#library book embosser

[acornsalessealsstamps]

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[engineersealstamps]

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[mykingdomforablog]

Got a book embosser for Christmas. Librarians hate to see me coming

[tuuliareads]

You know shit gets real when I use my embosser on a book

[iamnotoriginalphil]

To Be Taught a Lesson (Professor!Agatha Harkness x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Agatha has some anger to work out. Lucky for her, you happen to be right within touching distance.

Words: 6.9k

Warnings: Student/teacher relationship, power imbalance, toxic relationship, age gap (all 18+), corruption kink if you squint, bondage, swearing, degradation, marking, vibrator, begging, jealousy, possessiveness, overstimulation, dom!Agatha, sub!R

Tags: @sasheemo @buttercandy16 @chlondykebar @toomanylesbiancouples @midnight-lestrange @babybeeelle

You were curled up on the swing on Agatha’s back porch. Large swathes of skin were on show, your legs bare despite the chill in the air. Her sweater, the cashmere one that had cost an arm and a leg, looked good on you. With your head bent over the book in your lap, hair falling forward from where it had come free from the bun you’d thrown it into that morning, sunlight hitting your body, you glowed.

She looked away from you, back to the garden. The gardener had returned, planting something for the first blush of spring. You hadn’t even seemed to notice his arrival, buried in a book you’d been pouring over for days now. She knew that book. It was achingly familiar, the leather cover and embossed letters like a dream from another lifetime.

You tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear. Her eyes followed it, lingering long after your fingers had fallen back into your lap. Your teeth were worrying at your lower lip, a move that had grown familiar over the months of watching you. Every time you read, lost in thought, working on something, those teeth would sink in and she would feel her entire body come alive. Knowing what it felt when it was her teeth had only made the entire experience worse.

She wasn’t sure you knew exactly how tempting you were. You’d wandered into that library, in that insufferable bore’s home, and she’d known she had to have you. All wide eyed innocence and desperation, you’d been delicious from the moment she’d laid eyes on you.

And then you’d proven yourself to be exceptional.

Now, knowing you, knowing your body and your soul, there was nothing she wouldn’t do to keep you. Some nights she’d watch you sleep, worn out from her ministrations, and feel her heart squeeze. It wasn’t fair, how you impacted her, the effect you had on her, and you had no idea. None. That with a single word you could bring her to her knees.

You glanced up, lips parted on a soft sigh, eyes alighting on her. Your smile was immediate, your entire being brightening, melting back into the cushions on the swing. Your foot was on the wooden slats of the porch, gentle rocking yourself, bare leg making her mouth water.

“Anything else you need, Miss Harkness?”

She snarled, turning towards the gardener lingering was at the bottom of the stairs. His eyes widened, taking a step back from her.

“No,” she replied, the eye roll obvious in her voice, “get out.”

She watched him scurry away, a sick sense of pleasure coursing through her body. She shook her hair back from her face, her finger brushing back those strands caught in the wind. When she turned back to you, it was to find sparkling eyes and a hidden smile turned in her direction. The warmth that melted through her veins left her feeling unsettled.

“Do you aim to scare everyone you cross paths with?” you asked, slowing your rocking.

“Do I scare you, pet?” she asked in return.

You shook your head, lip caught between your teeth, keeping your pretty smile from blooming over your face. You made such a nice picture, in her clothes, bruises on your skin left from her lips and her fingers, looking at her like she was the only thing you could see. She wanted to devour you, to chain you up and keep you from ever leaving, to hold you so close and so gentle that nothing ever happened to you.

She sauntered towards you, hands in pockets, staring down at you. You watched her, mouth falling open, eyes sweeping over her body. She revelled when you looked at her like that, like she was every dream you’d ever had, like you were an innocent hoping to be corrupted.

She knew you were anything but innocent.

“I could, if you liked,” she said, stopping in front of you, “would you like to be scared?”

“I’d rather get my heart rate up over something else,” you said in that way that sounded so sweet but let her now what a naughty pet you could be.

Your hand reached for her, clutching at her shirt, tugging on her until she was close enough to curl her hands around you, to seek out your bare skin, to make you shiver. She skimmed her fingertips along your leg, pausing at the hem of the sweater you were in.

“I believe this is mine,” she said, pinching it.

“You can have it back if you want,” you said, stretching your leg out in a move that had her wanting to sink her teeth into your skin, “but you’ll have to take it off me yourself.”

You had grown so much since that girl she’d first met, careful to always say the right thing, stealing glances, wanting something you thought you couldn’t have. She chuckled, running her fingertips back down your leg, luxuriating in the warm skin under her touch.

“I wouldn’t bother,” she said.

You pouted and she knew you were doing your best to tempt her.

“It looks so pretty on you. Why deny myself the pleasure of seeing you in it?” she murmured.

Your eyes brightened, your smile turning pleased. She loved when she could please you. Your gaze turned down, head dipping, hair falling into your face, hiding you from her.

“None of that, kitten,” she said, her fingers raising your chin again.

Your fingers were still clutching her shirt. When you tightened them, pulling her closer, she let you without argument, wanting it as much as you seemed to.

“Sit with me?” you asked, and she couldn’t say no to you.

Your legs shifted as she sat beside you, feet pressing into her thigh. It was like you were unable to stay away from her, to keep yourself from touching her in some way. It had been so long since someone had been so intent on her. You’d made your promises of forever, but your actions were what made her believe there was a chance they would be true. You always reached for her, the moment she was in the same room. Your eyes always turned to her. Your entire focus caught on her. It was nice to know she was the only thing you could see.

“What are you reading, kitten?” she asked, even though she knew the answer.

“A manual on how to be a witch,” you replied, smile turning impish.

She could imagine you as a witch. Dancing under the moonlight with a group of women, power coursing through your veins, brewing up potions. You’d take to it like a duck to water, your natural habitat. You’d be formidable with magic running in your veins.

“The one I sent you for?” she asked, delicate as she could be.

“Rio returned it,” you said, eyes darting up to her then back down to the book in your lap.

“How kind of her.” She wasn’t trying to hide her sarcasm.

“Are you mad?” you asked.

“Not at you, kitten.”

She curled her fingers around your ankle, tugging until your foot was in her lap. With a featherlight touch, she ran her index finger along the arch of your foot. You squirmed, trying to pull out of her hold. She did it again, tightening her hold, refusing to let you go.

“Agatha,” you whined and she so loved that sound. Her name on your lips was a delight she wasn’t sure she would ever grow tired of.

“Yes, pet?” she asked, still stroking your skin.

“Tickles,” you complained.

She continued for another few moments, enjoying the way you wiggled, the noises of complaint you made, but the way you stopped trying to pull away. She wasn’t lying when she’d told you she had complete control over your body. And the best part was the way you submitted to her so easily. She loved how easily she could take control, and how easily you let it go.

She placed your foot down again, stopping the torture. Holding it in her lap, she began the rocking of the swing again. Your toes flexed against her thigh. When she looked back to you, you were watching her with such a heartbreakingly fond expression on her face. It made her want to bury herself in you.

“So have you learnt how to be a witch?” she asked rather than letting herself examine that too closely.

“Maybe,” you said, “can I try reading your palm?”

“Are you hoping to read my fortunes?” she asked, but she was already presenting her hand to you, turning her body so she was sitting crossed legged across from you. You moved your body to mirror her.

“Perhaps I just want to know if fate knows what I know,” you said, taking it in both of yours.

“And what do you know?” she asked.

You flashed her a smile.

“That our lives will be entwined forever.”

You bent your head over her palm, fingertips tracing over whatever you saw there. She let herself study you as you did, the way she had lost hours to in her office, in her bed, on her couch. Every time she found something new in your features, something new to enjoy, something new that delighted her. Your face was more familiar to her than her own, and yet she couldn’t look away.

“So there’s your life line,” you said, finger brushing her skin like she was something precious, “it’s nice and long so you’ll probably live forever.”

You glanced up at her, grinning. Her own smile was an automatic response. Your fingertips were still brushing over her palm, making her head spin.

“It says you’re vibrant and full of life. No breaks in it either so you should have good health. No need for that nurses outfit I bought then.”

Her fingers closed around yours, holding them still.

“And when did you have time to go buy a nurse outfit?” she asked.

“A few years ago for halloween,” you replied, “I got a lot of free drinks in it.”

She gritted her teeth, knowing it was irrational to be mad about any liaisons you’d had before meeting her but just the thought of anyone looking at you with lust had her blood boiling. You were hers, and if she had her way, everyone would know that. She’d have her name branded over your skin and ensure anyone who looked at you felt the fear they should. No one crossed her and no one coveted what was hers.

Not when it came to you.

“And you wanted to wear it for me?” she asked through her gritted teeth.

“I thought you might like it,” you said, looking at her through your eyelashes.

Oh, you could ruin her with just that look.

“Of course, maybe you’d prefer me in something else,” you said, “I could dress up as a witch for you if you’d like.”

“You think I’d like you to dress up for me?” she asked.

“Are you saying you wouldn’t like to see me in my sexy little outfits?”

You were playing with fire. You had to know that. And yet you kept smiling at her like you were some kind of fucking angel.

“Go back to your palm reading,” she said, rather than giving you an answer.

You lingered, eyes sparkling at her, before looking down at her palm once again. She released your wandering fingers. You began tracing her skin again.

“The head line. A nice long clear line. You’re clever, but then, everyone knows that. A brilliant mind for a brilliant woman.” Your voice was so soft, “but this curve means you’re creative.”

Your lips ticked up and she was desperate to know what you were thinking. She could have asked but the answer might shatter her.

“And there’s your fate line. It starts where your life line does, speaking to your ambition and self-confidence. It’s not very clear though, so you might not have good luck. I think.”

Your self deprecating chuckle was familiar to her in a way that made her heart skip a beat. She knew you so well.

“Your marriage line is short so you might never get married and if you do it’ll be later in life.”

She felt her breath catch.

“And then there’s your love line.” You glanced up at her again before returning back to her hand, “interesting. Very interesting.”

“What is?” she asked, surprised how much she wanted to hear your answer.

“This says you’re going to have a happy long love.” Your fingers were still stroking over her skin, “and that you’re an exceptional lover.”

“It does not,” she said but she was smiling.

“It does. Right here.”

You tilted her palm towards her, your finger running along one of the line on her palm. She looked at it, more focused on the look of your skin against hers. You stroked her palm again and tilted it back towards yourself, holding it in your lap like it was something to be treasured.

“And then hand shape matters too,” you said.

You had begun to draw patterns on her palm, and she could see the cogs working in your brain. The book was still in your lap, just underneath her hand, the image of a palm facing up towards you. She wished she had a window into your brain, that she could rifle through your thoughts the way she could through that book.

“Agatha,” you said, voice quiet and she knew you weren’t about to tell her about her hand shape.

“Yes, pet?” she asked, bracing for whatever was about to come out of your mouth.

“Who’s Wanda?”

She hadn’t braced well enough.

It was like being kicked in the gut, her breath rushing out of her. Her ribs ached and heart was squeezing hard. It was as if her vision was tunnelling, focused on that one point of contact between you, her hand and yours and that damned book. She should have never sent you to go get it.

“Where did you get that name?” she asked, her voice not sounding her own.

You flinched back, hands dropping hers and you looked up at her. Your wide eyed innocence wasn’t what she wanted to see.

“Rio. She said… she said I should know what happened,” you said.

“She had no right,” she snarled.

Her anger propelled her out of the swing, leaving you behind as she tried to get a handle on the emotions coursing through her body. You stayed behind, giving her space, not drawing closer the way you often did.

“Is she why you hate Rio?” you asked.

“No,” she said, “that’s a different issue entirely.”

The swing creaked. She couldn’t look at you, not when there was still so much anger in her. If she did she might break you, irreversibly, and just the thought of destroying you had her seizing with panic. So it was better she continued looking out over her garden rather than face you.

“Why can’t you tell me?”

Her eyes squeezed shut, not liking how lost you sounded. There was so much you didn’t understand, so much she hadn’t told you. It wasn’t lying. It wasn’t. She’d been waiting.

She’d had to be sure you wouldn’t be like Wanda.

“Is it really that bad?” you asked.

“Does it matter?”

She turned to you. You’d pulled your knees up, curling your arms around your legs, chin resting on top. Watching her with those big sad eyes that she was certain could get her to do anything, you were so solemn. Her fingers clenched at her side, fighting against the impulse to reach out.

“She was your student, right?” you asked, “I know there were others, that I’m not the first.”

“Rio shouldn’t have told you that,” she said.

“I’m glad she did. I want to know,” you said.

She turned her face away from you, leaning back against the railing.

“And it doesn’t matter. Because I know I’ll be the last one.”

Her head snapped towards you. You were still watching her, so serious, and so perfect. She had no idea how something so lovely had landed in her lap.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“Just that I plan on never letting you go. No one will come after me. This is it. And if you’re not okay with that I don’t really give a fuck. I’ll convince you if you’re not but there will never be anyone else for me but you,” you said, so fierce. Fire ran through your veins and it left her breathless.

She should have never doubted you.

“Wanda was my student ten years ago. The last student I mentored. I fell in love and she didn’t. When she graduated, and she graduated top of her class under my guidance, she took something from me. The book I’d been working on. She took it and when I confronted her about it she threatened to go to the administration about our relationship,” she said, the secrets finally spilling forth, “last I heard she was married with twin boys. Rio made sure to keep me abreast of her situation.”

“Agatha,” you sighed.

She hated the pity in your voice. Shaking her head, she turned back to the garden.

“She took everything from me. She’s the reason my career has stagnated for so long. I can’t move forward with my research without her destroying me and it feels unfinished so I can’t move on to something new,” she said.

The swing creaked again. She couldn’t bear to look at you, to see the pity she knew would be swimming in your eyes. There was a reason she hadn’t told you. Any weakness couldn’t be shown. She was strong and capable and there were no chinks in her armour. No chance of hurting her.

Arms curled around her body, tugging her towards a warm body. Your chin hooked over her shoulder, tightening your arms around her.

“You didn’t deserve that,” you said, voice soft, but there was steel there.

“No, I didn’t,” she replied.

“I’ll curse her for you,” you offered, “make it so she can’t even say your name.”

“Don’t tempt me, kitten.”

You nuzzled against her neck, lips brushing over her skin. She lent back, letting you hold her up. Pressing a kiss to her skin, you hummed. She let out a long breath, fingers twining through yours.

“Whatever you want, I’ll do it,” you murmured into her neck.

You’d been nothing but good to her. So sweet and so pliable and so accommodating. You were a literal dream for her.

So why was her stomach still roiling?

“Rio had no right to bring this up with you,” she said after a moment of silence.

“She’s had no right to do any of it,” you said.

She spun in your arms, slow as she thought over what she wanted. Mostly, she needed an outlet for her anger and there were no little students around to bear the brunt of it. No, all she had was you.

“You should have walked away when she tried to talk to you,” she said.

“Agatha, she had me pinned to a tree,” you said, fingers gently brushing her hair away from her face.

That was a bit of information you’d failed to mention when reporting back to her.

“She did?” Her fingers caught your chin, forcing you to look at her, “was she flirting with you?”

“Maybe.”

Her hold on you tightened. You shifted your weight from foot to foot but you didn’t try to pull away from her. Your lips parted and you were a picture of temptation.

“You don’t know? Or you don’t want to tell me the truth?” she asked, voice lowering.

You were close enough she could feel you shiver.

“I don’t think she was serious about it,” you said.

“You don’t know her like I do,” she said, “such a pretty little thing like you? She could never resist.”

“I’m not that irresistible,” you laughed.

You had no idea.

“Oh my sweet kitten.” Her nails dug in to your skin, “such a good girl. So innocent. You’re a siren call to her. You are everything that tempts her.”

“I’m not that innocent,” you pouted.

“You’re right. She doesn’t know what a naughty pet you can be.”

She spun the two of you, pressing your back into the railing. You gasped and your eyes widened. That was the innocent look she was talking about. It was the one that would drive Rio wild if she saw it. But if anyone was going to corrupt you, it was going to be her.

“Agatha,” you said, voice small and desperate and so delicious she wanted to drown in it.

“But she can’t have you, can she, pet?” she asked, tipping your chin up.

“No,” you said.

“Because you belong to me, don’t you, pet?” she asked.

“Yes,” you breathed.

“Then go be a good girl and wait for me on the bed.”

She let you go and stepped back. You lingered a moment, staring into her face, before you scrabbled away, rushing to follow her orders. She watched you, something dark curling through her veins. You paused, looking back at her over your shoulder, her sweater clinging to your curves. With a sly smile, you ran up the stairs, bare legs flashing.

You were in so much trouble.

She flicked the cover of the book closed, wrinkling her nose at the entire thing. Throwing it onto the kitchen counter, she was not being careful with it. If Rio was going to plant a reminder of her presence in her home, she wasn’t going to treat it with any kind of reverence. No, that would be kept all for you.

You were kneeling in the middle of her bed, the sweater pooling around the top of your thighs, hair loose. Teeth were worrying at your lower lip and your eyes were bright. You’d tugged the sleeves over your hands, looking the picture of innocence. You’d understood exactly what she wanted.

She was never letting you go.

“Look at you, following instructions for me,” she murmured, stepping into the room proper.

“Anything for you,” you said.

Her fingertips ghosted over the apple of your cheeks, looking down on you. Your eyes watched her from under lowered lashes, blinking as she let herself touch you. You were so plaint beneath her fingers.

“What am I going to do with you?” she asked, eyes sweeping over your body.

“Whatever you want,” you replied, sounding so breathless she’d be worried if she didn’t know it was all an act to excite her.

“That’s right, pet. I’ll do whatever I want to you and that pretty pussy between your thighs,” she said.

You made such a wonderful little noise. Leaning down, she let her breath ghost over your lips, grinning when you tipped your face up, straining towards her. She shoved you back, your back hitting the mattress. Crawling over your body, she felt you squirm.

“Are you wet, pet?” she asked.

“Uh huh,” you said.

“Are you making a mess on my cashmere sweater?” she asked.

You made another small noise. Her fingers dipped down, feeling how wet you were, seeking out evidence of you dripping onto her very expensive sweater. She already had a plan of how to punish you for it.

She grinned.

“Would you look at that,” she murmured, “I’ve barely touched you and you’re already dripping for me.”

“Want you, Agatha,” you whined.

“You’re always such a desperate little thing. I bet you’d let anyone fuck you if they could get you off,” she said.

“No, no, only you,” you said.

“Don’t lie to me, pet. When Rio had you pinned to that tree I bet you were gagging to have her knuckles deep inside of you. If she offered you’d jump at the chance. You’re such a desperate little slut you don’t care who it is as long as it feels good,” she said, fingers featherlight as they ran through your folds.

“Only you,” you whimpered again, hips bucking into her hand as you tried to urge her on.

“I bet you got yourself off to the feeling of her pinning you to that tree. Was that why you came home so desperate for me? You got down on your knees right there in the kitchen for me because she left you all riled up. Should I send her a thank you note for sending you home in such a state?” she asked, watching you while her fingers brushed over your clit.

“Agatha,” you moaned, fingers clenching in her sheets.

“Or maybe I should offer her a go with you? A nice thank you for all the pleasure I’ve gotten from you. I’m sure you’d enjoy that,” she said, knowing she was being mean but not caring.

“No,” you moaned.

“No you wouldn’t enjoy that? Because I think you would. I think you’re such a slut it doesn’t matter who you’re in bed with. You don’t discriminate as long as they can fuck you good and proper,” she said, “you’re nothing but a dirty whore.”

“Agatha,” you whimpered.

She removed her hand from between your legs, forcing her fingers between your lips. You lapped at her skin, licking away the mess you’d made, sucking on them until your cheeks hollowed. You were watching her, such heat in your eyes it made her feel on fire.

She drew them from between your lips, wiping them dry on the sweater still encasing your body. With swift hands, she tugged it off your body, throwing it aside. Completely bare before her, all she could think of was the way you’d been sauntering around the house all morning like that. Nothing but a thin sweater between her and your body. You were such a little tease, knowing exactly what it would do to her.

“Parading yourself around in front of the gardener like that, I bet you would have let him take you right there on the lawn,” she said, “I bet you would have liked it if I’d watched.”

“There’s no one but you,” you whispered.

She scoffed but her hands were busy on your skin, feeling how soft it was beneath her touch. You arched into her, presenting yourself so beautifully for her. Fingers pinched at your nipples, watching the way your eyes slid closed, lips parting in a soft sigh. You knew how to drive her wild, to tempt her into losing control.

She would not be losing control.

With a strong grip, she manoeuvred you further up the bed. Catching both of your wrists, she lent over the top of you, securing them above your head. You tugged on them, your bonds, finding them unforgiving. Agatha grinned down at you.

“No chance of you slipping away to one of those other beds you warm now. Maybe I’ll leave you tired up here for days, use you to my heart’s content until you’re all fucked out,” she mused, finger tips brushing down your body.

She paused on your nipples, flicking them. You hissed, arching up into her touch, looking at her from under hooded eyelids. That was the look of her pet who thought she was going to get exactly what she wanted. The kind who thought she could get what she wanted by pouting her pretty lips and doing what she was told. The kind that thought she was a good girl.

How wrong you were.

It wasn’t until you were squirming on the mattress, your nipples pinched between her fingers, that she considered what she should do to you first. Spread out for her, bare to her gaze, you were the most beautiful view. She licked a long strip between your breasts.

“You’re so easy, pet. You’d let anyone tie you up like this,” she murmured into your skin.

You shook your head, whimpering when she harshly twisted one of your nipples. You were always so responsive to her, just a sweet little thing for her, just as she knew you would be that first time she laid eyes on you. Every part of you yearned to please her and you’d never made a secret of that fact. It alway sent a thrill through her.

“Should I keep you right here? Never let you escape?” she asked.

“Please,” you begged, “keep me forever.”

Her nose brushed along the soft curve of your breast, lips pressing to your skin. Your spine arched, offering yourself up to her. Such a good pet. Her teeth sunk in, your gasp gratifying. She wanted to see her teeth marks for days to come, your body marked as hers. She’d collar you, her name burned into your skin, make it clear to anyone who so much as glanced at you who you belonged to.

“You are rather beautiful,” she murmured, “I can’t blame them all for wanting you.”

Your fingers clenched around nothing, hips shifting on the mattress. Straddling you, she could see the way your eyes were beginning to glaze over, lips parted as you watched her, breathing growing faster under her hands.

“Who wouldn’t want you?” she asked, still gazing down on you.

She ran her hands down your body, leaving your breasts behind. Your skin was so warm against her palms. She could spend forever touching you and it would never be enough.

“You’re entirely too temping, pet. You have no idea what you do to me,” she said.

“Agatha,” you whimpered, “please.”

“Let me taste you.”

She slipped down your body, strong hands pulling your thighs apart. You were glistening in the afternoon light, so beautiful for her, and all for her. She lingered, drinking in the moment, wanting to feel the power she held.

Burying herself between your legs, she let herself taste you. She would never grow tired of that taste, the way you always exhaled softly, the cant of your hips towards her mouth. You never made it a secret how much you wanted her, how good she made you feel, how much you desired her. Even when she wasn’t between your legs, you desired her. Every single part of her. Even the bits she wasn’t always sure about.

Her fingers dug in as she held your legs open, wider than she knew was comfortable for you, but she didn’t care. She was made to fit between them and she would do what she wanted to get closer. You let out a shuddery breath, hips bucking into her mouth.

Her tongue teased you, grin hidden when you moaned her name. If only all those other stuffy professors could see her good girl, tied up and desperate for her touch. They would be shocked how dirty you could be. That wide eyed innocence was nothing but an act and just knowing she brought out this side of you with so little work was such a turn on.

You were begging her, a constant stream of words. You were writhing against the mattress, hips pressing closer to her. Her lips wrapped around your clit, that wonderful bundle of nerves that had you turning into a babbling mess. She dragged her eyes up your body, finding you watching her already. She flushed, loving being watched by you. Your eyes were the only ones she wanted on her, and just a glance from you could turn her breathless. A lovestruck fool. That’s what you’d turned her into.

It was pathetic.

She stopped going easy on you, turning rough again. This was all your fault. You encouraged everyone to become enamoured with you. She watched the way people looked at you when you walked across campus with her. They feared her but they were drawn to you. And the worst of it was you clearly didn’t realise it.

She wanted to snarl at the crowds of people who looked at you like you were something to covet. Like they wanted you. Like they could have you.

She had to teach you to stop encouraging them.

You cried out her name and she realised without even planning it, she’d made you cum. She’d been distracted, missing it. Too bad for you. You’d just have to go again. And she wouldn’t be stopping until she’d drunk her fill.

You whimpered, straining against your bonds, but you didn’t try and get away from her. She’d trained you so well. You took everything she gave, no questions asked.

She watched the way pleasure played over your face. It was a heady feeling, knowing she was the cause of that. She gave you no time to catch your breath, wanting to watch you. She was greedy, she knew it, but why bother denying herself when she knew you weren’t going to complain. Your legs were trembling, and your breathing was unsteady.

She loved the way you moaned her name.

Your body tensed, hips rising to meet her mouth. She lapped at you, refusing to miss a drop. You whimpered, a soft mewling noise, trying to move your hips away from her. Her hands only held you tighter, bruising your pretty skin, wanting more. She always wanted more of you.

“Agatha,” you pleaded, “it’s too much.”

“It’s too much when I say it’s too much,” she said.

But, looking at your face, the way you were wriggling, the squirming, she sat back on her haunches. And even so, you made a pained noise when she stopped touching you.

You watched her as she got off the bed. Her eyes swept over your body, lingering as she thought about all the things she wanted from you. She ran her fingertips along the arch of your foot, enjoying the way you squirmed.

“I’ll be right back,” she promised.

She considered her collection of toys. She had her favourites but now it was about you. Plucking one up, she turned to you. You were watching her from under hooded eyes, hair sticking to your temple, legs pressed together again. A smirk stretched over her face.

“Come on, pet. Show me how pretty your pussy is,” she said.

You parted your legs again, welcoming her back to her rightful place. The buzz of the vibrator in her hand had your breath hitching.

“Agatha,” you said.

“I know you can do better than that. You’re usually so insatiable. Don’t tell me you don’t want this,” she tutted.

When she pressed the vibrator between your legs, a strangled groan came from your lips. Your hips were already rising to meet it, squirming as you rolled against it. She held it there, watching you rut against her like the animal you were. All those crowds of people had no idea you were such a desperate little slut. That you would do anything to get your orgasm.

That you would do anything to get her to give you an orgasm.

She lent forward, capturing one nipple between her lips. She was harsh with you, refusing to be gentle, to go easy on you. This was what you deserved, welcoming Rio into your life to flirt and stir up trouble. That woman would never do this to you. She’d make sure of it.

You were arching up into her mouth, giving her everything. There was no chance anyone else was ever going to have you like this. No one else deserved to see you like this. This was only for her.

The noise you made was music to her ears. It only made her press the toy against you harder. You were whimpering above her, shuddering, tugging on your bonds. She let her teeth sink in to your skin, tasting you, ignoring the way you whined.

Your legs were pushing together, her hand caught between them. Tutting, she sat up again. Leaving the vibrator between your legs, she shuffled down the mattress. Catching one ankle, she tugged it towards the corner of the bed, securing it in place. You were looking at her with big pleading eyes but she ignored you, doing the same with the other ankle. You were spread out for her, swollen and dripping, making a mess of the sheets.

“No point complaining now, pet. You’re the desperate little slut willing to do anything for an orgasm. I’m just giving you exactly what you want. You don’t get to decide how many you get. Just be thankful I’m so willing to indulge you,” she said.

You made such a small noise, soft and sweet and so pathetic it made her grin. She swept her fingers through your folds, gathering your wetness. Her tongue dragged up her finger before sliding it between her lips. Her other hand found the vibrator again, pressing it to your clit, harsh, unrelenting, forcing you to feel more.

Even as you made those noises your hips kept rolling against the vibrator, grinding against it. It was like you couldn’t help it. Even when it was too much you wanted more.

She wouldn’t survive losing you.

Your back arched up off the mattress, almost bowing in half. Her name was barely intelligible on your lips but she knew. You only saw her. She was the only one to you. And she was going to make sure it stayed that way.

She slipped between your legs again, needing to taste you again. You whimpered but you didn’t argue this time. You were so well trained.

She lavished attention on you, tasting deeper, her tongue teasing at your entrance. Your eyes were squeezed closed but she could see the tear slipping down into your hair.

“Come on, pet. You can give me one more, can’t you?” she asked.

You nodded your head. She sucked a bruise into the skin over your hip, knowing she’d want to see it later. Returning to your throbbing core, she let her tongue penetrate you, licking deeper. She wanted to feel it this time.

When your internal muscles clenched and you made a broken noise above her, she knew. Turning off the vibrator in her hand, she tossed it aside, pressing a chaste kiss to your swollen clit. You shifted your hips away, but it was sluggish.

She was gentle as she moved down your legs, untying you. Her hands were soft as they stroked over your skin. Pressing soft kisses to your skin, she climbed up your body. She tugged the bonds off your wrists, lowering your arms. Your wrists were rubbed raw, bruises already forming on your skin. You shuffled closer to her, boneless and graceless, letting her rub the circulation back to your hands.

“You did so well for me,” she murmured.

You mumbled something, too quiet for her to hear. She pressed kisses to the top of your head, keeping you resting against her body. Her fingers ran through your hair, untangling the knots she knew she’d caused.

“I’ll be back in a second,” she said after a while.

“‘Kay,” you said, sounding so tired.

She lingered in the doorway for a moment, gazing down at you. You were so soft and malleable, worn out from everything she’d put you through. She would happily spend the rest of her life seeing you like this.

You were everything she’d ever wanted. She ached with it, how much she wanted you. Not even just sexually. It was everything about you that she wanted at all times of the day. Even the few times you weren’t with her, she missed you. It was ruining her.

You were ruining her.

With a warm flannel she cleaned you up, careful with your body. You let her, so pliable in this state. She pressed a soft kiss to the inside of your knee, nose nuzzling at your skin. You giggled, quiet, a little slurred. She tossed the flannel aside and crawled back up to you.

Her arms curled around you, letting you sprawl over her chest. You pressed your face into the crook of her neck, your breath ghosting over her skin. She trailed her fingertips up and down your spine, feeling you melt against her.

“No one even comes close to comparing to you,” she whispered, not sure if you could hear her.

Your lips brushed against her skin and you let out a soft sigh. She tightened her arms around you, refusing to let go. You burrowed closer, needy for her. She kept pressing kisses to your hairline, listening to your breathing, stroking your skin.

“Do you really think I’m irresistible?” you asked after some time had passed.

“You have no idea,” she replied.

You made a pleased little sound, wiggling closer.

“You know it doesn’t matter because no one will ever replace you, right?” you asked.

“I know,” she said, and it was so easy to believe it.

Your head tilted up and she felt you kiss the underside of her jaw. She threaded her fingers through yours, holding your hand.

“You know, you never finished reading my palm,” she said, looking down at your joined hands.

“What?” You sounded so sweetly confused.

“You said hand shape matters. So what hand shape do I have, kitten?” she asked.

“It doesn’t matter.” You tilted your chin up to look her in the face, “as long as we’re together you’re going to have a wonderful life.”

Maybe you could read the future because that sounded accurate to her. With you by her side, the future looked so much brighter than she ever could have expected. She couldn’t wait to experience it with you.

[kittenan]

The Art of Obedience

Pairing: 20 y/o curious college student!reader × 33 y/o famous anonymous kink author!Namjoon

Word Count: ~7k+

Warnings: Explicit smut, BDSM elements (tying up, spanking, fingering, blindfolding, rough sex, edging, orgasm denial, squirting), power dynamics, daddy issues, slow corruption, filthy dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, possessiveness, mild fluff, emotional vulnerability. All activities are consensual with safewords established.

The library is a labyrinth of secrets, its air thick with the musk of old books and unspoken desires. You’re on your tiptoes, stretching for a book you’ve only heard rumors about: The Art of Obedience by RM, hidden in the restricted section like a dirty little secret. Your fingers graze its worn leather spine, the title sending a shiver down your spine, when another hand—big, warm, and far too confident—brushes yours.

You gasp, startled, and the book crashes to the floor with a thud that echoes like a slap in the silent library. Your cheeks blaze as you stammer an apology, but a voice stops you—deep, velvety, laced with danger.

“Careful, sweetheart,” it purrs, amusement curling around the words like smoke.

You look up and fuck, you’re not ready. He’s towering, a wall of lean muscle in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that could snap you in half. Dark hair falls into sharper eyes, gold-framed glasses perched low, and his lips—god, his lips—curve into a smirk that screams trouble. He’s older, maybe mid-thirties, but the way he’s looking at you makes your thighs clench involuntarily.

“I—I didn’t mean to—” you start, voice barely a whisper.

He crouches, slow and deliberate, picking up the book. His fingers linger on the cover, thumb tracing the embossed RM. like it’s a lover’s skin. He placed this copy here himself, months ago, under his secret pen name—a test, a game to see who’d dare touch it. And now you, a wide-eyed college girl dripping with innocence, are reaching for his filthy words.

He straightens, eyes raking over you—slow, predatory, like he’s already fucking you in his head. “Interesting choice,” he murmurs, flipping the book open with a casual flick. The pages fall to a chapter on submission, and his smirk deepens. “What’s a sweet thing like you doing with a book like this? Researching for a boyfriend?”

Your throat tightens, heat pooling low in your belly. “N-no, I am single. I was… just curious.”

“Curious,” he repeats, stepping closer, close enough that you can smell him—clean soap, leather, and something dark, like bourbon and sin. “That’s a dangerous word, little girl. Curiosity gets you wet in places you don’t understand yet.”

You try to step back, but the bookshelf digs into your spine. Trapped. His gaze is a physical thing, heavy and hot, stripping you bare. He holds the book out, dangling it like bait. “Take it,” he says, voice low, commanding. “But if you do, you’re mine to teach. You ready to learn what this book really means?”

Your fingers tremble as you reach for it. His hand doesn’t budge, forcing you to lean into his space, your chest brushing his. Your breath hitches, and you catch the faintest twitch in his jaw, like he’s holding back from devouring you right here.

When your fingers close around the book, his brush yours again, deliberate and lingering. “Good girl,” he whispers, the words dripping with mockery and promise. “Lesson one: always listen when someone more experienced offers you help.”

“Lesson two: you don’t touch what’s mine without permission. And this—” he taps the book, “—is mine. Just like you’re about to be.”

You’re already fucked, and you haven’t even said yes out loud.

A week later, you’re in a private reading room at the back of the library, the door locked with a soft click that feels like a gunshot in your chest. Namjoon leans against the oak table, arms crossed, his presence filling the room like he owns it. The book sits between you, its leather cover gleaming under the dim light.

“Rules first,” he says, voice low and firm, like he’s already got you under his thumb. “You say ‘red’ to stop. ‘Yellow’ to slow down. Nothing means you’re good. Got it?”

You nod, mouth dry, pussy already throbbing. “Yes.”

His eyebrow arches, sharp and expectant. “Yes, sir,” you correct, voice shaking.

His lips twitch, a flicker of approval. “Good girl. Stand up.”

You do, legs wobbly, and he’s behind you in an instant, his heat pressing against your back. You feel the smooth silk of his tie slide over your wrists, cool and tight as he binds them behind you. The knot is firm, leaving you helpless, your arms pinned and your pulse hammering in your clit.

“Feel that?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear, his breath hot and teasing. “That’s what it’s like to be mine. Completely at my mercy, but safe. You trust me, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, sir,” you whisper, cunt slick with need.

He steps in front of you, fingers grazing your jaw, tilting your chin up. His eyes are molten, searching, and his thumb brushes your lower lip, pressing just enough to make you part your mouth. “So fucking innocent,” he says, voice dark. “You’re trembling already, and I haven’t even touched you.”

You whimper, and he leans in, lips hovering over yours, so close you can taste the mint on his breath. “I’m gonna make you beg for it,” he whispers, “make that pretty little pussy drip just from my words.” His fingers slide down your neck, ghosting over your collarbone, then lower, circling your nipple through your shirt. It’s hard, aching, and he pinches it lightly, making you gasp.

“Not yet,” he says, stepping back, leaving you panting, tied up, and so fucking wet you’re soaking your panties. He picks up the book, casual as hell, like he didn’t just set your body on fire. “Read the first page. Out loud.”

“W-what?” you stammer, cheeks burning.

He smirks, settling into a chair, legs spread wide, bulge obvious in his slacks. “You heard me. Read. Let’s see how good you are at following orders.”

You stumble through the words, voice shaking as you read about surrender, about giving yourself over completely. Every sentence feels like a caress, his eyes locked on you, devouring every flush, every hitch in your breath. When you finish, he stands, slow and deliberate, and unties your wrists, his fingers lingering on the faint red marks.

“Go home,” he says, voice soft but commanding. “Touch yourself daily until we meet again. Think about me. But you don’t come. Not until I say so.” - He gives his card. "Call me in case you need help."

You leave, pussy throbbing, mind spinning, already desperate for more.

You’re five minutes late to the next meeting, and Namjoon’s waiting, eyes dark and dangerous, like a predator who’s been kept waiting too long.

“Late,” he says, voice a low growl. “You know what that means.”

“I’m sorry, I—” You said. "The Bus-"

“No excuses.” He’s in your space before you can blink, towering over you, his hand tipping your chin up so you can’t look away. “You need to learn what happens when you make me wait.”

Your stomach flips, arousal pooling between your thighs. “W-what happens, sir?”

He doesn’t answer, just points to the table. “Bend over. Now.”

You obey, heart pounding, bending over the polished wood, hands braced on the table. The anticipation is electric, your body humming as he steps behind you. His hands lift your skirt, slow and deliberate, exposing your thighs, then your ass, your panties clinging to your soaked cunt. The air is cool against your skin, and you shiver, feeling utterly exposed.

“Count,” he orders, voice like velvet and steel.

His hand comes down, a sharp smack on your ass, the sting blooming hot and sweet. “One,” you gasp, voice trembling.

Another spank, harder, the heat spreading through your core. “Two.”

By five, your skin is burning, and you’re dripping, the fabric of your panties sticking to your swollen folds. He pauses, fingers grazing the edge of your underwear, so close to where you’re aching but not touching. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with lust. “So fucking wet already, and I’ve barely started. You love this, don’t you?”

You whimper, too turned on to be ashamed. “Y-yes, sir.”

Another spank, and this time you moan, loud and needy, your clit throbbing. His hand lingers, fingers slipping under the fabric, brushing the slick heat of your pussy but not pushing inside. “Such a dirty little girl,” he says, teasing, his touch gone before you can beg for more. “You want it so bad, but you don’t get to have it yet.”

He pulls your skirt down, leaving you trembling, unsatisfied, your ass stinging and your cunt aching. “Same time next week,” he says, voice calm, like he didn’t just wreck you. “And don’t you dare touch yourself until then.”

You leave, a mess of need, your body screaming for release you’re not allowed to take.

You’re on time this week, heart racing as you step into the reading room. Namjoon’s waiting, a black silk blindfold dangling from his fingers, his eyes dark with intent. Your pussy clenches at the sight, already wet, already his.

“Trust me?” he asks, voice soft but heavy, like he’s asking for your soul.

“Yes, sir,” you breathe, and he ties the blindfold over your eyes, plunging you into darkness. Every sound is sharper—his footsteps, the rustle of his clothes, the hitch in his breath. He guides you to the table, lifting you so you’re perched on the edge, thighs spread.

“Spread your legs wider,” he commands, and you do, skirt riding up, panties exposed. His hands slide up your thighs, slow, torturous, until he’s peeling your underwear off, leaving you bare. The air hits your slick folds, and you bite your lip, aching for his touch.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and then his fingers are there, teasing your entrance, circling your clit with featherlight strokes. You moan, hips bucking, but he grips your thigh, holding you still. “Not yet. You beg for it first.”

“Please, sir,” you whimper, voice breaking. “Please touch me. I need your fingers inside me. I need to come.”

He chuckles, low and filthy. “That’s better.” One finger slides inside, slow and deep, stretching you, then another, curling against that spot that makes you see stars. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight circles, and you’re shaking, so close it hurts.

“Look at this greedy little cunt,” he says, voice rough. “Sucking my fingers in like it’s starving. You’re so fucking tight, baby. Gonna feel so good when I finally fuck you.”

You’re whining now, desperate, the blindfold amplifying every sensation. His fingers pump faster, wet sounds filling the room, and you’re right there, teetering on the edge. “Please, sir,” you sob. “Please let me come. I can’t—I need it.”

“Come for me,” he growls, and you do, shattering, your pussy clenching around his fingers as waves of pleasure crash through you. His fingers don’t stop, curling harder, thumb pressing relentless circles, and something builds—intense, overwhelming. You cry out as your body convulses, a gush of wetness soaking his hand, the table, your thighs. You’re squirting, the release so powerful it leaves you trembling, oversensitive, a whimpering mess.

“Fuck,” Namjoon groans, voice raw with awe. “Look at that. You’re fucking perfect, baby, squirting all over me like a good little slut.”

He pulls his fingers out, and you hear him suck them clean, moaning like he’s savoring every drop. The blindfold comes off, and his eyes are wild, pupils blown, but there’s a flicker of something softer—something that scares him.

“You’re too fucking perfect,” he says, kissing your forehead, gentle and jarring after the filth. “Rest up. We’re far from done.”

The fourth meeting is different. Namjoon’s hungrier, rougher, like he’s been holding back too long. You’re on your knees, wrists tied with his tie, his hands fisted in your hair as he guides you closer to his cock, straining against his slacks. The book’s open on the table, and you spot something—a scribbled note in the cover: Kim Namjoon as well as RM. Both handwritten signatures side by side, RM's signature same as printed inside the book.

Your breath catches. “You’re… R.M.?”

He freezes, then laughs, dark and dangerous, tugging your hair to tilt your face up. “Caught me, baby. Now you know who’s been writing the shit that gets you so wet. And you’re still gonna let me ruin you.”

You’re too shocked, too turned on to argue. He kisses you, hard and possessive, teeth clashing, tongue claiming your mouth like he owns it. Clothes rip—your shirt’s buttons scatter, his belt clanks, your skirt’s yanked down. He lifts you onto the table, spreading your thighs wide, and pauses, just looking at your dripping cunt.

“Fuck, you’re a masterpiece,” he growls, and then he’s pushing inside, thick and long, stretching you so good it’s almost too much. You cry out, nails digging into his shoulders, and he fucks you like he’s claiming you, each thrust deep and punishing.

“Mine,” he snarls, hands gripping your hips, leaving bruises. “This pussy’s mine. No one else gets to fuck you like this. Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasp, clenching around him, already close. “Only yours, sir.”

He groans, slamming harder, the table creaking. “Gonna fill you up,” he says, voice raw. “Make you mine for good.” His thumb finds your clit, rubbing fast, and you come undone, screaming his name, your pussy milking his cock as he spills inside you, hot and thick.

You’re both panting, sweaty, tangled together. He brushes your hair back, eyes soft for the first time, like he’s scared of what’s between you. “Don’t tell anyone,” he says quietly. “About the book. It’s just… a side hobby. Don't need attention.”

“I won’t,” you whisper, and he kisses you, slow and deep, like he’s sealing a promise. His cock buried deep inside you, hot and unyielding.

Weeks later, you’re back in the library, the familiar scent of old books wrapping around you like a lover’s embrace. You’re seated at a secluded table, The Art of Obedience open in your lap, every filthy page now a map of your own desires. You’ve read it cover to cover, each chapter a spark that ignites memories of Namjoon’s hands, his voice, his cock. Your thighs press together under the table, your panties already damp just thinking about him.

Across from you, Namjoon’s writing in a leather-bound notebook, his glasses low on his nose, that same predatory focus in his eyes. He’s been working on something new, he said, a chapter written just for you. The thought alone has kept you on edge all day, your body humming with anticipation, your cunt aching for what he might have in store.

He glances up, catching you staring, and his lips curve into a smirk that’s pure sin. “Done daydreaming?” he asks, voice low, teasing. He slides the notebook across the table, the pages open to a freshly inked chapter. “Read it. Out loud. Let’s see how you handle it.”

Your breath catches, heat flooding your core. You take the notebook, fingers trembling slightly, and begin to read, your voice soft but steady, though every word feels like it’s unraveling you.

The chapter is titled “Lessons in Lust” It begins with a description of a woman—clearly you, though unnamed—kneeling before a man, her wrists bound with silk, her body bare except for a thin lace garter. The man’s voice is described as a low growl, commanding her to spread her thighs wider, to show him how much she wants him. The prose is vivid, explicit, detailing the way her arousal drips down her inner thighs, the way her clit pulses with every word he speaks.

“You’re so fucking desperate for me, aren’t you?” he says in the text, and you can almost hear Namjoon’s voice in your head, feel his breath against your ear. “Look at that pretty cunt, begging for my cock. But you don’t get it yet. Not until you’re crying for it.”

He teases her, his fingers tracing her folds, collecting her slick and spreading it over her clit, but never giving her enough. He edges her, bringing her to the brink again and again, until she’s sobbing, pleading, her body shaking with need. The scene shifts—he bends her over a table, her cheek pressed to the wood, and spanks her, each strike making her wetter, her moans louder. He whispers filthy promises, telling her she’s his, that no one else will ever make her feel this way. “You’re mine to break,” he says, “mine to fuck, mine to ruin. And you love it, don’t you? You love being my dirty little girl.”

Your voice falters as you read, your pussy throbbing, soaking through your panties and onto your skirt. You shift in your seat, trying to relieve the pressure, but it’s no use—every word is a pulse straight to your clit. Namjoon’s watching you, his gaze heavy, his hand resting on his thigh, fingers twitching like he’s holding back from touching you right here.

“Keep going,” he says, voice rough, his own arousal evident in the tightness of his jaw.

You swallow, continuing, your cheeks burning.

The man finally gives in, sliding his cock into her, slow at first, letting her feel every inch. He fucks her hard, relentless, the table shaking beneath them. He pulls her hair, forcing her to arch back, and whispers in her ear, “Come for me, baby. Show me how much you need this.” She does, her body convulsing, squirting around him, soaking his cock, the table, the floor. He doesn’t stop, fucking her through it, claiming her completely.

You finish the page, voice barely a whisper, your body trembling with want. Your cunt is so wet you can feel it dripping, your thighs slick under the table. Namjoon leans forward, his eyes dark, dangerous, and so fucking pleased.

“Liked that, didn’t you?” he murmurs, standing and rounding the table. He stops behind you, his hand sliding over your shoulder, fingers brushing the nape of your neck. “You’re soaked just from reading it. I can smell how much you want me.”

You whimper, head tilting back as his fingers trail lower, dipping under your collar to graze your skin. “Please, sir,” you whisper, already desperate.

He chuckles, low and filthy, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Oh, baby, we’re gonna make that chapter real. But not here. Tonight, in my bedroom. You’re gonna show me just how much you want to be my good girl.”

He pulls back, leaving you panting, and slides the notebook into your hand. “Finish your reading,” he says, smirking. “I want you thinking about me all day, dripping for me until I’m ready to fuck you senseless.”

You nod, too overwhelmed to speak, your body alive with need. As he walks away, you open the book again, knowing every page is a promise of what’s to come—and you’re already his, completely.

A/N: "This library’s closed, but I hope Namjoon’s lessons left you soaked and begging for more of my words. Tell me your dirty thoughts in the comments. Hey @namluvili hope you like it."

Taglist: @the-djarin-clan . @btsstraykidsateez . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe  . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @namluvili . @mytaegiheart . @@dear-mono . @lilyficrec

Important Update: Please check out this post and support on backup account.

Do Follow my backup account : @kittenan2

[idkyetxoxo]

Three | Where Smoke Lingered | Little Star

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Word count - 2.2k

Warnings - Mentions of domestic abuse, slight angst

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The house had finally settled into silence. An oppressive, suffocating quiet that seemed to press against the walls like a breath held too long in the lungs waiting to collapse. 

Everyone had gone to bed, or at least to the semblance of sleep.

Amren had returned to her apartment in the city without a word. Mor had gone with her but she hadn't said goodbye either. The way her eyes had darted, catching on every shadow, every scrape on the wall, like she expected the house to shatter beneath her feet. 

She hadn't looked at me. Couldn't. As if my presence was too painful to acknowledge.

Cassian, Azriel, and Rhys had retreated to their rooms, each one taking their guilt and fury with them, no doubt combing over the wreckage of the night, grasping at broken threads, replaying words spoken and those that should have been. 

No one had followed me. No one had stopped him.

The small home library was dim when I stepped in, the faelight from the hallway casting long, shivering shadows across the spines of books I'd once loved. 

Everything was smaller somehow. Duller. Like the air itself had forgotten how to hold colour.

My breath caught violently in my chest as my gaze swept the room. Daeron stood by the fireplace. Still. Silent. 

The worst version of himself—the calm kind. 

That calm wasn't peace, it was control. Measured cruelty. The kind of stillness that only came before a storm or after something precious had already been broken.

His expression was unreadable, but there was a satisfaction to his stillness, a smugness to the silence that exuded from him. 

Something about it felt intentional, like he was waiting for me to fall apart, and he was already savouring the taste of it.

My eyes flicked to the windowsill with mounting dread, and the cold inside me turned to panic.

The book. My mother's book. My book.

It was gone.

The same one she gave me when I was little, the one that smelled like jasmine and old parchment and her. The one that had lived on that sill since the day she was murdered. 

I'd read it a hundred times, a thousand. Memorised the words not just on the page, but how they made me feel—safe, grounded, whole. A tether to a world where she still existed.

I moved without thinking. Fingers trembling, I tore through cushions and blankets, checked under tables, behind shelves, desperate and fumbling. I checked places it couldn't be, wouldn't be. 

I didn't care. I had to find it. It was more than a book. It was the last real piece of me.

All the while, he watched.

He watched me fall apart. Not with confusion or concern but interest. Like he was studying something. Like he was savouring the unravelling of something delicate.

"Where is it?" I asked finally, my voice a raw whisper. My throat burned. My chest ached. 

The air had thickened, turned noxious, and something inside me, something quiet and precious, began to crack under the weight.

He didn't answer at first.

Instead, he tilted his head and then slowly, deliberately pointed to the fireplace behind him.

I didn't understand at first. I didn't want to. But then the smell hit me. Burning leather. Charred paper. Memory turned to smoke.

I stumbled forward, my steps clumsy, my hands clutching at nothing. The flames licked hungrily at what remained. 

Blackened, curling pages. The gold embossing melted and twisted. The spine cracked and split, the story bleeding into flame. 

My mother's handwriting, the notes in the margins—ashes. All of it. Gone.

It wasn't just a book. It was her voice. Her warmth. Her comfort. Her love. And now it was smoke in my lungs, soot on my skin.

My knees almost gave out.

I turned to him with wide, disbelieving eyes. My magic, a thing I hadn't touched in years, fluttered weakly in my blood, responding to my grief like a ghost too long ignored.

He didn't flinch.

"Do not mourn too long," he said with a shrug, already turning his back, like what he'd done was inconvenient, trivial. At the doorway, he paused, one hand braced against the frame. "I expect you to pay for how your family treated me tonight. Come to your room when you're done with the weeping."

The words clawed at my insides.

"Why?" It left me without meaning to. Barely a breath, more ache than question.

He turned, eyes empty of remorse. "Don't pretend you don't know."

Then he was gone.

And I stood there alone, the scent of burning still clinging to the air, watching the ashes of my mother's voice dissolve into nothing.

That was the moment I understood, really understood what my family had been trying to make me see all these years.

He doesn't hurt me. He erases me completely.

The next morning, I woke to find him gone.

The room was quiet, sterile in its stillness, no trace of him left behind, save for the evidence etched into my skin.

Bruises bloomed like poisonous flowers across my thighs, ribs, wrists. My jaw ached from where his hand had gripped too tightly. My lip was split again, a thin line of dried blood cracking as I moved. 

But it wasn't the physical pain that hurt most. It was the silence inside me.

The kind of silence that only comes after you've screamed and screamed and screamed.

I moved like something newly dead, dressed in the dark with trembling fingers. I couldn't look in the mirror. I couldn't stay in that room where the walls still echoed with his voice and the smoke of my mother's book clung to the air like grief.

So I went to the kitchen.

The motions were automatic, muscle memory from a life that no longer belonged to me. My hands found the ingredients with the ease of habit. I didn't think. I just did. 

Chocolate chip cookies.

The kind Rhys always claimed he could smell from miles away. The kind Cassian would devour in seconds, crumbs on his shirt, chocolate on his grin.

The kind my mother used to make with me on quiet evenings, when everything felt okay.

I clung to that memory like a lifeline, like if I stirred the batter just right, if I measured perfectly, if I didn't drop a single grain of sugar—maybe I could still be that girl. The one before the erasure.

The timer beeped, breaking through the fog. I opened the oven door, expecting comfort.

Instead, the smell hit me first—burnt. Acrid. Wrong.

The cookies were blackened discs, charred beyond saving. I blinked at them, not understanding. 

I had made this recipe in my sleep. Hundreds of times. I knew it better than I knew myself.

I reached for the tray with my bare hands. The heat seared into my palms, but the pain didn't register.

I just stood there. Holding onto failure. Holding onto ashes again.

Then, warm hands, scarred hands took the tray from mine, gentle but firm, setting it on the counter with a hiss of cooling metal.

Azriel. I hadn't heard him come in. I didn't know how long he'd been watching. He said nothing.

Instead, he turned me gently toward him, his touch light like he thought I might shatter. Maybe I already had.

His hazel eyes met mine—seeing, not just looking. My own eyes burned, raw and red, not from the oven heat. My lip quivered.

Still, he didn't speak. Didn't ask.

He just wrapped his arms around me and held me.

My body sagged into his, a sob catching somewhere deep in my chest that wouldn't come out. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to go back. 

Before last night. Before the fireplace. Before him.

But all I could do was stand there, clinging to Azriel, my hands scorched and useless, my heart cracked open.

It wasn't fair. None of it was fair.

And maybe Azriel couldn't fix it. But he didn't try to.

He didn't offer hollow promises or quiet revenge. He just held me. A steady, silent shield against the wreckage I'd become.

My voice cracked as I finally spoke, the question tumbling out like a stone too heavy to carry any longer.

"Does he hate me?" I asked. "Is he... disappointed?"

I leaned back, just enough to see his face, Azriel's face, carved in the kind of stillness only someone who'd survived their own darkness could wear. 

Hazel eyes met mine. Steady. Searching.

Eyes I had known for years, eyes that had seen through me and past me and still stayed.

There was a shift in them now, soft and solemn. As if something had finally clicked into place. As if he was watching the version of me I had tried so long to hide begin to resurface—damaged, yes, but still here.

"Rhys could never hate you," Azriel said softly. The truth in his voice was absolute. "Not even close."

The shadows, his shadows, slipped from his skin to mine, curious and tender. They skimmed over my arms, brushing at my hands, whispering against my neck like they remembered me, too. Like they missed me.

Azriel's thumb grazed my bottom lip, feather-light, pausing at the cracked skin. His brows furrowed, not with anger but grief. His grief. For me.

Gentle hands. So unlike his. So unlike the last seven years.

"You don't have to carry all of it, you know."

I blinked, pulling back just enough to look at him. "What?"

He glanced down, then up again. "The guilt. The shame. The silence. None of it belongs to you."

I shook my head, a bitter laugh caught in my throat. "Doesn't feel that way."

"I know," he said simply. "But feeling it and deserving it aren't the same."

His voice wasn't soft for comfort, it was soft because he meant every damn word. Like he was giving me something delicate, he didn't think I'd believe.

"You didn't choose this," he continued. "It didn't happen because of you."

I swallowed hard. "I let it happen to him."

Azriel's jaw tensed, a flicker of something dark in his eyes, but not at me. Never at me.

I looked away, staring at the ruined cookies on the counter. 

"Az," I breathed, my voice thin against the weight of it all, ignoring the pulsing pain from my palms. It didn't matter now.

He hummed in response, quiet as the hush between heartbeats. "Yes?"

My gaze fell away from his, and yet the words rose unbidden, slipping from some hidden part of me that had never stopped hoping someone might understand.

"He erases me completely."

There it was. Laid bare. No metaphor. No veiled meaning. Just the truth.

I didn't know why I said it. I couldn't explain the reason or the timing or what part of me still had enough fight left to confess it. I just knew I had to say it—to him.

Azriel stilled.

I felt it in his body, in the way his breath caught, in the way his arms tightened just enough around me without ever hurting. 

And I felt it again in the small, silent ache that passed between us, shared like a secret.

His heart physically ached. I could feel it, like the shadows themselves carried the tremor of it.

And then he pulled me in again, closer this time. One hand stroking my hair, the way he had when I was younger. When Spring Court dreams turned to nightmares, when betrayal had carved a hollow so deep in my chest, I feared I would never feel warmth again.

He hadn't known what to say back then, either. But he had never needed to.

He just held me. Like now. Quietly. Surely. With a kind of love that didn't ask for anything in return.

Later, with my hands bandaged and raw, I found myself wandering back to the library, drawn to it like a tether I couldn't see. Something pulled at me, soft and persistent, threading its way through the hollowness that had taken up residence in my chest.

The moment I stepped through the doorway, I felt it.

The air had shifted.

Golden light poured through the tall windows, spilling over the spines of the books in long, honeyed stripes. Dust floated in slow circles, caught midair like falling stars. 

Everything looked the same. Familiar shelves, worn chairs, the quiet hum of stillness, but something was different. Something was waiting.

It sat on the windowsill, right where the original had always lived. The spot where I'd curled up countless nights, the place where stories had wrapped around me like blankets.

A book. Not the book. Not the one Daeron had burned to ash in the flames. That one was gone. Lost forever. But this...

This was a copy.

Bound in the same aged leather, edges worn like it had lived another life before finding its way to me. Wrapped neatly in a familiar blue ribbon. 

There was no note. No signature. Just this quiet offering, this breath of memory returned.

I hesitated. My fingers, still stinging beneath the gauze, trembled as I reached for it. I sank to the floor beneath the window, book in my lap, the ribbon slipping away like water through my hands.

I opened it slowly. The pages whispered as they turned, soft as a lullaby.

There it was. My favourite page. My mother's favourite line. The one she used to read with a smile in her voice and a tear in her eye. The one that had always felt like home.

Except now, beneath that line, something new had been written.

Delicate, careful script. Ink pressed just a little too hard into the page, like the writer's hand had been shaking.

"You are not what he did to you."

I stared at the words, and the world cracked wide open inside me.

Because I knew that handwriting. I would know it anywhere.

A/n - So we've further established that Daeron is a piece of shit x

I originally made her a baker just because I love baking but it ended up fitting the story so well, it's a perfect way to mirror her rise and fall!

Also there's a little easter egg hidden in this chapter for something coming later. I tried to keep it cryptic, so I doubt anyone will catch it... but if you do, we're basc on the same wavelength :)

As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts so please don’t be afraid to share them <3

(i’m posting this from my phone on vacation hopefully i didn’t fuck up the format 😭😭)

Little Star tag list - @jaybbygrl @writtenbypavani @fall-winter-heart97 @coeurdeveea @lilg101010 @krazykangaroo712 @moonlitlavenders @lil-lupa @jasmineee05 @pinksnowtiger @yourdarkrose @nerdybee123 @bookwormysblog @thoughtfulcoffeeflower @suspicious-stain-in-spain @anainkandpaper @theflowerswillbloom @queenoffeysand @historygeekqueen @lexi-in-wonderland @tele86

[mahalachives]

Part 2: Plot Twist: You're All Fictional

Summary: You were just rereading A Court of Thorns and Roses in bed when the universe decided to yeet you straight into Prythian, landing face-first in Rhysand’s lap. Now, you're a pajama-clad disaster with Cheeto fingers, emotionally harassing Azriel, befriending Mor, verbally sparring with the High Lords, and naming feral chickens after the Shadowsinger. You may not know why you’re here, but one thing’s for sure: you’re going to make it everyone's problem.

Genre: crack humor, drabble, minor az x reader (bcus why not)

Oops, I tripped Into Prythian - Masterlist

You had been in Prythian for exactly one week, and it was time to address the most pressing issue of all.

These people didn’t know they were in a book series.

You discovered this terrifying fact over dinner, when you accidentally let it slip that Feyre’s “entire life arc” hit harder than your student loan debt.

Feyre paused mid-bite. “My what?”

Cassian looked up, suspicious. “What did you say?”

You blinked. “Uh. Your... life arc. Like, the plot. The narrative. The emotional beats? No?”

Nesta slowly set down her fork. “Why does she sound like Gwyn when she’s two poems deep into a wine night?”

So naturally, because you had zero impulse control and no concept of self-preservation, you decided to fix the situation.

By holding a book club.

You gathered the entire Inner Circle in the House of Wind library and dramatically unveiled the stack of ACOTAR books Mor had helped you recreate with a little Illyrian smuggling and Helion’s glamour spells.

“Welcome,” you declared, arms outstretched, “to your unsolicited literary awakening.”

Rhysand eyed the books like they were cursed. “You’re telling me someone… wrote down our lives?”

“Multiple someones,” you said solemnly. “And then sold them. Worldwide.”

Azriel’s jaw ticked. “So strangers know... everything?”

You nodded. “Everything.”

Cassian leaned forward, grinning. “Even about-”

“Yes, Cassian,” you interrupted. “Even that.”

He fist-pumped. “Nice.”

Feyre picked up A Court of Mist and Fury, frowning as she flipped through the pages. “Why does this make me sound like a YA protagonist with trauma and a painting fetish?”

“Because you are,” you said helpfully.

She blinked.

Nesta grabbed Silver Flames and skimmed a few pages before muttering, “Well. This is uncomfortably accurate.”

Cassian peeked over her shoulder. “They really wrote that scene? That scene?”

Nesta smirked. “Word for word.”

Rhysand was halfway through A Court of Frost and Starlight when he scowled. “Why does this one feel like filler?”

“Because it is,” you and Nesta said in perfect unison.

Mor, gleeful, held up Wings and Embers. “Wait-does this mean Cassian is officially a simp?”

“Yes,” you said. “Certified. Trademarked. Embossed in gold.”

Cassian threw a pillow at you. “And what about you? Are you in these books?”

You shrugged. “Sadly, no. I am but a humble interdimensional interloper. However…” You dramatically pulled out a custom-made novella cover with YOU x AZRIEL: Mating Bond Mayhem printed on it in shimmering Night Court silver.

Azriel stared at it like it personally offended him.

“Please tell me that isn’t real,” he muttered.

You winked. “It is in my heart.”

Rhys flipped open A Court of Thorns and Roses, reading aloud. “He was the most beautiful male I’d ever seen.’”

You leaned in. “Yes. And that’s Tamlin. Remember him?”

Rhys dropped the book like it burned. “Unclean.”

Feyre giggled.

Nesta snorted.

Even Azriel’s shadows flared like they were trying not to laugh.

Then Elain, who had been quietly reading in the corner, finally looked up.

“I like this version of me,” she said softly.

Everyone froze.

You blinked. “You… what now?”

Elain held up A Court of Silver Flames, pointing to a scene where she verbally eviscerates Lucien. “I like that I get mad. That I have feelings. That I say things.”

Cassian whispered, “Oh gods. She's awakening.”

Azriel looked genuinely alarmed.

“Elain,” Feyre said slowly, “you’re always allowed to say things.”

“I know,” Elain replied, deadly calm. “But now I have dialogue.”

Mor cackled.

Nesta looked like she’d been waiting years for this. Rhysand leaned over to Feyre and whispered, “Do we… encourage this?”

You stood and raised your hands. “Friends. Fae. Chaos incarnate. I have one final proposal.”

Cassian perked up. “Does it involve more books?”

“No,” you said gravely. “It involves us starting a book club.”

Rhys groaned. “We live the events already, why would we-”

“Because,” you interrupted, “it’s different when you know spoilers.”

Azriel narrowed his eyes. “Spoilers?”

You grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know who your mate is?”

Everyone froze.

You turned dramatically toward him. “Spoiler alert: It’s me.”

Azriel turned and walked away.

You cupped your hands around your mouth and yelled after him, “I HAVE FANFICS TO PROVE IT.”

He didn’t stop.

But Elain, flipping through A Court of Mist and Fury again, murmured, “Wait… what’s fanfic?”

And you smiled.

Because Prythian wasn’t ready.

And neither were they.

To be continued.

[novaursa]

The Games We Play

- Summary: The dragon catches Otto’s attention, and he decides to charm you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Otto Hightower

- Note: The reader is the younger sister of Viserys and Daemon.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Next part: ambition of the heart

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The corridors of the Red Keep stretch before you, gilded by the warm glow of the morning sun, filtering through the windows. The tapestries sway with the faint breeze, but your attention is on a page of a history book about Old Valyria, which you clutch with both hands as you walk.

Your brother, King Viserys, had gifted you this particular tome, knowing how fascinated you were by dragon lore. But as you turn the page, you nearly stumble over the hem of your gown, the sudden sound of footsteps catching you off guard. You look up to find Lord Otto Hightower approaching, his expression warm yet carefully measured, as if he is calculating every word he’s about to say.

“Ah, Lady Y/N,” Otto begins, his tone gentle, though you catch the way his eyes sweep over you with a touch more interest than is typical. “You appear most immersed in your studies. May I ask what has captured your attention today?”

You give him a polite smile, lifting the book to show the embossed cover. “A history of Valyrian customs, my lord. It speaks of the rites and traditions our ancestors held dear.” Your voice holds genuine excitement, your mind already drifting back to the text. Otto, however, is more interested in your smile than in the book.

He clears his throat, trying to lean just slightly closer without appearing improper. “A most fascinating subject, indeed. Perhaps you might enlighten me with some of that knowledge over a walk in the gardens later?”

Before you can even formulate a reply, Viserys appears around the corner, oblivious to the undercurrent in the conversation. “Ah, Otto, Y/N! What a happy coincidence. I was just about to ask Y/N to join me in the Small Council chambers. I thought she might offer some insight.”

Otto’s lips twitch, the friendly mask slipping just a little, though he recovers quickly. “Of course, Your Grace. Her wisdom is always a boon.” He steps back with a courtly bow, but you don’t miss the way his eyes linger on you as Viserys leads you away, completely unaware of the exchange.

The next encounter is by the training yard. Daemon’s laughter rings out as he spars with Ser Harwin Strong, the clash of blades echoing in the brisk morning air. You watch from the sidelines, amusement curving your lips as Daemon lands a particularly cheeky blow against Harwin’s side, earning him a grunt of irritation.

A voice speaks up beside you, smooth and almost conspiratorial. “Your brother always had a flair for the dramatic, didn’t he?”

You glance to your side, finding Otto there, hands clasped behind his back as he observes Daemon with a raised brow. He offers you a small, knowing smile, and you nod, the corner of your mouth quirking up.

“He’s always believed that swordplay is as much about showmanship as it is about skill,” you reply, amusement tinging your words.

Otto seizes the moment, leaning in slightly as if to share a secret. “Perhaps you would prefer a quieter setting, my lady—something more suited to your interests? A stroll through the library, perhaps? I would be most honored to accompany you.”

You blink, caught off guard by the offer, and are about to respond when Daemon’s voice cuts through the air like one of his blades. “Careful, Hightower. My sister’s too good for the likes of you.” He grins wickedly, tossing his practice sword to a waiting squire. “And she doesn’t need a shadow breathing down her neck.”

You glance at Daemon, trying to suppress a sigh. Otto stiffens beside you, his expression momentarily tight, but he forces a gracious chuckle. “A jest as sharp as your sword, Prince Daemon.”

Daemon claps you on the shoulder, ignoring Otto altogether. “Come, Y/N. You’ve seen enough of Hightower’s dour face for one day.”

You glance back at Otto, who offers a strained smile as Daemon drags you away, muttering under his breath about meddling advisors and their hidden motives.

During supper, Otto’s attempts are more subtle, but no less apparent to those who know where to look. As you sit next to Alicent, your brother’s new wife, Otto keeps finding reasons to address you directly, his voice warm and tinged with admiration.

“I trust the evening finds you well, Lady Y/N? The cook prepared your favorite roast, I believe,” Otto remarks, a meaningful gleam in his eye as he gestures to the dish before you.

You murmur your thanks, a little puzzled by his attentiveness but assuming it’s mere politeness. Alicent, however, stiffens beside you, her fork pausing mid-air as she glances sharply between you and her father.

“Father, I did not realize you were so concerned with Y/N’s tastes,” she remarks lightly, though her tone holds a note of warning. Her eyes meet yours, a question in their depths.

Otto only smiles, lifting his goblet. “One must pay attention to the finer details in life, Alicent. It’s what makes one a capable advisor, after all.” He casts a quick, almost shy glance in your direction, and you catch a hint of something earnest behind his carefully constructed facade.

Before you can respond, Viserys claps his hands together, drawing attention back to him. “Ah, yes, the finer details. That reminds me—Y/N, have you considered taking a seat at the council yourself? Your insights are always so valuable.”

Otto’s expression falters, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face as the king unknowingly redirects the conversation away from his attempts at wooing. He sips from his goblet, though his gaze keeps drifting to you throughout the meal, undeterred by the setbacks.

It’s in the gardens, a week later, that he makes another attempt, catching you after your walk with Alicent. As she steps away, leaving you alone among the rosebushes, Otto approaches, brushing a stray leaf from your shoulder with a practiced air.

“Lady Y/N,” he says, his voice lowering as if to make this moment more intimate. “I do hope you’ve been enjoying your time in the Red Keep. It must be lonely without the presence of a companion to share your thoughts with.”

You tilt your head, studying him with a curious smile. “I have my family, Lord Otto, and the company of friends. Though I appreciate your concern.”

For a moment, you see the faintest hint of uncertainty in his eyes, as if he’s weighing whether to speak plainly or continue his subtle dance around the subject. But before he can decide, Daemon strides into the garden, his expression darkening as he spots the two of you together.

“Isn’t there a council meeting you should be attending, Hightower?” Daemon’s tone is pointed, his arm slipping around your shoulders in a gesture that is both protective and possessive. “Or perhaps you’re looking to add ‘gardener’ to your list of titles?”

Otto’s jaw tightens, but he bows with forced politeness. “Prince Daemon, always a pleasure. I shall leave you both to your... conversation.”

As he walks away, his shoulders a little more rigid than before, you can’t help but stifle a laugh, leaning into Daemon’s side. He rolls his eyes but smirks, shaking his head as if the whole ordeal is a great joke.

“What exactly did he think he’d accomplish? Flirting with a dragon in front of me, no less.” He squeezes your shoulder. “You’d best keep an eye on that one, Y/N. The only thing more dangerous than a snake is a lovesick one.”

You chuckle, glancing back to where Otto’s figure disappears around a corner, already plotting his next approach. Though you don’t quite understand what he’s after, you can’t deny that his efforts—though misplaced—are amusing.

And as you return to the keep with Daemon at your side, you can’t help but wonder if Otto Hightower might just be as persistent as he is ambitious.

[jadeshifting]

— GALAS AT MALFOY MANOR

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

a MALFOY GALA is less about having fun and more about proving you belong—if you can keep your wits about you and avoid spilling wine on your robes, you might just make it out unscathed

— the INVITATIONS are delivered by sleek black owls with embossed emerald parchment, each one radiating a subtle but unmistakable don’t even think about declining energy. declining is possible, but only if you want to be talked about for months

— FIRST IMPRESSIONS, arriving guests are greeted by enchanted lanterns that light the winding driveway, their flames flickering in perfect synchrony. a house-elf in pristine livery opens the grand doors, and Narcissa herself offers the faintest of smiles as you step into the marble-floored foyer

— the ATMOSPHERE practically drips with opulence, from the enchanted chandeliers glittering like constellations to the string quartets playing hauntingly beautiful tunes. it’s all about showing off—not just wealth, but power

— the MANOR is decked out to perfection, with enchanted roses blooming in every room and marble floors that reflect the candlelight. guests can wander the gardens, but you do not open random doors—who knows what cursed artifacts are lurking

— the GUESTS are a who’s-who of the wizarding elite, with sharp smiles and sharper tongues. everyone’s dressed to kill, literally dripping in jewels and designer robes, and no one’s above a bit of genteel gossiping in the corners

— DRESS CODE is strictly black-tie, wizarding style. robes must be tailored to perfection, and any magical embellishments—like self-adjusting hems or floating crystals—must be tasteful. Narcissa will notice, and Draco will most definitely make a subtle dig at you if your outfit doesn’t meet the mark

— THE MALFOYS; Lucius and Narcissa glide around like royalty, greeting everyone with icy politeness. Draco’s usually lurking near the drinks table, equal parts brooding and charming depending on who’s watching

— the banquet tables of FOOD are insane—tiered platters of exotic delicacies that practically float into your hands. expect flaming desserts and cocktails that shimmer like liquid starlight

— DRINKS, the bar is stocked with rare vintages, including Malfoy estate wines and liquors that glow faintly in the dark. The signature cocktail of the night features some absurdly rare ingredient like powdered unicorn horn (ethically sourced, allegedly, but you know no one truly believes that)

— the SEATING ARRANGEMENTS are very strategically assigned by Narcissa herself. expect rival families seated just far enough apart to avoid an outright duel but close enough to exchange cutting remarks. if you’re at the main table, congratulations—you’ve made the inner circle for the evening

— the POLITICS make every conversation a chess game. compliments are laced with subtext, and alliances are solidified or shattered over a glass of wine. it’s not unheard of for a marriage to be proposed or a business deal to be sealed between bites of pheasant

— GARDEN STROLLS, between courses, guests often wander the enchanted gardens. hedges shaped like serpents and peacocks loom large, and fountains spout shimmering streams of water that occasionally form words like Prestige or Legacy. don’t get lost—the statues might move if you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be

— the ENTERTAINMENT is always top-tier—enchanted ballet performances, fire-breathing dragons (contained, of course), or dueling demonstrations in the courtyard. if you’re lucky, the family’s private orchestra might play a piece commissioned just for the evening

— occasionally, a guest might be granted a private tour of the MALFOY LIBRARY, which is more like a cathedral of books. if you’re invited in, it’s a signal that Lucius or Narcissa considers you very important—or that they’re about to offer you a deal you can’t refuse

— the DANCE FLOOR of the ballroom opens up after dinner, and it’s the place to be seen. couples glide across the floor to live orchestral music, their robes trailing behind them like spilled ink. if you don’t know how to waltz, you’d better fake it or stay far away

— someone always makes a DRAMATIC EXIT and leaves in a huff. whether it’s over an offhand comment or a subtle power play gone wrong, there’s almost always a flurry of robes and the slam of the front door as a disgruntled guest Apparates home

— the GOSSIP is unbelievable, and by the time the gala is over, the rumor mill is in full swing. who danced with whom, who got too drunk on enchanted champagne, and who dared to challenge Lucius in a political debate? everyone talks about it for weeks

as the evening winds down, you’ll find Narcissa giving parting gifts wrapped in silver and green, while the house-elves discreetly clean up without a sound. no one leaves feeling quite the same, not that they’ll admit it

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

[acornsalessealsstamps]

Add a charming touch to your book collection with this personalized library embossing seal. Featuring a winsome daisy design, this 1-5/8" press leaves a crisp imprint of your name—ideal for bibliophiles who love marking their literary treasures in style.

[returnsandreturns]

Crowley’s teased Aziraphale for centuries about not reading books exclusively because he likes the little crease he gets between his eyebrows when he doesn’t like how Crowley is behaving. He rarely gets to see it these days and it doesn’t show up as much as you’d think with some of the behaving Crowley does but the second he lounges against a shelf and says, “Dunno why you waste your time with all these books when television exists,” he’s sure to catch a glimpse of it. 

“They do the reading for you, angel,” he says. “And there’s–explosions and things. You know, ka-boom.”

He makes a little exploding motion with his hands and Aziraphale levels him with a look that would immediately scare off a mere mortal who just wanted to casually browse in a bookshop with an open sign right on the door. 

“This feels like blasphemy,” he says, “and I won’t have it in my bookshop.” 

“Oh, you let me blaspheme all the time until it’s about books,” Crowley says, trying not to smile too hard when Aziraphale’s glare turns into a pout. 

There’s an inevitability to books, though, with the amount of free time he’s created for himself and the amount of time he spends adjacent to them. He’ll leave the bookshop with paperbacks shoved in his back pocket, hidden by his jacket, always half expecting the angel to catch him as he’s leaving. His reaction would have been so complicated. Stealing is bad but reading is good. That’s the kind of black and white thinking you're taught upstairs. The gray of whether the virtue of reading overrides the sin of stealing is something Aziraphale is good at. A little puzzle that ends with the answer being libraries or politely asking.

The jig is up when Aziraphale happens upon him in the park, sprawled out under a tree with a copy of Tipping the Velvet, so engrossed in it that he doesn’t even notice until Aziraphale is standing over him. 

“Shit,” Crowley says, startled, dropping the book. “Since when do you loom?” 

“Since when do you read?” Aziraphale asks, like he’s just been given the most delightful gift he’s ever received. 

“. . .I steal,” Crowley says, sitting up on his elbows and raising his eyebrows. “From an angel’s bookshop, which is, I assume, doubly a sin. If I happen to glance through my stolen goods, that’s my business.”  

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, warmly, sitting a shopping bag down before moving to sit next to him. “Are there many paperbacks on my bookshelves?” 

“. . .just the occasional one lying around, I suppose,” Crowley says, suspiciously. 

“And why do you suppose that?” Aziraphale prompts. 

“. . .did you trick me into literacy?” Crowley asks, gasping.

“I merely placed books I thought you might enjoy around for you to make the choice,” Aziraphale says, adorably pleased with himself.

“Well, that’s familiar,” Crowley says, laughing. “You tempted me into literacy.” 

“Do you like this one?” Aziraphale asks, ignoring that and picking up the book, the broken spine immediately healing under his touch.

“I might,” Crowley says, defensively, then groans. “Oh, fuck, I lost my page.” 

“I miracled a bookmark before it hit the ground,” Aziraphale says, handing it back to him, and Crowley flips it open to see a black bookmark embossed with his initials and a lovely snake pattern, laughing.

“Satan help me,” he says, smiling at him, “but I kind of like this side of you. Bit of petty mischief. It’s cute.” 

“. . .could I tempt you into something else, perhaps?” Aziraphale asks, slowly. 

“Lunch?” Crowley asks. 

Instead of answering, Aziraphale reaches out to cup his cheek and kiss him, soft at first but then Crowley kisses him back, trying to hold back the impulses of thousands of years worth of not kissing Aziraphale as Aziraphale presses him down into the grass. 

Of course it was books that finally did it. 

“If I’d taken your suggestion to read all those poetry books you were pushing on me back in the eighteenth century, would you have done this then?” he asks, when they finally take a break. 

“Well, darling, if you must know, they were love poems,” Aziraphale says, despairingly, starting to sit up again until Crowley drags him back on top of him.

“I’ll read any poem you want, angel,” he says, hushed, “just don’t stop.” 

“Dangerous thing to say, darling,” Aziraphale says, kissing him softly on the forehead.

[snowballseal]

My Dearest

Part 1

LaDS Zayne X Foreseer!Reader

Prologue

Summary: It's a normal day in the Tower of Thorns. Until someone knocks on your doors. No one ever knocks...

Word Count: 1094

Warnings: Brief mention of thoughts of death.

Note: This is still largely set up, but the end is just the beginning of the real story. I just love writing exposition :3 I'm laying the foundation for future parts of the story, and establishing how the Foreseer works in this AU. There is no cannon here lol.

---

It was a normal day within the walls of your Tower. Well, as normal as one of your days can be. 

The longer you stay here, the more they seem to blend together, the more time seems to mean less. You’ve spent months sitting on your throne, just to see how long you could. No food, no water, just…sitting. Letting the cold creep into the depths of your bones.

To see what death might feel like.

Shaking your head, you turn your attention to the sole window of your library. A storm rages outside, snow turning the usually dark sky white. A perfect day for reading.

Such thoughts aren’t worth lingering on, after all. You cannot die. Not by natural means, at least. Your body will live on despite lacking everything, which must be why you can exist in such a hellscape while nothing else can. Blessing or a curse, you’re not sure.

Your fingertips linger on the worn spines of your books, most of which you’ve already read. Many are without clear titles, though you know the exact contents of each of them. Carefully, you slide a familiar one from its place - a lovely collection of romantic myths. You brush your thumb over the embossed, gold details, the leather seemingly enchanted with an unusual warmth.

Maybe that's why this one is your favorite. Certainly not because it allows you to forget your solitude, if only for a moment.

Your heels hardly make a sound as you follow the winding stairs down to the main floor of the Tower. While it is tempting to sit and read in the safety of your library, it is the time of year when the mortals often show up uninvited for their “prophecies”. 

Presumptuous creatures.

Even so, it’s easier to crush their expectations than to try and avoid them. They can be rather persistent pests if ignored. And while most of the time, it is some corrupt noble’s envoy knocking on your door, on rare occasion, you have the good fortune of meeting a worn traveler with a bright fate and entertaining stories. If only they would come more often.

Tucking into your throne, you drape your fur robes over your lap. They offer a comforting warmth. You can’t help but gravitate towards it. The book, your robes, the fire you keep kindled in bedchambers. Anything to fight the frigid magic flowing through your body.

As you begin to read, the howling gale outside grows more fierce. The Tower groans and hisses, the old stones bracing against the winds. You swear you can feel it shudder from the force, yet you remain seated, unbothered as you read through the first story of your book. You’ve made sure to imbue the building with a fraction of magic, so it will stand for as long as you’re alive, if not longer.

As you’re reading through the second story, an odd knocking echoes through the main hall. You pause, eyes not leaving the page you’re on, but no longer reading the words. The sound fades, almost like it was never there. It wasn’t one of the common sounds of the Tower brought on by the storm…but the mortals never knock.

For a moment, you wait to see if it will occur again, but the Tower remains hauntingly quiet. Perhaps you imagined it…The many years you’ve spent here alone are bound to play tricks on even your sharp mind.

Shaking your head, you try to focus on the words in front of you. They ramble noiselessly through your head, disjointed and meaningless. All you can hear is that sound, playing over and over again in your mind.

 Surely you hadn’t imagined it. Surely you’re not losing your mind to this solitude. Surely…

Before you can even process your own actions, you’re on your feet, robes cascading back to the floor as you march to the great doors of the Tower. If only to satiate your own curiosity, you assure yourself. Perhaps one of the wild beasts of the mountain stumbled upon your home. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Your magic prickles across your fingertips, a thin layer of ice forming on your skin. It always rises to defend you before you even need it, driven by something deep inside you, but you keep a firm grip on it. Still, you let it simmer just below the surface, finding yourself on edge as you reach the doors.

With only the briefest moment of hesitation, you press your palm against the solid wood, the door giving way with ease despite the harsh winds. You’re greeted with the fierce, biting cold. Blinking wildly, you shield your eyes against the barrage of snow. It makes it nearly impossible to see much, whiting out everything beyond a few feet.

With an annoyed breath, you flick of your wrist, your scepter appearing in your hand. The Creatio Protocore gleams from its twisted crown. You tap it against the ground softly, a pulse of your magic combining with the power of the Protocore and spreading through the air. 

The snow abruptly stops. Suspended in mid-air.

It’s only then the the tracks become clear. A set of prints - human - hesitating at the threshold of your Tower. Brow furrowing, you trace them back down the path, what you can see of it at least. It’s the path most take to your Tower, the only safe passage through the mountains.

Following them back up, you track them off to the side, along the wall of the Tower. Your brow furrows a little deeper. Why would someone walk around instead of waiting at the door?

Unable to resist your now growing curiosity, you find yourself following them. Steps slow, calculated, you tread beside the tracks, observing their odd quality. They seem staggered, like whoever left them was off balance. Weak. Not uncommon if someone travels this area unprepared.

A part of you wants to retreat back inside, to not bother with this. Surely if they weren’t willing to wait for you at the door, you shouldn’t have to go looking for them. But you can’t smother your need to know, your need to satisfy this curiosity. Curiosity over who would knock.

The steps only seem to grow more shuffled as you go, your shield of magic following you along the wall of the Tower. Until you round the first turn from the entrance and you come to a sharp stop.

Because there, in front of you, lies a man in the snow.

A man with death hanging over his pale, shivering form.

---

Part 2

Ooooooo, things are kicking off! Time for some good ol' fashion whump recovery. My favorite.

Tag list: @pirana10

[forthelostones]

𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ➺ 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲 #4

anderson construction and landscaping had been parked outside your door since you returned home from university. as if the summer couldn't get any hotter, the business owner works overtime in your area. anderson is collecting new, loyal clients of your neighbors, cementing her permanence in your life for the next few months. what's to come of your girlish crush when she keeps showing up?

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜. 18+ (mdni); age-gap, young!reader, older!abby, butch!abby, slow-burn, suggestive language, thoughts of infidelity, ellie ft, smoking/drinking, mentions of parents, nickname: sweetheart, and modern au.

𝚊𝚗. everyone wow thank you so much for the love on for your eyes only! it means so much. here’s something a little different, hope you enjoy. any requests don’t hesitate to drop ‘em, xx jstar.

♫ 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝. hypotheticals by lake street drive ♫

https://arab.org/click-to-help/palestine/

I didn’t bother looking at my watch during our session and somehow I noticed the sun was nearly gone. A fist tightened in my stomach when I realized how long she had been in my presence without me being aware of the fact. I can’t remember a time when my social battery grew instead of depleting. 

Technically, I should be tired since I stayed up filtering through applications and cleaning my entire place simultaneously. But it was something about her that energized me. Even motivated me and made me excited about this project. She gave me a sense of agency, which I haven't felt in the last decade.

“You built these bookshelves, didn't you?” She snorted in disbelief as we traveled to the living room before her departure. 

“I did,” I said, in the kitchen as I fetched myself a beer, feeling proud at the recognition. 

I followed her manicured finger trace at the edge of the panels. She twisted her head sideways to read the dusty titles on the shelf. Even though I only saw her back, I knew her mouth was open in astonishment at my first edition copies of classic books, something I’ve been cultivating for twenty years. I bring the tinted bottle to my lips and stand with my free hand on my chin. 

She tucked her index into an original print of The Well of Loneliness. She looked over her shoulder quickly to check if I was watching her, which I was. I quickly diverted my gaze towards the floor and sipped. “I’ve had that book for a while,” I say. 

“Is it okay if I…” 

Her voice became silent, almost a whisper as if she’d be in trouble if she muttered a word about the novel. 

“Of course. Please.” 

I gesture towards the couch and she pulls the untouched book from the shelf as if it were delicate china and sits on my worn sofa. I bit the corner of my mouth as I saw her sit right where I lay my head and I took a seat on the farthest end away from her. She crossed her legs and brought the grey-shaded book onto her lap. The pages were stale and yellow-ish, almost crumbling under her careful touch. She followed the inside of the spine with her thumb, straightening the first page and a shiver traveled down my spine to my toes. 

“From the library of Abigail Anderson.” Her voice drops an octave, loose and saturated in a sexy chuckle. I wanted her to repeat my name just like that until her voice was hoarse.

I knew my cheeks grew bright red and I had the inclination to press the bottle to my face to cool my embarrassment. The embosser was a gift from an ex-girlfriend and she took the liberty of pressing it into every book I owned, even my most valuable ones. 

“You like that?” I smile, concealing my trembling lip with the neck of the bottle and thumb. 

“I wish I had one but my books aren’t special enough.” 

“What do you like to read?” 

“Same stuff you do.” 

That stuff is novels that exclusively includes women.

Her eyes linger with a glint that can only be described as fervor like she never met someone who read lesbian fiction. I didn’t break eye contact like I had been for the last three hours. I took another sip to hold back a large, toothy grin. Her phone vibrated with another ricochet of text messages, which she continuously ignored. But soon she broke our quiet pact by reading the messages and excusing herself to the next room. Her voice has a quiver in it although hushed. 

“Ellie. I’m sorry I just—okay. Okay. I know I am sorry. It just… Of course, I love you are you—alright. I’ll see you soon.” 

She comes back into the living room without moving back to her original spot. Her face was thick with an emotion I knew all too well. Dread. Maybe she needed an excuse to stay longer and I felt okay with that.

“I don’t know if you’re hungry or anything—” / “I’m gonna go—”. 

The jumble of words flusters us both and her grip tightens around her phone. The sight makes me think she could snap it in half right there. Ellie, her girlfriend, definitely gave her a stern talking to. The little cat-like girl I met on the street couldn't have made her feel so small. She brushes a stray hair from her face that wasn’t there. Instead of confidence, I saw her shrink down twice in size. 

“Oh, yea of course,” I rub my hot neck.

Her eyes dart towards the copy of The Well of Loneliness. 

“You can borrow it if you want to.” 

Instead of traveling around the couch, she let her body swipe past me as I rose from the couch. Our clothes mingled in a private dance just before she slipped on her shoes and fiddled with the door. With the book pressed to her chest, she turned to me, a mere two feet away, and thanked me. A silence fell between us. It wasn't awkward, but comfortable. I felt comfortable.

“Anytime, I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

What I wanted to come out as a statement became a question and I resented myself for it. I wanted her to know that I was going to see her.

“Hopefully. ‘Night Ms. Anderson.” 

“Drive safe, sweetheart.” 

A soft I will left her solemn lips and I watched the twinkle of her headlights illuminate my body. I raise my hand to wave her off but she turns her head before I can. I quickly tucked it away in my back pocket. My throat hardened seeing her car drive away.

As I closed the door, the lingering silence of the house struck me strongly. The missing book from the shelf made me feel hollow in a way. I was glad that she took it but I wish... I don't know. I finish my last sip of beer and toss the bottle out. I walk to the bathroom and turn on the shower.

The water offered me a clarity the cool breeze outside could not. I was relishing in a former life that I wish I had done differently. Craving someone who truly understood me and appreciated who I was. I never got that. My heart pumped with anxiety-ridden blood. Painful memories that I shoved away threatened to —

My hands are on the sparkling tiles, spread with 2 inches in between. I press my eyes shut and try to understand where I stand. It feels like the calm beads of water transformed into pebbles. Hitting my skin with an angry vengeance I could not place. The steam inhibits me from getting a deep inhale. I can't move. I open my eyes and soften my knees. I find the strength to reach for the knob and draw my body onto the floor. My knees come to my chest and I count until the water turns cold.

I opened the windows in my bedroom and listened to the chirping of cicadas. I close my eyes and walk backward onto the perfectly made bed. Instantly, my back melted. Why was I denying myself this? I lay with my feet dangling and was disrupted from the lingering sleep by my phone in the living room.

7:30 PM: What have you gotten me into Ms. Anderson?

She sat with the book in her lap, the only blankets around being a plum-colored top sheet. Her legs held the book and a small light illuminated the first page. Her thumb held the right page and her index and middle in the crease. I could imagine how she rubbed them against the paper like earlier. I stared at the photo and fell deeper into the elements of it.

7:35 PM: 400 pages is nothing, You'll do fine.

A bubble appears and vanishes.

7:36 PM: It's actually 448 pages, thank you very much.

7:37 PM: My apologies. 48 extra pages won't kill you.

7:38 PM: You don't know that...

7:40 PM: I think I do.

7:41 PM: Well, we can discuss what you think you know tomorrow...

My fingers twitched to reply but it was clear that she desired to be left alone. I couldn't determine why these casual conversations left my face aching, but they did. I reflected on how long it's been since I went on a date. The number enters my mind and burns slowly like a forest fire. The sides of my head throb as I slip under the blankets.

to be continued...

[saythenametotheworld]

Risk | l.jn [2]

Is this how it feels to fall for someone and slowly lose your shit? You wondered, heart racing and mind spinning, as your seemingly innocent attraction for Jeno began spiraling out of control.

Genre: college au; crush-at-first-sight Pairing: NCT Lee Jeno x afab!Reader Warnings: slow burn, mature themes, suggestive Notes: 23k words. I kept revising this like a madwoman my god. The song prompt for this part was Buzz by NIKI. Go check it out bcs it sums this whole thing up T^T

[Part 1]

It was in the little moments that your feelings for Jeno began to deepen. As you grew closer, spending time together felt effortless. There was no need to rack your brain for excuses to talk to him or find ways to be in the same room. He was simply there, seamlessly becoming a constant presence in your daily life, especially with your friends.

You often found yourselves in the library, working on different tasks but always making time to chat. You discovered that he liked the library because it was quiet, and he could catch up on sleep without the staff telling him to leave.

“What about you, Most Diligent Reader of the Year?” he teased, flashing a mischievous grin.

“Third Most Diligent Reader of the Year,” you corrected with a hint of pride. “I like it here for the same reason. And also because there are more books here than in the NCIT library.”

“How many of these have you read?” he asked, glancing around at the seemingly endless shelves of books.

“Definitely not all of them,” you admitted with a shrug, glancing at the shelves. “I tend to pick up books that catch my eye, especially the ones with pretty covers. But honestly, not all pretty books turn out to be as interesting—or even readable,” you added with a light laugh.

“Like that one?” He pointed to the hardbound book before you, a thick volume with gilded designs that looked both old and attractive.

You smiled sheepishly as you ran your fingers over the embossed title, Code de la Nature by Étienne-Gabriel Morelly—a French book. “Yeah, like this one.”

“What’s your favorite book?” he asked suddenly, catching you off guard.

You smiled playfully, feeling a bit coy. “I’ll tell you when we're closer.”

Scoffing, Jeno leaned back in his chair, nodding as if resigned. “You always say that.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to tell him your favorite book; it was just that you couldn’t pick one on the spot. Even now, as you mulled it over quietly, no single title came to mind that you could confidently claim as your favorite.

“No, seriously,” you said, chuckling softly. “I’ll tell you when we’re closer.”

“Oh, yeah? Okay,” Jeno replied, his tone mockingly flat. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he used his foot to push your chair slightly away from him. “We’re not close, so stay there.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his antics. You loved these moments, where teasing and joking felt so effortless. In these little exchanges, you appreciated Jeno more, realizing how much his playful side brought out the best in you.

Banter eventually died down, and you both slipped into your own separate bubbles. You immersed yourself in your book, while he scrolled through his phone. There was no need for words or even glances, but the knowledge that he was there filled you with a giddy sense of joy.

Even as you lost yourself in the pages, your awareness of his presence never faded. It was satisfying, like everything was in its right place. Like you were supposed to be there with him at that very moment.

As the familiar strain in your eyes set in, you closed the book and placed it gently on the table. Blinking up at the ceiling to relax your vision, you glanced over to Jeno’s side of the table. He was already asleep, his head leaning against the windowsill, arms crossed over his chest. He was wearing his AirPods, and you could faintly hear music from them.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you watched him. You could get used to this, you thought. Just the two of you, together, even in silence.

“Enjoying the view?” a voice whispered from your right, making you jump in your seat and gasp softly.

You turned, startled, only to see Renjun watching you, his head propped on his elbow with a teasing smile playing on his lips.

“What the fuck, Renjun,” you whispered back, one hand over your rapidly beating heart as you tried not to wake Jeno.

It wasn’t a far stretch to think Jeno might already be aware that you like him because some of your friends were relentless when it came to their teasing. While they respected your wishes of not having any of them wingmanning you, the exceptions and favors they would do for you were sometimes helpful.

For example, the boys had made a habit of eating lunch together with everyone—Jeno included. But even that was filled with teasing from Haechan specifically.

“Baby girl has arrived!” Haechan announced as you were walking towards them at the food court, his voice loud enough to catch the attention of the entire table.

You narrowed your eyes at him, annoyed by his provocation, but then you saw Jeno there and your gaze softened in recognition. He smiled at you, which you shyly returned as you approached.

“Let’s see. Where would she sit today?” Haechan asked teasingly, batting his eyelashes. 

Across him, Jaemin was gleaming with mischief. “Next to me, maybe?”

You scoffed just as Kayla was leaning in to say, “Or maybe she’ll just sit next to me and break your heart.”

“As if,” Renjun interjected. “Your heart would break first from the disappointment.”

Jaemin, not one to miss an opportunity, leaned across the table with a dramatic sigh. “You know, it’s so hard being this good-looking. I’d understand if you really wanted to sit next to me. It’s alright.”

You snorted, shoving Jaemin playfully. “In your dreams, Jaemin. And seriously, stop with the flirting—it’s getting old.”

Renjun smirked, catching Jeno’s eye. “There’s space next to Jeno. Why doesn’t she just decide for herself?”

“Yeah, let’s see who she picks,” Jaemin chimed in, leaning in closer with a playful grin. “Come on, pick me, I’ll make it worth your while.”

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, Mark appeared beside you, having just returned with a drink, and patted your back before sliding next to Jaemin. “Not while I’m sitting here.”

Jeno, unfazed as usual, pulled out the chair next to him and patted it without a word.

Despite your best efforts to hide it, you felt your cheeks heat up as you took the offered seat, trying to ignore the knowing looks from the rest of the group.

Being close to Jeno like this felt so natural, yet it always left you a little flustered. The warmth of his presence next to you made your heart race in a way you were starting to crave.

Even amidst the chatter and teasing, you found yourself hyper-aware of the subtle brush of his arm against yours, the way his smile lingered as he glanced your way. You wondered if he noticed how your breath hitched slightly when he leaned in just a bit closer to say something to Renjun.

Sienna, who had been quietly watching the exchange with an amused smile, finally chimed in. “You guys really have too much energy at lunchtime,” she remarked, shaking her head. “Can’t we just eat like normal people?”

“Normal people?” Jaemin echoed, raising an eyebrow. “You’re sitting with us. Normal isn’t really on the menu.”

“Well, it is if you’re ordering a salad,” Haechan quipped, pointing at the plate in front of you. “What’s with the rabbit food anyway? Trying to impress someone?”

“It’s called being healthy, Haechan,” you replied with mock seriousness. “You should try it sometime. Your future self will thank you.”

“Oh, I’m plenty healthy,” Haechan shot back, grabbing a fry from Renjun’s plate. “Healthy enough to eat whatever I want and still look this good.”

“Mmhm, shame that doesn’t help with the bad personality,” Renjun muttered, earning a snort from Jaemin and Kayla. Mark was straight-up hollering.

“You wound me, Renjun,” Haechan said, clutching his chest dramatically. “But I’ll recover because I know you’re just jealous of my charm.”

“Charm?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Haechan smirked at you. “Can I punch you in the face? Just this once?”

“Come here and try then!” you challenged, lifting your chin proudly.

“Yes, yes,” Sienna joined in. “Let’s punch each other in the face like kids. For now, can we eat in peace?”

The conversation shifted to weekend plans and upcoming exams, but every now and then, Haechan would throw in a comment that made you want to either disappear or throw your drink at him. Renjun joined in, his sarcastic remarks often aimed at both you and Jeno, while Jaemin continued his exaggerated flirting, much to your amusement. But through it all, Jeno remained cool and composed, either playing along with the banter or deflecting it with his quick wit.

After lunch, as everyone began to disperse, you casually stood next to Jeno, knowing you’d be heading to the same class.

“Heading to class?” he asked, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah, you?” you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He nodded. “Should we go together?”

You shrugged, channeling an aloof attitude to hide the crazy pounding in your chest. “Okay.”

The walk was filled with light conversation—classes, weekend plans. Unlike when you were with the group, the conversation with Jeno felt more subdued, and comfortable.

As you reached the building where your class was, a sudden realization hit you, stopping you in your tracks. Horror washed over your face as you remembered that today was the day you were getting the results for the woodworking project. “What happens if we fail that project?”

“Fail it?” he questioned, slightly caught off guard by the shift in your tone. “I don’t think we will. I mean…” he trailed off, seemingly considering the possibility. “We did good, didn’t we?”

Your question lingered, feeding your anxiety. “Yeah but… what if?”

He shrugged, an uncertain smile tugging at his lips. Then, with a reassuring touch, he went to stand behind you, placing firm hands on your shoulders as he gently pushed you inside the classroom. “Let’s go inside and find out.”

As you felt his hands on your shoulders, a warm comfort spread through you, easing the knots of worry in your stomach. His confidence was comforting, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to believe that everything would turn out okay.

Lunchtime, since then, had become a cherished opportunity to be near Jeno. Every time he entered the cafeteria, your heart would skip a beat. Some days, even when the boys weren’t around, he would join your table, casually sliding into the seat beside you.

“Mind if I sit here?” he’d ask, already halfway settled in.

“Not at all,” you’d reply, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest, as you scooted over to give him space.

His presence was electrifying. You found yourself hanging onto his every word, laughing at his jokes, and savoring the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. Each sighting, each interaction, sent a rush of warmth through you, your heart skipping at the thought of being close to him.

One day, he walked over with that familiar smile. “Hey, you doing anything after school?”

You shook your head, striving to appear casual. “Not really. Why?”

“There’s this new coffee shop that opened up nearby. Wanna check it out?”

Your heart leaped. Was this it? Was he asking you out on a date?

The thought sent a thrill through you, and you had to force yourself to keep your voice steady. “Sure, sounds fun.”

As the two of you walked to the coffee shop after school, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was a date. Maybe not. If it was, shouldn’t he have said so? Then again, what if he was too shy to ask directly?

The idea made your heart race. You imagined sitting across from him, just the two of you, talking and laughing over coffee. The thought of it being something more than just another hangout with a friend was enough to make you giddy.

However, as soon as you arrived at the cafe, the giddy smile on your lips was replaced by a deep scowl. Inside, your friends were already gathered around a large table, waving you over with bright smiles.

“Hey, you made it!” Sienna called out.

Jeno smiled and waved back, completely unfazed. You, on the other hand, tried to mask your disappointment as you followed him to the table. The cozy, intimate moment you had envisioned was quickly replaced by the familiar noise and energy of your group.

“I've brought her,” Jeno announced with a smile.

You glared at him, pretending to be annoyed. “What’s this? Were you conspiring with them?”

Jeno shrugged. “They told me to come here and asked that I bring you along.”

“Yeah, it’s a conspiracy,” you said, rolling your eyes as you took the vacant chair next to Kayla. 

“Don’t be mad at him,” Kayla chided softly. “You didn’t check the group chat, so we thought we should just ask Jeno to bring you since he’s coming too.”

“Just so you know, I didn’t read the GC on purpose,” you quipped, still pouting.

“Jesus Christ, woman,” Renjun exclaimed from across the table, rolling his eyes. “You’re too obvious. It’s actually embarrassing.”

You stuck your tongue out at him. Despite your initial disappointment, you found yourself enjoying the time with your friends at the café. It was fun, even when they casually dropped inside jokes about your crush—who was sitting right there. Thankfully, Jeno seemed completely oblivious. Or if he wasn’t, he didn’t show it.

“You’re coming to my birthday party next week, right?” Kayla asked, making you chuckle. She had asked the same question over a dozen times in the last few days.

“Yes, K. I am,” you groaned, linking your arm with hers as you walked back to NCIT.

“Good. Don’t forget.”

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Jaemin chimed in.

Ahead of you, Jeno was walking with Mark, Yangyang, and Renjun. Kayla tugged on Jeno’s backpack, making him glance over his shoulder at you.

“You’re coming too, right?” she asked.

“Of course. I’ll even buy you a gift,” he replied with a smile that made your heart flutter. “What do you want?”

It amazed you how quickly he had become close with your friends. Granted, he was already tight with the boys, but with Sienna and Kayla, Jeno seemed to have captured their fondness too. At this point, it was safe to say that he had become a permanent part of your friend group.

Your group dispersed as you entered the campus. Jeno walked to the Sci-Tech building with Mark, and Renjun. Sienna, Haechan, and Yangyang went their own way too, leaving you, Kayla, and Jaemin trailing slightly behind.

“So,” Kayla began, giving you a sly look. “Are you finally going to tell him?”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you shot her a warning glance. “Tell who what?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” she replied, nudging you. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Before you could respond, Jaemin slid up beside you with that signature grin. “Ah, the confession of the century. I’ve been waiting for this day.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to laugh it off. “You’re both ridiculous. It’s not like that.”

Jaemin raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Sure it’s not. That’s why you can barely look at him without blushing. You usually have that heart-eyes emoji thing going on when he’s around.”

Your eyes widened in mock indignation. “I do not! I’m not that obvious.

“Don’t be shy,” Jaemin continued, his tone playful. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to make me jealous. But I can’t blame you—I mean, have you seen me?” He wiggled his eyebrows, leaning closer with a flirtatious smile.

“Jaemin, drop it,” you muttered, though your voice lacked conviction.

But he was relentless, leaning in closer with a teasing smirk. “Admit it, you’ve got it bad for our dear Jeno.”

You sighed, unable to deny it any longer. “Fine, maybe I do. But it’s not like I can just tell him.”

Kayla gave you a sympathetic smile. “You never know. He might feel the same way.”

You hesitated for a moment, then sighed. “It’s not that easy, you know? What if he doesn’t? What will happen to my pride?”

Jaemin softened, though the teasing glint in his eye remained. “Well, if that’s the case, you still have me. I’d happily take you on a date. We’d have fun, I promise.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, pushing him away playfully. “In your dreams, Jaemin. You’d only drive me crazy.”

“Well, it depends. I could drive you crazy in love,” he shot back with a wink. “Or crazy good. You decide.”

You rolled your eyes again, though a smile tugged at your lips. “You’re impossible.”

“Only for you,” he replied smoothly, before softening his tone. “But seriously, you should just tell Jeno. Who knows? He might be into girls who adore him.”

“Shouldn’t you know that? He’s your friend from before,” Kayla asked.

“Sorry to disappoint you but I don’t pay attention to every little thing about him,” Jaemin replied. “It’s not like I was obsessed with him like someone.”

You exhaled sharply and started hitting his shoulder several times. “I am not obsessed with him! You dumb idiot!”

Jaemin ran away laughing and you chased after him. Kayla could only sigh and shake her head, watching the two of you run down the lengthy hallway of the Social Sciences building.

“I hope a professor catches them and gives them a good beating,” she murmured, chuckling darkly as she walked into her classroom.

Kayla’s house was a sprawling mansion with elegant decor and a large backyard. Although you’d known Kayla to have come from wealth, the grandeur of the house never failed to catch you off guard each time you came over.

As you entered the halls, you were greeted by a rowdy crowd—upbeat music, chatter, and laughter blending together noisily. The living room was transformed into a dance floor, with pulsating lights and a DJ set up in one corner. Nearby, a table was laden with an array of snacks and drinks. The air smelled of vape, perfumes, and alcohol, much like every other party you’d been to, except that this was a little more posh.

You came with Haechan and Sienna who disappeared into the crowd as soon as you got inside. You were only alone for a minute before someone dragged you into their circle. You joined a group playing air hockey and did shots with another group, wandering through the crowd, and soaking in the festive vibe. Despite the fun, a lingering thought occupied your mind—you hadn't seen Jeno yet.

Just when you were beginning to wonder if he didn’t show up, your eyes caught sight of Jeno. He was in one corner of the hall with some friends, engrossed in an intense video game match. 

You took a moment to observe him, feeling a flutter of excitement every time he threw his head back in laughter or shouted in triumph.

After a while, Jeno finally noticed you standing by the side of the room. His expression lit up with a smile as he excused himself from his friends and made his way over to you. 

“Hi there,” he said, his voice friendly and warm. “They said you were here but I didn’t see much of you all night.”

You returned his smile, trying to stay composed despite the flutter in your chest. “Well, have you taken your eyes off the video game at all tonight?”

That made Jeno chuckle heartily. “That’s probably why.” he said, casually leaning his shoulder against the wall beside you.

You shrugged, taking a sip from your cup and not meeting his gaze while he stared you down. “I’d be dead focused on the game too if I keep losing like you and Yangyang did.”

“Hey,” he chimed, laughing his indignation away. “I have won a few times.”

You hummed. “Not as much as you’ve lost.”

Jeno sighed, hanging his head low as he chuckled. When he glanced back at you, there was a playful glint in his eyes. “Fine, I’m not good at it. It’s not gonna make you like me less, is it?”

You froze, surprised by his question. Obviously, it wasn’t going to make you like him less. If anything, it made him more endearing. But why was he asking? Does he care about what you think of him?

Before you could respond, Yangyang called out to Jeno, and with a quick, apologetic glance, he said, “I gotta get back to the game. Catch you later?”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips as he rejoined his group. The excitement of the party continued around you, but your thoughts lingered on Jeno, his brief interaction with you, and the way he effortlessly made you feel special even in the middle of a crowded, lively party.

At 1 am, the party showed no sign of slowing down. Music blared, people danced wildly, and drinks flowed freely. Since Jeno’s brief greeting, you hadn't been able to speak with him. He was always surrounded by friends or caught up in the excitement of the party. Yet you couldn’t blame it on his popularity because even you were in the same situation. You found yourself moving through the crowd, getting dragged from circle to circle, and catching up with a lot of different people. You hardly saw Jeno, you couldn’t even get hold of your close friends.

“Fuck this,” you said, exhaling sharply and heading for the door. Before you could leave the hall, however, you heard someone shout, followed by some scuffling sounds.

In another part of the room, two boys were arguing heatedly, their voices growing louder and more aggressive. You recognized them, some studs that you never hung out with.

“Calm down, man,” one of them said, trying to defuse the situation. “It’s not worth it.”

The other boy wasn’t having any of it. “Stay out of this,” he snapped, shoving him away.

“Who do you think you are?” the first boy shot back, pushing him hard. The crowd around them began to murmur, sensing the situation escalating. Soon people from other parts of the house rushed to see what was happening.

Jeno, who was standing nearby, stepped in to mediate. “Hey, guys, let’s take it easy,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “We’re all here to have a good time.”

The angrier boy turned on Jeno, his eyes flashing with irritation. “This has nothing to do with you, Lee. Back off!”

Jeno stood his ground, approaching the boy and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Come on, man, it’s not worth it. Why don’t we call it a night? You can talk again when you’re sober.”

But the aggression had reached a boiling point. One of the boys, blinded by rage, swung his fist at the other. Jeno, caught in the crossfire, took the brunt of the punch. He staggered back, colliding with you.

A chorus of shocked exclamations rose from the crowd as you caught Jeno, your heart pounding with concern. “Jeno, are you okay?” you asked, your voice trembling as you tried to steady him.

Jeno winced, holding his cheek. He even managed a chuckle. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, though his expression showed he was in pain.

The fight behind you turned into an all-out brawl. The boys were grappling, fists flying, and the crowd around them was either trying to break it up or egging them on. Someone knocked over a table, sending drinks and snacks crashing to the floor. The noise level was deafening, with shouts, screams, and the thud of punches filling the air.

“Stop it! You’re hurting him!” a girl screamed, but her voice was lost in the chaos.

The room was a chaos of movement and noise. Then, the distant but unmistakable sound of police sirens cut through the noise, sending a ripple of panic through the crowd.

“It’s the cops!” someone yelled.

The party descended into mayhem as people scrambled to leave, darting out of the house and into the night. You and Jeno managed to slip out before the police arrived, finding a quiet spot away from the chaos. Kayla saw you and ushered you up the stairs. Jeno took your hand, guiding you upstairs and slipping into an open bedroom door. Inside, you found Mark and passed out on the bed.

“Good God,” you muttered, walking towards the bed only to be pulled back by Jeno. You glanced at your joined hands, and suddenly, the adrenaline from the chaos was replaced by butterflies fluttering wildly in your stomach.

“Who’s that?” he asked, peeking at the figure on the bed.

“It’s just Mark,” you told him, and he nodded in realization, letting go of your hand upon realizing it was safe.

“Sorry,” he said, looking around.

The bedroom was dimly lit—a stark contrast to the bright downstairs. The faint smell of spilled drinks lingered in the air, and the sound of distant voices and sirens could still be heard. 

“Thanks for helping me back there, by the way,” he added, his voice softer now.

“Anytime,” you said coolly, giving him a reassuring smile. “Well, it wasn’t intentional, honestly. You got thrown in my direction, so heh. But you’re welcome.”

Jeno laughed, despite the situation. “Are you saying you wouldn’t have helped if I wasn’t thrown in your direction?” he asked, purposely quoting your words.

“No! Of course, I’d help you!” you replied briskly, shaking your hand. “I would help even if you weren’t thrown in my direction. That is, if your other friends don’t get to you fast enough.” 

“Alright,” he chuckled. “It’s good to know you’ve got my back.”

“Like I said. Anytime.”

As you stood there, the remnants of the party fading into the background, you wondered if you should thank the boy who punched Jeno towards you, the person who called 911, or Kayla herself. After all, the unexpected turn of events had brought you a little closer to Jeno.

“You looked really cool, though,” you chimed, trying not to laugh. “Trying to break the fight and all.”

Jeno chuckled heartily. “Until I got punched in the face.”

“Until you got punched in the face, yes,” you echoed, laughing at his expense. “Props to you for trying.”

“Thanks,” he said, smiling as he sank onto the bed next to Mark. 

Jeno patted the space next to him, and you hesitated for only a moment before sitting down. The bed dipped under your weight, and you both shared a quiet laugh as Mark stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

Lowering your voices to a near whisper, you and Jeno began to talk, careful not to disturb the sleeping Mark, and for a brief moment, it felt like the world outside had faded, leaving only the comforting sound of Jeno’s voice and the warmth of his presence beside you.

The cool air outside was refreshing, a welcome change from the stifling atmosphere inside Kayla’s house. You and Jeno walked side by side down the quiet sidewalk, bundled in jackets, hands tucked into your pockets against the cold. Kayla had initially planned for you and the girls to stay the night, but after catching sight of you with Jeno, she quickly changed her mind.

“You don’t want to miss your classes tomorrow,” she said with a knowing smile. You knew she was trying to get you some alone time with Jeno and her plan seemed to work when Jeno offered to walk you home.

You joked and talked as you walked, and Jeno’s laughter echoed softly in the stillness of the night. You found yourself smiling more than you had in days. Eventually, your conversation transitioned from school to your childhood. You exchanged stories, and Jeno shared funny anecdotes about his younger self. 

“Did I ever tell you about the time I got stuck in a tree?” Jeno asked, his eyes crinkling at the memory.

“Is this one of those stories where you climbed a tree thinking it’d be cool, only to realize later that you had no idea how to get down?”

Jeno chuckled heartily, eyes fixed on the path ahead. “Classic, isn’t it? I think every kid has done that at least once.”

“Not me,” you teased, imagining a younger Jeno, wide-eyed with wild energy. “So, how did you get down?”

“My mom had to call the fire department,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. “They brought out this huge ladder, and the whole neighborhood came to watch. I was mortified.”

The image of a little Jeno being rescued from a tree was too much; you burst into laughter, the sound ringing out in the quiet night. Jeno laughed along with you, his shoulder gently bumping against yours as you walked.

“Also, I once got my head stuck in a banister at my grandparents’ house,” he added, laughing at the memory. “My dad had to cut them just to get me out.”

“The banisters, right?” you questioned, feigning concern. “You mean your dad cut the banisters, not your neck.”

Jeno burst out laughing, throwing his head back. “I don’t know why I’m laughing. It’s not even that funny.”

“Oh, it’s because your happiness is me,” you quipped, making Jeno laugh again. You chuckled, imagining a young Jeno stuck in such a predicament. “But seriously, your grandparents must have been furious.”

Jeno shook his head as he recovered from laughing. “Nah, they adored me. We just laugh about it now.”

You hummed, reminded of your own childhood misadventures. “Well, I once tried to build a treehouse all by myself. I was eleven.”

“Really?” he asked, amused. “How badly did you hurt yourself?”

You scoffed indignantly. “What made you think I hurt myself at all?”

He shrugged. “I’ve seen you with wood and tools. You could not build a treehouse with your skills. Not now, and certainly not when you were eleven.”

“You underestimate me too much,” you pouted and rolled your eyes, pretending to be offended. “The treehouse was actually nice. It just wasn’t sturdy enough to hold my weight, so I fell off the tree… With the whole house.”

“Ouch,” he winced playfully. “Did you get hurt?”

“Just a few scratches and a bruised ego,” you admitted with a smile. “I learned that some things are better done with help.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Exactly. It’s like our woodworking project. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Honestly, I think I would have done really bad without you.”

Jeno’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Well, you were the brains behind it. I was just there to follow your lead.”

“And by following my lead, you mean, doing all the work while I watch?” you retorted, making him laugh.

“Let’s put it this way; you’re the designer, I’m the manufacturer. Credit is 50/50. We both did a good job.”

You nodded, satisfied. “Alright. I’ll take it.”

The night seemed to stretch on, the walk home feeling both too short and wonderfully endless. With each passing minute, you found yourself enjoying his company more, appreciating the little things that made him so endearing.

As you approached your apartment complex, the conversation began to wind down. Jeno lingered, his gaze holding yours as if reluctant to say goodnight. There was a softness in his eyes, a warmth that sent a shiver down your spine despite the cold.

“Thanks for walking me here,” you said, your voice softer than you intended. “But are you gonna walk to your dorm alone?”

“No. It’s too far from here,” Jeno grinned and pulled out his phone. “I’ll call an Uber.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “We should have done that earlier! We walked like half a mile from Kayla’s!”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he replied with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You lay awake on your bed after that, staring at the ceiling, replaying your conversations with Jeno. Every interaction danced through your mind, each word and gesture examined, searching for hints that there might be something more between you. It baffled you how much you liked him, how your affection seemed to grow with each passing day. The more you saw him, the longer you talked, the deeper you fell.

Jeno had been nothing but nice to you—sweet, even, and thoughtful too. Was it a far stretch to assume he might feel something for you as well? Was it too soon to think there was any meaning behind his actions? Probably. Being caring seemed to be second nature to Jeno.

He likely treated everyone the same way. Unless he explicitly said so or gave away his feelings through some unmistakable gesture, you knew better than to jump to conclusions and risk ruining what you had.

But what if he did harbor feelings for you?

You turned to your side, clutching the edge of the pillow. The idea of Jeno being here beside you filled your mind. His presence would warm the room, his voice would soothe your thoughts, and you could share your dreams with him. The thought of his touch, his laughter, and his guileless smile became a comforting fantasy you yearned to make real.

“So? How far did you two go last night?” Kayla asked the next day, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. You were at her house because she’d invited you to hang out with Sienna and Olive after class.

“Who?” Sienna questioned, scooting closer to you on the couch.

“Jeno walked her home last night,” Olive chimed in.

Sienna’s jaw dropped before she started squealing and playfully hitting your shoulder. Kayla was grinning from ear to ear, and you could already imagine the teasing you were about to endure.

“Tell us! Tell us! Tell. Us!”

You shrugged nonchalantly, trying to suppress your giddiness. “We went as far as our feet could take us, which was our apartment. Then he called for an Uber and left.”

Olive scoffed, chuckling as if you had just told her a joke. “Funny. Now tell us what really happened?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “I hate to break it to you, girls, but that’s all that happened.”

Kayla’s brows furrowed in confusion. “That’s it? Y’all finally had some alone time and that was it?”

You shrugged again while Olive tutted at you. “Girl, you need to up your flirting game.”

“I don’t know,” you said, biting your lip. “I’m scared. He seems interested, but sometimes it feels like he was genuinely just being friendly.

Olive crossed her arms. “If Jeno wasn’t interested in you even a little, why would he walk you home? Half a mile, in the opposite direction to his dorm?”

You paused, considering Olive’s point. “Maybe he was just being nice?”

Kayla shook her head. “Nice, sure. But walking a girl home after a party? That’s more than just being nice. The boy was trying to earn himself some good points.”

Sienna leaned in, her voice softer. “You should be more forward. Let him see that you’re interested.”

“How do I even do that?” you asked, sighing in frustration. “Actually, I’m not sure I want to do that at all. I don’t know.”

Sienna’s smile was sweet, her eyes gleaming with fond affection toward you. “You know what? You’re right. Don’t,” she said, slumping next to you on the couch, squishing you between her and Kayla.

“Just be yourself. If he likes you, he’ll come to you. Don’t be afraid to flirt a little. Compliment him, laugh at his jokes if they’re funny. Maybe show interest in him from time to time,” Olive added.

“O, she’s interested in him all the time,” Kayla teased, leaning her head on your shoulder.

Olive nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I forgot about that bit.”

You took a deep breath, feeling a surge of determination. “Alright, I got it. Be myself. Awkward and shy around him.”

Kayla pouted beside you. “You’re not awkward and shy. You’re fun, smart, and adorable. I’m sure Jeno knows that by now.”

Olive clapped her hands together. “And if he doesn’t see that, well, I have an array of boys better than Jeno. I’ll introduce you to all of them if I have to.”

“As if she’d waste a breath on anyone that’s not Jeno Lee,” Sienna scoffed.

“Fair point.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You guys are really something else.”

Kayla grinned. “What can we say? We live vicariously through you. The whole cutesy, romcom-ish, borderline obsessive admiration for a crush thing isn’t something we would experience. Given our personalities.”

“Right.” Olive nodded enthusiastically. “So we expect regular updates!”

You found it harder to keep your feelings at bay. Every interaction with Jeno seemed to push you further into the realm of deep affection. You’d catch yourself daydreaming about him during class, your mind wandering to the idea of what could be if only you were brave enough to make a move.

The realization that you were falling for him was both exhilarating and terrifying. And every day, you felt as though you were losing your mind. Every night, you pined and whined, hoping and dreaming that he was lying there with you instead of wherever he might be spending his nights.

One time, he fell asleep in class, his head resting on his arms. The soft rise and fall of his breathing was almost hypnotic. You knew you should wake him up, but he looked so peaceful and, honestly, too cute to disturb.

You sat there, just watching him for a few moments, your eyes tracing the curve of his lashes and that adorable mole under his eye. It was one of those small details you found yourself enchanted by each time you saw him up close. 

Your hand moved instinctively, fingers itching to touch the tiny mark. Just as you were about to give in to the temptation, your heart pounded with the realization of how close you were.

What would it mean if you crossed that line? You hesitated, your fingers hovering, before deviating to poke his shoulder instead.

Your touch made his eyes flutter open. He blinked a few times, confused, then smiled sleepily at you. “Please tell me I didn’t sleep through the whole class,” he mumbled, his voice soft and groggy.

You smiled back, your heart racing as you shook your head. “Not on my watch.”

Jeno slowly sat up, groaning quietly as he stretched his limbs under the table. “Thanks.”

You responded with a smile, trying to focus on the lecture. Mr. Harris was talking about cabinetry, introducing the basics and whatnot. Last week, he announced the results of the woodworking project. Everyone got full marks for accomplishing the tasks, but only those with high votes got special awards. You and Jeno came third, which was slightly disappointing but still impressive.

In your peripheral vision, you could see Jeno’s hand sliding a small paper bag towards you. Before you could react, you felt his warm presence on your side and caught a whiff of his perfume before you heard him whispering in your ear. “For you,” he said, his breath tickling your ear.

He moved away immediately, and you glanced sideways at him with a confused expression. He smiled, leaning back in his chair as he nodded toward the paper bag. Curiosity piqued, you opened the bag to find a beautifully crafted cylindrical wooden pen holder. It was simple and minimalistic, but the amount of time and attention put into making it was evident in the clean edges and beautiful varnishing. 

“What’s this for?” you asked stupidly, heart swelling with emotions.

“For your many many pens at home,” he said, scooting closer to you and propping his elbows on the table.

Your fingers traced the smooth surface of the object, marveling at the craftsmanship. “Did you make this?” you asked, your voice tinged with awe.

Jeno nodded, a shy smile playing on his lips. “We had some scrap wood from the last project, and I thought throwing it away would be a waste of good material.”

Your heart melted at his thoughtfulness. “Thank you, Jeno. It’s perfect. I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You said thank you,” he chimed. “It’s enough. You’re welcome.”

As the day wore on, your mind kept drifting back to the pen holder and Jeno's thoughtful gesture. You replayed the moment in your head, examining every detail, every word, every glance. Why did he do it? What was it for? Was it a sign that Jeno liked you back? Or was it simply a kind act from a friend?

The next day at lunch, you placed the paper bag on the table for Sienna and Kayla to see. The two of them gawked at it for a few seconds before shooting curious gazes at you. Sighing, you opened it to reveal the pen holder from Jeno.

“Jeno gave it to me. For my pens,” you told them, clenching your fists in an attempt to stop them from shaking.

“Aw,” Kayla lilted, taking it in her hands to examine it. “He knows about your pen obsession?”

“I mentioned it in passing,” you replied, biting your lower lip. “Once.”

“Did he make this?” asked Sienna and you nodded in response. “No way?”

“Yes, he did,” you sang. “Or so he says.”

“You don’t look happy about it though,” Kayla asked, inspecting your expression.

Groaning, you gently hit your forehead on the table and looked back up at your friends helplessly. “That’s the thing. I am happy about it. Too happy, even. I feel like, like… like I’m floating and falling at the same time. My heart is full but it also hurts in a weird not painful kind of way. I can’t explain it!”

“Slow down,” Sienna goaded, patting your shoulder. “Tell us what happened in detail.”

You took a deep breath and chugged the glass of water in front of you before answering. “We were in class and he was asleep so I woke him up. And then out of nowhere, he gave me this bag and said it was for me.”

“Did he carry this around all day?” Kayla questioned.

“Does it matter?” you asked back.

Sienna heaved a sigh. “It does! You were already in class. He even fell asleep in there. But he waited until later to give it to you? Why didn’t he give it to you as soon as you saw each other?”

“Honestly, I have no idea.”

“What else did he say?”

You shook your head. “Nothing, I… I thanked him and then that’s it. After class, we said goodbye.”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Kayla. “This is a clear hint—no. It’s not just a hint. It’s an evidence. Jeno likes you.”

“Okay, let me stop you there,” you told her, raising a palm to her face. “I am already in that route which is why I am losing my mind right now.”

Kayla grinned, unfazed. “Fine, fine. But think about it, he made this for you. He spent time and effort on it. That has to mean something.”

You sighed, feeling the weight of your emotions. “I just don't want to get my hopes up. What if I'm reading too much into it?”

Kayla handed the pen holder back to you, a sympathetic smile on her face. “What if you’re not? What do you have to lose if you just… jump in?”

You shook your head, mouth gaping open out of sheer bafflement. “I don’t know. My mind?”

Sienna looked over your shoulder and then tapped your arm urgently. “Jeno. Jeno’s coming.”

“What?” you blurted, straightening up and tucking his ‘gift’ away. Before you could turn your head to take a look behind you, Jeno was already sliding onto the chair next to you.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, but he was already setting his tray down. Kayla was quick to stop him, holding the edge of his tray.

“Actually, we do mind,” she grinned, batting her eyelashes playfully.

Jeno seemed confused, glancing at you and then back at Kayla. “Alright?”

“Yeah, we’re having a really important conversation about her love life,” Kayla added, motioning to you. You pointed a finger at yourself, gawking at Kayla cluelessly. “We are, aren’t we?”

Technically, she was right. You glanced at Jeno and scrunched your nose apologetically at him. “Yeah. We are.”

There was a flicker of annoyance on Jeno’s face, though you thought you’d imagined it. His hand hesitated as he lifted the tray, and he glanced at you again before resigning with a small sigh. “Alright then,” he said quietly, slinging his backpack back to his shoulder. “I won’t bother you.”

You nodded, waving as he walked away, but a part of you felt an uncomfortable twist in your chest. You turned to Kayla and glared at her.

“Why would you tell him that?” you asked, utterly bewildered.

Kayla had a smug smile on her face. “To see how he’d react,” she said, nodding toward Jeno’s direction.

You glanced back to where he was and found him looking at you. He looked away as soon as your gazes met, brows furrowing as he poked his food.

Your heart sank a little, uncertainty creeping in. What if you hurt his feelings?

Sienna sighed contentedly. “Was Jaemin right all along?”

“Yeah, he was right,” Kayla replied, nodding.

“Why? What do you mean?”

“My dearest, you clearly have a shot. I don’t know why you thought you didn’t.”

Having a crush is all fun and games until you realize you can’t live without them anymore. Well, obviously, that’s an exaggeration. Or is it? Nah, it is an exaggeration, right?

“Right,” you mumbled to yourself, nodding absentmindedly. Then you felt a tug on your elbow.

“Are you okay?” asked Sienna, eyes wide and brows furrowed, looking perplexed—and judgmental. You blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the overwhelming rush of emotions.

“Yeah, of course,” you replied, offering a shaky smile.

Sienna’s eyes softened, and she gave you a playful nudge. “Cute. Let’s go. Yangyang’s outside.”

It wasn’t only Yangyang who was waiting outside.  As you opened the door to the backseat of Yangyang’s car, you were greeted by Jeno’s blank gaze, which quickly transformed into a warm, genuine smile and a small wave. You smiled back and turned to Yangyang, who grinned knowingly.

“Saw him walking alone on my way here, so I picked him up and invited him to join us,” said Yangyang.

Jeno’s smile turned sheepish. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, no! Not at all!” Sienna’s excitement was obvious as she enthusiastically pushed you into the seat next to Jeno. “It’s more fun with more people.”

You sat on the plush leather seats, and Jeno scooted away slightly to make room for you.  The close proximity made your pulse quicken, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him. Sienna squeezed in next to you, her presence further pressing you toward Jeno. She gave you a sickly sweet smile that made you chuckle nervously, trying to ignore the way your heart raced.

“Got the goods?” Sienna asked Yangyang, who nodded.

Yangyang’s eyes remained on the road as he reached into the front seat, retrieved a large paper bag, and handed it to the back. “Yep. It’s all here.”

Sienna’s face lit up as she accepted the bag, her sweet smile unwavering. “Thanks, Yang, you’re a literal angel.”

You scoffed playfully, rolling your eyes. “You don’t mean that.”

“Of course, I don’t,” Sienna said, her tone light and teasing. She turned to Jeno with a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Are you sure you want to join us today, Jeno?”

Jeno shrugged, his gaze flickering between Sienna and you. There was a brief moment of hesitation before he met your eyes, then quickly looked away. “Yeah. I mean, how bad can it be?”

“What, Spa Day? Not bad at all! If anything, it’s good for you,” Sienna reassured him, her enthusiasm infectious.

You nodded in agreement. “You’ll thank her later.”

Jeno’s smile widened slightly, and he shifted in his seat. “Okay. I trust you.”

With how closely you were sitting, you figured he might have been feeling uncomfortable, which was probably why he kept shifting in his seat and couldn’t meet your gaze. You turned to Sienna and discreetly tapped her knee, subtly urging her to scoot over. She obliged with a knowing smile, giving you just enough room to breathe.

As you adjusted your position, you felt Jeno relax beside you. His warmth and the faint scent of his cologne were oddly comfortings. You glanced over at him, trying to gauge his feelings, but he was focused on the view outside the window, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

The car rumbled to a stop, and you glanced out the window, noting the familiar building where Renjun, Haechan, and Yangyang lived. Yangyang parked the car, and you, Jeno, and Sienna climbed out, chatting excitedly as you approached the entrance. The anticipation of spending time with your friends and Jeno filled you with excitement, but as soon as you stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted. 

What welcomed you were Jaemin and Haechan, sprawled out on the floor in a haze of smoke. Jaemin, with his relaxed posture and half-lidded eyes, was lazily passing a joint to Haechan, who took a long drag before letting out a thick plume of smoke. Both of them looked completely out of it, their expressions a blend of contentment and mild confusion. The sight of them, seemingly floating in their own stoned world, was both amusing and surreal.

“You guys…” You muttered, shaking your head as you took in their stoned state. Sienna appeared beside you, her eyes widening in disbelief as she processed the scene. 

Jaemin, squinting at you with a goofy grin, greeted you with a slurred voice. “Hey, hey! Look who’s here!”

Haechan giggled, his cheeks flushed as he stared at Sienna. “This shit’s good, man. I can see my girlfriend. She looks so real.”

Jaemin nodded slowly, barely able to keep his eyes open. “Dude, I think that’s your girlfriend.”

“I know. It’s crazy,” Haechan laughed. “You see her too?”

“Nah, man. I think they’re there for reals,” Jaemin said, shaking his head as if to clear the fog.

Yangyang, arriving late and catching sight of his friends on the floor, let out an amused laugh. “Woah, are you guys stoned?”

“Oh! It’s Yangyang!” Haechan grinned lazily, pointing at him.

Sienna released a dragged-out sigh, placing her hands on her hips. “Lee Donghyuck, I swear to God,” she said, her tone calm but carrying an edge that sent a shiver through everyone present.

You tapped Jeno and Yangyang urgently, gesturing for them to move. Yangyang headed to the kitchen, while you and Jeno joined Renjun on the couch. The room smelled faintly of incense and the earthy scent of the joint.

“You’re here too, Jeno?” he asked, eyes on his book.

“Yeah. It sort of just happened,” Jeno replied, glancing around the room.

Renjun looked up from the couch, looking bored. “I hope you guys are prepared for some interesting conversations today. They’ve been like this for a while.”

Soon, Mark arrived, followed by Kayla and Olive. Jaemin and Haechan’s antics had derailed your plans for Spa Day, so you decided to just hang out instead. Kayla, Sienna, and Renjun were busy in the kitchen, preparing snacks and chatting, while Mark and Olive scrolled through Netflix, debating what to watch.

You and Jeno settled onto the long couch, trying to ignore the increasingly rowdy scene in the far corner of the room, where Jaemin, Haechan, and now Yangyang were thoroughly engrossed in their stoned escapades.

“I knew it was Yangyang’s joint,” you said with a playful scoff, shaking your head. “I can’t believe we canceled Spa Day for this.”

Jeno leaned back on the couch, propping his arm casually over the backrest. “Yeah, I was looking forward to that too.”

“Well, it won’t take long before Mark joins them. You should go over there now while they haven’t finished Yangyang’s entire stash yet.”

Jeno shook his head. “No. I don’t smoke weed.”

You turned to him with a skeptical look, raising an eyebrow. Jeno chuckled at your expression. “You don’t believe me?”

You opened your mouth to respond but ended up just shrugging, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. Jeno’s playful pout made it hard not to laugh.

“I want to believe you, okay?” you told him, laughing softly. “It’s just… I don’t know. You were friends with Jaemin in high school, so I can imagine all the shenanigans.”

Jeno nodded, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Fair point. We did get up to all sorts of things, but that was in high school. I’ve mellowed out a bit.”

“Taking life a little more seriously, huh?”

“Not too much, just dialing back the recklessness.”

In their corner of the room, the stoners were laughing at something you couldn’t hear. The haze of smoke seemed to waft over, making you scrunch up your nose. “Can’t say the same for your friends over there.”

“They’re your friends too, you know,” Jeno said with a teasing grin.

You grimaced playfully. “Unfortunately.” With a dramatic sigh, you stood up and beckoned Jeno to follow. “I’d kill for a milkshake right now. Come on.”

As you led Jeno towards the kitchen, his presence beside you felt like a refreshing change from the chaos; a comforting escape from the afternoon’s unexpected turn of events.

The smell of food filled the apartment as everyone settled into the living room, ready for a movie. The stoners, now mostly sober and recovering from their earlier high, had retreated to a quieter corner. Yangyang and Haechan were sprawled out, their heads resting on pillows as they drifted off to sleep.

Jaemin plopped down next to you on the couch, still a little dazed from all the earlier chaos, and leaned against you, his head resting on your shoulder. You didn’t mind; it was actually kind of nice. On your other side, Jeno shifted around, trying to make space for you and Jaemin.

Mark grabbed the remote and hit play on a superhero movie. You’d seen it before, but everyone had agreed on it anyway. No matter how different you all were, there was one thing you could count on—everyone loved superhero movies. Even Sienna, who used to roll her eyes at them, eventually got hooked.

You glanced over at Jeno, who was already lost in the movie, a genuine smile lighting up his face. He must've felt your gaze because he turned, catching your eye. Leaning closer, he whispered, “Didn’t peg you for a superhero fan.”

“You’d be surprised,” you whispered back, keeping your voice low so you wouldn’t disturb the others.

As the movie went on, you and Jeno kept up a quiet conversation, sharing whispers and soft laughs. He leaned in whenever he wanted to say something, his breath warm against your ear. Every time your hands brushed—whether by accident or not—it felt like a tiny spark between you.

Eventually, Renjun turned around, eyebrows raised. “You two need to keep it down. Some of us are actually trying to watch.”

You and Jeno exchanged sheepish grins, your faces turning red. Jeno leaned in closer, his voice just for you. “Sorry, we’ll be quieter.”

You giggled, which made Renjun roll his eyes again. “Seriously, guys. Just get a room already.”

Feeling a bit guilty, you made a big show of zipping your lips, trying not to laugh. Jaemin, who had been dozing against you, stirred and mumbled something you couldn’t make out. His weight was starting to make your arm ache, so you shifted a bit, moving his head onto your lap to get more comfortable.

Jeno noticed you rubbing your shoulder and, without a word, put his hand on your shoulder, his fingers warm as they started to massage away the tension.

“Thanks,” you whispered, feeling the warmth from his touch spread through you.

As the movie continued, Jeno casually draped his arm over the back of the couch, his hand brushing against your shoulder and gently tugging you a little closer. You tilted your head slightly, catching his gaze. His eyes held a soft, almost wistful expression, and you felt a flutter in your chest.

“Not bad, huh?” Jeno asked, nodding at the TV screen.

“Yeah, it’s pretty good,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes locking with his.

The movie played on, but the real show was the unspoken bond growing stronger between you and Jeno with each passing moment.

“How was it?” Kayla asked with a playful glint in her eyes as you scrubbed dishes in the kitchen after the movie.

The kitchen had become a gathering spot, with Olive and Sienna joining Kayla, all three wearing playful smirks that made you roll your eyes.

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but were unable to hide your grin. “How was what?” you replied, feigning ignorance.

Kayla pinched your arm, making you yelp in surprise. “Ouch! What the—”

Your exclamation caught the attention of the boys in the living room, their heads turning in your direction. Kayla just smiled at them as if nothing had happened. 

Kayla, undeterred, gestured for the boys to continue tidying up. “You guys better make sure the living room is spotless,” she called out, her tone playful.

Your eyes found Jeno’s—he was giving you a concerned gaze, to which you responded with a shrug to tell him you were fine.

“I saw that!” Olive said in a hushed tone, leaning closer to you. “You and Jeno just now.”

“Yeah, what was that about?” Sienna chimed in, her eyes narrowing with a teasing smile. “So fishy.”

“It’s not fishy,” Kayla said with a smirk, joining the others at the dining table. “It’s sweet. Like, flower garden sweet. Like, totally romantic.”

Olive grinned. “More like ‘the guy I like now likes me back’ sweet.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, a blush spreading as you thought about those moments with Jeno. “Go away if you’re not gonna help,” you shot back, trying to focus on the dishes and hide your embarrassment.

You hung out until late, playing games, chatting, eating takeout, and laughing for the most part.  There were quiet moments when you would just scroll through your phone lazily, while the others did their own thing. The cozy warmth of the apartment made it easy to lose track of time. Eventually, the clock nudged past midnight, and it was time to say goodbye.

As everyone began to gather their things, the apartment was filled with the buzz of goodbyes and plans for the next hangout. You grabbed your bag and made your way to the door, where Jeno was waiting.

He gave you a small smile as you made your way to him. “Before you go, do you remember the name of that book you mentioned earlier?”

You blinked, trying to remember. When you realized you hadn’t said the title because you’d forgotten it, you scrunched your nose. “Uh, no, I don’t. But I have it at home. I’ll text you when I find out.”

He handed you his phone with a casual ease that belied the slight tension in the air. “Here, just put your number in. That way, you can tell me as soon as you find it.”

You took the phone, fingers brushing against his as you entered your number. After giving it back, he dialed your number and your phone buzzed in your pocket. You fished it out and saw his number flashing on your screen.

“There. Now you have my number too. Don’t forget to text me,” he said, his tone light, but there was a warmth in his voice that made your heart skip a beat.

The moment passed quickly, and soon everyone was heading out, their voices echoing down the hallway. You found yourself glancing back at Jeno one last time as you left, thinking about the connection that had formed between you throughout the day.

As you walked home, the cool night air filled your lungs, and a small smile tugged at your lips. The day had been full of surprises and quiet moments that felt like the start of something new. You couldn’t help but wonder what tomorrow would bring, but for now, you held onto the memory of Jeno’s smile and the way his voice softened when he talked to you.

On a quiet Saturday morning, you paced back and forth in your bedroom, biting your thumb as you stared at your phone and the book lying on your bed. The early sun poured into your room, filtered through the sheer curtains. The muffled sound of Sienna’s morning playlist drifted in from the living room.

You were debating whether to text Jeno, running through every possible scenario that might happen if you did, and most importantly, wondering what to say first.

Should you start with a simple ‘hi’? Or would it be better to get straight to the point and tell him the book title he wanted to know? Was it too early to text him? Should you wait until later so you don’t seem too eager? Would he even reply? And if he did, what would he say?

You stopped pacing, letting out a sharp breath, and placed your hands on your hips. For a moment, you stared at the phone and the book on your bed before picking them both up. Sitting down in the chair in front of your computer, you opened your contacts list with a look of determination.

“It’s just a text. No need to overthink it,” you told yourself, tapping on Jeno’s number to start a message.

You glanced at the title of the book as you typed out your text.

Hey Jeno, it’s me. The book title we were talking about is ‘The Long Walk’. Found it this morning.

Was it too casual? Too direct? You felt a flutter in your stomach as you reread the message for what seemed like the hundredth time. It was safe, not too much, just enough to start a conversation.

Your thumb hovered over the send button. It wasn’t just about sending the title; it was about breaking the silence, about seeing if the connection from yesterday would carry over into today.

Finally, you took a deep breath and hit send. There was no taking it back now. You stared at the screen, watching the message transition from ‘sending’ to ‘delivered.’ You squealed, tossing the phone on your bed and jumping around your bedroom.

A knock on the door made you freeze. “What’s going on in there?” Sienna’s voice called from the other side.

“Nothing!” you called back, trying to stifle your grin.

Sienna chuckled, the sound of her footsteps retreating as she muttered something under her breath.

With the room quiet again, you focused on the phone. Seconds ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. You tried to distract yourself with the book, but your eyes kept drifting back to the screen. Then, just as you were about to give up, the screen lit up with a notification, followed by a buzz. You dove into the bed, grabbing the phone as quickly as you could.

Jeno <3: Got it, thanks! Do you mind if I borrow it?

A grin spread across your face, your heart fluttering at the sight of his reply. It was just a simple message, but as the conversation continued, it felt like a small victory—a confirmation that maybe, just maybe, there was something more here.

Days turned into weeks, and that simple conversation turned into the first of many. In carpentry class, you and Jeno often got paired up, sharing tools and ideas. He had this knack for making even the most boring tasks fun, with his light-hearted teasing that always left you smiling.

“Careful there,” he’d say with a grin, watching you handle a saw. “Wouldn’t want you to lose a finger. Not sure how good you’d be at texting without one.”

You’d roll your eyes, but the warmth in his voice made it clear he was just looking out for you.

In the library, your study sessions often turned into comfortable silences, broken only by the occasional whispered joke or shared look when something funny popped into your head. Jeno had this way of making even the silence feel full, as if words weren’t always needed between you two.

One afternoon, while out for a coffee run, Jeno surprised you by handing you a snack you’d mentioned liking weeks ago. “Thought you might want this,” he said casually, but the gesture was anything but.

It was little things like that that made you realize how thoughtful he could be—how he noticed the small details you barely remembered mentioning.

At group hangouts, Jeno always seemed to end up next to you. Whether it was sitting beside you on the couch, standing close at a party, or even asking someone to scoot over so he could be nearer, he found subtle ways to be close.

“Can I sit here?” he’d ask with a grin, even though he already knew your answer.

And then there were the compliments—thoughtful, personal, and always catching you off guard. “I don’t know if you realize, but you’re so easy to hang out with. Easy to talk to, easy to get along with… You’re just awesome,” he once said during a late-night phone call.

Jeno’s focus on you during conversations, his attention to detail, and the way he remembered the little things—all of it hinted at feelings that were growing stronger day by day.

“I should just kick them out,” Renjun sighed, taking a long sip of his coffee.

You and your friends were hanging out at a cozy café you loved for its laid-back vibe and amazing hot chocolate. With Kayla, Mark, Renjun, and Jeno, you’d squeezed into a large booth.

Renjun had been complaining about his roommates again, and while you and Kayla were all for him kicking his flatmates out, Mark was trying to talk him out of it. Eventually, the conversation drifted from Renjun’s woes to a new movie that had just come out.

As the conversation continued, you found yourself getting into a lively debate about the movie. Jeno, sitting next to you, listened quietly, throwing in a thoughtful comment every now and then. Occasionally, your shoulders would brush, and you’d exchange quick, knowing glances.

Then out of nowhere, someone plopped down beside you, making you and Kayla gasp. It was Hendery Wong, his usual charisma on full display as he tilted his head and grinned at you.

“Deadpool & Wolverine, huh?” he said, his voice playful. “Pretty epic, wasn’t it?”

“Yo, Hendery Wong!” Mark exclaimed, jumping up to give Hendery a high-five. “Damn, dude, how have you been?”

“I’m fine. Still alive, fortunately,” Hendery said, his tone cool and nonchalant. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“A while? Dude, it’s been a whole fucking year!” Mark replied, unable to hide his excitement. “When did you get back?”

“Today. A few hours ago,” Hendery answered.

Kayla tutted. “Clearly, being overseas didn’t wipe that smug look off your face.”

Hendery chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter. “Come on, K. You’re not still sore about losing that exchange program to me, are you?”

Kayla huffed, crossing her arms. “Not at all. I was never sore about it in the first place.”

Hendery’s attention shifted back to you, his arm casually resting on the backrest behind you. “And you, babygirl? How’s life treating you?”

You rolled your eyes, though you were secretly glad to see him. “Great. Life was a little better without you around. Now that you’re back,” you paused, wincing playfully, “I’m not so sure anymore.”

“Good,” Hendery replied with a teasing grin. “I missed you too.”

Jeno, who had been observing quietly, shifted in his seat, his expression hard to read. He cleared his throat but didn’t say anything, his gaze drifting out the window.

“Who’s your friend?” Hendery asked, turning his attention to Jeno.

Mark jumped in before you could reply. “Oh, right. This is Jeno. He’s sharing the flat with me and Jaemin. Jeno, this is Hendery Wong. He used to stay in your room. He was gone for an exchange program in France.”

Jeno gave a polite nod, his lips pressed together, while Hendery returned the nod. An odd tension hung in the air, coming from the intense gaze between Jeno and Hendery.

“Well, I should get going,” Hendery said, rising from his seat. He placed a hand on your shoulder. “Catch you guys later? I thought I saw Renjun here, was I wrong?”

“He went to the restroom. Dude, we should all hang out soon,” Mark said, standing up to bump shoulders with Hendery.

“Absolutely. Just let me know,” Hendery said coolly, patting your shoulder. You looked up at him with a smile, giving him a small wave as he nodded at you.

You watched as Hendery walked away, waiting until he left the café to resume the conversation. Beside you, Jeno’s posture had grown more rigid. His fingers tapped restlessly on the table, and he seemed unusually focused on the menu, avoiding eye contact.

“Is everything alright?” you asked softly, sensing the shift in his mood.

Jeno glanced at you, his expression softening slightly. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

You raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced. Before you could press further, Renjun rejoined the table, and the conversation picked up again.

“You won’t believe who was just here,” Mark said, turning to Renjun as he sat down.

“Who?” Renjun asked, looking around.

“Hendery Wong,” Mark replied, unable to contain his excitement.

“No way! He’s back?” Renjun’s eyes widened in surprise.

Jeno first saw you during a basketball game between NCIT and another university. From his seat in the bleachers, he could hear your voice cutting through the clamor of the crowd. While most of the students were shouting cheers and encouragement, you stood out sharply with your enthusiastic and, frankly, unorthodox support.

You were positioned right at the edge of the bleachers, waving a homemade banner that read ‘KICK THEIR ASSES, MARK!’ in big, bold letters.

“Mark, focus! Don’t screw this up!” you yelled, your tone firm and assertive. There was an urgency in your voice that set you apart from the usual crowd.

When Mark came close to the bleachers, you didn’t hold back. With an exaggerated, mock-serious expression, you shouted, “I swear to God, Mark Lee! If you don’t beat their asses, I will whoop yours!”

Mark just laughed in amusement as he nodded at you, and that seemed to annoy you. “Oh? Are you laughing? Don’t you laugh at me, I am dead serious!”

Your friends beside you chuckled, clearly used to your dramatic flair, but Jeno was intrigued. The contrast between your intense demeanor and the light-hearted atmosphere around you was striking. When you were simply sitting quietly as you watched the game, there was an air of elegance and grace about you. But that air was shattered the moment you stood up and opened your mouth again.

As the game progressed, Jeno overheard you telling a friend that winning the game was crucial not just for school pride, but because you wanted to exact a small revenge on your ex, who had, apparently, done you wrong.

“We have to win this game!” you had declared. “I need to show that lying, cheating jerk that he’s a loser. This victory is for me!”

There was something undeniably compelling about your presence. Jeno found himself stealing glances your way, caught up in the way you seemed to own the moment, making the game as much about your personal victory as it was about the team’s. In that crowded, noisy gymnasium, Jeno saw something special in you—a spark that he couldn’t quite ignore.

Jeno watched as the game reached its climax, with Mark and his team eventually emerging victorious. In the final moments of triumph, you leaped from your seat, joining the crowd rushing onto the court. Jeno saw you stare at someone from the other team, whom he could only assume was your ex, after you gave him a dramatic, unapologetic middle finger.

Jeno knew you were friends with his roommates and that you shared a circle of mutual friends. While he found you intriguing, he’d never had any romantic interest in you. At the time, he was in a relationship, and though he occasionally caught glimpses of you during group gatherings or around campus, there wasn’t much real interaction. You always seemed wrapped up in intense debates with Haechan or animated conversations with your friends, and Jeno never thought much about it.

After a messy breakup, Jeno decided to go on a “healing” road trip with his cousins. The open road was supposed to be a distraction, a way to clear his head. On one of those long drives, they stumbled upon a quaint public library in a sleepy little town—a perfect pit stop for a break. As Jeno wandered through the rows of books, taking in the musty, comforting smell of old paper, he spotted someone familiar.

There you were, perched precariously on a ladder, browsing the top shelves with a look of intense concentration. Seeing a familiar face in such an out-of-the-way place was a pleasant surprise, but Jeno didn’t think of approaching you. After all, the two of you didn’t really know each other.

But as he watched, his curiosity was piqued. You were tugging at a book, your brow furrowed in determination as you struggled to free it from the tight shelf. It was almost comical, and Jeno couldn’t help but smile. 

As he debated whether to help, you suddenly lost your footing. Jeno’s reflexes kicked in, and he darted forward, catching you just as you slipped off the ladder. For a second, you were in his arms, eyes wide with surprise. Your cheeks flushed as you steadied yourself, looking up at him with a mix of embarrassment and gratitude.

The two of you stood there for a moment, neither sure what to say. There was something endearing about your flustered reaction, and Jeno found himself smiling, feeling an unexpected warmth. He handed you the book you’d been reaching for, and you accepted it with a grateful smile and uttered your thanks again.

As Jeno walked out of the library, he couldn’t help but glance back, catching one last look at you. The encounter was brief, but something about it stuck with him.

For the rest of the road trip, he found his thoughts drifting back to the way your eyes had widened in surprise, the way your lips had curved into a smile. And as Jeno climbed back into the car with his cousins, he couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face.

On the first day back at university, Jeno noticed you immediately. You were surrounded by your friends, engaging in lively chatter and playful bickering. Mark spotted him and waved him over, but Jeno had to decline, as he was on his way to class.

Later, at lunch, Jeno was walking to the food court with Mark, Jaemin, and Haechan. Haechan began grumbling about you, complaining that you had been a real pain in his ass due to a missing pen. Mark said it was Haechan's fault for losing her pen. 

“As if she doesn’t already have hoards of them!” Haechan whined, stomping his feet.

Just as Jeno was about to ask more, your voice cut through the busy pathway. “Lee Donghyuck!”

Haechan seemed to shudder at hearing his real name. “Gosh! This psycho pen hoarder!” he exclaimed in horror.

Frightened, Haechan took off running. Before Jeno could even glance over, you zoomed past him in pursuit of Haechan, leaving only a lingering trail of your sweet perfume.

Jeno watched, intrigued, as you darted through the crowd, clearly determined to catch up to Haechan.

Jeno started noticing you everywhere. At the public library across town, your name was proudly displayed as one of the top readers for the year. You seemed to live in that library, always immersed in a book while Jeno used it as a quiet refuge, mostly for napping and studying only when he absolutely had to.

He saw you in the quad, at the food court, in the school library, and even in the hallways and at the gates. It was as if no matter where he went, you were always in his line of sight.

His curiosity about you grew with every encounter. When your name came up in conversations with his roommates, he’d casually ask about you, careful not to hint at his interest. On the rare occasions you visited their apartment, he’d retreat to his room, listening from a distance but never making his presence known. He couldn’t quite explain why he chose to stay hidden, but he did.

One rainy afternoon, while stranded outside an electronics store downtown, Jeno stood shivering, hoping a cab would miraculously appear. Then he saw you emerging from the diner next door, shielded by an umbrella. His heart skipped a beat, and the dreariness of the rain-soaked streets seemed to lift.

Surprised by his reaction, he pondered what it could mean. You struggled to hail a cab, and Jeno wrestled with whether or not to approach you. But he decided there were better times to do that than right now.

When a taxi finally arrived and you were about to close the door, Jeno acted on an impulse. He sprinted across the sidewalk and intercepted the cab door just in time. The spontaneity of his actions left him awkwardly sitting beside you in the cab, unsure how to start a conversation.

Should he introduce himself and remind you of the ladder incident, or simply acknowledge that he was Jaemin and Mark’s friend?

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he missed his chance to say anything before his stop. Annoyed with himself, he walked to the apartment, his mood sour. Jaemin noticed Jeno’s dejected expression when he opened the door.

“What happened?” Jaemin had asked.

“Don’t remind me,” Jeno had replied, brushing off the question.

That night, Jeno couldn’t stop thinking about you. Your face, so pretty and striking, lingered in his mind long after the encounter. He was captivated by how your gentle demeanor contrasted with your boldness.

As the new week began, he found himself looking forward to the possibility of seeing you again. And this time, things were different. Instead of just glimpsing the back of your head or the side of your face, he found himself catching your gaze. You would often look away quickly, but sometimes you’d offer him a shy, bashful smile that left him both elated and curious.

What started with stolen glances and shy smiles evolved into something much deeper. Jeno found himself completely enchanted by you, not just because you were beautiful, but because you were brilliant and kind-hearted too.

Your intimidating exterior gave way to a warmth and charm that drew people to you, and Jeno was no exception. The moments you shared—laughing over inside jokes, basking in comfortable silence, and watching your smile light up a room—made his heart swell with affection.

He knew he liked you, but as time went on, he realized his feelings went beyond mere admiration. It was something deeper, something he couldn’t easily define. And though he was still figuring out what to do about it, the desire to be near you only grew stronger.

But today, it felt like the steady course of your relationship was about to hit some unexpected turbulence. Jeno stood in the doorway of his bedroom, his scowl deepening as a swirl of questions raced through his mind.

Who is Hendery Wong? Why did he seem to have an interest in you? What was your past relationship with him? And most pressing of all, what was Hendery doing in Jeno’s bedroom, wrapped in a towel, straight out of a shower?

“Hendery moved back in with you?” you asked Mark, your voice laced with surprise and a hint of confusion.

Mark leaned back, resting his head on his hand as if the whole situation were more amusing than anything else. “Yep. The guy showed up from the airport with nowhere to crash. So, he’s staying in Jeno’s room. You know, the room that used to be his.”

You winced, knowing how much Jeno prized his personal space. “And Jeno?” you asked.

Before Mark could answer, Hendery plopped down on the seat next to you, throwing an arm around your shoulders in a casual one-armed hug. His grin was impossibly wide and mischievous.

“What about my roommate?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You can’t just barge into his space like that!” you said, giving him a pointed look.

Hendery leaned in closer, his face only inches from yours. “Oh? Are you worried about Jeno?”

“Yes!” you shot back, giving his cheek a gentle nudge. “You should find yourself a dorm or something!”

“Why would I do that?” Hendery asked with a playful glint in his eye. “I’m having too much fun hanging out with your crush.”

“Is that you, Hendery?” You heard Yangyang’s voice cut through the chatter. Turning, you saw him approaching with Jeno by his side.

Your heart did a little leap at the sight of Jeno, and you felt a warm blush spread across your cheeks. Jeno’s eyes met yours for a fleeting moment before he looked away with an unreadable expression.

Flustered, you started smacking Hendery’s arm repeatedly until he finally loosened his hold on you. Hendery stood up with a laugh, giving Yangyang a hearty clap on the back as they exchanged greetings. You pointed at the chair Hendery had just vacated, and without hesitation, Jeno moved past Hendery and settled into it.

Jeno turned to you with a soft, genuine smile. “How was class?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“Extremely boring,” you replied, leaning in slightly.

Jeno chuckled, his gaze lingering on you with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. Before the conversation could go any deeper, your other friends arrived, and the table soon filled up with the usual chatter. Jeno had hoped his strategic move would prevent Hendery from sitting next to you, but as the group settled in, Hendery took the seat to your other side, creating a subtle but noticeable competition.

Every laugh you shared with Hendery seemed to amplify the emotions Jeno was trying hard to suppress. His focus on you, his protective stance, and the way his smile faltered when Hendery made a particularly affectionate gesture spoke volumes about the feelings he was trying to conceal.

It didn’t help that you and Hendery had the same classes. After lunch, you gave Jeno a sweet goodbye before leaving with Hendery. Jeno appreciated the extra attention you gave him, but seeing you walk away with Hendery left him feeling deflated.

For the next few days, Jeno made an effort to avoid seeing you with Hendery. He found it easier to focus on his growing feelings for you when he wasn’t constantly reminded of his competition. His strategy seemed to work, allowing him to enjoy quiet afternoons with you in the library, share coffee dates, and savor each other’s company.

But as the weekend approached and the group hangout at your apartment loomed, Jeno knew that the unresolved tension between him and Hendery was about to come to a head.

The living room of your apartment with Sienna was alive with warmth and energy as everyone settled in for the long-awaited hangout. It had been a while since the whole group had come together. The floor was strewn with pillows, snacks were piled high on the coffee table, and the entire room felt like a cozy, informal gathering spot.

You were comfortably nestled on the couch next to Jeno, with Kayla lounging on the carpet with her head resting between your knees. Across from you, Mark and Renjun were in a light-hearted debate about which movie to watch later. Yangyang and Jaemin were sprawled on the floor, playing video games in their phones, while Sienna and Haechan were snuggling on the reclining chair by the large window, occasionally chiming in with the conversation despite being in their own separate bubble.

Hendery emerged from the kitchen, his grin as mischievous as ever. He handed out cans of drinks, making sure to give you and Jeno each a beer before plopping down beside you on the couch. Jeno, who had been relatively quiet since arriving, was perched on the other side of you, his eyes flickering between you and Hendery, taking in the easy vibe between you two.

Hendery’s casual closeness and the way he seemed to effortlessly include himself in the group contrasted sharply with Jeno’s more reserved demeanor. The evening passed with laughter and conversation.

“So, Hendery,” Jaemin started with a teasing grin, “what kind of mischief did you get up to this past year? We heard rumors that you single-handedly kept the campus entertainment scene alive.”

Hendery chuckled, leaning back comfortably and draping an arm on the backrest behind you. “I wouldn’t say single-handedly, but I definitely added some flair to the dull parties.” He gave a wink, and the group chuckled. “Let’s just say it was a wild year and leave it at that.”

“Wild, my foot,” you jeered. “Didn’t seem so wild when you called me every day at three in the morning, convinced that your dorm was haunted.”

Everyone laughed, and Hendery groaned dramatically. “Okay, that was only for the first week! And I stand by it. Those noises were not normal. When I moved to a different dorm, everything was much better.”

“Speaking of, how’s the rooming situation, Jeno?” Renjun asked, turning the attention to Jeno.

Jeno shrugged, trying to play it cool. “It’s... fine. Hendery’s not the worst roommate I’ve had.”

“Not the worst?” Hendery echoed with mock offense. “I think I’m pretty great, actually.”

Jeno gave a half-smile. “You’re definitely something.”

“Do you mean that in a good way or a bad way?” Kayla teased, leaning in with a grin.

Mark chimed in, smirking. “Knowing Jeno, I’m guessing it’s somewhere in the middle.”

Jaemin laughed. “Come on, Jeno. Admit it. You secretly love having him around.”

Jeno forced a smile, shrugging. “He does keep things interesting, I’ll give him that.”

“You hear that?” Hendery said, looking delighted. “I’m officially interesting!”

“You’re officially a pain,” Haechan muttered, but his grin gave him away. The room burst into laughter, and the conversation flowed effortlessly.

Hendery grinned at Jeno. “Jeno’s pretty chill, though. And it’s only temporary. I’m looking into getting my own place in the same building.”

Kayla eyed Jeno. “So, you’re surviving, huh? No ghost stories at midnight?”

“Not yet, but I’m keeping my ears open,” Jeno said, glancing at you with a subtle smile.

“Don’t worry, Jeno, I’m sure you’ll get used to him,” you teased, sharing a playful look with Hendery. “And if he starts getting spooked again, just give me a call. I’ll give you the lowdown on handling him.”

Hendery laughed, nudging you gently. “See? She knows how to deal with me.”

Mark chimed in, “It’s simple. Just smack him if he starts talking about ghosts.”

Hendery feigned a pout. “That’s not very nice.”

“Yeah. But you’ll find that the back of his head is much much more effective,” you added.

Hendery gasped in mock horror. “Et tu, Brute?”

You laughed, giving him a playful shove. “It’s for your own good.”

Jeno’s smile tightened slightly, his eyes lingering on the way you and Hendery interacted so effortlessly. The jokes, the shared stories—it was clear that you two had a history, one that was filled with memories and inside jokes that Jeno wasn’t a part of.

“Alright, enough about me,” Hendery said, waving a hand dismissively. “What’s been going on with you guys? I’ve been out of the loop for way too long.”

He pointed across the room where Sienna and Haechan were cozied up together. “Especially that. When did that happen? And why?”

The conversation flowed smoothly after that, with everyone chiming in with their own stories and updates. You and Hendery continued to share a few more teasing comments, occasionally slipping into old jokes that made everyone laugh—even Jeno, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The evening went on, but every now and then, Jeno’s gaze would drift to you, watching the way you laughed at Hendery’s stories, the way your eyes lit up when you spoke to him. And though he tried to brush it off, a small knot of jealousy twisted in his chest, making him wonder just how close you and Hendery had been—and what that might mean for him now.

Jaemin, having known Jeno for a long time, noticed Jeno’s unease. “You alright?” he asked, his voice low enough to be heard only by Jeno.

Jeno laughed softly, the sound lacking its usual warmth. From his spot by the kitchen counter, he could see you playing rock-paper-scissors with Hendery, Mark, and Kayla.

“Honestly? No. I’m not,” he admitted, grateful to have someone to vent to.

Jaemin sighed, leaning against the counter beside him. “I should’ve warned you sooner about Hendery. You don’t have to worry, though. You see how I mess around with her, right? The flirting and all that? It’s fake, as you already know. She’s close with all of us, but there’s nothing romantic going on.”

Jaemin paused, gauging Jeno’s reaction before continuing. “She’s comfortable being close to Mark. Yangyang is like her personal bodyguard. With Renjun, she can tell him anything and everything. Haechan’s like her mortal enemy, but it’s all in good fun.”

He hesitated, then added, “And Hendery? He’s like a combination of all of us. They’ve known each other for years, way before we came into the picture. But, as far as we know, there’s never been anything romantic between them. So, don’t stress. You’ll get used to it.”

Jeno forced a smile, but the knot in his chest didn’t loosen. Would he really get used to it? Did he even want to?

Kayla’s triumphant cheer filled the room, accompanied by your dramatic groan of defeat. Jeno watched as you, kneeling on the floor, wallowed in your loss. Hendery, grinning, poked your head playfully and called you a loser. You stood up and turned towards the kitchen, your face lighting up as soon as you saw Jeno. He returned your smile with a nod.

As you walked over, Jaemin gave Jeno a knowing glance and excused himself.

“What are you doing?” you asked, casually taking Jeno’s hand in yours as you reached him.

Jeno smiled and shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Would you like to come with us to the store?” you asked, your eyes gleaming with excitement. “We lost to Kayla and Mark, so we need to go buy refills.”

“With Hendery?” Jeno asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.

You nodded. “Yeah. He’s being a pain, so I could use some backup. Please?”

Jeno nodded, knowing full well he could never say ‘no’ to you. “Alright, I’m in.”

The walk to the convenience store was cold, and you were bundled up in Hendery and Jeno’s jackets, which you thought was odd but gladly took in stride. Under the streetlights, your figures cast long shadows on the sidewalk, and you could see how short you looked between the two guys, sandwiched between their taller frames.

Hendery was talking about the noticeable changes in the neighborhood, pointing out things that were now gone and others that he knew weren’t there before.

“Did Wok’n’Roll close down?” he asked, his tone carrying a hint of nostalgia as you passed by a stationery store that now stood where the Chinese restaurant used to be.

“Not really,” you replied, your gaze lingering on the unfamiliar storefront. “They moved to a different location, but it’s too far from here now.”

“That’s too bad,” Hendery mused, his tone tinged with regret. “We used to eat there all the time.”

A soft scoff escaped your lips as memories of shared meals and laughter filled your mind. “Yeah, I was pretty bummed too. But it’s not like I can drive halfway across the state just to eat there. It was good, but not ‘two-hour road trip’ good.”

It was almost midnight, and the city had quieted down, with most places closed except for a few 24/7 diners, cafes, and convenience stores. As you reached the convenience store, its flickering neon lights cast a stark, familiar glow over the entrance. Stepping inside, you were met with the artificial warmth and the soft hum of fluorescent lights overhead.

You and Jeno moved through the aisles together as he carried the basket for you. Hendery, meanwhile, had wandered off, exploring the aisles.

“Aren’t you tired?” Jeno’s voice broke the quiet, concern evident as he added a pack of chips to the basket.

“Not really,” you replied with a light tone, glancing up at him. “I was a bit tipsy earlier, but the walk sobered me up.”

Without thinking, you let Jeno link his index finger with your pinky, a small but intimate gesture that sent a warm flutter through your chest. You curled your pinky around his finger, holding on tightly as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“What about you?” you asked back.

“I didn’t drink much,” he said, his smile softening as he looked down at your linked fingers. The sight of him watching your entwined hands made your cheeks flush.

“I think you’re obsessed with me,” you teased, trying to mask the giddiness bubbling up inside you with a playful nonchalance.

Jeno chuckled. “I might be,” he admitted, his eyes twinkling.

The moment lingered as you regrouped with Hendery at the counter. He took the basket from you, effortlessly laying out the items for the cashier while striking up a conversation with the store clerk. Hendery’s ease with people, his ability to make anyone feel at ease, was something you’d always admired.

Jeno, however, seemed lost in thought. He gently tugged your arm, catching your attention. When you looked at him, he tilted his head towards the exit, a silent invitation to step outside. You tapped Hendery on the shoulder to let him know, “We’ll wait for you outside.”

“Okay,” Hendery replied, his focus still on the cashier as he continued his conversation.

The moment you stepped outside, the soothing patter of rain greeted you. The soft drizzle had started while you were inside, and the raindrops glistening under the streetlights made everything feel more intimate and serene. The world seemed to slow down as you stood side by side with Jeno, watching the rain together.

A yawn escaped you, and Jeno moved closer. “You said you weren't tired,” he said softly.

“I was just yawning,” you reassured him with a soft laugh. The sound seemed to ease his worry, though there was still a glimmer of something in his eyes that tugged at your heart.

In a gentle motion, Jeno unlinked his finger from yours and took your hand fully in his. The warmth of his hand was a comforting contrast to the cool rain falling around you. Leaning into his arm, you felt the steady rise and fall of his breath.

You stood there in silence. It was in these quiet moments that you felt the most at peace, with Jeno’s presence and the warmth of his hand making you feel seen and alive.

Finally, Jeno broke the silence, his voice soft and filled with emotion. “There’s something I have to tell you,” he said, staring at the rain-soaked street as if searching for the right words.

“What is it?” you asked gently, not wanting to rush him.

Jeno turned to face you, his gaze intense and filled with emotion. “I am in love with you. I hope you’re okay with that.”

Your heart raced, surprise and joy swirling inside you. Without thinking, you cupped his face in your hands, the rain falling around you as you closed the distance between you. Your lips met his in a kiss that started soft and tentative but quickly deepened as all the emotions you’d both been holding back surged to the surface.

Jeno’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as the kiss grew more urgent and passionate. It felt like everything he had been holding back was pouring out in this moment, and you responded with equal intensity. The rain continued to fall, but neither of you cared, lost in the warmth of each other’s embrace.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, foreheads resting together as you tried to steady your racing hearts. You looked into Jeno’s eyes, searching for reassurance that this was real, that his confession wasn’t just a fleeting moment.

“I’m more than okay with it,” you whispered, your voice shaky but filled with certainty.

His smile was radiant, brighter than you had ever seen. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling you into another kiss. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in your bubble of newfound love.

“Oh, wow, right in front of my sour patch strips,” Hendery’s voice broke through the moment, dripping with exaggerated disbelief.

Startled, you and Jeno pulled apart, laughter bubbling up despite the surprise. Hendery stood at the store entrance, his eyes wide with mock horror and a sour patch strip dangling from his mouth like a comedic prop. He was piled high with the snacks you’d picked out, making the scene even more absurd. Jeno quickly took the other bag of snacks from Hendery.

“Kids these days,” Hendery continued, shaking his head in feigned disappointment. “Right by the entrance too? Unbelievable.”

The taxi ride back to your apartment was filled with a comforting silence, broken only by the hum of the engine and the rhythmic patter of rain against the windows. Hendery sat beside you, occasionally sneaking in a teasing glance, his lips curling into a smirk as he watched you and Jeno.

You wanted to say something, but your mind and heart were consumed by the whirlwind of emotions that Jeno had stirred up. His hand, warm and steady in yours, would give a gentle squeeze every now and then, silently asking for your attention, and you’d meet his gaze, feeling a flutter in your chest each time.

Back at your apartment, your friends were blissfully unaware of the revelations from the evening. Drinks were poured, conversations flowed, and your usually quiet nook in this big city was filled with laughter and cheer.

Amidst the chatter and merriment, no one seemed to notice how Jeno stayed close to you all evening—his tender touches, the soft whispers, and the hushed laughter shared only between the two of you, creating a warm glow that seemed to envelop you both. 

As the night wound down and your friends began to leave, Jeno lingered by your bedroom door, his shoulder resting against the frame as he looked at you with that same tender gaze from earlier.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked, his voice soft, almost hesitant, as if he, too, was reluctant to let this moment end.

“You can stay, you know,” you told him, looking up to meet his gaze, a sweet smile playing on your lips.

“I would love to, but…” He glanced toward the living room where Jaemin and Mark were sprawled out on the couch, half-asleep and completely drunk. ���Someone’s gotta get these morons home.”

Just then, Hendery stumbled out of the bathroom, his earlier cool demeanor replaced by a disheveled look and a pout. His eyes were bleary as he took in the scene, blinking slowly. “Are we sleeping over?” he mumbled, frowning as he rubbed his temples.

“I called a cab. They’ll be here soon,” Jeno replied, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Good. Can’t sleep here. There’s a weird ringing sound… it’s creeping me out,” Hendery muttered, words slurred, barely coherent. He shuffled over to the couch and wedged himself between Jaemin and Mark.

You rolled your eyes, turning your attention back to Jeno. “Pretty sure that’s just the alcohol in his head.”

Jeno chuckled, the sound resonating beautifully in your ears. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a tender kiss. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you whispered back, rising onto your tiptoes to kiss him on the lips, savoring the warmth that spread through you at the touch.

Neither of you moved to leave. Instead, you lingered there, standing close, your hand still resting on his arm. Jeno’s thumb brushed gently over the back of your hand, and you found yourself leaning closer to him, not wanting to break the spell.

“Did you see how Yangyang tried to challenge Jaemin to a dance-off earlier?” you asked out of nowhere.

Jeno laughed softly, shaking his head. “I missed that. Who won?”

“Jaemin, by default. Yangyang nearly fell over trying to do some kind of spin,” you grinned, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“That sounds about right,” he replied, squeezing your hand lightly. “Shame I didn’t see that.”

“You were literally sitting there with me,” you scoffed, unconvinced.

“Yeah, well, I was busy staring at you,” he replied without missing a beat, catching you off-guard.

You gawked at him for a moment, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips. “Oh shut up!” you chastised once you found your voice, hitting his chest lightly.

Jeno held your fist, keeping them pressed on his chest as he leaned to kiss you cheek. “It’s true. I will never lie to you.”

“You lied to me about being the mafia earlier though,” you retorted, narrowing your eyes at him. 

He threw his head back laughing. “That was necessary.”

“Nah, you’re just a liar,” you quipped.

The conversation kept drifting from one topic to another, neither of you making any move to end it. You talked about random things—Renjun’s ridiculous laugh during the movie earlier, Haechan and Sienna sneaking into her bedroom, Hendery’s questionable cocktail, and even the weather forecast for the next day.

Every time you thought Jeno would finally say goodbye, another thought seemed to cross his mind, another comment made you both chuckle, and neither of you seemed willing to let the moment slip away.

Then, Jeno’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at it, the glow of the screen lighting up his face. “The taxi’s here,” he said reluctantly.

You felt a small pang of disappointment but managed to smile. “It’s okay. You’ll see me again tomorrow.”

“Right, I will,” Jeno smiled contently before walking over to the couch to wake the others. You watched as they stirred, stretched, and yawn before filing up to the door.

You walked them to the cramped foyer as they muttered their thanks and bid you goodnight. Jeno had them wait in front of the elevator in the hallway before going back to your apartment door for a proper goodbye. He scooped you up in his arms, pressing a firm kiss on your lips.

“Goodbye, Jeno,” you told him after you pulled away.

“Goodbye,” he said, his smile wide and radiant. 

When he didn’t make a move to leave, you cocked your head to your dazed friends in the hallway. “You should go before Hendery starts complaining about the ringing again.”

“Right,” Jeno said, but his hand still lingered on the doorknob, his gaze locked with yours. He took a small step forward, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll text you when I get home, okay?”

“I’ll probably be asleep before then,” you nodded, your voice softer now. “But okay.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Jeno gave you one last kiss—a lingering, gentle press of his lips against yours—before finally stepping back. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Jeno,” you whispered, watching him as he finally turned and left.

Even as the door closed, you stayed there for a moment, the warmth of his presence still lingering in the halls of your apartment. You locked the door behind you and went to your bedroom, glancing briefly at Sienna’s door where she and Haechan were probably already asleep.

It was almost unbelievable, how much had changed between you. Jeno, who once seemed so distant, like a dream you could never quite reach, had just confessed his love to you. It was like stepping into a whole new world—one you’d only ever dared to imagine. You went from being the girl with a secret crush to someone whose feelings were returned in the most beautiful way possible.

As you lay back on your bed, your fingers brushed against your lips, still tingling from the kisses you shared. You’d spent countless nights dreaming about what it would be like to kiss him, to feel his lips against yours, and now that it had actually happened, it was even better than you had ever imagined.

You thought of the way Jeno had looked at you just before he confessed, the nervousness and hope in his eyes making your heart race. The way he had leaned in, the gentleness of his touch—it had all felt so real, so right, that it was almost hard to believe it wasn’t a dream.

You knew it was coming. You had been seeing the signs these last few days. You’d felt the growing connection between you, but still, nothing could have prepared you for the reality of hearing those words, of feeling that kiss.

As you drifted off to sleep, a contented sigh escaped your lips. The night might have ended, but the magic of it was far from over.

That weekend with Jeno felt like a dream—a series of perfect moments strung together in a blur of happiness. You found yourselves tucked away in a quiet corner of the library, surrounded by the scent of old books and the soft, steady rustle of pages turning. Jeno, originally engrossed in an ancient cartography book, eventually gave in to the peaceful lull of the afternoon, his head resting gently on the desk beside you.

You glanced at him, a smile tugging at your lips as you reached out, your fingers brushing through his dark hair.

After a while, Jeno stirred, his eyes fluttering open as he shifted closer to you. “What are you reading?” he whispered, his voice hushed, still thick with sleep, as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

You smiled, tilting your head to let him get closer. His arms snaked around your waist beneath the desk, pulling you closer. “A poetry collection. It’s one of my favorites,” you replied.

He hummed in contentment, warm breath fanning your skin. “Read me a line?” he murmured in a tone that was soft and inviting.

You flipped back a few pages, your eyes landing on a passage that had always struck a chord with you. With a mischievous grin, you began, “And so I’ll see the railway track, and lay my head upon the rail, And sight the dark and distant train…”

Before you could finish, Jeno bolted upright, his eyes wide with alarm. The startled look on his face made you burst into laughter, but you continued with the same mock-seriousness, “And hear its thunder louder roll, Coming to crush my cursed brain… Oh God, have mercy on my soul!”

For a moment, you both stared at each other. Your laughter bubbled up uncontrollably, and you nudged him with your elbow. “Come on, say something.”

Jeno blinked. “What the heck was that?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck.

After dinner, you found yourselves wandering through a quaint little stationery shop that caught your eye. The shelves were lined with pens, notebooks, and little trinkets that you could spend hours browsing through. Jeno watched with affection as you debated with yourself over a pen that you found too cute to leave behind.

“This is too cute,” you gushed, twirling it between your fingers.

Jeno chuckled, nudging you lightly. “Since you like it so much, why don’t you just buy it?”

You sighed, shoulders sagging. “Do I really need another pen?”

“You probably don’t, but if you want it…” he trailed off, shrugging. “Go for it.”

You grumbled but took the pen anyway. “At this rate, I’ll have enough pens to open my own store.”

His eyes softened, and he pulled you closer by the waist. “Then maybe you can write me love letters with each one,” he said playfully, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead amidst the colorful aisles.

“Don’t tempt me because I might do just that,” you told him, and the two of you laughed on your way to the counter.

When you returned to your apartment, it was still early enough to watch a movie. You both settled in your bedroom, the lights dimmed, a blanket draped over your legs as the film played on the screen of your laptop. But your attention wasn’t on the movie—it was on the way Jeno’s arm rested around your shoulders, how his fingers absentmindedly played with the ends of your hair.

The movie soon became nothing more than background noise, easily overshadowed by the warmth of Jeno’s presence beside you. His fingers continued to toy with the ends of your hair, each gentle touch sending a shiver down your spine. You leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Jeno’s gaze shifted from the screen to you, his eyes soft and filled with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. Without a word, he leaned down, brushing his lips against your temple in a feather-light kiss.

You smiled, turning your face slightly to meet his gaze. The way he looked at you—like you were the only thing that mattered at that moment—made your heart thump harder.

“Do you know how beautiful you look right now?” Jeno whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You blushed, meeting his eyes. “I don’t know if I believe that,” you teased, though you could feel the fluttering in your chest.

He smiled, his eyes twinkling. “It’s true. You always look beautiful to me.”

Jeno’s lips hovered close to yours, not quite kissing you yet, silently asking for permission. You leaned in, closing the gap between you. Your lips met his in a kiss that was soft and tentative at first, but soon deepened, growing more intense as you both melted into it.

Jeno’s hand slipped from your hair to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he tilted your head slightly to angle the kiss just right. You could feel the heat of his touch, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours, making everything else fade away.

His other hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer until there was hardly any space left between you. Your hands, almost on instinct, wound around his neck, fingers threading through his hair as you lost yourselves in the moment.

When you gave his lip a soft bite, Jeno let out a deep, satisfied groan that made your head spin. His hand trailed down from your waist to your thigh, wrapping it around his torso.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, your forehead resting against his. You could feel his breath against your lips, still heavy with the aftermath of your kiss.

“You know, I was actually, genuinely, with no ulterior motives whatsoever, hoping to watch this movie,” Jeno whispered, his voice hushed, almost amused. 

You chuckled softly, glancing at the screen where the movie was still running. “I think we missed most of it,” you admitted.

Jeno grinned, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “I’m totally okay with that,” he replied, lifting your chin as he drew you back into another kiss.

And as you let your heart go where it wanted to go, you knew without a doubt that this was exactly where you were meant to be.

As soon as you met up with your friends, you could barely contain your excitement. The words practically tumbled out of your mouth before anyone could even ask. Sitting in your usual spot at the food court for lunch, you dropped the news.

“Jeno and I are dating now,” you announced, a triumphant smile plastered across your face. You were ready for the gasps, the shrieks, the dramatic reactions. After all, this was big news.

Renjun raised an eyebrow, sipping his coffee nonchalantly. “Good for you.”

You blinked, a little taken aback by the casualness of his response. Kayla clapped her hands quietly, smiling to congratulate you. Olive copied her, but both of them didn’t seem surprised at all. Haechan was just scrolling through his phone.

“Wait, is that it?” you asked, confused. “I thought you’d be more surprised.”

Your friends exchanged glances. Olive shrugged, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “Uh, we kind of figured that out already.”

You blinked, taken aback. “What? How? When? Was it last weekend? We were practically inseparable then!”

Kayla chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Sweetie, you two have been inseparable for weeks. We’ve all seen it coming.”

“Honestly, I thought you two were already a thing,” Renjun chimed in, stirring her drink lazily. 

“What? I don't get it,” you said, your voice trailing off in disbelief.

“We actually thought you guys were just being subtle,” said Siena.

Haechan snorted, not lifting his eyes from his screen. “Yeah, about as subtle as a flashing neon sign.”

“I’m pretty sure the only reason we didn’t say anything was because we assumed you wanted to keep it low-key,” Kayla added.

You groaned, leaning back in your seat. “And here I was thinking I was dropping a bombshell.”

Olive grinned, reaching over to give your hand a squeeze. “We’re happy for you, though! Even if you’re terrible at keeping secrets.”

“Yes, we’re so happy for you,” Kayla said, grinning. “But you’re not getting off that easy.”

You frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Details,” Kayla demanded, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “We need all the details. How did he confess? Was it as cute as we’ve been imagining?”

“Wait,” Olive interjected. “You’re not the one who confessed, are you?”

You didn’t get to answer them because your other friends soon arrived, making the space livelier with their chatter and greetings. Hendery slid onto the long chair next to you, giving you a mischievous grin. You rolled your eyes at him, turning away in feigned annoyance. As you did, you spotted Jeno, and your face lit up. You waved happily at him.

“Oh, shit. I forgot about him,” Hendery muttered next to you, rising to his feet to move elsewhere.

Jeno smiled gratefully at Hendery as he claimed the seat next to you. Glancing at you with a sweet smile, he said, “How was class?”

You shrugged. “You already know how they are.”

“Extremely boring?” he said, echoing the same answer you’d always given him.

You nodded, smiling as he took your hand under the table, intertwining your fingers with his and resting them on his thigh. You and your friends talked over a hearty meal. And while you had expected them to at least be surprised that you and Jeno were finally dating, you realized that it was better that their attentions were elsewhere.

Jeno was more attentive than usual, making sure you were eating well, refilling your water, and just generally being… boyfriend-y. You had initially thought you’d be detached from your circle during lunch, that all of your attention would be directed at Jeno. But it seemed like your friends were right, the signs were already there. It was as if nothing had changed at all.

“I should get to class,” Kayla said after checking the time on her watch.

“Oh crap, me too,” Olive added. One by one, your friends started dispersing, rushing to their classes or heading back home.

“Let’s go, babygirl,” Hendery said in a sing-song, standing up and slinging his backpack over one shoulder.

Without thinking much about it, out of habit, you stood up to oblige, and Jeno held the hem of your shirt to stop you. You glanced at him. 

“Let’s go together,” he said with a pout.

“Oh, okay,” you replied, sitting back down. "Of course."

For a moment, it hit you that being together with Jeno meant you’d start doing things as a couple, and that might mean figuring out what’s okay with friends and what isn’t.

“Bye Deryry,” you grinned at Hendery, waving a hand. “Have fun being lonely.”

Hendery grimaced. “I hate it when you get a boyfriend.”

“Bye-bye!” you teased, sticking your tongue out. Deep inside, the word ‘boyfriend’ is echoing in your mind. It was a seemingly ordinary term, but it made you feel giddy, as it was the label that cemented the reality of your relationship with Jeno.

After Hendery was finally out of earshot, Jeno pouted at you, “Why does he call you that?”

“What? Baby girl?” you asked, and he nodded. “He’s been calling me that for ages.”

“I see. But why?” he asked, shifting slightly in his seat and brushing something off your shoulder.

You shrugged. “I forgot the reason, but I do know it wasn’t nice. He calls me baby girl to annoy me.”

Jeno’s pout didn’t disappear as he twirled some strands of your hair around his finger, lifting them to his nose. “Sounds more like an endearment to me.”

You shuddered at the thought. “Trust me, it isn’t. Ask any of our friends—or my parents. He used to always call me that to make fun of me. It kind of just stuck after all these years.”

“Okay, I trust you,” he said, leaning in to kiss your cheek.

"Ooh, is my boyfriend showing a bit of jealousy on our first week together?” you teased.

“I’ll have you know that I’m a very jealous man,” Jeno replied with a grin.

You snorted. “That’s funny because I’m a very jealous woman.”

“Good. I like my women jealous.”

“Oh?” you raised an eyebrow. “Which of your exes was the most jealous?”

Jeno seemed to think for a moment before grinning. “I could answer that, but it feels like a trap.”

You smirked. “Oh, so you remember which one? She must have been pretty memorable.”

Jeno burst into laughter, throwing his head back. “Not memorable enough to have my friends challenge their team to a sports game just to get back at them, though.”

You paused, momentarily confused, then remembered the time you cheered for Mark during a basketball game against your ex’s team. “Hey, how did you even know about that?”

Jeno’s grin widened. “You were so passionate. Even more so than when you cheered for me at the Sports’ Fest championship.”

“My god,” you blurted, covering your mouth out of embarrassment. “Well, for the record, it was two different kinds of passion. I hated my ex, but I liked you!” you declared, pressing your index finger against his chest.

He caught your finger, holding it close to his heart, grinning cheekily. “That’s how long you’ve liked me?”

“No. I liked you long before that.”

“Did you? Really?”

“Yes. I liked you the first time I saw you at the library in my hometown.”

He frowned. “That’s the first time you saw me?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s true!”

Walking to your class, Jeno told you about the time he first saw you, how deeply intriguing you were, and how much of an impression you left on him. He told you how that cascaded into a series of events and encounters that led to this—this right now, the two of you, holding hands along the hallways of NCIT as he walked you to your class.

The unexpected memories—all of it made you realize just how deeply your lives had been intertwined, even before you were fully aware of it.

“So, what other secrets are you hiding from me?” you asked stopping in front of your classroom.

Jeno’s grin turned mischievous. “Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out.”

“I think I can manage that. But for now, I have class,” you whispered, sealing the promise with another kiss, knowing that with Jeno, every day would be a new adventure.

When you and Jeno were alone together, it felt like the world shrank to just the two of you. Whether you were tangled up together or quietly doing your own thing, there was contentment in the air. This afternoon was no different. You spent most of the day in bed, editing your thesis proposal on your laptop, while Jeno was beside you, sometimes engrossed in a book, other times wandering around the house doing little chores.

After finally finishing your work, you realized Jeno had been gone for a while. You closed your laptop and went looking for him, eager to enjoy his company after hours of academic drudgery.

You found him on the couch, deeply focused on his phone, his thumbs flying over the screen. Your heart swelled at the sight of him, and without thinking, you hopped onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“What are you up to?” you asked, your voice playful, your lips brushing his ear.

Jeno didn’t look up, but the corners of his mouth lifted as you kissed his cheek. “Playing a game with the guys,” he replied, still absorbed in his phone. He leaned into your kiss as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Finished with your thesis?”

“Finally,” you sighed, resting your head against his chest. “Can you put that down for a sec? I want some cuddles.”

Jeno’s lips curled into a smile, but he kept tapping on his screen. “Cuddles and kisses?”

You hummed in agreement, your fingers trailing along the back of his neck. “Yes, please.”

“Alright, just give me a second…” he said, his voice trailing off as he focused on what you assumed was a crucial moment in his game.

Unable to resist teasing him, you kissed his cheek again, then his nose. Sensing what was coming, Jeno pursed his lips, clearly anticipating a kiss. But instead of kissing his lips, you kissed his other cheek, then his forehead, and back to his nose, deliberately avoiding his waiting lips.

Jeno chuckled softly, finally looking up from his phone. “What are you doing?” he asked, amusement dancing in his eyes as he leaned in for a proper kiss.

You dodged at the last second, kissing his forehead instead and grinning mischievously.

Jeno tutted, pretending to be exasperated, though his eyes were full of affection. “You little tease,” he murmured, setting his phone aside.

He shifted to wrap his arms around you, pulling you close until there was no space left between you. “Stay still,” he said, his voice low as he cupped your face in his hands and leaned in for a soft, lingering kiss.

When he pulled away, his eyes were warm and full of love, his smile as lovely as ever. “See? That’s more like it.”

You pouted, pretending to be indifferent even though butterflies fluttered in your stomach. “Be honest, you’re obsessed with me, aren’t you?”

Jeno scoffed loudly, as if offended by the suggestion. “I thought you knew that already?” he said with a laugh, tightening his hold around your waist. “That’s it. Let’s go back to bed.”

“What? Why?” you whined, though you made no move to resist. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his familiar, comforting scent. “I’ve been in bed all day.”

“Don’t care,” Jeno declared, his tone light but insistent. “I need to show you exactly how obsessed I am with you.”

Before you could protest, Jeno scooped you up in his arms and carried you to the bedroom. You squealed with laughter, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

Three months had passed since you and Jeno first started dating, and life had never felt more perfectly chaotic. The two of you had settled into a routine, the kind that comes with knowing someone as deeply as you did. But as much as your relationship with Jeno blossomed, your friendships remained just as important.

Your group of friends had become something of a family—a loud, boisterous, and wonderfully supportive family.

“So, Olive,” Kayla started with a smirk, “are you going to force us to pose for you again today? I’m still recovering from last week’s ‘artistic vision’.”

Olive rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. “Please, Kayla, you’re practically a natural in front of the camera. I’m just trying to help you discover your true calling.”

“Yeah, right,” Kayla shot back. “I think I’ll stick to law school, thanks.”

You laughed along with them, leaning into Jeno, who was sitting comfortably beside you. His hand found yours under the table, fingers lacing together with ease. Olive caught the movement and raised her camera, pretending to take a candid shot.

“There! That’s the perfect shot—lovebirds in their natural habitat,” Olive teased.

You played along, giving her a mock-serious look. “At least make sure we look good. I don’t want to be tagged in another one of your experimental edits.”

Olive giggled. “No promises!”

Hendery slid into the seat beside Olive, peeking at the camera. Olive showed it to him, saying, “They look great, don’t they?”

Hendery grimaced. “No. They look obscenely happy. It’s making me sick.”

Jeno smirked, grinning. “Jealous much? Don’t worry, you’ll always be her second favorite.”

Hendery laughed, nudging Jeno with his shoulder. “Second favorite? Please, Jeno, I’m at least tied for first.”

You shook your head at their banter, but you couldn’t help smiling. “You guys aren’t even in my top three.”

Jeno and Hendery stared at you for a hot minute, appalled. You snickered. “I’m serious. Sienna is my number one…”

Kayla raised a hand, “I’m her number two.”

“Three!” Olive added.

Hendery and Jeno exchanged looks. “So I’m number four?” asked Hendery, pointing to himself.

“No you’re not,” Jeno said, shaking his head.

“You guys need to stop doing that, seriously,” you chided, scowling at Hnedery across the table.

Hendery pretended to think about it. “Nah. Request denied. It’s fun watching Jeno get all territorial.”

“I’m not territorial,” Jeno denied, scoffing.

Hendery leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms with a satisfied smile. “Sure, you’re not.”

Across the table, Jaemin and Yangyang were locked in their usual debate, this time over which video game was superior. Renjun, sitting between them, looked like he’d rather be anywhere else but was too polite to say so.

“I’m telling you, ‘Realm of Legends’ has the best graphics,” Jaemin insisted, waving his fork for emphasis.

Yangyang shook his head. “Graphics aren’t everything, dude. ‘Dragon Quest’ has a better storyline.”

Renjun sighed dramatically. “Or we could all just agree that you’re both nerds and call it a day?”

Jaemin shot him a playful glare. “Says the guy who spent all weekend on his computer building a virtual city.”

“It’s called architecture, Jaemin. And it was my final assignment. I wouldn't expect you to understand,” Renjun retorted with a smirk, earning a chuckle from the group.

Meanwhile, Mark was unusually quiet, his attention fixed on his phone. You noticed the faint smile playing on his lips and couldn’t resist leaning over to nudge him.

“Oh my God, Mark!” you exclaimed, drawing the attention of everyone at the table. “Who’s got you all smiley?”

Mark’s head snapped up, his cheeks instantly turning red. “W-What? No one! It’s just...a friend.”

“A friend, huh?” Olive said, her tone dripping with disbelief. “A friend who happens to be making you blush like that?”

Jaemin leaned in, grinning mischievously. “Is it that girl from Hyunjin’s party? You’ve been texting her a lot lately.”

Mark’s face grew even redder, and he tried to hide behind his phone. “It’s nothing serious, really. We’re just talking.”

“Talking,” Kayla repeated, drawing out the word like it was the most scandalous thing in the world. “Mark, sweetie, you’re adorable.”

You and the girls burst into laughter, much to Mark’s dismay. But underneath all the teasing, you were genuinely happy for him. It wasn’t every day that Mark got close to someone, and seeing him this flustered was a good sign.

Across the table, Haechan and Sienna were sharing an inside joke, whispering and giggling like the adorable couple they were. Haechan caught you watching and flashed you a cheeky grin.

“What? Don’t be jealous. You’ve got your own boyfriend now,” he teased, nudging Jeno with his elbow.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips as you glanced at Jeno.

Kayla groaned dramatically. “I swear, if you two start being all cutesy, I’m moving to another table.”

As the lunch period wound down, you leaned closer to Jeno, your head resting on his shoulder. He kissed the top of your head, and you closed your eyes, letting the warmth of the moment sink in. Life was good, and with your friends by your side—and Jeno’s hand in yours—it could only get better.

And as you sat there, surrounded by the people who meant the most to you, you knew that this is exactly where you want to be. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[fin]

[anythinggoesbutme]

Scavenger of Hearts

Jameson Hawthorne x Avery Grambs

Warnings: Implied past trauma and injury (referenced but not graphically depicted), Emotional tension and moments of vulnerability, Mentions of gun violence (non-graphic, related to Avery’s past), Brief moments of anxiety and uncertainty, Some travel-related stress and fatigue, Romantic themes and proposal scene, No explicit sexual content or graphic violence

Synopsis: On Avery’s birthday, Jameson takes her on a globe-trotting scavenger hunt filled with clues, memories, and a surprise that could change everything.

Song: “Our House” — Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young

Word Count: 3,435

Authors Note: do not let me write stuff this late at night again.. i am so sorry if it’s confusing i’m praying the ending made any sense

Hawthorne House — CDT 6:00 AM

The morning light seeped softly through the floor-to-ceiling windows of her room at Hawthorne House, casting long golden shafts across the plush carpet. Avery stirred beneath the weight of silk sheets, the quiet hum of the estate settling around her like a protective cloak. The house was still — as it always was in these early hours — but today carried a peculiar feeling, a whisper of something new waiting to be discovered.

She sat up slowly, eyes blinking against the soft light, when her gaze caught a folded envelope resting neatly atop her nightstand. The paper was heavy and smooth, ivory with an embossed Hawthorne crest faintly shimmering in the morning sun.

Curious, Avery picked it up and unfolded the note inside. The handwriting was unmistakable: neat, confident, with a hint of teasing flair.

“Good morning, heiress. Today marks the beginning of a journey you won’t soon forget. Your first clue awaits where the heart of the Hawthorne legacy beats — the library. Seek the place where knowledge and secrets intertwine. Trust your instincts; they will guide you.”

No signature. No hint of who had left it, but Avery’s pulse quickened. She glanced around the room, half-expecting to find Jameson lurking in the shadows with a smirk, but the house was silent.

Pulling herself out of bed, she padded softly toward the door, her bare feet warm against the polished hardwood floors. The house always felt like a puzzle itself — every corner holding whispers of the past, secret rooms, and hidden passageways. It was fitting that today she’d be sent on a scavenger hunt through its very bones.

The Hawthorne library was an imposing space, circular with towering mahogany shelves packed tight with leather-bound volumes. The scent of aged paper mingled with polished wood and faint traces of lavender—the subtle signature of the late Grams Hawthorne, whose presence lingered like a guardian spirit.

Avery’s eyes scanned the shelves, recalling all the times she’d snuck away here with a book or a quiet thought. Her fingers brushed over spines with familiar titles—history, puzzles, classic literature. Somewhere here was the clue, tucked away like a whispered secret.

Her heart leapt when she spotted it: an old, weathered copy of The Prince, resting slightly askew on a lower shelf. She pulled it free, fingers trembling, and as she opened to the inside cover, a thin piece of parchment slipped out.

Unfolding the parchment revealed a cryptic message written in elegant script:

“To find where time bends and secrets sleep,

Seek the chamber where shadows keep.

A cipher sleeps where the clock stands tall,

Unlock its face to unveil the call.”

Avery frowned, heart racing as she remembered the grandfather clock that stood near the back wall—a towering relic with an intricate face, rumored to hide more than just time. She approached it, her fingers tracing the delicate carvings and the cool brass hands frozen at midnight.

Carefully, she inspected the clock’s base and discovered a small panel cleverly disguised as part of the woodwork. Her pulse quickened. Sliding it open, she found a small metal disk etched with strange symbols and numbers—a cipher disk, exactly like the ones Toby had crafted during their family games.

With deft fingers, she rotated the disk, aligning symbols with numbers until a coded message emerged.

“Your wings await in the city of fog and secrets. London calls.”

A soft thrill ran through her. The games had always led them to places beyond the walls of Hawthorne House — places steeped in mystery and history. London was the next step.

Just as she was about to tuck the cipher disk into her pocket, a small folded card fluttered from within the clock’s mechanism. She opened it and smiled softly at the familiar scrawl:

“Pack light, heiress. The night is young, and adventure beckons. I’m already making the arrangements.”

Her mind buzzed with questions, excitement, and the quiet certainty that Jameson had orchestrated every detail. She glanced once more around the library, her sanctuary and the place where so many secrets had been uncovered.

The scavenger hunt was just beginning.

London, England — BST 11:00 PM

The hum of the airplane engines beneath her was a steady pulse, lulling Avery into a quiet state somewhere between excitement and nerves. London awaited — a city of fog and secrets, where history coiled in every shadowed alley and beneath every gaslamp.

She stared out the window as the city’s sprawling silhouette emerged below, gray rooftops blurring with mist, the Thames cutting a winding silver thread through it all. Jameson’s words echoed in her mind, calling her “heiress” — a reminder that this journey was more than a game. It was a step into their shared legacy, the tangled history of the Hawthornes, and the future still waiting to be claimed.

London was alive with that old-world elegance and an undercurrent of danger. Avery’s hotel was nestled near the heart of Mayfair, and though Jameson wasn’t here to greet her, the arrangements he’d made spoke volumes. The scavenger hunt had started with a subtle nudge, but now the stakes were unmistakably real.

She wrapped her coat tighter as dusk settled over the city and made her way to The Devil’s Mercy, a high-society gambling club whispered about among those in the know. It was a place where fortunes were won and lost in a single hand, where whispered deals and secret alliances turned the tide of power.

Avery remembered that night with Jameson — how they had once risked everything in this very club to reclaim a lost estate, for Jameson’s father, a man Jameson could only call a father by blood.

The club’s entrance was discreet, a polished black door set into a stone façade, marked only by a small emblem of a red devil’s tail curling around a playing card. She hesitated briefly before stepping inside.

The air was thick with cigar smoke and the clink of chips. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over velvet-draped walls and polished mahogany tables. Men and women in tuxedos and gowns moved like shadows, their eyes sharp and their smiles sharp as knives.

A waiter approached, sliding a folded note into her hand with practiced ease before disappearing into the crowd.

She unfolded it carefully:

“In the game of hearts and power,

Look where fortunes bloom in the hour.

The Queen holds court where stakes are high—

Find her throne where the aces lie.”

Her mind raced as she scanned the room. The central table dominated the floor, circled by plush chairs and guarded by attentive dealers. The high-stakes poker game was in full swing — the players locked in silent battle, expressions unreadable.

Avery moved closer, weaving between onlookers. Her eyes landed on a seat draped in deep crimson velvet—the ‘Queen’s chair,’ ornate and commanding. Beneath it, taped carefully to the leg, was another envelope.

She slipped it out and unfolded a map of Europe, hand-drawn and detailed, with one spot circled in deep blue:

“Prague awaits, where bridges and secrets entwine.”

A small card was tucked inside:

“Keep your wits sharp, heiress. The game is far from over.”

The muffled chatter of the club swirled around her as Avery folded the map and tucked it safely away. She could almost feel Jameson’s presence beside her — the quiet confidence that had seen them through darker nights and deadlier gambits.

But for now, the hunt was hers alone.

Prague, Czech Republic — CEST 3:00 AM

Avery’s breath fogged against the airplane window as the city lights of Prague glittered below like scattered stars. She’d left London behind with its smoke, secrets, and high-stakes memories, stepping off the plane into a different kind of magic—a city of bridges, ancient alleyways, and hidden histories.

The driver at Václav Havel Airport met her with a polite nod and a sign that read A. GRAMBS in clean block letters. He was older, grizzled, with eyes that didn’t ask questions. Avery offered a tired smile as she settled into the backseat, the leather cold beneath her jeans.

They drove through Prague’s winding streets, where shadows curled beneath baroque facades and cobblestones gleamed with the memory of rain. The car’s headlights cut through the fog, illuminating centuries-old statues standing guard over silent squares.

Jameson had always spoken of Prague with a conspiratorial grin, as if every bridge and alleyway was a stage for the games he loved to play. She remembered the stories he’d told her—how he’d once followed a Hawthorne riddle through these very streets to recover a missing piece of the puzzle that had haunted his father.

But now, he wasn’t here. This was her journey, her hunt—guided by his clues and his voice on paper, but silent all the same.

The car stopped abruptly at the base of the Charles Bridge. Avery stepped out, her boots crunching on the damp cobblestones. The bridge stretched ahead of her like a spine of stone, its statues of saints watching over the river below.

A folded note rested on the pedestal of the statue of St. John of Nepomuk—the protector of secrets, his face weathered by centuries of rain and devotion.

Avery unfolded the paper carefully, her hands trembling just a little.

“Where time stands still, the hour is marked,

A clock that’s more than just a spark.

Seek the face where stories chime,

A secret waits in the arms of time.”

She exhaled a slow breath. The Astronomical Clock. Jameson would have picked the most iconic—and the most complicated—landmark in Prague. Of course he would.

Avery pulled her coat tighter around her as she walked across the bridge. The night air bit at her cheeks, but adrenaline kept her warm. The streets of Prague’s Old Town lay ahead, winding through a maze of ancient buildings and hidden courtyards. She moved past shopfronts shuttered for the night, the smell of roasting chestnuts from a nearby vendor lingering in the air.

The Astronomical Clock loomed in the square, its intricate face glimmering under the streetlights. The dial’s golden details marked the passage of time with an elegance that felt almost magical.

She approached cautiously, her footsteps echoing on the stones. At this hour, the square was nearly empty, save for a street musician packing away his violin. She paused, the air thick with the scent of rain-soaked stone and centuries of whispered stories.

Beneath the clock’s mechanical apostles, she spotted a small brass plaque, tarnished with age. Its edge was loose, just enough for her to pry it up with her fingernail. Tucked beneath was another note, folded with precise care.

She unfolded it, her pulse quickening.

“Tuscany calls, where vines entwine—

Secrets sleep in hills of wine.

The game is far from over, heiress.

Follow your heart.”

A plane ticket was clipped to the note, the name Avery Kylie Grambs printed neatly on the boarding pass. Florence, Italy—departing tomorrow.

She felt Jameson’s presence in every line of that note, every turn of phrase. He’d always known how to craft a challenge that felt like a confession. And though he wasn’t standing here beside her—no mischievous grin, no teasing tone—he was everywhere: in the game, in the city, in the promise of what came next.

Avery pressed the note to her chest for a moment, closing her eyes against the city’s quiet. Then she slipped it into her pocket and turned away from the clock, her steps echoing on the ancient square.

The game continued.

And so did her heart.

Tuscany, Italy — CEST 6:30 AM

The morning air in Prague was damp and cold, a chill that clung to Avery’s bones as she boarded the early flight to Florence. She’d barely slept—her mind kept circling Jameson’s last note and the promise of the game’s next step. She could almost hear his voice: “Secrets sleep in hills of wine.”

The flight was a blur of half-awake thoughts and too-strong coffee, the horizon slowly brightening as the plane crossed the Alps. By the time they touched down in Florence, the sky had turned a brilliant blue—so different from the gray haze of Prague. She stepped off the plane and inhaled the sweet, warm air that carried the scent of cypress and old stone.

The driver—a young man with sun-kissed skin and a polite but distant smile—held a sign with her name. She followed him through the sunlit terminal, the architecture a mix of old-world grandeur and modern glass. Tuscany was already working its magic on her: a place where every breeze seemed to carry a secret.

The drive from Florence to the hills of Tuscany was a slow unraveling of landscape, each mile revealing rolling vineyards, fields of poppies, and ancient farmhouses perched on hillsides like watchful sentinels. She thought of Jameson, of all the games they’d played together—and all the games they hadn’t yet.

When the car finally stopped, Avery found herself at the gates of a small, family-run vineyard. She recognized the name—Castello di Rossi—from one of Jameson’s stories. He’d once told her about a night here, drinking cheap wine with Xander and Nash, playing poker by candlelight in the wine cellar.

The air was warm, heavy with the perfume of sun-warmed grapes. The vineyard stretched before her in neat rows, the vines heavy with fruit. A weathered stone arch led to a small courtyard, where an envelope waited on a rustic wooden table.

She picked it up carefully, her fingers trembling.

“Where hearts grow roots, love takes hold—

A secret waits in stories told.

Find the hidden cellar, the place we once played.

Inside, a treasure only you can claim.”

Avery’s throat tightened. The place we once played. She could practically hear his voice, that teasing lilt he used when he was up to something.

She made her way through the vineyard, the dirt path winding between rows of vines until it ended at a small, ivy-covered building. The cellar door creaked open under her touch, the cool air inside a relief from the summer sun.

It was exactly as Jameson had described—a room carved from stone, lined with dusty bottles and old oak barrels. She remembered the poker game he’d told her about, how he’d won and lost fortunes in laughter and secrets.

A single candle burned on a wooden crate in the center of the room. Next to it sat a wine bottle—deep red, labeled with a hawthorn flower. A handwritten note was tied around its neck with twine.

“To the girl who made me believe in more than games—

This bottle holds a promise: that no matter where we are in the world, you are never alone.

The game continues, heiress.

Santorini awaits.”

Tears pricked her eyes as she held the bottle close. It wasn’t about the wine. It was about him—always him—and the way he turned even the simplest moments into something unforgettable.

She pressed her palm to the stone wall, grounding herself. Jameson had never let her forget that life was a puzzle to be solved, but also a gift to be lived. And as the shadows of the cellar wrapped around her, she felt more certain than ever that she was exactly where she was meant to be.

The adventure wasn’t over.

Not even close.

Santorini, Greece — EEST 6:30 PM

Avery stepped off the small prop plane onto the sun-drenched tarmac of Santorini’s airport, the sharp scent of salt and sea air instantly filling her lungs. The island’s whitewashed buildings gleamed under a clear cobalt sky, perched like pearls on cliffs that plunged dramatically into the Aegean Sea.

Her heart fluttered—a mixture of excitement and exhaustion from the whirlwind journey. She clutched the small leather bag that held the notes and clues Jameson had left so far, each one a thread weaving her closer to him and the truth behind this mysterious scavenger hunt.

The driver who met her was younger this time, sun-kissed and smiling with the easy charm of the Mediterranean. He slid the car door open, greeting her with a warm “Kalimera, heiress,” before guiding her through winding streets paved in stone, the scent of blooming bougainvillea trailing in their wake.

As the car curved along the edge of the caldera, Avery’s breath caught. Below, the sea stretched infinitely, shimmering like molten glass. Blue domes and terracotta roofs dotted the cliffs, contrasting with the white walls and the endless sky.

She arrived at a small café overlooking the sea, tucked away on a quiet terrace shaded by olive trees. A note was pinned to a bottle of ouzo waiting on the table, beside a single blue hydrangea—the color of the ocean itself.

“Where the sea meets the sky in a kiss,

Look for the door that hides a wish.

Behind it lies the memory we share,

A secret kept with utmost care.”

Avery’s fingers trembled as she folded the note, eyes scanning the terrace. There, almost hidden behind a vine-wrapped trellis, was a small wooden door painted the exact shade of the ocean. She moved toward it, heart pounding.

The door creaked open to reveal a cozy room filled with old photographs and trinkets—a small shrine to moments she and Jameson had shared, though he’d never spoken of them aloud. There was a faded Polaroid of them laughing in a rainstorm, a ticket stub from a concert they’d both loved, and a small, leather-bound journal with her initials embossed on the cover.

She flipped open the journal, the pages filled with Jameson’s looping handwriting.

“To my heiress,

No matter where we wander, this game is ours to play.

Meet me where the sun sets over the sea—where time stands still and hearts find home.

Next stop: home.”

A shiver of anticipation coursed through her veins. “Home.” That word wrapped around her like a promise—and a question.

As the sun dipped lower, casting a golden glow over the cliffs, Avery sat on the terrace’s edge, the warm breeze tugging gently at her hair. The sea whispered secrets below, and somewhere beyond the horizon, Jameson was waiting.

And she was coming.

Blackwood Forest, Texas — CDT 1:00 PM

The sun had just slipped beneath the horizon in Santorini, painting the sky with streaks of pink and gold, when Avery closed the leather-bound journal and tucked it carefully into her bag. Her heart raced with a mixture of hope and nerves. The final note had led her here—to the promise of “home”—and Jameson’s words echoed in her mind: “Meet me where the sun sets over the sea—where time stands still and hearts find home.”

But as she prepared to leave, her phone buzzed—a message from Jameson. Just two words.

Blackwood Forest.

The name sent a thrill down her spine.

The Blackwood Forest was no ordinary place. Nestled deep in Texas, it was a sprawling ancient woodland bordering the Hawthorne estate—a place steeped in family lore and whispered secrets. It was where the brothers Hawthorne had often disappeared during childhood, where shadows stretched long beneath towering oaks and where time seemed to slow.

Without hesitation, Avery booked a flight. Her journey was far from over.

The plane touched down in Texas at midday, the heat of the Lone Star sun wrapping around her as she stepped into the thick summer air. A hired car awaited to drive her to the edge of Blackwood Forest, where the dense canopy of moss-draped trees loomed like a gateway to another world.

The drive was quiet, her thoughts spinning as she gripped the note Jameson had left in Santorini. The familiar scents of pine and earth filled the air, grounding her.

At the forest’s edge, a weathered wooden sign carved with the Hawthorne family crest greeted her. Avery stepped into the dappled shade, the crunch of leaves and twigs underfoot the only sound besides the distant call of a lone hawk.

She walked slowly, the soft rustling of the forest wrapping around her like a cloak. The path wound deeper into the woods, leading to a clearing bathed in gentle sunlight. There, a single leather satchel sat resting against the trunk of an ancient oak.

Inside was another note, penned in Jameson’s unmistakable handwriting.

“Heiress,

This is where stories begin and end.

Where the roots run deep and the branches hold dreams.

Find me where the wildflowers bloom, beneath the oldest oak.

Your journey ends soon, heiress. I’m waiting.”

Avery’s breath caught as she looked up at the towering oak, its gnarled limbs stretching wide and strong.

Somewhere nearby, Jameson was waiting, ready to turn this scavenger hunt into something more—a promise, a beginning.