#class 1: is a small class where the professor is lecturing

[itsalittlebitchilly]

Me when 2!! of my professors call out people who are pissing me off in the same week

[sugarverse]

Hiii! I was wondering if I could request either long or short fic about Tenya Iida. Likes it can be set in a modern setting where's he's a senior college student who's majoring in business and he has to take one more class to get his degree. It just so happened that the class is in the art building, and it is figure drawing (aka nude drawing) . Since he's just now hearing of the extra class he has to take, he's suddenly shocked when the model is an old friend of his from back home, whom he had a childhood crush on. Not only does his feelings for her come back, but he also has to have 1 on 1 section with the model for educational purposes. I kinda want it to be smut and fluff or however you see it fit. Anyway, I hope it's enough+

hi babe! omg I love this idea I kinda went a lil crazy and made it way too long. I hope u enjoy :)!!

𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙬𝙣 𝙏𝙤𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧

word count: 3.5k

mentions of: This is really just the fluff portion of it, kinda suggestive bc he pops a boner and leads to sex in part two. I think I’m going to make a third part simply so the two of you can go on a genuine date andsotheresmoreiidaxblackreaderouthere.

a/n: hells yeah that’s enough, hopefully I did what ya asked and so sorry I went overboard I have serious problems. here’s the smut part bc a 6.7k fic is doing too damn much but i can’t stfu my fault gang

moodboard here!

Tenya Iida.

4th year, Senior in college majoring in International Business and minoring in Spanish at Angelwood College of Arts and Sciences.

The visual arts building had only been a few minutes away from the business side of campus, which he gladly enjoyed the walk. This spring all he needed to finish was two gen ed classes, the rest revolved around his major and minor. His counselor helped set up his ‘missing’ classes before winter break considering he had to fly back to Japan to see his family for the holidays. He was ecstatic to learn all he needed was an art class with lab and a communications class. 

When he asked what the class entailed, all he was met with was “beginner artists learning anatomy.” It didn’t sound difficult, just draw what you see. It would be nice to try something new anyway. He was not much of an artist but like all things Tenya does, he planned to give this class his all. The first week had been pretty easy, learning how to draw what you see with the use of models, shapes, and lines. Nothing too hard to follow. He would practice drawing his friends on the sketchpad he bought specifically for the class as a form of studying in the free time he had.

He neverminded it for the most part, excelling his knowledge in different countries in his free time to get better at his major. Sure they could teach you the technical way to do things, but in the end, everyone is still human. It would be inconsiderate to do business with a country and know little to nothing about their culture! It took almost two weeks for him to finally be able to even start the art project anyway.

As time went on and the January snow grew less and less, it was time to start their first real project of the semester. One on One figure drawing. The class needed to fill out a form explaining their free hours due to the limited art space and everyone's different schedules. Tenya happily filled it out when it was posted, continuing to work on class work from the library so that the lecture room could also be used for said project.

Their professor had explained that in-person class would remain on Mondays and Thursdays. It just worked out better for the models and students to have so much space.

He made the small walk over to the arts building for his last class of the day, a small shine in his glasses as he entered the white light of the room. The walls were anything but bare, artwork and unfinished projects sat in every corner of the room. Paint racks, canvases big and small, even stacks of unused clay. There was a stool sitting on a small platform in the middle of the room, assuming where the model will sit. 

He stood next to the stool for a moment, looking up at the grey February sky through the skylight. The natural lighting was great, almost like a spotlight. He adjusted the lights in the room a moment, dimming them slightly so the white light hadn’t been so harsh on his eyes. He headed over to a more organized table, setting out the art supplies how he liked. He knew he was early, but he wanted to make a good first impression. What’s better than being on time?

He pulled out his laptop, checking that the few assignments for today were done and submitted. A small frown tugged at his lips as he realized he hadn’t finished something completely, typing in the last few answers. He always double checked, technology was reliable.. When it wanted to be. He couldn’t hear the shuffle of slippers against the floor over his typing and frankly, loud thinking. 

He could see someone walk past in a teal robe representing the university's colors. Glancing up from the computer to give the model a proper hello, Tenya opens his mouth to speak but pauses. 

“Y/n?” He asked, almost in a whisper in case he was wrong. A small look of confusion caused him to tilt his head to the side slightly. He hadn’t been able to see you for awhile with such busy schedules, but he knew your silhouette by heart. 

You turn at the sound of your name, mid sliding off the slippers and fumbling with the gold silk of the belt. “Tenya?” You smile, asking as you turn to slide your shoes back on and quickly shuffle your way over to him. He felt his face burn red, frozen in place for a moment with his jaw slack. He stood as if needing to detach from the seat, smiling at your happy demeanor and your quickness to wrap your arms around him. 

“It is you! I know those shoulders from anywhere!” You beamed, feeling his hovering hands slowly place themselves on your back to return the hug. He was very hesitant, simply because you were only in a robe. You pull away, hands resting on your hips and giving him a big smile. “Now what are you doin’ taking a figure drawing class, Mister businessman?”

He let out a sheepish chuckle, “I needed an art credit, W-What are u doing here?” He never had any classes with you at Angelwood, A few honors classes and gym in highschool but other than that, nada. Throughout the course of growing up, your interests drove you to different classes. 

However, classes don't matter when your families are as close as yours and the Iida family. Shared Holidays, playdates, game nights.. It wasn’t like you were some stranger. You both always made time to hang out a few times during the year to catch up without the family just to give a real check on each other. It was his favorite, almost like a mini holiday to talk to you.

He loved spending time with you. You were smart, articulated and incredibly creative. You never took slack from anyone.. Even in middle school he can remember you being the one to stand up and say something when things weren’t right. You were headstrong and determined in anything that you did.. Art majors always get a lot of grief but you never let that deter you. And that was admirable in itself! ..And he had always thought you were so pretty. 

He felt like a kid again, heart feeling as if it’d beat out of his chest at the mere sight of you. It had been around Halloween the last time he saw you, and here it was. Almost Valentine's day.. Still as pretty and bright as he remembered. Your next hangout wasn't for another month or so, so it was nice to see you sooner than that.

“I'm your model, silly!” You head over to the stool, continuing to speak. “The art department asked if I’d help in modeling and I said yes! People were too scared to sign up for the most part. I’m surprised this is the class you picked. Did you want to learn how to draw people?” You slide your slippers off once more, untying the cute bow on your hip that held your robe shut. 

Suddenly the room was very hot and he couldn't breathe. Now his heart really WAS beating out of his chest. He quickly did a 180, shielding his eyes and removing his glasses for extra measure. “WHY– do yoU have.. nothing on underrrrneath?” He croaked, voice cracking as his tone raised slightly.

You tilt your head at such a question, the gears clicking a little later than they should have. “Figure drawing is um.. Nude drawing, Tenya. You didn't know that?” You slide the robe back on, giggling at the flustered man across from you. You could see his shoulders tense, shaking his head slowly.

Now how the fuck could he have missed that.

“I um.. No, I didn't. I thought that it was.. I don't know what I thought. My counselor picked it for me and I.. Most models we've used so far have.. had skin colored undergarments… On.” He let out a nervous laugh, keeping his glasses off. He turns around, cleaning them with the end of his shirt but refusing to look up at you. He needed to mentally prepare his brain to be professional in a situation like this. Not that he minded the glance, he just never thought this would be how..

You prop your feet onto the edge of the stool, interrupting his thought. You held your knees up to your chest so he couldn’t see anything but your bare legs. “Oh Ten, I’m sorry! I can ask someone else to-”

“No! I am perfectly.. capable. It's professional and I can be.. professional..” He put his glasses back on, hand refusing to be steady as he did so. He let out a shaky sigh, smiling at you and finally looking at you once more.

You let out a small laugh at the blush on his cheeks. He was so handsome, but to see him so flustered over little ol’ you? It made your week. “We can start slow, that might help.” you slide the robe down your shoulders, slowly putting your legs back down so he could see your robed torso once more. You stopped at the top of your breasts, letting your collarbone show. “Do you have any specific poses..?” You ask quietly, trying to hold back your amusement.

He sits down, red faced and completely flushed. A nude model.. jeez. From sleepovers to recess, studying together to graduating, and now almost graduating for the final time together. That's something you don’t get to have in every lifetime. But why do these thoughts keep coming back to him now? 

There was no way he could still have romantic feelings for you. He’d never put your friendship at risk like that!

..right?

“I um.. yeah, small.” He cleared his throat, “Could you um.. Could you stand slightly off of the um.. Almost like getting up?” He fumbled over his words, staring at the empty paper as if he could burn the quick image in his brain onto the page to get the embarrassment over with. He sighed once more, trying to focus as he began sketching circles and lines as a starter sketch of the pose he wanted.

“When you need to draw a certain part I'll move it, Sound fair?” You ask, resting one foot onto the stool and one onto the ground. Your hand gripped the seat as your butt sat on the edge, similar to when people do that supposedly hot thing where they throw their head back and pull some weird rope to have water get poured on them. 

It was second nature at this point for people to see you. Of course some of them were flustered and it was pretty awkward at first, but normally not to the point of stuttering and stammering. It wasn’t often that you saw Tenya fall apart, but this was way different. Especially considering you flashed him without warning. He was one of the most endearing people you had ever met, there was no way you would have done that without proper context.

He could only nod in response, not wanting to further make a fool of himself. Lightly tapping the pencil against the table, He looks up at you. “You can um.. re.. remove the top part, y/n..” It was hard to simply draw your arms and collarbone without including the robe, so you might as well rip the band-aid off and start with the top. 

You nod, dropping it happily and letting the robe pull around your hips and between your legs. You close your eyes, facing up toward the skylight in an attempt to make him less nervous. “Sorry for flashing you at first, I would have explained but I assumed you had already known..?” You laugh quietly to yourself at your own mistake. Why would someone like him even take this class if he knew what it actually entailed?

And God, did he feel like a pervert staring at your chest like this. The boner poking his thigh almost immediately didn't help, making it even harder to concentrate. Way to keep composure. He pressed his lips together for a moment before speaking. “I had no idea, I’m sorry for my r..reaction.” He answered, stopping the pencil tapping to actually begin sketching more than just circles and lines. He hadn’t meant to yell, but he felt like he was close to passing out. 

“I think it was a pretty valid one.” You send a reassuring smile his way, seeing him send you one right back. Trying to ease the mood, you look back up at the ceiling and close your eyes to avoid staring at the ugly overcast sky above you. “How was winter break? You get to go home and see your family? How are they?” 

His smile grew wider at your question, scooting under the desk a bit more so that you hopefully wouldn’t notice his body reacting. “They’re great, Tensei is getting married soon,” He sounded excited at the thought alone, incredibly proud of his brother. 

“And my mother has started a hobby making soap, if you can believe it. She sent me some to bring back one that smells like lavender and another that smells like oranges mixed with I believe she said papaya.? She made a coconut smelling one for you– I was going to give it to you the next time we saw each other,” 

The sound of his sketching stopped and started as he spoke, giving your body small glances as he tried to study each part of your upper torso. The way your stomach creased, The way your shoulder was slightly lifted causing your collarbone to be more prominent, the curve of your breasts.. “How was your Holiday, y/n?”

“No way, Tensei is getting married?!” You accidentally stop posing, fully facing him in genuine shock. The robe was still covering your lower half, you had tied the belt to avoid accidentally flashing him again but here we are. You watch his face become even more red, eyes very obviously not meeting yours but still like a deer in headlights. 

You quickly get back to posing how you were, “Sorry Ten, That's amazing!! I hope everything goes smoothly for him and his soon to be wife.. And tell your mommy I said thank you for thinking of me. I can't wait to try it!”

A smile stayed on your lips as you thought about the times you’ve spent in the Iida household. His mother always had the best candles and incense burning, you were positive the soap would be the same. “My family is up to the same old shit, you know them..” You let out a small groan, the holidays weren’t an absolute disaster, but after not being home so long makes you remember why you aren’t going to school anywhere near home. 

“I did get some cool stuff for Christmas though! I got some new clothes and they got me a few art kits. You know, where it teaches you how to crochet? I also have a new diamond painting kit, I haven't opened either yet because it's just been so busy.” You replied, tapping your fingers on the side of the stool where your hand sat. 

You look up once more, this time because the skylight was beginning to be covered in snow. You watched as it fell, thinking back to old times when you and Tenya would spend the last three major holidays with each other. You’d always make sure to trick or treat together, your families have been sharing Thanksgiving for as long as you can remember, and spending the night in your basement on Christmas eve to wait for Santa until you were both too old. Then instead of waiting for Santa, you’d all eat at least one meal together on Christmas day. Sometimes homemade breakfast, other times a small trip to IHOP or Waffle House.

“God damn it.. It’s snowing again..” You let out a small laugh, looking over at him over your shoulder, fingers still tapping away at the base of the stool. “Hey Ten, Do you remember when we used to have those big snowball fights? The one near Red Fern?” 

“Of course I do! You refused to wear any kind of gloves and my mother would make you at least put socks on your hands so you didn’t get frostbite!” The two of you shared a small laugh at the memories of being young and dumb.

“Gloves always made my hands too itchy! They still do– But I kicked your ass in snowball fights with gloves or not.” You retort, a smirk appearing on your face. “Ice queen y/n of everything.” You could remember the insane snowball fights the neighborhood kids would have every. time. It snowed. If there was enough to make a few snowballs, there was enough to start a war. Tenya was always on your team, but it never stopped you from throwing a few his way. The ‘winner’ was King or Queen of the hill and first to sled down, which often enough was you.

“Remember when you almost broke my glasses throwing one right at my face?” He snickered, watching your smirk turn into a small pouty frown. He knew you didn’t mean to, that same day you helped your mom make cookies for him and his family as an apology, even though he wasn’t upset to begin with. But you knew it could have broken his glasses and you would be devastated if you were the reason for it. You were a real sweetheart, even if you had a weird way of showing sometimes.

“Hey! You know that wasn’t on purpose, I felt really bad after! I even let you get me back!” Which was true, but he never aimed for your face. Always a spot on your fluffy coat, never your legs because you hated your pants being wet… and a face shot just felt wrong to him. 

“Yeah, Yeah. I remember that part too,” He smiled to himself. “Those were really good times.. I remember Tensei always bringing us hot chocolate and we’d sit on your porch and draw things in the snow..”

“Oh! And when we’d come back all wet and mom already had spare clothes in her hands because she didn’t want it on the carpet. We’d put on too big clothes just to sit and watch Christmas movies..” You missed those times. But they never really had to stop, you two could have a huge snowball fight after this if you wanted to and the snow stuck. Was he too grown for that? Would it even sound fun to him?

“Do you still watch A Year Without Santa Clause every year?” He asks, breaking your train of thought. You nodded quickly at his question, grinning like a maniac. “Of course I do! And I watch Charlie Brown’s Christmas, Rudolph The Rednosed Reindeer.. And sometimes Spongebob's Christmas Special. Do you still watch old Christmas cartoons?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Don’t wanna ruin tradition.” He answered, pressing his lips together slightly as he stared down at the paper. You can tell he freezes a bit, the sound of his scribbling coming to a stop. He set the pencil down, rubbing the sweat of his hands onto his thighs.

 “You can um.. remOove-..” He quickly cleared his throat, “The rest.” He let out a disappointed sigh at his inability to keep composure. This wouldn't be half the problem it was if it was someone else modeling. But this is you we're talking about. 

“You sure? If you need a minute we can take a break, honey.” You gave him a sympathetic look, still smiling but this time more.. warm. The kind of smile someone gives to another when they genuinely care for them. Or love them for that matter. He adored it, it was the same smile you'd give him when saying he needs to take a break, the same smile you give him when the two of you out to get coffee and catch up. The same smile he's fallen for many, many times. 

But to tell you the truth? It’s driving him crazy. All of this. Was driving him crazy. No matter how hard he tried to be professional, he could stop his wandering mind. You were a goddess. What else was there to do besides take a break and hopefully release some steam in the bathroom or something. Completely inappropriate, but the pain from being hard for so long was starting to cloud the best judgment. 

He looks down at the sketch so far, then back to you as he rubbed his hand upward against his face. It pushed his glasses up, causing them to be crooked when going back down. “I um.. I think I do.. need a minute.” His voice died out as he watched you slide the robe back on, words failing him because couldn’t think completely straight.

© if you like what you see please reblog! It means a lot and helps me out. Want more? Heres my m.list! I write for x black reader so throw me some requests :P my other account are icons and x black reader moodboards if you’re interested!

thank you @thecutestgrotto for the banners and thank you @fizzintine for coloring the top pic!

have a good day/night/whatever!

[missarchive]

cognitive dissonance pt 1 - spencer reid

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ part two

who? tutor!spencer reid x student fem!reader

category: fluff, smut

content warnings: NSFW MDNI!! dry humping, fingering

word count: 5k

a/n: scheduled post as i am away at a new years music festival with my friends :] i will be back with you all in a few days <3

The first time you saw Spencer Reid was during a lecture hall mix-up in your second week at the university. You had rushed in, clutching your notebook and hoping to secure a spot before the professor started, only to find yourself in a room filled with students much older than you. At the center of it all, there he was—leaning casually against the podium, flipping through a worn-out book with an intensity that made the rest of the world blur around him.

He wasn’t the professor, but he might as well have been. His sharp, confident voice cut through the murmurs as he corrected an older man’s calculation on the whiteboard with such precision that the room seemed to collectively hold its breath. You’d learned his name that day from the whispers: Spencer Reid. The prodigy. The genius with more degrees than anyone knew what to do with.

From then on, he became a background character in your university life—a distant figure who seemed too brilliant, too out of reach, to exist in the same world as you. You heard the rumors, the awe-filled anecdotes: he’d started college as a child prodigy, aced every test like it was nothing, and was now juggling multiple Ph.D. programs.

Your own academic pursuits felt mundane in comparison. Sure, you worked hard, but you struggled. Like now, for instance, staring at the red marks slashing through your latest assignment—a problem set for your advanced statistics class.

“You’ve got potential, but you’re missing the fundamentals,” your professor said when you approached him after class, cheeks flaming with embarrassment. “I’m assigning you a tutor.”

“A tutor?” you echoed, your stomach dropping. Group study sessions were bad enough; working one-on-one with someone felt like an invitation for them to witness your shortcomings up close.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a knowing smile. “You’ll be in good hands. I’ve paired you with one of the best.”

You didn’t know what to expect as you walked into the library that afternoon, clutching your notes so tightly your knuckles turned white. The email from your professor had given you nothing but a time and a name: Spencer Reid.

Your heart raced as you reached the designated table tucked into a quiet corner of the library. There he was, surrounded by open books and a tower of index cards, his familiar mop of brown hair falling into his eyes as he scribbled something into a notebook. He looked up when you approached, his hazel eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made you freeze in place.

“You’re here for tutoring?” he asked, his voice softer than you expected, though no less confident.

You nodded quickly, struggling to find your words. “Y-yeah, I’m… I’m Y/N. My professor said you’d be helping me with stats?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and he gestured for you to sit. “Let’s get started, then.”

As you settled into the chair across from him, you couldn’t help but feel like you were stepping into another universe—one where Spencer Reid wasn’t just the untouchable genius you’d admired from afar but someone real, someone tangible, someone who, for the first time, was looking directly at you.

You weren’t sure what you expected Spencer Reid’s tutoring style to be, but it certainly wasn’t this. You’d assumed he might be aloof, perhaps brisk, throwing around jargon you’d struggle to keep up with. Instead, he was patient—meticulously breaking down concepts into manageable pieces while his pen skated effortlessly across his notebook.

Not that you could focus on much of it.

His presence was… distracting. The way his long fingers tapped thoughtfully against the edge of the table, the faint crease between his brows when he explained something particularly tricky, the way his lips pursed as he considered your answer before gently redirecting you to the correct one. All of it sent your mind spiraling into a whirlwind of thoughts that had nothing to do with statistics.

“Does that make sense?” Spencer asked, tilting his head as his hazel eyes searched yours.

You blinked, realizing too late that you hadn’t heard a single word of his explanation. Heat rushed to your face as you fumbled for a response. “Um, yeah! Totally. Makes sense.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he was fighting back a smile. “Really? Then can you explain why we divide by the square root of the sample size in this calculation?”

Panic flared in your chest. “Oh, uh… because it… balances the equation?” you ventured weakly.

Spencer set his pen down, leaning back slightly as he studied you. There was something disarming about the way he looked at you, like he could see straight through the flustered exterior you were so desperately trying to hold together. And, knowing Spencer Reid, he probably could.

“You’re nervous,” he said, not unkindly, but with the clinical precision of someone stating a fact.

Your breath hitched. “What? No, I’m fine!” you lied, your voice raising an octave.

He tilted his head, his gaze softening. “It’s okay,” he said gently. “A lot of people feel overwhelmed during one-on-one tutoring. It’s a different kind of pressure.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the sincerity in his tone stopped you. He wasn’t mocking you or trying to make you feel small. If anything, he seemed… concerned.

“I just want to make sure you’re comfortable,” he continued, his voice almost soothing now. “Because if you’re too focused on feeling self-conscious, it’s going to be harder for you to process the material.”

You nodded, unable to find your voice. Spencer smiled—a small, reassuring curve of his lips—and slid his notebook closer to you.

“Let’s try this,” he said, switching tactics. “Instead of diving into the calculations right away, let’s talk about what you’re struggling with conceptually. No pressure, no judgment. Just a conversation.”

That did help, marginally. His calm demeanor and methodical approach were like a balm to your frazzled nerves. But every now and then, he’d catch you staring at him for a beat too long, your mind wandering to thoughts that had nothing to do with statistics. Each time, his gaze would flicker with amusement, like he knew exactly what was going through your head but was too polite to say anything.

By the time the session ended, your brain felt like it had been wrung out like a sponge—not just from the math but from the sheer effort of keeping yourself together in his presence. As you packed up your things, Spencer handed you a few pages of handwritten notes.

“These should help,” he said, his voice still as calm and steady as ever. “And if you have questions before our next session, feel free to email me.”

You nodded, clutching the notes like a lifeline. “Thanks. I’ll, um… I’ll do that.”

As you walked away, you could feel his eyes on you, warm and curious. And though you were mortified at how obvious your flustered state had been, a tiny part of you couldn’t help but hope he didn’t mind.

You were determined to be better this time. You’d spent hours poring over the notes Spencer had given you, even rewatching a few recorded lectures for good measure. If you couldn’t control the embarrassing way your brain short-circuited around him, the least you could do was come prepared.

But as you approached the table in the library’s corner and saw him already seated, legs crossed, pen twirling lazily between his fingers, you realized preparation could only take you so far. He looked up as you neared, his hazel eyes lighting up briefly in acknowledgment.

“Hi,” you managed, your voice sounding far too breathy for your liking.

“Hi,” he replied, a slight smile playing on his lips as he motioned for you to sit. “Ready to dive in?”

You nodded quickly, lowering yourself into the chair and flipping open your notebook. Spencer wasted no time launching into a review of last session’s material, but as he began sketching out a new problem, you felt your focus slipping again.

It wasn’t your fault, really. Who could concentrate with him looking like that? His hair was slightly messier than last time, a few stray curls brushing against his forehead. He chewed absentmindedly on the cap of his pen as he thought, the motion inexplicably captivating. And when he leaned forward to jot down a formula, the faint scent of his cologne hit you, warm and woodsy, leaving your thoughts spiraling once more.

“Did you catch that?” Spencer’s voice cut through your haze. You blinked, realizing you’d been staring—again.

“S-sorry. What?” you stammered, gripping your pen like it might anchor you to reality.

His lips quirked up, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I was asking if you understood why we’re using a t-distribution here instead of a z-distribution.”

“Oh! Uh… yes?” you said uncertainly.

Spencer chuckled, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. “You’re lying.”

Your stomach dropped, and you immediately ducked your head, cheeks flaming. “I’m not lying,” you mumbled.

“You are,” he said, and though his tone was light, there was an unmistakable confidence in his words. “Your body language gave it away. You looked down and shifted in your chair when you answered, which is a pretty common tell.”

You groaned softly, mortified. “Okay, fine. I don’t know why we’re using it.”

“See? That’s progress.” He grinned, and you could swear there was a hint of mischief in his expression. “But I can’t help noticing that your attention seems… elsewhere.”

Your head snapped up at that, your wide eyes meeting his. “What? No! I’m paying attention.”

Spencer tilted his head, his smile widening slightly. “Really? Then why do you keep staring at me?”

Your heart practically stopped. “I’m not—I wasn’t—I mean—” The words tumbled out of your mouth in a flustered mess, and his grin only grew more pronounced.

“It’s fine,” he said smoothly, cutting off your babbling. “I just couldn’t help but notice. You’ve been doing it since last session.”

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “I wasn’t staring,” you lied weakly.

His gaze held yours, unwavering and far too knowing. “You were,” he countered, his voice low and teasing now. “But I’m curious—why?”

“I wasn’t—” You stopped yourself, realizing you were only digging the hole deeper. “I’m just… thinking.”

“Thinking?” His eyebrows lifted slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “About the statistics, or something else?”

You wished the floor would open up and swallow you whole. “The statistics,” you said firmly, though your voice wavered.

Spencer let out a soft chuckle, the sound warm and almost smug. “If you say so.”

He leaned forward again, his elbows resting on the table, and you felt the air shift between you. “For what it’s worth,” he said, his tone softer now, “it’s not a bad thing. People observe things they find interesting.”

The words hung in the air, and you swore your pulse echoed in your ears. You couldn’t tell if he was being matter-of-fact or if there was a deeper implication in his statement, but the knowing glint in his eyes kept you from relaxing.

“Let’s try again,” he said after a beat, tapping his pen against the notebook and effortlessly shifting the conversation back to math. But the playful smirk that lingered on his face for the rest of the session made it clear: he wasn’t letting you off the hook that easily.

When you arrived at your usual table in the library, Spencer was already there, meticulously arranging his materials. His long fingers smoothed out the corner of a page in his notebook, and he glanced up as you approached, offering a small smile that made your stomach flutter despite your best efforts to stay composed.

“Hi,” you greeted softly, sliding into your seat.

“Hi,” he replied, his voice warm and low. “Ready to tackle some more statistics?”

You nodded, pulling out your notebook and pen. He scooted his chair slightly closer—not enough to be obvious, but enough that you could feel the faintest brush of his knee against yours under the table. You froze for a moment, unsure if it was intentional, but Spencer didn’t react.

“Okay,” he began, leaning toward you to sketch out a problem. As he wrote, his shoulder nudged yours lightly. The contact was brief, but it left your skin tingling.

“Let’s start with this,” he said, his pen gliding smoothly across the page. “We’re calculating confidence intervals today. Do you remember the formula from last time?”

You stared at the problem, willing yourself to focus, but the warmth of his proximity made it difficult. “Uh… I think so?”

“Let me jog your memory,” he said. His hand moved toward your notebook, his fingers brushing against yours as he adjusted it to face him. The touch was fleeting, but it sent a jolt through you.

“Sorry,” he said casually, his eyes flicking to yours for a moment. “Didn’t mean to invade your space.”

“No, it’s fine,” you replied quickly, your voice higher than usual. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t a big deal, that the contact had been accidental. But then he leaned even closer, his arm grazing yours as he explained the formula.

“See how the standard error fits into this part?” he asked, his voice calm and steady.

You nodded, though you weren’t sure what you were agreeing to. It was impossible to concentrate with the way his sleeve brushed against yours, the subtle movement sending a ripple of awareness through you.

“Let’s work through this part together,” Spencer continued, his tone patient. He slid his hand over the notebook, his fingers brushing against yours again as he pointed to a specific number. The touch lingered just a fraction longer than necessary, but his expression remained neutral, as though he hadn’t noticed.

You couldn’t tell if he was doing it on purpose or if you were imagining things. Either way, the warmth radiating from him was making your thoughts hazy.

“You okay?” he asked suddenly, his head tilting slightly as he looked at you.

“Yeah! Totally fine,” you said quickly, though your face felt like it was on fire.

He smiled, his expression soft but unreadable. “Good. Let me know if I’m going too fast.”

You nodded, gripping your pen tightly to ground yourself. But Spencer didn’t make it easy. Every time he reached for the notebook or gestured toward your notes, his hand would brush against yours. Once, he leaned forward to grab a pen, his shoulder pressing lightly into yours for a moment that felt both casual and deliberate.

By the time the session was over, your nerves were shot. Spencer handed you a fresh set of notes, his fingers grazing yours yet again as he passed them over.

“These should help,” he said, his voice soft and steady. “You’re doing better than you think, by the way.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, clutching the notes to your chest.

“Same time next week?” he asked, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than usual.

You nodded, too flustered to say much else. As you walked away, you replayed the session in your mind, questioning every subtle touch, every quiet moment of proximity. Was it intentional, or were you imagining things?

The worst part was that you couldn’t tell—and that you didn’t really mind either way.

You weren’t sure why you’d agreed to have Spencer tutor you at your place. The library felt safer somehow, more neutral. But when he’d suggested it—citing the possibility of fewer distractions—you’d found yourself nodding without a second thought.

Now, as you sat across from him at your small dining table, you were second-guessing every decision that had led to this moment.

“Nice place,” Spencer said as he set his bag down and took in the cozy, slightly cluttered room. His eyes lingered on a stack of books by the couch. “Suits you.”

“Thanks,” you replied, fidgeting with your pen. “I, uh, wasn’t expecting company, so it’s kind of messy.”

He gave you a small smile, his gaze warm and easy. “It’s fine. Ready to get started?”

You nodded, grateful for the excuse to focus on something—anything—other than the fact that Spencer Reid, in all his impossibly distracting glory, was sitting in your home.

For the first few minutes, you managed to keep things professional. Spencer explained a complex concept with his usual precision, and you actually managed to follow along. But then he leaned closer, pointing out a detail in your notes, and you felt that now-familiar flutter in your chest.

“You’ve got the right idea,” he said, his voice low and steady. “You just need to be more precise here.”

He tapped the edge of the page, his hand brushing yours in the process. The contact was brief but enough to make your breath hitch.

“You okay?” he asked, glancing up at you with those impossibly perceptive eyes.

“Yeah, fine,” you said quickly, though your voice betrayed you.

Spencer’s lips quirked, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he shifted slightly, his knee brushing against yours under the table. It felt so casual, so natural, that you couldn’t decide if it was intentional.

For a while, he kept his focus on the notes, but his proximity seemed to grow with each passing moment. The air between you felt charged, like static electricity, and you could feel your resolve slipping.

“So,” Spencer said suddenly, leaning back in his chair and studying you with an intensity that made your pulse race, “how are you finding these sessions so far?”

“They’re good,” you said quickly, avoiding his gaze. “Really helpful.”

“Helpful,” he repeated, his voice laced with something you couldn’t quite place. “You sure about that?”

“Of course,” you replied, glancing up at him.

His eyes locked onto yours, and the weight of his gaze was almost too much to bear. “You seem… distracted sometimes.”

“I’m not distracted,” you said defensively, though the heat rising to your cheeks said otherwise.

Spencer leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His voice dropped slightly, the teasing edge unmistakable. “Are you sure? Because I get the feeling you’ve been paying more attention to me than the math.”

Your stomach flipped, and you looked down, trying to steady your breathing. “That’s not true,” you muttered.

“Isn’t it?” he asked, his tone soft but insistent.

Before you could respond, he reached out, his fingers grazing yours as he took the pen from your hand. The movement was slow, deliberate, and it left your skin buzzing.

“Relax,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just helping.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. He leaned closer, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“Spencer…” you began, your voice shaky.

“Yes?” he murmured, his gaze flicking to your lips for the briefest of moments.

You couldn’t move, couldn’t think. The tension between you was palpable, and for a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you.

Spencer’s hand moved slightly, his fingers brushing against yours again. This time, the touch lingered, deliberate and unmistakable. “Tell me if I’m reading this wrong,” he said softly, his voice low and steady.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you found yourself leaning ever so slightly toward him, your body betraying you before your mind could catch up.

That was all the confirmation he needed.

With a slow, careful movement, Spencer closed the distance between you, his hand resting lightly on yours as he tilted his head. The kiss, when it came, was soft and tentative, like he was giving you every opportunity to pull away.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you leaned into him, your heart pounding as you let yourself get lost in the moment. When he pulled back, his eyes searched yours, his expression a mix of curiosity and something deeper.

“Still distracted?” he asked, a small, teasing smile tugging at his lips.

Your heart thundered in your chest as his words hung in the air. You couldn’t decide if the heat coursing through you was from the kiss or the way he was looking at you—like you were the most fascinating puzzle he’d ever encountered.

“Very,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His smile widened slightly, but it wasn’t the smug grin you expected. It was softer, almost tender, though his eyes still carried that flicker of mischief.

“Maybe we should take a break,” he murmured, his voice lower now, almost inviting.

You nodded, your breath catching as he stood and motioned toward the couch in the living room. You followed him, your nerves on edge but your body moving of its own accord.

The moment you sat down, the tension between you snapped like a rubber band. Spencer hesitated for a fraction of a second, as though giving you one last chance to stop him, before leaning in again.

This time, there was nothing tentative about it. His lips met yours with more certainty, his hand sliding up to cup your jaw as he deepened the kiss. You melted into him, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as the kiss grew more fervent.

Spencer shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours as his free hand settled on your waist. The pressure was light, grounding, but it sent a shiver down your spine all the same. His thumb traced a small, absent-minded circle against your side, and the simple motion made your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

You tilted your head slightly, allowing him to angle the kiss more deeply. He responded immediately, his fingers threading into your hair as he pulled you closer. The world outside your apartment ceased to exist, leaving only the heat of his body and the intoxicating pull of his lips against yours.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless. Spencer’s forehead rested lightly against yours, and you could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he caught his breath.

“I think,” he said after a moment, his voice rougher than usual, “we’ve officially crossed into not studying territory.”

You laughed softly, your hands still clutching the front of his shirt. “You think?”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, before leaning back just enough to meet your gaze. His fingers lingered on your waist, and the way he looked at you made your heart skip a beat.

“You’re full of surprises, you know,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

“Me?” you replied, raising an eyebrow. “You’re the one who—”

Before you could finish, he kissed you again, effectively silencing any protest. This time, it was slower, more deliberate, like he was savoring every second. You sighed against his lips, your hands sliding up to his shoulders as you gave in to the moment.

Spencer’s hands, steady but careful, slid down from your waist to rest on your hips. He shifted closer, and you felt the subtle press of his body against yours, his touch firm but never overwhelming. When his knee nudged between your legs, your breath hitched, the pressure sparking a warmth that spread through you like wildfire.

You froze for half a second, unsure if the movement had been intentional, but Spencer didn’t pull back. Instead, his lips moved against yours with more intent, and his hands tightened ever so slightly on your hips, guiding you just enough for the tension between you to crackle and deepen.

“Is this okay?” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and low, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Yes,” you whispered, your hands gripping his shoulders more tightly as you let yourself lean into him.

Encouraged by your response, Spencer deepened the kiss, his knee pressing more firmly between your thighs. The sensation was maddeningly slow, his movements deliberate and measured as though he was testing every reaction. You gasped softly, and he swallowed the sound with a small, satisfied hum.

His hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing against your ribs just beneath the hem of your shirt. The touch was gentle, but the heat of his palms against your skin left you trembling.

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured, “I’m going to ask you a question from one of our sessions. If you get it right, I’ll keep going. If you don’t…” His hands stilled against your skin, and he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his smirk growing. “Well, I’ll have to stop.”

Your mouth went dry. Was he serious? The challenge in his eyes told you he absolutely was.

“Spencer…” you started, your voice shaky with anticipation and a tinge of frustration.

“Hm?” he prompted, his hands sliding down slightly but remaining just beneath your shirt, a silent reminder of what was at stake. “What’s the formula for calculating a confidence interval?”

You stared at him, your mind scrambling to recall the formula you’d seen so many times in your notes. But all you could focus on was the way his fingers were still, waiting, as though they held the key to your ability to think.

“Um,” you began, your voice faltering. “It’s, uh, the mean… plus or minus… the critical value?”

Spencer’s smirk widened, his head tilting slightly as though he was considering your answer. “Close,” he said, his hands retreating slightly. “But not quite. Want to try again?”

“No, wait!” you exclaimed, your cheeks flushing as you tried to focus. “The mean plus or minus the critical value times the standard error?”

He hummed softly, his fingers resuming their slow circles. “There it is,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “See? You can focus when you want to.”

Your heart pounded as his hands slid higher, his thumbs brushing dangerously close to the underside of your bra. The sensation was enough to make your breath hitch, but you barely had time to react before he spoke again.

“Next question,” he said, his tone taking on a slightly firmer edge. “What’s the first step in solving a regression problem?”

Your brain felt like it had been set on fire. How were you supposed to remember academic concepts when his hands were touching you like this?

“I—I think…” you stammered, biting your lip as you tried to focus. “The first step is… identifying the variables?”

Spencer’s brow lifted, his expression a mix of amusement and approval. “Good,” he said, his hands sliding back down to your waist. “But don’t forget to check your assumptions first. Details matter.”

You let out a soft whine of frustration, but the sound turned into a gasp as his knee pressed gently between your legs again, reigniting the fire building in your core.

“You’re doing well,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your jaw as he spoke. “But I think you can do better.”

The challenge in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your resolve crumbling under the weight of his attention.

“What’s the difference between Type I and Type II errors?” he asked, his tone almost clinical despite the heat radiating from him.

“Type I is… rejecting a true null hypothesis,” you managed, your voice shaky. “And Type II is failing to reject a false one.”

Spencer grinned, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth. “Excellent,” he said softly. “You’re such a quick learner when you try.”

The praise made your heart race, warmth blooming in your chest as his words sank in. You barely had a chance to respond before his hand slid lower, resting on the bare skin just above the waistband of your pants.

“You deserve a reward,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine.

“A reward?” you managed, your voice breathless and unsteady.

He chuckled softly, his lips moving to your neck, pressing a series of slow, deliberate kisses along the sensitive skin. “For all your hard work,” he murmured against your skin, his fingers toying with the elastic of your waistband. “Don’t you think you’ve earned it?”

Your only response was a soft, shaky nod, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as though it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“Good girl,” he said, the words barely above a whisper, but they sent a jolt through your entire body.

His hand slipped beneath the fabric of your pants, his touch deliberate and teasing as he traced the edge of your panties. He paused for a moment, his lips ghosting over your ear as he murmured, “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“I don’t,” you whispered, your voice trembling but filled with certainty.

That was all the permission he needed. His hand slipped lower, his fingers sliding beneath the fabric of your panties to find your most sensitive spot. The first touch was light, almost experimental, but it was enough to make you gasp softly, your body arching into him.

“That’s it,” Spencer murmured, his voice filled with quiet satisfaction. “You’re doing so well.”

His fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles, the pressure just enough to leave you trembling in his grasp. His other hand slid up to cup your jaw, tilting your head slightly so he could capture your lips in another searing kiss.

The contrast between his steady, controlled movements and the growing intensity of his kisses was intoxicating, leaving you completely at his mercy. He broke the kiss just long enough to study your face, his eyes dark with desire but filled with a surprising tenderness.

“Look at you,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

The praise made your cheeks flush, but before you could respond, his fingers pressed more firmly against you, drawing a soft whimper from your lips.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours in a featherlight kiss. “So responsive. So perfect.”

His words and touch combined left you completely undone, your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. All you could do was cling to him, your hands gripping his shoulders as he continued his slow, deliberate exploration.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

taglist: @opheliahotchner

[cherry-coffees]

Head Over Heels

academic rival!Caitlyn x reader

cw: 7.7K words | 18+ mdni, academic rivals, college AU, rivals to lovers, drunken confessions, college parties, mentions of drinking, kissing/oral sex/tribbing, top!Caitlyn, slight praise kink, fluff and smut with angst if you squint

Part 1 | Part 2

You get the party invitation on a Thursday night.

“Did you see this?” Your roommate, Powder, squeals as she enters the dorm room, shaking the leftover rainwater off of her boots before setting them on the shoe rack by the door. She emerges into the double room that you share, holding up a small piece of paper. “Someone slipped this under our door. There’s a huge rager tomorrow, and they’re letting anyone in.”

You’re sitting on your bed, your laptop open to some homework that’s due in a few hours. “I don’t know,” you straighten up to stretch out your back. “Ragers aren’t that fun. Everyone’s just drunk and messy.”

“That’s why you’ve got to get drunk and messy,” Powder grins, stepping over to your bed to tug at one of your blankets teasingly.

You just roll your eyes, barely glancing up from your assignment. “And get super hung over so that I throw up all night? No thanks.”

“Come on,” Powder’s voice turns whiny as she pouts. She hugs the edge of your bed frame as she flashes you her signature puppy-eyes. “Please? We can get ready and walk together. And who knows? Maybe you’ll meet someone you like there.”

You don’t miss the insinuation in her tone. “I don’t need to like someone,” you claim, tapping away on the keys of your laptop. Though, you can’t help the brief flash that goes through your mind: the memory of Caitlyn guiding you around the ice rink in her arms and holding your hand as you walked back to the dorms. 

That was the last time you saw her outside of class. Caitlyn Kiramman: the girl who once seemed to be the most annoying person in all of Runeterra, your fiercest academic rival, had now claimed a soft spot of her own in your heart. You hate to admit it, you really do. But you can’t deny that she’s gradually taken up more and more space in your mind over the past week or so, carving her initials into her mind like she’s staking a claim on your affections. Maybe she is.

Powder, of course, doesn’t know this — given as she’s not the biggest fan of Caitlyn herself. All she knows is the way you used to vent about her like you were getting paid. Now, you can’t seem to stop thinking about her like you’re getting paid.

“Of course you don’t,” Powder huffs, maintaining her puppy eyes. “Just— please? You need to get out more, get away from studying all the time.”

“Fine.” You can’t help but give in to your roommate’s demands. You’ve always been too fond of her. “I’ll go. Just let me finish my homework.” 

You ignore her cheer of celebration, opting to turn back to your unfinished work. Maybe the party will be a good distraction from all your feelings towards a certain Councilor’s daughter.

|------» ~~~ «------|

“You okay?”

“Huh?” You glance up from where you’ve been taking notes on what your professor’s been lecturing about in class today. You had barely noticed when he called for a five minute break, the other students chatting amicably around you.

“You looked like you were spacing out,” Caitlyn’s icy blue eyes are laser-focused on you right now as she tilts her head in question. Her navy blue ponytail swings to the side, and gods, why does she look so good with a messy updo? It’s unfair, really. Who gave this girl so much beauty? 

“Oh,” you blink, shaking your head slightly as if to clear the fog from it. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a long day.”

“I see,” Caitlyn murmurs, her gaze seeming to study you. Strangely, you feel the urge to squirm under it. Holy shit, what is happening to you? Thankfully, she continues to speak. “You should sleep earlier tonight. Get some rest.”

“Ah,” you bite the inside of your cheek, glancing at the clock on the opposite wall of the classroom once more. “I was going to, but my roommate’s dragging me to some party.”

Caitlyn’s dark eyebrows furrow, trying to discern if she’s heard about this before. “Party?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, leaning your elbows on the desk in front of you. “Some huge rager. Everyone will be there, according to her. I think she just wants me to meet people or whatever.”

Meet people.

Those two words stick out in Caitlyn’s mind, and her not-so-helpful brain decides to conjure up an image of you in some hot dress being hit on by all these guys. Or girls. Or anyone, really.

She doesn’t like it.

“Meet people as— as friends, or…?” Caitlyn chooses her words carefully, not wanting to tip you off as to why she’s so curious about this in the first place. That would lead to a very long, awkward conversation about her feelings for you, and she has no idea what your response would be. Maybe you’d be weirded out and never talk to her again, and that would be the worst case scenario. 

“I guess,” you shrug, eyes dropping back down to look back through your carefully-taken notes. “It’s whatever. I’ll just go for a little and ditch when everyone gets too drunk to function.”

“Right,” Caitlyn clears her throat. She can’t help the words that fall from her lips in that moment: too focused on the possibility of someone winning you over tonight. “I’m actually going, too.”

You glance back up at her, thoroughly confused. Hadn’t she just asked you what party you were talking about? “You are?”

“Yeah,” she nods enthusiastically, and once she’s started talking, she can’t seem to stop. “I think I heard about it earlier in the week. I forgot about it, but if your roommate says that everyone will be there, then I should go too. My friend will, um, be there. Probably.”

You can’t help but smile in spite of yourself. Caitlyn’s always so composed and proper with that posh accent of hers, but somehow, she’s grown more awkward around you lately: fumbling her words like a pre-teen talking to their crush for the first time.

You quickly blink away that thought as soon as it occurs. You can’t even entertain the idea that the way Caitlyn’s been acting around you is something akin to a crush. Sure, she taught you how to skate last week, but…

But that doesn’t mean she has a crush on you. No, that can’t be possible.

“Oh,” you chew on your bottom lip for a moment. Now, you have a whole other worry about tonight: the worry that Caitlyn is going to be there. So much for a distraction from your growing feelings for her. “I guess I’ll see you there, then.”

“Yeah,” Caitlyn’s eyes are drawn to your bottom lip between your teeth, feeling a sudden spark of desire flicker in her chest. As the professor stands back up to continue on with class, she turns back to her own notes. “I’ll see you then.”

|------» ~~~ «------|

Clang!

You curse silently, bending down to pick up the hanger that had fallen from your closet. You’ve been going through outfit ideas for the past twenty minutes, unsure of what you should wear to a huge college party. A dress seems too formal, but you don’t want to be too casual either. 

And now? Now that Caitlyn, your longtime academic rival turned crush, is going to be there? You have to look decent.

“Why are you so stressed?” Powder leans over your shared sink, applying shiny, blue eyeshadow to her eyelids. 

You huff, continuing to rummage through your clothes. “I don’t know what to wear. I can’t look like a mess.”

“You didn’t even want to come until I forced you.”

“Yeah, well,” you roll your eyes. “Things change. Now, what the hell am I supposed to wear?”

Powder pauses her makeup, coming up beside you took look inside your closet. “That top’s cute,” she comments, pointing to a light, blue-grey top. The upper half of the top is solid material, while the bottom half that covers your abdomen is a soft mesh. It’s strapless: highlighting your collarbone just right.

You consider this, grabbing the hanger from the closet rack. “What bottom would go with it, though?”

“Maybe a skirt,” Powder ponders out loud, shuffling through the hangers until she finds a short, black skirt. The sides are laced up to accentuate your waist, and the length is short enough to be suggestive without being explicit. It pairs extremely well with the lighter top — though you hate to admit that Powder was right.

“Thanks,” you mumble, taking the skirt as well and darting off to change. Sue you if you want to look presentable in front of half the school.

Though, it’s really only about one person.

|------» ~~~ «------|

“Stop tugging at your hair,” Powder elbows you as you walk up the steps to the party’s location: a big house that’s a few blocks from your dorm. “You’ll mess it up.”

You stop at her protest, opting to adjust the face-framing strands on either side of your cheeks instead. “Okay, okay. Let’s just go in, already.”

At that moment, both of you enter through the unlocked front door of the house. It’s already wild: music blasting and red solo cups full of alcohol being passed around. There’s a group of people crowded in one of the common areas, dancing in front of the speakers, and couples paired up around the place to make out.

You can barely hear anything, not knowing where to go as Powder pats your shoulder. She says something about wanting to say ‘hi’ to some people before she darts off, leaving you alone in the middle of the party.

You just roll your eyes, heading off to find the kitchen. As much as you don’t want to be around your totally-wasted peers, you’re not sure if you can make it through the night without having a few drinks yourself.

As you manage to find the kitchen, pouring yourself a cup of what looks like vodka, you thankfully recognize someone you know from one of your classes last semester. “Mel!” You wave her over, grinning at the sight of your friend.

“Hey!” Mel greets you cheerfully, gold dust adorning her cheeks. “You look amazing.”

“You’re gorgeous,” you beam at her. “As always. I’m so glad I know someone here.”

“Know someone? Almost everyone is here,” Mel laughs, clinking her cup with yours. “Let’s just relax and have a good time. Yes?”

“Yes.” You sip from your cup, making a face of disgust as soon as the vodka hits your tastebuds. This is going to be a long night.

|------» ~~~ «------|

It turns out, in fact, to not be such a long night. It’s a very short one, actually.

You’ve had alcohol before, but not like this. You aren’t even aware of how much you’ve had — it’s hard to calculate how many shots deep you are when you had poured some vodka into a red solo cup without thinking. You’re laughing with Mel and a few of the friends she’s introduced you to before you feel a tap on your shoulder. You spin around, your smile slowly turning into an expression of surprise.

“Oh,” your breath catches as you come face-to-face with Caitlyn. She’s dressed differently, too, with her light-wash ripped jeans and cropped, navy blue top that’s held up by thin spaghetti straps. Her matching navy hair falls to her shoulders. And, with her icy-blue gaze piercing yours, you only have one thought.

Oh, I’m so screwed.

“Hey,” Caitlyn’s eyes are practically glued to you, too busy taking in your appearance to notice your reaction to her own. “Um, I hope I’m not interrupting. I just wanted to say ‘hi.’"

You shake your head, quick to reassure her. The alcohol hasn’t hit super hard yet, so unfortunately, your nerves of being around her still surface.  “You’re not; don’t worry.”

“Good.” Caitlyn can’t help it when her stare travels down to take in your exposed legs and back up to your shoulders and collarbone. “You look…”

She trails off, and you really hope the flush on your cheeks is from the vodka instead of her. “Thanks,” you mumble, shifting in your black, platform boots. Even with the added height, you’re still short compared to her 6’1” stature. “I love your top.”

“Oh, thank you." Caitlyn seems to realize that she’s staring. She clears her throat, tugging at one of the straps of the mentioned top and eyeing the red solo cup in your hand. She hesitates, not wanting to be too forward. "Did you end up meeting people like your roommate wanted?”

It’s the question that’s been on Caitlyn’s mind ever since she had seen you in class several hours ago. Gods, she really hopes that you haven’t met anyone that you’re interested in flirting with — or even worse: hooking up with. That’s the last thing that she wants.

You sigh, shaking your head. “That was just an excuse to get me to come with her. I’ve just been talking to my friend,” you assure her, gesturing back towards where Mel is standing with a few other people.

Caitlyn’s stomach swoops with relief, her shoulder loosing a little tension. “Well, if that’s the case, do you want to maybe dance together?”

In all honesty, being tipsy around Caitlyn is not a great idea, but you nod anyways. More so, you just don’t want to say no to her. How could you ever? “Yeah, sure.”

Caitlyn starts to turn towards the direction of the living room, but she pauses when she glances back at you again. This time, it’s her turn for her cheeks to flush pink. “Okay,” she mumbles before hesitantly reaching out, slipping her hand into yours. 

Your heart flips in your chest as you allow her to lace her fingers with yours. You glance up at her, almost questioning. As if to ask: is this an okay thing to do? 

Memories come flooding back to you, even in your tipsy haze in the middle of this huge party. Caitlyn taking you ice skating, teaching you how to skate when you admitted to not knowing how to, buying you hot chocolate and walking back to your dorm. How warm her fingers had felt intertwined with yours against the cold, winter air. It was the first time you saw her as more than your academic rival — as someone you could actually develop feelings for.

The corners of Caitlyn’s lips twitch into a slight smile, and she squeezes your hand ever so slightly. It’s a silent response. She just tugs you forward, back towards the common area where people are surrounding the speakers, moving around to the beat of the music. 

You follow her as she makes her way into the crowd. Once you’re closer to the speakers, Caitlyn spins around to face you, flashing you a grin that would make you go weak at the knees if you weren’t so out of it right now. She lifts your linked hands above your head, twirling you just to make you giggle. The space between you doesn’t last long: the distance minimizing as the crowd forces the two of you together. You stay like that for a few songs: just laughing and having fun together. 

The alcohol hits you mid-way: everything suddenly feeling a lot more foggy than usual. Somewhere in the haze, Caitlyn’s hands find their way to your waist, supporting you in the increasingly hot and stuffy room. You feel a rush of gratitude as you lean on her for support. Though, as your sobriety starts to lower, so does your filter.

As Caitlyn feels your weight on her, she lifts her hands to cup your jaw, tilting your face up towards her in concern. “Are you okay? You seem quite tipsy, darling.”

Darling.

It’s the first time she’s called you that, called you anything besides 'annoying' or 'infuriating' to your face. It sounds so right in that accent of hers that just screams luxury. So you can’t help the intoxicated smile that graces your features, your head leaving her hold as it fully rests on her chest. “I like that,” your words are barely audible over the loud music. 

“You like what?” Caitlyn bites her lip. She’s unsure of what you mean, and she’s even more unsure of what to do now that your head is on her chest. It’s something straight out of one of her recent dreams (though, admittedly, those usually involved quieter, more intimate settings). Now, surrounded by many of your university peers, she doesn’t know what to do. You’ve clearly had a little too much to drink.

“You calling me that,” you hum, finding some weird contentment amongst the chaos. Somehow, when you’re practically nestled against your academic rival, no one else seems to matter. “It’s nice.”

“Ah—“ Caitlyn’s eyes widen, her words getting caught in her throat. Sure, she’s held your hand twice now, but this implies something more. It implies that you like her more than just academic rivals turned friends. “You’re drunk,” she exhales, her hands moving to your waist again. 

“And you’re warm,” you nudge your nose into her neck, which seems very warm and very appealing right now. 

Caitlyn has to swallow thickly and take a deep breath in order to compose herself. It’d be so easy to bring her lips to yours right now, to take you away from this party and have you in the way she’s wanted to for so long — but she doesn’t. You’re drunk, and if there’s one thing Caitlyn values, it’s your consent.

But oh, how she wants.

“We should—“ her voice shakes slightly. “We should get you out of here. You’re drunk, and I don’t want you to get hurt or—“

“You’re sweet,” you mumble, barely noticing as Caitlyn gently moves you back through the throng of people. “But I wanna dance.”

“I know, darling, but we can dance another time. I’m going to walk you back to your dorm now, okay?”

“What?” You tilt your head in an almost-protest as she guides you towards the door. “You don’t have to do that. ‘M fine.”

“No,” Caitlyn’s tone is gentle, but she’s firm in her decision. She pushes open the front door, ushering you into the cold, night air. “I want to, so please let me. Just let me take care of you.”

“Mnh–“ You're not in any state to argue as she leads you out of the house. "'Kay."

|------» ~~~ «------|

It’s not long before you’re fumbling for your keys outside your dorm, attempting to stick the key in the doorknob a few times before you can unlock it. It opens with a click, and you stumble over to the light switch.

Caitlyn keeps a firm hand on your arm as she shuts the door and guides you over to your bed. Now that the room is illuminated with light, she takes in the decor. Soft, fuzzy blankets are piled on your bed, and printed-out photos adorn the wall next to it. In between the strands of fairy lights that glow faintly, she can see the camera-ready smiles of your family and friends. Cute.

She helps you into your lofted bed, in your party outfit and all since you’re in no mood to get ready for bed. Once she’s sure that you’re settled and laying down, Caitlyn crosses the room, turning the lights back off and fishing in the cabinets under the sink for a paper bag. When she finds one, she sets it next to your water bottle on the desk beside your bed. “If you have to throw up, just use this, okay?”

Your eyes are half-closed already as you glance at her hazily from your pillows. “M’kay.”

“Right,” Caitlyn mumbles. “Goodnight, then.” She lingers by your bed for a second, unwilling to leave you. She doesn’t want you to be alone, but staying in her crush’s room when she’s drunk would be inappropriate. After a few moments, she sighs reluctantly, moving to the door.

“Caitlyn?”

Her head whips back to look at you in an almost comical speed. “Yes?”

Your eyes slip shut, already half-asleep. “You’re really pretty.”

“Um,” a pink hue springs up on Caitlyn’s cheeks almost immediately. “Thank you. But you should probably get some rest—“

“You don’t get it.” You huff almost indignantly, eyes still closed. In your tipsy state, you don’t comprehend how she’s not understanding. “You’re really pretty. Whoever you’re with is so lucky.”

…

What?

“Whoever I’m—?“ Caitlyn chokes out in complete surprise, her eyes blown wide. She takes a few steps until she’s beside your bed again. Your expression is sleepy and relaxed: giving nothing away. “What do you mean?”

Unfortunately, the land of dreams is calling to you, and you’re only conscious enough to let out a sleepy hum in response. Seconds later, and you’re gone.

Caitlyn stands frozen in the middle of your dorm room. What the fuck was that? What did your words even mean? You probably just meant that whatever girl she dated was lucky to have someone to walk her home.

Or, her brain supplies helpfully, she could have meant that any girl that I date is lucky because she gets me entirely.

You couldn’t have meant that. Could you?

But the more Caitlyn stands alone in the dark room, pondering the hidden meaning behind your drunken words, the less she can deny the obvious. You have to feel something, you just have to. Up until a few weeks ago, all you would do is glare at her whenever she walked into a classroom. But now…

Now, something has changed. She casts a final glimpse back at you before she’s stepping out into the hallway, quietly shutting the door behind her.

She’ll be damned if she doesn’t find out what that something is.

|------» ~~~ «------|

You wake up with a pounding headache.

Shit. You hadn’t wanted to go to this party in the first place because of all the drunk idiots. How had you turned into one of them?

You bring a hand up to rub at your temples, trying to recall what had happened last night. Arriving with Powder, laughing with Mel, vodka, and… oh.

Caitlyn.

It doesn’t take long to recall the basics. How she had complimented you in your outfit, taken your hand to lead you to dance, how you had ended up leaning against her chest until she walked you back to your dorm. 

Your stomach drops, in particular, as you remember your parting words to her. Whoever she’s with is lucky? You might has well have just shouted from the rooftops that you’re in love with her. Gods, what have you done?

You sit upright in bed, wincing as your head continues to pound. No vomiting, thankfully, but you sure as hell need water and a few Advil pills right now. 

Once you’ve retrieved the essentials in your bathroom, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Makeup smeared, messy hair, and your outfit from last night still clinging to your tired form. You groan, grabbing a makeup wipe as well before you walk past a sleeping Powder and back to your bed — where your phone awaits.

You have several message notifications from various friends and classmates. Some from Mel, asking where you had gone last night, and some from your family at home. Most noticeably, a single notification sits at the top of your screen.

Caitlyn Kiramman: Hey. How are you feeling?

You curse silently as so not to wake Powder, biting your tongue as you think of what you could possibly say to the girl you were fawning over last night. 

Hey. I’m okay. 

You hesitate, your thumbs pausing over your phone keyboard before you send a follow-up message.

Thanks for helping me last night.

You stare at your screen, waiting on bated breath for her response. You see the little three dots pop up on her end, indicating her typing. Yet, seconds later, it disappears. You barely have time to frown down at your phone screen before it reappears.

Caitlyn Kiramman: No problem.

Then, silence.

That was it?

Your phone screen fades to black as you set it face-down on your desk. You lay down on your bed, bringing your knees to your chest to curl up in fetal position. Maybe you did ruin everything. Back when the two of you were just academic rivals, such short conversations were the norm (though they were far more passive aggressive). 

However, in recent times, Caitlyn had been much more attentive over text. It’s yet another one of the things you’ve come to love about her: when her perfectly-poised composure falters, and you can see the awkward girl underneath. It’s endearing. And now— now, you have a hangover, and an empty stomach, and Caitlyn is being dry after your subtle confession.

You will yourself into sleeping for another few hours, tossing and turning as your mind fills with thoughts of her and only her. How good, how right it had felt when you were pressed against her, and how much you had hoped to feel that again. When the images of all the possibilities that could entail flood your mind, you finally open your eyes again.

“What’s with you?” Powder asks groggily from across the room, sitting up in bed with a blue tuft of hair falling in front of her face. “It’s not even ten, but you can’t even lay still.”

“Sorry,” you mumble, staring at your turned-off phone as if you can physically will another text to come through. Namely, from a certain navy-haired sharpshooter.

“Did something happen at the party?” Powder guesses correctly, her tone not unkind as she eyes your expression. “C’mon, you can tell me.”

“You won’t like my answer.”

“I won’t?” She tilts her head, curiosity peaked. “Well, now you have to tell me.”

You just sigh, too tired to push back. “It’s Caitlyn.”

“Caitlyn Kiramman?” Powder wrinkles her nose. She’s not fond of Caitlyn — often chalking her up to some rich girl that thrives off of her mother’s money and name. “Your academic rival? Who cares about her? Don’t let her work you up; you’re better than her.”

“She’s not—“ you cut yourself off, reminding yourself that you’re supposed to be explaining rather than defending the woman. “Look. I know you don’t like her. But she’s the one who helped me back here last night. She’s walked me home and paid for me and been so sweet and respectful towards me. As I’ve spent more time with her, I— well, I guess I—“

“You like her,” Powder finishes. Her gaze is just a tinge softer than when you had started.

You drop your head, staring at the blankets covering your lap. “Yeah.”

It’s quiet for a few moments before Powder continues carefully. “So…what happened?”

“I fucked things up,” your response is immediate, and unwanted tears burn your eyes. You know it's stupid to cry over this, but being hung over is not helping. “I think she knows I like her. I was so messy last night, and I’m worried that I crossed a line and that now she hates me.”

Too busy staring at your bed, you don’t notice Powder getting up until a soft thump is heard from her side of the room. Your eyes dart up to see her weary form cross over to your bed. “Look,” she pats your knee. “This isn’t me saying that I like her — or that you should be with her. But I think you should talk to her. Otherwise, you’re never going to know.”

“Do I even want to know if she hates me?”

Powder just shakes her head. “Look, I doubt that she hates you. If she’s really done all the things you say she has, then it sounds like she likes you too.”

You hesitate, picking at your fingernails anxiously. “She’s just always been... more forward than I am, I guess. Then I make a drunken confession and she isn’t acting the same.”

“Then isn’t it your turn to be forward?”

A beat passes before you nod slowly. Powder’s words make sense. As much as you dislike the anxiety of actually confessing to Caitlyn, you owe her as much after all she’s done for you. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Powder grins, evidently happy that you’re actually listening to her. “Then go find her.”

“Like this?” You pout slightly, gesturing to your outfit and messy hair — though your face is now clean from the previous makeup.

“Yeah, the outfit’s cute. Because I picked it out, of course.”

“Alright, alright,” you can’t help a roll of your eyes, finally succumbing to the urge to pick up your phone and send a message.

Can we talk?

|------» ~~~ «------|

You find Caitlyn on a bench outside of her dorm building. 

It’s nice out, especially for winter: the sun warming you despite the cold air. She had responded to your text only a few minutes after you had sent it, so you’re still wearing the same outfit from the party — as Powder had suggested.

Caitlyn doesn’t miss this detail. Her blue eyes seem to shine in the sunlight as her gaze flits over your top and short skirt, though her eyes flick back to yours a second later. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you respond quietly, sitting on the opposite side of the bench. There’s distance between you two: distance you long to close. But you don’t. Instead, it’s quiet for a few moments, the only sounds being the distant sounds of other college students walking around the campus.

“I want to apologize,” you shift slightly, head turning slightly upwards to meet her eyes. “I wasn’t paying attention to how much I was drinking last night, and I was careless. I’m sorry if anything happened that crossed any boundaries.”

Caitlyn shakes her head. “No…” she starts, then clears her throat. “No. You didn’t upset me or do anything bad. It’s okay.”

“Okay…” you trail off, having no idea where to go with this. It’s quiet again, and your stomach swoops with nerves. “I also, um, wanted to talk about what I said in my room last night.”

“Yeah,” Caitlyn exhales, strands of navy hair escaping her messy ponytail. “I had some questions about it, but I wanted to let you rest.”

“Thank you for that,” your voice lowers into a mumble. “But, well, I meant what I said.” You turn your body to fully face her on the bench. If you’re going to confess, you’re going to at least do it properly.

“You did…?” Caitlyn repeats slowly, almost a question.

“I know we’ve always been rivals,” you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “And we always fought each other for the top grades, but then we got to know each other and went skating that night. And somewhere along the way, the old feelings faded, and I really saw you as a person. I liked you as a person. So when everything got hazy last night, I guess I just was a lot more honest about it.”

“Wait, so,” Caitlyn’s sharp features narrow, as if she’s trying to discern what you mean. “You like me as a person. Does that mean—?”

“I like you,” your lips curve into half smile, looking up at her almost shyly now in spite of your anxiety. “A lot. I was just worried that I messed things up last night because you didn’t feel the same. And if you don’t, it’s okay, we can still be friends and—“

“Wait,” Caitlyn gently interrupts you, placing a hand on your arm as your words halt. “Why would you think that I don’t feel the same?” Her eyes implore yours questioningly.

“I—“ You stumble in your words, your cheeks growing hot under her gaze. You don’t really have a reason as to why she wouldn’t return your feelings, but of course if you’re nervous to confess to your crush. “I don’t know.”

Caitlyn has to bite back a smile as her heart soars at your shyness. It’s adorable, and she couldn’t ask for anything more. “Of course I like you. It’s why I wanted to go skating with you in the first place. All that bullshit I made up about a competition,” she mindlessly traces circles on your arm. “I just wanted to spend time with you.”

You freeze, words failing you. All that comes out of your mouth is a small, “oh,” and Caitlyn smiles fully at this.

“And when I went to the party, I just went because I knew you’d be there. Maybe it was selfish,” she admits, “but I wanted to be the one to take you home at the end of the night. Not anyone else.”

Your cheeks continue to darken, and your eyes drop, unable to meet her gaze. “I didn’t want anyone else to, either.”

Instead of a verbal response, you feel a light pressure under your chin, and your eyes widen when Caitlyn tilts your head up with a single finger to meet her eyes. Gods, that’s hot. “So, if we only want to be with each other in…that way, maybe we should be.”

“Yeah,” your eyes curve up into little eye-smiles that Caitlyn may or may not be totally obsessed with. “I think so.”

“So, let me do this properly then,” Caitlyn announces suddenly, standing in her casual hoodie and jeans before reaching out her hands to help you up off the bench. When you place your hands in hers, she gently guides you to your feet. She doesn’t let go, only closing the distance between the two of you with her hands holding yours. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Yes,” you beam, barely able to restrain yourself from bouncing on your toes in compete joy. It’s what you’ve been dreaming of — what you’ve both been dreaming of — for weeks now. You feel sixteen all over again: enthralled by the joys of young love.

Caitlyn’s expression matches yours: sparkling eyes and cheeks hurting because she’s smiling so hard. “I really want to kiss you,” she confesses, bringing one of her hands up to cradle your jaw while the other remains in yours. “But I know we’re still on campus.”

“Who cares?” You just shake your head, far past the point of giving two shits about who sees. It’s just a kiss: people can deal with it.

That’s all the permission that Caitlyn needs before she’s leaning down to capture your lips with hers. It’s a sweet, innocent kiss at first: both of you smiling and giggling too much to get anywhere else. But gods, it feels so nice, and you force yourself to contain your happiness just so you can do it all over again.

Caitlyn seems to be following the same thought pattern, and she uses the hand that’s holding yours to tug you flush up against her chest. The new angle allows for your lips to meet in a deeper kiss, her tongue teasing at the seam of your lips. Her height advantage allows her to take most of the control, and your lips slant against hers as you return her kisses with equal fervor. 

“Wait,” Caitlyn mumbles, reluctantly pulling away to catch her breath. Your lips chase hers, tugging into a pout at the feeling of being ripped away from her mouth. “I— we should probably move this somewhere else.”

“Your dorm?” You suggest, eyeing the building next to you. It’s the closest space that’s private — because of course Caitlyn Kiramman has a dorm to herself. 

“We could,” Caitlyn’s tone is displeased as her gaze follows yours, evidently not satisfied with the idea. Why should she settle for a twin bed when she has a huge bed at her parents’ house? “Or…we could go back to my place.”

“With your parents?” You gape at her, slightly mortified. Her mother is the Councilor Cassandra Kiramman, and the last thing you want is for her to know about what you’re doing with her daughter. That’s the worst way to meet your new girlfriend’s parents.

“Relax,” Caitlyn huffs out a laugh, already pulling out her phone to call an uber. “They’re not home. Promise.”

“Okay,” you give into her wishes, leaning your cheek on her shoulder as she taps away on the screen. “I just want you.”

“Oh, darling,” Caitlyn tilts her head to the side to press a kiss to your forehead, and your body glows like you’re walking on sunshine. “I’m all yours from now on. And when we get back, you’re all mine.”

|------» ~~~ «------| 

Caitlyn practically yanks the car door open when the driver pulls up to the Kiramman manor, mumbling out a hurried “thank you” before dashing over to your side. She’s clearly in a hurry: wanting to get you alone to make up for lost time. Though, she does, admittedly, insist on opening the front door for you so that you can enter first because Caitlyn Kiramman is nothing if not a perfect gentlewoman.

You barely register entering the house, barely register the walk up to her room. The only thing you’re focused on is when she leads you into her room, shutting the door and immediately pushing you against it. Her hand cups the back of your head, careful not to let it slam onto the wood: a tinge of tenderness in a heated moment.

Her lips are back on yours before you can even speak, her tongue wasting no time on finding its way past your lips. She explores your mouth like it’s something to be studied, taking careful time to entwine her tongue with yours. This pulls a soft whimper from you — one which Caitlyn swallows.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” she mumbles as her mouth breaks from yours: a single strand of saliva connecting the two. “Most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

“That would— ah— be you!” You gasp, your head tilting back against the door as her lips move to kiss the corner of your jaw before they trail down to your neck. 

Caitlyn doesn’t bite; she’s much too attentive to your wants and needs to risk anything that hurts right now. She’s a possessive woman, though, caused by being an only child who had all the wealth that she never had to share. So, in place of a love bite, her lips trace over your pulse point before darting her tongue out to meet it. She sucks softly at your skin, just hard enough to leave a mark that everyone will know is hers. More importantly, that you will know is hers.

Her hands are on a journey of their own, sliding down to your hips to give them a squeeze. “No one could ever compare to you,” Caitlyn mumbles against your neck in response to your last comment. “Can’t believe I have you now. I want to make you mine in all the ways I can.”

“I wouldn’t stop you,” you pant, helpless to do anything but take in just how good her mouth and hands feel all over you. Vaguely, you wonder how they’d feel in certain other places, too.

It’s not long before Caitlyn’s tugging you over to the bed, guiding you onto the mattress before moving on top of you. “Can I take this off, darling?” She tugs at your blue-grey top, making eye contact with you to ensure that this is what you really want.

You nod almost desperately, unable to wait much longer. “Yes. Yes, please.”

“Begging already,” Caitlyn hums, almost absentmindedly. Her naturally authoritative aura comes from her desire for control — in every sense of the word. You’ve noticed this about her, even fantasized about it, but you’ve never had it turned on you before. Gods, is it attractive.

Caitlyn makes quick work of your top, tugging it over your head before shrugging off her sweatshirt to reveal her bra underneath it. This makes you lean up on your elbows, eyeing her breasts like they’re something to be devoured. They are.

Caitlyn, meanwhile, is entirely focused on your now exposed bra. It’s a tiny, lacy little thing that you had chosen specifically to go under your party outfit from last night. She caresses the detailed edges, barely restraining herself from ripping off your skirt, too. Caitlyn could go feral just thinking about the likely matching panties that she bets show quite a decent amount.

She settles for unclasping your bra, instead, sliding it off to reveal your breasts. Caitlyn immediately brings her mouth to one of them, lavishing your nipple with her tongue while one of her hands comes up to pinch the other.

You grip onto her shoulder, your knuckles turning white with the pressure meant to offset the pure pleasure that’s coursing through your body. “Cait!” You gasp as her mouth parts from your nipple.

She watches it pebble under the cool air, gently blowing on it just to watch it harden for her. She coos at your gasp, too. “So perfect,” she murmurs. “So good for me.”

“Please, Cait, I need you!”

“Oh, you need me?” She reaches to undo her own bra and slip off her jeans. “How do you need me, darling? Tell me what exactly you need.”

“Anything,” you counter, your tone whiny and pleading. “Everything.”

“Anything and everything, huh?” Caitlyn muses, lifting your skirt just enough so she can see the wet spot in your black panties underneath. She reaches out to touch it, the light pressure of her finger making you gasp. Her eyes darken. “We’ll see about that.”

Your skirt’s being tossed to her bedroom floor in a flash, Caitlyn’s hands lifting your hips off the bed so she can tug your panties down. “Beautiful,” she breathes when she sees your fully exposed core, now dripping from how she had worked you up. She only admires it for a moment— diving in when her desire overwhelms her restraint.

You keen as her tongue meets you slick folds. You squirm, unable to keep your hips from jerking at the relentless onslaught of pleasure that your girlfriend’s giving you. Caitlyn, for her parent, rests her hands on your inner thighs, spreading them to give her better access to you.

She licks, sucks, and nips at your folds before she traces her tongue all the way up to circle around your clit, pulling another gasp from you. “That feels— mmnh— so good!” Your voice shakes, growing increasingly uneven as Caitlyn continues to toy with your sensitive nerves. 

But at the height of it all, just when you’re about to come, she separates her mouth from your core with a small pop. You instantly whine in protest, shifting your hips back towards her talented mouth. Caitlyn just tuts at you, clicking her tongue in ways that make you clench around nothing. “Patience, darling. I want our first time to be together.”

Before you can even fully process what she means, she’s moving her hands back to her own body to slide her panties down her legs. Caitlyn throws them to the ground without a single spare glance, moving forward to balance herself on top of you. “Tell me, love, have you ever scissored with a girl before?”

You shake your head up at her, your eyes blurry from your building orgasm that had been denied. 

“Oh, perfect,” she continues to coo. “Then let me show you how this goes, darling.”

When both of your legs spread and your dripping cunt meets hers, your mouth drops open. You’ve never felt pleasure like this before — even with how well she ate you out. Your eyes practically role back as you gasp out a moan.

Caitlyn also falters in her composure, hissing when she starts to continuously grind her slickness against yours. “Shit, you feel so good. Just like that. Just lay there and take it.”

And you do — half because you want to listen to her and half because you doubt that you’re physically capable of doing anything else. You won’t last long: not with the way Caitlyn’s shaky sighs and the movements of her hips combine to form the hottest image you’ve ever seen.

“I can’t!” You gasp after several more moments. “I can’t go much longer.”

“It’s okay,” Caitlyn’s exhale resembles more of a soft moan. She’s grinding her hips faster now, chasing her own release. “We’ll come together, okay darling? Just come for me, show me how good it feels.”

You come at her words, falling apart under her touch like you’ve wanted to do this whole time. Your hips move up desperately, riding out your delicious high while Caitlyn lets go with a grunt of her own.

A few seconds pass in which all the two of you can do is rut back against each other, stealing every last bit of pleasure that you can manage. When you start to come down from your orgasm, Caitlyn maneuvers herself next to lay next to you upon her silk sheets. She slings an arm across your torso, manicured fingers splaying across your abdomen.

You pant, still trying to catch your breath after your mind-blowing first time with Caitlyn. “You’re really good at that,” are the first words you manage out. 

Caitlyn laughs, throwing her head back against the pillow in her own afterglow. “You’re a natural too. Best sex I’ve ever had,” she pauses to press a kiss to your cheek. Then a second. Then a third. “Best woman in the entirety of Runeterra. All for me, all mine.”

“Yes, all yours,” your laughter comes out as an amused, tired huff. “But I don’t know about me being a ‘natural.’ Sounds a little cliché.”

“Well then,” Caitlyn adjusts your positions so your head is tucked under her chin. She’s keeping you warm, safe, and protected — just how she likes it. “Guess we’ll have to practice some more.”

You smile against her collarbone before press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to it. “As much as you want.”

“Of course, my love,” Caitlyn lets out a deep, contented sigh, throwing the comforter over both of you and settling into her little cocoon. Silk sheets, plush comforter, and you. What else could she ever need?

“We have all the time in the world.”

Longest fic I've ever written! Glad it was for academic rival!Caitlyn...I love her sososo much!

Thank you for all the love on my fics lately, my lovelies. You guys are the sweetest, and I appreciate you so much <3

~Cherry 🍒

[alisonsfics]

guest lecturer - part two

pairing: tyler owens x student!reader

summary: when tyler owens shows up in our meteorology class to give a guest lecture, you are left just as speechless as all the other girls. but, tyler is just as awestruck by you.

word count: 3.8k

part 1

Ever since accepting the internship with Tyler, you’d been an anxious mess.

You were overthinking everything. Why did he want you specifically? Did that mean he was actually into you? Or was it just because you were smart and capable?

You spent many sleepless nights wondering how he felt about you. You had no idea if he was actually attracted to you or if you were just a one time, spur of the moment decision.

A few days after you told Dr. Hannigan that you’d accept the internship, you got a text from Tyler. He’d somehow gotten your number from Dr. Hannigan.

He didn’t even have to mention his name for you to know it was him.

Unknown number: “They say spring break can get pretty crazy ;)”

You: “Tyler?!?”

Unknown number: “You already know me so well, gorgeous”

That was the last time you’d talked to him.

You didn’t want to embarrass yourself. So, while it would have been clear to anyone else that he was into you, you found yourself doubting it.

Somehow, you convinced yourself it was just flirty banter. So, you didn’t attempt to reciprocate it.

Normally, you had no problem knowing a guy was into you. Something about Tyler made you feel like an oblivious schoolgirl. You were mortified by even the possibility of humiliating yourself in front of him.

But you allowed yourself a pinch of optimism, and you packed your cutest bras in case that was where the week took you. You also picked out an outfit that was the perfect mix of cute and revealing to wear on the plane, since it would be the first time Tyler had seen you in a month.

When the plane landed, you could feel your nerves coursing through you. You anxiously tapped your fingers against your thigh. Normally, you were a pretty patient person, but not when you knew Tyler Owens was waiting for you on the other side of the airport.

You stared up at the seatbelt sign, hoping you could psychically make it turn off. Instead, the light seemed to mock you.

All you could think about was Tyler. You were excited to see his reaction to seeing you again. The possibilities seemed endless, which excited you.

You smoothed out your jeans and your tight tank top. It felt a little more western than your usual style, but you figured it would be appropriate for Oklahoma. As an added bonus, you hoped Tyler would like it.

You were brought out of your thoughts by the beep of the seatbelt sign turning off. You practically leapt up from your seat. You snatched your suitcase and managed to be one of the first people off the plane.

You were practically running through the airport. You didn’t know what was in store for this week, but you were eager for it to begin.

Your eyes scanned around the pickup area. You saw dozens of people waiting to pick up their family members. You searched for that all too familiar set of green eyes.

Over the chatter of dozens of conversations, you heard someone call out your name.

Your eyes snapped to where the noise came from. Instead of finding a certain cowboy meeting your gaze, you saw a woman.

Her dirty blonde hair was thrown up into a ponytail. Your confusion was written all over your face, so she smiled at you and waved you over.

“Hi, I’m Kate. I work with Tyler. He asked me to come pick you up.” She said, shaking your hand.

“Ohhh okay. Thank you. It’s nice to meet you.” You said, failing to hide the disappointment in your voice.

You felt like such an idiot.

You had really been convinced Tyler was going to pick you up. The small amount of hope you’d been holding onto left your body. You felt like you had misread this entire situation.

You should’ve known it was stupid to assume Tyler invited you to continue whatever happened in your professor’s office. This wasn’t personal. This was purely academic, and you were just the best candidate for the internship.

If he’d been into you, he would’ve been at the airport.

You felt mortified.

“Oh god, you were expecting Tyler, weren’t you? I’m so sorry.” Kate quickly apologized, picking up on your disappointment. You shook your head. “No, you don’t have to apologize. I was just being stupid.” You said, trying to hide your embarrassment.

All you wanted to do was hop on a plane and go back home.

Kate probably thought you were so pathetic. You just hoped she didn’t mention any of this to Tyler.

“No, it wasn’t stupid. Tyler really wants to work with you. He hasn’t shut up about your midterm paper in weeks. He said you’re one of the smartest people he’s ever met. Something came up today. That’s the only reason he’s not here to pick you up himself, I promise.” Kate told you.

You appreciated the sentiment, but you were pretty sure she was just trying to save your feelings.

The ride to their base camp was long. You and Kate talked about your studies and some of the experiments she was working on. But you were still overthinking everything.

She pulled the truck into the parking lot of a motel alongside a big camp of other trucks. You noticed a bar and a diner across the street from the motel.

You both got out of the truck, and you grabbed your suitcase from the back. “Here you go. I think you’re in room 261.” Kate said, handing you a key.

“Hey, Kate! You’re back.” You heard someone exclaim. You glanced over your shoulder and saw two guys walking towards you. Kate waved at the two men and gave them both hugs.

“You must be Y/N. I’m Javi, and this is Boone. Tyler’s told us a lot about you.” The one man greeted you. Before you could respond, Boone stood a step closer to you. “He didn’t mention how pretty you are.” Boone said, slowly shaking your hand.

Javi quickly pulled Boone backwards. “Why don’t you go get settled in your room? We were all planning on going to the bar tonight? I can come get you later.” Kate suggested, guiding you towards the motel.

As you walked away, you saw Javi elbow Boone in the side. “Come on, man, you remember what Tyler said, she’s off limits.” You heard him whisper.

You felt your stomach do a flip as you processed what he said. Tyler banning his friends from flirting with you had to mean something.

After you found your room, you flopped backwards onto the bed. Thoughts of Tyler swirled around your head. You wondered where he was and when you would see him.

As if on cue, you heard a loud truck outside with the radio blaring.

You walked over to the window and peeked out the curtains. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the big red truck pulling into the parking lot.

Tyler climbed out of the truck, running a hand through his perfectly messy hair. You felt a shudder run through you as he placed his cowboy hat on his head.

Tyler wasn’t your usual type, but there was something about him.

You wanted to run out and talk to him, but he’d know you’d been watching him, and you didn’t want him to think you were desperate.

You couldn’t help but admire his biceps as he lifted some equipment out of the bed of his truck. You watched him for longer than you cared to admit.

You remembered Kate said you were all going to the bar later tonight. You started to dig through your suitcase to pick out an outfit.

You grabbed a high-waisted pair of jean shorts that made your ass look great. You paired them with the black cowboy boots you brought, along with a lacy black tank top.

You also weren’t ashamed to admit you had a sexy red lace bra and panty set on underneath. You jumped when you heard a knock at your door. You quickly put on a cute flannel and grabbed your phone.

You opened the door and saw Kate. “You ready to go?” She asked you. You eagerly nodded and closed the door behind you.

You noticed yourself constantly looking around and over your shoulder for Tyler. Kate noticed too, but didn’t mention it.

You both immediately spotted Boone and Javi at the bar. They quickly waved you over. “Come on, ladies. We’re doing shots.” Javi said.

Before you could question it, they handed you and Kate both a shot. The four of you clinked your glasses together and downed the shot. You winced and clenched your fist as you swallowed.

“Oh, fuck. Was that tequila? Can’t have too many of those or I’ll get fucked up.” You said, earning a chuckle from Kate.

“Now, that I’d like to see.” You heard a deep voice say from behind you.

You spun around to see who was talking to you. You didn’t really need to look. You already recognized the cologne.

Then, you saw those green eyes staring back at you. You could feel your eyes go wide, and your heart start to beat faster. “Oh, fuck,” you mumbled under your breath.

Tyler was the only one that heard it. The smirk on his face was all the confirmation you needed that he’d heard you.

“So, how’s the smartest girl I know?” He asked, cocking his head to the side. You quickly nodded your head, as an incoherent string of words left your mouth. “Yeah, no— uh huh. I’ve be— been good.” You mumbled.

He pulled you in for a quick hug. “I’m still makin’ you nervous, gorgeous?” He whispered in your ear as he hugged you. Goosebumps spread down your arms.

You both were completely aware of the way Boone, Javi, and Kate were all staring at the two of you. It didn’t take a genius to see the tension between you and Tyler.

Tyler licked his lips as he looked you up and down. He wanted to take in every inch of you. The way your shorts hugged your hips. Your shiny lipgloss, more specifically how bad he wanted to see it messily smeared across your lips.

The one thought he kept coming back to was how much better you’d look in his hat.

“I’m glad you were able to come.” He said, smiling down at you. You hadn’t remembered how tall he was. “Yeah, I’ll bet you’re glad.” Javi muttered under his breath with a smirk.

“C’mon, let’s go talk.” He said, gesturing towards the other side of the bar. His hand landed on the small of your back as he led you across the room.

With his large hand pressed against your back, you couldn’t help recall how effortlessly he’d picked you up and set you on the desk. You pushed away the thought and the warm feeling in your stomach that accompanied it.

“I meant it before. I’m really excited to work with you. We have some exciting tests and stuff that I think you’ll enjoy.” Tyler said, twirling you around so you faced him.

“I’m really grateful for the opportunity.” You said, smiling up at him. You were wracking your brain for anything else you could say, but your mind had gone blank.

“You’re saying it like I’m doing you a favor. You earned this. Dr. Hannigan sent me a bunch of your work. You’re fucking brilliant.” Tyler told you.

You felt the heat rush to your cheeks. Before Tyler could say anything else, he froze, and his eyes locked on yours. He reached his hand towards you and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

You looked up at him through your eyelashes, waiting for his next move.

He softly interlaced his fingers with yours and pulled you towards the dance floor. He pulled you backwards into his chest until you both were pressed up against each other. His hot breath ran down your neck, giving you chills.

He confidently stretched his hand across your stomach. He was marking you as his in front of anyone. Every guy in the bar knew not to mess with you if you were with Tyler.

With a rare burst of courage, you grinded your hips back against him. He groaned in your ear. “Oh, fuck, gorgeous,” he mumbled. His voice came out deeper and huskier than you’d ever heard it.

He moved your hair out of the way and started kissing behind your ear. You felt a cocky smirk grow on your face. You knew exactly whose room you were ending up in tonight.

A soft whimper escaped your lips, making Tyler hips rut into you. “You know, I saw you watching me from your room earlier? It took all my self control to not go up to your room.” He whispered in your ear.

The room erupted into gasps, causing you both to separate. Your eyes drifted to the front door where Javi had just tripped over a barstool and fell face first.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be shitting me. He’s fucking wasted. I have to bring him back to his room. I will be right back. I promise.” Tyler said, running over to Javi’s side.

You found a stool at the bar to sit at while Tyler was gone. Then, Boone appeared at your side. He reeked of booze, and you could tell he was almost as drunk as Javi. “Hey, Boone. You doing okay?” You asked, gesturing towards the seat next to you.

He plopped himself down and nodded. “I saw you and Tyler getting friendly.” He said, wiggling his eyebrows at you. Your embarrassment rushed to your cheeks. The last thing you wanted was Tyler’s friends thinking you slept with Tyler to get the internship.

“Oh, you saw that?” You asked, nervously. He just chuckled and nodded.

“Don’t worry. He told us all about you and your little spicy time at office hours.” Boone whispered. You felt like your heart skipped a beat. You had full confidence Boone only mentioned it because he was hammered, but that meant Tyler had told him.

Your anxiety and overthinking went into overdrive.

Everything started to click into place for you.

You were his trophy. The hot, young college girl for him to brag about to his friends. He didn’t care about your work or teaching you. He just wanted to get in your pants and show you off to his friends.

“Oh, I’m gonna be sick.” You mumbled, heading for the front door. You felt unbelievably naive. Of course a guy like Tyler would act like this.

You walked across the parking lot, towards your motel room.

“Hey! Wait up, where you goin’?” You heard Tyler call after you.

You ignored him and kept walking, speeding up your pace. “Leave me alone.” You yelled at him over your shoulder when he started to follow you.

You kept walking, ignoring Tyler’s voice. You heard his footsteps speed up as he ran to catch up with you.

He jumped in front of you and put his hands up to stop you. “What’s wrong?” He asked you, confused.

“Why did you invite me here?” You asked him point blank. His expression only became more confused. “What do you mean? I already told you.” He said, furrowing his eyebrows.

Tyler searched your eyes for any idea of why you were so upset. “You told Boone…” you said, softly.

“Told Boone what?” Tyler asked, gently cupping your face. You sighed and pushed his hands off of you. “You told him that we almost hooked up. You didn’t want me here because you think I’m smart. You just wanted to have a hookup with a college girl that you could brag to your friends about.” You said, storming off towards your room.

Tyler could only watch in shock as you walked away.

As soon as you got to your room, you fell onto your bed with your head in your hands. You didn’t know how you were supposed to face Tyler tomorrow morning. You laid there for what felt like hours trying to decide what to do. You debated packing your bags several times.

You were taken out of your thoughts when there was a knock at the door.

You walked over to the door and opened it a crack. You saw a sympathetic Tyler.

“Please, let me explain before you slam the door in my face.” He begged you.

You stepped out of your room and closed the door behind you. “What do you want?” You asked, crossing your arms.

“I promise that our almost-hookup and my attraction to you has nothing to do with why I wanted you to do the internship. I really think you are brilliant. I’m sorry that I told Boone and Javi about us. I only did it because they’re my friends. I didn’t think about it from your perspective and realize they’re people that you’re going to work with professionally. I’m really sorry.” He said, genuinely.

You pursed your lips, thinking about whether you’d accept his apology. Something in his eyes made you want to trust him. “Thank you for that. I’m sorry too. I think I got anxious and started to overthink everything. I've never done anything like this.” You said, honestly.

You could see the relief on Tyler’s face. “C’mere,” he said, leaning in giving a short kiss.

“You know what? I have some baseline readings I need to get before tomorrow. You want to go on a little trip?” He suggested. As soon as you nodded, he swooped you up bridal style and carried you to his truck.

He helped you into the truck before jumping into the drivers seat. You both drove in silence until Tyler got where he wanted to go.

You both got out and walked to the back of the truck. You helped Tyler take some measurements in a peaceful silence. Every few minutes, Tyler would do something goofy to get you to giggle.

After you’d finished the measurements, he lifted you up into the bed of the truck, where he’d set up a blanket. You patted the seat next to you, so Tyler would join you.

���You want to know the best real-world tip I can give you for storms?” He asked, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. You looked over at him, waiting for his answer.

“Gotta listen to the wind and be able to know what’s happening just by listening. Here, I’ll show you.” He told you, opening his toolbox. He grabbed a small towel and carefully tied it over your eyes. “Listen, over to the left. You can hear the pressure shifting.” He whispered softly to you.

“The winds picking up over there.” You said, pointing over to the right side.

“Yep, that’s right, gorgeous. You’re a quick learner. It took me forever to recognize stuff like that.” He told you.

The wind quieted down, and the air felt peaceful. The only noise you could hear was Tyler’s soft breathing. You felt his large palm rest on top of your thigh. “What’re you doing?” You asked, softly.

There was a change in the air.

You felt Tyler’s lips on yours.

His hand cupped the back of your head as he kissed you. You quickly kissed him back. His other hand found your hip and laid you down. A groan escaped his lips as you ran your hands down his back.

Tyler eagerly tugged your flannel off your arms and threw it to the side. You pulled off your blindfold, and then saw Tyler unbuttoning his shirt. A soft whimper escaped your lips as you admired him.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” He groaned, as you ran your fingers over his now bare chest. Your hands landed on his belt, quickly unbuckling it. He kicked off his jeans and laid back down on top of you.

“Been dreaming of this for a month,” he told you, leaving sloppy kisses down your chest. He tugged your shirt over your head.

His movements stopped when he caught a glimpse of the dark red lace of your bra. “Wait til you find out it’s a set.” You teased him. Tyler shuddered at the thought.

His grabbed at the belt loops of your shorts and quickly pulled them off your legs. “Eager, cowboy?” You teased. He could feel his pants begin to tighten as he looked down at you. “I’m never gonna forget this.” He mumbled, before burying his face in your neck and sucking on the soft skin.

“You been thinking about finishing what we started? You been lying in bed thinking about that day like I have?” He mumbled against your skin. His hands slid down your sides, stopping on your thighs.

He ran his fingers over the outside of your panties. You let out a soft moan, bucking your hips up against his hand. “Need you,” you begged.

Tyler slid your panties to the side. He ran his finger through your folds, collecting your wetness.

“You’re gonna feel so good, baby,” he almost moaned. You tugged down his boxers enough for his cock to spring out.

“Come on, Tyler, fuck me. I don’t think I can wait much longer.” You begged him.

“Oh, fuck, gorgeous. You’re so needy. I can’t say no to you.” He groaned, grabbing your hips. He lined himself up and pushed into your folds.

You shut your eyes, whimpering as he pushed into you. “I’m ready. I need you to move, please.” You mumbled.

Tyler quickened his pace and started thrusting into you. He roughly grabbed your hips and wrapped your legs around his waist. Your eyes rolled back as he reached even deeper. “Oh, fuck,” he grunted.

You wrapped his hair around your fingers. You screamed out his name, bucking your hips up into his thrusts. “Go ahead, gorgeous. No one can hear you. You can be as loud as you want.” He said, speeding up his thrusts.

You guided one of his hands between your legs. He smirked against the kiss as he started rubbing tight circles against your clit. A high-pitch moan escaped your lips.

“I’m almost there, baby.” He moaned against your lips. You nodded your head. “Me too, oh, fuck,” you moaned.

Your fingers scratched down his back. You felt a tightness in your stomach. “Gotta go faster,” he mumbled, thrusting his whole body into you.

Your back arched against the blanket. Tyler's thrusts faltered. “Oh, shit,” he grunted as he came inside you.

Your stomach jumped as you hit your peak. “Oh, fuck fuck fuck,” you called out, as you came with him.

Tyler slowed his pace and then collapsed beside you. “That was even better than I imagined.” He said, kissing your shoulder. You nodded, still catching your breath.

“I think I’m officially a spring break fan.” You agreed.

taglist: @laurakirsten0502 @miraclesoflove @nathaliabakes @millipop18 @lillyssh-tposts @shyinadarkplace @vanteguccir @missroro @guacam011y @sw33t-cupid @ice-dtae @leyannrae @sia2raw @nyx2021 @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @shyconversationalbookworm @shadowhuntyi @visenyaverse @ruzannetheseahorse @superdeath @wandaswifeyforlifey @spookyqueen @mcuswhore @princess-evans-addict @n3ssm0nique @peakascum @cjand10 @namsey1987 @supernaturalstilinski @stephv213 @warriormirkwood @one-sweet-gubler @narliesstuff @bibissparkles @stupiidfrogs @navs-bhat @alipap3 @djs8891 @love2write2626 @khaleesibeach @ateliersss @xbox5angelx @kneelforloki @ipromiseidk @ilovefictionalcharacters26 @lovelyleanie @avengersgirllorianna @nerdgirljen @ellesmythe @harrysgothicbitch @mikoxvelez @emma8895eb @new-author3 @child-of-of-the-sunshine @gpowelllovingfreak @angelsgalore @fallout-girl219 @wolvestitches @xoxabs88xox @velyssaraptor @amanda08319 @marvelcasey05 @okayandwhat25 @pinkdazzle @blueeyedseb @mackevanstanfan80

[marauder-misprint]

Hair

part 1 part 2 part 3

Remus Lupin x fem!reader

microfic - 948 words

cw - fluff

“Hair tie… hair tie… hair tie…” you mutter to yourself as you search every surface of your dorm looking for one. You open every drawer and lift up anything that might be hiding one underneath. None of your roommates seem to have one. How did a dorm of multiple girls not have a single hair tie? 

“Where did they all go?” you ask yourself before turning to see the time. “Shit.”

You grab your school back and bolt out of your dorm, hair unfamiliarly flying behind you. You had made a habit of always wearing your hair up in a bun. It kept it out of your way during lessons. And now, partially since you had woken up late, you were on your way to class with your hair down and no breakfast. 

You sit next to one of your friends and she gives you a curious look.

“Hair down today?”

“I couldn’t find a hair tie.”

“My spare broke or I’d offer you that one.”

You sigh. Your hair falls in your face as you lean over to grab something out of your bag. This was going to be a long day. It wasn’t as if you never had your hair down; it was that your hair was usually down when you weren’t doing anything. You toss it over your shoulder as you sit up. The professor begins his lecture, but you struggle to pay attention. Your notes are nothing but random words you pick out of his droning sentences. Your attention keeps drifting, wondering where on earth all of your hair ties went. 

You lean forward slightly to re-dip your quill in ink. You swear as a lock brushes against the well and streaks the hair black. Your friend nudges you softly. 

“I think Remus is staring at you?” she whispers, using her own quill to point across the classroom.

The Gryffindor boy was looking in your general direction, but it wasn’t an obvious stare. You assume he’s zoned out and just happened to be staring near you, especially since he didn’t look away as you stared back at him.

“No, I don’t think so…” you mutter. You glance down at her notes which are covered in small doodles. “He’s probably bored.”

“He wouldn’t be the only one,” she sighs and returns to her doodling.

The class drags on for what feels like hours. By the end, your friend’s notes look more like a garden than something to be used to study later. Your own notes have random scratches in between the miscellaneous bullet points you managed to get down. There are eight tally marks in the corner; you marked one every time you looked over at Remus to find him still staring at you. You’re unsure if he looked away from you all class. Part of you wishes your friend hadn’t pointed it out because now it was bugging you. Was he staring at you or was he out of it for the entirety of the class? Was he able to sleep with his eyes open?

“I’ll catch you in Herbology,” your friend giggles as she leaves you behind. 

You watch her leave. How did she put her stuff away so quickly? And then you notice why she was giggling. Remus was approaching your desk. That or he was taking the longest route out of the classroom. Behind him, still at their own desks, you see his friends all with wicked grins adorning their faces. 

“Hi,” he says as he reaches your desk. You’re just getting to putting a stopper in your ink well. “All good?”

“Hi yourself. Yeah, all good. You?” 

You briefly look down to put your things into your back and your hair falls into your face again. You swear under your breath.

“Me too. I’m good. Yeah.” He looks over his shoulder, back at his friends. “You look… nice.”

You look up at him with a faint blush and wide eyes. You certainly weren’t expecting a compliment when he walked over, although you weren’t really sure what to expect. 

“Thank you?” You internally groan that it came out more as a question. But the looks on his friends’ faces make you wonder if this is some cruel version of a joke.

Remus slowly reaches out with a shaky hand and tucks some of your hair behind your ear. 

“You don’t usually wear your hair down, do you?”

“Couldn’t find a hair tie this morning.”

“I can see if Sirius has an extra one with him, if you want,” he says. “But, uh, I think it looks good down. You should, um, you should wear it like this more often.”

Your faint blush deepens quickly to a scarlet. His face is also flushed. Your heart pounds in your chest as you look into his brown eyes. Maybe he had been staring at you all class

“You think I should?” you ask, standing up. 

He smiles at you, a more confident air taking over him. Your stomach flips. 

“Your bun is nice, but this… this suits you.”

Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you reply, “I’ll consider it. But if Sirius has a hair tie he’s willing to part with, I’d appreciate it.” You pause. “At least for classes today. And then I’ll find you to get it back to him.” 

His face lights up at the suggestion to see him after class. 

“Yeah… Yeah! I’ll go see what he has!”

He turns to get his things and the hair tie from Sirius. You walk to the door to wait for him there. He holds out a black hair tie for you.

“M’lady,” he says with a smile. “You have Charms next, yeah?”

[lnightmrs]

Professor's Pet (Yandere Gojo Satoru x Professor Reader)

Being a professor in an university for rich kids meant that dealing with spoiled students who tried to bribe their way into good grades was nothing new to you. Your latest troublesome student, however, was starting to become more than you could handle.

Warnings: Blackmail, bribery, reader is older and married, gojo is like 22-23, sexual coercion, oral (m. receiving) dubious consent, implied noncon, ooc gojo,

Every year, you stand up at the lectern in front of your latest batch of final year undergrad physics students and tell them the same thing.

The only way to pass this course is to actually fucking study.

This may be one of those elite colleges that the 1% send their snotty kids off to more so for the status than the actual education, but you would sooner run across 5 miles of glass barefooted before you became one of the many professors who’d take a bribe to change a failing grade.  

And every year without fail, at least five students will ignore your warning and make you come out to your office hours to try and bribe, blackmail or beg for those additional points to prove that they could be an exception. And in your seven years of running the thermodynamics course, you’ve never given in.

So when Satoru Gojo requested the 3pm slot shortly after the quarterly assignment grades came out, you already knew what was coming.

You were already somewhat familiar with the behaviour and quirks of Mr. Gojo despite this being the first course of yours that he enrolled in. He was a bright kid, according to what his previous professors told you, a possible nobel-prize level physicist in the making. The problem was that he knew it. He didn’t even have to say anything to showcase his arrogance. Just by the way he sat on the small couch in your office, snowy-locked head resting on its back, lean arms splayed across it, and his long, jean-clad legs propped up on your very delicate coffee table, you knew that this was a man who had never been humbled in his entire life.

Hopefully, that was going to change.

“Lovely office you got here, prof. More spacious than I expected.” He leaned his head in your direction, where you were resting against your desk a few feet away, arms folded.

“And might I also add that you look way more beautiful in natural light? Those harsh overheads in the lecture hall have been draining all the colour from your –“

“Let’s skip the attempts at flattery, Mr. Gojo.” You cut him off, rolling your eyes.  “You said in your request email that you wanted to talk about the last assignment?”

“Oh yeah!” he sat up a little. “Well, you gave me a 42 on that quiz.”

“Yes. That’s how many points you scored.”

“You see, I needed at least a 50 to pass.”

 “I’m aware of how the grading scheme works. So?”

“Sooo,” he was fully upright now, reaching for something in his satchel. “If you’re as kind as you are gorgeous, you’d bump my grade up by 8 measly points.” He pulled out an envelope and waved it in the air with a smug grin.  “And you’ll get something extra special if you raise it to a 70.”

You had to admit, this level of condescension and audacity was certainly unique compared to the usual demeanour of your bribers, but it certainly wasn’t going to shake you.

“I don’t change grades or take bribes, Mr. Gojo. I said this at the very first class.” You sighed.

“C’mon Teach, I wouldn’t say this is a bribe,” he set the envelope down on the coffee table. “I’m just giving you the chance to buy yourself something nice.”

“Son, everything I own in my closet is designer. My purse is Coach. I don’t need to rely on the pocket money of spoiled rich kids to buy nice things.” You replied flatly.

There was a brief pause. You swore that you saw his smug little grin falter for a moment, but it returned as soon as he started to speak again.

“Oh I get it now!” he rose from his seat and sauntered towards you. “A self-made woman like you needs more than just plain money to grease your palms, don’t you?”

Before you could shift, he was looming right in front of you, large hands placed on both sides of where you sat on the desk, his face dangerously close to yours.

“You need something a bit sweeter, don’t you?” he breathed, his voice silky.  He leaned closer, sunglasses tilting just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his bright blue eyes. “When was the last time you let someone fresh-faced take you for a ride, hmm? I bet it’s been-“

“G-R-O-S-S.” you deadpanned, pushing him away. “I wouldn’t risk my job for money, but you think I would risk it and my marriage for some mediocre play? You’re lucky I won’t report you for misconduct.”

Usually, when it came down to the situation where the briber tried to seduce you, your method of rejecting them with disgust would generate enough embarrassment for them to regain their self-awareness and leave.  Gojo, however, simply huffed, looking more annoyed than ashamed.

“You’re being real difficult you know, prof.”

“A woman is nothing is without her principles, Mr. Gojo.” You replied. “And frankly, I’m quite tired of you and the other spoiled students who think they can ignore my sole boundary and buy their way out of their mistakes.”  You scooped up his satchel and tossed it towards him.  He took the hint and headed towards the door, a defeated scowl fully replacing the smirk from earlier.  You recalled the praises the rest of the department sung about him, and how, at least when it came to academics, he didn’t match your usual suspects.

“For a failing grade it’s not even that bad.” You confided. “If you get high scores on the mid-term and 2nd assignment, you’d be in a good position for the final. But that’s only if you understand the material, which I know you’re capable of doing. You’re too brilliant of a student to be playing these kinda games.”  He paused a bit at your words before continuing into the hallway.  You watched his back from the doorway.

“If you need my actual assistance, you know my office hours!” you shouted after him.

He simply waved in response.

>>>>>>>> 

“Do you think I should transfer to another university?” you looked across the dinner table at your husband, Makoto, who was preoccupied with his meal until he registered your question.

“Why?” he asked, mouth still partially full. “Don’t tell me that Gojo guy is your final straw.”

“I mean, it’s gotten to the point where even the potential nobel prize students don’t wanna work earnestly! Most of the professors also don’t care and take the bribes and some of them even tease me about it! I don’t know, it feels like I’m the only hard-headed bitch in the entire faculty who wants to maintain some kind of integrity and-"

You feel a warm hand cup your cheek, Makoto’s signature method of calming you. Your frustrated eyes met with his gentle gaze, and he maintained this gentleness as he spoke.

“Sweetheart, I’ll support anything you want to do, but you need to make sure you’re not stressing yourself out over something that’s not within your control. It’s not your responsibility to fix the school’s culture. Just do your best. Which is usually phenomenal.” He smiled. You couldn’t help but return it. Your eyes followed him as he picked up the plates to load up the dishwasher.

“And who knows? Maybe your words got through to Mr. Future Nobel Prize and the next time he wants to see you is to discuss the work.” He paused. “Although, I will admit, the thought of a supposedly handsome young man who tried to seduce my wife spending time alone with her makes me uneasy. How tall did you say he was again?”

You chuckled. “Relax, hotshot. There’s only one handsome man in the entire world I’d let near my privates, and I’m married to him. Besides, I’m sure a healthy pretty boy like him isn’t actually interested in old hags like me.”

He walked over and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s still possible, you’re the most beautiful hag I’ve ever seen.”

>>>>>>>> 

Three days later, Gojo was sitting haphazardly on your office couch again.

He had requested the 4pm timeslot this time, which took place an hour after the lecture. It was rare for students to return after you reject their offers, and usually when they did, it was to test their luck again, so when you heard the words that fell out of his mouth, you did a double take.

“You said... you said want to… discuss the topic from today??” you stammered.

“Ugh,” he groaned, looking away from your clearly astonished expression. “Stop looking at me like I grew another pair of eyes.”

“This isn’t some sort of prank, right? There aren’t any hidden cameras anywhere?” you started scanning the room.

“Jeez lady, what kind of students have you had to deal with?” he said, bemused. “Look, I just put some thought into what you said the other day.” He scratched the back of his head. “I am better than grovelling for a grade. I just... I never failed an exam before this course, so I felt kind of…embarrassed. I wanted to hide it.”

You leaned forward, meeting his crystalline eyes. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about kid. Even Einstein failed shit at some point or another. What’s a real sign of intelligence is that you came to me.” You plopped down on the couch next to him.

“So, let’s get started! What are you having trouble with?”

>>>>>>>>>>>> 

Before you knew it, Satoru (he insisted you call him that now) had become a part of your work routine. He would come to your office hours after every lecture to review the topics. He’d email you with any burning questions on his mind. You even gave him your work cell number so he could call you for guidance during the midterm project.  His attitude did a 180 too. He started showing up early to lectures instead of rolling in a half hour late. He answered questions when asked. If he caught you in the hallways on the way to your next teaching, he’d offer to carry your books for you. Sometimes, you’d let him.

With the frequency of his visits, it was only natural that eventually the topics would occasionally steer away from just academics. Of course, you made sure to keep the small talk within a professional line, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy just shooting the breeze with him. When he’s not humble bragging about his status or smarts, Satoru was actually a pretty funny guy, if a little strange in his humour. You found his conspiracy theory that Professor Mei is actually some kind of loan shark to be very entertaining, even if you had to shut it down.

But the greatest part of this development for you was that it felt like after so many years of dealing with students that held no passion for the field, you had finally made a breakthrough. Sure, the possibility that he was only doing all of this to butter you up for a huge favour still hung over your head, but for now, he was applying himself, he was interested in the material, and at the end of the day, you were accomplishing what you set out to do as an educator.

You were sharing these sentiments with Makoto at the dinner table on the night after finals.  You told him how Satoru was among the students who flocked to you after the exam to express their confidence in their knowledge. He smiled half-heartedly, absent-mindedly picking at his food. You paused your chatter and took note of the worsening dark circles under his eyes and his dry lips. You knew he hadn’t been sleeping well these past few weeks, he said it was something about work stressing him out and to not worry about it, but there’s been too many nights where you woke up to find him still at his desk around 3 am, and despite your attempts to soothe him by taking on some of his chores and  the stress seemed to be affecting his eating habits too.

Realizing that the air was now filled with silence, Makoto looked up from his plate to meet your examining eyes.

“I’m sorry, I was a little lost in thought. What were you saying?” he chuckled nervously.

“I stopped talking to look at your tired face. I said it before, but you need to take a break!” You reached out to squeeze his arm. He remained quiet. “I know! The semester is closing soon, we’ll take our time off for a week and go somewhere!” you excitedly suggested. “I heard Samoa is nice this time of year! Fiji is pretty good too but to get tickets at this point might be hard. I don’t’ want to stress you out any further maybe-”

You felt soft lips pressing against yours, Makoto’s warm hands cupping your cheeks. Your initial surprise melted away from his ever-gentle touch, reaching up to feel his hair. But when you tried to deepen the kiss, he pulled away, his eyes glassy.

“What’s this about?” you hummed, playing with his shirt collar. “Trying to tell me to be quiet?”

“I… I just love you a lot.” He smiled, pulling you into an embrace. “I love that I have someone who fusses over me like you do. I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You kissed the crook of his neck. “You must be really worn out, honey. Let’s take a bath and go to bed.”

He hummed in response.

>>>>>>> 

Makoto was gone.

You woke up on a cold Saturday morning to find his side of the closet empty, a suitcase missing. His car was no longer in his spot in the garage. You called his phone, no answer. You texted; the messages refused to change to delivered. You called his parents, his friends, his job. Nobody knew where he was. You drove all over town to his favourite spots, still clad in your pyjamas, hoping someone would’ve seen him. It was only when you solemnly dragged yourself back to your house late in the evening that you found the note he left next to your laptop.

“Sorry. It’s for the best.”

The aftermath was rough. Food stopped being edible. You couldn’t sleep in your shared bedroom anymore. It was a good day if you had enough energy to brush your teeth. At least one of your friends made sure to check in on you daily, their comfort coming in the form of helping you with daily tasks and expressing their disdain for Makoto for doing this to you.  Lines like “He’s a vile idiot!”, “He doesn’t know what he’s throwing away!” and “he’s been horrible to you!” were on repeat whenever they came around, and at first, you wanted to believe it. But when the anger stage of grief finally dissipated, you couldn’t help but feel like this was more than a man throwing away his marriage just because. You tried to express this to your comforters, but you were met with talks about seeking counselling or how to deal with denial. But they weren’t there. They weren’t there that night when he gently expressed his love for you. They weren’t there whenever he bought you something simply because it reminded him of you. They weren’t there when he’d rub soothing circles into your back when you were stressed. It was you who was receiving his seemingly endless love for the past 10 years. That’s why it was you who lay awake at night, mind endlessly searching for a plausible explanation. And it was cruel, but sometimes on those sleepless nights you found yourself wishing that he disappeared because he was kidnapped or lost at sea and not because he had willingly left you behind. Maybe then you wouldn’t be haunted by the notion that this was somehow all your fault.

You returned to the faculty after two weeks. It was a temporary arrangement; you were to finish grading the last batch of finals and upload them to the system before you took another two weeks of your vacation leave.  You did your best to appear put together, but no amount of makeup and nice clothes could hide the hollowness in your eyes. None of your coworkers tried to offer any condolences, but you figured this was less due to kindness than it was due to the fact that it’s harder to say, “sorry about your husband abandoning you with no explanation!” without feeling awkward.  Thankfully, no one else really got the chance to speak with you further since you locked yourself in your office all day.

You were getting sick of seeing the same questions over and over again when you heard a knock on your door. Satoru’s snowy head peeked through the door.

“Prof?” he closed the door behind him. “What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you that, Satoru.” You responded. “Classes don’t resume until next month. Why are you on campus?”

“Club stuff. Just finished.” He strolled towards your desk and pulled one of the chairs to sit. “I saw the lights in your office on my way back and since you haven’t been answering my texts and Mei said you weren’t well I just wanted to check on you.” You sighed.

“That’s sweet of you but you’re too young to be worried about your professor. You should be partying or something.” You half-smiled. He stared at your face, taking in your miserable appearance.

“What happened to you?” he asked, ignoring your comment. “You look like shit.”

You don’t even feel defensive because you knew it was true, but there was no way you were going to discuss your relationship problems with your decade- younger student, no matter how much you liked them.

“It’s nothing for you to be concerned about.” You said, your tone dismissive. “You should leave, I’m grading papers and you can’t-”

“He left you didn’t he? Your husband.”  You shot him a nasty glare. How did the hell did he know, and why did he think that this was an appropriate topic to discuss?

“I lied. Mei told me what was really going on. I’m sorry I just wanted to know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

You scoffed. “Well if you can tell me what would compel a man to ditch his wife right after telling her he loved her more than anything, that’d be a great fucking help.”

“Welll,” he started, his tone light. “Maybe he was actually an alien studying human companionship that finally collected enough data for his report! Or it could be that he was a government spy, and he got another assignment.” You rolled your eyes.  His imaginative yet terrible reasons were actually working to provide some kind of relief.

“Or,” he scooted closer to you. “Maybe a rich student from the Gojo family paid him $500,000 to leave you so he could have you all to himself.”

You whipped your head around to face him. He was smiling, gazing at you as if he was waiting for you to laugh. You feel a shiver run down your spine.

“That’s not funny, Satoru.”

“I’m not joking.” He sang. “Here, take a look for yourself.” He held up his phone to your face. A screenshot of bank transactions was on it. Makoto’s name and account was on the top of the list.

You stood up, bringing your hands to your face, your mind battling with the evidence before you.

“No… no… I don’t understand… my husband wouldn’t… he wouldn’t fucking sell me like some piece of furniture!” you looked over at Satoru, who had gotten up to lean on your desk, a pleased grin displayed on his face.

“I can’t lie to you; you sure know how to pick ‘em.” He shrugged. “He’s just as stubborn as you when it comes to accepting offers. I had to tell him I would kill you if he refused for him to finally accept the deal.” He laughed airily. “Not that I would ever do that, of course.”

It was like a punch to the gut. You collapse to your knees, clutching your chest. Against your will, your brain started putting the clues together. This was why Makoto was having trouble sleeping at night. This was why he held you so tightly the night before he left. Why his last message to you was an apology. Because of a demon you mistook for a troubled student. You could see the demon’s shoes near your knees.

“Why… why did you do this? Revenge? I helped you… you passed the course.” You spat out.

He bent down to your level, a hand resting on your shoulder. “Honestly, the original plan was to get back at you. I was gonna convince the entire university that we were fucking, so I started hanging around you as much as I could to fuel the rumors. I was even gonna film myself fucking you senseless and spread it to the faculty to get you fired!” His hand creeped up from your shoulder to the base of your neck. “But then I ended up falling for you. For real. Who wouldn’t? You’re perfect. So I settled for getting rid of your hubby instead! I’m not a guy who can be satisfied with just being the other man, you know~.”

You were frozen in place on the floor, tears spilling from your shocked face. You looked up at him, and he was still smiling, aquamarine eyes looking down at you as if he just gave you a cute confession, instead of the horrific admission that he was utterly deranged.

It took the feeling of his lips brushing against yours for you to regain enough sense to push him away, the force of it causing you to fall back on your ass. You crawled backwards and away from him.

“Don’t touch me!” you snarled.

He stayed crouched on the floor, looking at you like a lion would look at a wounded gazelle. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting you to be over the moon about this, but to see you like this... Hmmm…” he trailed off, as if in thought. You needed to get the fuck out of this office. This university. You needed to find your husband. As you slowly rose, he clapped his hands together, making you flinch.

“I got it!” he exclaimed. “You want to see him again, don’t you?” he rose and stalked towards you.  A hand was on your hip, another on your chin, tilting your face to meet his manic eyes.

“Let’s have some fun together,” he whispered. “If you’re good, I’ll give you his new number. That’ll cheer you up, right?”

Another fucking bribe. You wanted to kick him as hard as you could. You wanted to gouge out those pretty eyes. You wanted to vomit. You wanted your husband. And this might be the only way to get him. You could get the police involved, but what could they possibly do? They probably wouldn’t even believe you. You had no other choice.

“What do you want me to do?”

You were on your knees near the desk, your clothes discarded, leaving you in your underwear. Satoru was standing in front of you, eyes blown wide in anticipation, mouth salivating. Your lips were swollen from the searing kiss he gave you when he was undressing you and you were sure that there were going to be bruises present on your neck from his affections.  You felt his fingers tap your cheek, a signal to hurry up.

“Go ahead, pretty thing.” He groaned. “Take it out.”

With shaky hands, you undid his belt buckle and unzipped his pants. His cock sprung free from its confines. You swallowed thickly. It was big, bigger than Makoto’s. You felt a hand pet your head. With a deep breath, you open your mouth you try to fit as much as you can without gagging.

You slowly bobbed your head along his length with your eyes squeezed shut. You tried to imagine it was someone else you were doing this to, someone who didn’t ruin your life, but Satoru’s babbling above you made it impossible to deny that it was him.

“Do you know how many times- fuck- I dreamed about this?” he hissed, hands running through your hair. “Thought about those pretty lips wrapped around my cock so much- hah- “ he suddenly gripped the sides of your head and started thrusting himself further down your throat, causing you to cry out in panic. It was too much, his pace too fast, choking you. You started smacking his thighs with your fists, tears clouding your vision.

“So sorry baby” he slurred, his voice thick and heavy. “it just feels so good I can’t- hah- stop! You’re so good f’me! Sosososogoood-"

He let out a shameless groan, and something salty and tangy and awful filled your throat. He released you and you immediately pulled back, gasping and spitting almost simultaneously. You sat on the back of your thighs as you tried to regain your breath. Satoru fell back onto your desk chair, body relaxed, face blissed out. You decided to cut his high short.

“I gave you want you wanted Satoru.” You spoke, breath still shaky. “Now give me what I want.”

He rose from the chair. “Actually, about that. I gave it some thought while I was kissing you.” He stalked closer and closer. “If I let you call him, your sweet voice might compel him to try and come back here. Can’t let that happen, then I’ll lose you.” He kneeled in front of you, gazing at your horrified face.  He pushed you onto your back, one hand pinning your arms above your head, the other toying with the hem of your panties.

You felt something in your chest snap.

“You lying son of a bitch!” you screeched, wriggling and thrashing in an attempt to get out of his grip.  He simply chuckled in response.

“Come now professor, I already told you. I’m not a guy who can live with being the other man.”  He smirked as he leaned forward to kiss your snarling lips.

“You said it yourself. A man is nothing without his principles, right?”

A/N: This is a repost from my previous blog @lnightmrs !

[caicali]

thank you, sir.

PART 1. PART 2.

pairing: han jisung x f!reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: a lot of teasing and nsfw (18+)

(a/n. will be posting the part 2 maybe tomorrow or later, the smut parts will be there)

——————————————————————————

The lecture hall is empty now, save for you and Professor Han Jisung. You stand hesitantly by his desk, gripping the strap of your bag as he finishes scribbling something into his planner. The soft scratch of his pen fills the silence before he finally looks up.

“Ah, Ms. Y/N,” he says, adjusting his sleeves. “I trust you've been keeping up with the coursework?”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, hesitating. The exhaustion in your eyes must be obvious because his expression softens.

“Hm? Is everything alright?” His voice loses its usual authoritative edge, replaced by something gentler. When you don't answer right away, he leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. “Something troubles you?” he presses, his tone inviting but not intrusive. “Remember, my office door is always open—not just for academic, but personal ones as well, okay? As long as you are comfortable.”

You hesitate for a moment, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. “It's just... everything feels overwhelming lately,” you finally admit, your voice quieter than you would like. “Assignments, exams, and just... life.”

He nods, as if he expected this answer. He leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the desk thoughtfully. “It’s understandable,” he says. “The weight of expectations can be a lot to carry alone.”

Jisung exhales softly, then reaches for a small notepad on his desk. He scribbles something down, tears the page, and slides it toward you.

“Here,” he says. “A reminder.”

You glance down. In neat, precise handwriting.

Progress, not perfection. Breathe. You’re doing better than you think.

Your throat tightens.

“You're not alone in this, Y/N,” he continues, his voice low, reassuring. “And you don’t have to shoulder everything by yourself. If you need help—academically or otherwise—ask for it. There’s no shame in that.”

You nod slowly, folding the note carefully before tucking it into your pocket. “Thank you, Sir.”

He smiles, a rare but genuine expression. “Anytime.”

And for the first time in a while, you feel just a little lighter.

——————————————————————————

As you step out of the lecture hall, the crisp evening air greets you, carrying a slight chill that cools your warm cheeks. You clutch the note in your pocket, fingers brushing over the smooth paper as you replay the conversation in your head.

You don't know why, but something about the way he spoke—the way his gaze softened just for you—lingers longer than it should. Shaking your head, you make your way to the café, where you know your friends are waiting. As expected, Seungmin and Jeongin are huddled in the corner booth, coffee half-finished, deep in a conversation that immediately halts when you approach.

“There she is,” Seungmin drawls, pushing out the chair beside him with his foot. “Took you long enough. What? Got caught up in another existential crisis?”

I.N grins, nudging Seungmin. “Or maybe she was too busy staring at a certain professor?”

You froze on your spot “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on,” I.N continues, wiggling his eyebrows. “You just had lecture hours with him, didn’t you?”

Seungmin smirks, resting his chin on his palm. “Han Jisung, right? The whole mysterious but kind mentor aesthetic? The one you definitely talk about way too much?”

Your face burns. “I do not talk about him that much.”

Seungmin and I.N exchange a look before bursting into laughter.

“Right, and I’m the top student in class,” Seungmin deadpans.

You groan, dropping your head onto the table. “It wasn’t special! He was just being nice! Professors are supposed to care about their students, duh.”

“But do they, though?” Seungmin hums, stirring his drink lazily. “Not all of them leave cute little motivational notes, Y/N.”

You huff, slouching in your chair. “It’s not like that.”

“Yet,” I.N sing-songs.

“You guys are impossible.”

They both burst into laughter again, and despite your protests, you can’t help but smile too. Because for all their teasing, you know they’ve got your back—whether it’s about struggling with classes, dealing with stress, or even, apparently, developing a totally nonexistent crush on your professor.

But still…

Your hand drifts to your pocket again, fingertips brushing over the note.

…Maybe just a little.

——————————————————————————

The next day, you decide to wear something a little different. A tiny skirt, just short enough to make you feel bold but not inappropriate. It’s not like you planned anything, of course. Just… testing something.

When you step into the lecture hall, you feel the weight of Professor Han’s gaze almost instantly. He’s in the middle of setting up his notes, but for a split second, his eyes flicker down. Barely a glance, so quick you almost think you imagined it.

Almost.

Class goes on as usual—his voice smooth and commanding, the rhythmic scratch of chalk on the board—but there’s a tension in the air, subtle but undeniable. Every time he looks your way, his jaw tightens just a fraction, his fingers curling slightly against the desk.

And when you cross your legs, shifting in your seat? You do not miss the way he pauses mid-sentence before quickly composing himself.

Interesting.

When class ends, the students left one by one, laughter and chatter filling the hall as they pack up. You, however, stay behind, watching as Professor Han gathers his materials with careful precision.

You approach his desk, clearing your throat slightly. “Sir?”

He glances up, expression immediately softening. “Ms. Y/N. Something on your mind?”

You hesitate, then offer him a small smile. “I just… wanted to thank you. For yesterday.” You tap your pocket lightly, where his note still rests. “It really helped.”

“I’m glad,” he says, voice quieter than before. “You seemed like you needed to hear it.”

You tilt your head slightly. “And today?”

His brows lift. “Today?”

“You seemed… distracted.” You keep your tone light, playful, watching him carefully.

A slow, measured breath escapes him, barely audible, but you catch it. His fingers still against the desk, tightening slightly before he relaxes them.

“I wouldn’t say distracted,” he muses, “Just… observant.”

You hum, stepping just a little closer. “Observant?”

He leans back in his chair, his gaze steady—carefully unreadable. “It’s my job to notice things.”

“Things like?” You arch a brow, challenging.

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, his eyes flicker downward—so quick, so subtle, but enough to send a knowing shiver down your spine. He shifts in his seat, as if willing himself to remain composed.

“Things like a student who suddenly feels bold enough to test boundaries,” he finally says, voice smooth, controlled. “Is there something you’re trying to prove, Ms. Y/N?”

Your lips curl slightly. “I don’t know, sir. Is there something you think I should prove?”

His jaw clenches for a split second before he exhales, shaking his head with a low chuckle. “Careful.”

You bite your lip, tilting your head. “Careful of what?”

His gaze flickers to the door behind you, ensuring the last of the students are gone before meeting your eyes again. There’s a quiet tension between you, humming like an unspoken dare.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmurs.

You smile, shifting your weight slightly, just enough to make the hem of your skirt rise an inch higher. His fingers twitch.

“And what if I like playing, Professor?”

Something dark flickers in his eyes before he looks away, exhaling sharply. Then, in that same measured voice, he says, “Go home, Ms. Y/N.”

You take a slow step forward, letting your fingers trail lightly along the smooth wood of his desk, your nails barely making a sound. His eyes follow the movement, dark and calculating, though his face remains unreadable.

“I’m not sure I want to go home just yet,” you muse, voice soft but laced with something heavier.

His gaze flickers to yours, sharp. “Ms. Y/N.” His voice is low, a warning.

You feign innocence, tilting your head. “Yes, sir?”

Something about the way you say it—just a little too sweet, a little too deliberate—makes his jaw tighten.

You step closer, resting your hand on the edge of the desk, fingertips just inches from his. You don’t touch him—not quite—but the heat between your hands is undeniable.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” you continue, letting your fingers skim the edge of his notes, the ghost of a touch against his knuckles. “You seemed tense today, sir.”

He inhales sharply. “Y/N.”

Not Ms. Y/N this time. Just your name.

You swallow, heat curling in your stomach at the sound of it.

“You should go,” he says again, but there’s something different in his voice now. Less firm. Less certain.

You smile. “Are you asking, or telling?”

“You really don’t know what you’re playing with, do you?”

Your pulse quickens. “Maybe I do.”

His eyes flicker to your lips—brief, fleeting, but enough for you to notice. Enough for your breath to hitch.

“Go home, Y/N.” His voice is smoother now, controlled. But you don’t miss the way his fingers twitch at his sides. Like he’s still fighting the urge to reach for you.

[fleurfiles]

FABLE AND TRUTH 1 | billie eilish

�� ‧₊˚ love was the law & religion was taught…. ↳ summary: you had always been raised on being poise, feminine, classy. but what was most important to your family was your religion— and it had embroidered itself into your daily life. but when it’s time to pick between feelings and faith, which will you choose? pairings & aus. billie eilish x fem!reader warnings. religious backgrounds & guilt | mature language | sexual content | substance use author's note. YAYYY ITS STARTINGG!! wc. 4.4k

✧ 9:06 am, monday ✧

the bells of harkness tower toll sharply, their deep, reverberating chimes slicing through the crisp autumn air. the sound is rich and weighted, echoing across yale’s storied campus, signaling the start of another day as people dispersed from their dorms and earlier classes, talking amongst themselves and hastily walking to their next destination. 

the mist of early morning clings to the aged stone of the university, a slight fog covering over you as you walk briskly across the cobblestone pathways, your leather satchel bouncing gently against your side. chanel pumps decorate your feet, a cartier bracelet accenting your freshly tanned skin. your sleek, blown-out hair was framed against your face, bouncing slightly with every step, and your pale pink cardigan stood out amid the sea of muted fall tones around you.

beside you was emma harper, your best friend— strolling at a leisurely pace, tugging her scarf tighter against the crisp autumn air that whacked against the both of you. where you were polished and deliberate, emma was bold and carefree, her wild auburn hair nearly as untamed as her personality . 

the two of you couldn't have been more different, yet your friendship had stood the test of time, from summers in france to your shared journey at yale.

"you're going to give yourself a stress migraine, y/n." emma teased at you, nudging your shoulder as you both approached your lecture hall, "professor weller isn't grading us on who takes the prettiest notes, or who sits at the front. why so worked up?”

you offered up a small laugh, though your grip on your notebook tightened. a sigh follows your short-lived giggle, "i just want to be prepared. philosophy of religion isn't exactly a casual topic. it's very intense."

"you've been prepared since the first day of class," emma grumbles, rolling her eyes. "honey, you're literally the only person i know who can quote augustine without looking it up. so relax a little."

relax. you had heard that word countless times, usually from emma. it wasn't that you didn't know how— it was just that there was always so much to do. papers to write, prayers to say, a faith to nurture. for you, discipline wasn't a burden; it was a way of life, a way of honoring the God who had guided you this far.

but as you entered the lecture hall and emma plopped into the seat adjacent to yours, you couldn't help but smile. emma was right in her own way— you could afford to let go sometimes. just... not too much. everything always had to be structured, neat, and in order. just how you liked it. 

professor weller's lecture was as engaging as ever, his voice commanding attention as he wove through topics of faith and reason, along with their uncomfortable contrasts and truths. you sat straight-backed, your pen flying across the page as you absorbed every word with neat, pretty handwriting, your pink pen gliding against your paper. emma, meanwhile, alternated between typing notes and sneaking glances at her phone, her impatience barely concealed as she locked her phone, slipping it into a pocket. 

midway through the lecture, emma leaned over, her voice low. "sooooo, sam's hosting a party tonight…”

you didn't look up, still writing away on your paper attentively, "and how does that concern me?"

"well, he wants to know if we're coming, duh.” 

you paused your writing just long enough to shoot emma a knowing look. you cock your head to the side, lips forced into a pout, "come on em, you know i don't do parties."

emma groaned softly, "right, of course. yale's resident saint doesn't do parties.” she throws her hands up in defense, “whatever. but just come with me, please? i promise, you’ll have fun!"

"it's not about being a saint," you whispered back, your tone firm, but always remaining kind. "i just don't see the point in spending a night doing... things i'd regret, like doing substances that make me forget i’m on planet earth. it’s never been my thing.” 

emma smirked, "not everyone regrets it, you know. some people do actually have fun. maybe you should learn how.” 

you smiled faintly, but said nothing. having fun wasn't the issue—it never had been.you did have fun— doing things that actually mattered, things that actually interested you. you could curl up with coffee and a good novel, or crochet a new sweater, there were multitudes of things that you did for fun. 

but in contrast, emma was the party girl. her type of fun was smoking a bit of weed and blasting music in her audi, or going home with various guys that she’d meet out at bars, or even in passing. she was bold, strong, carefree. but you adored structure, class— you didn’t put her down for doing what she does, she’s your best friend, afterall— but it just wasn’t your style. 

 it was about your values, about living a life that aligned with the principles that you had held dear for so long. you weren’t naïve; you knew what went on at those parties. drinking, hookups, conversations drowned out by loud music... and none of it appealed to you.

emma, to her credit, didn't push further. your friendship always worked out so well because you respected each other's boundaries, even when you didn't understand them.

you packed up your things as the sound of the bell’s ring filled your ears, sliding your bag into your shoulder as you waited for emma to stash her loose papers into her bag. you frowned, “your organization skills are..definitely something.” 

she just laughed it off, “works for me. i like living life on the edge.” 

after class, the two of you made your way across campus, the golden autumn leaves crunching beneath emma's boots and your new, all-black pumps. yale's gothic architecture loomed around you as you treaded against the grass, looking at all the buildings that were majestic and timeless, a reminder of the legacy that you were part of.

"there they are!" emma hollers, spotting your friend group near the library steps.

oliver, ever the charmer, was lounging against the stone railing, his tailored coat giving him an air of effortless sophistication. he flipped a hand through his brown hair as he looked up, his eye landing on you and emma as she shot you both a warm smile. you spotted naomi first though, her bright purple hair almost impossible to miss— and she waved a ring-accented hand at you, a cigarette shoved between her index and middle finger. jules was seated right next to naomi, her black hair sleek and flowing down her back, complimenting her starry eyeshadow and long, red nails as she twiddled her fingers at you in greeting.

"y/n! emma!" oliver called, his grin broad and welcoming as he waved you and emma over, his lanky frame extending, ready to greet you with hugs like he always did. 

emma sauntered over, her confidence nearly as natural as breathing. you followed her lead, offering polite smiles as you joined the group, taking a seat next to naomi. she pulls you into a tight embrace, planting a little kiss on your cheek, “y/n! hi my love! missed you so much!”

she smelled of cigarette smoke and versace perfume, and the mixture was always oddly comforting to you. you giggle at her over-the-top affection, though you always loved it. naomi was the sweet one of the group, always offering the shirt off of her back if she really needed to. she was beautiful— inside and out, her whimsical fashion sense complimenting how pure and sweet her soul was.

"so," jules started, exhaling a plume of smoke from her half-dead cigarette, "sam's party tonight. we going?"

"i'm in," oliver said immediately, adjusting his coat with a shrug that oozed nonchalance, “need to get out a bit, yeah?”

"same here.” naomi added, flicking ash from her cigarette as her eyes found yours, and then all eyes simultaneously turned to you. you sat slightly apart from the rest of them, your pink cardigan and neatly pressed skirt a stark contrast to the haze of thick cigarette smoke and leather jackets. you smiled gently, your hands clasped in front of your frame.

you let off a shrug, a little sick and tired of having to repeat these same words over and over again, "you know i don't do parties.” you shrug gently, your voice soft but resolute.

"come on, little saint," emma teased, crossing her arms at your protest, "just one night. we’re your best friends, we promise that nothing will happen to you— we won’t let it.” emma’s statement earns approving nods from the rest of the group, sharing looks with one another in hopes that their eagerness was convincing to you.

it wasn’t. 

you laughed lightly, shaking your head, "just isn’t my thing, you all know this—“ you gesture to everyone, “i really just don’t feel up to it."

oliver shrugs, while naomi and jules nod quietly. they weren’t going to push you, so they just carry on with their conversation, chatting about classes, teachers, and everything that surrounded it.

as the conversation flipped to other topics, you found yourself falling quiet, content with listening in as the others bantered. you loved your friends, truly you did— but moments like this reminded you  of just how different you were from them. it wasn't a bad thing, necessarily; it was just... isolating, sometimes.

faith had always been your anchor, the thing that kept you steady in a world that often felt so chaotic. but every now and then, you wondered if it also kept you apart, if your refusal to compromise made yourself unknowable in ways even your closest friends couldn't understand.

you eventually pushed the thought away as emma started telling a story about some disastrous group project in her third class, her animated gestures pulling laughter out of everyone. 

comparison was the thief of joy— you knew this, but you sometimes wished that you could be more like emma. carefree yet compassionate, smart but knowing when to let loose. sometimes, you felt like you could be a little too uptight, and jealously oozed from your pores at you watched your best friend take a drag from a cigarette, laughing and carrying on with wide, sparkling green eyes. 

but you refused to get sucked up in comparisons, so you smile, warmth blooming in your chest as everyone stood up, walking to the main hall for a passing period.

you thought long and hard about the idea of going to a party with everyone— it seemed stupid in your humble opinion, but you missed hanging out with your friends— so you offered up, “okay, i have a proposal. what if i go to this stupid party, but only to drive? i’ll make sure none of you get too drunk and wind up someplace you aren’t supposed to be.” 

that makes everyone cheer, and naomi flips her long, shiny black hair to the side, “yes! yes!” she wraps you in an embrace that’s so tight you can hardly breathe, “— you’re the best! love you!” 

you offered a nervous smile towards the group as you filed into a starbucks, waiting in line as your friends carried on about what everyone was wearing, what drinks they hoped were there— and that’s when you tuned out. you were pumped to attend this party, but also scared, and as the day went on, the burden of going to this function was the only thing on your mind.

✧ 7:45 pm ✧

you sat cross-legged on your bed in your shared dorm room, your closet doors open as you stared at the carefully organized clothes inside. the room smelled faintly of lavender and pine, a subtle touch from the air freshener you’d tucked beside your desk— it always seemed to calm you down. your eyes scanned the rack, hoping something could catch your eye, but nothing particularly stood out.

emma had insisted that you join in on their festivities until you finally caved and said yes. you had reluctantly agreed, though you couldn't quite shake the nagging feeling that you didn't belong in that atmosphere. but now you felt like you needed to go— you had to, the feeling of missing out making you a little afraid. 

finally, you settled on a dark blue polo sweater that clung to your figure just enough to be flattering, but was still modest. you paired it with some well-fitted jeans and, of course, your signature black heels—Chanel, naturally. it was a bit more casual than what most people would wear to a party, but it was your style, so you didn’t really mind. 

just as you were smoothing out the sweater's collar, emma barged into the room, her wild hair a stark contrast to your usual, soft blow out. emma's eyes immediately landed on your outfit as she raised her eyebrows.

"you're really gonna go with the ‘first day of prep school’ look, huh?" emma teased, tossing her purse onto your bed before digging through her own closet for something more daring.

"what's wrong with my outfit?” you asked, glancing at yourself in the mirror, twisting on your heel and flattening out a small wrinkle in your jeans.

"oh, nothing," emma grinned mischievously, shrugging, "it's just so... you. not a bad thing, just— this is a party that you're going to, did you forget?” 

you chuckled softly, fixing your hair in the mirror now, "i know, but i think it suits me, em. is that so bad?"

emma snorted. "right, of course. just—" she stopped mid-sentence, tossing her hands up in frustration. "you look so cute, but it's a party! where's the wild side, y/n?"

"i'm here to drive you guys," you said simply, a smile tugging at your llips. "that's all. i'm not here for anything else."

emma raised an eyebrow, pulling a dark velvet mini skirt off the rack. "yeah, yeah, i know. but you need to have fun, too. you're way too uptight sometimes."

"i'm not uptight, em!” you protested, though the smile on your face betrayed you.

"uh-huh, sure. just wait until i drag you out onto the dance floor!” emma winked, throwing a bold crop top onto the surface of your bed, “and you’d look so fucking good in this, why don’t you put this on?”

you snorted lightly. "yeah, good luck with that."

by the time everyone in the group was ready, the night was creeping in, the campus already buzzing with excitement. you could feel a quiet sense of discomfort stirring within yourself —parties weren't your scene at all, and you weren’t sure what to expect. but the drive to the party felt like the safest option, so you settled on that.

after a few minutes of emma touching up her makeup and slipping a pair of louboutins on, everyone met up in the parking lot, and you felt a little out of place. jules was clad in a black, tight mini dress with slick silver heels, her hair in a effortless but beautiful bun as she pulled out her digital camera to take pictures. naomi had settled on a purple halter top and a black skirt, complimentary to oliver’s lavender top and leather pants. 

jules gave you a raised eyebrow, “you sure you don’t wanna change out of that?” 

you gave out a sigh, a little irritated with how many times someone had suggested to change out of your outfit. it was comfortable, and that’s all you really cared about— so you just nodded yes, grabbing your keys and heading to your car while everyone finished up their photos.

emma and the others climbed into your car, the sound of music and laughter filling the air as you made your way over to the address. the streets were lined with people, most of them laughing or stumbling their way into various houses or apartments. as you neared the destination, you felt your heartbeat quicken.

although you didn’t want to admit it, you were a little nervous. you had never stepped foot into a house party, and it felt so off that you’d literally be in a random stranger’s home with a bunch of other people you didn’t know, and you were supposed to dance and get drunk in these conditions? absolutely not. 

the party was already in full swing by the time that you and your friends arrived. music blared from the speakers, a mix of bass-heavy tracks and indie-pop anthems that were so foreign to you. you killed the engine and parked the car, trying to steady your breathing as everyone filed out.

"you're gonna be fine," emma said, slinging her arm around your shoulder as you approached the door, "trust me, it's just a party."

"well, i've never been good at these," you admitted, your voice seldom quiet, "i've never even been to one."

emma grinned, tugging you inside. "well, now you have the opportunity to be good at them. so let’s go!”

you sighed as the group filed into the house, which was chaotic, with people everywhere— laughing, drinking, shouting over the music, and making out in random corners. you felt immediately out of place, standing still for a moment to take it all in. you followed emma as she navigated through the crowd, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor, while the others spread out, eager to catch up with their friends.

you didn't expect to enjoy herself, but a part of you longed to feel connected—to lose the anxiety that seemed to constantly gnaw at you. but it just wasn’t something that you were all that familiar with. you tried to hold onto emma as long as you could, but she eventually found some cute guy to buy her a drink and have a quick dance, so you ventured off, attempting to find some refuge in a corner that you could hide out in. 

as you walked, you heard something in the distance, smooth and beautiful.

a voice.

it was soft, haunting, yet full of raw emotion, it stood out amid the chaos of the house. the crowd around you seemed oblivious to it, caught up in their own worlds. but you, however, stood frozen for a moment, the familiar pang of curiosity tugging at you.

it was an acoustic set, just a voice and a guitar— but it was captivating. the melody drifted over the noise of the party, lulling you into some kind of trance. you had never heard the song before, so you pulled out your phone and quickly opened Shazam, holding it up to the sound.

as the app processed, the result popped up on your screen: billie eilish.

your heart skipped. you knew the name. of course you did. billie eilish was a sensation. a moment— everyone knew her name.

you lingered in the background, mesmerized by the performance. billie's voice was even more incredible live, filled with emotion, effortless and raw. you didn't notice how long you had been standing there, listening to the music, and you really only noticed because your feet were slightly sore from the heels. you started to walk away to find your friends until you felt someone brush past you— someone who was too close, and way too fast.

clink.

before you could move, you felt a cold splash across your chest.

"shit, i am so sorry!"

you looked down at your sweater, now stained with the dark liquid from some foreign drink, and your heart sank. it was easily your favorite sweater, and it was all ruined now. but when you looked up, you were met the apologetic gaze of a girl with striking, pitch black hair and vivid blue eyes. it was billie eilish.

"oh my gosh," you spoke softly, though you couldn't help the tiny flare of irritation, “no, i-it’s okay…but….you're…”

“billie eilish?” she asked, and you nodded in response, almost too shocked to really say anything else.

she was beautiful, way more beautiful now that she was standing right in front of your face, literally. her eyes were a piercing blue, oceany and warm, and every single one of her features were so unique, so prominent, and you felt your breath hitch.

billie's expression shifted as you stayed quiet, her lips curling into an apologetic smile, "i didn't mean to bump into you, love, i'm really sorry. let me fix this."

you shook your head, trying to laugh it off, "oh, no need, it's fine. it's just a silly sweater, i can always wash it out."

"no, no, it was shitty of me to not look where i was going, so i'll make it up to you," billie said quickly, like she was in some type of rush. "i'll buy you a drink. how about that?"

you stood frozen for a moment, wondering whether or not it was even worth the hassle to make billie buy a drink for you, or even tell her that you don’t drink at all. but she was persistent, and you knew that no matter how much you protested, she was going to somehow offer up a repercussion for her actions. 

"uh, i don't really..." you drafted, your voice still soft, unsure if you wanted to ruin this moment, by saying alcohol wasn't really your thing, so you just shrugged. "okay, yeah, sure."

billie left you with a wink as she turned around. "cool. i'll be right back."

billie disappeared into the crowd, leaving you standing in the middle of the chaos with the awful remnants of your ruined sweater, but somehow feeling a little more at ease than before. the music blared, people shouting and laughing over the pounding beats, but you couldn't help but feel something strange settle in you chest. billie was sweet, and thoughtful, and really the only person at the party who made you feel like you could just chill out.

a few minutes later, billie weaved through the crowd again, holding a glass in one hand and cutting through people like she owned the place. she didn’t really say excuse me, because people already knew to move. the crowd filed onto separate sides of the room as she walked through with a smile, her eyes finding yours as she met up with you again. 

you looked reluctant to take the cup in her hand, so billie shook her head, "no no, it isn't alcoholic, don't worry." she smiled, handing you the drink, "i figured you'd be more comfortable with this. i can tell you don't really drink— so it's just grape juice." 

you felt your lips curve upward, the kindness behind billie's words making something warm stir within you. you smiled, "thanks." 

you sipped at the drink quietly, the cider sweet and refreshing, and you couldn't help but appreciate the thought behind it. billie hadn't tried to push anything else onto you, which made the whole thing feel a little less like a game, and you felt yourself soften up a bit. 

billie swigged from her own red solo cup, the liquid inside clearly something much stronger, judging by the way she made a tight face when she drank from it. she let out a small cough, holding the empty cup in between her thumb and index finger, slumping against the wall, relaxed.

"yeah, no worries," billie spoke gently, "i know how people are with the whole 'let's get wasted' thing. i can tell that just isn’t your thing, yeah?”

you smiled at the words, but you still felt that familiar unease of discomfort just talking about it, "yeah, i just... i don't really get the appeal.”

"me neither," billie said bluntly, shrugging, “it's just a way for people to forget their shit for a minute. which i guess is fine sometimes, but it's not really my thing. i like to face everything, even the hard shit."

your brows furrowed slightly, cocking your head to the side, "but aren't you drinking...right now? excuse me for asking, i’m sorry.”

billie gave you a sharp look, her iridescent eyes glinting in the dim light. she waved a hand at you, "nah, i get it, don’t apologize. i only drink sometimes, simply when i feel like it. but i can’t get with people pretending everything’s all fine and dandy when they’ve got a little alcohol in their system. i don’t like that.”

your chest tightened a little, your mind racing with how easy it was for billie to speak so openly, so unapologetically. it made you feel a little small, like all the structure you’d built around yourself was just a facade. billie didn't give two fucks, and that somehow made you want to be like that, even if it was just for a moment.

"i get it," you said quietly, your voice calmer now, "i mean, i don't know if i'm that brave. but... i get it."

before billie could respond back, the crowd shifted, and your attention was pulled across the room. emma was waving at you, impatience and irritation written all over her face. you glanced at billie one last time, feeling a flicker of regret at the thought of leaving the conversation behind.

"hey, i should probably go," you said, finishing off the last of your juice, "my best friend’s calling me."

billie nodded with a lazy grin, leaning back against the wall, "i understand. but next time, don't bail so quick, yeah?" i'll be here when you wanna party a little bit."

your smile lingered as you turned to leave, pulling your purse closer to your chest, "well, then i don't think you'll ever see me again." 

you gave billie a wave goodbye as you walked toward emma, and you felt your heart literally beating out of your chest as you tried to place this weird feeling you got from billie. you were intrigued by her, wanting to know more about her opinions, how she felt about any and everything. about– 

"dude, are you coming or what?" emma's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. she was standing by the door now, arms crossed, a look of annoyance on her face. "i can’t believe what just happened to me, so please, let’s go before i get in a fight."

you laughed softly, shaking your head. "okay, i'm coming."

with one last glance at billie—who was already disappearing into the crowd again— you turned and walked toward emma, your mind racing with questions you didn't really have the answers to. you couldn't put billie out of her head. and somehow, you had a feeling it wasn't the last time you’d be seeing her tonight.

send me an ask if you want to be added to my taglist !!

taglist: @vharperr | @47lake | @hopingforgoodblogs | @zendayasredbottoms | @chrissv4mp | @mseilishmwah | @justtr | @natbelovasblog | @lovelyy-moonlight | @bilsdillldough | @billiesrighthand | @sturnsmia | @karaeilishh | @asterisk-eyes | @billiesbabygirll | @hrts4billieeilish | @greenbttrflyy | @drunkinyourbenz | @amara-eilish | @profoundcoffeepeanut | @billsbaby | @hkkuugu | @bilssturns | @lovxlyvee | @stargirl-mayaa | @emilyshortcake | @lordfarquads-gurl3 | @wilsonkatya | @enchantingesme

[cherryredstars]

PLSSSS GIVE US A SECOND PART OF RIBBON

I NEED IIIIIIIIT it gave me 🦋🦋🦋

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Fingering, Makeshift "Collar", Fluffy Miguel

A/N: Enjoy, my love!!!

Unedited

Part 1

You won't even look at him.

He finds it amusing, tapping his fingers on the desk's surface between the two of you. He knows from your peripheral vision, even as you try to keep your attention on the professor, that you can see his wrist. You can see the pale pink silk contrasting against his rich skin and the black of his jacket. Your pretty pink bow. The same bow that happened to go missing once it was untied from your wrists.

The same bow that has slight discoloring at one end from where it soaked up your smooth arousal not even twenty-four hours ago.

He's wearing it like a prize, proud of what it symbolizes. It isn't just proof that he was able to slip between your pretty thighs, but proof that you own him. It marks him as your territory. Fuck if he doesn't look like a silly school boy, practically radiating from his spot besides you as he absentmindedly fidgets with the smooth material. He doesn't give a fuck about the teasing remarks he got from his friends when they had seen it, could care less about the jealous looks girls have been glaring at the bow. The only reaction he cares about is yours.

Your cheeks are flushed, big doe eyes fluttering as you avert your gaze from him. You squirm in your seat, shifting every now and then in a futile attempt to find a comfortable position that doesn't make you feel hot and stuffy under your pretty clothes. Some part of Miguel hopes all your movement is partially to blame on how sore you are between your legs, trying to distract yourself from not only his wrist, but also the aching hollowness he's left behind from the day before. He can picture it in his mind: you waking up with a cute wince as your inner thighs ached, a plump pout on your lips as you tried to find the bow from yesterday before deciding you don't have time to look for it and rushing out of the house with your hair loose. Or maybe it was a conscious decision, one made after recalling the way Miguel whined into your neck about how pretty your hair looked free and flowing around your shoulders and pillow.

He has to bite back a groan at the thought.

The class ends all too fast in his opinion as the hour and thirty minute lecture comes to a close and you begin to promptly shoot up and put your things away into your tote bag. Then he finds that the class couldn't end soon enough when you go to leave, your small hand barely wrapping around his decorated wrist as you pull him along. His tail is practically wagging as he lets you drag him out of the class, finding it amusing that despite your fast paced steps he has to walk slowly to not trample you. His heart is pounding horribly fast in his chest as you drag him around campus, his skin burning beneath the ribbon until you enter the school library and drag him to the very back.

He almost pouts when you drop his wrist, turning to him with your arms crossed over your chest. His eyes drop there quickly, admiring the way your breasts are pushed up before he looks back at your face. He's not particularly ashamed as you give him a knowing look, a smooth smirk tugging at his lips.

"That's mine."

You say it simply, stating the obvious as you point at the pink on his wrist. Miguel holds his arm up, a faux look of surprise on his face as he twists his hand around to get a good view of it.

"Huh, is it? I can see why you wear them. It looks pretty on me, don't y'think?"

His lips twitch as you let out an exaggerated sigh, your eyes rolling in annoyance. You hold your hand out expectantly, your shoes making a dull thumping noise as it taps against the carpeted flooring. Miguel simply stares at your hand, eyebrows furrowed as he slightly angles his wrist away from you. He's acting like a spoiled child, possessive over his favorite toy. Your eyes narrow, your hand dropping as you groan. You simply don't understand him, he hates you. Yet, he's clinging on to your precious bow.

"Miguel." You sigh, your hand coming up to play with your loose hair as a way to calm down. "You're giving people the wrong idea wearing my bow."

Miguel crosses his arms over his chest too, matching your stance. He straightens up, towering over you as he spreads his feet shoulder width apart.

"I think everyone is getting the right idea."

You quirk your brow shaking your head, "And what idea is that?"

Miguel's cheek flush, but his face stays the same. Serious and determined. He doesn't want to say it aloud. That's the purpose of the bow anyway: an unspoken, but obvious sign of who he belongs to. He doesn't want to make a fool of himself by saying it out loud. He's spent all this time silently pining after you, he's not ready to have it crash and burn at his feet. Especially not after he knows what it's like to have you. Not when the feel and taste of you are already implanted in his memory.

He shifts uneasily on his feet. "I think you already know."

You lean back onto the bookshelf behind you, lips puckered in a purse. Of course you already know, you just don't understand why. Surely he's only doing it for an ego boost, bragging about how he got you in his (well, technically your) bed despite the fact you dislike him. You rub at your temple, eyes closing shut as you feel an oncoming headache.

"Yeah, but you don't like me." You finally say, opening your eyes and giving him an unamused look. "Why would you want people to think we're a...thing?"

Miguel takes a step forward. Then another, and another, and another until the tips of his shoes are centimeters away from yours. He casts a shadow over you from how tall he is in comparison, blocking out the already scarce light. If you were anyone else, you would be terrified of him looming over you. But you know that he wouldn't hurt you, especially not after the way he handled you yesterday. All sweet praises and desperately soft caresses. Your mind goes a bit hazy recalling it, and you have to blink rapidly to vanish the thoughts. Even as your core grows hot.

Miguel's hand, the one with the ribbon, comes up to your face. His brows are furrowed, but they relax slightly when his fingers run through your hair, pushing a strand back behind your ear even as it comes loose and falls back into place. He's quite a moment, and it takes great effort to even your breaths to not reveal the frantic state of your heart right now. He's simply studying you, taking you in.

"Who said that?"

His words are hushed, warm as they fan over your face from how close he is. It reminds you of the voice he had used when he asked if he can take off your dress, his hands hovering on your back as he pressed kisses along your jaw. You can feel his lips ghosting your skin as the memory hits you, and a slight shiver runs up your spine.

"I- what?" You mumble out, your mind scrambling to collect itself.

"Who said I don't like you?"

He mocks the tone you used, and your mouth drops to open. An instinctive 'You did!' crawls up your throat, but it gets trapped between your vocal cords. Your brows furrow as your mind works to find a moment of proof that you're right. Trying to pick through all the teasing until you find a time where the words slipped out of his mouth. But, you can't. Your mouth snaps shut, averting your eyes to his ear as embarrassment stains your cheeks.

Miguel hums knowingly, bringing his wrists between the two of you. You both look down as his hand comes up to pull at the ends of the bow. The silk dents under the weight of his thumb and pointer finger as he tugs softly at it, watching as it unravels. You gulp, suddenly feeling nervous as Miguel looks at you, your eyes meeting his. You flinch in surprise when his thumb presses on our chin, slowly guiding your head up so he can see your face properly. It leaves your neck entirely exposed, and you tense when the soft silk brushes the nape of your neck. Miguel's eyes drop to look at what he's doing, hands slow and careful as he starts tying the bow. His fingers move skillfully as he crosses the two lengths together, flipping one over the other and forming two loops. He tugs until it's snug against your supple neck. It's loose enough that it doesn't choke you as you move your head, only applying enough pressure to let you know that it's there. It blends perfectly into your outfit, like it was always there.

He follows the length of one of the ends down, brushes over your clothed breast slightly before his hand skims your thigh. It makes you jolt, both of your hands grabbing at his shoulders in surprise. Your eyes shoot down, blushing at the obvious bulge in his pants, but your eyes trace the movements of his fingers. The rough pads float over your skin, dipping occasionally into your inner thighs before returning to the apex. You can't help but squirm, hands tightening on his shoulders and your thighs flex.

Miguel's eyes are hazy and half-lidded as he watches you. His fingers gain more and more confidence as he watches you become putty, slipping under your skirt until his pinkie skims the edge of your panties. It causes a little gasp to part from your lips, doe eyes wide as you look up to him. He can feel a hunger burning in his gut, driving him to cup is hand completely over your clothed cunt.

"Miguel!" You hiss, bucking into his hand. "W-what are you-?"

He coos down at you, shushing you lightly as he leans down. His forehead meets your shoulder, resting there despite the weird angle that already is causing an ache between his shoulder blades. Your hands slide into his hair, your eyes looking to the ceiling when he grinds the palm of his hand into your clit. A wave of deja vu washes over you as his lips plant small kisses to your skin, inaudible mumbles breathed against your skin as he huffs at your scent.

"Just wanna make y'feel good." You barely make out. "Show you how much I like ya."

You have to bite your lip to prevent a lewd sound from escaping when his fingers move your panties to the side, stroking up your soaked slit. Your hands tighten in Miguel's hair, pushing his face closer to your neck. A full-body shiver runs up your spine when his tongue licks at the skin just above the ribbon, dampening the edges of it and leaving a shiny line on your skin. You swear your knees are on the verge of buckling when he repeats the action, switching between licks and suckling around the pink silk. His fingers toy with your slick, gathering it on the tips of his fingers and massaging it along your clit before dipping them inside of you again.

Miguel eats up every single quiet noise you let out, mind echoing with the soft squelch of your cunt and the shaky moans you produce. He has to flex his thighs to physically prevent his knees from bending so he can hump your leg like a damn dog, his cock aching to swap places with his fingers. But he knows you wouldn't want to risk anyone finding the two of you in such a compromising position, and he isn't very keen with he idea of anyone but him seeing how pretty you look when waves of pleasure hit you. So instead, he focuses all the pent up need into curling his fingers into you. The soft sound of his palm hitting against your mound drives him nuts, feeling your slick drip from his fingers until it's practically pooling in his hand. He makes sure his fingers find and press into that one gummy spot that was you gasping, your legs shakily trying to close from how good it feels.

Miguel's eyes roll back as you let out a shaky whimper of his name, your legs locking as your body shakes. He can feel the way your walls clench around his fingers, squeezing them tight as you come undone. Miguel practically whines into your neck, his jaw unhinging until his teeth sink into your neck. He pulls away when your body goes slack, indents marking above and below the silk. His hand is sticky as he slowly pulls his fingers out of you, the dim light reflecting on the glossy liquid. Your cheeks are beautifully flushed, hot pants leaving your parted lips. Miguel can't help but slip his two creamy fingers past your glossy lips, eyes hypnotized as you lazy suck at them with no complaints. Miguel has to pull them out fast, feeling his cock twitch dangerously in his pants. He shuts himself off from a groan by stuffing the fingers in his mouth instead, licking up the remaining slick and your saliva. It's heavenly, and he's not a bit embarrassed when he licks up his palm too.

You hum at the sight, a soft smile playing on your lips as you slouch forward, taking your turn by leaning on his shoulder. Miguel's clean hand cradles the back of your head, his lips pressing into your hair as you float down into the present. You sigh tiredly as you gently push away, Miguel's arms quickly wrapping around your waist so you don't go too far.

You definitely don't mind being wrapped up, not if it's by him.

Part 3

[purplephantomwolf]

Love in Motion

Chapter One

Synopsis: You're a normal college student until you get a wrong number text.

Note: This is not an accurate portrayal of how the real people in this act. I do not know them personally, so I will not be portraying them accurately.

Warnings: None

Masterlist

I AM REWRITING THIS FROM AN OC STORY. IF I MISS ANYTHING, PLEASE LET ME KNOW SO I CAN FIX IT! THIS IS CHAPTER 1 OF 5 OF ALREADY WRITTEN CHAPTERS.

April 4, 2022 12:30pm

     You sigh, turning your attention away from your software engineering professor to your laptop screen. You watch as the 20 best drivers in the world complete the last lap of the first race of the 2021 Formula 1 season. You just recently got into Formula 1, so you’re watching the 2021 season to get a feel for the sport. Someone told you the 2021 season is a great season to watch because of the fights between Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton. You silently cheer as your favorite driver, Lando Norris, finishes P4. You look up at the clock and see that it’s only 12:30. Still 35 minutes left of class, you think. You let out a small sigh, turning back to your laptop. You move on to watching qualifying for the first Italy grand prix of the 2021 season. You have just clicked play when you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. You grab it and see a text message from an unknown number. 

Unknown Number: Did you make it home from the club okay?

You: *One Image Attached* Considering I’m currently in a programming lecture, I think you may have been given the wrong number. I’m sorry.

     I send a picture of my view of my professor, laptop, and notes to the unknown number. 

Unknown number: Oh, thank you! I’m sorry for bothering you!

Unknown number: Hang on, are you watching Formula 1 while in lecture?

You: It’s okay! Also, yes I am watching Formula 1 while in lecture. I’d rather be learning about Formula 1 than boring C++. Also, why are you texting someone about getting home from the club okay? It’s 12:30 pm?

Unknown number: It’s currently 2:30 am for me. I was attempting to text a girl I was talking to at the club, but it looks like she gave me the wrong number. 

You: Oh, that makes sense. Wait, where are you that’s 14 hours ahead of me? Also, I’m sorry about the whole wrong number thing. That really sucks. Unless she gave you the wrong number cause you’re a creep. Then you deserve it. 

Unknown number: I’m currently in Melbourne, Australia. And I wasn’t being a creep! At least, I don’t think so. I hope not at least; I try my best to not be a creep. 

You: Alright, that’s good. I doubt you were being a creep. And Australia? Jeez, that’s so far from me. I’m in the United States.

Unknown number: That's only a small stretch from Australia. 

You: Yeah, it’s going to be not fun to watch the F1 race this weekend, but staying up is so worth it to see the race live.

Unknown number: Big fan of the sport? 

You: Yeah, I am. I just recently got into it, so I’m watching the 2021 season to learn everything I can. I’m also attempting to watch all the qualifying and races live.

Unknown number: Oh cool. That’s got to be tiring because most of the races are in Europe. Waking up early every day of the weekend must suck. 

You: I mean, yeah. It kinda sucks, but it’s not too bad. I’m not waking up super early unless it’s races in places like Japan and Australia. The earliest I have to wake up is like 6 for other races. That’s not too bad though. 

Unknown number: Oh, that’s not too bad then! Which team do you support?

You: Well, there’s not a specific team I really support. If I have to choose one, it would be McLaren, probably followed by Red Bull. I support drivers more than I support teams really. 

Unknown number: Okay, then who are your top three drivers?

You: That is a hard decision to make for 2 and 3. Lando Norris is for sure my number one driver, but I have like 5 drivers tied for second and then 5 tied for third. 

Unknown number: Oh interesting. Any drivers you dislike then?

You: No, I don’t dislike any drivers. Unless you count past drivers *cough* Mazespin *cough* 

Unknown number: That’s a funny nickname for Mazepin. But why don’t you like him?

You: I’m not sure. I just get a weird vibe from him. 

Unknown number: Interesting. But I get what you’re saying. Can I ask why Lando is your favourite? 

You: Sure! Lando is my favorite because of his personality, humor, and how he speaks out about mental health. I really struggle with depression and anxiety, so having such a public figure speak out about it is amazing. Also helps that he’s got the boy next door charm. That’s definitely my type lol

Unknown number: Ahh, okay! Those are good reasons to like him! Now, I feel weird talking to a nameless person. Can I ask you what your name is?

You: My name is Y/n. Can I ask what your name is?

Unknown number: Y/n, that’s a pretty name. My name is Luke. 

You: Nice to meet you, Luke. 

     You look up when you hear a commotion around you. You see that your classmates are packing their things and leaving. Wow, time really flew by talking to this stranger. You put your phone down and quickly pack your things. You sling your backpack over your shoulder and head out. You feel your phone vibrate with a text again. You see that it’s Luke again. 

Luke: Nice to meet you too, Y/n. 

9 pm

     You groan, leaning back in your chair. You glare at the lab manual you’ve been trying to make sense of for the past two hours. You glance over at your phone as it lights up with a message from your mom, and you pick it up to respond to the message. You are distracted from responding to her though because you see a message from Luke from 10 minutes ago. Your eyebrows rise in surprise. 

Luke: Good morning!

You: Uh, hi. Good morning! Did you sleep well?

Luke: I did! Has the rest of your day gone well? 

You: The rest of my day has gone okay. I’ve been staring at some stupid code that’s not working. The assignment is due in three days, so I need to get this code fixed.  

Luke: That sounds awful. I’m so thankful I’m no longer in school.

You: Yeah, I’m jealous. I’m searching for jobs in my dream field, but I haven’t found any that allows me to do what I want yet. 

Luke: Oh? What’s your dream job then?

You: My ultimate dream job is working as a photographer in the motorsport world, preferably F1, but I’d take any motorsport. My next dream job is just anything that allows me to travel the world taking photos. 

Luke: That would be an awesome job. I recently got into photography as a hobby. Do you have any photos you’d be willing to share with me? 

You: Sure! 

     You send him five of your favorite photos I’ve taken. Two are of cars on the move, one is a still life of a bunch of cars from a car show, the fourth is a sunset, and the last is of a group of people playing soccer. 

Luke: Holy shit! Those are amazing! 

You: Thanks! I’m really proud of these photos. They’re some of my favorite ones I’ve taken. 

Luke: They’re beautiful. 

You: Thank you! So, you mentioned that you’re no longer in school. Can I ask what exactly you do?

     You wait for a minute, but get no response. You decide to mess around on your phone for a bit while waiting for a response. After 5 minutes of not getting a response, you set my phone down. Right as you set your phone down, a notification for your chat with Luke pops up and you quickly click it. 

Luke: I am an event manager for McLaren F1 team. 

You: Really? That is so cool! I wanted to do event management in sports before I was in software engineering, though I was wanting to get into baseball. If I was still event management, I’d want to do motorsports now. Do you enjoy it? What does that entail? 

Luke: I plan events for the fans mainly. 

You: That sounds like a fun job. 

Luke: Why did you switch?

You: My parents thought I wouldn’t find a job that would make as much money as they do, so they made me switch to software engineering because it has higher paying jobs. 

Luke: Well, that’s stupid. Were you happy in event management?

You: Yeah, I was. But my parents are paying for my college, so I have to do what they want.

Luke: That’s very stupid. I take it you aren’t happy with software engineering?

You: No, I’m not. But I’ve only got two years left, so it’ll be all good!

Luke: Alright, well good luck. 

You: Thanks! Do you have a hangover?

Luke: I actually didn’t drink that much, so no hangover for me!

You: That’s very nice. I’ve never been hungover. I don’t drink a lot when I do drink. Can’t stand the taste of alcohol lol

Luke: Oh yeah, I get that. Do you want to play a game?

You: What game?

Luke: 21 Questions? To get to know each other?

You: That sounds like a good idea. I can start. What is your favorite thing to do in your off time?

Luke: I like to play video games. What is your favourite tv show?

You: Doctor Who. I could go on about that show forever. Who is your real life hero?

Luke: Valentino Rossi. What’s your favourite season of the year?

You: Fall. The colors are beautiful, the temperature is beautiful. I love it. What is your favorite song?

Luke: Right now it’s Last Last. What is your favourite city?

You: Of all the cities I’ve been to, London or Barcelona. If you had to guess what people appreciate the most about you, what would you say? 

Luke: My humour for sure. You’ve been to London and Barcelona?

You: Yeah, I went when I was a lot younger with my family. My family went on a three week trip to four different countries in Europe. We went to London, Paris, Zurich, and Barcelona. I loved London the most. It was right before the 2012 Olympics, so the city is probably different from what I remember now, though. Are you more of an introvert or an extrovert?

Luke: I would say I’m in the middle. What are your top three items on your bucket list? 

You: Going to an F1 race, start going to the gym, develop my skills in photography even more. Do you like to go to the movies or prefer watching them at home? Do you talk during movies?

Luke: I would prefer watching them home because it’s more comfortable. Plus it’s not expensive. I do not talk during movies if it’s the first time someone is watching it. If it’s not the first time, I’ll discuss the movie with others while watching it. If you could choose any F1 race to go to, which one would it be?

You: I’m torn between Austin and Great Britain. I know Monaco is like the go to cause of the history and prestige of it all, but I think Austin or Great Britain would be more fun with the atmosphere. Are you into podcasts or do you only listen to music?

Luke: I only listen to music. Podcasts need more attention than what I'm willing to give than music. What is your favourite ice cream flavour?

You: Probably chocolate. What’s one thing that can instantly make your day better?

Luke: Talking to my friends. What is the phone app you use the most?

You: TikTok or Discord. How would you spend your birthday, ideally?

Luke: Spend the day casually with my friends and family, and then have a party with them at night. You said you use discord, do you play video games?

You: Yes, I do. It’s one of my favorite things to do in my free time. What video games do you play? Do you usually play single player or multiplayer?

Luke: I usually play CS:GO and F1. What video games do you play?

You: If I play multiplayer games, it’ll be Valorant. But I mainly play single player games, like Assassin’s Creed. Assassin’s Creed Odyssey is one of my favorite games ever.

Luke: Which one is that one? I know they take place throughout time. 

You: That one is the Greek history one. I’m super into Greek history/mythology, so I absolutely love it. 

Luke: Oh that sounds cool!

     You glance over at the time. “Shit, it’s already midnight,” you groan. Now that you’re not focused on responding to Luke, you realize you are struggling to keep your eyes open. 

You: As much as I’d love to continue this, I just realized it’s midnight here, and I need to sleep. 

Luke: Okay, sounds good! Have a good night! 

You: Thank you! Have a good day! 

Luke: Good night!

You: Good night!

     You plug in your phone, shut off your pc, and change for bed. You crawl into bed, falling asleep quickly.

Next Chapter: Chapter Two

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Permanent taglist:

@sol3chu

@faithshouseofchaos

Story taglist:

[nadvs]

In another universe rafe is my hot TA and i am at every session of 1:1 office hours because of how important my academics are. it’s definitely not because he’s got me bent over the professor’s desk, sundress pushed up, with his fingers in my mouth and my face pressed against the cold wood as he pounds into me relentlessly.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

(screaming i love this)

It all starts because you’re constantly catching him staring during lectures. His eyes are always trailing up your legs or over your chest and at first you think it might be wishful thinking, but he’s even less subtle about the looks during the small classes he leads.

You wear revealing clothes and bend over when you’re handing him your assignments, purposely tempting him to a point where it aches. His eyes always find you, swallowing hard when he notices the curve of your ass or the way your dress is just a little too short.

One day, you’re sitting with him on his side of the desk, his door closed, his office silent except for your quiet murmuring about the upcoming midterm. You’re pointing to your notes but he’s staring at you the entire time and he eventually gives in and presses his lips onto yours, desperate as hell that you’ll kiss back.

And when you do kiss back? He takes it as an invitation to absolutely ravage you. You’re suddenly bent over the desk, your dress lifted to your waist, as his hands roam over your body and grab your hips and squeeze your ass.

He’s not even inside you but he’s breathing so fucking hard and when you hear his pants unzip, you arch your back, turning your head to look at him.

He grabs the back of your neck with one hand and guides himself into you with the other, burying into you and bottoming out immediately, making you gasp at the amazing pressure.

“You have any idea how fucking difficult it is to hide that I’m hard every time I see you?” he mutters. “Goddamn.”

Your cheek is pressed against the wood and your hands are splayed over the papers scattered across the desk as he rails you hard and fast, making up for all the times he’d stare at you and wish he could feel you wrapped around his cock.

It becomes a regular appointment. You don’t even pretend to care about the class with him anymore. The second his office door is closed, his body is on yours, urgently thrashing into you.

It’s such a sinful secret to share. The way your gazes lock in lectures and classes, knowing what the other tastes like, knowing how good he gives it to you and how good you take it. You’re not sure which one of you loves it more.

[casuallyanidiot]

The Beta Test | Chapter 1

[yandere M x Gn Reader]

Local party animal and known social butterfly [name] wakes up to find that they've been abducted by their very reclusive and very wealthy classmate. Why, you might ask, did he do this? Well for one reason of course! He needs to know how he's going to talk to his crush! So now, with their freedom on the line, [name] has to figure out how to get this kid with the one of his dreams or risk never leaving at all. Lots of weird conversations ensue, of course.

2.1 k words Tw. Swearing, kidnapping, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of drugging, yandere behavior Prologue Table of contents

West Grove University wasn’t a super large school. It was important to mention this because, as it would happen, you were very well known there. It wasn’t a hard feat to reach, mind you, but still, there were few people who hadn’t heard of you. This was of course because of the fact that you would appear at every single social function that you could.

 Frat parties, fundraisers, birthdays, even baby showers: if you were invited, you were going. Since you were everywhere, it was only natural that you knew people too. In fact, you knew exactly who the man sitting in front of you was at a glance.

 “ Oh you’re from my economics lecture,” you said tiredly. When the words left your lips, he looked to be almost as confused as you were. 

 “ You know me ?” he asked in disbelief and leaned forward. His chair squealed under his weight and you groaned. 

‘My brain is fried,’ you thought with a grimace. You waved at him lazily. 

“ Yeah, you’re Javier, right? Kinda hard not to know you,” you croaked out. Man, your vocal cords felt like they were grating against each other like sandpaper or, like, unspooled yarn. It was a sore reminder that however you had ended up here, it had certainly not been your choice in the slightest. You began shifting around, massaging at your sore and unused muscles. Like you had noticed before, there wasn’t anything in the cell in which you sat. The cold hard floor was biting into your ass, and it did very little to stop you from aching.

It only took a glance to know that he was surprised by your admission, though it was true. Once again, your class size was kinda small compared to some other schools, and that meant that anyone worthy of note was destined to be infamous. While you were talked about due to your outgoing behavior, Javier over here was known for the exact opposite. 

He was a young man of little words, barely heard even speaking to professors after lectures in a hushed tone. He was elusive too. You even had a class with him, yet you could count the number of times he had appeared through the year on one hand. Despite the fact that he was never present, the boy still managed to maintain high-ranking scores with ease. It was pretty impressive actually. Though what made him stand out to you, in particular, were two facts.

One: Javier was so fucking gloomy. Any time he walked into a room, whether that be in a lecture hall or simply passing by in the library, you swear a cloud of darkness followed him in. His posture was always slouched, and bags hung under his eyes like he'd never had a wink of sleep in his entire life. While his clothes, which always seemed to be a pair of black sweats and a white T-shirt, were always clean, his long shoulder-length hair constantly rode the line of looking either greasy or sleek; you could never really decide if it was either of the two.

Two: Javier was, apparently, pretty rich. While he never showed up to lectures, he did go to the secluded and quiet area of the library that you also liked to kick around in. He usually floated over to sit behind a bookshelf in a corner, probably where he thought no one could see him, right in your line of vision. Granted you could only see him because the bookshelf itself wasn't actually packed with, ya know, books, so it was easy to catch a glimpse of him. The dude had the whole fucking apple ecosystem in his bag. Not to mention the luxury brand stationery that he used casually. In fact, everything on him from his slides to the backpack he used was waaaay beyond what the average uni student should be spending, and so casual too. 

Of course you were insanely curious about the quiet, mysterious, and rather wealthy kid that nobody knew anything about! It was only natural. Some people even claimed to have seen him getting into his car which he parked in a secluded area. To no surprise, you were shown multiple photos of him getting into a foreign car with nice rims and everything. 

"Who the fuck is this guy?" They would slur to you drunkenly at whatever party you were at. The phone in their hand would be glowing with whatever blurry pic they had taken, and you would squint at it and shrug.

"No idea."

The little bits of info you got were nothing, but now it seemed like that was going to change. You were going to know Javier Galvan because you had this, I dunno, sneaking suspicion that you had definitely been kidnapped by him.

" R-really?" He blinked at you rapidly with his dark eyes, a finger jabbed at his own chest. You winced and nodded. " Wow, I uh, I didn't think you would. I thought that… I thought that I was going to have to uh introduce myself and stuff…" he trailed off. There was a nervous smile quirked up on his lips, and he shifted his gaze to the side like it was physically impossible to actually look at your curled-up body on the floor. You squinted at him with an eyebrow raised. No fucking way. There was no way that this guy was actually embarrassed by the fact that he had abducted you.

" Well, that's good then. One step further than I had planned I guess," he said, kind of quietly too, and sheepishly rubbed his neck. 

" Yeaaaah right. Do you like… mind telling me what's happening right now?" You asked. There was no use putting it off. You weren't one for mind games either, so it was best to just rip the band aid off so to speak.

Once again, Javier looked stunned by anything you said. Not sure why he was so surprised. You were never the most silent person in the room by any means. He should at least know that much about you. He stayed quiet, and now that you were started to get over the initial spike of fear and confusion, annoyance was fully taking its hold. You gestured, a bit aggressively, at the bars separating the cold cell from the actual room.

" Ohhhhh, Sorry. My bad. You're, uh, probably really confused right now, huh?" He laughed a little. This little shit. He kidnapped you, and he was fucking giggling?

" Uhhhh yeah. That's one way you could take it," you said dryly. The sarcasm in your voice was enough to remind you of the fact that you were very dehydrated at this time. His smile immediately dropped instantly, and you rolled your eyes at his kicked puppy demeanor. If you had known that he was this weird, then you wouldn't have wasted so much of your energy wondering about him.

" O-okay. So, um, you are [Name] [Last name], right?" It took everything in your system to not do a visible double take at that.

" Um Yes?"

He let out a large sigh, posture slumping with relief. " Oh okay. That's good. Good. It would be, haha, like really bad if you weren't," he said while wiping his face. His sweaty palms could probably be seen from space. 

" We have classes together man. I like see you in the library almost everyday."

" Oh, uh, yeah that's right. You're right, sorry."

You pursed your lips as he went on fumbling and fidgeting with his hands. Gloomy and socially awkward. What a combo. 

" Uh so now that we've been introduced, um, I guess I should tell you why I brought you here haha," he said and finally stood up from his chair. He was pretty tall, and loomed over your huddled up self with ease. He was lanky, like a pole, and you shuddered. 

It was easy to forget in your addled brain that you were, in fact, in a very dangerous situation. When hunched in on himself, Javier didn't feel that threatening at all, but now it was clear that this could potentially be very nasty. Had he taken you for revenge of some kind? Did he somehow read your mind over the course of months and dislike the odd light you held him in? Or was it for something dumb like you badmouthing a friend of his? Who knows. If he was rich enough to have a ( pretty nicely decorated) room with a cell in it, then who knows what other crazy shit could be stirring in his head.

" Okay so… I know that you're friends with a lot of people. And um, everybody seems to like you even though you're kinda annoying," He started. Ouch. Coming from him that was not a good assessment of your character.

Still, he looked down at you expectantly after a few moments of silence. You blinked and waved for him to continue. He smiled ,like he'd been cheered on in race, and took a deep breath. 

" So if people think you're cool and like you, then it means that you're doing something right that I'm not." He placed his hands on the bars. They were so tightly gripped that you could see the paleness form on his brown skin. 

" I'll put this bluntly. You're good with people. I don't really get why, but you are, and I'm not. So I need you to help me out," he said. His tone was more serious than before, and the look of his face was anything but rational. In fact he looked void of any emotion.

" Let me guess... I don't really have a choice in this, do I?" You stated, eyes narrowed up at him. The tension held between the two of you was now fully out. If you didn't have a headache before, you certainly would've gotten one by now.

" Well," he said while leaning back," You do... but it would be kind of dumb considering where you're at and all." He looked you up and down as his last words came dripping out of his lips. His almost meek demeanor was completely gone by now.

" So uh, yeah, I need your help. Umm, this is a little weird, but I want you to help me date the girl that I've been in love with all year," he sighed out. You didn't miss the dreamy and wistful stare he held as he glanced up into the ceiling. 

" Wait? That's it?" You asked. Was this guy fucking with you? Like a cruel prank or whatever?

" Unfortunately yes..." he groaned out. " I'm going to be honest with you [Last Name], I'm...Well I'm hopeless. I've tried out so many different things to make me more appealing to her, but nothing works!" 

" So forcing me to be your, what? Chad alpha dude coach? Was you're next best option?" You asked, eyes wide and with the most amount of sarcasm you could muster. He nodded sadly as a sinking realization, even bigger than being kidnapped, came upon you.

You were going to have to get this crazy, antisocial, creepy, and downright pathetic guy with the girl of his dreams? Yeah, this was way too far out for even you.

You sighed ," So, let me get this straight. You kidnapped me so you could talk to a girl better."

He nodded.

" And you did this because you couldn't do it yourself."

He nodded again, looking a bit more embarrassed this time.

" And you're probably not going to let me go until you start dating this girl, are you?"

He winced, and you felt even more annoyed than you thought was possible. Oh yeah cause HE had the right to be bashful here. He cleared his throat gently, refusing to stare in your direction.

" Yes, um, if you help me date this girl before the next school year, then I will let you go," he said. Hints of that serious and firm nature you had previously seen came bubbling up again. You could see the coldness behind his lashes a mile away. Yeah, this guy was not okay. 

" What happens if you don't? Get with her I mean."

It was a simple question, really. Still, his head shot up from its limp state as he looked at you unblinking. His dark hair pooled at his shoulders, and the dim lighting of the room hardly allowed for a full look at him. Still, you could feel the dead gaze, unyielding and terrifying.  You shrunk back in shock. 

" Well, let's hope that doesn't happen," he said simply before leaving the room. The thud of the door and the click of the lock was deafening, and you flinched away. 

In the corner of a cold cell in an unfamiliar room, you pressed your hands to your face as you came to the conclusion that you were completely and utterly fucked.

[radsoldier]

you're a bad idea - Part 2

Pairing: Cairo Sweet x Dom!Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/N tries to avoid Cairo while the latter finds herself falling deeper.

Words: 1.1k

Warnings: cursing

a/n: hi guys, sorry for the eternal delay but a lot of shit happened and i'm not sure how i made it out alive but hey! i'm back! anyway, hope you enjoy :)

(poem's "did you think i was a city" by rupi kaur)

part 1

You were never one for gossip. You were simply not interested. Being the center of rumors for as long as you could remember was no fun at all so when all the stories about Cairo hit your ears you were annoyed. You didn’t really care if it was true or not, it was none of your business. But you knew she was bad news and that’s why you chose to let things cool off and tried your best to ignore her. 

You moved here to avoid drama, to start fresh or however your old therapist would like to call it. You knew you were just running away from it all. 

_______________________________________________________________________________ 

A week later, soft rain was pouring as you got off your bike, some students scrambling to get to class before getting soaked. 

You opted for lighting up a cigarette under the small roof right at the entrance. You were already late, might as well enjoy the little time you had outside of the college halls.  

Wishing you had stopped for some coffee, you started walking towards the library, not feeling like enduring another creative writing lecture. It felt like the perfect excuse to keep avoiding Cairo. And you also had to rehearse your piece for the poetry reading later today. 

“Fuck me” you thought. 

________________________________________________________________________________ 

Cairo was annoyed. No, she was outraged. You were ignoring her yet she couldn’t keep her thoughts from drifting to you. It was torture, you were pestering her mind like she had no control over it. She hated it. She hated how you seemed unfazed every time you caught her staring while she had to hold her breath as if even the smallest movement would make you disappear. She had replayed your interaction over and over in her head getting little to no answer as to why you could go from hot to cold just like that. It made no sense to her. 

That’s why when your professor asked for someone to deliver some notes on your most recent work, she volunteered to be the one doing it. 

He told her where to find you, given that he knew about your poetry reading and she began to gather all her things and started walking toward the auditorium. 

She hesitated at the slightly open door, the dim light making her unsure but the sound of your voice coming from the inside was enough to shake her doubts and stride into the room. 

“Did you think I was a city 

big enough for a weekend getaway.” you paused. 

“I am the town surrounding it 

the one you’ve never heard of 

but always pass through.” 

“There are no neon lights here 

no skyscrapers or statues 

but there is thunder 

for I make bridges tremble. 

I am not street meat, I am homemade jam 

thick enough to cut the sweetest 

thing your lips will touch.” you glanced around the room, letting the words sink in. 

“I am not police sirens 

I am the crackle of a fireplace. 

I’d burn you and you still 

couldn't take your eyes off me 

cause I’d look so beautiful doing it 

you'd blush.” Cairo was taken aback by the emotion in your voice. 

“I am not a hotel room I am home 

I am not the whiskey you want 

I am the water you need. 

Don’t come here with expectations 

and try to make a vacation out of me.” 

you finished as the few people in the room stood up, clapping. 

“You never cease to amaze me, Y/N” a young professor started. “Can’t wait to read your small piece for your assignment” he smiled like you were the only one in the room. 

Cairo watched as you exchanged pleasantries with a few peers, looking relieved when someone else took the spotlight. And then you saw her. Doe-eyed and slightly parted lips, she looked like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. 

“What are you doing here, Sweet?” you spat.  

She tried to hide her disappointment at your cold demeanor but you could see the small changes in her face even if it was just for a split second. 

“Professor Brooks wanted me to give this to you” she said, gesturing towards the folder she held out. “You know, since tomorrow is the deadline and he left some corrections and notes for you” 

“Fuck” you sighed. 

Only then did she look at you, a teasing glint in her eyes, the ghost of a smile over her full lips. You took the folder from her, your hands barely touching. The moment felt charged, none of you ready to break the eye contact. It was almost like both of you were fighting to see which one would cave in first. 

You cleared your throat. 

“Thank you” 

She nodded, not saying a word before leaving the room as you stood there, still reeling from the tingling sensation you felt when your hands touched. 

‘Did she feel it too?’ you thought. 

________________________________________________________________________________ 

Cairo laid awake well past midnight. Her laptop long forgotten on the side of her bed, a cigarette on her lips. Her thoughts kept drifting towards a certain someone. 

You were right: you had burned her, yet she couldn’t take her eyes off you. 

Your eyes haunted her, that piercing stare that made her feel like she couldn’t hide from you even as you were a complete mystery to her. It was unnerving. 

She remembered how your hands moved during your reading. The same hands that held her waist and throat just a week ago. The very same hands she couldn’t stop dreaming about, doing unholy things to her. 

She kept thinking about your low, rough voice and how good it would sound moaning her name. 

God, she needed to get laid. 

It had been a while since she felt this kind of obsession over someone. Last time didn’t end well. It kind of scared her, in retrospective, the lengths she was willing to go in the past. But this time it was different, she could feel it. Or maybe it was just a stupid white lie she told herself so she could avoid the guilt that was slowly eating her up. 

That night Cairo dreamt about you. 

[xvazx]

The Beauty of Our Chaos

Part 1 - Cool Girl Is Game

Introduction / Next Part

I never thought I’d be the type of girl to join a sorority, but here I was, standing in the middle of Delta Nu’s impossibly pink common room, surrounded by girls who looked like they belonged on a Vogue cover. Mariel and I had just moved into our new room at UPenn, fresh-faced freshmen, and after weeks of plotting, we had somehow made it into the most sought-after house on campus.

“Can you believe we are here?” Mariel asked, plopping onto her bed with a dramatic sigh.

“Can you believe how long it’s gonna take me to defrost my fake smile?” I shot back.

To get in, I had to fake it till I made it. I wasn’t their first choice—not even close. Delta Nu girls had a certain effortless glow, and I was… well, I was a computer science major who spent most of time trying not to collapse. But with just the right amount of preppy outfits, carefully curated small talk, and a convincingly chirpy “Oh my god, totally” at rush events, I had squeezed my way in.

Before we could even start unpacking, Missy Houghton, our sorority president, breezed in with her perfect blowout and clipboard in hand.

“Ladies, welcome to Delta Nu! Just a quick reminder of your very busy Initiation Week schedule,” she said, handing us a printed itinerary. “Tonight, we have the Ceremony & Oath, Tuesday is Welcome to Pilates, Wednesday is New Me Conference, Thursday is our Fundraiser, and of course, Friday is our Newbie Initiation Tradition—which is a total surprise, so don’t even try asking.” She winked before twirling out of the room.

Mariel and I exchanged a look. What did we get ourselves into?

After taking a short walk from the house, we went our separate ways—Mariel to her graphic design classes, and me to my Introduction to Computer Programming lecture.

The moment I walked in, I knew this class was a walk in the park. The professor started going over variables and loops, and I could barely keep my eyes open. Then, just to make it really fun, he handed out a pop quiz on basic programming concepts.

I finished mine in record time, turned it in, and went back to doodling in my iPad. A few minutes later, I caught the professor glancing at my paper, then back at his computer. After class, he called me over.

“Miss (Y/L/N), right?” He adjusted his glasses, scanning my student file. “You’re this year’s full scholarship?”

I nodded.

“Hmm. Well, judging by this quiz, this class might be too easy for you. Have you considered taking a level test to skip ahead?”

It wasn’t a bad idea.

Following his instructions, I went to Student Service’s to request a level test—and, as expected, I placed two levels above. That meant I’d be in classes with sophomores now.

That night, as Mariel and I debriefed in our dorm about our day, she threw a pillow at me.

“You just got here, and you’re already skipping classes? How do you do it?!” she groaned.

I caught the pillow and tossed it back. “I didn’t do anything. I bet everyone was gushing over your art skills today.”

“Shut up, Miss Genius.” she interjected my explanation.

TUESDAY - 7 AM

The following morning, I walked into my new classroom with a printed letter from the department in hand. The professor beamed as I handed it over.

“And here she is,” he said dramatically, turning to the class. “Our newest addition! Not only is she here on a full scholarship, but she’s also skipped two levels, meaning she’s already putting you all under pressure!”

I gave a small, awkward wave. The room was silent.

Then it hit me.

I was the only girl in the room.

Great.

I sighed, found an empty seat, and tried to ignore the stares. It wasn’t my first time being in a male-dominated space, and it wouldn’t be my last. I tuned them out and focused on the lecture.

Or at least I tried.

After class, as I packed up my stuff, three guys walked over. One of them looked… familiar.

“Hey,” the curly-haired one said, tilting his head. “This might sound bad, but where do I know you from?”

I turned fully to face him. Thick eyebrows. Curls. That annoying but weirdly cute smile.

Memories flooded back.

I smirked. “Wow. You really do have a terrible memory, Jonas Brother.”

His friends lost it. One practically doubled over laughing.

“Ohhh,” one of them wheezed. “Dude, she got you.”

Luigi blinked, then finally connected the dots. “Oh shit. Nationals.”

“Took you long enough.”

His friends were still cracking up. One of them clapped him on the back. “Dude, you always know the hotter girls.”

I rolled my eyes.

“So what, you’re in this class now?” another one asked. “Why haven’t we seen you before?”

“Freshman,” I said, shouldering my bag.

Luigi was still looking at me, amusement playing at the corners of his lips. “So, you just happened to land in a level 3 class, huh?”

“Tragic, really,” I deadpanned.

“Seriously, though,” another chimed in. “You should come to one of our frat parties. Now that you’re officially in our class, you are one of us.”

I barely held back an eye roll. Of course they were in a frat.

“Cool,” I said vaguely, already looking at my phone. “Noted.”

Then I noticed the time.

“Crap. I gotta go,” I muttered, swinging my bag over my shoulder.

“Where to?” Luigi asked.

I sighed. “Pilates.”

One of the guys perked up and whistled. “Nice.”

I cringed.

I turned to leave, but as I walked away, I heard Luigi’s voice behind me.

“See ya around.”

Without looking back, I just raised a hand in a half-hearted wave.

“Okay,” I called over my shoulder.

WELCOME TO PILATES

The air in the studio was thick with the scent of lavender-scented disinfectant and the soft hum of an upbeat playlist. Mariel and I sat on our mats, stretching, surrounded by a dozen other Delta Nu girls. Apparently, as bonding activity we had to sign up for at least one group fitness class.

Honestly? The politics of this house were exhausting. But if faking enthusiasm for Pilates was the price I had to pay to stay in Delta Nu, so be it.

Mariel groaned as we attempted another core-strength move. “This is a requirement? What kind of sorority is this?”

“The type that values toned abs over GPAs,” I muttered, wobbling slightly.

She snorted. “At least you’re suffering with me.”

We both struggled to hold our position when I casually dropped, “Oh, by the way, guess who’s in my new class?”

Mariel barely glanced at me, too focused on not collapsing. “Unless it’s the ghost of Steve Jobs here to give you a job at Apple, I don’t care.”

I smirked. “Luigi”

She blinked. “Mario?”

I chuckled quietly, my arms shaking from exertion. “The Jonas Brother.”

Mariel’s eyes went wide. She lost balance completely, flopping onto her mat. “OMG, this is destiny,” she whisper-screamed.

I shot her a look. “What?”

“Be honest,” she accused, regaining her composure. “Did you move from Cali to be close to him?”

I rolled my eyes. “Callatee.. you know why I chose UPenn over UCLA. And you came with me, remember?” (Shut up)

She laughed. “I’m kidding.” Then she tilted her head. “Wait… what’s his actual name again?”

I paused. “Luigi… I don’t know his last name.”

From my right, another girl—blonde, toned, and effortlessly balanced in the Pilates pose I had given up on—leaned in slightly and whispered, “Sorry, are you talking about Luigi Mangione?”

I turned to her. “Not sure.”

“Curly hair? Italian? STEM guy?”

Mariel and I exchanged a look. “Yeah,” I said.

She grinned knowingly. “Ohhh.”

I frowned. “What does that mean?”

She giggled, lowering herself gracefully into the next pose. “Just don’t let Missy stop you. She’s been trying for a year.”

I nearly dropped my balance again. “Stop me? From what?”

Mariel and the girl—who I now realized was named Kaylee—both gave me the same amused look.

I blinked. “What?”

Kaylee just shook her head, still smirking. “Nothing.”

Mariel’s smirk was even worse.

Between boys and core training, I wasn’t sure which task I sucked at more.

WEDNESDAY - NEW ME

Blah blah blah

THURSDAY- FUNDRAISER BOOTH

Pink. So much pink.

I glanced around at the Delta Nu booth, which looked like a sorority version of Mean Girls—pink banners, white ribbons, pastel decorations. It was all very on brand, and all very not me.

The only thing remotely acceptable in my wardrobe was a pair of white shorts and a band tee. Missy was not pleased.

“Don’t you have anything pink that is actually cute?” she asked, looking at me like I’d personally insulted her ancestors.

Mariel, clapped a hand on my shoulder. “She can borrow something of mine!”

I shot her a look. “Girl, where is my ass gonna fit in your clothes?”

She grinned. “Don’t insult your Latina hips.”

I laughed, but it didn’t change the fact that I was still stuck in a Blondie tee while everyone else looked like they’d walked out of a Tampon commercial. Whatever. It wasn’t like I’d chosen this sorority for the aesthetic.

We finally made it to the booth, where Missy explained the actual reason we were here—raising money for charity.

Noble. Love that.

Then came the catch.

Next month, Delta Nu was hosting a fashion show, and each of us had to raise money. The girl who raised the most money would win the ability to keep her own outfit from a designer catalog. Meanwhile, the rest of us? Our outfits would be chosen for us by our highest donor.

I blinked. “What the hell?” I muttered under my breath.

Did I accidentally join a brothel?

Mariel choked on a laugh next to me.

Students stopped by our booth throughout the afternoon, reading about the charity and looking at the fashion show details. Most were supportive. Some donated out of actual generosity. Others… not so much.

Cue Gym Bro.

This dude—overly tan, protein shake in hand, and all biceps—strolled up and made a significant donation. Not for charity, of course. No, he had one goal.

“To see her in lingerie,” he said with a smirk, nodding in my direction.

If looks could kill, Gym Bro wouldn’t just be dead—he’d be erased from history.

Before I could tell him exactly where he could shove his donation, a familiar voice interrupted.

“Well, well, not only is she smart, but she’s into the crazy life.”

I turned to see frat bros approaching the booth, all smug grins and easy confidence. Damien, was the one who spoke, looking at me like I’d just confirmed a long-standing theory about my secret double life.

“Surprise,” I deadpanned. “Delta Nu.”

Luigi smirked. “I should’ve predicted it from the Barbie Dreamhouse.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That Barbie Dreamhouse kicked your ass.”

He tilted his head, amused. “Now you’re coming for my reputation?”

Before the tension could build further, Mariel cut in.

“Damn, Jonas Brother, you got tall.”

Luigi glanced at her, clearly recognizing her face but not placing the name.

He snapped his fingers. “St. Trinity. Right?”

Bingo.

His friends took the opportunity to introduce themselves, wanting to get ahead of the game. Gross.

They asked about the charity, and we explained.

Of course, their intrigue had nothing to do with charity and everything to do with the fashion show. Free sorority girls on a runway? Predictable.

I sighed. “You’re late. Jerk-face over there already donated a lot to see me in lingerie.”

The guys gushed among themselves, clearly entertained.

Damien grinned. “Damn, we can’t surpass that.”

“You could’ve saved me,” I said dramatically.

“Too late now.”

“At least I can mentally prepare.”

Before they could continue their antics, Missy appeared out of nowhere, her signature flirty smile locked in on Luigi.

“Hey stranger” she greeted, voice a little too smooth.

He responded politely, but I could tell he wasn’t particularly invested.

“What brings you here?” she asked, brushing her hair over her shoulder.

“Oh, just saying hi,” he said, nodding at me.

Missy’s eyes narrowed slightly as she turned to me. “Ohhh, you guys know each other?”

I shrugged. “Old foes. And we have the same coding class.”

Missy blinked. “Right. So, are you coming to the show?”

He hesitated. “I think I have lab hours.”

Missy pouted slightly but played it cool. “No prob, we can talk later.”

Mariel and I barely held in our laughter.

Missy got called away, leaving the rest of us in her wake. The moment she was gone, Mariel and I mocked her voice in unison.

“So nice to see you,” we mimicked, fluttering our eyelashes.

The guys chuckled, clearly enjoying the show.

But then, Luigi checked his phone. “We should head back to our booth.”

As they started walking away, he turned back, smirking at me.

“I guess next class, we’ll see who’s the better coder.”

I smirked right back.

Yeah, you better run.

FRIDAY - INITIATION

By the time sun sets, I was already regretting my life choices.

Mariel and I sat cross-legged on our beds, nerves sitting like lead in our stomachs. We were under strict orders to come straight back to the sorority house after classes, no questions asked.

At 6:50 p.m., the call came.

“Newbies, to the living room!”

Mariel shot me a wide-eyed look. “This is it. We’re either going to become legends or complete social pariahs.”

“Maybe both,” I muttered, standing and smoothing down my jeans.

We shuffled into the living room where the superior sisters, Missy, and the house mother were lined up in matching black caped robes, holding envelopes like they were about to announce a Hunger Games death match.

Missy’s smile was almost predatory. “Welcome to your Initiation.”

A nervous murmur rippled through the room.

Missy stepped forward. “This is a scavenger hunt. You will each have five hours to complete a series of tasks. Some will be… challenging.”

That should’ve been the first red flag.

She continued, “For proof, you’ll need to take pictures and submit them before midnight. Fail to complete the list, and you risk losing your spot at Delta Nu.”

The room collectively stiffened.

“The prize?” Missy’s smile sharpened. “You stay and earn the respect of your sisters.”

I didn’t care about the “respect” part. I did care about my scholarship. I needed to stay in Delta Nu to keep it.

She handed out envelopes. “Good luck, girls.”

I opened mine and scanned the list.

Some were easy. Others? Not so much:

• Collect a pair of boxers from a frat president and have him sign it

“What the hell?” I whispered to Mariel.

“I’m not touching any guy’s used underwear,” she hissed.

“Me neither,” I said. But we both knew that wasn’t true. I had to complete this.

When the timer started, we all scattered.

I powered through the easy ones first:

✅ Apply a full face of makeup to a campus statue? Done.

✅ Selfie with a Professor? Easy.

✅ Steal a traffic cone? On my arm.

Then I hit the wall: the boxer situation.

I sat on a campus bench, scrolling through my phone, looking up the frat presidents. Maybe this was my end. Not knowing how to seduce a guy out of his panties.

And there it was.

Luigi Mangione - Phi Kappa Psi.

Of course he was president. Because the universe hated me.

I opened Instagram to look him up. Luckily for me his profile was public and his latest story showed he was at the school gym.

“Great,” I muttered. “Guess I’m about to enter my villain era.”

I took a breath and ran to the gym, showing my student ID to the desk clerk, who barely glanced up before waving me through. Apparently, they were used to sorority girls losing their minds during initiation week.

I spotted him almost immediately, walking toward the showers with a towel over his shoulder.

I froze. My heart pounded.

I could leave. I could figure something else out.

But the timer was ticking.

Nope. I’m doing this.

I marched toward the men’s locker room. A couple of guys gave me side-eyes as I walked in.

“Sorry! Emergency!” I said, which only made it more suspicious.

My heart was practically pounding out of my chest as I stopped outside the shower stall. I knocked on the wall.

“Kinda busy, man,” Luigi’s voice called. “There are other showers.”

I took a deep breath. “Oh, I know that.”

There was a long pause. Then:

“…hi?”

Luigi’s head peeked out from the stall, water dripping from his curls. He blinked. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

I turned my face toward the wall, covering my eyes. “I know this looks like the setup for a cheap porno, but I swear it’s not what it looks like.”

He smirked. “It looks pretty compromising.”

“Trust me, it’ll get worse.” I sighed. “I need a favor.”

He rinsed his face and wiped his hands down his chest.

“Let me get the shampoo out of my eyes, and then we’ll talk.”

“Okay.” I stood there, face still covered.

A minute later, the shower stopped. A damp hand brushed my shoulder.

“You can look now.”

I peeked through my fingers and saw him standing there in a towel, hair dripping. Men’s Health prepared me for moments like this.

“Initiations have gotten cheeky,” he joked.

“I need your underwear,” I blurted.

He raised his brows. “Come again?”

I forced myself to explain the task. He listened, expression somewhere between amused and shocked.

When I finished, he shook his head. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“You realize you’re asking me to walk home commando, right?”

I shrugged. “I’ll be disgusted if that’s your only clean pair.”

He laughed and pulled a pair of blue boxers from his gym bag. “You got a Sharpie?”

I pulled one from my pocket. “Here.”

He grinned and signed them. “So you need a picture, too?”

“Yep.”

He handed me the boxers. “Let’s get this over with.”

I held the boxers up in one hand, stood next to him, and snapped a photo. He smiled—a relaxed, easy smile.

“Be nice to them,” he teased.

“Thanks,” I said, tucking the boxers into my bag.

I bolted out of the locker room, the list and my bag on one hand and the traffic cone on the other, heart hammering in my chest.

I was halfway across campus when I heard someone shout my name.

“(Y/N) wait!”

I turned

Luigi—now dressed—was jogging toward me.

“What else is on your list?”

I showed him the list.

He frowned. “These are easy.”

“Not when you’re under pressure.” I interjected.

“Let me help you.”

“You’re not supposed to help.”

“I don’t see a rule against it.” He smirked. “C’mon.”

I didn’t argue.

We made quick work of the rest:

✅ Try on the campus mascot costume? It stinks.

✅ Steal a UPenn banner? Done.

✅ Buy a random guy a drink at the closest bar? Luigi handled that part.

We talked as we walked between tasks. He told me about his frat initiation—doors locked, food and alcohol flowing, and seniors throwing impossible tasks at them.

“Deadly,” he joked.

“You survived.”

“Barely.” He grinned.

By the time we finished, I had enough minutes to spare.

Luigi walked me back to the sorority house.

“Well, I guess this means you’re officially Delta Nu,” he said, stopping at the steps.

“Yeah.”

“See you in class?”

I smiled. “Unless I skip to recover from this trauma.”

He laughed. “You’ll survive.”

I ran inside, dumped my evidence on the table, and collapsed onto the couch.

Missy’s eyes narrowed. “You got everything?”

“Everything,” I confirmed.

Her gaze shifted from Luigi’s face on the picture to his signature. Her smile tightened.

“So?”

Missy’s smile sharpened. “Alright.”

I just rolled my eyes.

I was safe. That’s all that mattered.

@nosebeers

hi i’m Vaz, this was just a product of my active imagination, free time and the need for a better outcome. Hope u enjoy xxx

I’m not American and most of my knowledge is from movies and some research. Sorry if it sounds inaccurate to real greek life. But hey it’s fiction .

[dolli3fication]

BETWEEN TWO WORLDS

Reader x LIN LIE (IRONFIST) Summary : You discover that your classmate, Lin Lie, was the sworn protector of K’un Lun. The IRONFIST ! This is part 1, this is unedited and super rushed, I'll probably edit it when I have the time to. Note: The reader is a fun and silly girl, she's hectic as fuck !!

4.4k words Warning: this is heavily unedited, like it probably doesn't make any sense but hey it is what it is Part 2 here?..(not done)

For the longest you’ve known, Lin Lie, an average heighted asian man who had a seemingly flawless face that framed the most recognisable features on his face perfectly but also sporting an unrelenting poker face, refined physique, was just an ordinary classmate of yours. ..Or so you thought. Since the beginning of college, he didn’t quite belong to your world. You were buried in textbooks and focused on deadlines. Far too consumed in your own ambitions. 

Sure, earlier in the semester, you were paired up with Lie in business class. You thought he was cute, but the two of you interacted little to none. Only cooperating in certain parts of the assessment task. To say the least, you never gave much of a thought to knowing him any better. You noticed that he kept to himself majority of the time, turning up half beat to a lecture. Oddly enough, sometimes disappearing mid-way through the lesson, and it was always coincidentally when danger struck somewhere near. There were instances where he turned up with sweat beading down his forehead, nose flaring while he struggled to catch his breath. Awkwardly dragging himself back to his seat while every pair of eyes set on him. It was a regular occurrence for Lie to restlessly face flat on the lecture table from his usual morning to midday charades, and you felt bad. You slipped a sticky note onto his table. Your number scribbled on it and a small note, offering to do a study session with him. Just in case he needed help with classwork or, you know, saving his Grades. He was really falling behind with all the long term disappearance acts he’s been pulling. That’s the least you could do for him. But Lie, of course, known for his distant manner, never called. Well, at least you tried. ꒰꒰꒰꒰꒰꒰   ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ    ꒱꒱꒱꒱꒱꒱ here you were, sitting in a cafe. It was finals season, and wasting time wasn’t an option. Your chin rested on your left palm as you mindlessly scroll through the pdfs that your professor had uploaded. You were following through a scaffold and practicing mock questions as preparation for your business course finals. You spent a solid chunk refining your words, organising your flash cards and ordering your 5th Iced latte. It was the only source of fuel that kept you conscious.

You frowned slightly, your thoughts drifting to Lie. People in your lecture classes would’ve killed to get even a sliver of your attention, yet he couldn’t be bothered to show up. An exasperated sigh left your lips as you glanced down at your table. Laptop open, papers and notes scattered everywhere. It was midday, you’d spent way too much time staring at a screen, and your eyes had started to strain. You never intended to chase the path of perfection. The golden road lined with success and stability. Instead, you pushed yourself for one reason.. survival. With the cost of living rising and inflation climbing higher each year, you chose burnout now over financial struggle later. Better to suffer through midterms today than to face an empty wallet tomorrow. Hell, you won’t be able to afford the sufficient amount to pay the mortgage of your dream home. And as if life wanted to drive that point home, the wind outside suddenly shifted.

Not a breeze , a shove. The cafe door creaked, then burst open with a loud bang, sending napkins and dry leaves tumbling in like it was crashing a party. A thick wave of dust followed, swallowing the front half of the cafe in a gritty haze. Your flashcards took flight and someone in the back yelped as their muffin took flight.

You stared, deadpan.

 As the dust finally settled, you let out a weak cough, swiping your hand in front of your face to shoo away the choking cloud. When the air cleared, the scene outside took a darker turn. Figures…shadowed and hulkling, loomed around the debris. Before you could even process it, the mist parted, and from its depths emerged creatures with twisted forms, low growls vibrating through the air. You stood there for god knows how long, still processing the situation before you. Then it clicked.

You were cooked. Real cooked. One of the hideous creatures dropped to all fours, and out of every customer, it was charging straight at you. “WHAT THE FUUUCK?!-”Time had paused, and you had 3 options in mind. A. Grab all your valuables then sprint. still salvageable... unless I die before the deadline. B. Run and leave everything behind. Well.. You ignored option B. you would rather die than fail. Or. C. Pause, stare at the disaster, then scream internally as you realise you have no idea how to survive this. ..you resorted to the worst option outside of those 3. Others ran, but you did the unthinkable. In the span of 5 nanoseconds, your body moved before your brain could process it. With adrenaline pumping through you, you grabbed your laptop and hurled it straight at the creature. It hit with a sickening thud, and, unsurprisingly, did jack shit. The creature stopped, just inches away, and stared at you. caught between panic and pure disbelief. “My..bad? hahah..”  you let out a nervous chuckle.

That wasn’t the plan. but it definitely bought you time for a wake up call. Its beady green eyes locked onto you, confusion flickering across its face as you slowly and awkwardly took a cautious step back, gripping your laptop like some kind of shield, a fake, nervous grin plastered on your face. The creature didn’t seem impressed. Its gaze hardened, and you knew right then, it was time for you to dip. You turned toward the open entrance and bolted, not daring to look back. Your breathing was ragged, your chest tight, you were terrified. Leaping over chunks of debris and stumbling every few steps, you somehow kept going, feeling like a damn all-star track star. You’d never run a marathon in your life, and honestly? You didn’t think you had it in you to run this fast. Okay! So….you managed to make yourself dinner. “FUKC FUCKUFCUKC FUCK, FUCK FUCK FYUCK FUCK-” You kept repeating the same words in your head like a broken record, brain spiraling as your legs kept moving on autopilot. You sprinted past your local bakery, your old tutoring spot where you used to wrangle elementary kids, and dashed right through the middle of someone’s makeout session. Even made another three laps around the same street your first boyfriend dumped you on as the growls behind you grew louder, joined by the unmistakable army of thundering feet pounding the ground. ꒰꒰꒰꒰꒰꒰   ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ    ꒱꒱꒱꒱꒱꒱

Luckily, you managed to outrun a pack of blood thirsty demons and stumbled across a dead silent alleyway. You definitely earned a six pack. you could feel it, tight, trembling, and probably gone in five minutes. Your palms were sweaty, but they managed to hold a firm grip on the metal device. You managed to grab at least the most important thing for your exam, and somehow, it was left unscathed by the debris. 

And YESSSS ! You were praising the lord from above. You planned to study a little more of the content once it was safe to say, or , after all of this was over. You always figured something weird would happen eventually in the city, it was the centre point of disasters. heroes crashing through buildings, weird creatures showing up, temporal energy disturbance,  the usual bullshit. But did it really have to happen right before finals? You were starting to think the bad karma from cheating on your first exams was finally catching up to you. You lay against the cold wall, slumping down onto the dirty pavement. Your legs felt like jelly, still rattled from the mess you somehow outran. Your nose flared as you fought to steady your breath, but it felt like a weight was crushing your chest. After the explosion, you’d inhaled way too much dust, and then, of course, you ran five laps around the city for good measure. A violent cough escaped you, the world around you overstimulated, like everything was too much at once. You were so confident that you were safe, up until this agitating snarl bestows upon your ears. Oh. Oh! One of those fuckers caught up. Your body was still laying against the wall restlessly while your head slowly twisted to the direction of your demise. Your eyes twitched, grip tightening around the cold metal. You tried to push yourself up, but your body wasn’t having it, you hadn’t even caught your breath from that running spree. Your jeans dragged against the filthy pavement as you scrambled to crawl away, hands rowing you backwards with little success.

But your eyes stayed locked.

Locked on those bright green ones. Your mouth hung open as your breathing quickened, you were shaking. The adrenaline had finally worn off, and now the fear really hit. You tried to push yourself away, but your body wouldn’t budge. Fingernails scraped against the pavement, the constant friction making them feel sharper, raw, like even your fingers were desperate to escape. There was truly no way out. So you had one big move… Talking it out! It was stupid, but worth the shot, but you were truly in a position with no other option than executing an experimental idea. “H-hey! You understand a little bit of English, right? o-or..no…..” You tripped over your words, heart pounding like a drumline in your ears.

You hoped, you begged that the creature had even a shred of understanding. The creature blinked a few times. “I’m going to assume that blink was yes in morse code..” you mumbled to yourself “I mean, look, I can’t be the best meal here, right??..” You inhaled then exhaled. Then, you started talking. “There’s this super meaty guy in my lecture class you would definitely buss down- ” (You were referring to Lin lie) It roared at you. Loud and final. Before you could even finish, the creature lunged at you. Your heart skipped a beat. “JUSTHEARMEOUTOKAYPELASEEPE-.  ” You shut your eyes tight, bracing for the worst. Its warm breath hovered disgustingly close to your face… It truly was the end, you were NOT reaching your final form as a super doctor lawyer you urged yourself to be. Until. SHRRK. With a heavy golden hit, the creature flew across the alleyway. HALLELUJAH YOU WERE SAVED! By a hot guy?... ꒰꒰꒰꒰꒰꒰   ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ    ꒱꒱꒱꒱꒱꒱ You cracked open one eye to see a glowing fist, burning with victory. Then, your gaze slid down to the smooth, sculpted muscles. The hero before you stood tall and confident, radiating an intimidating aura. His suit, professionally crafted and rich in green and gold, shimmered with a dragon symbol embedded across his chest. It was tailored perfectly to his ripped form. He stood there, fist blazing in gold.

Without a word, the masked hero turned toward the creature, which screeched in fury.

In the blink of an eye, he grabbed it by the chin, slamming its face into the pavement. It disintegrated into nothing but red dust. He turned to you, a faint flinch passing over him. His yellow mask creased along the brow, as if he knew you. You could barely notice the flinch, your mind was too busy short-circuiting at the fact that the immortal Ironfist was standing right in front of you. He paused, eyes narrowing slightly behind the mask. "Not many survive a run-in with those things. You got a name, or should I just call you 'lucky'?" You shook your head, clearly mortified by how ridiculous the whole situation had turned out. “Look…this was clearly not on my schedule OKAY?!.” Ironfist raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in an almost amused smirk. “Well, you’re still breathing, so I’d say you’re doing better than most.” You’d always imagined meeting a big shot hero in your life, but of course, it had to happen at the most embarrassing moment possible. You cringed, replaying all the ridiculous stunts you’d pulled just to survive, fully aware he’d probably seen every awkward move. You let out a shaky breath, attempting to stand a little taller despite the situation. “hahaHAHah,,Yeah, well... breathing's a start.” It was obvious you were shaky, and the last thing you needed was to trip over your own feet in front of him. You’d seen the old Ironfist in action, but HIM? He was something else. You’d heard whispers of the current Ironfist’s feats, but nothing prepared you for the reality. And DAMMN, you were technically standing before a Greek god. Your hand pressed against the wall, the only thing keeping you from crumpling to the ground. You were still shaken, your body a mess of nerves, and for some reason, you were still clutching your laptop like it held the key to your survival. A wince tugged at your face as discomfort set in, your fingers digging into your own skin, a nervous habit you couldn't shake. "Hey, easy there. You’re safe now, alright?" He stepped forward, offering a steady hand, his voice low but reassuring. "You did good." He laid a hand on your back to keep you from falling, your body still tense, but in his touch… something shifted, and you felt yourself begin to melt. You were cushioned in his arms, awkwardly but comfortably laying in them. He shifted you a little, swiftly carrying you with ease in his arms.His arms felt like stone, and,LORD HAVE MERCYYY you couldn’t help but let out a shaky breath, your lips trembling as a flush of heat spread across your face. "You know, I don’t usually make it a habit to carry people around like this," he said with a small chuckle. "But, it’s a nice change from dragging them.." Was he indicating you to be the first? Oh yes he was… Lin li- Ironfist, saw you up close. He felt your heartbeat against his chest, soft and fast. You could only laugh, quickly darting your eyes away from his gaze. "Well... uhmmm, I’ve technically never been held like this before… so, I guess that cancels it out!"

A goofy smile tugged at your lips, and no matter how hard you tried, the fangirl inside you couldn’t be kept under control. god, you felt your heart being toyed. You squeaked as you felt his breath inch closer. You kept your hands firmly to yourself. Heat rushed to your face, you hadn’t meant to react like this. You stayed silent, eyes shut tight. No… this was way too close for comfort. Especially with someone as ridiculously built as him.

“You alright?” he asked, still carrying you with zero effort as the sounds of the chaos faded behind. “You’re kinda... making faces.”

“WOO… is it me or..haha…hHAGSH - it’s getting hot in here?” you blurted, blinking wildly as your brain failed to regulate literally anything.

He glanced down at you. “Pretty sure the fire’s a few blocks back.”

“Right, yeah, no, I meant like..like body heat! Not weird heat. Not your body heat. Not that you're weird..oh my god, I’m gonna stop talking.”

“…Are you sure you didn’t inhale something?”

“I inhaled like... microfibres of… uh… dust… but- I DON'T KNOW OKAY?!” you exploded, throwing your head back dramatically in his arms.

He huffed a laugh, “You’re definitely not injured. Delirious, maybe.”

You peeked through your fingers. “This isn’t even my final form. I get worse under pressure.”

“Great,” he said dryly, but his smirk gave him away. “Can’t wait.” The two of you were deep in the alley, and he cleared his throat, shifting his stance to stabilize himself. His bandaged fingers tightened their grip on you. 

“Hey, doll,” he said, his voice steady, “mind holding on tight?” …. ..DOLL??

“Huh? HUAH???” you blurted, eyes wide in surprise.

Without waiting for a response, he leaped up the wall, his movements fluid as he carried you effortlessly to the top of the rooftop. He leaped from one roof to another, and you had a clear view of the city below. But you could barely focus on it - your stomach was dropping, your screams drowned out by the rush of the wind. Your hair whipped violently around you, exposing every bit of fear etched on your face. “OHSHOSHIST OH SHIT OHSHIT OH SHIT!” you screamed, kicking your legs like it would somehow slow gravity down.

Ironfist didn’t even flinch as he soared over another gap. “You always this dramatic or is this a special occasion?”

“THIS IS ME BEING REALISTIC!” you shrieked as a pigeon flew past your face like a missile. “WE’RE IN THE AIR, THERE ARE NO SEATBELTS, I AM NOT OKAY!”

“Well, technically, I’m your seatbelt,” he said, while aiming for the next rooftop. “So… click.”

“THAT’S NOT HOW SEATBELTS WORK!!.” For a moment, he stayed quiet. Poor guy, doing his duty as the protector of Ku’n Lun and New York, while you screamed your heart out into his chest. An idea sparked up. He spared you a glance mid-jump. “So, uh... what’s your favorite food?”

“WH- WHAT?!” you yelled, confused by the sudden switch.

“You heard me. What’s it gonna be? Pizza? Ramen?”

“I- I- SUSHI??”

“Hm.” he nodded approvingly, twisting mid-air before landing again with a graceful thud. “You look like a spicy tuna kinda girl.” “NOILIKESMOKEDSALMONBETTER- UAGSJ OH MY GOD!” you yelled, but despite yourself, you couldn't help but notice that his voice had actually calmed your nerves a little. ꒰꒰꒰꒰꒰꒰   ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ    ꒱꒱꒱꒱꒱꒱ Another leap down to the ground- this one was longer. You could barely scream, too overwhelmed by the rush of adrenaline and fear. Your face was buried against his chest, hands clutching the golden dragon emblem on his armor like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. He landed safely, the soles of his boots crunching against the broken pavement. The force of the drop vibrated up through your legs, but you were still buried in his chest, hands clenched tightly around the golden dragon emblem on his suit.

“Uuhham… it’s over, right?” you mumbled, your voice muffled against him.

Iron fist tilted his head slightly, glancing down at you with a hint of amusement in his eyes. “You tell me.”

You didn’t answer right away. Mostly because you weren’t sure if you were. Or if you’d ever breathe normally again after that kind of trauma-powered cardio.

“I think my soul left my body somewhere up there,” you murmured, your face still smushed into his chest.

Ironfist spotted his team. Several members of the agents of atlas  had already set up evacuation routes, ushering civilians from the burning buildings. Luna Snow was creating ice slides to help people escape more quickly, while Shang-Chi carried multiple people to safety. Meanwhile, White Fox moved through the area, her senses alert for any survivors still trapped. Ironfist, smiled awkwardly, you were still digged into his chest, so he slightly moved your head up with his stone hands. Ironfist..no,,lie smiled awkwardly. You were still buried against his chest, so with one gentle motion, he lifted your chin up slightly with his bandaged, stone-like fingers.

“Thought you needed a proper breather,” he said, his voice low, with just the faintest curve of a grin. You blinked at him like your brain had gone completely offline. Wide-eyed. Silent. Mouth slightly open. You were trying to form words, really, but all that came out was a soft, breathy noise somewhere between awe and disbelief.

It made him huff a small laugh, but even he seemed caught in the quiet tension that lingered between you both. He was close. Way too close. And despite the chaos still buzzing in the background,burning buildings, scattered debris, distant yelling, this moment felt... weirdly still.

“You good?” he asked after a beat, voice softer now.

You nodded slowly. “Y-yeah. Just, uh. also,your hands are really heavy….”

His mask raised a brow. “They’re reinforced with Chi.”

“Oh. Right. That makes sense,” you said quickly, eyes flicking everywhere but his face. “You know, for punching… things.”

A pause. “And walls,” you added. Another pause. “And definitely not people’s faces.” He gave you a dry look. “Definitely people’s faces.” Another beat passed. You laughed- too loud, too sudden. “HAHAHh..uhh…yes…haha… yeah, still definitely… like, um… weapon-grade.”

You nodded quickly, words spilling out. “I mean..well- they’d be, like, WHEWW, really good for… y’know… manhandling- ”

Silence.

You blinked. “I-I mean- not like that! I meant like, in a fighting way! Like… like holding people down- NO, WAIT- like criminals! Bad guys! Not, like, in a weird way- oh my god what am I saying.”

He stared.

You stared.

The air was suffocating. And then- he laughed.

Not a snort, not a quiet exhale, not the dry huff he’d been giving you before. A real, full laugh. Warm, rich, and completely unexpected. His head tilted back slightly as the sound came out, raw and genuine, cutting straight through the tension like sunlight breaking through thick smoke.

You froze.

Oh no...

Oh no.

He was laughing.

At you. Because of you. Or maybe just near you. But it was happening and your brain short-circuited immediately.

“I-I didn’t mean manhandle in, like, a weird way!” you insisted, hands flailing. “You just have really strong hands and I panicked and I- STOP LAUGHIGNGNGN!!”

He was doubled over slightly now, one hand on his knee, the other bracing himself against a crumbling wall. His mask couldn’t hide it anymore, you could hear the joy in his voice, the rare, honest kind of laugh that only slipped out when your guard was down.

Eventually, he straightened, still grinning . “God,” he said, voice breathless, “you're so weird.” You were weird, hopelessly, embarrassingly head over heels for him. So instead, you stared down at your shoes, muttering half-hearted curses under your breath, right up until his teammates shouted for him across the rubble. “You good to walk?” he asked, turning his body to Luna’s direction.

You hesitated. “Yeah. I think my legs got the memo.”

He gave a small nod, almost reluctant, and took a step back. “Stick with the evac crowd. You’re not exactly subtle.”

You stared at him for a moment before he headed to Luna’s direction, then let out a slow breath.

“…Stay safe?” you echoed under your breath. Your heart pounded with something you didn’t quite understand. ꒰꒰꒰꒰꒰꒰   ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ    ꒱꒱꒱꒱꒱꒱ He left you with the rest of the survivors while he attended to other matters. You were left in awe, overwhelmed by the experience. It was something you’d never forget, standing among the survivors, you spotted a few of your classmates. Surprisingly, most of them had made it out, considering many had been in the same cafe as you.

You returned to your college dorm, laptop still in hand. You set it down and collapsed onto the soft duvet, your body sinking into the comfort. With your hands stretched out, you stared at the ceiling, your mind racing, processing everything that had happened. You couldn’t stop overanalysing it all. how everything unfolded, how he had been there. You were starstruck, baffled, and his figure was burned into your memory. You could still trace it perfectly, every detail from the moment you were in his arms.. For a few days, your campus was lucky enough to stay mostly safe from the falling debris, so students were advised to stay inside. You spent most of the time rewriting your notes onto flashcards, feeling a small sense of accomplishment. 

But no matter how much you tried to focus, your mind kept drifting back to him. His arms had been pressed into yours, solid and reassuring. They were rough, yet somehow comforting, a strange sort of warmth. It wasn’t much, but it was rare- one of the few moments you could say you’d earned, and it lingered in your thoughts longer than you’d expected. You sighed, resting your head on the campus cafeteria table. Well, damn. Back to your usual routine. But today, you were a lot more distracted, tapping your pen absentmindedly. You found yourself doodling him in a small chibi style on your notes- your mind clearly somewhere else. You chuckled quietly to yourself, glancing at the little scribbles. Yeah, you probably looked crazy, but you couldn’t help it. Your headphones were plugged in, and you hardly noticed anything around you—until you felt a soft tap on your shoulder and a looming shadow overhead.

You raised an eyebrow, looking up at him. "Lie?"

He froze for a second, like he wasn’t sure if you’d recognize him. Then, he gave a small smile and shrugged, clearly a little unsure of himself. "Hey," he said, setting the crumpled plastic bag on the table. "Uh, sorry about the past few dayss. Things got... hectic."

You glanced down at the bag, then back at him. "Hectic? You don't say," you replied, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. "You’ve been kind of MIA." You frown.

He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, uh... been dealing with some stuff." He quickly changed the subject, trying to ease the awkwardness. "Anyway, I got you sushi. Thought you might be hungry." Lie set the bag down on the ground and turned to face you, his smile a little cheeky but with a hint of nervousness in his eyes.

"You still willing to lend me a hand with the upcoming exam?" he asked, his voice light but unsure.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair. "Well..." You dragged the word out, giving him a teasing look. "Don’t ghost me this time, kay?"

Lie’s eyes widened for a second, then he let out a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I swear, no ghosting," he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I’ll be here, on time, all the way through. Promise." You might’ve flinched a little. That laugh, too familiar, the one you still couldn’t quite shake off.

You quickly pushed the thought away.Lie, oblivious, was still smiling. "So," he said, leaning in slightly, "what’s the verdict, teach?"

Something clicked..or you were going crazy…

Lie smiled directly at you, after all. Beneath the table, his hand flickered with gold specks. knowing that maybe, just maybe, things didn’t have to make sense to feel right.

Maybe he wasn’t your average guy at all..