. You felt your body stiffen at the sight of them, a sight you had done best to stay clear of. But here they were, shoving it front of you. With the first few notes, you placed your left hand on Lorenzo’s right shoulder while his right hand was placed against your side, his left-hand taking hold of your right hand. Now you were ready to begin The Waltz.

Just like in dance class, Lorenzo led while you followed. You both followed the steps, graceful in your movements on the dance floor. Out the corner of your eye you would see Mattheo and Daphne, your heart sinking further from it. Moving to hold your head high you reminded yourself to not care about them. You didn’t need him.

Lorenzo shot you a warm smile, that you returned. “Forgive me or thank me later”.

You shot him a look of confusion before finishing the square, he then proceeded to turn you out before letting go of your hand. You wanted to protest to whatever he was doing, but the feeling of a hand taking hold of your own and spun you in to face the one person you were trying to forget. Mattheo moved you into position, without a thought you moved your left hand to his shoulder. Confusion written all over your face at what was happening.

Your gazed moved back to your original dance partner, who was now dancing with a confused and irritated Daphne Greengrass. Lorenzo looked to be talking to her, possibly an attempt to calm down the girl. You looked back to Mattheo, who wore a mischievous grin on his face. All the while you both moved in time with the music, steps just as graceful as you had been dancing with Lorenzo.

“What is going on?” You questioned with a sharp tone. “Why am I dancing with you?”

Mattheo chuckled. “I thought we should dance, and since you aren’t talking to me. I got Lorenzo to help me get my dance”.

You glared at the boy before you. “You had no right to swap me from my date”.

“Oh? I think Enzo didn’t mind” he retorted.

“Well, I mind. Not that you care”.

The look of hurt in Mattheo’s eyes at your words wounded you. Any time he was upset hurt you, and the need to cheer him up would kick in. But not this time. You were still hurting from what he has done. Mattheo needed to learn a lesson.

He sighed. “I’m sorry for stealing you away. But you have to admit you have avoided me. You aren’t talking to me”.

“And there’s a reason for that” you fired back looking him right in the eyes. “Until you work out what you done and what you need to do to fix it, I will continue to not talk to you”.

Silence rolled over you both after that. You had said what you had too. Mattheo knew exactly what you were talking about. He knew he had to step up and apologise, which is what he wants to do. He just wasn’t sure how to do it. He was worried he wouldn’t say the right words, and it would only make things worse.

You both continued to move in time with the music, fluid movements filling the remaining time with Mattheo. Without talking you took in the boy before you, now that you have a closer opportunity. Since arriving at the ball, his hair was now messy. Mattheo must have absented mindedly ran his hand through his brown curly locks, something he done when in thought. He had also loosened the tie around his neck, and the jacket of his dress robes unbuttoned. You could have laughed at the untidy appearance, but held it in.

As the song started its descent to an end, you both moved in a square one more time. Only the grip Mattheo held tightened, almost drawing you closer. Mattheo moved his left foot forward, as you stepped back on your right. He then moved his right foot forward, while you moved your left foot backwards. Then you both moved those feet to the side, before bringing their partnering feet to meet with them. Mattheo then led you as be moved his right foot back, as you moved your left foot forward. Then he moved his left foot backwards, while you brought your right foot forward, both moving them to the side and then closing with its partnering feet. Thus, completing the square.

Reluctantly Mattheo loosens his hold on you, as he stepped back. You step back from his hold, your hands coming to rest at your sides. Looking each other in the eyes, you see something unfamiliar flash in his eyes. But he bows to you, cutting eye contact. In a daze of mixed emotions, you curtsy back.

With reality coming back, you felt like there was no air in the room. Standing back up you try to take a deep breath but struggled. Feeling a panic rising in you, you gather up your skirt and quickly move from the dance floor and out of The Great Hall. It was all too much. You would rather have kept Mattheo at arm’s length.

That’s funny, as you just did. Your mind taughtened you. For you had just been dancing at arm’s length.

Exiting into a courtyard not far from The Great Hall, you held your head in your hands while taking a deep breath of cold fresh air. Releasing it slowly, you tried to work out what just happened. Your heart ached with a mix of happy and sad. Your mind a mess from all that has happened so far tonight. The one thing ringing in your mind was Mattheo, the one person who hurts you so much. Even if it was unintentionally.

“Bloody hell!” Huffed an all too familiar voice. “Why did you take off (Y/N/N)?!”

Mattheo had been oblivious of your leaving the dance floor till Lorenzo called out to him. Upon seeing your form missing before him, Lorenzo pointed in the direction you had taken off. And he took off in chase, not second guessing the choice to follow you. He heard Daphne call his name, but no doubt Lorenzo stopped her and would entertain her a little longer. All Mattheo worried about was you.

He watched you quickly walk before him; he did call out to you, but you ignored him. Coming to the entrance to the courtyard, he was greeted with the sight of you, standing with your back to him with hands on your head while looking up breathing slowly. Something told him it was some level of anxiety that had you making an escape. But he couldn’t help huffing out what he said to you.

“Matty…” you sighed. “Please, leave me be. Go back to the ball” you practically pleaded. It broke his heart.

“Talk to me” he took a step closer before stopping himself.

You laughed at his words. “There is nothing to talk about…not until you work out what you did”.

“I know what I did…” he said softly. “I’ve known since it happened”.

Your hands dropped from your head, slowly you turned around to face him with a hurt look upon your face. It hurt him to see you like this, it felt like that hurt was more than just from the other week’s hang out. You didn’t say anything, waiting for the boy before you to continue.

Mattheo took a deep breath, readying himself. “What Theodore said to you, how…pathetic” – he struggled to get the word out – “people would think you were if you didn’t have a date. And I am so sorry for agreeing with him”.

“Why did you agree with him then?” You questioned, guarding yourself to try and save yourself.

Mindlessly Mattheo ran a hand through his curls. “I was stupid. I didn’t want Theodore to turn his sights on me, teasing and running me down. But I hurt you instead. The one person who I hold close”.

The one person who I hold close… You felt warmth rise in you, but you told yourself it was because you were friends. That is all.

“Don’t say that” you pleaded, “don’t say you hold me close. It only gets my hopes up” you said softly, tears pricking your eyes.

Without a thought, Mattheo crossed over to stand before you. He wrapped his hands around your upper arms softly, subconsciously making sure you wouldn’t run from him again. Concern washed over his face as he looked you in the eyes. Everything Theodore said coming back to him.

“You are the one person I hold close (Y/N), you are the only person to be there for me. To help me study, to check on my mental state, to kick my ass if I step out of line” he chuckled. “Don’t ever doubt how highly I think of you”.

You shook your head. “I’m not that good a person…”

“Yes, you are” he pulled you closer to him. “Why do you say you aren’t?”

This was it, the moment of make or break.

“My intentions weren’t always innocent…” you started looking him deep in the eyes. “Sure, we are friends but over time things…changed. And I wanted more of your time”.

“Well, all you had to say was you wanted to spend more time with me” Mattheo butted in.

You shook your head. “Not like that…I saw how you were with other girls. Flirting and being your charming self. I was jealous of them. Then you would bring them around the group, lessening my time with you because you were focused on them”.

Mattheo swallowed. Hating to hear how you felt. Knowing he only did it to distract himself from you.

“Then this ball happened. Stupid me hoping, wishing you would ask me. That’s why in the courtyard I hinted at going on my own. Again, hoping you would ask me. But you asked Daphne…I wasn’t going to come tonight, you know?”

Hearing how you hoped for him to ask you was like a punch to the gut, bringing the guilt he felt back full force. “I-I didn’t know…” Mattheo breathed, hands dropping from your arms in thought.

That movement hit you hard, making you think he was pulling back from you. That he didn’t care for you. You felt a tear escape and make its way down your face, feeling rejected. Your shoulders started to shake while you tried to hold back the tears. Mattheo looked to you, only to see you shake. Thinking you were cold; Mattheo quickly removed his jacket before wrapping it around your shoulders. He pulled the jacket tight in front of you, you looked to the boy in confusion. He on the other hand looked at you with worry and care. Silently he was waiting for you to continue.

“Yeah…well I wasn’t going too; Enzo didn’t even know. But when I spoke to him earlier, I couldn’t bring myself to say I was not going. I didn’t expect him to offer to be my date, but I am grateful he did. He has made tonight bearable”.

Jealousy flashed in Mattheo’s eyes. But they softened when he saw a tear escape your eye, your second tear, before bringing his hand up and gently wiped it away. Both of you looked at the other, savouring this moment. Mattheo moved to cup your cheek with his hand, without missing a beat you leant into the warmth, all the while never breaking eye contact. Without missing a beat, Mattheo leant in and tenderly kissed your lips.

The kiss was gentle, innocent. He noted how soft your lips were, and a tad cold from the night air. Reluctantly, he pulled back and observed your reaction. Shock evident on your adorable face.

“Forgive me (Y/N/N). Forgive me for flirting and entertaining other girls, for parading them around you. Forgive me for spending less time with you, and for agreeing with Theordore’s idiotic notions” Mattheo confessed and pleaded. “And, most of all, forgive me for not being your date tonight. As I would have rather spent my night with you, then anybody else”.

You searched his eyes, looking for any sign that him or his words weren’t genuine. But all you saw was sadness, begging and hope. Not what you would usually see with the Slytherin heart throb. He was baring his all to you, and only you. So, you made your decision.

You raised up on your tippy toes, one hand grasping at Mattheo’s shirt, before you lent in to kiss him. As soon as your lips touched his, he knew you forgave him. No words were needed at this point. He leant down, releasing you from the uncomfortable position of standing on your tippy toes. Mattheo pressed his lips firmer to your own, but not enough it hurt. Soon he slowly pulled back, taking in the tender look upon your face, as you opened your eyes, that you don’t remember closing.

“I have liked you for years now” Mattheo said softly, afraid being too loud would burst this bubble around you both. “But I have been scared you didn’t like me, or it would ruin our friendship”.

You softly smiled at him, understanding how he felt. “I have liked you for years too…”

A bright smile formed on his sinful lips. “Then let us rectify it, what do you say?”

All you could do was nod your head. And once more Mattheo leant in and captured your lips, only this time it was a little more ungraceful. Which made you laugh. And to retaliate to your laughter did the boy before you poke your sides, making you squeal in dislike. Before long he was chasing you around the courtyard, you trying to escape his pokes and tickling. When he finally caught you, Mattheo spun you around before drawing you close.

That was the moment you knew you would have to thank Lorenzo. And it was the start of your personal relationship with Mattheo Riddle.

#mattheo riddle x you #mattheo x reader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo

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scribble-dribble-writes · 5 months

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The boy with the freckles

Pairing: Alex Walter x female reader

Context: Alex is in college but his past still haunts him and then he meets you

>>>

———

Being fifteen felt like yesterday, but it was years ago.

Alex woke up with a groan, the new day didn’t bring anything new. It reminded him of his past more than he would have liked. In his last year at college, he felt the scars of his teens come alive to haunt him.

It was tumultuous and panic filled, nightmares of that moment he came to know Jackie had left without a word. His ability to place his trust in people had faded because if his own brother could betray him time and time again, why wouldn’t a stranger?

He squinted his eyes at the sunlight that crept through into his dark room. He dragged his cover over his head. It was hard work, getting to silence the thoughts in his head. He was a work in progress, he was aware of all the areas he had to be mindful of.

He had to remind himself he was his own person. He had to become secure, to know that he was enough as he is. That the love he gave away for free was actually priceless. That Kylie breaking off their friendship was so she could heal and he had no control over it. He had to come to terms with it, that life changed and so should he.

This dorm room felt huge or maybe it only felt like that since he was alone. He didn’t have Nathan sharing his room or Isaac yelling down the hallway. He could just rot beneath these sheets and no one would know.

But as he slumped in his bed, contemplating if he should skip calculus, there was a knock on the door.

He let it pass. Most cases it would be other students coming by to drop invitations to parties. But there was another knock and he pulled away his blanket to see the faint slit of shadow underneath the door.

“Who is it?”, he yelled out to see the shadow feet shuffle before answering.

“Sorry to bother you but I was told to meet you if I wanted to join the gaming club.”, he heard a voice.

He got out of bed in an instant. He would recognise that tone anywhere. He searched for a shirt as he pulled it over his head to then run past the mirror to make sure his face was alright.

It wasn’t, his hair was a mess, the sunlight had made his freckles stand out. On days like these he wished he looked more like Cole. The only ‘effect’ he had with people was off putting.

“I’ll probably come by another time.”, he heard the dejection in your voice as you began to move away and it threw him into overdrive.

He couldn’t care less about his appearance.

He reached for the door knob and yanked it open, his muddy green eyes catching yours. His throat ran dry, he froze.

He felt like he was fifteen again, not twenty three.

He watched you like he was trying to memorise the brush strokes on a painting he could never get up close. The dark curls of your hair, the deep tan in your skin, the flush of colour in your cheeks and your magnetic eyes.

There he stood, as though life had thought him nothing.

He didn’t know what to say.

He noticed you look away and the skeletons in his closet broke loose.

He was unravelling, his mind convincing him that you could see right through him.

He had to act fast, to work through this, so he stuck out his hand.

“Hi, I’m Alex Walter.”, he winced as he said it. He could see himself from your gaze. He sounded stupid.

But to his surprise, you took his hand.

“I know.”, you replied as your fingers wrapped around his palm.

“You’re the boy with the freckles.”, he heard you say and it made his cheeks flush.

“Ah yes, my only defining quality.”, he sighed as his smile faded.

He knew where this was going. It reminded him of who he wasn’t like. That this was his effect.

He let go of your hand as he folded his arms, he couldn’t help it, the way his body became defensive, ready to hide away.

He had done this before, give away his best in the hopes of a little attention so now he fought against it.

“Makes me stick out like a sore thumb.”, he shrugged his shoulders as he caught the change in your expression.

“Oh no, I didn’t mean to be rude.”, you panicked. He was taller than you with his toned arms crossed across his chest. You could tell the glimmer in his eye had vanished, now he looked at you as though he was seeing a ghost.

“I..”, you had lost your words. Where had all your confidence gone?

Your gaze shifted to catch a glimpse of him. His bed head hair mussed like he was a crazy scientist, his eyes reminding you of the meadows back home and his freckles that haunted your dreams, tempting you to reach up and touch his cheek.

“I just think it makes you look beautiful.”, you said, not realising the step you had taken towards him or that his eyes softened with that glow again.

His gaze dipped to your lips just as you looked up to see him.

He was incorrigible, just like his brother. Cause here he was feeling that blissful sense of warmth fill his heart as much as he had tried to run from it.

“Do you?”, he whispered before he could catch himself

“I…”, you were about to respond to his question when he shifted his weight and the moment broke.

“Do you want to come by to a club event today?”, he changed the question.

You thought it was for the best. Alex Walter deserved someone who wasn’t a wreck like you.

He was a coward. All those moments of convincing himself to build up his courage to take on a new adventure had all boiled down to nothing, cause truth be told he was scared.

He was scared of all the love he held for you.

#alex walter #my life with the walter boys #Alex Walter x you #Alex Walter fix #Alex Walter x reader

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seratopia · 10 months

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hobie brown x reader (fluff) - eyeliner → she/her pronouns!

hobie loves asking you to do eye makeup for him

"Sweets! C'mere for a sec!"

Your ears perk up when you hear Hobie from the other room, amidst slathering on a moisturizer onto your face.

"Hold on! I'm doing skincare!" You exclaim, hoping he heard you.

"C'mon already!" Hobie yells, and you fight every urge to roll your eyes as you rub in the last bit of your face lotion.

"Okay, okay!"

Hobie smirks when you dip into his bedroom, reaching out his hands to beckon you closer. The fluffy lounge set you're in makes him want to handle you more, his fingers subconsciously drawing in towards you.

You stick out like a sore thumb against the different shades of black in his room, studded belts and punk magazines scattered on the ground. Lazily, he's seated on the edge of his bed, his worn-out guitar sprawled across his charcoal-black sheets.

Those silver-ringed hands slip onto the curves of your waist, snaking their way up your back to tug you closer to him. You almost shiver at the feeling of so much metal. Cockily, he stares at your face, cheekily dragging you so that his face his a hair close to your chest.

"What is it, Hobie?" You ask, smoothing your fingers through his kinky hair. Hobie likes it when you trace your thumb over all of his piercings.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Hobie pulls out an eyeliner pen, flipping it smoothly through his fingers. Hobie chuckles a little, squeezing at the fat of your sides. There's a glint in his eye; excitement.

"Y'always talk about puttin' makeup on me, so I'm givin' you a try."

Hobie's smirk widens when he sees you light up in excitement, allowing you to slip the eyeliner pen from his fingers.

"Right now?" You ask, and Hobie squeezes you. He nods, shoving his face right up at you to emphasize.

"Do an edgy look for me, yeah? Don't be afraid t'smudge it a li'l."

So, while Hobie sits at the edge of his bed, he indulgently allows himself to wrap his arms around you, tilting his head upwards so you can paint on the makeup properly. You're parked right in the gap between his legs, closing in the little distance you have with Hobie to perfect the look.

While you stand there, bracing Hobie's face with one hand, he just takes it upon himself to stare at your concentrated expression. He hates to admit but he loves the close proximity.

"Hobie, you gotta close your eyes for me to do it."

The boy shuts his eyes closed, flinching just the tiniest bit when the tip of the pen first meets his skin. You build up a fine line at the outer corner of his eyelid, making it an effort to upturn the wing just the slightest bit.

For the last part, you draw a somewhat messy line underneath his lower lash line, smearing black onto only the outer side. Taking your finger, you smudge the black while its still wet, blurring out the line until whats left under his eye looks like black shadow.

Hobie resists every urge to open his eyes, every nerve screaming at him to keep them shut. For now, he makes due with what he can, squishing a little too close to your butt, or running his thumbs over where your rib cage is.

"I finished the first eye, wanna see?" You ask.

He opens his eyes back up, relishing the sigh of you until he has to close them again. You step away elsewhere to search for a good-sized mirror, and Hobie reluctantly lets go.

You come back with a hand mirror, and Hobie feels his eye itch just a little, probably from the eyeliner. You hand him the mirror, and it makes you a little nervous. At the end of the day, you just want him to like it.

You watch as Hobie examines the first eye, tilting his face from side to side with a smile forming on his mouth.

"Wow, y'did a nice job. I like the smudging right 'ere." Hobie explains, pointing his finger up to his under eye.

You smile, taking the mirror from his hand so you could continue the other eye.

"Y'know... I think I might ask'ya to do this more often." Hobie says, mindlessly tapping his fingers against your back. The way you handle his face almost makes him melt.

"You're good at makeup."

You chuckle a little, swiping the pen away to press a gentle kiss to Hobie's forehead. The way he smiles is so cute, how you can feel his cheeks warm under your fingertips.

"If you wanted to be with me, you could'a just asked, Hobie." You giggle, gently poking the corner of his other eyelid with the pen.

"I'm serious!" Hobie laughs, his eyes still closed. "I look like Cooper, y'know who Cooper is?"

"The guy that gave you a spare guitar string?" You ask.

"Yeah, he's a good man, had this really wicked eyeliner on."

With a final swoop of your wrist you finish his other eye, your vision ping-ponging between the two wings to make sure they're symmetrical.

"Done!" And you hand Hobie the mirror again, intently watching his expressions. Again, he tilts his head from side to side, an impressed smile on his face. It looks really good on him, perfect for one of his shows.

"Wow, sweets, this is really sick. Bet I'd give Cooper a run for his money, yeah?" Hobie says, standing up from his bed. You giggle into his chest when he pulls you in, repaying you for the earlier kiss with one on the crown of your head.

"You think so?" You ask, and Hobie nods.

"Get dressed and I can take us to The Crown, bet Cooper's there havin' a drink or two." He cockily states, making you playfully roll your eyes. You're expecting him to show up Cooper, pridefully pointing to his eyes to say, "Yeah, my girl did that."

"I'd like that." You say, untangling yourself from Hobie to search for something on the floor to wear. You leave some of your clothes in his room anyway. He lets go of you, watching you skim through his wardrobe.

"How 'bout that l'il dress, the short one you always like? We can match." Hobie suggests, placing his hands underneath his head and leaning back into his bed.

"It's all the way over at my flat." You reply, and Hobie springs back up, already pulling his spider mask out of his worn-out vest pocket.

"I can go get it, if you want."

"I think you want it more than I do, Hobie." You shrug, Hobie already a third of his way out the window.

"Be back in a sec!"

#hobie brown #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #across the spiderverse #atsv #atsv x reader #atsv hobie #reader insert #xreader #x reader #fluff #romance #hate the am #hate the pm #hate labels #seratopia writes ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

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chryblossomjjk · 2 years

Text

practice (pt. 2) | jjk

⇢ PAIRING: fuckboy!jk x inexperienced reader

⇢ RATING/GENRE: m/18+ | college au, fwb, smut, fluff, angst

⇢ WC: 8.1k

⇢ WARNINGS: implied family issues, photography major jk in full effect, casual titty sucking (lol), oral sex (f receiving), ass eating and motorboating?, handjob, unprotected sex (crowd boos and throws tomatoes), a bit of spanking, talk of sex toys, orgasm denial, forced orgasm, slight dom and sub oc, slight sub and dom jk, shower head as vibrator (everyone w a clit has done this pls-), some manhandling, anal play, shower floor sex !!!, very slight cum eating, creampie, oc reflects on how far she’s fallen, oc still hates men, maybe unrequited love, maybe not

⇢ SUMMARY: everything is wet. you and jungkook tangled up on the shower floor. your eyes afterwards.

⇢ NOTES: yOu’Re WeLcOmE rEaDeRs. this was only going to be a one shot but i was manipulated into making it a three part series bc of u all >:((! lol kidding love u babies! tbh i'm a bit disappointed with this piece. i really loved it when i outlined it but for some reason it just didn’t come together how i would’ve hoped. i tried my best guys rip. hopefully part three will be better. anyways, feedback is greatly greatly appreciated!! thank you again for all the engagement on part one if you’re new pls go read it and check out my masterlist here. ALSO HUGE THANK YOU TO MY BBY @here4btsfics FOR BETAING LEGIT COULDN'T HAVE DONE IT WITHOUT U!!

⇢ SERIES MASTERLIST

“You look miserable.”

You were miserable.

The air at the frat party was suffocating. Sweaty bodies grinding against one another, nudging your shoulder as they shimmied by. The strobe lights made your vision splotchy and the blaring speakers had your head pounding. Plus, you could already feel the makeup sinking into your pores. An oil cleanse is needed asap.

“You look like a hot mess,” you snap at the boy in front of you. His stringy bangs stick to his clammy forehead, poking out from underneath his black bucket hat. The neck of his dark gray t-shirt is stretched to one side from the pull of petite, manicured fingers. Pink lip gloss is smeared across his lips, making a glittery trail down his neck. Sore red marks already blooming. “It’s late.”

“It’s only like-” Jungkook looks at his watch. “1 a.m.”

“Yeah, late. I have a test in the morning.”

“Go home.”

That was the problem. The two only people you really knew at the party, Mina and Taehyung, snuck off into a grimy bathroom to fuck eachother’s brains out. That was an hour ago. How long could they really go at it? You explain this to Jungkook with a sigh. “If they’re not back in the next twenty minutes, I’m going to flip.”

“Don’t be a buzzkill.” Jungkook chuckles, plopping down on the brown corduroy couch next to you. A drop of alcohol spills over the edge of his red solo cup, landing right on your bare thigh. “You can’t go by yourself?”

“I’m a woman, Jungkook.”

“Ah, right,” he nods, thumb brushing away the dark liquid on your skin before putting it in his mouth. Goosebumps form instantaneously as you watch in utter shock. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Bambi, but I don’t think a dude would touch you with a ten foot pole. You’re kinda fucking scary.”

You glare at him, fluffy brows furrowed into sharp slants. Deep scowl on your shiny pout.

“See?” He laughs, tattooed digits coming up to pinch the baby fat of your cheeks. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

“No,” you huff, slapping his hand away. The subtle touch was enough to feel how surprisingly soft his skin is. “I’ll go get Mina and Taehyung-” you scoof, getting up from the tattered material under you.

“Chill.” His fingers catch the ruffled hem of your dress, knuckles brushing against the back of your thigh.

The audacity.

“Let them do their thing. I’ll take care of you.”

“Aren’t you in the middle of-” your eyes flicker over to Nayeon, who had been attached to Jungkook’s neck all night prior. She’s on the opposite side of the room, swaying back and forth, watching him cautiously. No doubt wondering if the illusive man had slipped from her grasp, onto the next girl that caught his fleeting attention. “-A thing?”

“Nayeon is cool.” He glances over his shoulder, gnawing on the silver ring on the corner of his lip. He nervously rolls the material of your dress between his thumb and index finger. Your eyes widen at the motion. Why was he being so… handsy tonight? “She’ll understand.”

Even from a distance, you can see the disappointed glint in her eyes when he explains that he’s heading out for the night.

The air outside is much nicer. The wind brushes through the cracks in the trees, kissing the leaves with a seemingly soft gust. The brunt of the blow isn’t felt until the wind is gone, and the unsuspecting leaves slowly dwindle to the ground. Confused as to how something so delicate and graceful led to their demise.

“Ugh, fuck,” Jungkook snarls, sticking out his pink tongue after taking a sip of whatever drink he had been nursing. “Shit’s like battery acid.”

You giggle, turning your head to get a better look at him. He looks so pretty in the moonlight. Even prettier than usual, you think. Your eyes dart back to the sidewalk under your feet.

“Here,” he passes the plastic cup towards you. “I can’t drink anymore.”

“Ew, I don’t want your backwash, Jeon.” You scoff, holding your balled fists to your chest in disgust.

“I’ve been known to spit in a mouth every now and then… never had any complaints.”

God, he’s so crude.

“I told you, I have a test to take.”

“Oh please,” he persists. “I take all my tests hungover.”

“What tests?” You surrender, finally accepting the poisonous drink. A quick whiff of the mysterious liquid confirms his earlier sentiments. It was most definitely battery acid. “You’re a photography major.”

“Chug! Chug! Chug!” Jungkook chants, pumping his fist in the air for emphasis.

“Stop peer pressuring me!” You say exasperatedly, words riddled with broken laughter. He’s so insufferably annoying but… weirdly adorable.

He continues, shouting louder until you down the drink in one big gulp, gagging at the putrid aftertaste. He cheers, no concern for the sleeping students who can surely hear his booming voice through their thin dormitory walls.

“I’m a bad influence on you. You’re turning into me.”

“You wish.”

“Not Bambi anymore, hm?” He takes his hat off, ruffling his hair before plopping it onto your head. “Gonna have to call you my baby.”

The breeze does nothing to ease the burning in your cheeks. “You’re an idiot, Jungkook.”

“Oh God… you sound like my parents,” he laughs. It wasn’t the one you had become accustomed to throughout your brief friendship. The high-pitched infectious one that always coaxed a similar sound out of you.

This laugh was sarcastic. Devoid of joy.

“I’m so drunk that you look like ‘em too.”

You glance up from the crushed cup. He looks… sad. You’ve never seen Jungkook sad, or even serious for that matter. His lips are pulled into a tight line, chin covered little dents as he tries to contain his emotions.

Whatever he was feeling, you never want him to feel it again.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing,” he shakes his head, back pressing against the entrance of your building, prepared to push it open for you.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing,” you frown, halting your steps. You can’t leave until that heart wrenching expression stops tainting his features.

“My parents are like… old school,” he shrugs, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “I was so sheltered growing up. I feel like I missed out on a lot and I just… they wanted me to go to law school. Can you believe that? Me? A lawyer?”

Jungkook was a person you never expected to relate to. Sure, you were casual friends, but you chalk that up to circumstance. He just so happened to be a friend of your roommate’s boyfriend. Your interactions up until this point had been playful banter. Nothing incredibly deep.

Honestly, you didn’t even think he was capable of complex emotions.

You feel guilty about that now.

“They sound like mine,” you admit. “They completely tie my worth to my academic success.”

“But you’re good at that. Thinking.” His fingers tap against his temple before rubbing in soothing circles, trying to coax the cogs in his skull to spin. “You’re the most intelligent person I know and I’m not just saying that because I like you.”

“Thank you,” you peep. You’ve always suspected that Jungkook secretly hated you.

Hate is a strong word and you’re very dramatic.

But nothing about your lifestyles are parallel. They’re perpendicular, moving in two completely separate directions. Only crossing paths every now and then.

Too different and incompatible.

“My brain doesn’t work like that- watch your step,” he warns, pointing at a divet between the concrete and tile as you finally step inside.

“I don’t like to think. I like to see. I’m a visual person.” He’s talking with so much passion, hands moving about to show you what his words couldn’t. You watch in awe.

“They don’t get that. Like when I got these,” he holds his inked arm out for your viewing pleasures. “My dad bugged out. ‘You’ll never get a good job with those doodles on your arm.’”

His tone was so exaggerated that you couldn’t help but giggle, shoulder knocking against his as you walked. He laughs too.

“I don’t really give a shit about the future. I care about now. I want to experience everything I can, right now. To me, life is about living in the moment. Photography is literally like-” his eyes squint, darting around the hallway as he looks for the right words. “Like- snapshots of the present.”

He got so carried away that he didn’t realize you had reached your destination. You blink at him.

“I’m sorry.” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That was stupid,”

“No!” You lower your voice immediately, embarrassed at your sudden outburst. “I actually…” You pause, contemplating your next words.

“I wish I was m-”

“I want to be-”

You both pause this time. Jungkook nods his head towards you, giving you the green light to speak first.

“In some ways, I wish I was more like you.”

“Yeah.” He hums with a soft smile, leaning against your doorframe. So delicate and graceful. “I was gonna say the same thing.”

You gulp, completely and utterly rattled. Your shaky hands fiddle with your keys, struggling to fit them into the lock.

Why are you so nervous all of a sudden? It’s just Jungkook.

He laughs, steadying your jittery hand with his own and helping you slot the metal in.

“Thank you for walking me home,” you say meekly, avoiding eye contact as you enter the dark room. “For what it’s worth… I think your tattoos are really cool.”

“And I think you’re really cute when you’re flustered,” he smirks, backing away from the doorway and waving at you. “Goodnight, Bambi.”

Much to your dismay, the compliment makes your cheeks heat up.

“Jungkook, wait! Your hat!”

“Nah, keep it!” He shouts down the hallway. “It looks better on you anyway!”

“Jungkook, stop,” you whine, back arching off your white cotton duvet. The soft tongue twisting around your nipple makes it incredibly difficult to focus on your cracked phone screen. “This episode is important. We meet Sailor Mars.”

“Sorry, Bambi,” He grunts, wet mouth reluctantly popping off your stiff bud. “Got distracted.”

It’s been a little under two month of this. Of you and him.

Having sex, exchanging sweet words and touches, going back to just friends. Rinse and repeat.

Blissful peaks and exhausting valleys. A rollercoaster of emotions with no logical endpoint in sight. You tried not to think about that part often though.

It was easy to distract yourself from the truth when Jungkook brought you lunch during the gap in his classes, or when he agreed to watch Sailor Moon in its entirety without much pushing. Atleast you could pretend he was yours in those little moments of affection.

You huff, pulling the crumpled t-shirt, his t-shirt, back over your chest. Your heart was still pounding from your last round an hour or so ago, and him casually sucking on your nipple while streaming a cartoon didn’t help.

“She’s your favorite?” He questions, propping his head up on the heel of his hand as he lays on his side. You nod, gaze flickering over to him. His previous activities had made his teddy bear headband slouch forward. You use one of the plush brown ears to pull it back into place.

Although sweet and attentive, Jungkook wasn’t immune to the innate disadvantages that came with being a man.

Like not knowing how to wash his face properly.

You watched in horror a couple weeks ago as scrubbed his face in your bathroom sink. Bangs and all. An order for a cute bear headband, the same brand as your kitty ones, was placed immediately. The way he smiled when you gave it to him would forever be burned into your memory.

“Makes sense,” he hums. “Mars is the planet of war.”

You side-eye him, knowing exactly what he was implying with that snide comment. “Just watch the show, Jeon.”

“I am.” His wavering attention turns back to your phone. “I love 90's animation. It was basically all done by hand, see?” He points at the scene behind Usagi; a blue watercolor sky fading into a baby pink. Clearly hand drawn. It was a detail you never noticed before.

“And the saturation is higher so the colors look brighter.”

“Your major is showing,” you say, using an eye roll to suppress the smile dancing on your lips. You don’t want to disturb the hydrating sheet mask on your face, resting in just the right position. You also don’t want to clue him in on how cute you find his artistic rambles.

“Speaking of that,” he laughs, resting his cheek against your chest, unable to stay in one position for too long. He’s like that in the bedroom too. You sigh as dry bits of his face mask crumble off his temple and onto the black fabric. Baby steps. “You’re still coming to the showcase, right?

Jungkook’s big end-of-semester project was to create a photography portfolio on a topic of his choosing. There was going to be a cute little gallery event to display the work of him and his classmates. It was hard not to get your hopes up when he invited you.

That was a sign that maybe, just maybe, the feeling was mutual. Right?

“Right,” you answer him curtly. “Now tell me what topic you picked, demon.”

“Nah, you’ll have to be a good girl and wait,” he grins teasingly, lifting up to steal an airy peck. “Besides, I need to get one more sho-”

Ding.

“Thank fuck!” He groans, springing up at the sound of your timer. “This feels like sandpaper. What the fuck are you doing to my face?”

“Oh, don’t be a baby,” you scold, pressing pause and tossing your phone onto your bed. He’d have to meet your favorite character some other time, clearly too distracted and antsy tonight to focus.

“Bambi,” he says indignantly, pointing straight ahead at Mina’s floor mirror with wide doe eyes. His skin is cracked and painted gray. The reflection is startling to the skincare newbie. “Look at how dry this shit is!”

“Jungkook, it’s supposed to look like that. It’s a clay mask.” You laugh, peeling your more gentle one off and tossing it into the little trash bin near your nightstand. “You have oily skin, so it’ll help clear out your pores and reduce excess sebum production.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” he laughs, climbing out of bed and rolling his shoulders, arms numb from laying down too long. He’s topless. You can’t help but eye the way his back muscles pop out with every circular motion.

How yummy.

“Do you mind if I hop in the shower?”

He doesn’t need to ask. Jungkook has become a permanent fixture in your dorm, like the color pink or your twin bed. Whenever Mina is gone, he’s there.

His presence is also similar to your bed in the sense that it doesn’t extend past the four walls of your room and mind.

A bed is warm, though. Comforting. And you long for it when you’re not in it.

That longing leads your wandering feet into the steamy bathroom.

“Jungkook,” you peep softly, knocking gently on the glass door before sliding it open. “Can I join you?”

The unexpected noise makes him jump, a large palm hitting his bare chest with a wet smack. Once his mind registers the sound as your voice though, his body language softens. Your voice so sweet and melodic in his ears. “I would never turn down an opportunity to see your tits. Wet.”

‘You could see them more often if you just fell in love with me already,’ you think to yourself, peeling off your cherry-printed thong and oversized shirt before stepping into the warm shower.

He looks so dreamy in the sauna of your shower.

Your pupils pause when they land on the unbelievably minuscule nipples that you always tease him for. His cheeks and chest are a soft baby pink. Your favorite color. Whether it’s from the scalding water or him nailing you into the rickety mattress earlier, you can’t tell. All the fog makes him look even more heavenly than usual, like an angel descending from the clouds.

You’re down bad.

There’s a speck of clay still on his chin, covering that little brown freckle you love so much. You cup the side of his face, thumb swiping away the leftover mask. He leans into your palms, lips chasing your finger to press a soft kiss on the pad of it.

Why must he make things so difficult for you?

“I got it,” he mumbles, snatching the pink face cloth from your hand and reaching for what his peanut brain thinks is body wash.

“Jungkook, that’s shampoo.”

“What? No way,” he shakes his head confidently, picking up the slippery green bottle and reading the label with squinted eyes.

You were right, of course.

“Oh, I fucked up then” He smells like lavender and mint. The scent fills your nostrils when he grabs the actual body wash from the bamboo wall shelf, suctioned to the tile near your head. It's the same fragrance of your very fancy, very expensive, shampoo.

You glance at the bottle. It’s nearly empty.

“Jungkook! You’re such an idiot!”

“It’s not that deep, Bambi. Relax,” he chuckles nonchalantly.

“It’s not funny!” Read the shower, Jeon. Haircare is no laughing matter. You cross your arms over your chest, titty-viewing privileges revoked until further notice. “That stuff is expensive, Jungkook. It’s Paul Mitchell...”

“Not Paul Mitchell,” he humors you, bottom lip jutting out dramatically. His shiny silver lip ring and eyebrow piercing do nothing to aid his faux innocence. “I’ll buy you another bottle, I promise. I used it because it reminds me of you. Smells so good.”

Jungkook squeezes the soap onto the pink cloth before running it over your body, lathering the vanilla-scented bubbles on your skin. Hands caressing every part of you so gently, as if you’re the most fragile thing he’s ever dealt with. Afraid to break you in his careless and clumsy palms.

He’s cleaning you so tenderly that it makes your lovesick heart pound.

He’s diligent too, squatting down awkwardly to wash your manicured toes, balancing your foot on top of his knee. He lets out an airy laugh when your foot jerks under his sneaky tickling fingers.

Even on your most intimate parts, his touch stays pure and delicate. He cups your breasts, cleaning under them and around them. The damp cotton barely ghosts over your nipples. He’s never been shy to pinch, suck, or even bite them before. It doesn’t feel right to him in this context though. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfy or ruin the moment by doing or saying something dirty.

Sometimes, Jungkook makes you feel so… important. So cared for.

You cling to him when he washes your back, wrapping your arms around him and nuzzling your face into the solid surface of his chest. You stay like that for a moment. Holding eachother under the warm stream of the shower. Savoring it while he’s still with you like this.

Blissful peaks.

The gentle swirls and shapes he draws against your skin lulls you into a trance. All you can hear is his heart beating.

It’s so close but so out of reach.

You count the seconds between the faint thumps. So distracted and content that your ears block out the sharp sounds of water hitting tile. All you hear is him.

Jungkook. Jungkook. Jungkook.

A quick swat to your ass brings you back to reality.

You peep out a small moan, jolting forward from the impact.

“You like when I do that,” he deduces, the corner of his lip pulling into a crooked smirk as he massages your stinging behind. “When I have my way with you. Don’t you, Bambi?”

You nod, cheek still smushed into his wet chest. How humiliating.

“You’re a lot more submissive than I thought you’d be.”

“You thought about me before we started hooking up?” You counter, voice taking on a teasing tone to hide the flutter in your chest. He wanted you too. The thought was reassuring.

“Mm, maybe.” His hardening cock, brushing right against your inner thigh, tells you the answer. “The version of you in my head was confident, though. Knew what she wanted and took it.”

He whispers the last part, gaze floating down to your lips and licking his bottom one in preparation. The telltale signs of an incoming smooch. You close your eyes, expecting a sweet kiss-

“I get that you’re still learning how to fuck,” he shrugs. “So no biggie.”

Asshole. He's taunting you.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s not a bad thing…” he coos, patronizingly. “Just the Bambi I know would never let a man tell her what to do.”

Any implication of you being compliant and passive, especially to a male counterpart, would normally send you into a rampage. He never understood how someone so kind could also be so viscous. When angry, you were comparable to a fire-breathing dragon, destroying villages and burning people alive with your blazing articulate tongue. Jungkook would never tell you that though, lest you think he was calling you ugly and reptilian.

That couldn’t be further from the truth, because he found it so fucking sexy when you were mad. And the bubbles of irritation were already brewing in your stomach.

You’re falling right into his trap.

“I don’t,” you argue through gritted teeth. “And I always take what I want.”

“That’s not true,” Jungkook tutts his tongue at you. “You want me so bad and you haven’t done anything about it.”

Your heart drops. Is it that obvious you have a big fat crush on him?

“Why don’t you show me a little bit, then?” He huffs, voice pleading and whiny. He grabs your hand and guides it around his semi-hard member, engulfing your’s in his tattooed one. “Touch me how you want.”

Oh, he meant sexually. You let out a sigh of relief.

Even partially soft, his cock feels heavy in your hand. Your fingertips barely meet around the shaft, pink mushroom tip poking out of your tiny fist. Two months. Two months of seeing his cock every three to five business days, and you’re still intimidated by the sheer size of him. How could you not be? He was massive.

He knocks his wet forehead against yours. His gaze is trained on his growing cock, tongue fiddling with his lip ring as he focuses. So visual.

Hm. It could be fun to take control. Especially when he was practically begging for it.

Jungkook prefers to be the pleasing partner. Foreplay usually consists of him licking and touching every square inch of you until you’re squirming. You’ve never seen him so needy and desperate before.

Most dicks were ugly. Monstrous even. In the flesh, you’ve seen a whopping total of three penises throughout your lifetime, Jungkook’s included. A small sample size for your age. But you’ve watched enough porn to know that they were anything but aesthetically pleasing.

You’ve always been drawn to the finer, pretty things in life.

And his is so so pretty.

It’s not overly vascular. The veins running along his shaft are subtle, you can only feel them when you give him a hard tug. His skin is smooth and supple. Pelvis clean-shaven. Despite his little skincare mishaps, you can know he takes good care of himself. It’s a quality you found extremely attractive.

Languidly stroking up, you twist your wrist over the swollen tip. Your grip isn’t as tight as he likes and you know it, purposely dragging over the upward curve with an unbearably loose fist. The running water makes the glide easy as you pump him languidly, stopping at the crown and squeezing to give him a little relief.

He peeps out a dreamy sigh when a pearl of dew leaks out of the slit. You coo at the sight, using your thumb to smear the wetness around his sensitive head.

A dirty Jungkook-type thought pops into your head.

“Put it in your mouth,” you command, holding your glistening digit in front of his big nose.

He hesitates for a moment. It’s fair. You were literally asking him to taste his own precum. His black pupils dart to your thumb, over to your face, and then back to your thumb.

Has he never done this before?

He’s apprehensive, but fiercely competitive to the core. Never one to turn down a challenge. You’ve known that since you met him, when he nearly had a meltdown over losing a simple game of beer pong.

He takes the pad of your thumb into his pink pucker, sucking on it like a sugary lollipop. His lustful eyes lock onto yours when his tongue just barely grazes over your skin. They’re pleading, so desperate for your approval.

“Good boy… now spit.”

You feel his cock twitch against your stomach, wet tip leaving a sticky trail to your belly button. He obliges, letting a string of spit land in your palm. You hum contently, wrapping your hand around his shaft again. Coating him in his own saliva.

“I love that,” he moans out, voice so turned on that you have to clench your thighs together for friction. They’re already clammy with arousal.

“Love what?” You tease. “Praise or my hand?”

“Both,” he admits with no hesitation, hips recoiling and subtly thrusting into your palm. He slicks back his bothersome bangs to get a better view.

He looks so good with his forehead out.

“Does that feel good?”

He nods halfheartedly, tunnel-visioned in on the way you’re just fucking milking him. The nasty wet clicking noises filling the air only make his impending orgasm build up quicker. Jungkook has always prided himself on his stamina, but he’s already feeling that overwhelming pooling in his balls.

“Are you gonna cum?”

“Yeah, Bambi...” He sighs, mouth dropping when he’s done speaking. Thick brows knitting together. Face contorting in the way it always does when he’s about to bust.

You tug him hard and fast until he’s teetering on the point of no return-

And then you stop.

The muscles at the base of his cock contract and expand, making it bounce up against his pelvis. The creamy skin at the base transitions into a vibrant flush at the tip. So swollen and angry. So ready to cum.

“Fuck!” He shouts, slamming the side of his fist against the tile wall, snarled teeth look too ferocious to be bunny-like. The hooded gaze he shoots you is scary, even angrier than his cock.

It looks painful.

You feel bad, truly.

But it was a small glimpse of the pain you felt when he blue-balled your love and affection.

“I cum first,” you taunt with a smirk, pressing a gentle peck on his lips. He doesn’t reciprocate, pout cemented in a firm straight line. “Then you.”

His tattooed knuckles sneak under your wet hair, curling around the back of your neck. The other is grips on your shoulder, trimmed nails digging into the delicate skin as he shoves you forward. You gasp, bouncing breasts squished against the shower door, cool slippery glass brushing against sensitive nipples.

Jungkook usually takes the lead during sex, gently coaching you through the motions until you’re both silly-smiled and starry-eyed in post orgasm bliss. You’ve never seen him so domineering. A sharp juxtaposition to the whiny boy who was desperately seeking words of affirmation a few minutes ago.

His duality has you embarrassingly wet.

“I’m sorry,” he grunts, nuzzling into your shoulder and placing a few gentle, apologetic pecks on your skin. “I don’t mean to be so abrasive.”

Abrasive.

That was a big word, for him atleast. His vocabulary has expanded a bit. The thought makes you gleam.

“You’re just-” The words are broken off by an airy chuckle. “I’m so fucked.”

There’s no time for you to mull over the hidden meanings of his words. He nudges your legs apart with his knee, muscular thigh pressing right into your sopping sex. You moan at the contact, grinding down on it until it’s rudely snatched away.

“Isn’t someone greedy?” His voice is muffled, lips preoccupied with kissing a messy trail down your spine before dropping to his knees behind you. Right on the shower floor. “You’ve already cum. Twice.”

You had sex just a few hours. And he did indeed, make you cum twice. Once on his fingers and once around his cock.

It wasn't enough, though. Never enough with him.

“Want more...”

“I know you do, just…” His words dissipate when spreads one cheek to the side, distracted by the mesmorising sight of your glistening slit and puckering hole. “Stay still. Let me look at you.”

The lack of sensory information has you on edge. From your position, you can’t see him. Only catching blurry glimpses of a tattooed arm when it extends into your field of vision. It’s hard to hear the nasty declarations that pour out of his mouth over the pitter-patter of water. There’s no perceptible clues that help you predict his next movements. You have to wait until you feel them.

His big hands knead your skin, making the fatty parts jiggle with his thumbs resting under each cheek. “Wow…” he peeps in admiration before shoving his entire face in your ass, vigorously shaking his head side to side.

He’s so lewd.

You squeak when his sneaky tongue pokes out.

“No…”

“Why?”

“That’s so… dirty.” You don’t mean you, of course. Even in the drunkest of states, you could execute a ten step skincare routine flawlessly, facial rollers and all. You were referring to the act.

“I mean… we’re kinda past that, don’t you think?”

You hum a contemplative noise. He had a point.

“Don’t you like it, baby?” A soft kiss is placed against the cinched muscle. “When I play with you like this?”

Baby.

He hasn’t called you that since he walked you home from the party. Your stomach somersaults.

“I love it,” you confess with a sigh.

“Then why is it dirty? I’m just making you feel good, aren’t I?” He coos, placing the pad of his thumb on the untouched area. There’s no pressure behind it, just light strokes around the rim. “I can make you feel so good, if you just let me do what I want.”

What he’s implying is nerve-wracking. Anal play was something you never even considered dabbling in.

“I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

You trust him and you’re consumed by lust, so you give a small nod.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Do whatever you want, Koo… anything.”

There’s a sharp exhale and then soft fingers massaging tight circles on your clit. You relax into the touch. A tried and true method of making you feel good, and hopefully, ease you into the uncharted waters with little tension. Jungkook lets a string of spit fall between your cheeks, knowing you’ll need the extra lubrication.

“Fu- hmm,” you hum through curled lips when his thick thumb slowly prods in, only up to the first knuckle. It’s not as painful as you expected. A little strange and unfamiliar, but the stretch was oddly pleasurable. “S’ good.”

“No one has ever been in here before, right? Only me?”

“Only you.” You mewl, grinding back into his hand. The confession makes him moan. The thought of defiling you, ruining you, does things to him and to his leaking cock.

“Maybe if you’re good, I’ll get you a butt plug.” He pauses, before adding an afterthought. “A small one with a pink gem.”

You don’t respond, enjoying the feeling of his hand too much to speak.

“Yeah,” he hums to himself. “Gonna double dip you one of these days.”

“Koo,” you whine. “Please do something.”

He can’t deny you. Not when there’s those dreamy, desperate hues in your voice. Jungkook spins, sitting on the ground before shuffling backwards until his back is against the shower door. Positioned directly between your legs. Right under your leaking cunt.

“Ride my face,” he whimpers. “Please…”

In your limited experience, and via the data you’ve collected from third-party sources (Mina), guys only ever beg to receive oral sex.

But Jungkook is different. Here he was, fully prepared to devour your pussy like it’s his last meal on death row.

Hopefully the crime committed isn’t breaking your heart.

“Jungkook, you don’t- fuck!” His mouth is on you before you can even finish the sentence. Toned arm wrapped around your thigh, pulling you down onto his thirsty tongue like you’re a refreshing drink on a hot summer day.

The cool metal of his lip ring brushing against your outer lips as he delivered long unhurried licks between them, had your thighs trembling. You were so worked up and he’s barely even touched you.

The position is great, amazing even, but it’s hard to hold him like you want. You twist awkwardly reaching behind you and letting your fingers trace the outline of his sharp jaw. You can literally feel his tongue working under the skin, collecting as much of your sweet dew as possible before swallowing it in big gulps.

The combination of your juices and the running water makes Jungkook-

“Feel like I'm drowning,” he laughs, sending hot breaths into your core.

You peep an apology before standing on your toes, trying to create some breathing room.

“I didn’t tell you to stop.” His free hand grabs your ass, fingertips digging into the plush surface as he pulls you back down. The motion makes his large nose brush against your clit, bulbous tip sneaking under the hood, tickling your most sensitive spot.

“Fuck, baby.” you whine, already feeling a sticky hot climax approaching.

“Don’t be shy.” The thick thumb, still hooked inside of you, begins rocking back and forth, moving your hips in tandem. Encouraging you to grind onto his face. “Use me.”

Despite the assertive facade, you were deeply insecure. You’ve never felt more liberated, more comfortable, than when Jungkook’s hands were on you, though. Caressing every undesirable part of you. Touching you in ways that made you swoon. Completely worshiping you.

With that in mind, you build up the courage to move freely. Humping his face like you do your pillow when you’re alone and needy for him.

You find yourself saying this often with Jungkook, but you’ve never felt so good.

There’s little muffled moans under the sound of the shower. Between the wet strands of hair, you can see his thick brows pulled in at the middle. Features contorted to form that cute little yummy face he makes every time he eats good food. Or in this case, your pussy.

You giggle deliriously, gently pushing back his wet tresses. They’re silky and pliant from your conditioner. Your thumb smoothes over one of his brows in an attempt to tame the angry arch. Afraid to hurt him, you stop immediately when you feel his piercing.

The look he gives you when he peers up at you sends you spiraling. There’s something so raw behind his eyes.

It almost looks like…

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You shout when your orgasm washes over you, hips jerking wildly and uncontrollably. Powerful waves of pleasure run through you. One after the other in rapid succession, leaving your legs shaking and your petite fingers clawing at his scalp.

He doesn’t stop until you make him, with a fistful of hair and a rough yank. Wet lips smacking together as he coos, taking in the sight of the overstimulated body before him. You feel empty when he removes his thumb from your sore hole and climbs to his feet.

“Your mouth,” you whine. “It’s too much.”

“I know,” he hums in agreement, hugging you from behind before continuing with an airy chuckle. “Nayeon told me that I have an oral fixation.”

Nayeon.

Your heart drops at the mention of her name.

Why was he thinking about Nayeon? Especially now, when he was being intimate with you-

‘Don’t overthink it,’ you tell yourself. It was probably just a flippant comment he made without thinking…

“Oh no,” Jungkook groans dramatically, tattooed hand scrubbing over his face in frustration.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, craning your neck to look at him.

“I only brought one condom,” he says in distraught, emphasizing the one like it was the biggest mistake of his life. “And we already used it.”

Hm. Now seems like a good time to ask him the question you’ve been avoiding for weeks.

“Are you sleeping with anyone else?”

An eerie pause fills the air. You don’t like the way he hesitates.

“No… I always use protection anyways… and I just got tested last week.”

You don’t like the way he answers. Almost like he didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t necessarily want to admit the truth either.

You don’t push the matter further. You're afraid that if you do, he’ll drift away. Float onto the next shiny, less complicated, thing that catches his wandering eyes.

“It’s okay. Just fuck me, Jungkook.”

“Are you sure?” He looks at you with wide, sparkly eyes. They appear almost animated, hand drawn in the same style as your favorite cartoon. “We don’t have to. I would never-”

“I want to.”

You just want him.

“Are you on the pill?”

“Mhm.”

He exhales a sigh of relief, head dropping to thank whatever higher power exists for making this happen. The stars aligned to make this happen. He gets to fuck you now. Raw.

When his hands land on your ass, they’re shaky and unorganized. You can’t tell if it’s from adrenal of excitement. His cock is at the perfect angle to slot between your cheeks without the help of his hands. Jungkook pushes them together, rutting his hips into the tight squeeze, moaning softly when his pink tip pokes out at the top.

“No more teasing,” you huff with a pout.

“Put me in then, sweetheart.”

Another term of endearment. You wonder if he’s doing it on purpose. If he knows how you feel about him and is levying that affection against you. Using sweet words to lull you into any situation of his choosing.

You sigh, reaching between your legs. His couch is so touch-starved from the foreplay, the orgasm you denied him, that the contact makes it jump. You rub the engorged head over your clit, flicking it up and down over the swollen nub.

“Thought you said no teasing.” He gruffs, strained and fucked out.

You nod in response, licking your lips as you guide him to your entrance. His heart beating so sternly in his chest that you can feel his pulse in the crown of his cock. So turned out and it’s all because of you.

Your mouth forms an ‘o’ shape when he slides in slowly. You’re both so wet from the shower and your own arousals, that there’s barely any resistance. Just a smooth glide until he’s buried to the hilt. Hushed, needy gasps escaping from both of you.

“Ah- fuck,” he grunts, hips jolting forward even though there’s no more length to give, pelvis mushing into you. You have to brace yourself with flat palms to prevent your head from knocking into the glass. “I’m in love with this pussy…”

The sweet, filthy words make you clench around him.

Jungkook watches with parted lips as he pulls out. Top lip twitching in a snarl when he sees how creamy and shiny you made his cock. You always do, but this is the first time he’s actually witnessing it, feeling it, without any barrier.

“My favorite pussy…” he whispers, gripping your waist as leverage before he starts pounding into you. Closing his eyes to focus on his rhythm, savoring the way your warm, wet, natural ridges feel on his cock

Even from behind, his curve does wonders on your g-spot. The smooth underside deliciously strokes that sweet spot with every deep plunge. Your breasts bounce when his hips crash into yours, making the very tips of your nipples teasingly brushing against the wet glass. The coolness sends tingles through your burning skin.

“When can I really play with you?” He pants. “Use my vibrator until you’re cumming buckets, huh?”

“Whenever we stay at yours…”

He doesn’t respond, leveling you with a simple hum instead.

“Nah, I prefer going to the girl’s place-” Jungkook had slurred to Taehyung, projecting his voice over the static of the party. Loud enough for your unsuspecting ears to pick up the sound. “I feel bad for asking them to leave after, so it just makes things easier.”

That was before you started hooking up, but the memory still stings.

A lightbulb turns on Jungkook’s brain as he watches the running water hit your back. He reaches for the shower head, clicking the silver lever three notches to the left. Jet mode.

The ugliest sob rips though your chest when he places it directly on your clit.

“Jungkook!” The stream is so powerful that it sends you into a panic. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!”

“Yes, you can,” his lips are smushed to your temple, trying to shush your cries. “Gotta practice for the Hitachi, don’t you baby?”

The constant stimulation from the water and his cock makes your orgasm build up much quicker than anticipated. There’s wetness on your cheeks. It's not from the splashing water pummeling directly into your clit. You feel so euphoric and overstimulated that you’re crying. There’s nothing you can do to stop the unbearable pleasure that’s coursing through your veins.

You nearly blackout when you cum. Vision blurry. Hearing fading in and out. Legs giving out underneath you. Jungkook has to catch you, abruptly dropping the shower head to wrap his big arms around your waist before you plummet to the ground in bliss.

When you can support yourself again, he hangs up the forgotten metal, maneuvering you around until you’re facing him. He picks you up with an inked arm hooked under your thighs, free hand grazing over your back in soothing circles.

“I didn’t push you too far, did I?” He asks worriedly.

You shake your head. He did, but you absolutely loved it. You peep when you feel the tip of his cook, still achingly hard, against your backside. “What about you?”

“Don’t worry.”

“No,” you protest. “Want you to cum too.”

He looks at you, gnawing on his bottom lip like he’s contemplating something. “I’ll be quick.”

Jungkook lays you down on the shower floor gently, the same way he does on your twin bed. A grimace laces through your features. Over the last month, you’ve been swamped with homework, putting a wedge in your normal routine. The last time you cleaned out the shower was two whole weeks ago.

Disgusting.

All complaints are forgotten when he’s inside of you, though. You would brace the bacteria and germs to have Jungkook between your legs.

“You’re so pretty,” he huffs, admiring the way your hair fans out across the white porcelain. Leaning forward, Jungkook presses his entire weight on top of you, nuzzling his head into your shoulder. There’s a gust of wind on your shoulder as he breathes in your scent.

The whole atmosphere feels different.

The slow sensual grind of his hips makes you dizzy. You swear you’re hallucinating when you feel his hands graze up your arms, fingers interlocking with yours.

“Look at me.”

You crane your neck, wide eyes meeting his hooded ones. You breath hitches in your throat when you take in his expression. He’s looking at you the same way he did earlier.

If you didn’t know better, you would say he’s looking at you like he’s in love with you.

“I’m close,” he whispers, nudging his forehead against yours. He kisses you so delicately. There’s no heady teeth or rushed tongues. Just a sweet, soft kiss. “Where do you want it?”

“Inside.”

When he cums, it’s gentle and low. His hips never falter from their slow pace like they usually do when he climaxes. He doesn’t moan lewdly or say anything dirty. He just stays clung to you, panting softly until he rides out his high.

You feel so warm and happy when he fills you up.

He stays on top of you while he catches his breath. You don’t mind, petite hands scratching over his back. Listening to the calming, rain-like sounds of the shower.

“Do you want to go to bed?” You peep after a few minutes.

“I can’t sleepover tonight, Bambi,” he coos, sitting back on his knees. You feel empty when he pulls out. “I have a test tomorrow.”

“Oh… well, you’re still coming over tomorrow, right? So can we finish the season?” You question, recalling the pinky promise he made you last week.

“Raincheck,” he pouts. “I have something to do for one of my classes.”

You follow him to the door once you’re both dried off and dressed.

“Goodnight,” he places a dramatic kiss on the top of your head, pulling away with a little ‘muah’ sound. Something in the corner of your room catches his eye before he leaves. “Did you steal my hat?”

Your eyes follow his finger, pointing straight to the black bucket hat on your desk.

“You gave it to me.”

“I did?” He looks at you in confusion. “I don’t remember that.”

“Fuck off,” you groan, cocooning your blanket over your disturbed ears. You wanted nothing more than to rewatch Sailor Moon and mope, but the fireworks would not fucking stop. Where is campus police? And why are they letting dumb frat boys light off explosives?

You sigh, watching Usagi and Rei fight over Tuxedo Mask again. You know what the outcome will be. The thought of your favorite character falling victim to the unforgiving strain of unrequited love makes your heart hurt.

You tilt your head. Tuxedo Mask kinda looks like someone you know.

The show was supposed to be distracting, make you forget the fact that you got stood up but a guy you’ve been crushing on for months. But even your alone time has become daunting. Consumed by him. Everything reminds you of Jungkook.

Jungkook. Jungkook. Jungkook.

You sigh, closing out the app in favor of scrolling through Instagram. The first picture you see on your feed is of Nayeon. Just your luck.

It was posted two minutes ago. You recognize the ugly brown couch in the background. She’s clearly at a party, form-fitting black mini dress complimenting her figure perfectly.

Your self-loathing mind guides your self-loathing fingers to zoom in on every little detail and compare yourself to her. Pretty hair. Perfect makeup. Tiny waist that curves out into her full hips. Long legs. Jungkook. Straight, pearly white teeth. Nice jawline-

Jungkook?

You do a double take, eyes scanning the photo until they land on him again. He’s lingering in the background, back against the wall, looking down at his phone. You stay zoomed in on him for a while, staring at your phone screen until your vision goes blurry.

Every doubt and insecurity you’ve harbored over the last few months hits you in a drowning, suffocating wave.

Exhausting valleys.

Why did you even agree to this? This stupid friends with benefits relationship.

You knew you would get hurt, but you didn’t think it would hurt this bad. Not only did he lie to you, he was with Nayeon.

Nayeon. You can’t fucking stand her-

You shake your head furiously and throw your phone to the foot of your bed.

You don’t mean that…

Since when were you the type to hate another woman over a dumb guy? Or have unprotected sex? Or let someone so careless and selfish infiltrate your heart and mind?

How could you compare yourself to Nayeon when you two are in the exact same position?

You think about the night you fell for him, when he walked you home in the moonlight. She must have felt the same you do now. You’re similar in your desire to be with him, knowing you'll get hurt in the end.

Because being with Jungkook for a little while was better than not being with him at all.

It’s his eyes. They’re dark but so tender. The way they look at you like you’re the only thing that matters. The way they glow when he talks about things that interest him. Or how they dart up towards his forehead when he can’t find the right words to say-

“__?” Mina calls, standing in the doorway with a takeout bag. You hadn’t even noticed her come in. “Why are you crying?”

“Huh?” You peep, eyes fluttering down to the little wet spots on your blanket.

Without even realizing it, you had grown to love Jungkook so much.

You spent the rest of the night sobbing in Mina’s arms.

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