#the gifted doesn’t have a dance scene apparently :

[munohlow]

Once removed, Gifted and Legion are marvel shows related to the X-men, but set in their own continuities

Twice removed, Doom Patrol is a DC owned series that Marvel likely copied for their comic that debuted only months after. Misfit heroes lead by a man in a wheelchair, learning to use their powers in his mansion, and fighting an evil brotherhood

Three times removed, Gerard Way was directly inspired by Doom Patrol when writing the Umbrella Academy comic. He has since written a recent Doom Patrol comic run

#again just because #the gifted doesn’t have a dance scene apparently :/ #at least not a gif #tumblrs gif search system is a mess #polls #the gifted #doom patrol #legion xf #umbrella academy

[bambiinobambii]

𝑀𝑜𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒪’𝓈𝒽𝑒𝒶

(the character overlook)

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

these are all my opinions, totally open to the conversation about molly’s character also totally fine with people fact checking me, anyways i’m starting to fw o’shones

in the words of @krayzie-jelli the autism is autisming (don’t cancel me i have referrals to get tested 😔😔)

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

small credit;

the red dead fan wiki

@/reaperqween on tik tok (for the almost ten minute tik tok about mollys outfits which i ate up)

^ her tumblr is @river-of-wine send some love yall want 💕

colour analysis & general observations

🪞💋🍓🌹🍰

colour theory is heavily used based on honor, the best example of this is dutch, he consistently wearing red, mostly on his back until guarma when the red is on the front, when dutch’s true intentions become more apparent, anyways onto molly.

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

COLTER

(i went quite quick through colter so im actually unsure how she is with dutch, but from what i remember she doted on him a whole ton, constantly staying at his side and at one point saying “dutch is all the company i need”)

💋though a lot of people relate the red in different characters with low honor i think the fabric, the pattern itself points back to her privileged past

💋the necks scarf being green, i feel like it doesn’t imply much at this point but as the game continues it implies way more

💋the rest of the outfit being blue means a lot to me, there’s never anytime molly oversteps or is aggressive to anyone (obviously except from the obvious with karen, i’ll go back to this later)

💋i’d like to note that she’s still doing her makeup freezing and starving in the mountains

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

HORSESHOE OUTLOOK & CLEMENTS POINT

(i honestly will end up mixing these up so i grouped them together)

(tbh my honest opinion is horseshoe is one of the best chapters based on the relationships in camp (tho sadie’s still going through it, you can’t have everything))

💋her first outfit has a good amount of blue in this outfit, her necklace has its first appearance with the red (i always got the vibe that dutch had gifted it to her as it’s more shiny than a lot of the metal in her outfits and it’s like a part of him)

💋she wears a thick belt with this outfit and the brass (?) seems worn, even coming from a wealthy background she holds onto clothes that look old and worn

💋she always wears white boots, she’s doesn’t have to do any work, and she’s not expected to do anything

💋the majority of the mornings in game, molly is constantly checking herself in a mirror

💋i’m going to be honest i hate this shirt

💋but i’d like to think this shawl has always been with her and that she holds it close to her

💋her outfit is quite shapeless, and i think that’s how she liked to dress personally

💋i would love to talk about this outfit

💋does this eat? yes, but i don’t think this was a honest choice for her

💋this outfit mirror mary-beth’s a lot, who seems to be dutch’s new interest

sorry for the bad quality i used my own screenshot for this

💋this outfit particularly ^

💋there’s now a lot of cleavage in her outfit and she’s dressing more akin to other girls in the camp

💋and the gold in her outfits bright, and with mirroring marybeth, I also think this mirrors dutch’s style, with more red and gold incorporated

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

💋her relationship with dutch is starting to crumble, i heard a voice line where she says that she loves him and he thanks her (?!) you wouldn’t see me again personally

💋but to contrast that there’s some scenes were dutch kisses her hands and they’re all giddy and cuddly, and they eventually dance when sean’s rescued from blackwater

💋she’s also not well received by a lot of the gang, we get the first glimpse of that when you take mary-beth, tilly and karen to valentiene and karen says that molly’s “too high and mighty” to come with them

💋she attempts a to interact with numerous members

💋she also attempts to talk to tilly, tilly quickly brushes her off as she’s working and molly isn’t attempting to help her

💋i also saw an encounter with dutch and molly where, he approaches, and honestly he could be covered in shit and molly would still look up to him like he’s a messiah. dutch says “should i compare thee to…” he quickly cuts himself off asking her what he should compare her with, even asking arthur if you pass by (he actually says that dutch could compare her to an idiot if she actually believes dutch cares about her)

💋 throughout clements point, dutch talks down to molly as if she’s a child and then will quickly back himself up by calling her dear (to which if arthur intervenes when she goes off at him, dutch says she’s just leaving and she’s stomps away)

💋when she approaches abigail about the subject of dutch, abigail tells her “dutch don’t love you, not in the way you want to be loved”, molly gets defensive saying that she doesn’t get what she’s talking about, to which abigail says she does (implying drunk john?) and molly stomps away

💋i think this is the first time molly actually goes a bit crazy about dutch, she calls him a degenerate liar and stomps off when dutch wont argue back and (i think) goes to sleep, he at least turns away from her

💋i think people who discredit mollys character (men) don’t realise that her and dutch’s relationship show early signs about how manipulative dutch can be, he dumbs down what she says then calls her dear, eventually he only calls her miss o’shea, which she obviously goes off at him for

💋adding onto this i’d love to talk about her character item request of a pocket mirror and her asking arthur if bad lucks a thing, i feel like this is meant to reflect how young she actually is, like how kieran still referred to his parents as ma and pa, and that she genuinely seems nervous asking arthur for a mirror and the superstition of a broken mirror giving bad luck (which i guess you could say she had

💋and i feel like her vanity that the gang and from an outsiders perspective that she’s self absorbed but i think she’s more conscious about how she looks, she doesn’t have to lift a finger and not having much to do around camp because everyone distances themselves from her (i’ll obviously elaborate more when i get to writing about shady bell) i think she’s left alone with a mirror, which i feel is more implied that she’s had for a long time, i’d say since childhood, you become more conscious the more you look at yourself and if your man seemed to be going for someone younger than you, you’d loose it too

(tl:dr - molly doesn’t deserve any hate, the girls that get it, get it, men don’t, im so ready to talk about chapter 4&6)

The poem

-

Uaibhreach

(the irish gaelic word which means “being proud and arrogant to the extent that it alienates & isolates you from those around you, leading to loneliness)

I was a girl - until your call

(i’m not going to annotate this everytime but the religion of this actually makes me feel like my hearts being ripped out)

Commanded me to cross the sea.

(she was driven out of ireland looking for freedom and adventure and she was enthralled by dutch’s charm, to be honest i always saw her “privileged upbringing” being her family owning a big farm, or in a big industry, a lot of irish people immigrated to canada after the potato famine, then crossed to america)

I've nothing left. I gave you all.

(i think she means this in, like, every sense)

My darling Liffey was so small.

Your land and love are vast and free.

(‘MERICA)

I was a girl until your call.

You stood so strong, and dark and tall.

You stole the heartbeat out of me.

I've nothing left. I gave you all.

Your lips enchant, your eyes enthrall,

Your empire is of ecstasy.

I was a girl until your call.

Your parasites and lackeys crawl,

(now do i think this is the gang or her fault that they don’t like her, i think its a mutual thing, they see her as a spoiled woman and she doesn’t help that opinion but i think she’s a young woman manipulated by an older guy, and that she thinks they’re all just jealous (which im sure she even says a few times)

Mocking a love they dare not see.

(going back to when she try’s to seek abigail’s help, or when she confronts karen later on and that she can’t see that he’s really not interested in her)

I've nothing left. I gave you all.

I sit in solitude and scrawl

These wretched words, and wait for thee.

I was a girl until your call.

I've nothing left. I gave you all.

#lesbian #bambiitalks #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #wlw blog #molly o'shea #ill treat u better molly oshea #molly oshea #dutch van der linde #mary beth gaskill #karen jones #o’shones #oshones

[emmajeanisnotmylover]

joyless.

I don’t dance anymore. the men, they ripped the heart right out of me over many nights on many dance floors, with every unwanted kiss and wandering hand with sweaty paws and damp nuzzles on my neck they slowly pulled my bloody beating heart right out of my chest I have watched them take advantage,  these men who barely know how to dance these men who learned just enough to boost their own ego by being able to touch and control a woman’s body these men who’ve been dancing only a fraction of the time that I have just long enough to persuade innocent girls who have newly discovered the allure of this ethereal craft and women who want more, want more want to look good and talented on the dance floor - he's learned just enough, or more likely hasn't learned anything at all and is simply gifted with the audacity men are so blessed to be naturally endowed with - in any case he's able to convince her that he holds the secret if only she would come over to his house and pay him money - her money, which is still about 83 cents to his dollar - so he can touch her out of the sight of others and I watch the men in charge of these scenes who have voluntarily taken on the safety of a community where women are disproportionately preyed on and women get to choose the possibility of new trauma vs. the possibility of new joy every time they accept a dance with a man - these men in charge they watch and they do nothing they watch and apparently are unable to learn they watch and they don’t see what I see - or more likely just can’t be bothered - so I tell them. and the man who kissed me three times on the neck without consent and made unforgivably crude comments in my ear all while touching my body on the dance floor where I am supposed to experience joy that man is still welcomed with open arms in the rooms where I no longer show my face because I tell the men in charge and they do nothing and the women, I tell them too and they shrug and keep going to those dance floors because it didn’t happen to them so I guess it doesn’t matter and they keep giving money and friendship and dances to these men who refuse to keep us safe and all my friends say:

“I’m sorry, I have to go. My mental health, you know.”

and every time another friend says that, all I hear them saying is my mental health doesn’t matter. they must not have heard the anguish in my voice every time I ever confessed that dance is the only place in my life where I experience joy. and they don’t seem to care that I deserve to experience joy, too. that I no longer have access to this medicine. and everyone talks about supporting the "community" but I stand now on the outside watching the people I thought were my community and instead of solidarity and mutual aid and community support - instead of everyone standing up and demanding better remedies better leadership better standards - my friends they leave me behind, unsupported. and they keep going back to drink from a poisoned well. and I watch and I am distraught for not having any water to drink at all but I know that dying of thirst is better than paying a miser's fee to drink from the well he poisoned himself.

and the men they plan more dances and I am absent from them all. everyone says they miss me and everyone says they want to dance with me and I stare blankly back at them because I watched them trade me for the predators they chose to keep. I watched them make that choice over and again .

and everyone wants to dance with me but no one is doing anything it would take for me to dance again.

#poem #poetry #dance #mental health #community

[gojuo]

Tell us now your top 5 most hated characters on ASOAIF and F&B please!

My no.1 most hated ASOIAF character is Tywin Lannister. I hate this man. I hate him very much. I wish he would go away and die somewhere where he will inconvenience no one but the vultures. I loathe his manner. I loathe his style. I loathe the fact that he dares draw breath in a world where my loved ones do not or rather cannot because he murdered them. I loathe that he was rewarded for behavior which, in-universe, he should have been quartered for. I want him dead. I want to kill him and destroy him. I want him died. #SCENE #ANGER #FUCK #DIE #HATERED

There is not a single ounce — not even a miniscule amount ­— of sympathy I have for this scumbag. Not a single thing likeable about him. Not a single redeeming quality he has to his name. From the first moment he showed up on page until the very last mention of him, he was nothing short of disgusting. He is diabolical, satanic, monstrous, loathsome, ghoulish, sadistic, cruel, insert every single synonym of the term demonic here, etc. etc. I hate him. I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him.

The whole “Yeah he’s evil uwu but Charles Dance is so granddaddy I can fix him <3" sales pitch this low IQ fandom has been pushing since the dawn of that accursed adaptation on top of it all only makes the intense disgust I hold for him so much fucking worse. Tywin Lannister has no conscience, no charisma, no morals, and he has no honor — all of that in an un-sexy way, one of the greatest crimes a villain with no traumatic backstory could objectively ever commit. Never mind the beyond immoral execution of the Red Wedding (“Machiavellian” my ass. Any stupid fool who says this crap needs to go back to elementary school in order to relearn how to read and how to interpret literature and themes in literature right the fuck now), never mind the severe mental torture he’s put his own flesh and blood through to the point where two of them are in a destructive incestuous relationship with each other and the other pushed to the point of patricide, this monster had his son's fourteen-year-old little child-wife gangraped by his guards, had each of them give her a silver coin after one was done with her, then had thirteen-year-old Tyrion rape her last and, contrary to the others, give her a gold coin because “Lannisters are worth more”. All because she was a common-born little girl who dared to marry the disabled son he hated so much. Am I supposed to think this piece of shit falls under the sexy evil category of villains? What sad backstory does this trash have to his name that would woobify him enough to “if villain bad why sexy” him? His father had a few mistresses after his mother died and gave them gifts and cared for them? Was that the tragic past of his that elevated him enough for people to wash their conscience clean so to cross moral boundaries all to lust after this so-called “sexy villain”? Tywin Lannister had his father’s mistress, who was nothing but a poor common-born daughter of a candle-maker, stripped naked and paraded through the streets of Lannisport for two whole goddamn weeks, and forced her to tell every man she came across that she was a thief and a whore, quite alike to what he did to Tysha as well. This man hates women. I cannot stress this enough, like Tywin Lannister hates women. And not just women, but especially commoner women. His modus operandi is inflicting sadistic sexual violence on any and all women he doesn’t like (which is like, all of them). As a true “if villain bad then why sexy” connoisseur and quite frankly, the president of the club, this man is not, never was and never will be a part of that esteemed category of villains.

And you know something that’s a veeery personal ick of mine — and this is really the icing on the cake for me — is shit-for-brains dickriders of this ghoul having the gall to pretend like he did not explicitly order the murder of Elia and her babies, that he apparently just “let” Clegane and Lorch loose on them. These low IQ fucks know what that demon did to his father’s poor mistress and what he did to little Tysha, and then somehow they still think this sadist with a severely fragile ego did not tell Clegane and Lorch to do what they did to her with his own mouth? Any waste-of-space who parrots this BNF-drivel (all said in order to minimize what happened to Elia, Rhaenys and the baby in place for Aegon) is not only going on my blocklist like immediately, they also need to die. Respectfully.

Now, I mostly spoke on his character from a moral standpoint, but I want to make clear that this loser’s shortcomings aren’t only morality-based. All the shit-for-brains stans this demon has know he has no morals so they always deflect to the “b-b-but he’s a military genius, that’s why I like him, I’m so edgy!!!” excuse and I want to emphasize how fucking stupid you have to be to believe Tywin is anything but brainless. AFFC is literally right there. GRRM’s explicitly spells out to the reader through Jaime’s POV how fucking stupid Tywin was in everything that he did. How the only show of military genius this demon had was through being nothing but a bully. All his work unraveled the second he died. He built nothing, and he will go down in history as nothing. That’s why his one and only legacy will always be that he got murdered on the shitter by his own son, like the fucking loser that he is.

I hate this fucking character with every fiber of my being.

On number 2 stands Aerys II Targeryen. Do I even need to explain this? What I said about Tywin applies to this racist, rapist, fascist piece of shit as well. I’m not going to waste my time and money psychoanalyzing this bottom-of-the-barrel trash. Aerys is the pinnacular culmination of three hundred years of Targaryen delusion, self-worship, egotism and five thousand years of Valyrian hubris, god-complex, and megalomania. Him and his daughter both, but I’ll get to her in a minute. This man’s lucky he’s only got 2 stans — and those two are only stanning just to be contrarians — unlike Tywin, who’s got an actual dedicated fanbase. Ugh. Two peas in a pod. One edge he has over Tywin is that at the very least Aerys has some sort of tragic backstory that’s actually valid. Too bad for him idgaf. Pour one out for Rhaella :(

My third most hated is ... Daenerys. Man… How do I even open this can of worms… I’ve a whole tag dedicated to hating her, soooo awkwardly waves hand in that direction. Everything about Daenerys is just so … racist. Racist on an in-universe level, racist on a meta level and racist on a fandom level, so I was never going to like Daenerys no matter what. The fact that she has the most insane and delusional and downright disgusting fanbase ever in all of media history really doesn’t help her case. If they hadn’t been this rabid and racist, then I don’t think I would have hated her this much. Because then I could’ve just had her character be as she is: the Paul Astreides of the series. A false Messiah, basically. The meta-level racism (GRRM making every single antagonist in her plotline nothing but walking, talking Reel Bad Arabs tropes; the use of POV trap which leads to none of the brown and black supporting characters in her story having a voice; GRRM’s own racism as in exotic-erotic tropes for all of the Essosi people, really badly researched POC cultures he based the Essosi off of, using brown and black people as nothing but props for the main white girl) and Daenerys’ in-universe racism (conquering and colonizing lands and peoples; white saviorism; imperialism; her hypocritical use of slavery) would still be there, of course, and I still would not have been able to stomach it meaning I still would not have rooted for her in any way, but then at the very least I would not have been subjected to a long decade of fandom racism being justified through the excuse of her freeing slaves from evil Reel Bad Arabs (spoiler alert: she is not freeing anybody).

Ugh, I don’t wanna talk about her. Everything about her from her character to the plot and storyline and her place in the narrative is downright insulting to me as a WOC, and quite frankly, any WOC that lays down their lives to defend this girl baffles me. Like, stop it. Please have some self-respect.

Then comes Jaehaerys the Old King. Father and inventor of misogyny. It’s crazy.

No. 5 is Rhaenys I and Daeron I the Young Dragon. EVERY TONGUE THAT RISES AGAINST THE DORNISH SHALL FALL!!!

#im sorry it took me so long to answer i have no excuse :( #asoiaf #tywin #aerys ii #daenerys #anti daenerys #jaehaerys i #rhaenys i #daeron the young dragon #anonymous #answered

[guhmblr]

Ok, spoilers for this year hellfire gala. This is going to be an overall gush, probably barely coherent. I’ll try to intercalate positive and negatives?

What in the actual fuck?!

First of all, the Kamala resurrection was exactly as meaningless, corporative and boring as expected. I just can’t wait to see what stupid power they come up with as her mutant gift (supposing of course that the terrigen/x-gene incompatibility will be solved trivially on an artificially convenient moment [like her whole death and resurrection was]). Also (and I’m jumping the horse a little, but this is a really meaningless nitpick that just stayed on my mind) how does she know the X-men red triangle psychic resistance thingy?

Scott wearing his old Champions suit? Complete flop. He can’t sell it at all. But I do find it cute and endearing, and this is exactly the pathetic Summers behavior that I’m here for.

The G.O.D.S. cameo was really clunky. I mean, I know nothing about those people, apart that they didn’t help at all on the whole thing (and maybe they have a reason for that. I wouldn’t know) and that Wyn is hot. I may give it a chance for more Wyn.

Speaking of hot, David? Slay. Emma? Slay. Jubilation? Slay. Kate? Omega slay. Like, if this is the last hellfire (and I don’t mean this on a “wow, this could have everlasting consequences” way, but a “yeah, I don’t think they should try to sell this idea again for two or three years”), at least they could serve until the end. Imagine how funny all the Charles drama would be if he was wearing his stupid baby pope atire from the first gala?!

The avengers? As pointless as expected. Nothing new under the sun, and I actually appreciate that they are useless on X-titles.

About the New York Arbor Magna thing, can we please have Cyclops leading the team on a wheelchair for like… this whole phase? It would be so weird, and fun, and iconic! Like, having Charles walking around (or, I don’t know, dying alone on that freaking beach? I would enjoy that.) and Scott brooding on a chair? Absolutely fantastic. I do think Emma and Scott leading again could be a nice echo to last time.

Because… we are having a new (supposedly) mutant genocide again. Imagine being resurrected from Genosha, or Decimation, or the Terrigen stuff, and immediately dying again? Lol. The concept is so so overdone at this point. It doesn’t preserve the impact at all.

On the other hand, you know that post about how every queer person has a universe-appointed C tier X-men character to love and cherish? I do think my baby Explodey-boy is dead know. Absolutely homophobic behavior.

I do enjoy Stasis and Nimrod very much. At this point, I would devour an orchis tittle if they promised me absolute lack of Moira and Feilong (as they are, in fact, shit). When Stasis said that Charles understood powers of ten? And the dancing? Send me shivers. Talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping (…).

I also think Jean stole the scene a little bit. I’m not usually a Jean stan, but god dammit she is so strong. And like, not only in the Omega Telepath Phoenix way, she has so much presence and name, inside and outside the world, that so much can be supported by her. I feel like the whole story is hanging by her absoluteness of a character. And Maddie holding her??? Aaaaaa

That’s it, I guess… just wanted to do my overall first impression. I do like the Krakoa era very much, and the last decade or so have taught me to take apparent big status quo changes with a grain of salt (I mean, Emma is supposed to marry flop Stark in four or five chapters, right?! Things should probably be relatively stable by them), but I can see myself enjoying the change of pace a little.

By far the worst gala? Yeah. For sure. Like, criminally bad chapter. But I do see some things planted that could end up being really fun.

#gushing #x-men #hellfire gala #scott summers #emma frost #jean grey #the other ones

[21stcenturygworl]

A Blank Dance Card

Arthur Morgan x (female) Reader, Regency AU 💕

For the Valentine Gift Exchange by @rdrevents! Written for @starlight-starwrites. Thank you for the great prompts, Star! I hope I did them justice.

This is so extremely campy, but I had great fun writing it. I hope y'all have great fun reading it too!

.✧.

One of the joys of being a debutante on the marriage market is finally, finally being able to indulge in the gossip firsthand. Previous seasons, you had to wring every last drop of information out of your friends, who one by one were swooped off their feet by gentlemen looking to win their hearts. Now, you can huddle together with the other girls, whispering and giggling amongst yourselves as you steal glances at the eligible bachelors at Lady Coulston's ball.

You’re quite some years older than most debutantes of this season. It was your mother’s decision, mostly (your father had just told her, “Yes, dear. As you wish, dear. Anything you want, dear.”). She didn’t want you to be married off too young, instead wanting you to become a well-rounded young lady first through travel and further education. You had protested initially, terrified of ending up a spinster, but your mother had promised that she wouldn’t make you wait that long.

You still feel like a spinster between all the younger girls, though.

The ball hosted by Lady Coulston is a grand affair, with the walls adorned with intricate tapestries and richly painted scenes. The floors are marble (Italian marble, she had pointed out to your mother), polished to a glossy sheen, and the ceiling is painted with beautiful frescoes. Walking across the marble floor already has your heels click with a satisfying sound, and you can only imagine what it would be like to walk through this ballroom by yourself.

Chandeliers hang from the ceiling, adding a touch of opulence to the room. Music fills the air, with the strains of a string quartet and a harpsichord playing romantic melodies. Many guests have taken to the dance floor. They twirl across the marble to the melody of the music, the dancers becoming a blur of colours, beautiful fabrics catching the light of the chandeliers above.

Unlike them, however, you have nobody to dance with.

Not a single eligible bachelor has approached you all night. Occasionally one would approach your little group of debutantes, but always to ask one of the other girls to dance, or to make a turn around the room together.

The paper of your dance card is a plain, stark white. Blank.

It’s mortifying, almost. But at least Lady Coulston’s pastry chefs make your attendance worth it. You take solace in the delectable cannolis that nobody else seems to have noticed. Lady Coulston must really like Italy.

.✧.

Arthur doesn’t want to be here.

He hadn’t even wanted to travel across the pond in the first place, and neither did John. But Dutch had insisted that for the adoption process to be finalised, they had to come with him to London. “We’ll head back immediately after,” his now-father promised them.

Apparently in England, “immediately after” means a month or two later.

So here he is, standing in Lady Coulston's ballroom, trying to blend in with the crowd. Arthur had heard stories about the balls, and he’s received countless instructions for how to behave, but he still feels terribly out of place. The grandeur of the room is intimidating and almost suffocating to a young man like Arthur, who spent years sleeping under the stars on windswept prairies.

It’s almost inconceivable to watch Dutch, the same man who had once told Arthur that he was done with the upper class, working his charm on the guests at the ball. It's almost unfathomable that this is the same man who had spent so much of his time in America swindling the wealthy, and yet here he is, a Baron of all things. Arthur is silently hoping that Dutch will turn and give him a sly wink and tell him “It was all just a scheme!”, but it never happens.

Dutch had deemed John too young to attend a ball, meaning Arthur is now stuck by Dutch’s side as he speaks to a Lord and Lady Gardner, who are both hanging onto every word he says as he tells them about his exploits in the American West.

“I will say, I was tempted to stay there,” Dutch says, gesturing vaguely as he speaks. “It’s a very different land from here. A land full of opportunities. The people here in England do not have the spine to take risks the way those in America do.” He pauses, as if reminiscing. “And all the unspoiled nature… By God, Lord and Lady Gardner, it was unlike anything I have ever seen before. Beyond beautiful.”

“My, I can hardly imagine it!” Lady Gardner says, wearing a giddy smile. “It all seems so far away. Perhaps we should visit too someday, dear? It would be so nice to travel a little again, just like we used to when we were younger…”

“Perhaps,” Lord Gardner says, smiling a little uncomfortably. “But perhaps we should first make sure our daughter is married before we do.”

Lady Gardner puts a reassuring hand on her husband’s arm. “Of course, dear.” Turning to Dutch and Arthur, she asks, “Have you met our daughter yet? It’s her first season on the marriage market this year. Very exciting.”

Dutch smiles, corners of his eyes crinkling. “Very exciting indeed. I do not believe we’ve had the pleasure of making her acquaintance yet.”

“Let me see, where is she…” Lady Gardner peers across the ballroom, then lets out a little “Oh!” before she begins calling to her daughter.

.✧.

You whip around from where you stand next to one of the many refreshments tables, halfway stuffing a cannoli in your mouth.

“Dearest!” your mother calls out to you, waving you over with an excited smile. Oh, this is mortifying. You try to swallow the cannoli quickly before other people notice, but it’s already too late. At least you didn’t get any crumbs or cream on your dress this time.

Quickly you compose yourself before striding over to the little gathering, weaving through the crowd. When you reach them, you realise that the men your parents are speaking to are the Baron of Whitchurch, and one of his recently-adopted sons.

Now here is where the gossip comes into play. You had heard many a scandalous story of how Lord Van der Linde (whose family weren’t even English aristocrats to begin with!) had run off to America for nearly a decade. When he finally returned, he brought back two orphans with him who he had adopted and made the heirs to his titles and estates. The legality of it was dubious at best, and immediately a new scandal was born. The future Baron of Whitchurch would be a man with not a single drop of aristocratic blood.

Nobody had told you that the future Baron of Whitchurch was also incredibly handsome.

Your mother is your saving grace, because only when she speaks to introduce you, do you realise that you’ve been staring. You quickly avert your gaze and curtsy with your head inclined. “It’s a pleasure to meet both of you.” Straightening out, you remember your manners and ask, “Are you enjoying tonight’s festivities?”

“We certainly are, thank you kindly for asking,” Lord Van der Linde says. “This is my son, Arthur.”

Arthur. You like that name. It suits him perfectly, highlighting the impressive stature of his broad shoulders and tall frame. Yet, despite the impressive physicality, there is something gentle about him, something that you can't quite put your finger on. After a moment's thought, you realise it’s his eyes; the way they seem to reflect an inner kindness, a beautiful shade of blue.

“This is the first time Arthur is attending a ball,” your mother tells you with a low voice, as if it’s a secret. (It’s really not.) “Why don’t you take him for a turn around the room? I’m sure there’s lots you two can talk about.”

You and Arthur unintentionally share a look, and you seem to reach the same conclusion as him: We have nothing to talk about.

You muster up an almost-convincing smile as you take a step forward. "Shall we take a turn around the room, Mr Van der Linde?" you ask, feeling a bit strange at the formal words coming out of your mouth. Arthur nods, then seems to remember himself and offers you his arm.

.✧.

The two of you walk in silence for a few moments, strolling along the perimeter of the impossibly large ballroom, until Arthur finally speaks. "Erm… Apologies for my lack of conversation skills, Miss Gardner," he says, his voice a bit awkward. He’s suddenly terribly aware of how different his accent is from yours, and the realisation only serves to make him speak quieter. "I… I ain’t used to being at a ball like this, and I'm not sure what to say."

You tilt your head slightly, looking up at him through your lashes. Arthur feels his chest tighten. “It’s alright,” you say, your gloved hand giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “I can only imagine how strange all of this must be for you, Mr Van der Linde.”

A nervous chuckle escapes him. “Strange is an understatement.” He pauses, considering his words, and then carefully says, “I… I prefer Mr Morgan, actually. Dutch— I mean, Lord Van der Linde only really became a father figure to me when I was already a young man.”

You nod, seeming to understand his reluctance. Or at least pretend to. "I'm sure that's true for many adopted children," you say, voice gentle and sympathetic. You smile at him in an attempt to offer some levity. "How are you enjoying your time in England so far? It must be very different from what you’re used to. Especially the weather, I would guess.”

Arthur returns the smile as his nerves slip away. You’re trying your best to be warm and welcoming to him. Though it is at the behest of your mother, it’s still more than he can say about the other people at the ball — who have mostly stared at him while whispering amongst themselves. "It is," he says, "The weather too, I s’pose. But mostly the people, and the, uh… way of life.” He looks around the room, taking in the elegant décor and the finely-dressed people. "It's all certainly an experience. I ain’t ever seen anythin’ like this before. I wasn’t… raised in high society."

“Well,” you begin as you mull over his words for a moment. You then flash him a wide smile. “You’re going to have lots to learn and catch up on before you become the Baron of Whitchurch.”

Arthur feels his heart skip a beat, and he swallows thickly. “I’m afraid so,” he says.

“I’m sure you’re up for the task, Mr Morgan. I believe in you.”

Despite the rather disappointing start of the evening, Arthur now suddenly doesn't want it to end anymore. He finds himself liking the way you hold onto his arm, speaking with him and making him feel like he's the most important person in the world right now. You're so, so beautiful, too. Half of your hair is pinned up, the loose sections cascading down your back like a waterfall of silk. The bodice of your dress fits snugly around your chest, the skirts flowing gracefully with every step you take. You feel like someone so far out of reach for him, yet you’re right here next to him.

He blinks when he realises he’s been staring at you. He’s grateful when he sees that you’ve been looking elsewhere — but your expression is wistful. You’re watching the people on the dance floor twirl about and laugh giddily amongst themselves.

“I hope I’m not takin’ up too much of your time, Miss Gardner,” Arthur says, and you look back at him. “I’m sure there’s another gentleman waitin’ for your attention.”

You shake your head, a sad smile gracing your features. “I’m afraid not, Mr Morgan. Nobody’s asked me to dance, tonight.” You show your dance card with your free hand, and Arthur sees that it’s empty. “I fear I may not be as tempting as the younger ladies,” you say with a hollow chuckle. “But it’s alright. I’m enjoying myself here with you.”

Arthur's heart twinges at your words and he finds himself wanting to say something comforting, but he's not sure what. All these fools wouldn’t want to ask a beauty like you to dance with them? Anger bubbles in his chest, but he quickly pushes it down. It’s a completely stupid and hopeless task, but he knows what he has to do. Mustering up every ounce of courage in his body, he clears his throat and then asks, “Miss Gardner, would you do me the honour of dancin’ with me?”

You look up at him, almost as if you can't believe your ears. Your eyes light up and you smile, a brilliant and genuine smile that makes Arthur's heart flutter. "It would be my pleasure, Mr Morgan," you say, before curtsying gracefully.

He takes your hand in his and leads you to the dance floor as the music changes, and the musicians begin to play a waltz. Arthur holds you — as he learned during his lessons — and though his steps are a little awkward and stiff, you’re most certainly dancing together. As you start twirling around the room, Arthur finds himself mesmerised by you. He had thought you beautiful before, but now, as he watches you spin around and laugh with him, he's certain that you are the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

How tempted he is to lean forward and kiss you.

It’s not the right way to do things, though. Not here, not now. Not with a woman of your standing. So he spends the rest of the night with you. Dancing, talking, and even laughing together. And when the evening draws to a close, and your parents have called you to tell you that it’s time to take the carriage home, Arthur takes your hand and presses a kiss to your gloved fingers.

“Miss Gardner, before you go,” he begins. He straightens out, still holding your hand. “May I… may I call on you tomorrow afternoon?” he asks, stumbling over his words a little.

You look at him adoringly, cheeks dusted with a light shade of pink as you smile and nod. “Yes. Yes, you may.” You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giddy smile. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Mr Morgan. Good night.”

#RDRValentineExchange #writing #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #regency au #this was sooooooooo fun and i kind of want to write more for this

[awesomegirlystuff]

Beavis and Butthead Landmarks in Vegas

Many of the places in Las Vegas shown in Beavis and Butthead Do America are no longer there, such as Stardust Lounge and Aladdin’s. But many still are. Here are some of the landmarks that I saw, that you could still see too!

Cleopatra Statue

The Cleopatra statue was featured more prominently in the movie than any of the other landmarks. But it can be quite hard to find if you don’t know where to look. This scene takes place as Caesars Palace, but this is easy to miss if you aren’t familiar with the hotel since the sign is never shown.

This landmark is also not very well known. The staff members I asked, even showing them a photo I found off google, said they had never even seen it before. Likely, they walked right passed it as it’s easy to miss.

To find the statue, go to the main entrance of the hotel, near the buffet and right across from the gift shop (the one that sells the Caesars Palace merch). Down the first hallway you see, it’s just a few steps in. There’s a sign that says “Cleopatra’s Barge” with an arrow. 

Treasure Island

One of the first places Beavis and Butthead drive passed is the Treasure Island casino. This is a really cool pirate themed casino. The architecture inside is really beautiful. 

In the movie you see a pirate ship outside the hotel. There are actually two!

They used to do shows where the two ships battle, and the smaller one would sink. Sadly, they stopped doing pirate shows in 2018, due to new owners wanting the casino to have a more “sophisticated” atmosphere. Like, it’s a pirate themed casino, you bitch! They also replaced the famous skull sign with this really lame one;

You can still see the original giant fibreglass skull at the neon museum. I didn’t though because the whole thing, nicknamed the “neon graveyard”, just seemed really depressing to me. 

Circus Circus

They also drive passed the iconic, Circus Circus! This was once Vegas’ most profitable hotel, known as “Vegas’ babysitter”, because kids would be dropped off there all day.

This circus themed casino and hotel featured a full midway with carnival games, free circus acts, clown shows, trapeze shows and carnival food. Apparently they still do these shows, but none were going on when I was there.

It’s way bigger than it looks in the movie, and is not located on the main strip (the movie kind of turns Las Vegas Blvd. and Fremont Street into one street)

There’s also the Adventuredome, which is an amusement park with rides. It closes at 6:30 on weekdays though, which is lame. What else is lame is that their gift shop doesn’t sell a single T-shirt with their iconic logo on it.

The Golden Nugget

One of the oldest hotel’s in Vegas. It’s right on Fremont Street on the old strip. This is actually the hotel I stayed in.

It’s a nice hotel, but it’s not that cool. It’s pretty cheap though. And if you like gambling, they do actually have live dealers for blackjack, roulette, craps etc. (hehehe craps....)

Cleopatra Ship and the Dance Floor 

This used to be right behind the statue, but as you can see from my picture above, this area was blocked off by glass and a curtain. The door however, was unlocked, and you can still see the ship and this dance floor if you really want to. It was open not long ago, and maybe I just went at a bad time or during some construction. Maybe you’ll get luckier than me and get to see this iconic dance floor.

Here’s what it used to look like. 

Four Queens and Las Vegas Vic

These locations aren’t right next to each other like in the movie, but they are pretty close. They’re both on Fremont Street. 

Las Vegas Vic is probably the most famous neon sign in Vegas, he has been in more movies than I even know. He used to be outside the Pioneer Club, which no longer exists. He also used to light up (duh), and talk. He doesn’t anymore, but I’m glad they kept this iconic sign.

Fremont Hotel and Vegas Vicky

Fremont Hotel is, obviously, on Fremont street. Vegas Vicky was taken down from her original spot a few years ago, but you can still see her in the front lobby of the Circa hotel. On Fremont, right across from the Golden Nugget.

Binion’s Horseshoe

Now, it’s just called Binion’s. It’s on Fremont, across from the Golden Nugget.

They have some cool historical photos on the walls, and a really good greasy spoon diner. 

And that is pretty much the places featured in the movie you can still see. Beside’s Hara’s, which I saw, but didn’t go in, and the Sphinx, which is at the Luxor. But I never managed to make it to the Luxor (or Excalibur, because getting around on the new strip takes insanely long)

#beavis and butthead #las vegas

[rosesfox]

To what that Anon said, beware im about to get some of similar complaints about ACOSF and Nesta’s growth too storm!

GOD I’m dreading Elain being ruined the way Nesta was for me too especially after how she developed her in ACOSF. Nesta being a warrior can fit any cold female character sure but a character who hasn’t gotten off her ass in the longest suddenly becoming this warrior, joining the blood rite, not having enough scenes with her sisters specifically Feyre and not getting a more in depth apology (Amren’s ass who didn’t even consider Nesta a friend and disrespected her like shit on a boot got a heartfelt apology from Nesta. ON HER MF KNEES. the hell did she do to deserve a better apology than Feyre, was saving her life supposed to replace proper apology dialogue? I guess so 🥴) suddenly knowing archery and it just made her look worse for doing nothing so what was it added to her for and after this long of no one mentioning she could do that? not even believably written, calling Elain a dog, suddenly being passionate about dancing, there being more smut than any Cassian growth or how it overshadowed the plot and proper relationship growth, disrespecting the honor of how and who joins and wins the Blood rite when with the Bat boys it was acclaimed to be so incredibly difficult and they just..won it with hiding “using logic that the men don’t” and magic bracelet manipulation by the queen as a cop out to give them Illyrian titles. I think she made Nesta’s friendship seem YA af too, they acted like middle schoolers in an…adult book. “let’s read smut hehehe” like what series am I reading? A bubble bath and baby Pegasus? Am I reading Percy Jackson or adult fantasy? Too many plot holes, retconning and just poor decisions that she apparently seems oblivious and careless about. Was the editor asleep and just let her write what she wanted to? Apparently yall 😵‍💫

I adore Elain and am worried I won’t like her growth or the way SJM writes her part of book…I’m expecting the same amount of girl bossing and smut as Nesta had no matter what we’ve known Elain to be like. I’m not saying she can’t be freaky but having her do too much does NOT fit her more modest personality. Because I know damn well she’ll write Az incredibly sexual probably even more so than his brothers considering his masterbaiting to even just a gift from Elain, MEDICINE for christs sake. Him being known to have secret lovers and SJM’s bestfriend hyping SJM up for super freaky Az? It’s going to be nasty in their book and let’s hope it makes sense and isn’t overdone like Nessian was and overshadowed proper growth and plot smh. Elain seems super secretive and I hope she doesn’t upset anyone and we have drama in the fandom over her.

All in all, SJM wrote a book I’ve never read so many inconsistencies or flaws in so yeah, I’m nervous that I’ll dislike Elain too. Feyre had the best damn trilogy and growth and I so badly want to love Elains but she seems to be writing worse now, even CC2 had a lot of cringe things, the oversexualization of Bryce and people claiming she’s meant to be a Queen when her maturity and communication and selflessness is barely there..

I went off 🥲 I’m sorry admin but so many people complain about this that imagine how cringe she can write Elain. I don’t even want to see her become a High Lady of Dusk like everyone so badly wants because…hy the hell would my girl become that? What has any other sister besides Feyre done to deserve their own court aside from being a Lady? I love Elain and can say that if she becomes a High Lady I will sell my book and only claim Feyre and leave fandom. This isn’t hate for Elain! that quick ass growth to a High Lady just makes no damn sense. Bring dusk back to life possibly that’d be exciting, heal it bring it back to life sure or do something to the prison but please SJM don’t make her a damn High Lady. That’s it..

i agree with everything you said. i hate it when they make acosf look like a decent book or as if nesta is sarah's most developed character when there are all these inconsistencies and sarah has managed to make the relationship between the sisters even worse.

all your concerns about elain are perfectly understandable. i'm also afraid that sarah's going to make a cheap, disgusting porn like she did in acosf, and that she'll ruin azriel like she did cassian. when we compare it with acosf, it's really scary. i hope she stays true to the personalities of both azriel and elain, as they both exude romanticism and affection and not just sexual energy (since, come on, nessian doesn't have the slightest romantic involvement and there's only sex in the book.)

i also find the oversexualization that sarah has with the characters disgusting and unnecessary. It's not empowering, it's just embarrassing. bryce definitely wasn't fit to be queen and it's not even the kind of development she's had. also, i don't think elain will become a high lady because that theory doesn't make sense and doesn't fit anywhere. helion is more alive than ever and i find it very difficult sarah to kill him for nothing.

my theory is that elain will discover herself as a seer, she will have to interact with azriel and do quests for night court while she makes her own decisions. i want to remain confident that sarah will respect the characters she has created and developed over the years and that it won't change everything.

#pro elain archeron #pro elriel #elain archeron #feyre archeron #anti nesta archeron #anti nessian #anti acosf #bryce quinlan #acotar5

[calzonekestis]

This is really embarrassing, but I feel like the right thing to do is own up to it because I’ve been so vocal in defending her from hate. It’s come to my attention that Grace Van Dien is in fact - a menace.

It hurts my heart to admit. People kept saying it though, so I did my research. The truth that I found just  might just shock you.

Says she loves pasta - doesn’t she know that could be seen as invalidating to people who enjoy other food groups? Why does she have to shove her fondness for noodles down our throats?

She once said that the favorite gift she had ever given was her own record player, which she gave to her sister who wanted one. She prioritized sentimental value over going out and buying one, which would have helped the economy!

She wastes time on her Twitch channel by personally thanking each person who subscribes! This takes away precious time from the stream!

On the topic of the streams, she often plays Valorant because it’s her current fave and it’s fun and makes her happy. Doesn’t she know that as an actress - she exists for the purposes of our entertainment? The audacity of her doing something to entertain herself!

She doesn’t read fanfiction, but will share cute fan art on her IG story. Oh, so she thinks artists are better than writers? Is that it?

If she REALLY admired passion and creativity - she would go and tell them to create their own intellectual property rather than drawing fan art.

As a performer, you want your art to resonate with people, right? Not just entertain, but hopefully impact them? Maybe inspire them to make their own art and explore their own creativity? So… how dare she get an experience that every actor hopes for, but not all of them achieve! And with such a small part, and so early in her career!

Doesn’t she know this makes other actors feel bad? Like maybe they don’t have the talent and or screen presence to invoke such a response?

She writes poetry, but she keeps this as a private thing for herself as a way of self expression. As an actress and content creator, it seems very selfish of her to want to have a singular thing that is solely Hers.

Apparently she hung out with Joe and Mason when they were in Atlanta, but Mason was the only one to take any photos? I guess she doesn’t care about capturing memories with new friends!

At the premiere she seemed like she was hanging out with Eduardo (Argyle) and Gaten. Someone else took the photos, of course. Never mind the fact they didn’t even share scenes together - she was dancing with them and giving them hugs. Cringe! Why is she so obsessed with these guys?

She poured her heart and soul into the character of Chrissy, knowing that she was going to die. One could only assume she did this specifically to hurt us. Why else would she make the character so sympathetic and endearing?

The Duffers said she and Joe did a lot of improv, taking what was on the page and elevating it. So basically she showed up to work, and showed up the writers - she was so good, they regret killing her. Do you know how much embarrassing that must have been for them to admit? I don’t know how she could have put them in such an awkward position.

Why would she do that to them? Why would she do everything in her power to make she made us fall in love with Chrissy? Despite the size of the part, she went to effort of bringing depth to her performance. There was more to her than met the eye, she smiled bright but had so much pain and trauma that she was hiding. She wasn’t a one note stereotypical cheerleader, you felt for her and wanted things to get better for her.

Grace knew they wouldn’t get better though, and dug the knife in with her smile and big bright eyes anyway. She knew that Chrissy would have only one brief moment with Eddie where she would relax and forget her troubles. To dangle that in front of us, and rip it away? What kind of messed up person does that?

She’s going to a convention on the East Coast this weekend. I guess she expects fans on the West Coast to just fuck off?

Stranger Things has perhaps given her the greatest exposure she’s ever had, but now I have to go out of my way to track down and familiarize myself with her other work. And so much of it is spread across different streaming services - Netflix, and Paramount Plus, and Amazon, and Hulu. Doesn’t she realize it would be more convenient if they were all in some centralized location?

The other day she wore a hoodie in a TikTok, that said “you are worthy of love” … that’s a sweeping generalization if I ever saw one. She doesn’t know who she could see walking down the street.

What if she ran into a certain failed businessman and game show host turned failed president? Would that shirt apply to him? Does she think he’s worthy of love? I mean, I don’t even think his father did.

“You are worthy of love.”

Such an irresponsible sentiment to carry out into the world.

I’m telling ya. This girl, she’s a menace. You were all right, and I was wrong. I’m not too proud to admit it. We’ll definitely have to put this one in the “problematic fave” category. 😔

I feel the sarcasm is thicker than tar, but just to be clear this is all facetious.

#Grace Van Dien

[impossiblebeardobservation]

14 Common Misconceptions About Menemukan Palang Pintu Kereta dan Kereta Api Vintage Cc201

™

It’s difficult to consider a sadder commentary about Hollywood’s sequel fetish as opposed to existence of Rush Hour 3. Dull, uninspired, and redundant, this 3rd pointless Film in an motion/comedy franchise that defines mediocrity doesn’t even seek to disguise the fact that its existence can be a money-seize. I wasn’t a supporter of either earlier Hurry Hour film, but neither felt as exhausted and compulsory as this just one. In addition to some amusing scenes with Chris Tucker and a nice dj vu dance routine to “War” done by Tucker and Jackie Chan, this Motion picture presents nothing at all that wasn’t finished far better in one other outings showcasing these mismatched buddy cops.

The wafer-thin plot has Chief Inspector Lee (Jackie Chan) safeguarding a Chinese diplomat through his remain in L. a.. He has top rated-mystery specifics of the Triad crime syndicate but, before he can divulge it, He's shot. Lee, reunited along with his former spouse, Detective James Carter (Chris Tucker), vows to your consul’s daughter, Soo Yung (Zhang Jingchu), that he will discover The person who attacked her father. To accomplish this, Lee and Carter must go after Triad assassin Kenji (Hiroyuki Sanada) to Paris, exactly where These are aided by an anti-American cab driver named George (Yvan Attal), who discovers that he has a style for motor vehicle chases and gunplay.

As was real of Hurry Hour and Hurry Hour two, this movie brings together hit-and-skip comedy with lackluster action. The merakitmainan film doesn’t have Significantly of the pulse, and also the “enjoyment” arrives throughout as pallid in comparison to last week’s The Bourne Ultimatum (While no less than the digital camera isn’t troubled With all the shakes). This Motion picture is probably no additional amusing than its predecessors, although it’s difficult To make certain. Practically nothing in almost any in the Hurry Hour products has been roll-on-the-flooring humorous, and this 1 is not any unique. Particularly lame is really a riff on “Who’s on First” that proves the stars of this Film have nothing on Abbot and Costello. There’s also a parody of psychological times in buddy movies showcasing Elton John’s “Sorry Is apparently the Hardest Word.” Maybe that’s imagined to be an apology into the viewers by Brett Ratner. Also take into consideration a scene that includes a lot of raw sewage which will on some stage be considered a comment about in which the franchise is headed.

On of the numerous locations by which the Motion picture disappoints (Whilst, all points thought of, it isn’t unexpected), it’s in The shortage of physicality displayed by Jackie Chan. At age fifty three, he can now not carry out the sorts of stunts that manufactured him a world star. Putting everyday living and limb in danger in the road of responsibility are matters for younger Adult men. The majority of Chan’s most daring function is handed on to stunt-Adult males and you'll find hints of CGI (Despite the fact that never to The purpose where by it’s distracting). The tip-credit score outtakes, which are generally a horror display of Chan’s muffed stunts, are confined here to verbal bloopers, messed-up lines, and the occasional minimal pratfall. Chan’s gift for comedy appears as muted as his martial arts derring-do. At no time all through Hurry Hour 3 is he Specifically humorous. My assumption is that as Chan aged, he would gravitate far more towards comedy, but this isn’t a fantastic start off.

Chris Tucker picks up a pleasant paycheck but none of the slack. Even so, when it’s a extend to get in touch with him “likable,” a minimum of he’s not as irritating as he was in Rush Hour and Hurry Hour two. Both Chan and Tucker are outmaneuvered inside the comedy Office by Yvan Attal, whose character’s adore/detest partnership with American society contributes to a number of the movie’s wittiest (and I use that word loosely) scenes. Max von Sydow, in “hid poor dude” mode, is on hand to perform what he does most effective with that glorious bass voice. (Now that Bergman is officially in his grave, he can flip around.) And Roman Polanksi includes a cameo as a French policeman who anally rapes Lee and Carter. (Sure, you go through that accurately. A PG-thirteen movie capabilities anal rape – Though, obviously, it’s only implied and is particularly utilized to obtain a chuckle.) Why Polanski would agree to Perform this portion is anyone’s guess; it’s not the type of detail that may help his less-than-sterling reputation. I held looking ahead to Jean Reno to show up, since he constantly seems available in these English-Talking movies set in France.

Does Hurry Hour three deliver what audiences be expecting of it? Only its most devoted enthusiasts will say “Certainly.” The formulation is in position nevertheless the performers are experiencing the motions. It’s a stale version from the earlier videos, they usually weren’t all of that wonderful to start with. A person could argue that director Brett Ratner not less than invested Rush Hour with some Vitality. Even during the climactic struggle on the Eiffel Tower, there’s absolutely nothing resembling that in this article. That is just One more disposable summer months Film – so lackluster that it’s not even worth looking out when it performs on tv. The Rush Hour expertise, which hardly ever attained something resembling comprehensive speed, has come to a crashing halt.

#Youtube

[wincore]

atlas | kim dongyoung

pairing: doyoung x reader

words: 15.4k

summary: kim doyoung has a lot of titles. student body president, music club president, favourite student of every professor who’s blessed enough to have him. in other words, he’s not your type and never will be. at least he’s a good kisser.

or, you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and you do not know how to hold things as delicate as glass.

genre: college au, fwb au, hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff 

warnings: very suggestive content, making out, language, smoking, alcohol, mentions of sex under influence, me being pretentious,,

prompt: anonymous said: slippery + doyoung + "you can rely on me, you know." from the first dialogue link! LOVE YOU ❤️

song rec(s): playlist here !

a/n: yes it’s me experimenting out of my comfort zone again. yes you are required by law to listen to keshi while reading this hahahaha anyway writing this was painful. <3 (aka today i tried writing very complex human emotions and failed again. classic.)

In the beginning, there was no beginning. Ergo, this isn’t really a thing.

You shouldn’t be thinking of summer in Introduction to Latin. You are a good (perhaps great, if your ego allows) student after all. Here you are, though, listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering if you sigh loud enough, you won’t have to construct another sentence with the word for ‘death’. You pause to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be thinking of summer out of class either. Unremarkable; that's what it was and you don’t like unremarkable things.

When two people end up alone together, there’s not much to make of. 

“You know,” he had said, locking eyes. “We should get out of here.”

“And then what?”

“Fuck.”

So here’s the thing: this isn’t and won’t be a thing.

Doyoung has never been subtle when drunk, you found out, and he’s not as gentle as he looks. You flip the page of your notebook absentmindedly. You don’t like where your thoughts are going; the clinking of ice against glass rings in your ears again. It’s been far too long (one whole month) and you’re craving a bit of fun. You may forget yourself but you’re reaching your fingertips a little too far to call him again. More excuses pop up. See, in your world of perfection, there’s a hierarchy of things; men rank rather low. 

(Fun doesn’t.)

Here’s another thing: you forget yourself quite often. You know very well that you’re the one who continued this not-thing and now you’re daydreaming of Kim Doyoung in class hours. 

And under grey bed sheets with a tired smile, Doyoung is hard to forget. 

It was a party, it always is. That time, however, was the first party of the year Doyoung and you happened to be attending at the same time. You can’t remember who hosted it—the frat probably—but it was at a bar called the ‘The Meeting Place’ which had too many people you didn’t care about. Doyoung was there, in his laid-back glory, and you were drawn in far too easily. Being single did not help your case—and the alcohol certainly didn’t. You’re not sure if it was the gentle touches against your wrist or quick words that left his mouth or the attractive all-black get-up. All you know is that it was your mouth against his by the end of the night in a small booth, hot and impatient. Once, twice, thrice and you didn’t even need parties anymore. 

It’s not like you weren’t aware of what you were doing; it’s just that you were quick to give in—like you didn’t want to resist in the first place. And now, summer smells like Doyoung’s perfume. 

The first night had given Mr. Student Body President a near-stroke. You weren’t the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men at parties either so the morning had been full of awkward explanations to each other till you’d kissed him to shut him up (much like in a disgusting romantic comedy, minus the feelings) and somehow, it worked. He didn’t refuse and if you recall, he’d eventually pulled you closer by the waist.

You huff, twirling your pen. He’d never admit it.

You didn’t kiss so sloppily after that, unless it was to make out against a wall or while fumbling with the keys to your apartment. The lack of alcohol can bring wonders. You were a little surprised that he’d agreed—he is the Doyoung you’ve known since freshman year after all; blunt, rude, cares more for his grades than he’d ever for you. How laughable. He’s almost the same as you.

Here’s one last thing: Kim Doyoung is not and cannot be your type. 

You had the same part-time job in your second semester at a local fast food joint, and to summarize, your interactions were less than friendly. You can’t possibly count the number of times he yelled at you for trivial mistakes, and the number of times you sent angry, clipped sentences his way. So, yes, neither of you have told anyone—just acting friendly got you enough eyebrow raises.  If there’s anything worse than contradicting yourself almost directly, it’s having to explain that to your friends. So, you kept it a secret and so did he, for his own reasons.

You massage your forehead. If you think any more of this during class hours, you’re going to have to classify this as a terrible, terrible problem; like you don’t have enough already. You tune in to the lecture again, hoping it drowns out the rest of your thoughts. 

You tap your pen against the desk till you’re asked to stop by the professor. There goes your last resort. It isn’t the first time, but you breathe a sigh of relief at the hands of the clock. Casual means casual—you know it better than anyone. Maybe it would be easier if you could be more open about it. But you can’t. Your own problems aside, Doyoung would kill you if his reputation went down, even a nick. Men like that are so difficult, you curse to yourself. 

You run into Ten in the hallways, brightening at his absurdly wide grin. In fact, you haven’t seen him remotely upset since freshman year, when he couldn’t join the dance club, not because he failed the audition but because he mixed up the dates and missed it entirely. (It’s okay; he got in the next year.)

“Guess what!” he yells before you’re even in conversation range.

“What?” you yell back.

“No, guess,” he says, when you’re close enough.

You roll your eyes. “You scored a date?”

Ten deadpans. “No. I don’t even want one.”

“Loser.”

“No, you.”

“How clever.”

Ten flicks your forehead with no provocation whatsoever, making you yelp in pain. After a minute of cursing on your part, he squishes your cheeks to bring you back to reality—like he wasn’t the cause. You bite your lip to keep yourself from scowling. His hair is still light brown from the bleach, and you fix his bangs out of habit; your dumb friends are all you have at the end of the day. You sigh. They all lean on you unwittingly.

“Anyway, the news? I’m not guessing anything else,” you warn, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Well,” he draws out the syllable. “I heard- know you’re into the smart type. You know, student council kinda guys? So…”

You choke, the coffee leaving your mouth just as quick as it entered.

“Who told you that?” The laugh that leaves your mouth is forced and certainly fake but it’s the best you can do.

Ten rolls her eyes, still smiling. “I was thinking if you would be interested in a certain Park Hyungmin.”

Oh. Student body vice-president. He’s most definitely your type, with a gifted body and equally strong academic prowess—not to mention perfectly maintained tan skin and the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen in your life. 

“Oh, yeah, he’s hot,” you nod in agreement. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“He likes you. Like, totally has the hots for you. And I owe him so please help me out here.”

You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.

“You...want me to go on a date with him?” you ask. 

You can oblige. Park Hyungmin is the hottest dude on campus (probably). It’s a win-win situation—in fact, it’s even better. A certain bitter taste finds itself in your mouth. It must be the coffee. You swallow it. 

“Yeah.”

And the deal’s done.

It was casual commitment, like most things you do for fun. You don’t think much of it, and the thought takes its final bow when you run into Doyoung himself.

Well, sort of.

You turn heel when he appears in your line of sight, pretending to fix your hair against a damn wall. You aren’t quite ready to face him yet, considering the coffee hasn’t kicked in—it’s not healthy how much you depend on it. Dependence is different, however, from consciously drowning yourself in it. 

See, Doyoung is anything but tolerable without a few shots of vodka. Or after sex. Or when he’s mumbling in his sleep. And you can’t erase any of those scenes. This is you trying to save yourself (and Doyoung) from embarrassment and a whole lot of explanation.

His coat looks expensive and you’d rather he had it on instead of on his arm. The tucked-in sweater and pants combo accentuates the line of his waist and the colour—you wonder where he found a teal so fitting—looks serene in the crowd. He’s wearing his glasses though, looking a little less put together than usual. Still, no one seems to notice and he continues to explain something to his group of friends.

God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.

His lips are chapped but pink as ever, the hair messed up by either the wind or his friends—you should stop staring by now. You give in. You’ll text him to book a hotel room tonight.

Sometimes you wonder how he has that large a friend circle, and always, the question answers itself. Eloquence, wit and regrettably, good looks—what does he lack? Maybe if he lost the habit to nag people around fifty-six times a day, he’d be the perfect man.  

An arm slings over your shoulder, punting the soul right out of your body.

“Fuck, Johnny, don’t do that,” you hiss, placing your hand over your chest involuntarily. 

The head of the photography club apparently spends his time terrorizing everyone he remotely knows. You make a foul expression but iIt’s not like he ever minds your scowling. He says he’s had enough practice from teasing Doyoung (and you’ll admit, it’s the only time you feel sorry for him). You were certain Doyoung would have filed him for harassment sometime in sophomore year. 

“What are you even looking at?” Johnny asks, raising an eyebrow at the plain offwhite expanse of the wall in front of you.

You feel hot at the neck. “I was fixing my hair.”

“In front of a wall?”

You click your tongue. “Do you not have class?”

“Oh, don’t be so quick to send me off.” He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt, fingers stretched delicately. 

To your dismay, the rest of his friends gather around giving you happy greetings—greetings only carefree college boys are capable of delivering. To your further dismay, Kim Doyoung arches an eyebrow at you, the same way he does on nights you’re doing things less than appropriate to think of in broad daylight.

“Hey, Doyoung, don’t you have anything to say? Or were you too drunk to remember?”

You bite down on your lip a little too hard. Doyoung, on the other hand, looks like he’s just seen God, stammering out a “what?” nevertheless.

“Weren’t you supposed to buy (name) a drink for driving you home that night?”

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.

Oh, he’s bought you a drink enough times. Summer has waned but whatever thread you tied around your wrists hasn’t. Right now, your guess is that Doyoung has been ensnared in the common ritual for college boys to walk around campus and declare their friend is single just to embarrass him (or by some miracle, score him a date).

Everything, apart from the way you look at Doyoung, feels like a charade. You shake your head with a quick laugh, smacking Johnny in the arm and pay your condolences to Doyoung—keep it light. You’re good at it, or pretending you’re good at it, at the very least.

Doyoung’s gaze on you lingers for a moment and then you breathe. You’re going to be late for class—you offer the classic excuse and you’re out of there. In a way, it’s exciting. You’ve always wanted to have a secret relationship, even if this isn’t a real one. 

Doyoung is like the summer breeze, and you’d like for him to stay that way.

The next time you grace each other’s presence is when Doyoung’s tongue is in your mouth and his hands are running up under your shirt. 

He’s quite a pretty sight—messy hair, red lips and rosy cheeks. He moans into the kiss as he has quite a few times now and there’s the lovers’ high running through either of your minds. When he presses his lips to your neck, a soft restrained sound escapes you, not quite prepared for the sting of electricity through your skin. He moves to your collarbone and shoulders and then even lower, hands gripping your waist tight. The walls do not have ears here; these hotels are cheap but they’re built for privacy and maybe you’ll let yourself believe for once that you can belong to someone.

“Why did you text me in the middle of the goddamn night?” he mutters against the base of your neck.

“You want reasons now?” you whisper, hands running through his hair.

Doyoung has pretty fingers, pressing at the right places and prettier eyes that look at you with something akin to, dare you say it, love. He kisses you like he hasn’t had enough; and it makes you feel important.

He’s even better when he’s annoyed.

You wake up at around five in the morning. Propping yourself up on one arm, you take a moment to look at your partner. It’s easy to make out the line of his nose against the pillow, and if you focus, you can see his lashes against his cheek and his dark mop of hair clinging to his forehead. However gentle the moonlight is, it is kindest on a lover. 

Funny.

Too tired to sneak out, you go back to sleep.

“All I’m saying is that you have too much coffee,” Doyoung complains, slipping on his loose black sweatshirt. “It can’t be good for your health.”

You shake your head, scrolling through your phone as you lay on your belly. You’ve seen this view enough times—his back to you and sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, his incessant complaints and opinions about something that happened recently, running his hand through his hair when he sighs. You press on the calendar app and type in a note labeled ‘x’. Keeping tabs isn’t a bad thing; especially if you like order. Spending too many nights with someone is going to land you in trouble. That said, if you could trap love in a bottle, you would.

“You taste like coffee,” Doyoung adds with reddening ears.

Sometimes, it’s easy to ignore what he says if you listen to the sound of his voice instead. You sit up, scooting closer as Doyoung shoots you an alarmed look. He’s so cute like this; something about all the painted fences he puts up around him makes you want to lean in closer.

“So,” you poke his side. “How many relationships have you been in? Proper ones.”

“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “That’s more than I’ve been in!”

Doyoung furrows his. “How many have you been in?”

“One.”

He seems equally surprised but doesn’t probe further. After all, the price sticker that spells ‘youth’ clings to his forehead just as it clings to yours. 

“How many people have you fucked?” you ask suddenly, enjoying the visible flush across his neck.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he notes, flicking your forehead.

“Ow!” You place your palm against your forehead. “Okay, I get it, you have nothing to brag about.”

He shakes his head, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “I just don’t think you have to know. I like privacy.”

“Wait.” You gasp. “Don’t tell me- That night- don’t tell me you were a virgin—”

Doyoung squishes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, a laugh erupting from your mouth. 

“Who’s a virgin?”

Nothing about this, you find yourself realizing, is complicated. It’s easy, gentle, natural, like a breath of fresh air—everything but complicated. Even under dim lights and within the depths of night, Doyoung is warm and uncomplicated. His chest, his hands, his lips—they are warm, as are his words. 

But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.  

Even after these few months, all you know about him, in the definitive format, is that he plays the keys for more hours than he sleeps. What he does for fun, what his classes are, how he became student body president—you could play guessing games all night.

“Do your friends know where you spend your nights?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows.

“They know what I’m doing, not who I’m with,” he responds, running his fingers through his hair.

You purse your lips. It’s nothing hurtful but you don’t like the hush-hush in his tone.

“Why not?”

“Because this is a secret,” he responds as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Do you want them to know?”

He’s right.

“Ah, whatever,” you mutter, a stream of curses following when your elbow collides hard with the edge of the bedside table. 

“Your mouth is filthy.” He looks away to his phone. “I don’t swear as much.”

“Well, of course it is. I had your—”

Doyoung presses his palm against your lips with a tired sigh. “Please. Don’t speak. For the sake of my sanity.”

You smile under his hand and he returns it; and the November morning warms up.

“Where were you last night?”

You were expecting the question. Areum is the worst possible candidate for a roommate if you want some privacy. You don’t think she ever sleeps; sometimes, you wonder if she even showers because all she does is stare at her laptop screen and adjust her designs. Her lips are always chapped and her hair is always in a simple low ponytail but somehow still messy. You’ve never met someone so exhausted yet so full of life at the same time.

“Who were you with last night?” Eunji yells from the bathroom, before the two of them laugh.

You knew you shouldn’t have stayed the morning. You have the nosiest roommates anyone could (not) ask for. But they’re still your friends, you tell yourself begrudgingly. You would tell them about Doyoung if it weren’t for Eunji’s big mouth and Areum’s lack of common sense. And if it weren’t for the inherent comfort of privacy.

(Some part of you wants to keep him to yourself. You don’t care about student council president Doyoung or his friend group’s everything-regulator Doyoung or always-has-his-shit-together Doyoung. The one in your bed is the most loving.)

Areum adjusts her glasses, narrowing her eyes at you. “So? Any answer?”

You break out of your daydream at her voice, feeling a flush creep up your neck.

“I don’t have to explain anything,” you retort, snatching the coffee she brewed from the tabletop. “It was a Friday night and the two of you like Netflix more than me.”

“That’s mine,” Areum mumbles out a weak complaint.

“But don’t go out alone,” Eunji whines. “It can’t be safe.”

You laugh. “You know me. I don’t do anything too dangerous. Besides, you guys have that tracker app.”

They shrug, offering you a thin smile. A part of you is happy that they trust you but another part wonders what it would be like to be worried over. Maybe getting nagged isn’t so bad. 

You take a sip of Areum’s coffee and almost spit it out right back. 

“Did you add salt?” you ask, wiping at your mouth and hoping the taste disappears.

“Uh.” A reply so intelligent, you wonder if she ever pays attention to anything she's doing. 

You take a moment (a few), sigh (several times) and make your way to the shelves. Grumbling, you make her a proper cup of coffee before you leave.

Classes don’t wait for you (even if you think they should) and the world doesn’t wait for you (again, you think it should wait for people) so you’ve made it a point to understand the whole deal about rules. If everyone followed the rules, it would be quite a pretty scene; messing up is only valid if it’s done prettily. You laugh at the thought. That’s near impossible. The bus ride to the campus consists of music and thoughts of bleak tomorrows—an average commute for college kids, you think. You sure hope you aren’t alone in this.

Doyoung smiles at you in the hallway today, and despite your best efforts, it makes your day smell a little fresher.

Your day: classes, coffee break, classes, complaining with Ten, assignments, ‘me’ time. For someone who pretends to be laid back, you use your planner as though for survival. There’s no sticky notes or colourful sketches (except on occasion); just good old fashioned to-do lists and a calendar marked with time you’ve spent on productivity. Every day is a list to be completed. If people call routine a man-made cage, instinct is the biological cage. You’d rather be in control of the cage you’re in. You’d rather be in control of yourself. It’s scary otherwise.

So you know how to get the job done—it’s ingrained into you the same way you would place your hands over your ears at loud sounds, or the way you would run to your bed in the dark after switching off the lights.

It never occurs to you that the reason your world is so perfect is a sad one.

Sometime next month, it’s going to snow. Not yet though, and it’s still too cold.

The inside of the cafe helps the slightest, the heaters situated far back from where you sit. Christmas decorations are up already and the combination of red and green meshes delightfully into the form of an aching headache. The wood paneling on the walls are worn at the corners, the garlands hardly covering them, and the barista behind the counter seems as gloomy as the decorations are bright. You wouldn’t be noticing all of this if you weren’t stuck in one position.

You lean your cheek further into your palm and sigh, only this time Ten asks you to, quote, ‘shut the fuck up’.

He pulls up his sleeve and reaches for another pencil. His cryptic process continues, as it has been for the past half an hour and you feel yourself getting impatient, trying to not bounce your leg and get another bout of quibbling from your half-mad artist friend. You don’t usually run low on patience; but Ten has a special pass to test drive it.

“How much lon—”

“Shh!” He hushes you quickly. You can’t remember why you agreed to being his portrait study subject but you sure as hell regret it.

Around fifteen minutes later, you take a (permitted) breath. You have neither the energy nor the neck strength to glare at Ten but you make sure to show your displeasure by snatching the cookies from the table with a particularly sour look. He gets up and pushes you to the side of the small worn-out couch offered by the equally small booth.

“God, that chair was uncomfortable. My butt is frozen solid,” he lets you know, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, if we weren’t friends in high school, I would never be friends with you,” you state.

Ten tilts his head to the side, a mocking pout over his lips. “I would die without you, (name). Really.”

You smack his arm and he yelps, smacking your arm right back. The sound attracts some attention and giggles, and you make a gagging gesture to let them know you are in way or form in a relationship. The low-volume music changes to something with a more distinguishable beat, the sound of doors opening and closing almost every two minutes accompanying. Arriving on time is an accomplishment, especially arriving before rush hour on Fridays at the only decent cafe on campus, but both of your classes end early and there is no way you aren’t taking advantage of that. Leaving, however, is mostly done when you’re being glared at by the waiters and waitresses.

“Doyoung asked about you,” Ten says, all of a sudden. “Kim Doyoung.”

You try to not show concern, but raise an eyebrow. “What? So? He’s not my type or anything.”

You bite your tongue. That was too quick a response, too obvious. Your cheeks grow hot. Ten doesn't say anything, however, and for a moment, you think you’re in safe waters. 

“Are you guys… into each other or not?”

You cough, trying to show your surprise at something so outrageous. “Why would you think that? Does he look like someone who dates around?”

“Actually, he’s been on quite a few dates.”

“No way.”

You know that. He’s told you about it before, in vague references, but you know about them nonetheless.

“Isn’t one student council guy enough?” you mumble. “Why are we talking about Doyoung?”

He shrugs, a familiar feline smile on his face. “Just asking. He talks about you sometimes. Actually, we forced it out of him but whatever.”

You shake your head. “You’re all terrible.”

“You seem to like him though.”

“Who said that?”

Ten sighs, ignoring your question. “If you guys are dating—”

“We’re not.”

“—or fucking—”

“Ten.”

“—you should learn a thing or two about him. The guy’s not as annoying as he looks. Or stuck-up. He’s really nice but don’t tell him I said that.”

“I know that,” you snap, feeling warm at the neck all of a sudden. “I know him.”

“Oh, you do? Tell me what his hobbies are then. Or his major. Or the clubs he’s in, apart from the student council.”

“He- He likes to sing and he’s- he’s—god, what is this? An interrogation? I’m not going to meet his mom for dinner.”

Ten gives you an ‘I knew it’ look before leaning his elbow onto the table. “You’re sleeping with a guy you don’t know anything about. Serial killers would love you.”

You massage your forehead. “Look, I know he’s a good guy, okay? And he’s sweet- and- and—wait a minute. Oh my god, you tricked me.”

Ten lets out a snort. “Hey. Okay, look, the other guys might be dumb as shit but I have, you know, a working set of eyes. I can tell. It’s not that hard.”

You grumble but the cat’s out of the bag anyway. You should’ve known Ten would figure it out—he’s a nosy little shit, and he’s been that way since high school.

“Whatever. As long as Doyoung doesn’t start panicking about his tarnished reputation or whatever.”

“Oh, I think he’s desperate to let everyone know.”

“To you, Ten, everything seems obvious. It’s annoying.” You mess up his hair.

“No, I mean, I thought you were dating.”

“Well, we’re not.”

Ten shrugs. 

“And I don’t like him,” you add. “I like the- the thing that’s going on because there’s no feelings attached.”

He looks somewhat pained, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, but doesn’t respond to your explanation. “Can I ask for a favour?”

“No.”

Ten sighs. “Come on. You didn’t even hear me out.”

“You’re going to say something stupid. Or insulting.”

“It’s neither, promise.”

You run your hand through your hair, breathing shallow. “Fine. I don’t have to agree though.”

Ten purses his lips. “It’d be better if you did.”

You hum in response, biting into the cookie and trying to ignore the glare from the nearby waitress. It’s about time you left anyway.

“Get to know him, dude. Don’t break his heart.”

“What?”

“Just kidding. There’s a party tonight. Hosted by yours truly. Finally moved out of that stinky dorm room. Bring over some friends but not more than three. And lend me some money for a juicebox.”

“That’s a lot,” you mutter. “You ask for a lot of favours.”

“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”

“He already asked me out on a date. Am I supposed to say no? You never mentioned he has such an attractive voice.”

“Oh, I’m not telling you to not go on that date. You have to, actually. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble otherwise.”

“That sounds good to me.”

“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”

You roll your eyes.

“But if you didn’t, I could draw some conclusions.”

“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”

“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”

“Don’t complete that sentence.”

“I was going to say something funny.” 

Ten flashes you a blinding smile and you sigh. By now, you’re about to get kicked out of here so you stand up discreetly while he packs up his stuff. You hug your jacket close to you as soon as you leave, shivering at the evening breeze. The sky is inky, but with a faint sort of ink—deep blue and light, all at once. From the crowd, you can tell classes just got over for quite a few people, eclectic chatter filling up the street.

“Fine. I’ll bring Eunji,” you tell Ten after some contemplation. “And whoever else responds to my text first. Areum never leaves the room. You know that.”

“Thanks, (name)!” he messes up your hair. “I would give you a kiss but someone will end up punching my pretty face.”

You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re not my type anyway.”

“I’m too good for you,” he responds in a sing-song manner, waving at you before running off and disappearing into the university crowd.

There’s always a sort of buzz in the air you can’t quite describe at college parties.

Even if this is a relatively small one, you feel an oncoming headache the moment you enter Ten’s new apartment, which you’re sure had a ‘no parties’ rule in the rental contract. You spot Kun, Ten’s roommate from the dorms and he flashes you a quick smile in greeting before he’s swept up by a doting crowd. Apparently, a cute guy in animal sciences is rare and it makes him rather popular.

Eunji disappears from your side the moment she spots Johnny, and the number of eye rolls you’ve given her haven’t warned her off him yet. You suppose it takes heartbreak to change a person. Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen only to be greeted with the strange sight of Yuta trying to balance Jaehyun on his back so they can imitate some anime formation and back out immediately. Living room, it is, despite its populous space. (You don’t really want to think of bedrooms right now.)

The apartment is quite big for what Ten told you the rent was. The hallway to the two bedrooms is narrow but you suppose something has to be sacrificed for space. You furrow your eyebrows at the two bedroom doors. Ten never said he was getting a roommate. You shrug it off, sitting down on the rather stiff couch. The lack of furniture, apart from the couch and a coffee table, makes the place look even larger and people sparse. You like the beige walls; Ten’s always loved warmer colours but something makes you think he’s going to be ruining them in a few days with garish green paint before he comes crying about that to you.

“Hey.”

You look up to the familiar voice, heart rising to your throat.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Doyoung remarks before sitting down beside you and offering you a cup of god-knows-what.

“I don’t take drinks from strange men,” you say, biting down your smile and crossing your arms.

“If you didn’t take drinks from strange men, we wouldn’t be fu—”

“Doyoung!” you hiss before looking at him with careful suspicion. “Are you drunk?”

“No. A little bit. Not enough.”

You sigh. “How will you get home now?”

“I live here, idiot.”

“You’re- You’re Ten’s roommate?” you sputter.

“Yeah. New one,” he responds. “He used to live across our room in the dorms, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.”

“I can’t believe it either. I’ve seen cats and dogs friendlier with each other than the two of you.”

Doyoung laughs. “He’s surprisingly one of the better people to room with. I’d rather eat my own blanket than room with Yuta again.”

You laugh at his irked expression, eyebrows furrowed so cutely. The line of his brow bone to nose to lips, it seems a little too perfect to belong to someone. He relaxes his shoulders a little, leaning back on the couch as he looks somewhat lost in thought. (“You think too much,” you’d told him once. “And you think too little.”) If only that were true, you smile to yourself.

“Are you sure you can hold parties here?” you as when the music suddenly rises in volume.

“Well, it said student-friendly,” Doyoung responds, looking visibly disturbed. “Not sure if I want to test the limits of that so early.”

There’s a pause, filled in with loud pop music. You don’t think Ten, your dear introvert, would have agreed to such a party but there’s a chance Johnny or Jaehyun had something to do with this. You don’t know who to suspect when it comes to their group of friends.

“I still can’t believe you’re rooming with Ten.” You look at Doyoung.

“Well, that makes, what, eleven of us, I guess?”

You laugh, feeling conscious all of sudden. Maybe you should listen to Ten’s advice.

“Doyoung,” you call, looking at the cup in your hands a little too passionately. “What’s your major?”

He looks at you with eyes widened ever so slightly, and a pause over his lips.

“Linguistics,” he answers.

“Oh. You said something about it once,” you mumble, recalling something vague about an assignment of his. “You know mine?”

“Yeah,” he answers, eyes cast on his watch.

“Well, that makes me feel a little guilty,” you mumble as softly as you can.

“You should be,” he says. “You never listen to anything I say.”

You scoff. “You just complain most of the time.”

“Really now?”

“Yes,” you snap, looking away.

You look back again when you hear the sound of Doyoung’s laugh, a distinct brightness in it. Sometimes, you wonder if you really are as awful as you’ve made yourself be.

“You’re cute,” he says. “No wonder everyone is so in love with you.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

“Everyone?” you laugh. You don’t care about everyone. It’s burdensome.

“Everyone. They hate you too, by the way.” He smiles to himself. “Heard you’re going on a date with that dimwit. Hyungmin.”

You feel a sudden discomfort in your being. Taking a sip of the drink, you try to shake it off as best as you can. 

“Yeah, I- I don’t think I’ll go,” you say, waving it off. 

Why are you lying? You left it hanging on a maybe. Part of you wants to tell Doyoung; he is your friend after all and you tell friends stuff like this. The other part tells you this is cheating; lying and pretending everything is okay—it feels like cheating. 

“Oh.” He looks lost before he focuses on you. “Why not?”

“Why do you care?” you ask, trying desperately to calm the uprising in your chest.

He stays quiet for a few seconds and then shrugs, looking away from you. It makes you feel a little guilty to dismiss the situation so quickly, another item to add to your troubles. You sigh.

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

“I’m not,” you say. “I’m wrong. I really didn’t mean it.”

He looks at you all at once, his gaze so gentle that it makes you think he wants to kiss you, or do something equally affectionate. Instead he sighs, downing whatever’s left of his drink before a wash of sudden looseness does away with the tension in his body.

“You have any more questions for me?” he asks, smiling. “What's it like to be student body president—or, or what instruments can I play? My favourite animal? Colour?”

You smile back. “What is your favourite animal?”

“I don’t have one. Don’t like them. Unless it’s a soft toy.”

“No way. You’re lying.”

“Now, I answer your questions and you call me a liar? Makes me a little hesitant to answer the next.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, next then. Why didn’t you join the frat? All your friends are in it.”

“Hurts my ego.”

You laugh. He’s still probably an honorary member. There is no way he’s apart from friends for too long with all those feelings of fraternity he has, no matter what he says. It’s the same as you. Affection leads nowhere though; just to short-lived moments of comfort.

You realize, through the course of the night, that you never asked. How he got into the student council, what his classes are, what he does for fun—you never asked. It’s almost like you didn’t want to know. 

How sad, you muse to yourself, to be this way. To be so wrapped up in your own problems that you fail to see people around you. Pity, however, isn’t something to feel at a party. You talk with Doyoung for the rest of the night till the sound of his voice makes you feel certain ghosts of butterflies, and till you have to take Eunji home before she does something she regrets. This is what it really means to have the price tag of ‘youth’ strung across you perhaps—when you feel old and immature all at once, and in between, when you feel nothing at all.

Doyoung is too old to mistake love. Or too young. 

Labels don’t define anything, especially when it comes to relationships—so even if he calls it love, whispers it to himself at midnight when he’s sitting alone on his bed while his friends are passed out drunk on the floor, it is empty. And then there’s you. The heat of your skin, the curse of your smile and that cheeky laugh you do to get on his nerves. He wants all of it and he’s not ashamed—but he’d be a liar to say he can shout it to the whole world. He’s not that kind of man, and what is his can remain his without the rest of the world prying its damn fingers in. The first night, no, the second—third? He can’t remember which night it was but something pent up in him exploded and he didn’t try to control it for once.

“Ow,” he mutters.

His throat burns from the whiskey. He hates drinking alone but you’re either asleep or with friends and he can’t think of anyone else but you. He tugs at the turtleneck collar, getting uncomfortable by the minute, and then proceeds to take off his coat.

For a moment, he considers getting back to the living room. There were more than enough people with lingering touches against his shoulder and longing gazes—they’re not you. He leans back onto his bed. Another hour and everyone will be gone; why did he even let them hold a party in the first place? Parties just remind him of you—he takes a whiff and smells summer and lemon vodka all of a sudden. A deep sigh leaves his lips.

You might not seem to find yourself especially sad, but Doyoung finds something oddly touching about you. Maybe it’s the way you say his name, he muses, like you’re desperately trying to fill the gaps. But it can’t be him in particular, of course—it’s a lover, any lover.

He hates long nights, just as he hates winter but lately, they haven’t been feeling too cold. Isn’t it ridiculous the way he’s running after you? Doyoung was never meant for this. It’s fucking pathetic and it makes him want to tear all his hair out but there he is, still and quiet in the same place. A certain agony makes its way through him. His hands are freezing and yet his insides are burning—nothing makes sense and right now, he doesn’t want it to. He presses his cold hands to the warmth of his cheeks and a laugh erupts from his mouth.

He must be going crazy to laugh like this in an empty room. The car lights from the window travel slowly from wall to ceiling, the only thing moving in the stagnant of his room.

Inevitably, he thinks of the end. It should come quick; in fact, he’s never been one to do this. He’s always been someone to get attached to people. He doesn’t know how the end will come because this shouldn’t have begun in the first place.

Doyoung’s out of breath.

“Crazy bastard,” he mumbles to himself, followed by a groan when he lifts his head up. As if on cue, the door opens and shuts with a bang. Ten walks in looking drowsy, running his hand through his hair with a disgruntled face.

“I hate to say this,” he slurs. “But you’re right. We can’t have extra furniture and parties. Gotta choose one.”

Ten lays down flat on the bed. “I vote out that ugly ass clock you bought. Why do we need it? We have phones and laptops.”

“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.

“Oh. Uh. Actually, someone already, uh—”

“Leave it. We’ll talk about that in the morning.” 

Doyoung massages his forehead, groaning at the pain when Ten suddenly decides he’s all up for cuddling. 

“Ew,” he says, scooting away from Ten. “Get away from me.”

“You don’t mean that,” Ten whines, trying very hard to pull Doyoung into a hug. Of course, his attempts are blocked by Doyoung’s palm against his forehead.

After a few more seconds of trying, Ten huffs and turns away, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you anyway.”

“I know,” Doyoung mutters.

Ten erupts into laughter, sounding more like a psychopath than a close friend of his.

“You do that every time you like someone?” he asks in between fits.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “I just said—okay, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a much needed silence and Doyoung wonders if he can just fall asleep without kicking Ten out.

“You should tell (name),” Ten says all of a sudden, Doyoung’s heart stopping at your name.

“What?” he whispers.

Ten looks at him as though he’s talking to a particularly stupid child. It makes Doyoung scowl but there’s too much alcohol in his system to know if he really means it.

“You don’t- you’re- everyone in this goddamn building knows,” Ten explains, exasperated. “Jaehyun knows, and he’s the densest kid I’ve ever met. God, if you like (name), go for it.”

Doyoung blushes so deep, he considers pressing his palms to his cheeks again. He thinks for the next few moments. Ah well, if they had to find out, he’s glad he didn’t have to declare it himself.

“Whatever, just ask (name) out. It can’t be that complicated.”

Except it is. You don’t have to spell it out for him—he knows the way you feel. The two of you only ever wanted one thing out of this. But if there’s something Doyoung isn’t good at, it’s keeping his mouth shut. He wonders how many times he let it slip, wonders if you even care enough to notice. God, it’s starting to sound pitiful for him.

“Ten. How much did you drink?” Doyoung asks, raising his head.

“Nothing. None. I’m not drunk.” Ten shrugs. “Just sleepy.”

A ‘wow’ is all Doyoung can respond with. He still isn’t quite finished figuring out what sort of horrific planet Ten stumbled from. A notification ding distracts him from kicking Ten off his bed and he has half a mind to toss it onto the bedside table but it’s still half. He softens almost immediately.

It’s a text from you: a ‘u’ followed by a smiley face and then a meme he can’t quite read through hazy eyes. He finds himself smiling anyway and sends a barrage of emojis, whatever he finds because he likes the way you get annoyed at them. Sighing, he decides that’s enough. He’s not in the right state of mind for conversation.

Doyoung shuts his phone off, attempts to push Ten off the bed one last time before closing his eyes and dozing off.

Not every day is meant to be fun—you know that in your twenties—but it’s still somewhat disappointing to have bad days. Like youth is meant to give you some sort of happiness daily. That’s what they make it sound like.

You groan, rubbing at your back. Sitting at your study desk for so long does not have good long term effects. At least, your temporary, meaningless assignments are done. You scowl at the text on your laptop screen; the more you look at it, the more you hate it and so, you shut it off. It’s not like your pissy professor is going to be impressed by anything you do. However, you like the orderly certainty of schoolwork.

Break time consists of guilt and sugary snacks. You’re done with most everything and you suppose leaving the final review of things to a later date can’t hurt. In fact, it sounds rather appeasing. A few more moments pass in making a decision.

You get dressed. The apartment feels eerie all alone, and you’re sure as hell not going to spend the rest of your evening here. You shiver, quickly striding out the front door and locking it before taking out your phone.

People misunderstand winter. Winter is only the end of things; and sometimes, the beginning. It isn’t cruel or crushing, it’s just taking its course. However, you have a tendency to blame seasons for all that happen in it. For instance, you shouldn’t be missing summer when you really miss the first night with Doyoung. 

He picks up after calling thrice. You wonder what he’s even up to, if Saturday evenings are also booked full for such a guy.

“Why do you take so long to pick up?” you complain. “Do you not get days off?”

“I’m busy,” he hisses. 

Something’s wrong.

You pause, unsure what to do. It’s not his voice but the one in the background that catches your attention. 

Inviting him somewhere. 

Rather sensually.

Your ears feel hot and you drop the call. Of course. Of fucking course. You’re the idiot thinking it was a thing. This whole thing is casual—feeling sorry wasn’t in the contract. Fucking around was.

It’s not like you’ll be heartbroken by something like this. Of course not. Of course. Doyoung and you never had a beginning so there isn’t an end, really. It’s fine. It’s fine. You take a deep breath and browse through your phone. With the onset of Christmas holidays, you have around three options left. Ten (yikes), Jaehyun (no way) or the latest addition, Hyungmin.

Well, you’re dressed. You have to go somewhere. And your statement about Hyungmin being the hottest guy on campus still stands.

You send two texts to the boy before deciding that’s apparently enough time waiting. He picks up after a few rings, voice groggy from what you assume to be a late afternoon nap.

“You up for a drink?” You cut to the point.

“Uh? Oh, uh, now? I am, of course- I just need—”

“Twenty minutes. I’ll text you the address.”

Nothing cheers you up like your favourite bar. Or friends. Or people who respond to calls.

Hongdae is as busy as ever. You knew the bar would be packed but not this packed. Still, you managed to grab a seat at the bar table. With the oncoming night, the smell is just going to get worse—so there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself to some lemon vodka (and its refreshing scent).

Hyungmin arrives exactly four minutes early, and the mussed up hair makes you think he must have been in a hurry. For what, you can’t be sure. 

You can still see the inklings of Hongdae nightlights on his hair right before he enters, and in the fallacy of that moment, you think it’s going to be Doyoung. You sigh. This isn’t the time for that.

“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to the bar table. “All the tables were booked.”

“No, no,” he responds quickly. “I actually prefer it here.”

He’s tall, not that it’s the first time you’re noticing, but even when he’s sitting, he’s at least two heads taller than you are. His shoulders are accentuated by the mocha coat, no doubt part of the latest trend this winter. As a fashion student, he hits the mark and more. 

For a moment, you feel bad for knowing his major. Ten let it slip about him and yet still, you feel guilty for remembering it. You’re not supposed to go into unnecessary detail about people that don’t matter. Does he matter? 

“Surprised you could make it,” you joke half-heartedly. “Aren’t you lot always busy with something?”

He laughs. “The student council? Oh, we’re busy alright.”

Busy. Right.

“What about you? Aren’t you part of like three different clubs?”

“So what kind of busy?” you ask, ignoring his question. You’re part of two, now that you left the music club last semester. It’s not like small talk matters though.

“Uh,” he hesitates. “You know- attend meetings and events, coordinate committee work, supervise stuff, etcetera etcetera. So busy, yeah.”

“Busy on Saturdays too?” you ask, before thanking the bartender for the drinks.

“Yeah, I guess. Doyoung has it worse than me honestly. Even now, he has to take care of stuff because of me. Hah…”

You gulp down your drink making Hyungmin raise an eyebrow in concern. “Stuff? Because of you?”

“Yeah.” Hyungmin scratches the back of his head. “He’s with the girls.”

“Girls?” you ask, playing with the glass. You’re starting to feel annoyed, red lining your vision.

“Yeah.” He makes no notion of clarifying his statement.  

“Must be quite the president,” you say, resting your cheek against your palm.

“Oh, he’s a nightmare.” Hyungmin laughs. “He has to control everything.”

You try to mask your scoff. You know what he can be like when you’re working beside him. 

“Oh, and the guy has no sense of humour,” Hyungmin laughs, the sound easy on the ears.

You blink.

“I think he’s funny,” you say quickly. You swear you have no idea why you sound so defensive.

He hums in response and you consider biting your tongue, telling him you’re only here for one thing and forgetting the uncomfortable churning of feelings inside your chest.

“Forget I- I’m a little confused today.” 

Is that an acceptable explanation? You can’t think straight enough to decide. The silence on Hyungmin’s part, however, worries you. The crowd around you fills in for the next few moments as your companion seems to debate something with himself.

“Look, I know you and Doyoung are… I don’t know, something.”

You huff in irked amusement. “God, does everyone seem to know?”

“Not until late actually.” Hyungmin takes a gulp. “He’s been acting weird. Doyoung.” 

You look away, breathing shallow. You don’t like it, the way things seem to be getting out of hand. All this time, the world seemed to be in the palm of your hand and now, it’s spilling everywhere; the sand in the hourglass is already up to your knees and you don’t know what happens when it fills.

“Do you actually like him?” he asks, leaning back just a little. You know where this is going. “Are you guys dating?”

“No,” you respond, checking your watch.

“Oh.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation in him but you’ve seen that look before. You know that look.

“Then we can- uh- we can—”

“Fuck?” you ask.

He gulps. “I mean, you can say no any time—”

You pull him by the collar and kiss him, hard enough to melt away your hovering thoughts. He kisses like you expect him to, not how you want him to. You know this sort, and somehow, that makes you feel comfortable. Knowing what you’re getting into is easing but it doesn’t lessen the weight of it.

It’s sickening. The way you’re pretending it’s Doyoung.

Hyungmin pulls apart, panting heavily. “Oh, okay.”

“Tell me you drove here.” 

He holds up his car keys in response.

You’re not the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men, but it’s better than falling in love with them.

So you follow a lover to a hotel room and try to feel something. Some time, when he’s kissing you against the hotel room walls, he pulls apart and asks, “You’re thinking of someone else, aren’t you?”

You know the answer; it just won’t leave your lips.

“It’s okay,” he says with a weak smile, “Let’s just have fun.”

And every time his mouth was on yours, every time you saw stars, you felt the ghost of Doyoung and his haunting touches. It was strange and unfair and unlike you—or at least, unlike the you that you built over the past few years. You feel as though you’ve misplaced something—like something was supposed to be there when you reached out but instead, it was empty space.

The night ends as it should and you leave right before dawn with an apology text you couldn’t put half your heart into.

Most winter nights, you wake up with pain so profound, it’s seeping into your bones.

It never made sense. You never tried to make sense of it. So you let the aches push you down by the shoulders, lodge itself into your neck and back; and you tell yourself, it must be what you deserve. It’s cold and you’re walking barefoot on frozen ground.

You gasp. The weight of who you are and who you have to be—it has its knee on the back of your neck, shoving you into the damp earth. There’s no particular reason to it; it makes it seem as though it’s insignificant. Unimportant. Irrelevant. But that’s the problem—the weight of the world on your shoulders makes no sense. Whose world are you even carrying? Whose approval are you trying to win? You scramble to get up, messing up your bedsheets in the process, and pull your blanket around you. Your own warmth surrounds you and it makes no difference. You frown.

You remember your phone call with your mom, and your lips tremble. You shouldn’t have told her about how crappy your finals went but it slipped. You tried to explain that you did work for them, that you gave it your best but sometimes things don’t work out. She didn’t have to say it out loud for you to hear her thoughts. 

You’re disappointing. 

You wipe at your eyes, feeling annoyed at the emotion. If you could let the ground swallow you whole, you would. In a heartbeat. You don’t even know what you’re doing most of the days despite that pretty planner of yours.

You get out of bed, pull on your cardigan beside the bed and grab your lighter and pack. The tiny balcony makes for a great smoking spot and while you would scold any of your friends for committing to this, you do it yourself. Hypocrite.

For all you try to shove into yourself—hobbies, student clubs, actual clubbing, friends—the more you feel less than enough, as if everything just vanishes into thin air inside you. As if you aren’t enough and never will be. You play by the rules and you lose, you break the rules and you lose. 

Maybe it’s because you let yourself be filled by the intricacies of other people that they like you. And thus, you cannot stop for fear of loneliness.

Just as you’re feeling crushed again, you picture Doyoung against your back, placing his nose in the crook of your neck—something he has never done—and you wonder why it helps. 

Sucking in air too fast, you cough. You shouldn’t have let it go on for so long.

It was fun—harmless fun. You shouldn’t even be thinking of taking a step in some other direction. You’re friends, barely, but you like where you are. If Doyoung was that important, you wouldn’t be going about this all backwards. You sigh, though it comes out jagged. The room is quiet and that’s the way it should be at four a.m, of course, but you crave music all of a sudden. Doyoung and you are just a temporary fix; and you let that thought relax you.

When you think of his chin on your shoulder, however, it feels feather light.

“Why are we doing this?” you ask. 

The atmosphere is warm and toasty, just like you expect it to be in a bakery with light pink doors and a collection of plastic potted plants on display. The decorations aren’t an eyesore here and somehow, it makes you feel better. It’s a little far but you decide it’s worth it.

Doyoung shrugs, sipping his hot chocolate. “It’s Christmas, and we’re both here.”

Your eyes follow the hanging lights over the counter, wrapped in pine tree stickers and eventually to the neat display of a ‘Season’s Greetings’ menu, the contents of which are currently at your table. A Christmas song by some singer who’s been popular lately plays, tunes light and dancing. You hate the end of the year solely because of the extra pressure January brings. Nothing you can’t handle, of course. Nothing you can’t handle.

You sigh. It’s been a little difficult lately.

“Doyoung, really, why are we doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Are you- uh- are you not enjoying this? I could—”

“No! No, it’s not that. I feel better, actually.” You bite your tongue almost immediately after. It’s not like he’s supposed to know the sort of hell week you’re having. A poorly received term paper, finals that weren’t up to your expectations, crippling loneliness without friends and, oh, the self-doubt—you are at the lowest you can be in college. The only sweetener right now is in the hot chocolate and the way Doyoung’s looking at you. 

You feel something close to guilt.

“Good.” He smiles. “You seemed… You seemed a little down.”

The sliver of warmth between your ribs makes you think this is unreal. It feels uneasy to be so affected by someone but you let it slide, turning back to your hot chocolate.

“Why didn’t you go home this time?” you ask, sipping your drink.

“Oh, I didn't really want to face my parents,” he says before leaning. “Didn’t do too well this semester. And my brother’s going to be there with all his achievements.”

You chuckle in disbelief. “You don’t like your brother?”

“I love him to bits. Just can’t stand my mom’s nagging when he’s around.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” You cross your arms, smiling triumphantly. You feel like children squabbling but it’s so lighthearted, you want to laugh.

Doyoung raises a pointed finger, about to retort but nothing comes out. He puts his hand down.

“I guess you’re right.”

You shake your head. “I’m sure she’s proud of you too.”

“I know that,” he says, laughing. “Of course she is. I don’t keep myself busy for nothing.”

You gulp, a sudden sourness rising at the base of your tongue. 

“Busy, huh? Didn’t know spending saturday evenings with girls also counted as busy,” you mutter against the cup, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you.

“What?” There’s a perplexed look across his face.

You wave your hand in dismissal. “Oh don’t mind me.”

“Are you talking about me giving a tour to the fresher girls?” Doyoung leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Hyungmin does that usually but Mr Man was sore from soccer practice and Friday fucking.” 

You blink. “Fresher… girls?”

“What, did you think I was at a brothel?” Doyoung laughs in amusement.

You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No! No, of course not.”

You wave your hands about for a few more seconds, trying to come up with an explanation. This makes things rather embarrassing.

“Sorry,” you say finally. “I jumped to conclusions.”

Doyoung laughs, rather deep and heartily, and you wonder if your apology really did sound as stupid to him as it did to you. 

“You do that a lot,” he notes.

“Thanks,” you quip, cutting the pastry with your fork a little too forcefully. His laugh follows. (You hate it so much. It sounds like pure adoration.)

The next few moments consist of scrolling through your phones (because Doyoung says his ‘mouth hurts from talking to you’) and you would’ve been in a better state of mind if everyone wasn’t posting pre-Christmas photos with their families. 

“You know they’re opening that park. What’s it called- Winter Wonderland or something. You said you wanted to visit.”

You look up at Doyoung amused.

“Let’s be honest. You want to be in bed, Doyoung,” you say. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care,” he answers, looking at you with his doe eyes. “About you. You sulk when you’re upset.”

“I don’t sulk,” you reply but your smile is obvious when you exit the cafe. 

It’s like a date. The more you think of it that way, the more it makes you smile.

The evening is perfect—orange and pink and loving and happy. Doyoung trails behind you as you tread over the sidewalk with cheeky remarks about his speed.

“I’m in the track club, you know?” he huffs, finally tired of your jabs.

“As what, the start point?”

A fake, sarcastic laugh leaves him. “I wouldn’t get to see you if I walked ahead.”

You feel warmth creep up your face. You mumble, “that’s cheesy.” It’s too weak though, and it goes unheard. 

For the first time, you notice his eyes are a little like yours in what they reflect. You love them. 

So this is where the crowd went. The amusement park, or whatever you call it, is buzzing with a faint sort of excitement, mostly in the children that didn’t get to go on a vacation elsewhere. It’s quite the wonderland though so you can’t see them complaining.

“Do you think they’ll kick us out if we make out on the Ferris wheel?” you ask, smiling at Doyoung.

“I’m not making out with you on the Ferris wheel,” he replies, making a face.

You do end up making out on the Ferris wheel, and you get butterflies from it. It’s like a teenage dream but Doyoung looks even better. You pass on the cotton candy because frankly, you’ve had enough of sweet things. You sit at the frozen wooden seat, hoping it warms up while Doyoung brings the two of you some fries.

Your phone buzzes with a notification. Your eyes light up at the mail from your professor. You had turned in the term paper three days ago, weeks ahead of schedule and were particularly proud of the way it turned out. 

You look at the email and zero in on the word ‘redo’.

Your shoulders sag immediately. You spent four weeks on that—and it’s not good enough? You search frantically for how it could have gone wrong and come up with none. That’s not supposed to happen. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. The week’s exhaustion swallows you up again.

When Doyoung returns, he looks at you concerned before quickly setting the fries on the table.

“(name). Is something wrong?”

“Huh?” Your voice sounds so weak and squeaky, you feel embarrassed. It’s embarrassing that after all these years, you still don’t know how to handle failure. 

Because it’s not supposed to happen. You tell yourself that over and over and it makes things worse.

You feel dirty, underneath all that dust and crumbled rock dangling in your hair. Whatever rests on your shoulders is cracking and collapsing, and you’re pushing in the wrong direction to make sure it all stays up. 

He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.

“No,” you mutter, weakly shaking your head.

You rub at your nose and eyes, hoping you can hide behind your forearms. Doyoung shouldn’t be seeing you like this, he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. You turn away from him, your palm gently pushing against the soft material of his shirt. 

Doyoung doesn’t move. Instead, he gently tugs on your wrist so you have no choice but to face him with your red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment or pity, but the concern in his eyes makes you cry harder. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers. “You don’t have to find a place to cry.”

For the first time in adulthood, you learn what it’s like to lean your forehead against someone’s chest this way. Doyoung wraps his arms around you and the sound of his breathing soothes your near-erratic heart. 

“I worked really hard on it, you know?” you mumble against his chest. “My term paper.”

“I know,” he whispers.

Doyoung strokes your head delicately, fingers running through your hair with airy touches. Eventually, you let go of a final sigh and look up to his lips.

He seems surprised at the kiss but it’s all you can think of now. It’s gentler than usual and Doyoung moves cautiously though he seems to like it all the same. His arms feel comfortable around you. When he pulls apart, he looks at you yet still with careful concern.

“We can- we should stop if you want,” he says, and he means it. 

You shake your head. Night is creeping in overhead, deep and quiet and slow.

“I like you, Doyoung,” you say finally. “I really, really like you.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen, as though a rabbit wary of the traps it might set foot on but he eases into your touch almost immediately.

“I like… I like you too.” His lips waver but he looks away and takes a deep breath. “I like you so much.”

You smile and think that maybe everything is set right now, with his chin against your shoulder and your arms around him. 

Doyoung discards the jacket once you’re in your apartment, kissing you fuller now. Every other thought leaves you; you beg him to make you forget the rest of the world. The walls are comforting now that he’s here, and it’s warmer, hotter.

“Can we- Can we go a little slower?” you mumble, his arms still gentle when they wrap around your waist. He parts his lips from your neck to look at you momentarily before nodding.

You suddenly understand why he always makes you feel so good. There’s a certain fondness to his touch and warmth to his kisses. There’s no one quite like him, really.

“I love digging graves, especially if it’s my own,” you mutter against the pillow.

Doyoung laughs. “What did you do this time?”

“This time? Excuse me? Do you think I’m some sort of trouble child?”

“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”

You pause. Why do you hesitate to tell him you slept with Hyungmin? It’s not like you were cheating—you weren’t dating Doyoung. Besides, that night with Hyungmin didn’t mean anything. A horrid feeling snakes around your throat, heavy and piercing. You resort to changing the topic.

“I’m… I took another course beyond my understanding.”

“That’s it?” he asks.

You nod.

No, no, no; it’s all backwards now and you don’t know how to reverse it.

Doyoung takes your hand in his, delicately and yet firm. His chest is against your back, bare and warm. When he presses his lips against your knuckles, the warmth that flushes through you makes you want to believe in something else entirely. You feel weak. 

A part of you argues that you feel honest—in a moment of clarity you don’t think you deserve. Neither vodka nor whiskey can make you this clear in the head; you struggle to breathe straight. How awful it is to feel warmth and not believe in it at the same time.  

“You can rely on me, you know?” he whispers.

The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.

You feel lonely and the opposite of it all at once. Doyoung is too much for you—too kind, too pretty and too true. He makes you realize too many things at once.

There are a few things in the world that can stifle loneliness. Like the notes Doyoung plays on the piano, like the songs he hums in the morning till you place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.

You realize, all of a sudden, that Doyoung really is your dearest friend.

And yet, you don’t think you deserve it. You’ve never loved, you believe, but you have. You don’t remember it well enough. The lovers’ touches you kept searching for led to this. Hypocrite. You wanted a lover’s touch and you rejected the love that came with it. What a complicated bundle of emotions. You weren’t always this way.

You loved your first cat when you were six, all the way till it died a warm death in your bed. You loved your mother even when she yelled at you for skipping your chores. You loved your middle school friends when you talked about comics and movies you saw for the first time. 

It’s hard to love the same way now.

You suppose sympathy needs a little backstory. Nothing is unconditional. 

It had all started when your heart had broken into two clean pieces. You put a bandaid on it and called it a day. No one taught you to ask for help.

Your friends know someone broke your heart; you tell them everything. Friends, friends—you wanted them so bad and yet, you keep them as far from you as you can. You pretend to be paper-thin and so shallow, sometimes you wonder if that’s all there is to you. But for all they know, they know next to nothing. It wasn’t just the aftermath of reckless puppy love. 

The first time your heart broke, it was watching your mother cry in the living room for a reason you didn’t understand. You wondered who committed the crime, who should be charged—and you found no one. A loveless marriage is cruel, yes, but you cannot point fingers. It isn’t just cruel; it’s infuriating.

The second time, the two pieces of your heart broke into a few more. It was a boy with an inviting smile and flags whose colour you couldn’t quite discern. They must have been red, but everything else was too—hearts, cheeks, lips, and the threads around your wrists. And eventually, he guided you to the conclusion that you are undeserving, unworthy, unloved. 

You were strong, however. It was easy to collapse on the bed and feel the weight of the world settling in, but you stood up again on shaking knees and you told yourself to have fun; you can have fun without feelings. You know better than to attach meaning to fun—you might hate insignificant things but it’s only fun if it’s pointless. You’re not letting go of this place you’ve worked so hard to arrive at, with all the shattered pieces in your hands.

It’s better to offer nothing at all than offer broken pieces.

“Can we stay like this?” Doyoung’s arms tighten around your waist, his breath shallow against your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”

His voice is beautiful as always, but for a moment, it strikes you as sad.

Everything’s twisting up into knots and you are frantically running your fingers over them to straighten it all out. You know what it’s like to let things rot; and you are tired of it. Why can’t everything disappear for one moment? Why can’t you just let it be the two of you?

You sigh in response, nodding. 

“I might not know what’s happening in there,” he starts, drawing circles on your chest with his finger, touch comfortably light. “But…”

I’m here and I get it.

Is that what he wants to say? You don’t think you’ll get to know. You’re not exactly voicing yourself either. 

Stay the night. You want to say it but your lips are frozen.

Instead, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, fitting into each other as perfect as a lie. You would tell him, you try to convince yourself, if you could say it with enough conviction. There’s no point to saying things that are half-meant, that are true but only just enough. You’re a coward.

And now, this has gotten complicated.

An end.

Tapping his pen against the desk, Doyoung grows increasingly annoyed. The council's next  meeting agenda isn’t going to finish writing itself but he can’t bring himself to either. Besides, Ten’s pacing outside his room is starting to get on his nerves.

“Ten!” he yells. “Can you quit it? You’re making too much noise.”

His disapproval is met with silence. For a moment, he spaces out and reflexively thinks of you, only to feel a confusing sort of emotion. It’s normal, he tells himself, and that it’ll sort itself out.

Doyoung feels like a glass box more often than not. If he breaks, who picks up the pieces? Who gets cuts all over their fingers?

‘Whoever breaks him’ should be the answer. But that’s wishful thinking. It’s not that simple. 

He’s so see-through that it’s painful. He used to tell Taeyong he’s wrong but he’s never been able to prove it. He is easy. It’s embarrassing.

But then again, part of him likes it when it comes to you. He likes it when you kiss him after a particularly heated disagreement, he likes when you get on his nerves just so he’d fuck you and most of all, he loves the push and pull. Fun is just that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that heart of his he placed so gingerly into your palms falls and shatters.

The line between hate and love is thin; and he’s enjoying walking it too much.

He has nothing to offer but himself. He laughs at the thought and shakes his head. It’s somewhat dirty, and not just in the sexual sense.

“Ten!” he yells again. “Stop pacing!”

Getting up from his seat, he strides over to his door, swings it open and finds Ten scratching his head and glancing at his phone in repeated action. 

“Ten?”

He’s so in a trance that he hasn’t noticed Doyoung. He is the lovable sort of idiot if he ever chooses to be so. Most of the time though, he’s just a smartass.

“Oh, oh no, I’m a bad friend,” Ten mutters to himself, his pacing growing more restless. He scratches the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed and too inside his head to notice Doyoung. He wants to ask but something tells him he shouldn’t. 

Turns out, his apprehension isn’t strong enough these days. 

“Whose date did you crash?” Doyoung asks, more than annoyed already.

When Ten looks at him, Doyoung feels rather shriveled and freezes on the spot. Call it instinct but Doyoung respects fear and pain. Ten has a mixture of the two, amplified when he looks at Doyoung.

“Doyoung. Hey,” he says, trying to tone down the distress in his voice.

Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from the initial surprise of Ten looking that way.

“Did you fuck up? Did someone fuck up? Why do you look like that?”

Ten sits down on the small couch. “Long story… I guess. Too many details, you- you know? Just—”

“What the fuck happened?”

Ten still can’t look him in the eye. “The group chat’s a little…”

“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”

“No, that’s- that’s what I’m- You’re going to be upset.”

Doyoung straightens, furrowing his brows. “I think I can fucking handle it.”

“You know that date I set up for (name) and Hyungmin?”

“You set that up?”

“(name) slept with Hyungmin.” 

Doyoung quietens. The silence seems to make Ten uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, getting up when Doyoung speaks.

“So?”

Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”

“Just what kind of loser do you think I am?” Doyoung mutters.

Glass shatters just that easily. Maybe he wanted you to shatter him. Maybe he was already cracking at the edges.

“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”

“Stop,” he exclaims a little louder than he intended. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown man, I can handle shit like this.”

It still hurts though. You lied to him and he let you in. You lied to him. Doyoung sighs, returning to his room with a realization he should have had long ago. His night ends with more deleted drafts than he’s supposed to have and eventually, with increased discomfort, he delegates the job to Park Hyungmin himself with the excuse of sickness.

Doyoung does feel sick. He felt this way once, in highschool, but it had turned to red, hot anger ready to lash at anyone and everyone, spilling from his lips as easy as it was to breathe. And Doyoung can never feel that way towards you. He was different back then too, of course, but you—you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met. He loves the comfort of you, and something like that is hard to come by. 

He feels like laughing again but instead he finds tears on his cheeks. Silly boy, he can hear his mother tell him. You don’t give your heart to heartbreakers. 

So Doyoung falls asleep to the sound of upbeat music in his earphones, music he hates even just to pass the night. Morning will come and he will have to become stronger. Comfort is fleeting, after all.

With everything said and done, you know very well that if you were to tell someone you love them—genuinely, truly, from the heart—it would be Doyoung. It’s not a sudden realization, like the sky falling apart or a tidal wave crashing against the shore and sweeping away the city. It is like the gentle lapping of water, though, or the way the clouds change shape—natural and anything but alarming. You want to stare at it forever, and you want to believe that’s how it will be forever. 

“You told everyone we had sex?” Your voice is boiled to a shout. 

Hyungmin looks torn, lips moving but no explanation making its way out. “I- I told my friends, not everyone.”

“And you forgot that your friends talk? Everybody talks, Hyungmin, what were you thinking?”

He sighs before taking a step towards you. “Why are you so angry about it? As far as I remember, you had no trouble talking about whose pants you got into.”

You scoff. “With friends, not the whole campus.”

“That’s exactly what I did!” 

You cross your arms, feeling so upset you might cry and unsure as to why. You’re usually good at dealing with stuff like this, keeping things in the right place.

“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?” 

You snap your head to Hyungmin. There’s a serene sort of look to him despite his unkempt appearance, and a look of understanding.

“I’m sorry. Really. But if you were so into him, you shouldn’t have called me that evening. It might not matter to me but…”

You broke his heart. All that devotion he had towards you led to this. 

“You’re right.” You choke on your words, leaning against the wall. “Fuck… Fucking…”

You turn around, making your way out of the hallway and hope the tears on your cheeks dry faster if you run.

You can’t remember the last time you ran. Your world didn’t need running from, it was right in the palm of your hands. Now that you look back, the world was always on your shoulders and heavy as it can be. Maybe you liked it—the weight. You could’ve shrugged it off any time; you didn’t need all those caging schedules or careful, elegant steps.

No. Atlas couldn’t shrug because his punishment was his existence. To have weight is to have meaning; and that is how you intended to live out your life.

Doyoung makes you see it differently. To love so fully even if it seems cautious—you, who has never loved at all, couldn’t comprehend it. And because he makes you see it differently, the box is now open and all hell is loose. 

For once, you don’t want to live in the world you crafted. You want more love, more hurt and you want to open the doors. You don’t mind hell if it’s for him.

You ring the bell to Doyoung and Ten’s apartment and pray the news hasn’t reached him yet. He said he was busy this weekend; maybe he was detached enough from his phone for once. You just want to be the person to tell him. It’s not a perfect apology otherwise.

Doyoung opens the door with pursed lips and cold eyes. There’s a sense of ease over his shoulders and arms but he won’t look at you and panic rises to your throat.

“We’re not fucking tonight, (name),” he says.

“That’s not- That’s not why I’m here.” Your voice is so meek, you wonder what happened.

Doyoung steps back, crossing his arms. He’s still looking at his feet and you feel the urge to reach for his face.

“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”

“That you’re fucking other people?”

“God, Doyoung, stop with the fucking. I don’t care about that right now.”

“Really?” His voice is so sharp, it digs into your skin. “You were just in it for that. That’s the fun part in your stupid life, isn’t it?”

You feel a sharp pain in your nose and forehead. “You’re- Now that’s- Doyoung. I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“After—” His voice chokes up. “After everything is done? Stop with the excuses and face it for fuck’s sake. You aren’t made to fall in love. That’s why you dance around it all the time.”

Although he says that, he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds defeated.

“It’s not like you aren’t cautious,” you retort, throat feeling heavy. “You said it yourself- you don’t want to care too much.”

“I was wrong,” he says, voice hoarse. “I care about everything more than I’d like to admit. I care about you more than I’d like to admit.”

“The Hyungmin thing didn’t mean anything, okay? You were busy and—”

“So why did you lie?” He strains to not raise his voice. “Of course I knew our little thing didn’t mean shit to you. Why did you pretend it did? Last week, you said- you said—”

“Doyoung, last week- last week I- I wasn’t pretending, I swear.”

“You could’ve just saved yourself the trouble and the dignity.” A short, humorless laugh leaves him.

You feel your lips tremble, the explanation not quite made its way out yet. He looks so innocent like this, rabbit-like eyes watery and full of pain, pure the way they have always been. This is your mistake, isn’t it?

“Doyoung, please,” you manage to say. “That was wrong. I couldn’t clear up my head. Please don’t—”

“No. I was an idiot. Or you see me as one.” He frowns deeper, lips trembling. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have been at the same fucking party and I shouldn’t have drank so much. You’re- I’m not that kind of person.”

You bite down your lip. “What kind?”

Doyoung laughs, the sound raspy and empty. “The kind to not fall in love with you.”

It damn near breaks your heart to look at him. You have to say something, it shouldn’t end like this. You’re desperate and all you think is that you don’t want it to end at all.

“Please, I thought of you as a friend, that’s why—”

“And this is what you call being a friend?” he cuts you off.

You feel the sting in your eyes and nose, making you turn sharply to the side. You wish he’d just make you cry. It makes you feel the rancid guilt all the more.

“Make Hyungmin your friend for all I care. Let’s stop this.”

You stare at your feet, unable to respond. 

“You can have every boy in the world, (name). Don’t come to me.”

“Can you just stop talking about everyone else?” you yell, desperate. “Do I talk about your exes? Seungjae or- or what’s-her-name—” 

“That’s different!” He looks distraught, breathing heavily and with a painful red flush over his nose and cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, tousling it further. “You lied to me, (name). You lied.”

Your cheeks are wet and the look that flashes over Doyoung makes you think he wants to step right out to you. He stays frozen in place, however, looking away to the side.

“Did you notice?” he asks softly. “Even once? How much I cared?”

You can’t answer, letting the tears drip down your face. It’s getting colder and colder. 

Doyoung bites down his lip before parting them. “All we did was have sex anyway. So please just- just leave.”

You take a long few moments but nod, hugging your coat closer and stepping out of his apartment. You think you hear Ten’s footsteps but it’s followed by the bang of a door—this is how it ends then.

The line between hate and love is thin; and you are deserving of neither.

You perfect your next semester’s academics, and the next. It still feels empty. You go out to drink with friends and return to a messy bed you sleep in alone. You smile as always and you laugh as always. No one asks you how you are as always. You never needed anyone to ask you how you are.

Ten tries but you push him away. You don’t need to drag in other people into a mess you made. He feels sorry for the whole thing but you tell him it was you that spilled the paint, Ten just handed a dash of it to you.

You were right. You don’t deserve Doyoung. At least, you made it so that you don’t deserve him. 

‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all’—it still hurts.

Every day is part of a list again. You doodled in some of the pages, when you thought you were starting to fall in love. There’s only a skeleton of it left now. Soon, you’ll let it crumble to dust too. 

You tear apart the planner sometime after graduation and cry and curse at yourself for doing that. No one’s good at parting with things they care about. You’re no exception.

It’s December again. 

This place is a little strange to visit right after graduating, especially with the memories flashing you by. Johnny said he booked one of the private booths (“A senior’s treat!”) but you feel your steps growing hesitant when you reach the neon signs by the stairs. It spells ‘The Meeting Place’ and smells of cigarettes just like it did the first time.

You stop midway up the stairs. For a moment, you think of Doyoung sitting there and wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. If you had the chance now, would you take it?

Of course, you wouldn’t. There’s too much to be set right and you can’t do it.

There’s supposed to be the six of you. Johnny mentioned Ten and you know Eunji’s invited too. You saw Jaehyun on the way here, still a student. You sigh. It must be him, the one they failed to mention to you. Kim Doyoung. There’s no one quite like him.

You spot him first. Looking a little forlorn as he gazes absentmindedly to the side, he faces away from you and you get the inevitable urge to run away. It’s a funny feeling. 

Your stomach is churning. You don’t want him to see you. Ten babbles on about something to Johnny, smiling like he found candy while clearing his drawers. Eunji looks tired, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder and you wonder if she already drank more than enough shots.

“(name).”

You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you. 

“Hey,” you respond, giving him a wide smile.

He hesitates. “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay- you look really good actually. I mean, are you and… you know okay?”

“I don’t think so, Jaehyun,” you say and make your way to the booth.

It’s a little cramped for the six of you and Doyoung gets up before you can even greet him. It’s not like you deserve it anyway but it tugs at the wound.

“I’m going to go take a drag,” he mutters.

“You don’t smoke,” you say, looking up.

He stares at you momentarily and you look away. You think Ten and Johnny glance at you with pity but you don’t really care. 

 “Can I come with you?” you ask, barely a whisper.

“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.

The smoking area is so small, you’re surprised it’s even there. A glass structure overlooking the neighbourhood, there’s barely any light within. The only thing nice is how warm it’s in there. 

Doyoung lights his cigarette and then offers to light yours. It’s quiet, the music from inside numbed to the cold doors. You really can’t take it. You stub the barely consumed cigarette and throw it into the bin.

You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.

“You’re not smoking,” he notes.

“It’s a bad habit.” You look out through the glass.

Doyoung chuckles. “You were a collection of bad habits.”

“And good ones too,” you quip. “I was a perfect student. I was perfect in most everything actually.”

Doyoung’s smile widens. “You were. You certainly were.”

A few more moments pass in silence, your eyes traveling over the outside scenery which seems to be growing duller by the second. City lights have never felt fainter.

“It was an accident, right?” You say suddenly. “The whole thing? Us?”

Doyoung hums. “Yeah. I fell in love by accident.”

You smile weakly. “Right. I never got to apologize.”

“I loved you on purpose.”

You look up at him. There’s not a lot of people who say what they mean. He looks the same as he used to under your grey blankets, with a warm blush over his cheeks and kind, wide eyes. 

“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, “even now.”

You scan his face for signs of lying.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you ask finally. 

Doyoung blinks before easing into laughter. “You- You’re- You’re the same as ever.”

You let yourself crack a smile.

“Doyoung I- I really am sorry,” you say quietly. “And I did- do care for you.”

Doyoung stubs out his cigarette and discards it before looking you in the eye. You notice he’s wearing his favourite black turtleneck in the proximity, the grey plaid coat covering most of it. You really liked that look on him.

“I’m sorry,” you say once again. “I want you to know that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

You mean it. You’re never going to hold glass again. He doesn’t deserve it.

“That’s a problem,” he responds, breath mingling with yours. “I want you… I want you to hurt me. If you really do love me, I’ll take it.”

“Doyoung,” you whisper, turning away despite your whole body screaming at you to give in. “I meant it. I can’t hurt you.”

Doyoung cups your cheek with one hand, glancing at your lips for a moment.

“You’re warm,” he says.

He’s warmer.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You want to kiss him too.

“We went about this all wrong, didn’t we?” he asks.

“We did,” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”

Doyoung pulls back. “Then let’s start again. I’m Kim Doyoung, I majored in linguistics. I was student council president and I made a mistake.”

You smile. “We don’t have to do that.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “After all the trouble I went through to make a good introduction?”

The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer. 

“I’m (name),” you say. “I was a top student and I made a bigger mistake, Kim Doyoung.”

“Oh? I wonder what it was.”

“Kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got all the time for you.”

You smile and start. He responds with gentle kisses. You’re piecing your world back together again; but this time it’s feather-light and fits right in the palm of your hand. 

#kim doie perfect man bye #doyoung x reader #nct x reader #nct doyoung scenarios #nct scenarios #nct imagines #doyoung imagines #nct fanfic #doyoung fanfic #nct angst #doyoung angst #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 angst #nct college au #moonwrites #okaaay idk what this is either #if you get annoyed midway thru the fic you are perfectly valid <3 #i will literally never write smth like this ever again 🤡🤡🤡 #if you notice inconsistency in character no u dont #(i had to fix up some earlier inconsistencies but it gave more inconsistencies maybe i should give up writing for good)

[ilikekidsshows]

how much do you think Adrien and Marinette's relationship developed from season 1 to 3 ?

Very well, as a self-professed connoisseur of all things slowburn, let me go over the Adrinette development that has happened in the show up until the season three finale and educate this fandom on the subtle beauty that is the Adrinette arc. This is gonna be long, because, apparently, there's a lot of material to cover, because this relationship can fit so much development into it.

Let's go in chronological order (as far as I can tell). In 'Origins', Marinette first started becoming a stuttering mess around Adrien when he opened up to her about how he wanted to make friends, becoming infatuated with the sensitive side he showed. Meanwhile, Adrien is excited over the prospect of having made a friend.

In 'The Bubbler', Marinette only manages to get out an awkward "hey," at Adrien and Adrien mimics her, in lack of a better response. He barely seems to know her at this point.

Marinette begins her infatuation with Adrien by simply thinking about him and fantasizing about him. In 'Stormy Weather' we hear Marinette's daydream, fully fleshed out on the details of what their children should be named, but not sure what their pet should be. Adrien seems pleased to see Marinette, but doesn't seek her out, also maintaining some distance.

Then comes 'Mr. Pigeon'. Adrien finds out Marinette is into designing and is taken aback by her verbal floundering. He also didn't know Marinette's last name. When he introduces Marinette to his father, there's an awkward silence after, like he'd finished the sentence too early, because he did, he never said her last name. Adrien knew Marinette existed, and was interested to know more about her, but that's it. Meanwhile Marinette speaks complete nonsense to Adrien, unable to remember what words even are.

In 'Evillustrator' Adrien seeks Marinette out of his own volition, having the perfect conversation starter in her encounter with Cat Noir. He wants to know what she thinks of him. Meanwhile, Marinette manages to get full, coherent sentences out, but keeps saying contradicting things. Adrien responds to Marinette with a drawn out "okay," starting to learn to just go with it and, at the end of the interaction, pats Marinette's shoulder companionably as he leaves. He thinks they're familiar enough for him to touch her casually, he was just waiting for the chance because he’s so touch-starved.

'Horrificator' doesn't actually show Adrien and Marinette interacting directly outside the acting scenes, where Adrien is very receptive to having Marinette as his co-star, but Adrien gets to see Marinette at her best, helping people out and solving problems. This episode is where Adrien starts to form his opinion of Marinette as someone dependable.

In 'Animan', Adrien knows Nino likes Marinette and is fully supportive. He's convinced Marinette would be receptive to Nino just acting natural and not doing anything special, so he thinks Marinette is a kind and warm person. He has no reason to think Marinette is into him instead. Marinette fumbles around Adrien again, and this time Adrien doesn't react at all: he's used to it.

In 'Kung Food', Adrien rushed to help Marinette the instant he heard from Alya that Marinette needed help. Marinette manages to get her meaning across even as she fumbles. When they have a discussion about Marinette's uncle, Marinette doesn't stutter once, and Adrien holds Marinette's shoulders when he comforts her. They managed to keep to casual interactions during the episode because they have other things to focus on.

In 'Gamer', Adrien is very casual around Marinette, inviting himself over to practise the game and being pretty frank about his insecurity as Marinette's gaming partner. Marinette responds first in a way that devalues Adrien's feelings ("No, you're amazing, I'm bad"), but eventually gives Adrien the lucky charm as a gesture of accepting him as her partner, a gesture Adrien will treasure for several episodes to come. Also, this episode has more casual shoulder-touching from Adrien to Marinette. (Aside note: Cat Noir later mimics Tom's body language in the episode, so Marinette's parents really made a first impression that stuck.)

In 'Volpina', Marinette shields Adrien from Fu's suspicions, but does briefly entertain the thought that Adrien might be Hawk Moth. This could be part of her catastrophizing or realizing she doesn't know him well enough to know for sure. Marinette also saves Adrien from his father, for Adrien's sake, not even revealing her own involvement in the matter to get closer to him. Marinette just wanted to help him out.

'Despair Bear' has Adrien protect Marinette from making a scene and making herself look bad, something he'll do again later in 'Chameleon'. Adrien sees it as his place to interfere for Marinette's benefit in this way and he thinks about the possible repercussions Marinette might have gotten from accusing Chloé publically without evidence. Adrien also instantly gets the idea to ask Marinette to dance when she bumps into him and decides to just roll with him when Alya arranges them into the typical "slow dance" position. At the end of the episode we see the first instance of Adrien invading Marinette's personal space by leaning in to talk to her. All in all, Adrien is just very comfortable around Marinette in this episode.

'Gigantitan' is more about Marinette learning not to overthink, something she didn't entirely learn as she prefers to abort the entire mission rather than enter a scenario with Adrien she hadn't considered. But we see Adrien offering Marinette a ride home even when his bodyguard is impatient. He really wants to do a favor for her.

'Riposte' has the second attempt from Marinette to simply spend time with Adrien, after 'Gamer'. She went into a lot of effort to learn fencing on time for the try-outs. She accidentally compliments Adrien to his face, who is very grateful for the nice things Marinette said about him. Caught off guard, Marinette fumbles once more, but manages to recover. Adrien laughs in enjoyment of the occasion and Marinette shares the laugh. Adrien keeps showing how comfortable he is with touching Marinette when he tutors her. Meanwhile, Marinette is very flustered, but manages to focus on what she's doing, doing well enough for Adrien to notice.

Adrien also questions Marinette's call as the referee, not concerned with Marinette's possible negative reaction and Marinette does respond honestly, showing Adrien that he can trust her judgement. Adrien also gushes about Marinette to Kagami, when he insists that Marinette didn't deny her the point to be mean, and the affection in his glowing endorsement has Kagami immediately note that Adrien likes her a lot.

In 'Befana' Adrien admits that he always carries Marinette's lucky charm with him, which inspired him to make one for her as a gift. The episode even ends with him looking at his own charm fondly, as the narration brings up "the person giving (the gift)", signalling that Adrien is specifically thinking about Marinette, who gave him the charm.

When Adrien asks Marinette for a safe place to hide in 'Gorizilla', Marinette gets over her stuttering very quickly when she realizes Adrien is in trouble to help him. Even in the subway Marinette is able to focus on Adrien possibly getting into trouble at home instead of getting flustered again. Adrien sidesteps the concern by playing the situation down, reminding Marinette that he does, indeed, always carry the lucky charm he got from her with him. At the movies he's more upfront to her about the restrictions he's placed under and why the movie is so important to him. Also, at no point does he point out Marinette is in her PJs, even though he definitely noticed. He probably just thinks it's a Marinette Thing.

'Frozer' has Marinette go all out for Adrien's sake, not because she wants to be with him, but because she wants to see him happy. She gives him advice on how to pursue another girl and asks Luka out on a double date to be there for him. On this occasion Marinette also shows how she's not as selfish over Adrien here as she was back in 'Gamer', when she was very willing to rob Max of something he really wanted in order to spend more time with Adrien. Meanwhile, Adrien gets distracted from his actual date when he wants to make sure Marinette is okay. When Plagg accuses him of "going after Marinette", Adrien is surprised by the suggestion, and assured Plagg that Marinette is just a friend.

An interesting thing to note is that Adrien actually sounds uncertain in 'Frozer' when he calls Marinette a friend, the one time he does so (at least in the English dub). This is why, when Marinette asks him to go skating with her sometime, he does entertain the thought of it just being just the two of them (aka, a date). However, when Marinette assures him it would be a friendly outing with other people too, the moment passes, and Adrien forgets his doubts and agrees to a friend outing. Plagg put the idea in his head, and Marinette could have sealed the deal. This is another occasion where Adrien pats Marinette's shoulder.

'Troublemaker' is the episode where Marinette's self-sabotage really gets going, when she "reassures" Adrien that she'd never consider him attractive in a romantic way ever. Meanwhile, Adrien once again invades Marinette's personal space and implies he doesn't mind modeling if it's for Marinette as he invites her to a photoshoot and says he's glad to have her as one of his fans.

In 'Style Queen', Marinette is actually open with Adrien about her insecurities and Adrien reassures her, and he supports her in 'Queen Wasp'. He also says he'd be able to model for her if she made it in the business, repeating his desire to model for her specifically that he first stated in 'Troublemaker'.

In 'Reverser' Marinette panics when suddenly encountered with Adrien and having to explain what she's doing, but Adrien gets the gist of it, having learned to interpret most of the word vomit Marinette produces and astutely claims: "That's typical of you," about Marinette helping someone out and offers his assistance if she needs any.

In 'Maledictator', Adrien is brave enough to let Marinette know he disagreed with the reason she and everybody else was happy. He doesn't pretend to be fine with the "good riddance, Chloé '' party because, just as Adrien knew, Marinette doesn't judge him for being sad to see Chloé leave.

In 'Heroes' Day', Adrien admits he came to the picnic to tell Marinette just how highly he values her. He shows how much attention he pays to all the times Marinette has helped their classmates and gives the iconic line "You're our everyday Ladybug". Marinette manages to gather up her courage to kiss Adrien on the cheek in response. This is also a notable moment when Adrien opts out of the usual shoulder pat, implying the gesture is something Adrien does to cut away the physical distance between himself and Marinette, since such a thing wasn't necessary in 'Heroes' Day'. (This boy is touch-starved, guys!)

In 'Chameleon' Adrien starts trying to play mediator between Lila and Marinette but, when that didn't work out, he once again protects Marinette from making a bad call with an opponent out to wreck her reputation, but he also acknowledges that Marinette had been wronged and decided to personally support her by sitting next to her since she'd been having such a tough time that day. He just wanted to support her like a friend would.

'Backwarder' has Marinette try to take the easy route of confessing through a letter, which predictably ends up not going as planned. But, as Adrien said, he spent all weekend making sure he could help Marinette with something he thought she really needed help with. Adrien just really wants to be able to do things for Marinette.

'Weredad' gives us an interesting glimpse into how Adrien views Marinette in relation to romance, noting that he "didn't think Cat Noir was her type". He's most likely referring to Luka, since he's the only guy Adrien has seen Marinette with, and Luka is quiet, contained and thoughtful, nothing like how Adrien presents himself as Cat Noir. However, since Adrien doesn't consider himself a candidate, he does most likely consider himself more like Cat Noir than Luka, aka, not Marinette's type.

'Desperada' has one of Marinette's worst freakouts in a while. Adrien showed up suddenly, and Kagami challenged her directly by saying: "Are you here to watch your boyfriend practise?" Marinette also tries to shoehorn Adrien into every situation, be it a guitarist or superhero, possibly as a subconscious attempt to gain more control of the situation with Kagami. As Tikki said, Marinette has a troubled heart in this episode.

'Chrismaster' shows off the fact that Marinette has tons of presents prepared for Adrien in advance for different occasions. These were most likely prepared during the early stages of her infatuation, when she was admiring him from afar and fantasizing about him. Making presents "just in case" fits the fantasy model. At this point, she’s embarrassed over having done it.

In 'Startrain', Adrien immediately relaxes into sleep as well when Marinette falls asleep on his shoulder. This boy is touch-starved, guys, and Marinette's touch in particular calms and soothes him. Similarly, when Marinette wakes up in the middle of their nap, she settles right back to continue sleeping, no panic in sight.

'Stormy Weather 2' shows Adrien connecting Marinette's handwriting from the note on his homework with the valentine he got, and all of the misunderstandings together convince him he was mistaken. "She's just a friend who loves fashion," Adrien says with a downtrodden face, disappointed that Marinette couldn't care for him as more than "a friend who's also in fashion". He thinks of Marinette insisting that she'd never be into him, and of Marinette and Luka skating together, with obvious chemistry between them. And, in the end, when he says it's just someone with similar writing, he sounds wistful.

'Party Crasher' has Adrien insist Marinette is one of his guys, clearly missing her when he's hanging out with his school friends. In fact, when she does show up unexpectedly, he looks very pleased.

'Puppeteer 2' is an episode that sets up obstacles for Adrinette in addition to the misunderstandings listed in ‘Stormy Weather 2’. Marinette finds out Adrien is in love with someone else, and Adrien tries to share more parts of himself with Marinette, only for it to end very badly. Adrien has been getting braver about expressing himself to Marinette, but it's mostly been his opinions so far. In 'Puppeteer 2' Adrien tries to joke around with Marinette, only for Marinette to end up mortified and crying. This convinced Adrien that there's a part of him that Marinette won't be able to accept so he'll have to hold back with her.

Meanwhile, Marinette overcorrects because Manon, as kids are wont to do, keeps airing out all of her dirty laundry regarding Adrien, and so she convinces Adrien he's lucky she even kinda likes him. Adrien connects this with the fact that apparently his sense of humor is something that Marinette hates enough to cry over it.

The rest of season 3 stays on the course set by ‘Puppeteer 2’. Adrien still cares about Marinette immensely, even if he's convinced she doesn't like him nearly as much. He puts himself on the line to protect her from Lila in 'Ladybug', and neither he nor Kagami consider Marinette's presence on their outing third-wheeling in 'Heart Hunter'. Meanwhile, Marinette is pulling away, convinced Adrien and Kagami are the perfect match.

There you go, that's the Adrinette development, broken down step by step, during the first three seasons. As you can see, it's actually quite a lot, and some people might even notice more development tidbits.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #adrinette #lovesquare #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #ml meta #long post #popular

[letskookandbaek]

Rightfully Yours: Chapter 4 | Jeon Wonwoo

Soulmates doesn’t necessarily have to be in the form of a romantic relationship.

But when feelings grow between two best friends, will replacing the friendship label jeopardize everything?

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- Wonwoo x Fem Reader

- feat Mingyu, Yeri (RV), Seokmin, Jihoon, Minghao, Soonyoung, Chan, Seungcheol, Jennie etc.

- Word count: 4070 words.

- Genre: Best Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Fluff, Non-Idol! au, College! au, Romance, Slight Drama, Slight Angst.

- Series Warnings: Cursing, Suggestive scenes, Insecurity, Family Issues, Food, Violence (let me know if there are more).

prev | next

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Your eyes lit brightly upon seeing Wonwoo in the studio. “What are you doing here?” Wonwoo asked as you happily skipped toward him. “I brought you these” you lightly shook the paper bag filled with pastries beside your head with an excited smile. Wonwoo raised an eyebrow and took the bag from you. “I wanted to thank you for last night” you explained while he took a peak at what you got him. There was a faint smile ghosting over his lips when he realized you chose his favorites. “Thank you” Wonwoo replied as he messed up your hair. You let out an annoyed groan “I’m letting you go this time only because you helped me last night” you complained as Wonwoo put his bag down to prepare to stretch.

“Are you sure ya’ll not dating?” Hoshi interrupted. “No!” you and Wonwoo said at the same time. Minghao chuckled lightly from the floor with his eyes fixed on his phone. Hoshi gave you and Wonwoo a look and nodded “That’s a relief” he dramatically sighed. “What do you mean?” Wonwoo stepped closer to Hoshi as he continued to stretch. “I mean she’s real cute so please tell me she’s not off limits because she’s your friend?” Hoshi whispered to Wonwoo. Wonwoo took a few steps back and started to blink rapidly. Hoshi patiently waited for his friend’s answer as he looked back at you, who was still confused as ever with the situation. Hoshi gave you a smile and went back to watching his practice videos on his phone. You would lie if you said your heart didn’t leap at that.

Not too long after, you saw Wonwoo whispering something in Hoshi’s ear which made Hoshi smiled a little. He gave Wonwoo a gentle pat on the back. Just then a few more students started to fill in the studio which meant that class was about to start. “Okay guys, let’s go over last week’s choreo” Hoshi’s loud voice boomed through the room, commanding attention. His eyes then laid on you who was at the far back. “You can stay if you’d like” there was a hint of flirtation in his voice as the other students gave you weird looks. To be honest, you knew who Hoshi was. You’ve heard Jihoon mentioned about him a few times during group hangouts. Apparently Hoshi was a gifted dancer and was under Pledis Entertainment who were responsible in accepting only the best of the best dancers to represent them for gigs. You’ve never talked to him nor did you know how he looked like until now and you completely forgot he was one of the dance instructors at your university too. In summary, Hoshi was a popular and respected dancer which justified why other students were giving you weird looks when he flirted with you in front of them.

“It’s okay, I need to continue my assignments” you rushed your words and waved goodbye to Hoshi, Minghao, and Wonwoo. Hoshi’s eyes followed your figure until you disappeared. As you walked back to your dorm, you couldn’t help but to replay whatever that happened in the studio in your head. What did Wonwoo and Hoshi whisper to each other? and why did your heart beat 10 times faster whenever Hoshi looked at you or talked to you?. You refused to believe Hoshi found you attractive when he was a dancing machine and you were no where near that. As you settled in your room, you took out your laptop and continue to do your assignments. It was also an excuse to stop yourself from going over all the what ifs in your head. After staring at your laptop for a good few hours, you managed to complete your part in a group assignment for one of your subjects. You felt really satisfied with yourself for turning your Saturday productive and finally stood up to stretch. As you scrolled through your messages, your eyes fell onto an unknown number.

Hey, it’s the dancer earlier, Hoshi. I got your number from Wonwoo, I hope you don’t mind :)  

Your jaw dropped at the message. The last thing you were hoping was a random text from Hoshi. So was this what he was whispering to Wonwoo about earlier? you thought. Too stunned to reply, you went to check your other messages first.

I’ll be having dinner with some of the dancers. Let me know if you wanna join and also don’t get mad at Hoshi, he was pestering me the entire time for your number. If you’re not interested just block him.

You blushed at the message. You can’t imagine Hoshi pestering Wonwoo for your number. But why you?. It was not like you did anything major, you were just creeping on him dancing earlier. If anything, you looked like a stalker. While you tried to process what was going on, your phone started to ring. “Wonwoo~” you sing song-ed through the phone. “We’re having dinner soon at a kbbq, are you joining?”.  You took a few seconds to think about it, maybe a little too long because Wonwoo had to call your name twice to make sure you were still on the line. “I think I’ll pass” you replied and gave the reason that you didn’t feel like socializing that night. Wonwoo understood where you were coming from and just told you if you needed anything you can just text or call him. You weren’t lying about the socializing part. With all the assignments and tests lately, you’ve been mentally and physically drained. But another part of you didn’t want to go because you were nervous. You knew Hoshi was going to be there anyway.

So you spent the night studying, doing more assignments and ate ramen for dinner instead. During your early years of uni, you used to have a part time job but decided to stop for your final year. You did save up quite a bit but you felt like you should get back to your job soon if you want to survive financially. Being a broke student sucks you thought to yourself.  Sunday was spent going for a jog with Wonwoo but honestly you couldn’t keep up with him. His stamina was just on another level. After the morning run , you both head out for brunch at a new cafe near Wonwoo’s place. While you were busy stuffing your face with pancakes, Wonwoo suddenly placed his utensils down so loudly that it made you jump in your seat. “Shit, I forgot” he gasped. “What?” you looked up at him from your plate. “Jihoon’s hosting a party tonight to celebrate his first released single under Pledis” Wonwoo explained. “And why aren’t we invited?” you scoffed, folding your arms.

“We are invited, I just forgot to tell you- ow!”

“Jeon Wonwoo! How could you forget?! This is a huge achievement for Jihoon!” you slapped his arm in annoyance.

“My bad, but we could still go you know” Wonwoo reassured. “But I have nothing to wear!” you groaned. “You…have a shit ton of clothes” Wonwoo shook his head . You rolled your eyes at your best friend’s comment. “Tell Jihoon that we’re coming tomorrow”.    

The rest of your day was spent cracking your brain to find the perfect outfit for the night. After brunch, Wonwoo sent you home and informed that he will pick you up later for the party. Now you’re in your room with clothes piled up everywhere because you can’t decide what to wear. Yes, it was just a house party but it was not just any house party. The thing is even though Jihoon was technically a student, he had a lot of business connections, music related of course. Jihoon was a talented musician and producer and while he studied full time, he managed to get a part time job at Pledis, a famous entertainment agency. Now he was about to release his first ever single and honestly how many university students can say they’ve released a single while studying?. You had to look good and presentable. You almost gave up searching for a decent outfit before your eyes fell on a spaghetti strap bodycon dress in a baby blue shade. You remembered buying this from a sale but never got the chance to wear it. So you quickly went ahead and did your hair and makeup before slipping yourself into the dress which surprisingly hugged your curves really well. The added push-up from your strapless bra was definitely the cherry on top. However, a slight paranoia creeped, were you overdressed?.

While you were contemplating about your decision, your alarm went off, signaling it was time to wait for Wonwoo. Shit, I guess this dress it is then, you thought.  While you waited, you opted for a pair of holographic sneakers instead of heels because you didn’t want to suffer later. As you walked down from your dorm with the black bomber jacket covering your body, you spotted Wonwoo leaning against the hood of his car, scrolling through his phone. He wasn’t wearing his glasses and you couldn’t help but notice how handsome his side profile looked. Instead of his usual hoodie or sweater, he had on a black long sleeve button down shirt and black jeans. The contrast of his fair skin tone and black outfit highlighted  his looks really well. Sometimes you didn’t understand how your best friend was still single when he looked like that. He didn’t notice you were standing beside him which made you to clear your throat, surprising him a little.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you” he quickly said, putting his phone in his pocket as his eyes scanned your outfit. “Wow you look…good” Wonwoo added, giving you a thumbs up. “Says the one who ditched his glasses for contacts” you teased. In that moment, all you could think about was how good Wonwoo looked with his hair slicked back. “The boys kept pestering me to ditch my glasses” he sighed, walking towards the passenger seat door to open it. “Wow, what a gentleman” you winked as you got yourself in the car. “When have I ever not been?” Wonwoo shrugged with a playful glint in his eyes. The car ride to the airbnb Jihoon booked was a little further than usual, around a half an hour journey. You were jamming to Jihoon’s new single in the car at first, appreciating the hard work that talented man put in. Before you know it, time starter to fly really quickly because of your nervousness. There was gonna be a lot of people and you were afraid if you suddenly forget how to socialize. Wonwoo could sense you weren’t yourself as you became awfully quiet for some time.

“Nervous?” your best friend’s voice cut through the silence, eyes still on the road. “I mean, yes” you replied too quickly. “Don’t worry, it’s just gonna be the usual gang with some of Jihoon’s label mates” Wonwoo casually informed, like as if being in a room filled with rising music producers and artists was normal. When you didn’t reply, he went on. “Hoshi is gonna be there if that makes you feel better”. Your eyes became wide and your mind went blank upon hearing about the new found information. “What?!” you half shouted but Wonwoo didn’t even flinch. “You’re forgetting that Jihoon and Hoshi are close” he took a quick glance at you before focusing back on the road again. Wonwoo was right, but why didn’t you remember this earlier?. Too lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize that you’ve already reached the bungalow as Wonwoo parallel parked. “Let’s go” Wonwoo opened your door and held out his hand. “Stop, people are gonna think we’re dating” you teased, taking your hand in his as you stood up. “And prove to everyone in the gang that they’re right? Hell no” he shook his head.

The both of you made your way into the huge venue and was immediately greeted with the sight of random strangers already drunk in the garden. “Control your alcohol intake” Wonwoo informed. “Yes, daddy” you rolled your eyes, not noticing how his body froze slightly at your sassy remark. Suddenly you heard a deep voice calling your name from the inside. “You look sexy!” Mingyu exclaimed, hugging your figure. “Says the one with most of this top unbuttoned” you shoved his chest playfully. “What can I say? gotta look my best for the hot girls and Pledis, might just be scouted tonight” he gave a wink and as much as Mingyu gets cringey at times, you admired his confidence. “Ayy man” Mingyu greeted Wonwoo with a side hug. “Where’s Jihoon?” Wonwoo asked. “He’s at the back with some of his friends” Mingyu replied before being dragged away by people you didn’t know. As you walked around the huge bungalow to find Jihoon, your eyes fell onto an unwanted guest. “Oh shit” you muttered under your breath. “What is it?” Wonwoo’s eyes followed yours and realized the issue. Jihoon was currently talking to Hoshi, your current interest, and Seungcheol, your ex boyfriend. He let out a sigh.

“Sometimes I forgot you dated Seungcheol”

“Sometimes I forgot he’s in Pledis” you replied, massaging your temple.

Seungcheol was your first boyfriend. You dated him for a year and broke up when you were 19, way before you entered university and met Wonwoo. At the time, you were working full time to help your family financially which delayed your studies. You broke up because Seungcheol started to became too busy for you. After he was accepted as an intern under Pledis, he went from forgetting your dates to not texting or calling you at all for weeks. One day you decided that you couldn’t take it anymore and confronted him before ending it for good. Although Seungcheol insisted on saving the relationship, you figured you had enough. He became too comfortable to the point of taking you for granted.  

“He’s leaving” Wonwoo nudged you. As you watched the back of his figure leave, you couldn’t help but to still feel a pang of hurt in your heart. You didn’t notice that Hoshi had been staring at you the whole time while Jihoon continued to talk to him from the kitchen island. “Wonwoo!” Jihoon shouted. Both you and Wonwoo made your way to him before you gave Jihoon a tight hug. “Congrats on the release of your new single, Woozi!” you clapped gleefully as you held his hands at the mention of his stage name. “I hate skinship but you’re an exception I guess” Jihoon replied as he fake gagged. You pushed his shoulder playfully as Wonwoo congratulated him. “Hi gorgeous” Hoshi greeted you with a shy smile. “Hi” you tried not to stutter. Of course only an idiot like you would stutter over a hi. In the background, Jihoon gave a look to Wonwoo before leaving quietly to leave you and Hoshi alone.

“You look really stunning” he complimented, eyes taking your figure in. “I don’t usually dress like this” you tried to look away, but the white buttoned down shirt he was wearing with his rolled up sleeves was awfully distracting, especially his veins under the dim light. “You should make full use of your outfit tonight, then” he held out his hand for you to take, dragging you to what looked like the dance floor. “Dance with me?” he smiled, eyes turning into the cutest upturned crescent moons making you melt. “A huge honour to be dancing with the one and only Hoshi, your students will kill me if they saw us” you replied while his hand guided yours around his neck before resting both of his on your waist, watching your reaction to see if you were okay with it. When you didn’t push him away, he quietly exhaled. “Then Hoshi doesn’t exist, call me Soonyoung” eyes not leaving yours as he danced with you while a slow R&B track played in the background.

You gave him a confused look. “Kwon Soonyoung is my real name. No one usually calls me that, most people know me as Hoshi” he explained with a slight melancholy in his voice. “Soonyoung” you called out as you watched his eyes lit brightly. “I like that name” you continued with a smile. From the outside, Hoshi looked intimidating with his multiple ear piercings and an eyebrow slit. But as you got to know him, he was honestly a big soft baby deep inside. You could tell he didn’t usually show that side of him to most people but you were glad he was somewhat comfortable with you. After dancing, your stomach started growling so you both head to the kitchen to eat the extra pizzas. He watched you adoringly while you wolfed down each pizza slices. Although you didn’t look the most lady like in that moment, Hoshi appreciated how unapologetic you were. You were always being yourself and it was a breath of fresh air for him.

Just like Jihoon and Seungcheol who have been in the entertainment industry for a while, it was really common for them to be around a lot of fake people. Those who only wanted to be close to them for their own personal gain and music industry connections. The entertainment industry isn’t all rainbows and butterflies and the trio have seen the worst in people while working there. Having said that, everyone who knew Hoshi knew him as one of the youngest and respected dancer/dance instructor in the industry but not many people knew him as Soonyoung. That soft side of him was only shown to a few close friends and now, you. “So why didn’t you text me back?" Hoshi pouted with his cheeks puffed out.  You were confused as to what he was referring to until you remembered that he sent you a text message yesterday and you forgot to reply. “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot about it!” your words came out frantically as you wiped your mouth with a tissue. “What a relief, I thought you hated me” Hoshi dramatically exhaled with a hand on his heart. “Why would I hate you?” you frowned. Suddenly you heard a loud thud beside you.

“Baby not here, people can see us” Yeri whined while Minghao had his hands all over his girlfriend’s body. You almost puked out all of the pizza slices you just ate at the scene while Hoshi cleared his throat making Yeri jumped, hitting his boyfriend in the head accidentally. “Just because the kitchen is huge doesn’t mean it’s meant for fucking, get a room guys” Hoshi called them out with a laugh. “Fuck, it’s so dark here we thought there was no one!” Minghao complained. “We’re sorry- Oh my is this my friend?!” Yeri walked to you excitedly, in awe of how you looked, like as if her boyfriend wasn’t feeling her up just a few seconds ago. “Never do that with Hao again please” you shook your head and proceeded to wash your hands at the sink. “You and Hoshi a thing now?” Yeri whispered as she followed your back. You froze. “No, we were just…talking” you whispered back. Yeri just gave you a teasing look before walking off with Minghao. “See you guys” Minghao waved but you could tell he just wanted to get away after embarrassing himself with Yeri. As the night went on, people you didn’t know started to leave while you and Hoshi continued to talk over a few glasses of gin and tonic that he made. The drinks were so good, you were convinced that he might just be a talented bartender in another life. You didn't notice the many stares you were receiving as you were too focused on Hoshi. He was well aware of them however, which made him feel both proud and slightly jealous.

Once you felt a slight buzz kicking in, you remembered Wonwoo’s advice so you stopped drinking. After that, you played a few rounds of Cards Against Humanity with Hoshi, Seokmin, Mingyu, Wonwoo, Jihoon, and Chan. You called Minghao and Yeri out to the gang for leaving early, most probably to fuck. Some laughed while some said they weren’t surprised. While playing the game, Hoshi kept touching your thighs and elbow from time to time whenever he got excited. You found it really sweet and cute. This didn’t go unnoticed by everyone in the group, but they didn’t want to say anything as they were too focused on winning. Well, except Wonwoo. He was trying his best to look unbothered but he was slightly uncomfortable watching Hoshi  being so physically close to you. “Omg Soonyoung, you won!” you shouted after Hoshi realized he had the most cards during the last round. “Soonyoung?!” a few of them shouted at the same time.

You pursed your lips, looking away shyly. Hoshi just chuckled. “Is there something ya’ll not telling us?” Jihoon questioned with a raised eyebrow. Everyone else waited with eager eyes in anticipation for the answer. Fortunately, your phone started ringing, saving you and Hoshi from explaining yourselves. Apparently your parents called to inform you that they were coming to visit you tomorrow and will be staying at a nearby hotel. This last minute news completely threw you off guard that you had to take some time to process it. “What’s wrong?” Hoshi’s voice was worried as he studied your features. “I need to go back” you told him. You had so many things to prepare, well most of it was mental preparation but you still needed to tidy up your dorm if you didn’t want to hear your parents nag for days on end. Wonwoo was about to offer to send you back but Hoshi beat him to it. You looked at Wonwoo for approval, too used to your best friend sending you home. He just nodded in return. You said your goodbyes after and gave hugs to everyone before leaving with Hoshi in his car.

The car ride back to your dorm was fun as Hoshi kept blasting popular 2000s music making you both sing your heart out to every word.  Once he reached your dorm, he lowered the volume of the music and turned to face you. “Had fun tonight?” he asked while you unbuckled your seat belt. “I had a lot of fun” you smiled. “I’m glad because I’d like to see that smile of yours as many times as I’m able to” his voice became slightly serious as his eyes bore into yours. Your heart was beating so loud, you were sure he could probably hear it if he came any closer. He shifted his gaze to your lips while you tried so hard to breathe in a proper rhythm. The moonlight highlighted his exposed arms and collarbone so beautifully, you didn’t know how much you’ve been wanting him till then. As he continued to study your features which he found so fucking mesmerizing, you leaned in towards him to close the gap with your lips meeting his.

Surprised by your bold action, Hoshi froze for a bit. The warmth and softness of his lips mixed with the faint taste of alcohol was sending shivers down your spine. He parted his lips slightly, allowing your tongue to slip in before gently holding the back of your neck to deepen the kiss. You held onto his arm for support, feeling lightheaded from the rush of adrenaline and the tipsiness from the alcohol. Kissing Hoshi was absolute bliss. He was a skillful kisser, knowing exactly how to use his tongue so passionately you were sure it will be imprinted in your mind. After gently biting your lower lip, he left a trailed of butterfly kisses from your chin to your neck, making you giggle. “I guess this is the part where we say goodbye?” Hoshi quietly spoke up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “For now” you playfully teased, giving him a quick peck on the lips before getting out of the car. He watched you walked up the stairs safely from his seat, giving you a finger heart with a cheeky smile before driving off. Once you reached your room, you closed the door behind you and leaned against it with a hand on your chest. You were pretty sure in that moment that Kwon Soonyoung will be the death of you.

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Series Masterlist

Masterlist

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A/N: Thank you for 30+ followers! This is the longest chapter I’ve written so far in this series, phew. Let me know what do you guys think of the story so far!          

#wonwoo imagines #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo svt #wonwoo oneshot #wonwoo au #wonwoo fic #seventeen au #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo #seventeen scenarios #seventeen oneshot #wonwoo fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you

[maeve-writes]

Heroes

Pairing: Stripper!Bucky Barnes x Reader x Stripper!Steve Rogers

Rating: 18+, Minors DNI 

Warnings: Adult situations, alcohol consumption, allusion to mild cheating(??). More to be added later.

Summary: It’s your friend’s birthday and you’re dragged to the Heroes club. You’re not one for that kind of place, but you quickly change your mind after you get to play the damsel in distress for a pair of Brooklyn babes. 

a/n: Unbeta’d, any mistakes are my own and please forgive me. This is the second story I’ve written in a while. Forgive me?

You normally don’t go to these sorts of places but it was your friend’s 30th birthday and it was on her bucket list. Luckily, you weren’t talked into planning any of it, just had to toss in some cash for the fee to get in and the never ending flow of drinks, plus the very special Birthday Girl Dance package.

It took you three years after the second Magic Mike movie came out to watch the first one. The idea of male strippers seemed odd. But, when you really thought about it, so did female strippers. 

Nevertheless, the night ultimately wasn’t about you, it was about your friend and her birthday. You were happy to be there with your friends, enjoying the celebration and drinks, seeing hot guys take off their clothes was a weird added bonus.

Heroes was the club to go if you wanted to see buff dudes bare it all. Tara, the birthday girl, had been raving about it for months. She found videos of it online and shared them in your group chat. That, of course, had your other friends looking for more videos and all of them started to have their favorites.

“Girl, some of them even give private shows,” Sonya, the oldest and who was supposed to be the responsible one of your group, mock-whispered excitedly.

You tried not to roll your eyes as your gang was escorted to the front table near the stage. It was a semicircular booth where small round tables came up from the floor, big enough for drinks, but small and spaced out enough to allow for bodies to move around and in between.

Your host was a slender built guy on the younger side, barely old enough to be allowed in. He had a baby face and a boyish smile, but his muscles were well defined as the club forced him to be shirtless save for the small bow tie around his neck with a spider in the middle, and the tiny pair of shorts that cupped his rear which stayed there by what you guessed was his will or magic. Maybe both.

“Here you are, ladies,” he guided, instructing Tara to take her seat near the middle. “The name’s Peter- uh Spider-Man. I’ll be taking care of you tonight.”

That set off a fit of giggles from your friends which caused a full body flush from your waiter. His embarrassment tugged at your heartstrings. “New at this, Mr. Spider,” you asked.

His flush darkened and he rubbed absently at the back at his neck after he passed out the menus. “It’s Spider-Man,” he corrected you, “but is it that obvious?” You tilted your head and scrunched up your nose, parting your pointer and thumb a small ways apart. He laughed in return, his shoulders relaxing a little. You gave him a wink and a smile before the rest of your friends attacked the poor kid with their drink and food orders.

You felt sorry for the guy, but he seemed to have loosened up a bit since your small, playful banter and your friends ate up his boyish charm. 

While you waited for your turn to order, you looked around the club to find its sleek design, not something you thought a strip club would offer. The walls were painted black, accented by silver framed posters of the dancers. Above each were white neon lights that spelt out their Hero name.

The rest of the booths were like your own, made of soft black cushions, black metal bases which were illuminated underneath by white light. The tables that sprang from the ground were polished silver necks with textured tempered glass tops to keep drink slipping and spilling to a minimum.

Of course, all of the booths surrounded the stage, which was mostly closed off by a thick black curtain, save for the large catwalk that split half of the sitting area in two. It was wide enough to fit three large men comfortably across it, shoulder to shoulder, and from some of the videos your group shared, they had done so before.

When Peter- there was no way you were going to refer to him by his Hero name- got to your order last, you could hear other rowdy groups start to file in. A couple of bachelorette parties, a girl’s 21st birthday, and a Happy Divorce Finalization Day were all joining you. Your friends quickly became friends with everyone in the room, so even if the show sucked, at least all of you could get drunk and have fun.

“Excuse me, ladies,” a voice rang out above you. Cheers burst from the crowd and every light in the room popped out and stayed out until the room fell silent. “Now that I have your attention…” A tall, dark man walked out from the split of the curtains. He wore a wireless microphone over his ear, an eyepatch over his eye which rested just above a self assured smile. Dressed in a fitted pair of leather pants and combat boots, he strode to the center crossroads of the stage and catwalk, “My name is Director Fury. I will be introducing you to your Heroes tonight.” He paused for another round of catcalls. “And hopefully we can save you from the Villains, too.” That drew out louder screams from the crowd.

“Now, what do we do to the bad girls like you,” he paused, looking pointedly to the crowd, “we contain,” he pulled a piece of rope from the back of his pants and tossed it into a group nearby, “detain,” he pulled out cuffs and twirled them around a finger before he threw those out as well, “and entertain.” With that, the bass dropped and the curtain flew open, behind Director Fury were the Heroes (and Villains) in all of their sweat slicked glory. 

Once the Director stepped aside, the seven dancers on stage began their opening routine. Dressed in black vests and tear-away leather pants, the men paraded around the stage and catwalk to the thump of the music, pulling off pieces of their clothing as they went. The women around you went wild, snatching at whatever was tossed their way, fighting playfully for it. While it seemed incredibly silly, Tara was having the time of her life and you absently sipped at your Tequila Sunrise while you scrolled on your phone. 

The dance number finished not two minutes later with a screaming cheer and standing ovation from the rest of the already slightly tipsy crowd. Director Fury came out while the dancers disappeared into the back to get ready, he worked the crowd, mentioning the brides-to-be and promised them a very special wedding gift before the night was over. “But I heard there were a couple of birthdays here,” Fury said, looking between your group and the one behind you. “Now, I’m going to get the young gun back there in a moment, but… a little bird told me that you,” he pointed to your friend, “are a very big fan of our first Hero of the night.” 

Tara squealed and stood up, “Fuck yes, I am. God bless Captain America! ...and dat ass!”

It was obvious that Director Fury was trying to keep his composure, but the corners of his lips twitched like he wanted to join in on the laughter from the crowd. “Well, he is certainly blessed,” he replied, “and ladies, you will be, too, when you see him at full salute.” He winked and started to walk off stage, “Captain? Duty calls…”

Some sort of abomination of the Star Spangled Banner started to play, remixed with drum and bass. You looked up to see what kind of horror show would come from something treasonous as what bled from the speakers around you, you were met with over six feet of muscle covered in a fitted blue suit, fingerless leather gloves on his hands, and a round metal shield on his back painted red, white, and blue. 

The Captain’s background was what looked like a large war ship with painted ski-masked bad guys spread throughout the levels. His stage allowed him ramps and poles to move up and down, which he used freely. He used a mixture of acrobatics and dance to move across the stage, tossing the shield around, “fighting off the bad guys” and losing his clothes in the process. By the end of the song he was left in just the leather gloves and a very tight pair of shorts, much like the ones Peter wore, except the Captains had the same pattern of his shield printed across the backside. 

Tara’s screams knocked you out of your daze and you realized you hadn’t stared down at your phone at all during the Captain’s dance. You watched all five minutes of it and couldn’t tear your eyes away. Heroes wasn’t about getting drunk women horny, they wanted to put on a show, too. You clapped lightly, though it was drowned out by the cheering around you, but unbeknownst to you, it wasn’t unnoticed. 

Fury was out once again and he brought up the first bachelorette of the night. He put her in a chair on the catwalk and gave her a candy-garterbelt. Then he asked her waiter, a guy named “Ant Man”, to remove it with only his tongue, which he happily obliged. 

Peter cut off your view with another drink, one you didn’t order. “On the house,” he said with a lopsided grin and placed the red, white, and blue layered drink next to your nearly empty Sunrise. Before you could ask him who ordered it, the candy garterbelt was being tugged between the bachelorette and her waiter. It ended in a tongue-y kiss and the ladies went wild. 

“Let’s hope her future husband doesn’t mind,” you muttered and turned your attention to your phone once again. Director Fury, thankfully, broke up the awkward scene on stage and began to introduce the next dancers. It was a pair, brothers, apparently, and they worked on the good versus bad troupe. Thor and Loki were opposites in every sense of the word. Thor was a large blond with a commanding presence. He had a bright smile and sun kissed skin that looked great in his red and gold trimmed briefs. But his brother was slender, graceful - almost cat-like, with dark hair and a mischievous grin all wrapped in flawless alabaster skin. They didn’t look like brothers, but they moved around each other like they had been together all of their lives, and knew each other’s moves. 

You only caught half of their story, as you were already halfway done with, what you found out was called the American Glory drink, and half wondered if that was what Captain America tasted like. Fury was up again and had the young lady celebrating her 21st birthday take two shots and lick the salt from Thor and Loki’s still sweaty chests. 

Peter found his way in front of you again and said that someone needed to talk to you about your card being declined. You frowned and excused yourself from your friends to find out what was going on. There shouldn’t have been a problem, you got paid the day before, there was plenty of money in your account.

You were taken to a hall that connected what seemed like offices, the dressing room, and the route to the backstage. “Sorry,” Peter said sheepishly, “they said this was the only way to get you back here. Gotta go.” He waved and jogged back out to the lobby.

Confused, you were about to shout out after him when you felt a tap on your shoulder. When you turned, you faced that wall of American muscle beaming down at you. “Hey there,” he greeted, a smile almost blinding you from its perfection. “Don’t be too mad at the kid, I asked him to get you back here.”

“What,” was all you could get out. He was thankfully dressed, but his muscles were straining against the white tshirt and the gym shorts did not hide the package he carried. Even with all of that, what mesmerized you most was his eyes, sparkling blue and bright with amusement. 

“This next bit requires audience participation and he had someone in mind,” the Captain replied like he explained everything.

“We had someone in mind,” a voice corrected behind the door you two stood near. You tore your eyes away from the blond and eyed the wood barrier suspiciously. 

“Don’t worry,” Captain America laughed, capturing your attention once again, “it’s nothing too dangerous or embarrassing. You just have to sit there, pretend to be tied up, and me and Buck will dance around you.” He put his hands on his hips and tilted his head in thought, “Well, actually, you really will be tied up, but we promise we’ll let you go once we’re done.”

“Or not, if you don’t want us to,” came the voice again, which made the Captain laugh.

You blinked up at him and frowned, “What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch,” he shook his head. “We might dance on you a little, if you don’t mind, the crowd likes it. But if not, we can work around that.” The thought of Captain America in those tiny shorts grinding on you was a very nice thought.

“‘Sfine,” you shrugged.

He beamed and reached out to squeeze you on the shoulder, his touch lingering and his thumb running along your collarbone. “I’ll let the stage team know.” Reluctantly, he dropped his hand and knocked on the door next to you both, “Five minutes.” When he heard a ‘yeah, got it’, the Captain motioned you to follow him. 

The stage crew took over and the Captain disappeared to get ready. You were told about the chair you’d be sitting in, the rope that would be tied around your chest and if you would be okay with it. There was some hesitation on your part, but ultimately you agreed. They brought you on stage, a winter wonderland of sorts and placed you on a log-like chair. The rope wasn’t tight, but it was obvious you were the damsel in distress. 

“One of you was taken,” Director Fury said from the other side of the curtain in front of you, “by The Winter Soldat. Will she survive? Will she be saved?” All of the lights turn off once again and an industrial heavy beat thrummed through the speakers, rattling your bones. Red stage lights shone down on you when the curtain pulled open and your friends lost their minds.

To your right you saw a figure stalk out of the dark, red light bouncing off a silver metal arm. A mask covered the lower half of his face, but his eyes were trained on you like you were prey. His black muscle shirt clung tightly to his chest, one sleeve missing to show off his arm, and his black tactical pants stretched against his thick thighs. You could feel the shaking of the stage from the stomps of his booted feet.

Eyes wide, you stared at him until he stopped short of your chair on cue with the music. His nostrils flared lightly before he moved again, the music flowing with him. He slung one leg over the side over your chair, straddling you. The metal arm clamped the wooden back rest of the chair and he narrowed his gaze. Lights flash around you, strobing from red to white and back again until they settle on the house lights. 

Soldat began to roll his body with the tempo, blue eyes locked with yours. You could hear the screams behind him as he dancing, but neither of you were paying attention. 

His hips circled until he’s seated on your lap, you’re practically nose to nose. He brought his flesh hand to the side of your face and you could feel it trembling against your skin. With him that close you could hear him mutter in some other language that isn’t English, you’re guessing Russian, but you’re not sure. Either way, you felt crushed by his weight and you liked it. You didn't want him to go. 

But the music changed and the lights started to flash again, red, white, and now blue mixed in. Captain America joined the two of you on stage and Soldat slipped from your lap. Just as Thor and Loki had before, these two moved around each other like they were made from the same mold. 

During the fight, pieces of clothing were tossed aside and at one point you were freed from your bonds. Soldat pulled you up from your chair and up against his chest, your backside pressed so tightly against him you could almost feel his heartbeat. He moved you with him as he continued to fight the Captain.

Until seconds before the song ended and the music swelled, the Captain landed one good blow to Soldat and sandwiched you between them. The Winter Soldier recalibrated and recognized his old friend and you. He pulled the Captain into a big bear hug and then picked you up bridal style, taking you off stage with cheers from the crowd.

Once you’re all off stage, he sat you down with a hearty laugh. “You did a fantastic job, sweetheart,” the Soldier praised, running his metal hand through his chin length brown hair. “Couldn’t have asked for a better dance partner.” Flushed from embarrassment and arousal, you continued to stare at him until you were joined by the Captain. “I told you she’d be great, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, Buck, you know how to pick ‘em,” the blond agreed with a smile.

“Thanks,” you replied breathlessly, finally coming out of your stupor. “That was… fun. I’m just going to go back to my seat now, I guess.”

“Wait,” the one named “Buck” jumped to stop you, “we were wondering if you wanted a private show?” You heard about those from Tara. You knew that they were exclusive and very expensive… and sometimes had happy endings. They seemed to sense your hesitation because they both added in unison as they eyed you up like you were a four course meal, “For free.”

“I never turn down free anything,” you shrugged. The pair turned to look at each other and their smiles turned to wicked grins. You aren’t sure what you got yourself into, but you’re pretty sure you were going to enjoy it.

a/n: Part Two coming soon... with smut!

#bucky barnes x reader x steve rogers #bucky barnes x you x steve rogers #bucky barnes x y/n x steve rogers #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #steve rogers x you x bucky barnes #steve rogers x y/n x bucky barnes #stucky x reader #stucky x you #stucky x y/n #stripper!bucky barnes #stripper!steve rogers #stripper!au #heroes au

[nctsworld]

in a king-size, say i’m your queen

✩‌ renjun ‌x‌ ‌reader‌ ‌|‌ prince!renjun | fluff | smut | ‌3.4k

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ you’re drawn to the kingdom’s prince staying at your family’s inn. on the night before he leaves, you exchange good-byes in the form of a kiss and more. WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ ‌smut (near the end), unprotected s*x, f*ngering, oral s*x (m receiving), mentions of alcohol/drinking, commoner!reader, dash of angst RATING‌ ‌⇾‌ mature PROMPT ⇾‌ prince/royalty au // fluff + smut REQ BY ⇾‌ anonymous   ‌

⇾‌ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

“Prince Huang, this is my family, who will be looking after you during your stay.”

Your father awoke everyone from deep slumber in the middle of the night, hollering at everyone to put on their work clothes in a hurry. Little did anyone expect the actual prince himself to be taking a rest at your family’s inn, for several days apparently.  

As the youngest and only daughter among your kin, your father introduces you last in line to greet the prince and his companions. With sleep still in your eyes, you curtsy as gracefully as you can, once towards the prince and another towards his followers.

The sleep in your eyes disappears as your eyelids suddenly bloom at your first clear look at the man standing a few steps across from you.

Everyone within the kingdom obviously knew of the royal family, but being this far from the mainland never granted you the chance to see them in-person. There were rumours far and wide of how captivating and beautiful the family was, especially the prince, but you assumed they were exaggerating, fueling the propaganda mill that all royalty were gorgeous, godly beings.

Oh, to be absolutely wrong.

Air’s snatched from your lungs when his warm smile burgeons, warming the room more than the fireplace ever could.

He holds his gaze on you, placing a palm on his chest and saying, “My dearest apologies for disturbing your dreams. It was a must though; we haven’t stopped anywhere in days and finally found your inn.”

Your father replies to his words, while you blink observantly at the royal figure. You wonder if it’s due to the lack of sleep or simply all in your head, but you swear his glances waver over at you more than your other family members.

“Well, I will retire to bed now and won’t be requiring your services until morning. Please resume your slumbers, and I wish you all the sweetest of dreams.”

Puffing his cheeks cutely, he bends his head slightly towards your family, while all of you dip and bow to him. When you two jointly look up, your gaze surely connects with his.

Funny enough, his wish comes true as his beauty rules over your dreams, molding them into sweet ones, for the rest of the night.  

On the second morning of his stay, you watch him relaxing at the back of the inn among the luscious greenery. In a loose white-button up, he’s sitting by himself, save for a guard nearby, and lounging in a chair under the spring sun.

Prior to starting on your tasks for the day, you stroll towards him with a jug in hand. Smiling freely, his eyes are shut as you approach him.

“Sorry to disturb you, Your Royal Highness—”

His eyes flutter open at your divine voice and his smile deepens.

“But would you care for some lemon juice?”

The boyish man hums in acceptance and he’s glued to how you carefully pour the liquid into his chalice. His eyes track the path of your departure after you leave the jug on the table and head towards a group of trees in the farther end of the garden.

Though he delights in the picturesque image of you skillfully picking the yellow fruit, which he assumes are lemons, off the tree from your wooden ladder and dropping them into the bucket hanging from your hand, a desire simmers in his stomach to be in your presence. The prince's guard follows behind him discreetly as the handsome individual makes his way over and speaks to you from below.

“May I assist you?” he offers.

His appearance startles you for a moment, then your stare unintentionally drops over the exposed skin of his upper frame. You ponder over the smoothness of his skin and imagine yourself leaving kisses upon his clavicle, on his chest, going downward further and further...

Clearing your throat and shaking your head to focus, you airily laugh at his question. The highness’s eyebrows crease, perplexed by your response.    

“Prince Huang—”

“Call me Renjun, please,” he interrupts, laying a palm against his chest. “I insist.”

“Prince Huang,” you reiterate, not wanting to breach the formalities. “It’s my duty—and an honor if I may add—to pick these lemons for you, not yours.”

“Well, as prince,” Renjun gently seizes the bucket away from your grasp. “I order you to allow me to assist you.”

Incredulously, you stare at him for a lingering moment and he engages equally, delving into your glowing aura.

Since you can’t reject his order, you yield and continue to pick the lemons off the tree, now plopping them into the bucket held by Renjun. Throughout the comfortable silence, he doesn’t take his eyes off of you for one second, admiring how elegant you are with the light breeze blowing through your hair.  

He wonders to himself if you’re aware of your devastating beauty.  

A couple of nights pass and during one evening, in the shared resting area, you find Renjun situated adjacent to the fireplace, reading a book alone (with a guard lurking close by, of course).

The prince’s features are already so soft, but he seems ethereal with the fire’s glow against his face. You’re reminded of the first night he arrived.  

As you usually do, you query if he needs anything before you retire to your room.  

He replies negatively, but then adds, “Would you like to hear some of the story I’m reading before bed?”

Shaking your head, you tuck some of your hair behind your ear. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose—”  

“Not at all,” Renjun beams. He gestures for you to sit in the seat beside him, and you do so with prickling cheeks.  

His fingers flip a few pages back and he tells the short story from the beginning. Your cheek tips into your palm as you listen intently. Yes, the story is intriguing, but you’re also focused on Renjun’s voice. It’s soothing, yet lively with the specific parts in which he modulates his tone to flow perfectly with the storytelling.

And then you drift over his plush, kissable lips. You will yourself to focus on the story, rather than the reader.

In between his reading, he peers up from the pages to see if you’re still interested to hear the rest of the story, not wanting to waste your time nor bore you to death. He reads the dazzling expression on your face as a signal to finish until the very end.

When it’s over, Renjun asks if you enjoyed it. You hum positively and stand up, excusing yourself to formally leave for the night. You exchange pleasant good-nights and sweet dreams. While you shuffle off, before you’re past the doorway, he pipes up—

“Perhaps I can read you another story tomorrow evening?”

You turn around by the end of his sentence, grasping onto the doorframe.

Renjun continues, his grip tightening around the closed book. “If you wish.”

Your lips press together, in hopes to suppress a grin. It doesn’t work too well.  

“I’d like that very much.”

Time flies, and it’s already the second to last day before Renjun’s departure. Your family decides to arrange a party at the inn, inviting the fellow townspeople to join as well.  

Fittingly, Renjun sits in the middle of the long table alongside his associates and is entertained by the spectacle of the event. After the townspeople grant him gifts and dinner is served, the dancing commences. Throughout the evening, he keeps a constant eye out for you.

All night, you serve the guests and barely have time to properly eat your own meal. However, as the night lengthens, your parents urge you to live a little. In the middle of the hall, you rush to unite with your close friends, clasping onto their hands and dancing around in circles to the merry music.

The royal figure radiates, enticed from the scene of you laughing and jumping in joy, having never seen this side of you before. His heart flops at the endearing sight and an itch overcomes him. Taking a sip of his wine, Renjun anxiously wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and heads towards you onto the dance floor.  

Gasps trail behind his steps as he floats through the domino effect of bowing people. He casually says his thank you’s to everyone in passing and as the domino effect finally reaches a stop within the middle of the room, you’re the last one to formally greet him.

“Your Royal Highness,” you curtsy with a small smile.

He acknowledges with a bow of his head and shocks you by holding his palm out.

“May I share a dance with you?”

Your heart pounds in your ears as you glance around the room to ensure he’s talking to you and not mistakenly someone else. Additionally, you’re surveying the prospects because you are definitely not the most worthy to dance with royalty; the mayor’s daughter should be owed this dance, not you. You also shamefully touch your work outfit, wishing you were wearing something cleaner and more extravagant.

“Prince Huang, are you sure you want to dance with me?” you murmur, despite how everyone quieted down and can hear what you’re saying.

“Of course,” he stretches out for your hand and possesses it in his.

“Who else would I want to share a dance with?”

Your friends and all other parties now disperse and surround the two of you, dancing to their own fulfillment as you’re left in an imaginary bubble with just Renjun. Every twirl, spin, and bounce generates endless vivacious laughter from the both of you. You dance deeper into the night until your faces and feet soon ache, until it was almost only the two of you on the dance floor.      

Because of the aching, you stumble at one point, crashing into Renjun’s body.

He catches you in his arms. You look up into his eyes, then at his lips merely fingertips away from yours. Renjun’s liquored panting fans your face and you drown in it without reservation.

His eyes flicker to your lips too, and he gulps. Bravely, he raises his palm to caress your cheek, but as his skin touches yours, it jolts you to your core, popping you out of your secluded bubble and dragging you into reality.

Pulling apart from him, the prince asks if you’re okay.

You nod thoughtlessly, quickly thank him for the dance, and spew that you should begin to clean-up the hall, leaving him on the dance floor.

Renjun brings a finger to his lips and watches you run off.  

The last evening of his stay finally arrives. In your nightgown before bedtime, forgetting to ask if he needed anything before you changed out of your work clothes, you knock on his room’s door with the guard on-duty beside it.

His muffled voice beckons you to come in, and you open the door ajar to creep your head through the space. Noticing it’s you, he immediately drops the book he was reading onto his bedside table.  

“Prince Huang, did you need anything else before you leave tomorrow?”

Legs dangling off the largest bed at the inn, he thinks to himself for a few moments. He twists his mouth to one side, tapping a finger on his chin.

“I think I have everything in order...”

Then, he tilts his head to one side and puckers his lips. He darts onto his feet and adds, “Can you come in for a moment though? And please shut the door behind you.”

You’re taken aback by his request. Nevertheless, you fulfill it and close the door behind you as you walk in. Renjun’s eyes widen at the sight of you in your nightgown, clicking together why you didn’t fully come into his room in the first place.  

You rub one of your arms. “Sorry for my indecent clothing—”

“No, I’m sorry, uhm,” he palms the back of his neck nervously. “I just wanted to say a few words, so I’ll be quick.”  

He steps closer to you. Both of you stand in the middle of the room and he continues.

“Before I leave, I want to make sure you know that I quite enjoyed my stay here because of you and your family’s fine service, but I enjoyed it even more because of your cordial company.”

At his earnest appraisal and personal compliment, your cheeks flare and your jaw dangles. You bow with your head. “Thank you, Prince Huang.”

Renjun then faces the floor and picks at his fingers, trying to formulate his thoughts.

“I don’t normally do this and I’m about to ask the following not as a prince, but as a normal man. And let me preface it by saying that, as a man of my word, you are not obligated or pressured to agree to what I’m about to ask; you have every right to say no.”

He sputters everything so fast, it takes a bit for you to process his words. When it sinks in, you’re still unsure exactly what he’s talking about. Worried, you raise your eyebrows, anticipating his inquiry.  

Noting your confusion, he exhales a lengthy breath and goes straight to the point.

“As a send-off and to demonstrate my gratitude…”

He meets your gaze.

“May I kiss you?”

Your jaw, along with your eyes, hangs this time. Awestruck, you blink rapidly and inhale sharply as you stay frozen in place.

“I know it may be one-sided, but at yesterday’s gathering, I thought we shared a special moment and perhaps it’s my fault I acted upon it since we were among people, so I apologize for that—”

“You may kiss me,” you cut him off, relieved to hear his thoughts, and close the space between yourselves.

It’s his turn to don the rapid blinking.

“Are-are you sure?”

Cautiously, his palm cups your cheek, mirroring the memory of last night, then he adds his other.

“Yes, Pr-”

“Renjun, please.”

“Yes, Renjun—”

You collide as he captures your lips. He exudes innocence and it shows in his kissing; he starts off gently and barely expands his mouth. Each movement is lovely and oozes affection. Your fingers tug lightly at his nightwear, body humming emphatically in response.

However, as he tests the water, his kissing is soon stripped of innocence and is replaced by a sinful hunger. While his tongue slips into your mouth, grazing against your teeth, his hands traverse your body and confront your waist and neck, squeezing them upon arrival. You eagerly reciprocate his change of pace, desperately running your fingers through his hair and angling your neck to better the searing, open-mouthed kisses.

Since there aren’t many layers covering either of you, you’re blatantly aware of Renjun’s growing desire against your body.

Pressing his forehead against yours, he pants, “May I take you to bed?”

You bob your head fervently and croak, “Yes.”

“Yes…?”

You grin into the next kiss at his playfulness.

“Yes, Renjun.”

In retrospect, being taken in a guest room at your family’s inn was strange, but you couldn’t think much of it within the moment.

At the moment, all you yearn for is Renjun’s weight on you, locking your body into the bed with his. Lip-locked as he lays you down, he satisfies your yearning hastily.

While he dominates your neck, one of his hands is rashly underneath your nightgown and ascends to the haven of your breasts. You gasp at the initial contact, your fingers tightening in his hair and over his shoulder blade.

He kneads the meat of your tits momentarily, but he’s more fixated on attending to your nipples. Renjun’s thumb tenderly rubs over them prior to his loving pinches. At this point, his mouth zones in and nibbles on your earlobe, so he listens to your rising panting and erotic moans crystal clear.

Following his massaging and playing of your other breast, he withdraws from you to disrobe your layer in one-go and you return the favour to peel away his.  

Renjun’s purity ignites once more as he reveres your bare body, lovingly scanning all your curves and lines.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he whispers.  

Fluttering your eyelids, you lightly bite your bottom lip between your teeth. Truly, it was too easy for him to make your cheeks spark this often. He converges with your mouth sweetly before he wraps his pretty lips around your nub.

“Oh, my God, Renjun—”

Because your eyes snap in gratification, you can’t see the smirk on his face. He indulges in you calling him by his first name, especially so melodiously and within this context. A hand finds purchase upon the neighbouring breast, and another hovers under your warmth. Your hips buck heedlessly, begging for his fingers to dive further.  

They do so when he switches his embrace upon your breasts. Although you know he must feel it, the obscene, loud sounds of him fingering your sex confirm how wet you are for him. Renjun peeks an eye open to your wanton self. He adores the view in addition to your dripping pleasure contracting and spilling over his digits.  

Moving ahead, he retreats from you and mounts himself on the bed on his knees, stroking himself to harden himself for what’s to come. Despite still being breathless from your high, you rise onto your knees to match his stance in front of him.

Your dominant hand grasps his possession, taking over for him. Simultaneously, your mouth finally has the chance to reign over the smoothness of his frame—his neck, his carved clavicle, the expanse area of his chest, and his soft abdomen. He sighs blissfully, eyes batting.        

Your mouth proceeds lower to where your hand is located and aids to the swelling of Renjun’s desire. He gawks, mouth hanging, at the beautiful arching of your back and your enthusiasm as you engulf him.

Gripping him by the base, you stroke to the measure of your bobbing. To keep him enraptured, you occasionally focus on his tip, such as with the swirling and flicking of your tongue and initiating vigorous, targeted sucking. Not wanting him to reach climax yet, you pull away from him with a pop, but not before you leave a delicate kiss upon the glossy apex.

Once again, you recline downward onto the bed, except now with spread legs. Renjun pumps his wet length and lines it up with your glistening crevice. You stare at his cock upon penetration, and the flood of sensations from the impact causes you to crane your head into the pillow.  

Hands encompassing your waist, the lover thrusts gradually at first, allowing you to acclimatize to his girth. After some time, he surrenders to his carnal urges and plunges deeper with speed. Your chest heaves as your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving half-moons on his skin. Lowering himself, he secures your lips for a fleeting, sentimental moment.

To your surprise, Renjun picks up the rhythm even further, leading you to wail his name and incoherent noises repeatedly. In hopes to quell yourself, you lightly bite down on the meat of your index finger. It only partially helps since whimpers still trickle out from you.  

Both of you are nearing. Aching to be even more intimate with you, his hand flees from the flank of your body and over your head to lace his fingers with yours. His intertwining compresses alongside the pinching of his face. With your finger in pain, you release it and let loose. As one, you moan in sync with Renjun and you break together. He extracts himself, painting your stomach in white ribbons.  

Inhaling much needed air, you settle upon Renjun’s chest with his arm around you. He trifles with your fingers in his before he kisses the back of your hand.

“If you ever have the chance to come by the kingdom, I implore you to find me.”

Peering up at him, you agree enthusiastically. “Of course, Renjun.”  

With pink tinting over his face, he cups you by your chin.

“Promise?”

Hesitancy pumps through your blood. You know the chances of you ever leaving your home town would be very unlikely, and even if you could, you two could never be together for he is of royal blood, and you of none.

Nevertheless, you dare not to break the twinkling, awaited expression upon his face, so you reply—

“I promise.”

Sharing another kiss, you stay with him in the bed for a little while longer, savoring the brief amour as much as possible.

#renjun #renjun smut #renjun fluff #renjun imagines #renjun scenarios #nct #nct smut #nct fluff #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct fanfic #nct dream scenarios #nct dream smut #nct dream fluff #nct dream fanfic #renjun x reader #mywritings #myrequests #nct dream imagines #nctcreations

[minor-solemnity]

i don't know if this counts as a request but just makeup sex!! the way you wrote smut in curiosity was so good!

This definitely counts as a request haha! Thank you so much, I hope you like it!

2.8k of (a little) plot and more smut :)

Tag List: @jinxqsu @cakesarecute @naps-and-lemons @mainlynonsense @riddles-wifey 

Game Theory

“Don’t make a scene,” Tom whispers in your ear and you’re still shivering but it’s not only from the cold anymore. He leads you away from the ruckus, his hand never leaving your back, his gaze focused determinedly on the castle. Any thought you had about finding Frasier is replaced by the desperate need you suddenly feel to make sure that Tom never stops touching you again.

Hogwarts is hosting a festival for a comet. You’re not sure why a comet deserves a festival - something to do with an ancient prophecy allegedly made by Rowena Ravenclaw. The night shall bow to fire and the school shall stand strong. It’s all very poetic. Regardless, Hogwarts is celebrating the passing of the comet over the school and you have to admit that the grounds look beautiful. Tiny replica comets made of bluebell flames dance above your head, marble statues of famous astronomers and seers stand proud in the tall grass, and garlands of lotus flowers, yellow jasmine, and, more strangely, parsley are strewn everywhere. Further down, there is a sectioned off area for dancing where tinkling music can be heard drifting over the light breeze. The small rowing boats that usually carry the first years over to Hogwarts are adorned with tiny glowing lights, ready to take you and the rest of the school across the lake to see the comet blaze across the dark sky when the time comes.

You feel like you’ve walked into a fairy circle, not the grounds that you’ve come to know so well over the years. You stand there, at the doors to the castle surveying the scene before you with a sense of excitement and anticipation. Students are milling around, enjoying the music and the food. You can spy a few of your friends drifting about and you make a note to say hello when you get the opportunity. If you get the opportunity.

Because… because you’ve done something pretty stupid. You’ve gone and found yourself a date and as it turns out, Frasier Rowle is… well he’s handsome. Which was why you’d started dropping hints a few weeks ago. But he’s also brimming with undeserved arrogance and entitlement. He’s possessive too, and petulant. You’d found that out the hard way when you’d apparently hugged Charlie a little too tightly for Frasier’s liking and he’d sulked for a week straight. No, Frasier doesn’t like other people playing with his toys and in any other circumstance, you would have rolled your eyes and dumped him for his childishness.

These are not normal circumstances though. You'd needed a date for the festival because if you didn’t then you’d have lost. Well. Sort of. There’s no game being played, certainly not officially at any rate. But still, you don’t lose games official or unofficial. It’s a rule you have for yourself. You like winning. Simple.

So, you smile demurely at Frasier and ignore the way his black dress robes wash out his pale eyes and pale hair (you wished he’d opted for the blue as you’d suggested) and offer him your hand. He takes it, holding it a little too tightly as you descend the steps to the party below. You feel the weight of his gaze even though you can’t see him. You ignore it. You pretend you don’t know you’re being watched as you twist your arm through Frasier’s and when he kisses your cheek, you pretend you don’t care that Frasier’s breath is a little sour from whatever he ate at dinner.

Charming. You’re charming and funny and flirty and Frasier is proud to have you as a date. You can see it in the way that he all but parades you around in front of his friends. The tell-tale prickling on the back of your neck tells you that he’s still watching. Which means you’re still winning. So you smile and laugh and stay close to Frasier even when he and his friends start talking about the internships and jobs their wealthy and connected parents have secured them. Frasier is apparently going straight into the DMLE even though his grades suggest a role as shop assistant would be far more suited to his capabilities.

“-like I always say, it’s not a bad thing to be better than other people.” Frasier’s voice cuts through your thoughts and your smile turns slightly strained. Because it isn’t a bad thing to be better. But Frasier Rowle simply isn’t. He reminds you of one of those expensive eclairs that your mother sometimes brings home when you have cause for celebration: beautifully decorated and full of air. “Isn’t that right?” His elbow digs into your ribs and for a second you stop smiling. He frowns expectantly.

“Of course. You’re completely right.” You say and carefully extricate yourself from his arms. Deciding to date Frasier had been a stupid decision on your part. In all honesty, you find him incredibly distasteful but… But he serves a purpose. And you’ll be damned if you don’t see this through. “If you’ll excuse me for just a moment, I’ll get us some drinks?” He nods and you make a hasty (but not too hasty, you wouldn’t want anyone watching to get the impression that you’re eager to leave) departure.

You’re standing at the drinks table, pretending to decide between a flute of sparkling apple juice or pumpkin juice (why wasn’t wine an option?) when he slides in next to you. Tom looks horribly good. His dark hair is parted neatly, falling in delicate waves across his forehead and the soft glow from the bluebell flames throw his aristocratic features into sharp relief. You note, with no small amount of irritation, that Tom, unlike Frasier, looks devastatingly good in black. His robes are perfectly cut and look soft and inviting in the way that expensive things often do. You imagine that they’re a gift from Malfoy or one of his other cronies.

“Rowle then. That’s who you’ve decided to degrade yourself with.” Straight to the point then. Well, good. This is the only reason you’ve been putting up with Frasier for all these weeks, after all. You cast a sideways glance in Tom’s direction and are aggravated to see that, despite the jealousy lacing his words, he looks entirely at ease. Like he’s just asked you about the decor or the weather or last week’s arithmancy test.

“I’d hardly call dating Frasier degrading myself. He’s been offered a very important position in the DMLE, don’t you know?” You reply archly. He raises an eyebrow in response and you purse your lips primly, as though you don’t share his exact thoughts on Frasier’s future Ministry job. You turn to him then, taking in the darkness of his eyes, the hollows of his cheeks, the almost imperceptible clench of his jaw. Something that feels like it could be triumph settles in your stomach. Tom is a master of controlling his emotions, but even he has his tells. “More to the point, why do you care?”

He doesn’t answer right away and really, you don’t expect him to. Why does he care? You aren’t sure he even knows the answer to that himself. All you know is that after a year of meeting him in alcoves and abandoned classrooms, you can’t stand to be a secret anymore. And he can’t seem to stand the idea of holding your hand in public. “I’m merely surprised. You’re reasonably intelligent and he is... Well, let’s just say it’s a good thing his family is so well connected.”

“Reasonably intelligent? If it weren’t for you, I’d be top of the year,” You say indignantly. He smirks that you realise that maybe you should probably be defending Frasier’s intellect. “And I find mine and Frasier’s conversations incredibly... stimulating, if you must know. It’s really quite nice to get such a fresh perspective on certain issues. No pointless arguments because he’s too stubborn to realise what he could lose.” You smile innocently as his posture grows taught and his lips thin.

“Oh look, your security troll is coming to collect you,” Tom says dispassionately, eyeing Frasier who has spotted you and now making his way steadily over. You scoff.

“Oh please, Frasier is hardly a troll. He’s much too-” whiny, self-important, weak “-small.” Something dangerously close to a laugh escapes Tom’s lips and a pang of sadness and anger and longing twists in your gut. It’s far too easy to fall into your regular routine of barbed comments and sly humour with Tom. It reminds you of the other conversations too, the secrets and confessions that seem to spill from you both whenever you let your guard down for long enough. Whatever. He doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want you. Not enough for you to be satisfied anymore. You shoot him a smile, insincere and caustic, “Besides, maybe I like having someone who cares enough about me to see who I’m spending time with.”

He frowns, only for a second, and that’s the only sign you get that your words have affected him before his expression clears and he looks as impassive and impenetrable as ever. Frasier appears and it doesn’t take a genius to realise that he’s unhappy. He looks between you and Tom with a suspicious sneer distorting his features. “I was wondering what was taking you so long. But I should have known, it’s so sweet of you, darling, to be so charitable with your time.” You tense at the thinly veiled insult about Tom’s humble beginnings before you mechanically pass your date his drink. He wraps an arm around your shoulders in a, quite frankly, terribly insecure show of machismo. You smile up at him and refuse to look back at Tom as he leads you away.

***

Night has well and truly fallen and you’re silently bemoaning the fact that your dress robes have short sleeves whilst you try futilely not to shiver. Frasier hasn’t noticed; he’s busy talking about his future or quidditch or the funny thing his house-elf did last summer or some other entirely inane thing with his friends. His hand is curved around your waist and you’re fairly sure it’s for Tom’s benefit. This, at least, makes you somewhat pleased. But still, you’re cold, you’re bored, you haven’t been able to talk to your friends at all, and you’re wishing desperately that it was Tom’s arms around you.

It seems as though your scheming has not gone to plan. Well, no. The plan had been to make Tom jealous and you’re fairly sure you’ve accomplished that. But still, you somehow feel as though you’ve lost. At the sound of a loud chime, a hush falls across the festival and the Headmaster announces that you have thirty minutes before the comet is scheduled to pass overhead. Immediately, the professors begin to coral students towards the lake and a crowd of eager teenagers starts to form around you, pushing forwards to get to the boats. Frasier’s hand slips from your waist and you get separated in the rush. You’re about to reach forward to try and grab him when a large, warm hand touches your lower back. You freeze because you know that touch. Know those hands. Intimately.

“Don’t make a scene,” Tom whispers in your ear and you’re still shivering but it’s not only from the cold anymore. He leads you away from the ruckus, his hand never leaving your back, his gaze focused determinedly on the castle. Any thought you had about finding Frasier is replaced by the desperate need you suddenly feel to make sure that Tom never stops touching you again.

You’re not that easy though. You’ve been denying yourself what you want for weeks at this point. You can carry on for another few minutes. “Where are you taking me?” You ask and you’re quite proud that you sound demanding, maybe a little petulant. As though you wouldn’t follow him wherever he decided to take you. Judging by the shrewd glance Tom sends your way, he can see right through the protests forming on your tongue.

“You’ll see soon enough.” He pushes you inside the castle and suddenly the noise and commotion of the festival feel very far away. The quietness of the empty castle seems to envelop the two of you, creating an almost stifling atmosphere that you somehow can’t quite bring yourself to break. Tom drags his gaze over you, drinking in every change in your expression, every shift of your body. You feel vulnerable and raw and seen. Slowly, he raises his hands and runs them up your arms. You’re skin, still cold from the night suddenly feels like it's on fire. “You’re cold.” You nod. “I would have expected better from someone of your date’s impeccable breeding,” Tom murmurs it like it’s an insult. You frown and are about to ask what he means when he shrugs out of his robes and drapes the heavy fabric across your shoulders. He smiles then, slow and possessive and pleased.

The errant embers of desire that have been burning in your chest since he first touched you spark brighter and fiercer. He takes you by the shoulders and holds you close as he leads you further into the castle, the press of his chest against your back, the pressure of his fingers on your skin a tantalising promise of more to come. “You know, I was rather looking forward to the comet. A once in a lifetime event, I’m told.” And well… You still sound petulant, maybe even a little bratty but also breathy and excited and oh, oh, Tom’s humming deep and low in your ear, maybe a little amused, maybe a little endeared and his fingers press a little harder and he quickens his pace as though he wants - needs - this just as badly as you do.

He carries you the last few steps up to the astronomy tower. No sooner have you made it to your destination than he is pressing you against the wall of the tower, one hand gripping your waist tightly the other moving to cup your jaw, his fingers spread across your throat and you gasp and-

Wrap your arms around his neck, pull him closer, moan into his mouth when he finally kisses you. There isn’t a metaphor or simile that describes the fervour he kisses you with. He’s demanding and desperate in the way his lips slant across yours, tasting and searching and you yield. You yield so quickly it would be embarrassing if you weren’t so hot with want and need and desire. You angle your body more closely to his and relish in the hard press of his chest, the way his hand slides from your waist to your hips then back to your waist like he can’t quite decide where he wants to touch you. You can feel the unmistakable hard outline of his cock against your hip and you grind upwards, unthinking, lost in a haze of pleasure and the feeling of his lips biting kisses along your jaw.

You unwind your arms from his neck and reach his belt but are stopped when he takes a step back, his hands moving to grip your wrists before you can continue. You feel unmoored and can’t quite help the whine that escapes your lips. When your gaze finally focuses, you see him watching you, his already dark eyes are practically black, pupils blown, his lips are swollen and wet, and his breathing is ragged. “Does he do this to you?” He asks, his usually smooth voice rough with emotion.

When you don’t say anything, he smirks, and, holding both your wrists in one hand, slowly, teasingly drags his other up the inside of your thigh. You’re helpless to stop him as he dips his fingers down into your underwear and curls two inside you. He teases you with long strokes, using his thumb to brush against your clit until you’re trembling and gasping and pleading. “Can he make you lose control like I can?” His voice is dangerously low and he’s watching you closely, never quite giving you what you want.

It’s torture.

It’s bliss.

“Please, please, please,” You chant under your breath, a steady stream of words and preyers that aren’t all decipherable. “Please, Tom, you know he can’t. You know it’s only you, please, please.” His face goes slack with desire and just as quickly as he’d pulled away he’s pressing closer to you again, kissing you hard.

His thigh nudges your legs wider apart and you hook one leg around his waist relishing in the pressure and friction this new angle affords you. You hear the zip of his trousers and then the tip of his cock against your folds as he aligns himself and, “Ohh, please, Tom, I need-”

Your senses are overwhelmed by his smell, his touch, his quiet grunts of exertion as he sets a rather punishing pace. He’s mumbling promises and praise and curses into the crook of your neck and you squeeze your eyes shut as his fingers move in sloppy rhythm against your clit, adding just the right amount of friction that has you gasping obscenities into his ear.

The pressure in your lower stomach builds and builds until finally your orgasm crests over you. He’s holding you tighter still, riding you through it until you collapse against him, shuddering through the aftershocks. He follows you soon after, his body growing tense, his grip on your hip so tight it’s almost painful, your name on his tongue.

Afterwards, you curl up against him, his robes (you were right: they’re soft and warm and expensive) wrapped around you both. Tom strokes your hair almost absently as you watch the sky as Ravenclaw’s comet streaks past, bright and bold and so beautiful that it almost takes your breath away. Almost. “I want you to take me on a date. And hold my hand in public.” You say. Request. Demand.

He laughs and pulls you closer, “If that’s what it takes to keep you from embarrassing yourself with the likes of Rowle, I’d be happy to oblige.”

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