#.NET Word Library

[mossworth]

Guys, queers. Specifically my fellow queers.

I work at a library. We do this thing where, every so often, we weed the collection. It hurts to see books go, but it's necessary to make sure there's room in the library for new materials.

I have seen so much support for the library in text, and I've seen folks pass around those beautiful "queer your library" flyers. Keep doing that. That's great. Nothing wrong with that. But you HAVE to turn your words into action. We MUST remember to actually go to our local organizations and libraries and actually, with our own fucking hands, interact with these materials we want to see more of.

My branch is medium-sized for a library, maybe a little small. We don't have as many materials as I'd like, but we have fundamentals. Tell me why, even with all the verbal support I've gotten from my local community for the library as a resource for our LGBT+ community, every single trans biography and a good chunk of our vaguely queer theory books were on the list. This isn't a scheme to take the books off the shelves, it isn't another bigoted American governmental push. The only thing we look at when we weed is how long it's been since the last time the item was checked out.

Three years.

No one in my community interacted in any meaningful way with the few books on trans life and history we physically had on the shelves for three fucking years.

I promise you the materials you want and need are there, but this isn't a horde. This isn't a static safety net. You have to use them. You MUST use them or, in the future, maybe in three years, they *won't* be there anymore.

This isn't a vague post, there's no one person I'm hinting at or calling out. I'm not even talking directly to anyone who's directly in my line of sight. I just want everyone to hear this. Big library, small library, whatever. Doesn't matter. Please, we cannot be losing our shelf visibility like this.

[mywitchcultblr]

Stop putting DNI on your tags and stop bringing shipping discourse into AO3

AO3 hid the story and asked OP to remove the tag (the fanfic is not even removed) due to the inflammatory tag. That's deserved. AO3 is not a social media for people to fight over ship and chronically online discourse. It's a library. If people keep bringing DNI and discourse into AO3 it'll make the place toxic for writers and reader.

What are you trying to accomplish with putting DNI? Do you think people actually care about DNI? No, it's just making you looking like an asshole doing this

Also AO3 was founded by a Wincest and Thorki shipper. Astolat made AO3 because FF net and other sites keep purging nsfw fanfic. AO3 is literally made for problematique shipper that op don't like.

Then OP doing this? For what? People want to enjoy reading their fanfic not seeing DNI and online discourse on AO3. I hate using the word virtue signaling as it's often used to demean progress but this is what a real virtue signaling looks like 🤦🤦‍♀️

(I bet op wrote more inflammatory tags on their fic other than 'proshitter DNI get a life' because it take a lot to get your story hidden or removed)

[htaesan]

　ᅠ ✿　ᅠ NOT THAT I CARE OR ANYTHING　　────　ᅠ ( han taesan )

𝓹recis ⠀ : ⠀your ex, seemingly sweet anton, spreads malicious rumours about you that could potentially ruin your entire academic weapon career, so you have to take desperate measures𑁋and that includes a fake-dating contract and the bane of your existence, han taesan.

　　　ᅠ 한태산 ⠀⠀◜◡◝ ⠀⠀𝒇 reader ⠀wc 13k ⠀ genre college au fluff angst if you squint one sided rivals to lovers academic weapon x campus crush ⠀ contains mentions of food vulgar words skinship pet names several ocs ⠀ note i’m sorry if this fic is.. all over the place a bit coz,, yea!! but this fic is highly.. self-indulgent.. heheh! and i originally wanted to make this more angsty but i’m already sad and single so, No! anyways, enjoy reading ^_^ ⠀ tagging @a-dream-bookmark ,@/k-labels , @k-nets , @k-films , @sgz-net

　　　ᅠ ＞︿ 　　please leave feedbacks 　　& 　　reblog

“ALRIGHT. Let’s do it.”

As you gaze into Taesan’s determined eyes, the entire series of events flashes through your mind. 

It was back in your first year of university—early winter, the day of the first snowfall. You were walking towards the three-floor library, the cold wind stinging your eyes. You rushed inside, grateful for the gush of artificial warm air that greeted you as soon as the doors closed behind you. The library was quite packed for some reason, and you could barely spot any empty seats.

You walked towards the edge of the library, a corner with the largest window of the level. There it was—one of the only empty seats in the entire library—but that seat was next to a boy, heavily occupied with his studies. Your pace slowed down as you hesitated. The boy had a focused blank look on his face, his headphones on, and several papers and notebooks were scattered on the table around him.

You felt like you wanted to just leave and go back to your room, but remembering how cold it was outside, you decided against it. 

After taking a deep breath, you approached him. With a shaky smile, you tapped the boy’s shoulder, muttering a silent prayer. 

“Excuse me,” you said as he lowered his headphones to his neck. “May I sit here? I-I mean, if it’s cool with you..”

He simply nodded. “Sure.”

You had sat down next to the mysterious boy for the entire day, not knowing that, in the present, he would be the bane of your existence. 

In this moment, you’re brought back to the present, startled at how you’re standing in front of him. The mysterious boy that you had sat next to turned out to be Han “Taesan” Dongmin—KOZ School of Law’s campus crush. There’s almost nothing “bad” that you’re heard of him, yet, when you find yourself walking towards him with a fiery determination in your eyes—you immediately know that you’re about to get hit with something you’d never expect. 

“A-are you sure?” you say, surprised to even find yourself stuttering. You’ve held yourself to such a high reputation—being your school’s academic weapon—you’ve worked hard to keep yourself true to that name. 

Well, to be fair, you didn’t expect Taesan to even say yes to your ridiculous plan—given that all that’s he’s ever done for you is say everything that will get on your nerves.

Taesan gives you a smirk. “Of course,” he says, clearing his throat. “Being the boyfriend of KOZ Academy’s academic weapon isn’t something you get to do everyday.”

The way he presses the emphasis on the word ‘boyfriend’ makes you flinch. It reminds you of your stupid plan; who in their right mind would offer Han Taesan—your rival—a fake dating deal just to make rumours about themselves go away?

“Right,” you roll your eyes. “Anyway, I think we need to enforce some guidelines and boundaries regarding this… set-up.”

Taesan shoves his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight to let himself stand more comfortably. The smirk still on his face, he replies, “alright. Hit me with all of ‘em.”

You whip your phone out, quickly showing him a document that you spent an entire night typing out—complete with every single thing he needed to do for you. 

“Here,” you say, frustrated at how Taesan’s smug smirk just never falters. 

Taesan runs a hand through his hair before leaning down to read through the document displayed on your phone. He finishes reading it quickly, taking a step closer to you after. He doesn’t say anything for a while, only to startle you by abruptly saying, “I agree.”

“What–?” you blurt out, surprised once again. You thought that Taesan would be more picky than– 

“Your terms are easy for me to do. However,” you narrow your eyes at the boy who’s towering in front of you. Of course he’s picky—he’s Taesan. “I’d like you to agree to my conditions as well. If I have to do some things for you, you’d have to do some things for me too.”

You sigh before nodding. How hard could it be? Besides, this whole ‘relationship’ you’re having with Taesan is merely a fake dating set-up. 

“Okay.”

Taesan whips out a full-blown smug smirk, making you roll your eyes. He pushes his glasses up his nose bridge, holding out two fingers. 

“First, you have to also put in the effort to make things real. Like, wearing my jersey when I have basketball games, and wearing my initials ‘round your neck,” he pushes his middle finger down, the smug grin still plastered on his face, “and secondly, you’ll have to let me kiss you anytime.”

The moment the word ‘kiss’ escapes his mouth, you choke on thin air. 

Why is my plan backfiring on me? 

“What? No–”

Taesan shrugs. “Basically, physical contact is allowed to be done anytime.”

You feel your face flush, immediately recalling the third condition that you showed Taesan. No physical affection unless needed. 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that—it’s clashing with my third term.”

“But your first term: ‘the other party must always do his utmost best to make the relationship seem real’ exists, am I right?” Taesan objects relaxedly. “Then, my second term doesn’t clash with that. And I also do believe that that first term of yours comes before the rest. Am I right?”

You grit your teeth, sucking in a sharp breath. How could you forget? Taesan will always work to have the last word—be that in court or in conversations. 

Plus, he’s not entirely wrong. 

Though, you’ve never been someone who lets Taesan win willingly. 

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes, your heart twisting in detest at the way Taesan’s face lights up with a smirk again. 

“Then, we have a deal?” Taesan asks. 

You stare into his dark brown eyes once again, registering what you’re about to commit yourself to. All just to get rid of your ex and the rumour he’s pulled you into. 

You hold out your hand, Taesan gladly reciprocating. 

“Deal.”

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IT didn’t hit you that you’re officially Han Taesan’s girlfriend that night. However, the next morning, right after the two of you signed the document at the coffee shop you always study at—it hit you like a million bricks from the sky. 

You’re in a “relationship” with the person you loathed the most for the past year. The exact same man who everyone adores, who’s called the it-boy, the campus crush—is now your most “beloved”. Freshman you would rather jump off a cliff than to offer her nemesis a fake-dating pact. 

Desperate times call for desperate measures. I guess. 

“Here,” Taesan hands you a velvet box—one that obviously contains jewellery of some sort. 

Of course. Han Taesan’s always prepared. 

You let out a deep sigh, knowing what’s inside. Despite that, you ask, “what’s this?”

Taesan gives you a grin, one that you always see him don during the countable times that he beats you in quizzes. “Open it—I’m sure you’ll like it.”

You run your fingers around the edges of the velvety box, sceptical at Taesan’s sudden soft tone. “Don’t talk to me like that,” you mutter, loud enough for him to hear. 

Taesan, instead of immediately throwing a scoff in your face, simply leans back into his seat with a chuckle. 

Not waiting for whatever reply he’s preparing to throw to you, you open the box. Your eyes lay upon a beautiful, dainty necklace with a “H.D” pendant, nested elegantly in the box. You bite back a gasp, though you’re unable to hide your surprise. The silver necklace is one of the most beautiful pieces of jewellery you’ve yet to lay your eyes upon—it’s dainty and simple, yet it screams elegance in the best way possible. 

You look up at Taesan, obviously bug-eyed. “What- I’m- thank you?”

Taesan throws his head back, laughing. He perches an eyebrow up, clearly amused. “What am I supposed to answer? ‘You’re welcome’?”

Oh. It’s part of his terms. 

You glare at him. 

Not missing a beat, Taesan says with a big grin on his face, “what is your lazy ass waiting for? Put it on—or do you need me to help with that?”

You massage your temples, tempted to stick your tongue out at him, hissing the obvious at him—that you do not want to wear his initials around your neck. 

“I don’t need your help,” you say between gritted teeth, harshly yanking the necklace from the box. You swiftly clasp the necklace around your neck, secretly surprised that you’re able to do so. 

Maintaining a glare, you retort, “I’m only wearing this stupid necklace because it’s part of your terms.”

You throw your gaze elsewhere, Taesan laughing his stomach out in the background. Why is he finding your irritated state so funny? 

The pendant feels cold against your skin, sending tingles. You gulp, feeling odd. You hadn’t announced your ‘relationship’ to your friends yet—but seeing you with Taesan’s initials could certainly start rumours. 

A part of you is jumping with triumph—your plan is starting to set its course, while another part of you is afraid of it all. What if you’re finally not good at something, no matter how much you try—pretending you’re in love with your rival, the bane of your existence?

“We’ll start slow,” you hear Taesan say, pulling you back into reality. You quickly morph into your stoic expression—one that you find yourself often putting up around people. “Like everyone else does. Soft launch.”

“Ah,” you manage, nodding. “Sounds good.”

“Even though that necklace certainly is a big jump for a soft launch,” Taesan voices, chuckling. His words cause you to narrow your eyes at him, hyper aware of the cold metal against your skin—a mark that Taesan managed to place on you. 

It’s all fake, you chant to yourself. Once Anton gets the message, it’ll all be over. 

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THE past few weeks had been a blur. Nothing was out of the ordinary—you attended classes, performed mootings and sent in assignments like usual. Though, only one thing that was out of the routine.

Taesan no longer felt like a thorn to your side. 

You still hate him—you despise the way he carries himself, so proud and confident. You wish you could punch his face for the way he’s so smooth with his words, the way that his charm works on everyone so well. You absolutely hate the way a handsome idiot like him had the potential to beat you in every single subject if you slacked for even a minute. 

Yet, to the public, he’s your boyfriend. 

A cliche: rivals to lovers, they say. 

Despite being the one proposing the whole fake dating plan, you had been the one following Taesan’s itinerary so far. The two of you had finally exchanged phone numbers, and at night, Taesan would always send a list of ideas on how to make the soft launch more obvious day by day. 

The first week, you found yourself wearing tops that highlighted the H.D pendant, styling your hair to make it more noticeable—you even went as far as attending Taesan’s birthday celebration to top the chances of people noticing the pendant. And Taesan didn’t inform you of this one, but you often found him telling his friends, yours, or random coursemates to pass you drinks and snacks. You had no idea how Taesan had gotten the list of all your favourite things to munch on, but you secretly did enjoy the free flow of snacks. Anton had passed you a snack from Taesan too—five packs of your favourite Choco Pie. You couldn’t forget the bewildered face Anton had as he passed them to you, eyes filled with question and a hint of jealousy.  

“What’s up with Han?” he asked.

You shoved the Choco Pies into your shoulder bag, biting back a smile. Who wouldn’t be jolly after getting five of their favourite tidbits? 

“How would I know?” you replied bitterly. You quickly turn away from Anton, the uncomfortable feeling of being around him overpowering the bubbly feeling you had from getting snacks. 

“Well, those Choco Pies are from him,” Anton repeated for the second time. “And I don’t recall him being anything but hostile to you.”

You suppress a scoff. “Maybe he’s had a change of heart? His brain is probably tired of coming up with things to try and outsmart me,” you muttered. As if. 

“Well, if anything—if that asshole tries to do anything to you, I’ll… be here for you, Y/N,” Anton said, taking a step closer. Your eyes widened and your jaw clenched. You quickly finished packing your bag up, swinging it over your shoulders. 

You said that last time, too. 

“Don’t talk to me, Anton,” you responded as monotony as possible before running out of the lecture hall, not giving Anton even a glance. 

The following weeks, Taesan was hanging out with you even more than the previous week. He wasn’t being too obvious, but to you, him walking slightly behind you and not throwing a loud sarcastic remark was already an apparent sign that would show everyone that your dynamics had changed. 

Anton had found yet another chance to corner you after a Public International Law lecture. You stayed back in the hall to reread your theoretical essay before sending it in. Behind you, Taesan was packing up his things, busy scrolling through something in his phone. 

“Hi, Y/N,” you froze when Anton’s voice reached your ear drums. 

You look up at him with a glare. “What do you want?”

Anton flashed his usual pitiful, soft smile. “Nothing. Just a meal with you—this week has been quite stressful for you, right? I heard that last Monday’s mooting was rough.”

“You’re not even a law student, Anton,” you seethed. The KOZ School of Business student ID card hanging on Anton’s neck looked extremely out of place amongst the ocean of law students. “Please kindly get lost, go back to the Business building.”

“My course mates are boring. Besides, you’re more fun to be around,” Anton replied. “I know we… haven’t been on good terms, but give me a chance to fix it all?”

You gritted your teeth, your hands beginning to shake. 

The audacity of this boy… where is my stupid fake boyfriend when I need him–?

“I think she clearly said for you to get lost, bud.”

You fought back a grin. Finally. 

“Han?” Anton tilted his head. “Wait– who are you to tell me that?”

Taesan stood next to you, his backpack dangling from one shoulder. His height towered significantly above you, making you standing right below his shoulders—enough to match Anton. “Who do you think I am?”

Anton’s eyes darted towards the pendant on your décolletage, his eyes bulging. “What the…” you heard him mutter under his breath. 

Taesan seemed to notice this too, and he swiftly pulled you close, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “So, get it now? Get lost, Lee, and give your ex some space. An ex is an ex for a reason.”

Anton then left with a fuming expression, leaving you in fits of relieved laughter after. You thanked Taesan, who simply responded with a polite smile. 

“By the end of this, don’t forget the wish, yeah?” he said, before walking out of the lecture hall. 

You stood there, blinking profusely. You had completely forgotten the last clause of your agreement with Taesan—once you were satisfied with his service, you had to grant him one wish. Anything that he wanted. 

You face palmed yourself. Why didn’t you think twice before typing that down? You mentally made a note to yourself to prepare your wallet for the outrageous request that the thorn in your side would make later on. 

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“ARE you and Taesan dating?” 

Sophia’s question makes you almost spit your lunch through your nose. 

“What?”

“Girl, don’t you dare pretend not,” Yunjin interrupts, pointing her spoon at you. “You literally have his initials as a necklace that you never take off! H.D., which means Han Dongmin, right? Isn’t that his real name?”

“It’s not like–”

“No, no. It’s so obvious! Taesan’s around you more now, and he even gave you a birthday present!”

Sophia smiles, “he looks at you so differently now!” 

Yunjin laughs, nodding. “Yeah, yeah, that too, I guess,” she then looks at you, directly in the eyes, “I guess Han Taesan and Y/N L/N have finally begun their lovers era, huh?”

You feel your cheeks warming up, and guilt fills your chest. You draw a sharp inhale before telling the girls the full story. And subconsciously, your fingers find the pendant, playing with it. 

“It’s fake,” you sigh, “I mean, not the necklace—he’s just pretending. I’m pretending, too. None of this is… real.”

Sophia gasps and Yunjin frowns. 

“Are you… sure? What for?” Sophia asks.

Yunjin nods in agreement. “I’ve always thought that dude had feelings for you, but I… I didn’t realise it’s actually wrong and my deductions were totally off.”

You scoff, though Yunjin’s words left you wondering. “Taesan doesn’t like me—have you girls seen how he treats me?”

“He treats you well,” Yunjin states plainly, shoving a spoonful of rice into her mouth. 

“No,” you immediately shake your head, “he hates seeing me happy! He always finds a way to stick his annoying nose into my life, mocking me. He’s like always, always there to only laugh at my face.” 

“Then why did he agree?” Sophia asks. 

“To what?”

“To fake date you,” she continues, taking a sip of her yakult. “Well, I’m sure you have a plan—a contract and all—don’t you?”

Your eyes widen. How do these two girls know you so well? 

“Yeah. I do. I’m doing all this because of Anton,” the look on your friends’ faces makes you feel a little relieved, “I need him to shut up about me.”

You recall the ridiculous rumour you’ve heard about you from Yunjin, that’s been going around like crazy—the rumour that you used to date Anton because he’s rich and that you used him as a bribe to get outstanding grades. Those close to you knew that is and would never become true—yet people are always jealous of others who have certain things better than them. 

It may seem like a small matter to some, but to you, it’s a matter of reputation. Your whole image and potentially, your graduation is at risk. What if the rumour reaches some professor and they report you? You couldn’t risk the huge amount of money and time you spent, only to be scrapped off the dean’s list due to some rumour. 

Yunjin herself had recorded proof of Anton trying to turn her against you, using that rumour. If she hadn’t shown you the recording, you wouldn’t have believed that sweet, kind Anton was the one who spread those malicious whispers about you.

Now, you’ve got to end it all. One way or another.

You continue finishing your lunch, Taesan somehow in mind. By the end of your lunch, you’re convinced that this is truly all an act—it’s nothing real, and in the end, you’re both just people who hate each other and use each other for selfish, personal reasons.

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“DO I really have to wear your ugly varsity jacket?” Dongmin hears you grunt through the call. He stifles a laugh, tossing a ball up and down. 

“Obviously, you dimwit,” he replies, “you’re my girlfriend, aren’t you?”

Dongmin lets himself smile. The word rolls off his tongue like a simple melody—it feels natural for him to say. He finds it odd, yet entertaining—your reaction is worth it all. Besides, it’s quite refreshing to take a break from hating you, sometimes. 

“Besides, your ex is going to be there,” Dongmin reminds, his voice more throaty than expected. “He’s on the team as well, remember?”

“Yeah,” he catches your quiet answer.  

“Anyway, how do you even have time for all this?” you question from the other end of the line. 

“Hmm,” Dongmin hums, “I do have time.” 

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” you hiss. “You’re in law school, Han Taesan.”

“What? Like it’s hard?”

Dongmin lets out a hearty laugh as he hears you gasp—one of the loudest and most genuine expressions he’s gotten out of you yet. 

“I’m so done with you,” you huff. Dongmin hears you shuffle through your closet, most likely finding something to wear. 

“You say that everytime,” Dongmin whispers to himself softly. 

“Anyway,” you announce loudly, “you better have some food for me once I arrive—I’m wearing your stupid varsity jacket.”

“Alright, sweetheart, anything for you,” Dongmin jests in a sing -song voice.

He hears you yelp in disgust, chuckling. “Yuck! Fuck off, Taesan!”

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IT’S a friendly match, nothing serious, Taesan had said; yet you’re here amongst other significant others, to watch him and his team play against another school’s team. 

At the bleachers, you feel called out, and insanely out of place. Everyone looks so in love—girlfriends wearing jerseys with their boyfriends’ numbers and names on the back, painted their faces accordingly, and even cheering for them with their hearts; mothers and siblings gathering together to support their sons and brothers.

Everyone looks so genuinely in love, and you’re the only one who’s there just because you have to. You arrived only two minutes before the match started, too, because you obviously don’t love Taesan enough to be rescheduling your work shift to see him play.

You fidget with the edges of the varsity jacket you’re wearing, oddly feeling how it’s perfectly oversized on you. 

Earlier, Taesan had spotted you sitting awkwardly on the bleachers. He ran over to you, quickly handing you a quesadilla and a cup of bubble tea, before jogging back to the basketball court to warm up. He didn’t say anything, nor did you—but the gesture made you feel weirdly fuzzy. 

Taesan did actually get you some food, even though you grumpily yelled at him to do so. You thought he wouldn’t, just so that he could get on your nerves, just like he always does. 

You watch him and the team warm up, pumping up positive energy with each other. You take a bite of your quesadilla, trying to ease your heart—yet you just can’t forget the real reason why you’re here. 

Jersey number 35.

The whistle blows, indicating the start of the game, and you catch Anton’s glance at you. He gives you a wide smile, winking twice—a sign that he made up, thanking you for coming, just like the old days. You grimace, turning away.

The mission is to make it seem like I’m in love with Taesan. 

You intently watch Taesan play in the arena, his moves sharp and powerful. He slips through the opposition’s defense flawlessly, scoring goals smoothly. Every time he throws the ball, it gets into the hoop—people erupt in cheers and he’s surrounded by his teammates. 

And every time, Taesan looks up at you, flashing his signature smirk. His grin sparkles, lighting up the room—it makes you feel like you’re the only one in the huge arena. 

It makes you feel odd. 

Like there’s so much more under that grin he flashes to you every time he scores. 

You touch the pendant on your décolletage, the cold metal stinging against your skin. Your fingers trace the letters—the initials of Taesan’s birth name—reminding you this is all a set-up. You’re supposed to pretend, and Taesan is pretending too. 

He must be.

Taking a deep breath, you tug the varsity jacket closer to your body, shoving your hands into its pockets. The weight of Taesan’s name and number lay heavy on your back, yet you don a bright smile—trying your best to show your support for him. 

Right now, you’re Han Taesan’s girlfriend. Player number 11’s girlfriend.

The match ends with Anton’s final goal, and KOZ Academy’s team wins 115-113. The entire gym erupts in waves of cheer and heartfelt hugs, every attending person feeling proud of their team, losing or not. You jog down the stairs, heading towards Taesan, whose height stands out in the crowd. 

When you reach the end of the stairs, you notice Anton’s gaze on you. You glance at him, the weight of past memories dragging you down. At the end of these exact same stairs, you used to run straight to Anton, engulfing him in a hug after a match. You used to kiss his cheek, congratulating him for a successful game. You used to feel like your entire world revolved around him, and that you would be happy with him. 

But that was in the past. Now, you can look at Anton with nothing in your heart. You feel nothing but plain resentment—damning him for the things he did to you. You had thought he was the love of your life, that you’d grow old with him—but Anton had other plans, and another girl that he prioritised more than you. 

You turn your head away, directing your gaze towards Taesan. He’s talking to his friends, his hair wet from the sweat. He’s grinning proudly, talking about something that’s interesting to boys. 

You sigh. Hopefully this whole set-up works—Anton leaves you alone, the rumours die down, and you can go back to bashing Taesan’s head. 

And hopefully, you can move on, too. Once and for all.

From the corner of your eyes, you see Anton take a step towards you. Though, what you don’t see is that Taesan is faster. He waves at you, calling your name with a big grin, before running to give you a hug. 

Your eyes widen upon the impact, and it’s like everything is in slow motion. 

Taesan pulls away, ruffling your hair. His eyes crinkle with his grin. “Are you proud of me, darling?”

Darling. 

You gulp. 

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

You give him a laugh, trying your best to not make it sound staged. Your nose crinkles at the smell of sweaty boys. Taesan notices, of course, and he chuckles. 

“Sorry, I must smell bad. I’ll be sure to spray on some more deodorant next time.”

You gaze into Taesan’s eyes, his arms still around your waist. There’s some kind of softness behind his teasing look—something that you’ve never seen before. 

A small smile forms on your lips, one that you’re unable to hold back. “Good job, Taesan.”

“Yeah?” Taesan laughs, his eyes forming crescent moons. “Thanks, Y/N.”

He then leans in to whisper, “that’s the first time I’ve heard that from you.”

You push him away, rolling your eyes. “Fuck off, Taesan. I’ll be waiting at the bus stop.”

Taesan laughs loudly as you stomp away. “By the way,” he yells, “you look good wearing my number, sweetheart!”

You lower your head, biting your lips to fight two things—the urge to flash the middle finger to the jolly Taesan behind you, and the weird fluttering feeling that erupts in your stomach every time he calls you ‘sweetheart’.

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“Y/N,” you turn around, finding a panting Anton in front of you. 

You’re standing in line outside one of the most famous pasta restaurants in the heart of the KOZ School of Medicine square, waiting to buy this one pasta dish you’ve been craving for the entire month. You didn’t tell anyone you’d be here—not even Taesan or the girls—so you’re weirded out by the fact that your ex found you here.

“...Anton,” you curtly acknowledge. 

“Is it true?” he asks. 

You force your eyes close for a second, wishing that it wasn’t wrong to beat someone up. “What?”

“That you’re dating Han Taesan. I saw him kissing your cheek last time.”

Your heart almost stops beating for a second. Almost two months have passed, and almost everyone in the entire campus of KOZ Academy knows that you and Taesan are finally getting tired of fighting each other—falling in love instead. 

Your plan has passed the soft launch phase, and now, you’re having your nemesis call you sweet, adoring nicknames out in public. 

“Yes,” you answer, managing a deadpan expression. “What about it?”

“Do you love him?” 

You narrow your eyes at Anton, feeling like if he keeps on shooting questions like this, he’d go home with a black eye. “Why does it matter if I love him or not?”

“Because,” Anton starts, his voice beginning to waver with every following word, “you used to love me.”

His words hang in the air, thick with a known, cursed history. You could hear your heart stutter for a split second, but you shake your head, quickly suppressing the feeling. You take in a sharp breath, feeling the heat of old anger rise in your chest. You force yourself to look at Anton, eyes hardening.

“That was two years ago, Anton,” you say, your voice detached. “And you made sure to end it, remember?”

Anton’s face flickers with something—guilt, regret, maybe even a hint of fear—but you’re not interested in seeing it. You’re sick of it—too familiar with the way he can spin his words to make himself seem like the victim.

“You don’t get to do this,” you continued, lips tightening into a thin line. “You don’t get to just show up and act like we can pick up where we left off, after what you did with Mina."

Anton’s face darkens the moment your old best friend’s name leaves your mouth, but you hold his gaze without flinching. Anton opens his mouth, probably to throw another lame and poorly explained excuse that you’ve heard before, but you’re faster than he is. 

“Save it,” you snap. “You don’t have any right to ask me if I love Taesan after what you did. You lost that right the moment you lied to me and slept with her.”

Anton looks taken aback, as if he hadn’t expected you to bring that up, but obviously, you don’t care. You’ve held your feelings in for so long—leaving them behind quietly to try and move on without a commotion. You’ve spent enough time letting him walk all over you in the past—you’re not about to let him do it again.

For a moment, Anton looks like he’s about to say something more, but you don’t give him a chance. You turn away, taking a small step back as you glance briefly at the line in front of you. “I’m done with this conversation, Anton. You should be, too.”

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THE next morning, after your first class of the day, you sigh as you find yourself waiting outside of a rather packed coffee shop—allegedly Taesan’s favourite one—bundled up in Taesan’s scarf. Autumn is starting to give way to winter, and as it’s doing so, the winds and temperatures are getting crazier. You bury your face further into the softness of Taesan’s scarf, letting the mixture of champagne orange, passion fruit, and sugar vanilla attack your senses. It’s disturbing, once the fact that the scarf that’s warming you up belongs to Taesan registers in your head; however, you had no choice. Freezing your nose off was the only other option. 

“Hey,” you hear Taesan’s voice, turning instantly towards him. 

“Apple pie latte?” he says, handing you a warm cup of said coffee. Grabbing it from him, you perk your eyebrows up. 

“How did you know?” you say, pushing the scarf down. Taesan shrugs, sipping his own drink. You glance at the sticker on his cup: cinnamon maple latte.

“Instincts.”

You snicker at his reply, rolling your eyes. “Cut me some slack.”

The two of you then walk back towards the law school complex, where both of your classes will be held next. The winds begin to blow, and you find yourself hiding half your face behind Taesan’s scarf. You squint your eyes, blinking harshly as the stray strands of hair sting them. 

“I love autumn, but not this kind,” you mumble. 

Taesan glances at you, and in one swift motion, he grabs your free hand and shoves it into the pocket of his coat. He interlaces his hand with yours, letting his body warmth transfer to you. 

Your eyes widen, your brain slow at processing the situation. You whip your head towards the tall man walking with you, his expression relaxed as ever. 

“What are you doing?” you hiss, trying to pull away. 

Taesan gives you a look that yells ‘really, Y/N?’. “Keeping you warm?”

“I don’t need your help,” you retort, yanking your hand away. 

Taesan grabs it back, shoving it into his pocket. This time, his grip on your hand is firmer than before. “I don’t need my girlfriend to freeze to death—it’s going to ruin my reputation.”

Realisation hits you, again, like a ton of bricks right at the face. 

Oh. 

“Okay,” you say quietly, letting him do his thing. You look away, deciding to admire the surrounding golden trees. You take a deep breath, reminding yourself of how this whole ‘thing’ with Taesan is temporary—and having a personal heat packet isn’t too bad. 

Once the two of you reach the lecture hall together, people begin to clearly spectate. You pull your hand away from him, rushing to your usual seat. Taesan, his expression calm as he always is, walks over to his usual seat as well—directly behind you. 

Then, two minutes before the lecture starts, the person you truly hated comes into view, and decides to sit at the empty seat next to you. 

“Hi, Y/N,” your ex, Anton, greets you with the biggest smile on his face. You mentally sob—already dreading the three hours to come.

You turn away, scooting as far as you could. The memories rush like a flood you can’t stop—reminding you of the heart-tearing pain the boy sitting next to you caused. 

“Y/N? You alright? You look pale,” Anton says, probing further.

“It’s the weather,” you reply dully, your lips downturned. You unravel Taesan’s scarf from your neck, placing it on your lap. Your eyes fixed onto the lecture, you ignore Anton’s attempts to get you conversing with him. 

“Y/N, are you free after class?” Anton whispers, twenty minutes into the lecture. 

“No.” You give him a side glance.

“And you don’t even take IT,” you fake a smile, “so I don’t think you should even be here. With due respect, get lost, yeah?”

“I’m honoured,” Anton whispers back. The soft smile on his face makes you gag. “You still remember things about me.”

“Oh, please,” you grimace, anger beginning to bubble up inside of you. “I’d rather make out with Taesan than remember even the tiniest bit of–”

You suck in your breath sharply, your cheeks flushing at an alarming rate. You had blurted your words out too fast to even register the fact that you’re actually wearing the said person’s initials in a necklace ‘round your neck. 

“You’d rather what now, sweetheart?” 

Hearing Taesan’s voice, you can almost see his smug smirk decorating that annoyingly attractive face of his. 

Your eyes widen. 

I did not just admit that.

You turn to Taesan for a moment, flashing him a sheepish smile. You quickly spin back to face the lecture, forcing yourself to focus. 

After the lecture concluded, you find yourself stuck in a sticky situation—Anton just can’t let you go out. 

“Do you want to go and grab lunch together? It’s pretty late for lunch, and I know your stomach gets upset easily if you don’t eat,” you wince upon hearing his soft tone. 

You frown, hating the fact that Anton knows almost a lot of things about you. “No, Anton, I’m sure I said–”

“She said no, Lee, I’m sure even a stupid motherfucker can understand.”

Seeing Anton’s eyes almost pop out at the sight of Taesan next to you, you’re sure that you look the same. You turn sharply towards Taesan, who has his hand perfectly placed on your back. The look on his face is fierce and scary, like he’s about to completely destroy Anton exactly where he’s standing.  

“Han,” Anton addresses him curtly. “I didn’t know that you’re on… good terms with Y/N.”

You fidget with the charm on your décolletage, collecting every bit of energy you have to maintain a stoic expression. 

Taesan flashes a sly smirk, pride radiating from his eyes as the corners of Anton’s lips twitch. “Why? Is it important to you who I’m close to?”

“No, but given your history with Y/N—I don’t want her to get hurt,” Anton blathers, “so I’m gladly asking you to–”

“What? Fuck off?” Taesan scoffs. Your eyes bulge, somehow not expecting Taesan’s choice of words to be so vulgar. “I think that’s what you’re supposed to do, Lee.”

“Y/N,” Anton says, desperation vivid in his voice. He grabs your wrist, and you instinctively step back. “C’mon, let’s go. I know you don’t like this stupid asshole here–”

Before you could even act, Taesan steps in front of you, shoving Anton to the floor. The students who are still lingering around stop to look. You couldn’t hold in your gasp—Taesan looks extremely angry, you swear you could see fire in his eyes. 

A thought clicks into your head. 

Taesan is the it-boy, of course he’s good at acting.

You take a step back, weirded by the heavy feeling of disappointment that begins to cloud your heart as soon as you remember the arrangement. 

It’s just acting, Y/N. Get it together. 

“Don’t touch her, bastard,” you hear Taesan hiss before he turns to you. Anger still lingering around, you watch with silence as Taesan relaxes the tension in his jaw. In a mirroring silence, he gestures for you to follow him out. You nod.

As you turn on your heel, Anton calls out, visibly irritated. 

“Y/N,” he says, “what’s going on?”

You give him a mocking smile. You swing Taesan’s scarf around your neck. “I don’t think I owe you an explanation, Anton.”

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AS you and Taesan walk out of the lecture hall, you can’t ignore the heavy weight settling in your chest. It keeps replaying in your mind: the way Taesan stepped in, fiercely protective—it’s all an act, right? You sneak a glance at Taesan, but his face is unreadable, his jaw still slightly clenched from the encounter.

“Taesan… you didn’t have to do that,” you mumble, playing with the hem of his scarf.

Taesan exhales through his nose, his shoulders rising slightly. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” he then adds under his breath, “fucking bastard.”

You blink, unintentionally slowing your steps. That’s… different from what you expected.

“Taesan,” you try again, but he shoves his hands into his pockets, picking up the pace.

You know you should just let it go, but the air between the two of you feels heavier than it was before. Was it just an act? Maybe it was—and that Taesan’s acting skills are as good as the rom-com actors—but something about the way he had looked at Anton; like he was seconds away from doing more than just shoving him to the ground. 

It feels too… real.

A sudden gust of wind cuts through your coat, making you shiver. Instantly, Taesan grabs your wrist and pulls you into a nearby convenience store.

“Sit,” he orders, disappearing for a moment. You watch him move through the aisles, confusion twisting in your chest. You take a seat exactly where he ordered you to, your head fuzzy from the mixture of confusing, unnamed emotions.

When he returns, he kneels slightly, pressing a warm drink and a heat pack into your hands, his fingers lingering just a second too long.

“You’re hopeless,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “First my scarf, now this.”

You gasp dramatically, rolling your eyes as your lips twitch, your heart knocking against your ribs. “You’re the one who keeps giving me things.”

Taesan just hums in response, his gaze locking onto yours. His usual unreadable expression softens, something almost unreadable flickering in his eyes.

Your grip tightens on the cup, trying to shake off the way your body reacts to his warmth. This whole thing with Taesan was supposed to be temporary. So why did it feel like something had changed?

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DONGMIN takes several deep breaths, his eyes shut. The jazz music plays in the background, and the buzz of the cafe calms him down. 

No wonder Y/N likes this place. 

Dongmin opens his eyes, finding himself staring at you ordering drinks and some food for the two of you. You had dragged him here as soon as you finished your drink at the convenience store, repeating that you needed to treat him to some food. Your voice rings in his head, telling him that he needed to follow you to the coffee shop, to cool off his steam. 

“Do you like apple pie?” you ask, setting a plate of two slices of said dessert, accompanied by two scoops of vanilla ice cream.

“Why do you even ask if you’ve already gotten it? Seems like my preference doesn’t matter,” Dongmin replies, putting on the usual smirk. 

Your eyes widen and he chuckles. 

“Well,” you huff, “I like apple pie—and it’s impossible to find someone who doesn’t.”

“Alright,” Dongmin laughs, and it hits. His laughter dies down as the realisation sinks in—watching you devour your slice of apple pie like it’s the only food you’ll eat until the end of time. 

Dongmin, as he puts a bite of his food into his mouth, realises how messed up he is. He realises how often a hearty laugh escapes him when he’s with you—how a flustered, frustrated mess you make him. 

“Why are you being nice to me?” Dongmin asks. He pokes his fork absentmindedly into the crust of the apple pie, second guessing his question the moment it leaves him. 

You and he had always, always been rivals—a pair that’s never meant to get along. He’d always find you muttering curses and throwing glares in his direction; and he’d always find himself trying his best to reciprocate your disdain for him. 

Dongmin does hate you, too. 

He hates how you’re so confident, so diligent, so talented. He despises how hard you work, how determined you are, how you seem to always effortlessly bring him down and defeat him in academics. He feels the most intense dislike for you—whenever you walk in the room, he feels like the world is about to explode, along with his sanity. 

Dongmin hates, with a burning passion, how he can’t stop himself from falling in love with you. He absolutely loathes the way you smile, the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh, and the way you look at him—with such fiery determination that’s enough to knock him off his feet. He completely hates the way that he has to keep his tongue sharp, and his attitude insufferable, for you to give him a sliver of your attention. He perfectly hates the way it’s impossible for him to let you know that he doesn’t hate you, at all. 

Dongmin watches you open your mouth to reply, yet you don’t for a few moments. You return his gaze, uncertainty playing around in her eyes. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, tilting your head in confusion. “We’re just eating apple pie, Taesan,” you laugh sheepishly. 

For the first time, Dongmin doesn’t have an immediate answer. He swallows the bite of apple pie in his mouth, unsure of what he should say next. His smirk fades and hesitation engulfs him.

You notice this, of course, and your frown deepens. Though, before you could do anything, Jaehyun—Dongmin’s friend, suddenly appears.

He greets Dongmin, patting his shoulder. “Yo, Taesan, long time no see! Wait–” he pauses, laying his eyes on you. “Wait, am I dreaming? You two? Sitting together? Laughing? Are pigs flying now?”

You immediately shake your head, laughing along with Jaehyun. Dongmin, on the other hand, is dazed. He stays silent, still unsure of what to say. He’s finding everything peculiar—the way he’s unable to say anything, the way that his heart is thumping loudly against his chest at the mention of you as his girlfriend. 

He watches you politely say goodbye to Jaehyun, gaining certainty with every beat of his heart. 

His little crush on you is resurfacing, after two years of pushing it down with faked hatred. 

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AFTER Jaehyun leaves, you let yourself sneak a glance at Taesan, who’s absentmindedly poking holes in his already destroyed pie crust, avoiding your gaze. You notice his oddly quiet state—the Taesan you know would never miss the chance to throw in a witty remark. 

You throw him a glare, slightly hoping it’d make him knock out of his trance. You set your fork down with an audible clink. “You’re being weird. I mean, you always are insufferably weird, but this is even weirder.”

Taesan scoffs, lifting his drink to his lips. “And you’re being annoying. Paranoid.”

You cross your arms, an annoyed grimace forming on your face. “Am I?”

Taesan holds your gaze for a moment too long, something flickering in his eyes before he looks away. “Maybe not.”

Oh.

You lean back, sighing dramatically. “Fine. I don’t get what you being weird has with me being paranoid, but yeah, I’m totally being paranoid. Definitely imagining things,” you scoff sarcastically.

Taesan hums in agreement. “You do that a lot.”

You choke on air. Glaring at Taesan, you retort, “you’re infuriating.”

“And yet, here you are, sharing dessert with me,” Taesan smirks, tilting his head. 

You pause, blinking profusely.

That… is a valid point. How did you even get here? You and Taesan are supposed to be rivals. Aren’t you supposed to hate each other?

Your stomach twists, and suddenly, you find it difficult to swallow your final bites of apple pie.

After moments of deafening silence, you say, your voice slightly wavering, “you’re unbelievably good at dodging questions, Taesan.”

You bring your drink to your lips, hoping that you sounded casual. 

Taesan looks up from his finished plate of apple pie, smirking as he leans back. “Oh, yeah? Have you ever considered that you’re too good at asking too many questions, and it’s insufferable?”

Your eyes widen slightly, flickering to the way that his eyes glare vaguely at you. “Maybe I am,” you admit quietly, “but you’re dodging the real ones.”

Taesan’s smirk falters a little bit, just for a second, and there’s something unrecognisable in his eyes. Something you can’t put a name on. 

Maybe a shift in the air. Maybe it’s just your imagination. Or maybe it’s because your heart is racing just a little too fast.

You’re so focused on trying to read Taesan’s expressions that you don’t notice the way your voice softens. “So… if this whole thing is an act, why do I keep feeling like you actually care?”

You mentally hit yourself. That isn’t what you meant to say—and it’s certainly not what you would say in front of Taesan.

Though, it’s out before you can stop yourself. The words hang in the air, heavy and uncertain.

Taesan freezes, his eyes widening with a vulnerability for a fraction of a second. Then, just as quickly as it came, his guard comes back up. “Like we’ve discussed before, it’s an act. Nothing more.”

His voice is stern and plain, and his expression is stoic, but you catch the tremble in his hand as he’s fiddling with his fork. 

That, somehow, doesn’t sit right with you. 

You learn forward, the pendant swinging against your décolletage, your expression more serious now. “Then why do you care so much?”

You watch him closely, catching the tightening in his jaw and the way his hand proceeds to rest on the table, fingers anxiously tapping against the wood. Taesan doesn’t answer immediately, and instead, he looks away to drift his gaze to the window.

Your chest suddenly tightens. He’s acting like this is nothing, but you certainly feel it—the crack in the walls you’ve both constructed carefully against each other. It’s a tug at the back of your mind, a repeating whisper you’ve been trying so hard to push away.

And yet, the silence between you feels louder than ever.

Minutes pass by and the silence gets louder and louder. You’re lost in your own thoughts—realising just how much you’re affected by Taesan; just how much more you’re feeling than you want to admit. In the silence, you’re wondering, are you just imagining all this? Maybe it’s just you, maybe it’s the fact that you’re finding something more from this fake relationship you have with Taesan, your nemesis. 

Though, there’s something that you can’t deny: the fact that your chest tightens with fluttering butterflies every time he gets too close, every time his words shift to something softer than usual, it’s something that makes your heart trip in your chest.

“Y/N,” Taesan calls, his voice softer than anticipated, and you’re pulled out of your train of thought. You look at him slowly, uncertain and afraid of what’s to come. He pauses, as if he’s unsure of what to say next. “What if… I told you I’m not sure if I can pretend much longer?” 

His gaze finally meets yours, and for a moment, there’s no mask—just the raw sincerity in his eyes.

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart skipping a beat. You open your mouth, trying to say something—but nothing comes out. The evident truth in his words hits you like an ocean wave on a sunny day, and you can’t help but feel something is shifting between you both.

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THE next few weeks pass by like a ridiculously large time-skip in a movie. You’re doing things like you usually do—attend classes, do mootings, send in assignments, study for exams. Though, there’s one big thing in your life that you can’t ignore—Taesan, your fake-dating arrangement, and the lingering, unspoken tension between the two of you. The first week after the coffee shop episode, you couldn’t sleep even a wink—your mind kept on replaying the scenes over and over again, the way you caught Taesan’s guard almost falling down. You’re sure you felt it too, the cracks in the walls you’ve built against him—even for a short moment. 

At school, you’re hyper aware and extra distracted by Taesan. He’s doing his part of the agreement well, acting like he agreed he would. Every glance from him feels like a load of unspoken words, and the air between you two feels heavy. Every day you ponder, unsure of what to do with the new, fragile tension that’s settled between you and Taesan.

Today is the same—everything passes in a blur of lectures, assignments, and studying. You drag your heavy footsteps out of the room, your head spinning at the thought of the many assignments waiting for you. You look up, and the moment you step into the hallway, you see Taesan leaning against the wall, phone in hand, looking as calm as ever. 

You walk near him, and your eyes meet—you see a flicker of something there—a tension, a question neither of you have the answer to. 

“Y/N,” Taesan greets you with a casual, unreadable smile. You pause in your steps, turning to face him.

“Hi,” you reply quite timidly. You’re trying to sound casual, but you can hear the slight hitch in your voice. There’s no pretending this isn’t different now. There’s no pretending you didn’t almost cross a line last time. 

Taesan takes a final glance at his phone before shoving it into his pocket. “Still pretending this is just an act?” he asks, his voice surprisingly soft but laced with something familiar, almost teasing.

You pause, your breath stuck in your throat. Your heart, yet again, skips a beat, and you try to brush it off by laughing nervously. “Me? Pretending? I’m not pretending,” you say, and it’s directed more towards yourself than to him.

You’re not sure who’s trying to convince who anymore.

Taesan looks taken aback. He blinks profusely before putting his usual, calm expression back on. “Yeah,” he whispers, nodding, “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

You watch him walk away, heart twisting in the weirdest way. 

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DONGMIN hates the way everything is now. Why can’t he just tell you everything? Why can’t he just tell you that he isn’t pretending, that he actually cares?

He wants to stop everything–going back to shoving insults at your face might be the safest option of them all. Yet, Dongmin finds himself caring for you in the little ways—wrapping his scarf around your neck, adjusting the placement of your bangs with a simple ruffle, placing a tin of coffee and bread in front of you whenever you seem exhausted with studying, sliding post-its to you with his handwriting reminding you to take breaks when needed. He still finds his heart racing upon seeing you; the way your lips pout when you’re deep in thought, the way you smile and laugh so adorably upon hearing a funny joke from your friends, the way you’re still so cute even when frustrated. 

As he walks away, Dongmin fights with his own heart. Why was he acting like this? It’s so clear that you’re expecting something more, but why is he pushing you away? 

Dongmin takes a deep breath. Yeah, he’s scared. He’s afraid that maybe it’s all in his head, maybe you’re the one acting so well and it’s just gotten to him. 

Dongmin swears to get himself together, but it looks like he’s going to need more than just mental affirmations. 

The next day, he misses his alarm, for the first time in forever, and is running late to his 9 AM lecture. He’s speed walking through students, dodging them with a bag hanging on one shoulder and his hair still partially wet. Just as he’s about to near the entrance of the Law building, he hears raised voices nearby. He puts his hood up, his first instinct is to ignore it all—he’s got no time to eavesdrop on people’s business. However, he recognises one of the two quarrelling voices—yours. 

Dongmin’s steps come to a halt, and he turns to face you. His eyes slightly widen and his shoulders begin to tense as he sees you and Anton standing a few feet away, locked in an argument. He’s a bit too far away to hear the full conversation, yet he catches some bits of it.

You’re standing at your full height, stiffly in front of Anton, arms crossed and eyes blazing with fury. Anton, on the opposite side of you, no longer has that sickening, innocent smile—instead, he’s flashing you a mocking smirk. 

The argument is already reaching its peak, yet Dongmin is quick to analyse the situation just by picking up a few bits. 

“You think you’re really something, don’t you?” Anton taunts.

You scoff. Dongmin could tell you’re offended, yet the mask you put on really makes a difference. “At least I don’t have to put other people down to feel important.”

Anton scoffs back, “please. You act like you’re above all this, but you’re just as desperate for attention as everyone else.”

Dongmin clenches his jaw, watching the argument unfold as his fingers begin to twitch. 

You give Anton a mocking laugh, stepping forward. “I don’t care what you think, Anton Lee. I don’t care if you think I don’t love Taesan, because what matters is my own feelings, not yours. And I’m done wasting my time on you.”

Before you could turn away and enter the building, Anton grabs your wrist. 

It’s not aggressive, but it’s enough. Enough to make Dongmin see red.

Everything’s a blur—one second later, he’s towering in front of Anton, his eyes glaring daggers. 

“Let her go,” his voice is low and threatening, as sharp as a blade. 

Anton looks up, initially startled, but as soon as he sees Dongmin, he rolls his eyes. His hand still around your wrist, he says with a sneer, “look who’s here, Y/N’s knight in shining armour! Oh, so great, always the hero.”

Dongmin is too busy counting down the ways he could destroy Anton’s life to be noticing how immediate the warmth creeps up your cheeks. Dongmin, in one fluid motion, steps closer, standing between you and Anton. 

“Did you hear me?” his voice drops deadly lower than before, his posture relaxed yet his eyes are dangerous. “Let. Go.”

Anton huffs, roughly letting go of your hand. He shakes his head. “You two are seriously something else,” he mutters before storming away. 

You and Dongmin stand next to each other, cautiously eyeing Anton until he disappears from sight. For that moment, none of you say anything.

“What was that for?” you say suddenly, crossing your arms. “I didn’t need you to step in.”

Dongmin shoves his hood down to his neck, raising his eyebrow. Feeling slightly irritated, he scorns. “Yeah? Looked like you were having a great time.”

You roll your eyes, scoffing, but something pinches Dongmin’s heart as he notices there’s no real bite behind it. “I’m fine—I had it all handled.”

Silence. 

Dongmin exhales sharply, words shooting out of his mouth without second thought. “I know. It’s just–” 

He stops, his eyes landing on your wrist. Closes his mouth. 

You wait for a few moments, before warily asking. “What? Just what?”

Dongmin hesitates. Suddenly, it’s all he can push out of his throat. He’s already there, halfway crossing the line he’s put between you and him for the past two years. 

And then, it just… slips out. 

“I just can’t stand it, okay?”

Your frown deepens, confused. “Stand… what?”

Dongmin lets out a frustrated breath, turning sharply to completely face you. “I can’t stand seeing you with people like that fucking bastard. I can’t stand watching you get into these stupid situations. And I really, really can’t stand how much I—”

His eyes widen, and his words stumble upon a stop. Dongmin stammers, realising what he was just about to say. 

“Taesan,” you call, gently, hope suddenly shimmering in your eyes. “How much you what?”

Dongmin freezes. He’s silent, tongue frozen, unable to utter another word.

He can’t say it. 

Instead, he runs a hand through his hair, muttering curses under his breath. 

“You know what?” 

“Taesan–”

“Next time,” he says quickly, in a softer voice, “don’t… waste your time on a guy like him.”

Your eye contact is still intact, you open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. Your eyes widen for a split second—as if you’re catching on to the feelings displayed, unknowingly, on Dongmin’s face. 

His concern is real.

“W-we should go,” you stammer instead, gesturing to the Law building. 

Dongmin nods. He grabs your backpack from you, signalling for you to walk in first. “Yeah. Let’s go.” 

You force yourself to walk as swiftly as possible to the lecture hall, heart pounding, mind racing. Behind you, Dongmin’s entire body is tense. He’s finally realising he can’t keep his feelings for you hidden forever.

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

THE next day, you can’t stop thinking about Taesan—and whatever he was about to say to you. Your mind races with a million different thoughts throughout the day. What if he actually feels the same? What if you’re not the only one looking for something more in this fake arrangement?

However, given that exams are looming closer, you’re only given a short amount of time to dwell on your thoughts. After your last class of the day, you find yourself cooped up in the library, studying the rest of the day away. Several of your friends join you, too. 

The study group grows, joined by both your friends and Taesan’s—though, you didn’t even realise that Taesan is sitting across you the entire day, until everyone starts leaving one by one. 

By midnight, it’s only you and him. You don’t look up, but you can feel your heart thumping faster than usual. You’re hyper aware of your surroundings—how close he is, how his scent feels comforting yet intimidating, and how his presence is reminding you of something that you’re too afraid to admit. 

“Y/N,” you open your eyes to someone gently shaking your shoulder, the reality of things crashing onto you all at once. You lift your head up, realising that you fell asleep in the middle of reviewing a past paper. Your eyes meet with Taesan’s concerned gaze. 

His voice is low and soft, as if it’s only for you. “Let’s take a break. You’ve been snoozing off way too many times.”

Your heart is beating a little faster than usual, but you agree. Taesan’s request seems too casual, and he looks like he needs a break too. 

You follow his lead, walking a little bit behind him to the convenience store that’s still open in campus grounds. He’s silent, observing you and letting you pick anything you want before paying for both your things and his. 

“Go sit,” he says, holding your instant tteokbokki package in hand, along with his instant noodles. “I’ll heat these up.”

Taesan quickly moves to the microwave before you can say anything in retaliation, a sign that you take seriously. He’s not in the mood for any fights. 

You take a seat, and soon after, Taesan joins you. He puts your instant meal in front of you, breaking your chopsticks for you. 

“Here,” he says, his voice quiet. “Careful, the tteok is still hot.”

He then slips his coat around you before turning back to his own beverages. 

You find yourself staring at him, long after he’s handed you your things. You watch him, peacefully releasing his tension—running a hand through his hair, chugging down a cup of coffee. 

Everything around you looks like it has a blurred filter on, yet one thing is crystal clear: Taesan, and his evident care for you. The longer you stare at him, the more you realise.

He’s always been the one. He’s always been there. 

It hits you harder than any bad grade has ever done. 

Taesan has always been like this—quietly looking out for you, quietly caring for you. 

All this while, all the banter, the little arguments, moments, and glances—it’s not just rivalry. It’s not just the fact that he always finds a way to make you all grumbly and irritated. It’s not just the fact that, even back when you were with Anton, he’d always find a way to show his care for you. 

It’s not just the fact that you enjoy his company, even if he makes you feel like you want to bang your head against the wall. 

You like him. 

You like Han Taesan. 

You quickly turn your head away, blood rushing to your head as soon as the realisation hits you. You stuff a few bites of instant tteokbokki into your mouth, wanting to quickly get rid of whatever this warm, refreshing feeling is. 

“Can you stop looking at me like that, L/N?” 

You cough, shocked at how his sudden comment breaks through the almost comforting silence. All the past moments you’ve had with him—the banter, the insults, the arguments—run through your head as soon as your last name, what Taesan had always called you, reaches your ears.

“Like what?” emboldened by the awakening of your feelings, you retort, your tone more challenging than you intended. 

Taesan snaps, pushing his chair back, raking a frustrated hand through his hair. 

“Like I’m your fucking boyfriend.”

“What?” you’re confused, not expecting that out of his mouth. “What are you–”

“Like you’re waiting for me to say something that I know I can’t take back.”

“Say it, then.”

You say, challenging him. It feels sentimental—like the old days, where all you did when you met Taesan was throw taunting words at him. But at the same time, the words come out of your mouth without realising—daring the two of you to finally cross the line. 

“I like you, okay? I probably love you at this point, I don’t know. I don’t know when it started, but I do. And I—” He exhales sharply, his voice softer. “I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t.”

The world stops spinning and you stare at him, blank. 

Your tongue feels numb, your heart racing at a million miles per hour. 

You feel the same, you’re sure, but you don’t know how to respond. Do you smile and say it back? Do you tease him, calling him an idiot like you always do? 

“I didn’t mean to fall for you,” you catch Taesan muttering. 

You smile. “Me too,” you say softly. 

Taesan lifts his head immediately, sharply turning to you with widened eyes. “... pardon?”

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

THE next few days feel like a refreshing spring breeze in the peak of winter, yet the air is filled with a cute awkwardness. After the confession, neither of you explicitly announce to one another that the two of you are a real couple now—yet your interactions feel new and unscripted, but no one exactly is making the first move. 

Of course, your friends notice before the two of you do. 

You’re sitting at the food hall together with Yunjin and Sophia, eating breakfast. You’re halfway through your pancakes, and Taesan—or Dongmin, as you call him now—suddenly takes a seat next to you. 

“Mind if I join, girls?” he asks, a charming grin on his face. He’s asking the table, yet his gaze is directed to you. You bite your lip shyly, nodding.  

“Sure, make yourself at home,” Yunjin says, her words laced with teasing. She watches with eagle eyes as Dongmin puts all of the sliced bananas from his serving of pancakes onto yours, knowing that you especially enjoy them with your breakfast pancakes. She snorts at the obvious look of love in Dongmin’s eyes, more evident now that he isn’t shoving insults at your face. “So, you two are really dating now?”

You choke on your bite of pancake, immediately blurting out,

“No!”

“Yes.”

You sharply turn to Dongmin, who has a smug look on his face. It’s the one look on his face that you’re used to, yet there’s a tint of pink on his cheeks. The edge of his smirk twitches, threatening to form into a cute, lovesick smile. 

“...I see,” Sophia interrupts your awkward eye contact, sighing dramatically. 

“We’re dating?” you ask Dongmin acutely, your brows connecting in an embarrassed frown. 

“I don’t know,” Dongmin shrugs casually, the look in his eyes teasing. “Are we?”

The blush that instantly creeps up your cheeks tells you the answer. You look away, suddenly focused on the way you’re cutting your pancakes. Dongmin’s laugh echoes to your left, and your friends’ send you teasing looks. 

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

A few months later, on the first week back after winter break, you go on a walk around campus with your boyfriend, Han Dongmin. It feels weird, calling him yours now. Just almost half a year ago, you were fighting your ego to have your nemesis fake-date you in order to intimidate your ex into leaving you and your life alone. Now, that same thorn in your side has become the light of your life, the apple of your eye. Now, the two of you are in something that’s not written on a flimsy contract.

Dongmin had also helped clear out the rumours surrounding you—in the most annoying, Han Taesan way—announcing the truth about Anton by spreading it like a rumour to everyone. You still get second-hand embarrassment remembering that day, bombarded by questions and apologies from acquaintances and people you’ve only seen around. 

“You know,” you say dreamily, distracted by your train of thought, “you’re so annoying—but I love you.”

Dongmin freezes, his steps coming to an immediate halt. You, too, freeze in your steps as you realise you’re a few steps ahead of him now. You turn around, eyebrows perked up. “What’s wrong, Dongmin?”

Dongmin. 

The sound of your voice calling his birth name repeats in his mind, like a favourite song on loop. He stares, unable to say anything. His eyes fall on the pendant dangling from your neck, one that you started wearing due to the fake-dating arrangement. He remembered insisting that you take it off, so that he can buy you a new one later, but you said that it’s special so you won’t take it off. 

I love you. 

Dongmin feels a smile slowly bloom on his face. 

She said it. She didn’t even hesitate. It’s like it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

His face softens, jogging up to you. He gives you a cheeky smile. 

“Say that again.”

You frown. “What again?”

“The first part.”

“What–” you pause, eyes widening as you get what he’s talking about. Heat rushes up your cheeks, warming your face despite Dongmin’s scarf wrapped around it. “I–”

“Yeah,” Dongmin says, smirking as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Me too.”

You bury yourself into the familiar scent of Dongmin’s scarf as he kisses your cheek. 

“Fuck you, Han Dongmin,” you grumble, ignoring the obvious butterflies in your stomach. 

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

THAT weekend, you and Dongmin are eating lunch together at your favourite coffee shop. Dongmin had said that the vibes there makes him sleepy, and tried to bring you to eat at one of the more famous restaurants near the KOZ School of Engineering, yet the plan backfires on him when the line is certainly too long. 

Now, the two of you are back at your favourite coffee shop, sipping warm cinnamon lattes. 

“See?” you tease, smiling cheekily. “I told you this place is the best.”

Dongmin rolls his eyes, taking a big spoonful of the chocolate cinnamon roll on your plate. “I want to eat some real food, like kimchi jjigae, not these sweet chocolate desserts,” he complains, though he can’t hide the fact that he secretly loves it. 

“Yet you’re the one finishing my cinnamon roll,” you retort, letting him subconsciously finish your dessert. You’re familiar with his love for chocolate.

Dongmin flashes you an innocent smile, shrugging. “Not my fault.”

Comfortable silence engulfs the two of you, letting you bask in each other’s presence. Suddenly, Dongmin leans closer, adjusting the place of the H.D pendant on your décolletage. Frozen, you watch him lean back into his seat, smiling as he admires you. 

“You look good today,” he murmurs, “actually, you look good everyday.”

An undeniable tint of pink colours your face. “I’m literally wearing a black turtleneck sweater, Dongmin.”

His gaze softens. “Like the first time you sat next to me, three years ago, during our foundation year.”

Your eyes widen, your mind replaying the memory, fresh like it happened yesterday. “You… remember?” 

“Of course,” Dongmin replies, his smile delicate. 

“I even remember the day you walked up to me, confident and all. I thought you were going to brag to my face that you won first place for the quiz we had the day before, but then you told me to fake date you.”

You almost spit out the coffee from your mouth. “Han Dongmin!” you hiss. “Don’t remind me… it was so stupid.”

“Stupid?” Dongmin asks, tilting his head. The signature cocky smirk is back on his face. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah…” you sigh, “I mean, I could’ve resolved the matter by myself, you know–”

“But you know that I’m the best option,” Dongmin cuts you off, smug. You roll your eyes.

“I don’t think it’s stupid, though,” he continues, his expression softer. More… raw. “To be honest, I think I was ecstatic that you walked up to me that day.”

“Why?” you ask croakily. 

“‘Cause I’ve always liked you, Y/N. I always have. I just don’t understand where things went wrong—maybe it’s the way I thought teasing you would gain me your attention at first. It did. But then, you became used to my teasing and thought of me as a threat—maybe ‘cause I’m smart as hell, too—but yeah. I don’t know how to say it but, all of that hatred was… pretend.”

You blink at him, too shocked to process his words. You try to reply, but mere stuttering comes out, and your face turns bright red. 

Dongmin notices this, of course, and he turns on his shameless, impudent grin. “Besides, you said you’re going to grant me any wish that I have, right?”

Oh. 

You inhale sharply. How could you forget? You immediately bring out your phone, checking the balance in your bank account. It’s quite a luxury, due to you working a few part time jobs during your break and whenever you can—but you certainly don’t think it’s fit for whatever grand wish Dongmin is about to demand from you. 

“Fine,” you huff, “only because it’s part of our… old contract.”

“Old contract, huh?” Dongmin wheezes, already laughing hard. You frown, fighting back a smile. 

“Why are you always laughing whenever I speak, dumbass?”

“Hey,” Dongmin pauses his laughter, flicking your forehead gently. It doesn’t even hurt, but you gasp dramatically, and he laughs it off. “It’s babe for you, sweet girl. And, I’m not laughing at you. I’m just admiring how cute and funny you are.”

Babe, huh?

You snort, hiding a smile. “Fine.”

“Anyway, speaking of the old contract,” Dongmin grins, “what’s the new one, then?”

“You haven’t even told me what sort of dumb, overpriced thing you want for your wish,” you say, lips set in a grim line. “And now you want another one?”

“My wish, huh?”

The unreadable look on his face makes you brace yourself and your wallet.

“Then, my darling, this is my wish.”

Dongmin leans forward, brushing his lips against yours. It’s subtle, short and sweet, but significant enough for you to realise it all—the reality of your feelings and his. He lingers for a while before sitting back in his chair. 

“So,” he says coolly, ignoring the plain blush streaked across his face. “Can you grant me the wish? To kiss you anytime, and anywhere I want?”

“Basically, physical affection can be done anytime?” you say, quoting what this man in front of you said months ago, when both of you first agreed on the fake-dating situation. The whole absurd set-up that brought the two of you to where you are, today. 

Dongmin laughs, clearly impressed. “Yeah,” he nods. 

You give him a warm smile, glad that you’re finally able to follow your heart’s desires, and to not put up a wall of defense around him anymore. 

“Wish granted.”

― © htaesan, 2025.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀want more like this? check out the 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

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stilinski's reputation

lacrosse star!stiles x fem!cheerleader!reader "whatever you do, avoid number twenty-four at all costs" 6.5K Words, 50% plot, 50% smut, reg high school au (no supernatural), scott's your friend not stiles', protected p-in-v, blowjob, slight mutual masturbation, nicknames "princess" and "daddy" but not the actual ddlg dynamic

~~~~~~~~(<-*->)~~~~~~~~

“alright, huddle up ladies!” leslie, the cheer captain exclaims. the group of girls in ponytails and athletic shorts break from their formation on the mat to form a tight-knit group around her.

“first off; great practice. we just need to make sure we’re remembering our facials, ok, not getting too lost in the routine to actually perform and we will be fucking golden tomorrow night!” she praises, and a round of whoops and applause ripples through the cheer squad.

“now since tomorrow is the first game of the season, we need to go over some ground rules,” her tone becomes more serious but most of the girls around her roll their eyes. 

“number one: if you choose to drink at any of the parties this season, do not post about it. i don’t want to have to ban y’all from games but coach does so please, just keep it off socials,” she pleads and the girls nod reluctantly.

“basically just don’t get sloshed around anyone that might film you. especially not the team,” the brunette co-captain to leslie’s right pipes up in a dry tone.

“yeah, exactly, thank you, megan,” leslie concurs and continues her list.

“number two: do not neglect your schoolwork,” the group lets out a groan, “i’m serious! we study as a team in the library every tuesday night for a reason. you don’t get to be a cheerleader if you’re not at least a decent student,” she scolds.

“and lastly and most importantly, number three: do not sleep with any of the players,” leslie states and an awkward silence falls over the team.

“seriously it’s not worth it. don’t believe the stereotype of the athlete/cheerleader golden couple. all high school guys are douchebags, even if they can shoot a ball into a net good,” megan continues, backing leslie up to a soundtrack of giggles from the squad.

“yes, yes. but there is one player in particular that’s been a…” she pauses, exchanging a knowing look with her co-captain, “problem in previous years. whatever you do, avoid number twenty-four at all costs,”

“who’s twenty-four?” an olive-skinned girl with matching jet-black pigtails inquires with a raise of her perfectly manicured hand.

megan smiles mischievously but leslie keeps a steely look on her poreless face.

“stiles stilinski,” leslie spits out, accenting the syllables of his name with sharp staccato pauses.

“he’s relentless,” megan remarks in an almost awestruck tone.

“yes, he is, and cheerleaders are like pokemon to him; he tries to collect them all,” the captain continues, bristling at the laughter her comment elicits from the girls.

“what’s so bad about him sleeping with cheerleaders?” a blonde girl with pink lips smothered in gloss asks rather mockingly.

“he just drives girls crazy. once he sleeps with him, they like, totally lose all focus and become obsessed with him,” you respond with contempt, having heard this warning many times. several girls around you nod in agreement, having witnessed this phenomenon firsthand.

“yes and i need my team focused, ok. so don’t go anywhere near him. if he offers you a ride in his jeep, call one of us to drive you instead. if he invites you to a party, bring a buddy and don’t let her out of your sight. and if he asks for your number, so help me god; give him a fake one,” she lists, her tone getting more desperate as she goes on.

“and remember; stilinski’s a whore, but he’s an ethical whore,” megan chimes in, matter-of-factly, wagging a finger, “he always has a condom, he’s very open about getting tested every couple of months, and he is surprisingly respectful. none of those are reasons to sleep with him,” she reiterates, letting her blue-eyed gaze pierce through each and every one of her teammates.

“yes, just because he’s not a teen dad and he’s not rapey doesn’t mean it’s a good idea. don’t let him pull you in with the bare fucking minimum. higher standards ladies, please!” leslie finishes and she takes in the expressions on the faces of her team. 

some are shocked, some annoyed, and some are confused, which worries her the most. confusion leads to curiosity which leads to learning this lesson the hard way, something she’s expressly trying to avoid.

“alright, practice dismissed, cyclones on three,” leslie pivots, putting her hand in the center of the circle, the rest of the team’s soon following, “one, two, three,”

“cyclones!” the team shouts and disperses into lively conversing groups in a matter of seconds. megan hangs back, grabbing her water bottle from the ground and putting an arm over leslie’s shoulders as they walk back to the locker room to change.

“so how many victims do you think stilinski will claim this year?” she asks with a grin. megan takes a sick pleasure in the star player’s slutty antics and almost bet money on who he’d end up taking down last year, which leslie had scolded her severely for.

“optimistically, none. realistically, a few,” she sighs, and then remembers, “but he’s a senior. one more season of this madness and then beacon hills cheerleaders will be free of him,”

“we’re lucky he’s an only child. i bet he’d train his little brother if he had one,” megan jokes.

“no shit,” leslie agrees, horrified at the concept of another stilinski terrorizing the female population of beacon hills high school. the one they have is plenty chaotic already.

~~~~~~~~(<-*->)~~~~~~~~

your locker opens with a metallic clang and you deposit your heavy history textbook inside of it, since you won’t need it until the last period. your best friend scott slides into the peripheral vision on your left side, a cheery expression on his face.

“morning. got you a matcha,” he greets, handing you the warm paper cup with tendrils of steam escaping the plastic lid from his right hand, keeping his left clutching his own drink.

“oh my god, thank you so much,” you respond gratefully, turning to face him as you take a generous sip.

“game day makeup already?” he asks, his dark-brown eyes scanning your overlined maroon lips, heavily blushed cheeks and sparkly eyelids.

“yeah, we’ve got the assembly after fifth period,” you remind him, taking off in the direction of your shared homeroom.

“oh right. is this one gonna go better than last years?” scott asks, sidestepping a group of guys that rudely decided to walk directly down the middle of the hallway.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, accusatory. 

“didn’t you give paige body dysmorphia or whatever last year?” your friend asks with an overexaggerated smile.

“oh my god, my hand slipped! i didn’t even know she’d gained weight, jesus,” you shoot back, referencing an unfortunate fall that paige the flier had experienced at last year’s assembly that may, (or may not), have been your fault. leave it to scott to always remember your worst moments better than you do.

“it was a whole three pounds, y/n,” he responds in a tone dripping with sarcasm, “everyone was saying you gave an eating disorder,”

“yeah, well, if i did she should thank me. i’m pretty sure eating disorders are a requirement to become a flier,” you respond, knowing scott won’t take your dark humor seriously. the hallway narrows into a smaller corridor and your friend squeezes closer to you as you walk.

“did leslie mention that in her big speech at practice yesterday?” he asks, taking a hearty swig from his coffee cup.

“ok you know way too much about how the cheer team operates,” you retort.

“you’re my friend, i know about your stuff,” he counters warmly.

“that’s not why you know so much. you’re hoping that all these years of friendship will lead to me hooking you up with one of my teammates,” you bite back. as if on cue, a gaggle of cheerleaders wearing the same gaudy makeup as you round the corner and walk past both of you. you smile and wave and scott’s eyes follow them eagerly.

“no i gave up on that being a possibility like, two years ago. but a guy can dream,” he sighs, shaking his head slightly to break his gaze from the girls.

“gross, don’t,” you say, being unfortunately reminded of your friend’s sexuality every time your squad comes around, “and for the record, all leslie really did was give the ol’ “stay away from stilinski” speech,”

“you better have listened,” scott retorts, holding the door to the classroom open for you, “if you text him again i will have zero sympathy left,”

“listen, issac dumped me right in the middle of last season so i tried to hop on some community dick. it happens, we all make mistakes and-

“pretty fucking massive mistake, y/n” scott responds, setting his backpack down next to his desk.

“-now i know better and it won’t happen this year, ok. you live and learn,” you list calmly, removing a notebook and pencil from your bag as you sit down.

“at least he didn’t fuck you,” scott responds, dryly finding the positive of your lapse in judgement.

“thank fucking god for that,” you respond through gritted teeth as the bell rings.

~~~~~~~~(<-*->)~~~~~~~~

the harsh led lights illuminate the lacrosse field for the crowd packed in the metal risers surrounding it. the material creaks and groans under the weight of their stamping and cheering.

you stand in formation, shivering slightly with the chilly breeze. the game has been going well, but the opposing team took a late lead in the third quarter, leaving the cyclones down by one. there’s a minute and ten seconds left in the game and all eyes are glued on the infamous number twenty-four. they wait with baited breath for stiles stilinski to keep the cyclone’s near perfect record intact.

you watch his movements from the sidelines, relying on muscle memory to guide you through the routines you’ve spent three years performing.

he seems like more than an athlete when he’s playing. there’s a certain grace about him that’s more comparable to a dancer than a lacrosse player. he shoots the ball with laser precision into the net, tying the game. thirty-five seconds left.

“ending on a tie isn’t bad for the first game,” a dark-skinned girl with a high ponytail of tight braids mutters to your left as she shakes her poms furiously.

“stilinski never ties. they’ll get one more goal,” a girl behind you responds, her voice raspy from cheering.

when play resumes, it is as if someone lit a fire beneath stiles’ feet. he races with vigor towards the opposing net, bodying several players on his way. the impact barely seems to phase him as he hauls the ball into the net for the upteenth time tonight to uproarious applause. the cyclones win, 8-9.

you watch him get smothered by the testosterone-fueled mob of his teammates. you can almost see the flash of his cocky grin from all the way across the field.

great, he’ll be in rare form tonight, you think, reminding yourself once again to avoid him at tonight’s party.

~~~~~~~~(<-*->)~~~~~~~~

stiles crosses the crowded living room, getting several pats on his back and encouraging cheers as he goes. red solo cups litter whoever’s house this is and the music seems to shake the very foundation. a nice buzz courses through his body, not enough to make him stumble but enough to bring a flush to his mole-littered cheeks.

“hey,” he says almost innocently as he reaches the couch you’re lounging on.

“nope,” you say abruptly, rising from your spot and walking away. stiles stands with his lips slightly parted and his eyebrows furrowed for several uninterrupted seconds.

“um, excuse me?” he calls after you, following somewhat clumsily behind.

“i’m not doing this tonight, stilinski. the season just started for god’s sake,” you respond firmly, weaving through the crowd to get to the kitchen.

“i’m not doing anything!” stiles defends.

“you’re talking to me and that means you’ve marked me and that’s a fucking problem,” you rant, pouring yourself a heavy-handed vodka redbull. it’s more the former than the latter.

“‘marked’ you? what am i, a fucking hunter?” he snorts, grabbing a bottle of smirnoff and refilling his own cup.

“yes, and i will not be your prey tonight. find some other girl, stilinski,” you smirk, intentionally bumping his shoulder on your way back out of the kitchen. stiles continues his pursuit, taking a swig of liquid courage as he does.

“hey, i just wanted to talk. i thought you liked talking to me,” he smirks, referencing last season’s indiscretion. he jogs slightly beside you as you make your way to the pool outside.

“i did,” you correct forcefully, “i had a severe and continuous lapse in judgement. it won’t happen again,” you reassure sarcastically, flopping down on an open pool chair. he stands over you, his toned form all-too-apparent under his tight white t-shirt.

“i don’t bite, y/n” he coos suggestively, “unless you want me too,” he adds, eliciting an eye roll from you that’s so forceful it threatens to detach your retinas.

“go take a bite out of lydia, i hear she’s your squeeze of the week,” you retort, recalling the image of him kissing the red-head on the cheek as he entered the party. stiles nudges your legs to the side, taking a seat on the edge of your pool chair. he deliberately ignores the deep sigh you exhale.

“nah she’s back with jackson,” he replies easily. you furrow your brow in confusion.

“dude you made out with her in your car in the school parking lot like, four days ago,” you reply bluntly, remembering your teammates scoffs of disgust when you’d discovered them after practice one night.

“yeah. she wasn’t with him then,” he responds cooly, not at all phased by your confusion.

“so what, she just flip flops between you two?” you ask sarcastically.

“yeah,” stiles responds earnestly, “we have a system. she breaks up with him on the last day of winter break, gets with me,” he smirks and your eye roll plagues you once more, “then if the first game goes well, she gets back together with him,” 

“i-” you falter, mind reeling at that information, “-have so many questions,”

“ask away,” stiles invites, the smile not leaving his face even as he takes another swig from his cup.

“why the fuck would jackson be ok with you fucking lydia while they’re broken up?” you blurt out and stiles chuckles.

“it’s uh, like a motivation thing. he plays better when he’s jealous, i guess,” he shrugs his shoulders and places a hand on your shin. you shake your leg as if you’re trying to get a bug off and he quickly removes it.

“that’s psychotic,” you scold.

“maybe. but he has four d1 offers so it definitely works for him,” stiles responds. he’s eerily ok with this objectively insane arrangement. 

“what if this first game doesn’t go well? would she just stay with you?” you continue your questioning, morbid curiosity replacing disgust with each answer stiles gives.

“i don’t know,” he responds with a far off gaze, “it’s never happened so i’ve never had to find out,”

“so what does lydia get out of this?” you ask, trying to resist the urge to call him a cocky asshole for the “it’s never happened” comment. as egotistical as stilinski is, he’s not unrealistic; the cyclones have only lost one game since he joined the varsity team his sophomore year.

“well, a girl’s got needs,” he smiles mischievously and your disgust returns ten-fold, “that and uh, she likes to be earned,” he finishes, looking down at the ground.

“earned?” you clarify.

“yeah, she wants jackson to put in effort to keep her. she also wants him to know that she’s got options,” he motions to himself with his free hand.

“does no one know how to maintain a normal fucking relationship around here?” you ask, your eyes searching wildly as if the answer will appear before you.

“guess not,” stiles laughs, maintaining eye contact for a little too long. his eyes are pitch-black in the low light of the porchlights and carry an oddly sincere gaze. 

“so what do you get out of this arrangement?” you ask dryly and the boy hesitates, despite leaning in closer.

“i feel like if i tell you, you’re gonna hit me,” he whispers, his eyes glinting and his lips curling into yet another punchable smirk. you swing your legs out to the other side of the pool chair that he’s not blocking and slug him in the shoulder as you stand up, fulfilling his prophecy. 

“where are you going?” he asks, a twinge of disappointment coloring his tone.

“away from here. i’ve had enough stilinski charm for one night, thank you,” you respond smartly, not turning to face him as you walk back towards the sliding glass doors. in a matter of seconds, stiles is standing in front of you, a strong hand gripping your left wrist. not hard enough to be threatening but just hard enough to keep you in place.

“hey, you can lie to your friends and your squad, but i saw you looking at me tonight,” he mutters gruffly and you blush crimson. he leans down to whisper in your ear, “when you’re ready to act on that, meet me upstairs,” he lets go of your wrist, turning his body to let you pass.

“you’re a fucking asshole, stilinski,” you snap, trying to clear the dry lump that’s formed in your throat as you walk past.

“i know, sweetheart,” he purrs, gratuitously observing the way your hips sway from side to side as you saunter back through the sliding glass doors.

~~~~~~~~(<-*->)~~~~~~~~

“so…” stiles whispers, letting both of his calloused hands slide up your torso to grip your tits, “does this count as the same lapse in judgement as last year…” he lets both hands travel to your nipples, where he pinches them gently, “...or is this a new one?”

“i don’t know…” your voice flutters back, your mind too preoccupied with the feeling of your core dampening in response to his gentle touch to be properly sarcastic, “...you should ask my friend scott, right after he-” you stop your sentence to moan slightly as stiles rolls both nipples between his nimble fingers. “-kills me for sleeping with you,”

“oh please…” stiles scoffs, smirking as you writhe beneath him. both sets of clothes have been lost to the floor of whoever’s bedroom this is and the door has been carefully locked behind you two. you lie on your back on the bed, your legs spread all-too-willing as stiles kneels between them, his knees low to the bed and his hard cock resting gently on your groan, agonizingly far from your pulsating opening.

“...scott probably wants to fuck you just as bad as i do,” stiles smirks, reveling in your pleasure as you buck your hips upwards. the blood throbs in his cock, as if begging him to insert himself into you, but this is the part he really gets off on; getting you wet with just his fingers on your hardened nipples.

“gross,” you moan, partly with pleasure, partly with disgust at the sudden image of your friend’s face while you’re in such a compromising position.

“i’m just saying…” he reaches his right hand down to stroke his cock gently, keeping himself as hard as possible for you, “...i don’t think any guy could be friends with someone as hot as you and not want to fuck you,” he states, almost matter-of-factly as he pulls a nipple upwards with his left hand and then releases his grip suddenly, eliciting an undignified whine from you. 

“you like that, baby?” he coos and your stomach twists.

“don’t call me that,” you mutter tersely, not acknowledging the question. you don’t have to anyways; stiles can see by the way you puff your chest forwards into his hands that you need his touch more than you’d care to admit right now.

“sorry, what would you prefer? sweetheart?” he asks, pushing your tits together with both hands and using just his thumbs to swipe at them, “angel? princess?” he asks and watches intently as you snake your right hand down to your core, inserting several fingers and begin to pump them desperately. you are in dire need of some friction down there as stiles still refuses to put his dick to good use yet.

“oh, i think we have a winner,” he coos suggestively, sitting back slightly to watch your fingers slide in and out of your core with a hungry look in his eyes. “are you getting yourself ready for me, princess?” he asks in a sugary-sweet tone, placing his left hand on your hip and his right back on his member, where he begins to pleasure himself to the sounds of your moans.

“mhm,” you groan, adding another finger to stretch your walls further. stiles quickens the pace of his strokes, the soft slapping sound of skin on skin filling the warm room. after losing himself in the friction for a moment, he remembers his task, forcing himself to let go of his leaking cock. several drops of precum drip onto the grey duvet cover as he grabs your rapidly moving right hand.

“may i?” he asks in a husky voice. you nod vigorously, unsheathing your hand. he flips his palm upwards and inserts his two middle fingers to the hilt, using his free thumb to rub uniform circles over your clit. a jolt of pleasure seizes your stomach and you push your hips forwards. he keeps his fingers still, letting you fuck yourself on them in a steady rythm and admiring the desperation on your face, as its clear you need more stimulation.

he shifts slightly and lowers his mouth to one of your nipples, taking it in his mouth and swirling his tongue around it slowly. your whimpers are completely undignified now and you don’t have enough cognitive function to care.

“fuck that feels good,” you mewl, your eyes shut tight now.

“really?” stiles questions mockingly, removing his lips from your nipple. “what happened to “you’re a fucking asshole, stilinski”?”

“you are…” you whisper breathlessly, “...but you’re good for certain things,”. stiles insert a third finger as you continue thrusting yourself upon them.

“y/n, you’re so desperate for me that you’re fucking yourself on my fingers…” he teases darkly, straightening up and once again bringing his left hand to his cock, “...i think we can move past insults,”

“yeah, cause you’re not enjoying this at all, stiles,” you moan sarcastically, lifting your head to see him once again stroke himself with a needy look in his eyes.

“i’m just waiting,” he groans, trying and failing to keep the pleasure from warping his tone.

“for what?” you ask, dropping your head to the pillow again.

“for you to beg,” he whispers ominously and you let out a barking laugh.

“in your wet fucking dreams, stilinski,” you spit back, aware that the euphoric sensation you feel from his fingers stretching you out deliciously directly contradicts your mocking tone. he removes his hand abruptly and your breath hitches in your throat. 

stiles disappears to the bedroom floor, rustling the belt of his jeans slightly as he searches for something and reappears between your thighs, ripping a small foil packet between his teeth. he removes the thin latex ring and slides it easily over his shaft without missing a beat.

“you are way too quick at that,” you remark, almost in awe at his swift contraception skills. the other guys you’ve slept with, (and to be fair, there’s only been two), had struggled greatly with condoms, clumsily opening the packages and never rolling it over themselves on the first try.

“lots of practice,” stiles mutters and you find yourself rolling your eyes but keeping the sarcastic comment to yourself. he grabs his cock and begins rubbing it exceptionally slowly up and down your folds.

“now, what was it you were saying about not begging?” he asks gently, watching your face contort with annoyance at his teasing. your inner walls are practically pulsing his name in morse code but you choose to keep up your aloof cover.

“i don’t fucking beg,” you spit out, mustering a great deal of mental power to be able to get that sentence out. 

“come on, y/n,” stiles coos, rubbing your clit with his free hand, sending a fresh wave of pleasure through your body, “you know you want this….i know you want this…” he pushes his tip forwards, expanding your opening for just a moment before pulling it back out to your disgruntled whimper, “...why lie to me?”

“you don’t…” you pause to bite your bottom lip, not wanting your moan to escape, “...deserve the…satisfaction,”

“but you do, princess,” he retorts back, once again inserting himself a few centimeters and then promptly pulling his cock back out and rubbing your glistening pleats.

“ugh,” you huff, every inch of your body craving his. you cannot stand another second of stiles taunting you with his agonizingly brief friction so you finally cave. you make a mental note to threaten him with bodily harm should he ever attempt to divulge the following words that fall from your lips.

“just fuck me, stiles; please?”

“deal,” he mutters under his breath, lining himself up eagerly, and thrusting his throbbing tip into your willing hole. he slides himself slowly inside, reveling at how tightly you remain wrapped around him. he lets out a moan of his own as he bottoms out, his pelvic bone meeting yours with a soft bump.

he stops moving for a moment, remaining fully sheathed inside of you, giving you a moment to adjust to his large size. white spots burst in the corners of your vision but dissipate as you get used to the feeling of him filling your cavity so nicely.

“wow,” he marvels, his voice hushed as if he didn’t actually mean to say that out loud, “you took me really well,”

you focus your blown pupils on his, taking in the thin layer of sweat on his brow and his quivering pink lips.

“are you surprised?” you ask in a daze.

“kinda,” he admits sheepishly, “i’ve been told i’m kind of big,”

he is. you thought you were being spoiled in your last relationship by your boyfriend’s five-incher but stiles has to be over seven, with girth to boot. a distant part of your mind finally connects the dots that this may be why girls go a little nuts after sleeping with him. you hope you won’t go too insane after tonight but the way he so easily spreads your walls further apart with practically no effort at all has you internally screaming for more.

as if stiles could hear your thoughts, he begins to deliver you some pleasant friction, rolling his hips forwards and backwards slowly, watching your face contort in ecstasy. his own pleasure swells in his groin as your pussy grips his cock with a great deal of suction.

“fuck, you’re really tight,” he murmurs, again more to himself than you. he’s enjoying the pressure of your enclosure wrapped around him, but he’s almost finding it hard to move. it’s as if your body refuses to release him. 

he tentatively pulls most of his length out of you and rams it back harder, hitting your cervix with a soft thump that causes your hips to buck in response. almost immediately your pussy ensnares him once more, constricting around his manhood tighter than before. it’s stiles’ turn to see spots in his vision that briefly distract him from his mission.

“jesus, y/n, where have you been all my life?” he mewls in a low tone full of lust. 

“i feel good, stiles?” you ask in a breathy tone that somehow increases his arousal even further. you’ve given up on fighting him. however cocky he is about his sexual prowess, he deserves it. you find every fiber of your resolve loosening with each jab of his shaft.

“good?” he asks, quickening his thrusts and gripping the plush of your thighs with his large hands, “you fucking…ungh,” he groans, only half aware that his jaw has gone slack and he looks completely entranced, “...fit me like a glove. i…” he stares down at where his cock disappears inside you, marveling at your wetness, “...could get used to this,”

“me too,” you mutter against your better judgement, reaching your hands out to grab his hips as his thrusts become sloppier, “stiles you’re huuuuuuge,” you moan out, extending the word into a high pitch squeal that falters with each thrust.

“you take me so well…most girls can’t handle all of me right away…but you…fuck…y/n,” his voice becomes needier with each passing syllable. stiles is slowly unraveling inside you. his body count is in the dozens and he’s done it in just about every imaginable position and location but missionary with you is topping nearly every sexual encounter he’s ever had.

“stiles, i wanna switch,” you breathlessly request, remembering your favorite position through your dick-induced brain fog. stiles forces himself to slow his hips, almost whimpering in pain at the loss of his beautiful momentum.

“what do you mean?” he asks, taking the moment of pause to caress your thighs. you pull yourself off of him and sit up.

“i want you from behind,” you order, pushing his sweaty chest out of the way and positioning yourself on your hands and knees. stiles nearly drools at the sight of your pretty cunt from this new angle and can’t help himself from kneeling down and running his tongue across your clit for a moment. your knees buckle slightly at the touch of his mouth, but he straightens up quickly, pumping his cock as he brings himself to your opening.

“you can have me wherever you want me, princess,” he coos, shoving his tip inside you and groaning at the renewed contact. “you’re fucking dripping for me, ugh you feel so good,”

this new position was exactly what you needed. stiles’ massive cock slamming you from behind slowly works your body into a writhing mess. you grip the sheets on either side of you, letting every moan that forms in your throat to fall, no longer feeling embarrassed at showing him that you’re enjoying yourself. stiles’ hands grab your hips, stopping the movement of his own in favor of slamming yours back and forth.

“stiles just like that,” you moan, feeling your pleasure build in your core. you force your knees even farther apart, desperate to get all of him as deep as he can possibly go. your arms buckle beneath you, sending you face down, ass up as you take all seven and a half inches of stiles’ throbbing cock.

“aw princess, are you gonna cum?” he asks, trying for an almost mocking tone but failing as a whimper escapes him.

“mhm daddy,” you whine and stiles’ thrust pause for a millisecond.

“did you-did you just call me “daddy”?” he clarifies in a stunned tone, resuming his rhythm.

“too much?” you ask through your pleasure-filled vocalizations.

“fuck no,” he exhales, gripping your hips harder, a deep flush coloring his sweaty face that he’s grateful you can’t see.

“then fuck me harder, daddy,” you whine. the pet name sends stiles into a frenzy all over again and his load threatens to spill itself into the condom buried in your heat. he musters every bit of stamina he possesses and rails you even harder, his soft tip sending shockwaves of pleasure through you every time it slams into your cervix.

the euphoria builds until your knees are shaking and you’ve gone lightheaded. you feel the brink of your orgasm teeter in your core, fresh white sparks exploding in your spotty vision.

“come on y/n, cum for daddy. cum on my cock, princess, i wanna feel it,” he grunts out, his short fingernails digging into your hips as his rhythm continues.

“stiles…i-” is all you can choke out before it finally comes. your orgasm wracks your body with spasms that threatens to collapse your position entirely. stiles holds your body in place as your walls constrict even further, leaking your white liquids all over his rock-hard dick.

“oh, good girl, y/n,” stiles praises, rubbing a hand over your stomach gently. “did you have fun?” he asks in a tone bordering between condescending and sincere.

“yes,” you whisper, utterly dick-matized.

“good, good, you felt fucking amazing, princess,” he pulls himself out of your pussy, watching your cum slowly leak out of your swollen hole as he removes the soiled condom, “fuck, you came hard,” he marvels, reaching his fingers forward to feel your wetness as you lay yourself flat on the bed. you twitch slightly at the contact of his fingers on your too-sensitive cunt.

“i-i kinda needed that,” you confess sheepishly, your cheek still flat on the mattress.

“oh, trust me; i know,” stiles reassures in a knowing tone, sitting at the head of the bed next to your prone form. he places a warm hand on your back, drawing small circles on your flesh with his thumb. many minutes of silence only punctuated by the background music of the party on the floor below you pass until you realize something.

“wait, did you cum?” you ask, lifting your head. stiles laughs gingerly.

“uh, no,” he admits quietly.

“wait, what??” you ask, more incredulous this time. you push yourself upwards and turn to face him, “how the fuck did you not cum?” you demand.

“what the fuck do you mean?” he responds, his tone slightly bewildered.

“you’re a teenage boy and you just railed me for like,” you check the alarm clock on the bedside table and realize you have no idea how long you’ve been laying face down so the time doesn’t help you. you decide to make a rough guesstimate of, “twenty minutes and you’re telling me you didn’t cum?”

“i have incredible stamina,” he smirks, amused at your shock.

“what are you, god? i mean i used to think i was lucky if i could get my ex to fuck me for five minutes without busting. i mean, your dopamine receptors must be fucking fried or something,” you mutter intensely, getting off the bed and kneeling beside it, using your hands to pull stiles knees towards you. he chuckles with a far-off look in his eyes and then realizes what you’re doing.

“wait, what’s happening?” he questions, his tone suddenly uneasy.

“i’m gonna suck your dick, lucky you,” you mutter sarcastically, moving your hand to grab stiles’ manhood.

“uhhh,” he mutters, his facial expression slightly panicked.

“you good? sorry i thought you’d want this,” you ask concerned, removing your hand swiftly.

“no i do! trust me, y/n, i really,” he leans forward, maintaining his burning eye contact, “really do. i just-um,” he falters again, his unflappable confidence failing him.

“stiles it’s fine, i’ll leave, i get it,” you respond, going to stand up.

“no no, wait, please, uh, please don’t leave,” he pleads, guilt coloring his tone as he scrunches up his face in discomfort, “i really want that, i just don’t think it’ll work,” you lower yourself back to your knees.

“‘don’t think it’ll work’? it’s not rocket science, stilinski,” you mutter incredulously and stiles rolls his eyes. 

you keep yours fixed on his face as your hands find his shaft once more. you watch his face go from concerned to at ease as you stroke him slowly, feeling the blood rush back in as he once again becomes stiff from arousal. stiles slides his knees slightly further apart and when you lower your head you look up into his eyes. he meets yours with a lustful gaze and gives a small nod, which you take as your cue to take him in your mouth.

stiles’ breath hitches in his throat and his right hand easily threads its slightly shaking fingers through your hair. you meticulously swirl your tongue over his shaft, feeling the subtle twitches of his body as he reacts to you hitting the sweet spot of nerves right under the tip. you look up at his face to see he’s once again gone red in the face, his pink lips parted slightly.

once you feel he’s nice and warmed up, you begin slowly sucking on his shaft, taking him deeper and deeper down your throat. 

“fucking hell, y/n,” stiles can’t help but mutter and you wink up at him with watery eyes. the knot in stiles stomach begins to unravel and arousal overtakes him. whimpers fall from his lips as you take his entire length, your lips brushing slightly against his well-groomed pubic hair. he feels his orgasm teetering precariously, growing closer with every slight jab to the back of your throat.

“jesus, princess, your mouth feels so fucking good,” he moans, bucking his hips forward slightly. but as soon as the wave of pleasure washes over him, it soon subsides, and stiles finds himself feeling slightly empty as you continue your task so earnestly it almost makes him feel guilty. he positions both his hands on your cheeks and gingerly pulls your mouth off his cock.

“what happened?” you ask, wiping your mouth quickly, disappointed at the sudden disconnect.

“nothing, y/n, nothing. i’m just kinda drunk and also exhausted and i just don’t think it’s gonna happen,” stiles explains carefully, almost as if he’s rehearsed this exact speech before. the words sound hollow as they leave his throat. he grabs his boxers from the ground and pulls them up himself hastily. “i’m sorry,” he mutters in a tone that’s much more genuine.

“you’re fine,” you say reflexively, kneeling on the ground to locate your own clothes. you then realize you should probably be more reassuring. “but like, i mean it. like it’s all good, that’s understandable,” you continue, your voice warmer as you pull your own underwear back on. “i’d say call me, but we both know you won’t,” you add and stiles smiles knowingly as he pulls his t-shirt on.

“i will,” he nods slightly as his head reappears.

“come the fuck on, stilinski. i’m cheerleader number-what number are you on now? like, thirty-five?” you ask incredulously and stiles remains completely unbothered by your comment.

“something like that,” he confesses easily, reaching down to pull his jeans up as you hook your bra behind your back.

“so i am not at all special and you don’t need to pretend you’re going to call,” you finish with bravado and stiles grin deepens.

“i will call you…” he starts earnestly. he buckles his belt easily, the muscles in his hands flexing rather devilishly as he takes several steps towards you. you straighten out the dress you just pulled over your head and meet his eyeline, “...the question is whether you’re going to pick up,” he finishes, pointing a finger lazily in your face.

“you take care of the first part and i’ll see what i can do about the second,” you retort quickly, your tone completely aloof now. stiles sticks out his right hand and you reluctantly give him yours, shaking it in one quick motion.

“deal, princess,” he coos and you fight the urge to roll your eyes as he unlocks and opens the bedroom door for you, once again watching your hips sway as you exit.

~~~~~~~~(<-*->)~~~~~~~~

[mrsvante]

The Long Game

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: sugar daddy au, yandere joonie, angst

summary: namjoon was never supposed to fall in love. the arrangement was simple. money for time, desire for indulgence, no strings, no expectations. he was supposed to be your provider, your safety net, the man you called when you wanted something but never needed anyone. but somewhere between the swipe of his black card and the way you sigh his name in the dark, he lost control.

warnings: smut, silent but dangerous namjoon, soft? dom namjoon, yandere joonie 😏, BDE if you squint, namjoon yeaaarrrnnnsss (maybe a bit too much), sugar baby is an independent brat, matcha 🍵 girls unite! dick riding, unprotected sex (be safe), slight choking w/ both hands, mentions of fingers in slippery places, brief boob play, is it love or lust? 🤨

word count: 2,853

a message from our sponsors 👩🏽 : i’ve been listening to this song on repeat for the last two days, the audhd stimming is in full effect (don’t judge i’ve been stressed). after looking up the english translation of the lyrics my brain cooked this up.

hope you enjoy! 😊🤍

He grips the steering wheel, thumb idly smoothing over the worn leather as the glow of his phone screen flickers across his face.

The engine hums low, steady—a stark contrast to the rhythm pulsing from the club’s entrance, where bodies move in drunken chaos under strobing lights. He doesn’t need to be inside to feel it; the bass thrums against his ribs, syncing with his heartbeat, with the restless ache lodged deep in his chest.

But he’s not looking at the club.

He’s looking at you.

Or rather, your Instagram story. Watching it for the millionth time, like a man trying to memorize scripture.

First, a picture of your morning matcha, condensation beading the glass in the early sunlight. Then a snapshot of your notes spread across the library table, neat handwriting and highlighted passages that he wonders if you’ll even remember after tonight.

And then, the last clip—the one that’s been carving through him like a slow, dull blade—your body moving in the dim, red light of the club. The glow clings to you like a brand, painting you in sin, in temptation meant only for him. But it’s not just you in the frame.

A hand reaches for you.

Namjoon’s grip tightens around his phone, the plastic casing groaning under the pressure.

The camera cuts away before he can see if you let them.

He watches it again. And again. As if, on the hundredth replay, the screen might crack open and reveal the answer. As if, by sheer will alone, he could rewrite the moment—erase that hand, pull you back, remind you who you belong to.

You wouldn’t.

You know better…right?

It’s not the first time you’ve done this. Offered him pieces of you, but never the whole thing.

Let him pay your tuition, your rent, your weekend trips to the mall—but never let him own you. Never let him believe, even for a second, that he’s anything more than what you need him to be.

And yet—

He swipes away from your story and pulls up your messages instead.

Your last texts are sloppy, riddled with typos.

[12:45 AM] com3 pick me up

[12:47 AM] pls bby

[12:50 AM] need u 💋

His fingers tighten around the phone.

And then, as if summoned, the car door jerks open, and you spill inside in a mess of laughter and heat, your perfume curling into the air like a spell. The club’s neon lights cast fleeting shadows across your skin, your dress rumpled from dancing, your lips glossy with whatever sin you’ve been indulging in tonight.

You land in his lap without hesitation, your arms winding around his neck, mouth brushing against his jaw.

“Hi, baby,” you murmur, the words warm and syrupy, the kind that drip down slow and sweet.

He exhales, hands instinctively catching your waist. “You’re drunk.”

You hum, nuzzling against his throat. “Mmm. And you’re here.”

Like I always am, he doesn’t say.

Instead, he turns his head, and then your lips find his, and there’s nothing soft or hesitant about the way you kiss him. It’s urgent, messy, tongue teasing against his own, hands slipping into his hair, pulling him deeper, like you’re daring him to lose control.

And maybe it’s the way you taste—vodka and citrus and something distinctly you—or maybe it’s the way you sigh when his hands slide up your thighs, but something inside him snaps.

He grips your hips, pulls you closer, lets the need that’s been simmering in his chest take over.

Your moan is swallowed by the kiss as his fingers drag the hem of your dress up, palms mapping the bare skin beneath. The console digs into his side, but he doesn’t care. Not when you’re rocking against him, not when your body is hot and pliant and his.

“Joon,” you whine against his lips, nails biting into his shoulders. “Please.”

He exhales sharply, his restraint fraying by the second. “What do you want, baby?”

“You,” you breathe, rolling your hips again, dragging a groan from his throat. “Need you to fuck me.”

Fuck.

There’s no hesitation after that.

The next few moments blur into heat and desperation—clothes yanked, fabric bunched, fingers fumbling against buttons and zippers in the tight space of the front seat.

The center console digs into Namjoon’s side as he shifts, dragging you closer, his hands impatient, greedy. Your dress rides up as you straddle his lap, the silky material pooling at your hips, but there’s no room to move freely—your knee knocks into the gear shift, and you gasp, laughing breathlessly against his mouth.

“Oops,” you mutter, adjusting your position.

He exhales a shaky breath, his hands sliding down your thighs, gripping tight. “You okay?”

You nod, but your eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with want.

His fingers slide between your legs, finding you bare and slick.

His breath hitches.

He should take his time.

Should make you beg for it.

But you’re shifting against him, rolling your hips, chasing friction, and he’s never been good at denying you.

Your hands tug at his belt, impatient, and he groans when your fingers brush against him, warm even through the fabric.

The car is stifling now, the windows beginning to fog. There’s no space, no ease—he’s too big for this, in more ways than one.

And yet, none of it matters.

Because then his pants are pushed just far enough down, and when he finally pushes inside, the stretch of your pussy desperately trying to accommodate his cock pulls a gasp from your lips. Your nails digging into his shoulders.

He stills, just for a second, reveling in the way you clench around him, the way your breath stutters against his neck.

His fingers splay against your lower back, holding you there, savoring the moment, the unbearable tightness, the way your nails drag along his skin like you’re trying to anchor yourself.

Outside, the bass from the club pulses, muffled and distant, a world away.

Inside the car, it’s just you and him, tangled in sweat and need, locked in a space too small for what he feels for you.

And then he moves.

The car rocks with each slow, deliberate roll of your hips, the leather seat creaking beneath you as you sink onto his cock.

Your palms press against his chest for leverage, nails biting into his skin through his half unbuttoned shirt. Your dress is bunched up around your waist, wrinkles forming in the fabric, forgotten in the haze of lust. He watches, enraptured, as you take him—your hips undulating, your breath coming in soft, broken pants.

Namjoon groans, his hands gripping your waist, guiding you even though you don’t need it. You already know how to ruin him. You already know how to take what you want.

“You love this, don’t you?”

His fingers press into the tender globes of your ass, hard enough to leave bruises. “Riding me like this. Making a mess all over my cock.”

You whimper in response, throwing your head back, your movements faltering for just a second as his words sink in. But he won’t let you slow down—not when you feel this good, not when his sanity is hanging by a thread. He plants his feet firmly on the floor of the car, thrusting up into you, meeting each roll of your hips with deep, punishing strokes.

The air is thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the windows hazy from your heat. Every slick, obscene sound of your bodies colliding fills the car, blending with the desperate moans you don’t bother hiding.

Namjoon leans in, his lips dragging along the column of your throat before his teeth scrape over your pulse point. “No one else gets to have you like this,” he pants, his hand slipping up your spine before wrapping delicately around your throat. “Tell me.”

You shudder, your own hand covering his wrist, not pushing him away, just holding on.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

You gasp as he thrusts up sharply, hitting that spot inside you that makes your whole body tense. A shiver runs through you, your walls tightening around him, and for a moment, you don’t answer.

Namjoon tenses.

But then—

“Only you,” you cry, lips brushing against his, teasing, intoxicating.

A growl rumbles low in his throat. His grip on your waist tightens, his pace turning almost brutal as he fucks into you with renewed purpose, as if he can carve those words into your skin, make them permanent.

His other hand moves.

Despite the fervor thundering in his blood, he doesn’t move with haste. Slowly, delicately, his fingers curl around your throat, the grip light at first, a silent question.

You shudder, your own hand coming up to hold his wrist. Not to push him away—just to feel him.

Namjoon presses his lips against your ear, his voice dark, smooth.

“Did anyone else touch you tonight?”

You let out a breathy laugh, the sound teasing, indulgent. “Mmm. Jealous, daddy?”

His fingers tighten slightly, just enough to make your pulse flutter beneath his palm. His hips roll up harder, sharper, dragging a moan from your lips.

“Answer me.”

You shift against him, your nails biting into his forearm. He knows you’re playing with him, knows you like the way he’s teetering on the edge of control.

And then you lean in, your lips grazing his jaw.

“No. No one else,” you murmur, voice dripping with something almost affectionate. “Just you.”

Something inside Namjoon uncoils, and then unleashes.

He fucks you harder after that, driven by something deeper, something primal. He wants to believe you. Needs to. Because if you’re lying, if anyone else touched what belongs to him—

No.

You’re his.

Whether you realize it yet or not.

His hand slides up, fingers curling around your jaw, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. The dim light from the dashboard casts shadows over his face, sharpening the cut of his cheekbones, the hunger in his half lidded eyes. His thumb brushes along your parted lips before pressing lightly against your chin.

“Look at you,” Namjoon murmurs, his voice thick, passionate in a way that makes something tighten in his chest. “You don’t even realize how good you feel, do you?”

Your cunt clenches around him in response, and his breath hisses through his teeth. Fuck. Every squeeze, every slick drag of your walls around him, every desperate roll of your hips—it’s unraveling him by the second.

“That’s it,” he mutters, his free hand slipping between your bodies, fingertips slipping over the sensitive bundle of nerves that has you jolting in his lap. His rhythm never falters, precise and measured, even as his control frays at the edges.

It’s too much—you’re trembling against him, your hands grip at his shoulders, your moans spilling into the humid air between you. He leans in, nipping at the hinge of your jaw, his lips dragging down to the pulse fluttering wildly in your throat.

“Go on, princess,” he breathes, his voice dark and coaxing, his fingers pressing just right. “Let me feel you.”

His head dips lower, his breath hot against the thin fabric barely covering your breasts.

The dress barely conceals anything, sheer in the right places, sinful in the wrong ones. The way the fabric clings to your body is almost obscene, the heavy swell of your breasts teasingly outlined, your nipples straining against the delicate material.

You're not wearing anything underneath.

The realization should infuriate him. Should make his blood boil at the thought of other men looking at you, at their hungry gazes dragging over skin that belongs to him.

But it doesn't.

It only makes him harder.

Because he knows—no matter how many of them watch, no matter how many of them ache to touch, you'll never let them.

They'll never have what he has. Never feel your pussy wrapped around them, never hear the breathless way you moan when you cum.

You're cruel without even trying, dangling temptation in front of them, letting them hope for something they'll never taste.

And Namjoon?

He gets off on it.

Because at the end of the night, you always come back to him.

He groans, low and desperate, before his mouth finds a stiff nipple through the fabric, his tongue dragging slow, deliberate circles around the pert peak. His teeth grazing over it with just enough pressure to make you clench around him, your walls pulsing tight around his cock.

"Ah, J-Joon." you croon.

The reaction pulls a sharp hiss from him, his fingers digging into your waist. But you don’t shy away. Instead, you arch into him, offering more, pressing your body closer like you want to drown him in you.

Greedy. Needy.

Nasty for everything he’s willing to give you.

But it happens all too fast for his liking.

The heat, the desperation, the way your body molds against his—it’s intoxicating, but fleeting. A moment never lasts long enough with you. He barely has time to commit it to memory before it’s slipping through his fingers like sand.

And it’s times like this that he wants to steal you away. Take you somewhere far from this world that refuses to let him have you. Lock you up in a tower only he has the key to, where no one else can touch you, see you, even breathe the same air as you.

There, he’d worship you the way you deserve—slowly, endlessly, until you finally understand what he’s known from the start.

Your body trembles as you cum, your moans broken, hands clutching at him, grounding yourself in him. And when he follows, thick warm cum spilling into you with a wrecked moan of your name, his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer, keeping you there.

He’s not ready to let go.

But you are.

You shift, skin still damp, and he can already feel you slipping away, your presence untangling from his like silk slipping through his fingers.

And then—

“I should go back inside,” you say, your voice light, easy—casual, even. Like you didn’t just let him claim you in the tight confines of his car. Like your body wasn’t still trembling from the way he’d touched you, possessed you. As if this was nothing more than a pit stop before you returned to your night of reckless freedom.

He catches your wrist before you can move, his grip firm, a quiet warning in the way he holds you.

“Didn’t you want me to pick you up?” His words are controlled, careful.

You blink at him, then laugh softly, a sound that scratches against his chest. “I changed my mind.”

His heart stutters, but his expression remains neutral. His fingers loosen, and yet, the urge to hold you tighter—to make you stay, to remind you who you belong to—burns in the back of his throat.

He lets go. He has to.

Because if he doesn’t, if he lets his fingers tighten just a fraction more, he’ll ruin everything. You’ll see it—the madness beneath his calm. The desire that goes far beyond wanting you. You’ll notice the way his control is slipping. And then you’ll pull away.

He can’t have that.

So he watches.

Watches as you fix your dress, smoothing out the fabric like you’re erasing the memory of him, the marks he left on your body, your soul. Watches as you run a hand through your hair, indifferent to the way it still falls in messy waves from his hands, the way your breath is still heavy with the scent of him.

You lean in and press a kiss to his cheek, slow and lazy, like you’re so certain none of this means anything.

Like you don’t know what you’re doing to him. Like you don’t realize that the heat between you isn’t just a spark—it’s a wildfire.

“If you want to stay out of trouble,” he says, his voice low, a warning in its calm. “Behave yourself.”

You laugh again, a soft, mocking sound that makes his chest tighten. And then—you leave. Slip out of his car, out of his hands, out of his world and back into theirs.

Back into the flashing lights and pulsing bass, back into the careless crowd that doesn’t deserve you. They don’t see you the way he does. They’ll never understand you. Not like he does.

And just like that, he’s left in the stillness, the echo of your absence filling the empty space around him. He doesn’t chase after you.

Namjoon grips the steering wheel, knuckles white. His jaw clenches. His heartbeat thrums beneath his skin, a slow, deliberate beat, keeping time with the truth he’s always known.

He has no one to blame but himself.

He’s the one who broke the rules. Who let his heart twist into something unmanageable. Who made the mistake of loving you.

But he doesn’t regret it.

Because love—real love—isn’t about caging or forcing. It’s about playing the long game. About devotion. About waiting in the shadows, watching, protecting.

And he has all the time in the world.

two | masterlist

[toovaeloe]

voicemails | “can we get back together please..? AAAAAGGHHHH—please?—AAAGAGHHHHH”

mdni

satoru gojo x genderneutral reader

You broke things off like…over a month ago. He’s over it. He doesn’t care. It’s whatever.

…

…he hasn’t moved on. He’s blowing up your phone.

☁️📞☁️

Satoru Gojo is the strongest. He’s good at everything— no, the best at everything, the honored one, blah blah blah. That’s not ego talking, of course, he just knows he can have whatever he wants, whenever he wants, no matter what.

Except you, apparently.

It’s been a month, 2 weeks, and 4 days since you broke things off. On a Tuesday, by the way. He thinks, because he doesn’t care enough to remember. Not that he doesn’t care at all, it’s just that he doesn’t care anymore than you care. Or whatever.

Because why would he need to care? Refer back to paragraph one; he could have whoever he wants. But it doesn’t mean he needs you or anything. He can live without you. It’s not that hard. He has hobbies, interests, friends. He’s his own person.

The fact that he showed up at your door the day after the breakup was like… a parting courtesy. Yeah. He just wanted to end things smoothly, on good terms, he just needed clarity. The accusation that he was constantly stalking your social medias was insulting. That being said, he knew you were only posting yourself having fun, going out, hanging with friends, etc. etc. because you were trying to make him jealous. It had to be a ploy; you trying to show him you were doing fine without him. He didn’t buy into it. As if he even cared. That’s exactly why he didn’t scour through your followers to face match the random fuck whose arm you were hanging off of in your Instagram story. Who the hell has over 3 underscores in their username? He’s not even that good looking. Satoru bet that he could buy half a pair of shoes with his net worth. If even that.

The flowers he had mailed to you with the envelopes full of gift cards spritzed with his cologne every week? It’s really not a big deal. He does that for all his exes— no, he bought them on accident and had no other use for them.

But his most consistent habit he didn’t quite have an excuse for were his nonstop calls, all of which went unanswered. And when that happened he always left a voicemail:

“What, you ignorin’ me now? That’s cute. Call me back, huh?” Arrogant.

“I was thinking about you tonight…maybe I could pick you up tomorrow? Y’know, go shopping or something, for old time’s sake. Think about it?” You did, almost considered calling back.

“Baaabbbyyy, ‘miss you so much…miss holding you…fuck, please pick up?” Whiny.

“I don’t know why you’re so hellbent on making me look so fucking pathetic, I-” Seething, you could practically imagine the bared frustrated teeth before the sigh that followed; envision the defeated hand running through his shaggy white hair. “Look, let’s just talk, alright? I just wanna hear your voice. Sweetheart, ple—“ Deleted.

You had accumulated an endless library of these voicemails. Satoru feared the day that your inbox would be full. Or the day you blocked him.

Until on the off chance, you picked up one day. Presumably to tell him to stop calling, but before you could even form a word you were cut off by the sniffling in the other line, the hiccuped breathing.

“Baby, baby is that you?? Shit, shit thank god- thank you,” He was sobbing in earnest, desperate voice breaking and quivering. He must have been a wreck on the other end, but he almost sounded giddy. “Can we get back together please???”

He anxiously awaited your response… which was: “…no.”

A strangled wail of pain is what followed immediately, like your single word had struck him as harshly as a physical blow. It could’ve been laughable if you weren’t so taken aback.

“—please???” He tried once more, a beat of silence following.

“…no-“

“uUUAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHAAWAAAAAH—“

a/n:

he’s pathetic…I think I’m cooking tbh 👩‍🍳🔥

it’s based off that one audio if yk what I’m talking abt it’s so gojo coded 😭

🤍uhh anyways ily have a great dayyy

[yungistiny]

back of the net ═ chapter one

[ J. YUNHO / S. MINGI ]

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10

chapter one: coach’s daughter

╚═════════

summary: yunho and mingi are the star football players and they have never wanted anything more then their coach’s daughter

warning: creampie, unprotected sex, size kink, public orgasm, dom yunho, dom mingi, sub reader, double penetration, bisexual mingi

pairing: yungi x afab/reader

genre: smut, romance, polyamory

word count: 5.5k

chapter two

masterlist

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Yunho and Mingi have managed to do some dumb shit in their life. Best friends since they were thirteen. They were practically attached at the hip so it only made sense they would go to the same college together and be star football players together.

Now to incorporate the dumbass shit they have done. Like that time in high school when Mingi slept with the principal’s daughter only to turn around and sleep with his son too. He got suspended from school for a month and had to go to summer school to make up the days he missed.

At their high school graduation, Mingi lost a bet to Yunho which resulted in him accepting his diploma in only his graduation cap. To say principal Kim was more then ecstatic to no longer have Mingi in his school was an understatement.

Then there was that time Yunho was dared freshman year of college by Kim Jungwoo to streak across campus. No one thought he would do it, not even Mingi, but after shots of jager bombs Yunho was fully naked and found passed out in front of the library, face down in the rose bushes and ass on display.

There was also that time at Ten Lee’s birthday party last year where Mingi had accidentally almost sat the dormitory on fire when he dropped the shot of everclear that Hoshi Kwan thought would be cool to light on fire. The flame had burnt Mingi’s lip and he dropped it on a curtain that covered the window. He had never seen anyone piss a fire out but thank god for a drunk Yunho.

Now here they were in their senior year of college, star forwards for their university football team and the dumb thing they were about to do now had to top the list.

Yunho had noticed her first freshman year, she had ran up to coach Choi during practice. Choi Seungcheol was a dilf according to Mingi and Jung Wooyoung and probably most the students at university. He was also a scary and strict football coach. And the beautiful girl Yunho had noticed that day freshman year just happened to be his daughter.

Coach Choi had met y/n mom when he himself was a university student abroad. They had y/n before graduating college and Yunho was very thankful coach forgot to wrap it before tapping it because his daughter was the most beautiful thing he’d ever did see.

It hadn’t taken long for Mingi to notice her too. As a matter of fact it took exactly two minutes and thirty seven seconds after Yunho.

“Holy shit…” Mingi shamelessly raked his eyes down her exposed legs from the short gray shorts she had worn, thighs and legs so smooth and so soft to the eye. A burgundy hoodie unzipped, their school colors, to show the matching gray sports bra.

“Don’t think about it.” Choi Jongho had rolled his eyes at their staring. “It’s coach’s daughter, dumbasses.”

She had also been Kim Mingyu’s girlfriend, at the time he was the star football player before graduating last year. Now Mingyu was no longer in the picture and Yunho and Mingi were ready to do some dumb shit again.

“Yeosang!”

Kang Yeosang looked up from the drawing he had been sketching at his favorite spot in the quad, eyeing Yunho and Mingi curiously. The two twin towers, a nickname given to them by everyone after watching how they dominated the field together, they never spoke to Yeosang outiside of football practice and games.

“You’re y/n best friend, right?”

Oh. Now Yeosang’s curious gaze turned suspicious. “What do you want?” His question might of came out a little harsh but Yeosang was just a tad protective over his best friend and it was no secret that Yunho and Mingi, not exactly fuckboys per say, but they certainly had a reputation. Yeosang had even heard Jungwoo talking about how the two best friends would share partners.

“Relax,” Mingi put his hands up at the hostility as if to say him and Yunho come in peace. “we were just wondering…”

“I’m not helping you sleep with my best friend.” Yeosang stopped Mingi before he could finish. “Who said we wanted to sleep with her?” Yunho had an innocent look on his face that didn’t fool Yeosang one bit.

It was no secret to anyone, except maybe coach and the girl herself, the way Yunho and Mingi had been watching y/n from the sidelines since freshman year. “Oh really? Then why are you both asking about her?”

“Asking about who?” Kim Jungwoo had been Yeosang’s roommate since freshman year, a bag of doritos in his hand, crunching one of the cool ranch chips in his mouth as he sat down beside Yeosang.

“We were just asking Yeosang if y/n was going to be at Johnny Suh’s Halloween party?” Yunho answered with that boyish smile of his, puppy eyes disguising his intentions with innocence.

“Didn’t he graduate like four years ago?” Jungwoo asked smacking on another chip. “Five years ago.” Mingi corrected as him and Yunho waited for Yeosang to answer them.

“Why do you care?” Yeosang arched a brow as Jungwoo snorted. “Please tell me you two aren’t trying to double team coach’s daughter, do you have a death wish?”

“Jungwoo,” Yeosang scrunched his face up in disgust. “that’s so crude.”

“Well,” Jungwoo scoffed, gesturing towards Yunho and Mingi, the latter fighting a smirk off his face. “it’s what they’re planning.”

Yeosang turned a glare towards them. “If you two even think about using her, I’ll tell coach.” He had no problem in snitching if it meant protecting y/n from their devious acts.

“No one is trying to use anyone.” Yunho rolled his. Yes. They wanted to sleep with y/n, they’ve wanted to since freshman year but they also wanted more. They just wanted her. All of her.

“So you do want to die?” Jungwoo laughed. Seeking out Choi Y/N was an insane ass thing to do that only one other person at their university was brave enough to do and Kim Mingyu broke up with her as soon as he graduated. Coach would probably kill the ex star player if he ever showed his face again cause apparently Mingyu didn’t have time for a relationship after being scouted into the South Korean national football team.

“To answer your question” Yeosang turned his focus back down to the drawing he had been sketching. “I have no idea.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

“What are you doing?”

Y/N stared down at Minghao, her friend sitting on the ground, legs criss crossed together, eyes closed and humming. “I’m centering myself.”

Y/N had met Minghao after he had transferred to their university back in sophomore year. He was intriguing and stood out with his black painted nails, glittering eyeshadow, bright red hair and the lavender kamado he had on with silvery intricate flower designs.

“Is it working?” Y/N arched a brow as Minghao let out a frustrated sigh, opening his eyes. “No.”

She tried not to laugh, she really did, but couldn’t help the giggles leaving her. “Yeah, I don’t think your center exists with that over there happening.” Y/N nodded behind Minghao where Hoshi Kwan, in the universaity tiger mascot, was having a dance off with Jung Wooyoung.

Minghao turned his head, sighing. “Imbeciles.”

“Do you still have those devil horns? I need them for my costume I’m gonna wear to Johnny Suh’s party tomorrow night.” Y/N had everything she needed for her costume, she had decided on going as Power from Chainsaw Man, everything ready but the character’s signature horns.

“Yeah,” Minghao nodded, rotating his neck, letting out deep breaths before narrowing his eyes behind y/n. “The twin towers are coming your way.”

“What?” Y/N furrowed her brows together, turning around to see what he was referring to.

Jeong Yunho and Song Mingi were her dad’s star players. Both reaching well over 6ft and it was rare you would ever catch one without the other. Mingi was a dark contrast to Yunho with his short bleached blonde hair, chunky rings decorating his fingers, the small fix on tattoo on his right cheek just under eye, something he came up with to say whenever he’d score a goal during a game. You would also never find him in colors other than black with the exception of his team jersey. Even his nails were painted as black as night.

Yunho was the exact opposite. He was taller than Mingi by a mere inch but you could barely tell. His hair was only slightly shorter, bangs almost getting into his eyes, a dark shade of brown, no tattoos, no dark color in sight other then his black converse and the dark gray hoodie he wore.

Y/N turned back to Minghao who shrugged at her before closing his eyes and humming once again. She was suddenly nervous as she felt their presence directly behind her.

“What the hell is he doing?” Mingi stared at Minghao as him and Yunho towered behind y/n. “Centering himself.” Y/N replied trying to ignore the way her heart started beating a little faster.

“Is it working?” Yunho asked genuinely curious. Minghao opened his eyes sighing yet again in frustration. “No.” He stood, stretching his arms. “I’ll bring the horns to your dorm later.”

Y/N glared at him and the smirk he sent her before walking off. It was no secret to Minghao that she found the two football players behind her attractive. She had told him exactly how attractive she found them not a couple weeks ago during one of Minghao’s cleansing smoke sessions and y/n had never been high before in her life so the confession was tumbling from her lips before she could think.

“Do you think it’s true,” she had been laying on Minghao bed, his roommate, Yuta, was out for the night. “that they…” she could feel her face blushing at the thought. “share….”

Minghao had looked at her, devious smirk on his lips. “You ask as if you want to personally find out.”

Y/N blushed completely, cheeks warm from the heat of it and she may of had a not so innocent dream of the two of them that night. She blamed it on the weed.

“Y/N,” Yunho stared down at her after him and Mingi stepped around to stand in front of her. “are you going to Johnny Suh’s party tomorrow?” Him and Mingi had a very thought out plan to make y/n theirs.

Y/N looked between them both, they were so much bigger than her. “You have a size kink.” Minghao had teased her once after finding out she was attracted to them “First Mingyu now the twin towers.” “Maybe.” Obviously she was but she was curious as to why they wanted to know.

The rumors that they liked to share causing her to grow flustered under their gaze. Mingyu had hated them.

“They want to fuck you”

“I swear if Mingi looks at your legs one more time”

“Maybe we want you there.” Mingi smirked at her. Y/N had to give it to them, they were bold for even having the balls to seek her out considering every other guy on campus aside from Mingyu, was too scared to pursue coach Choi’s daughter.

But it seemed Yunho and Mingi either had a death wish or just didn’t care.

“Jungwoo said that Mark Lee walked in on them, I think Mingi is his roommate, but like he walked in on them both with some sophomore….. you know…. them both at the same time”

Yeosang’s words haunted her because it’s all she’s been able to think about no matter how hard she tried not to. She almost found herself wanting to ask them if it were true.

She decided to mess with them. “Can’t make it actually.” Y/N lied, suppressing a smirk at the matching disappointing looks on their faces.

“Ssibal” Mingi hissed under his breath. Yunho beside him had his tongue poking the inside of his cheek, eyes trailing y/n as she smiled at them and left.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Y/N adjusted the horns on her head and did the same with her black tie. The white button up shirt was tight against her chest, her bellybutton peaking at the bottom.

“Here.” Yeosang handed her the dark navy blue blazer and she slipped it on, left open, and checking her reflection in the window of someone’s car. She smirked at her legs on display in the black shorts she wore that left just the smallest of her ass to peak out.

She certainly did not wear the shorts because she knew Mingi liked her legs.

That’s what she told herself anyways.

“Wait…” she stopped Yeosang as Jungwoo shamelessly watched her unbutton her shirt just enough to allow the black lace bra she wore to be visible with her cleavage.

“Y/N you’re so fucking hot.” Jungwoo could have moaned at the sight. Yeosang popped him in the back of the head causing him to yelp.

“Let’s go.” Y/N lead their way into Johnny Suh’s house that was located just off campus where he shared it with his best Jung Jaehyun. The two of them graduated years ago but ended up buying their old frat house for themselves and just couldn’t seem to shake the college life just yet.

“This place is fucking packed!” Jungwoo stumbled as someone in a spiderman costume bumped into him. He readjusted the cat ears he had on, a simple but effective costume. “I’ll find us some drinks.”

Yunho spotted her first. Fuck did she look good. Either she changed her mind about coming or she just lied. Mingi noticed her after coming back with two bottles of beer, one in each hand, tapping Yunho on the arm with one. “There’s a fucking line to get beer, you better enjoy that because I’m not going back.” Mingi huffed, adjusting the cowboy hat atop his head, bringing his own beer up to his lips and pausing when he found her. “Fuck me…” She was dressed as Power. Power from Chainsaw Man. That was Mingi’s favorite anime.

“I’m assuming we’re not getting a drink anytime soon.” Yeosang roamed his eyes around the party, Jungwoo had been gone about ten minutes already and still had yet to return with a beer, soju, anything. He sighed, adjusting his wig, he had decided on Harley Quinn for his costume all the way down to the blonde pigtails.

“I’ll go look for Jungwoo.” Y/N moved to walk off but Yeosang stopped her. “Don’t just run off by yourself, there can be weirdos here.” He was being protective but they didn’t know everyone at this party and he had made a promise to coach freshman year that he’d look out for y/n seeing as the two of them had been best friends almost their entire life, that and Mr. Choi could be terrifying sometimes.

“I can take care of myself,” y/n argued, refraining herself from stomping her foot like a brat. She was just so tired of both her best friend and her dad’s overprotectiveness. She was 22 years old, not some dumb teenager. She was a grown woman. Y/N didn’t give Yeosang a chance to try and stop her again, disappearing into the sea of costumed college students.

A strobe light flashed, y/n seeing her movements as if they were in slow motion as she glided her hand against the wall down the hallway where a couple was practically fucking against a wall. She blushed and avoided her gaze not in search of Jungwoo at all.

The hallway ended in a large dining area where a pool table sat with various bottles of liquor. The room casted in the dark purple glowing hues of a black light. Y/N pushed through a small throng of people, sifting through the liquor until she found an unopened bottle of tequila. She’d never drank tequila before and found herself curious and daring.

Opening the bottle was harder then expected, y/n having to stop and ask a vampire costumed Choi Jongho to open it for her. The first sip burned her throat and choked her a little. The second sip wasn’t much different but by her fourth, it still burned but she now could handle it, body feeling warm, her nerves she had the second she stepped inside the house gone. She was surprised she hadn’t seen Yunho or Mingi yet, their height should have given them away, especially Mingi’s hair. “Sorry!” She apologized as she bumped right into someone’s hard chest, almost dropping the bottle of tequila.

Y/N took in the tall costumed figure that held her up with a hand on each side of her waist. The stranger was hidden behind a Ghostface mask and black robes. Y/N gasped when the Ghostface stranger’s hands gripped her waist, caging her against the wall, moving her out of the way just as a group of guys came tumbling through the hallway, yelling and falling atop each other. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, panting at the sudden whiplash and the effects of the alcohol now running through her body.

“You ok?” The voice behind the Ghostface mask sounded oh so familiar but was too muffled by the loud music bumping throughout the house. Y/N watched the stranger as they removed a hand from her waist, reaching up and pulling the mask off.

And fuck her because Jeong Yunho had never looked more hot then at that exact moment.

Yunho had followed her, losing Mingi in the party, he wanted to make sure she was safe, there was a bunch of people at this party and he had noticed Yeosang throwing a fit at Jungwoo who had returned just as y/n took off. He could smell the tequila on her breath, the strobe light flashing, every few seconds giving him light to see the perfect view of her cleavage. “Grab my hand.” He interlocked his hand with hers, not taking his eyes off of her, gripping his mask in his other hand as he guided her out of the crowded dark hallway.

“I don’t see Mingi….” Yunho casted his gaze over dancing bodies, never dropping y/n hand. He looked down at her and quickly shoved his mask into his pocket, snatching the bottle of tequila from her as she went to take another long sip of the alcohol. “I think you’ve had enough.” Yunho didn’t want to make his move on her if she were drunk.

“You,” y/n reached for the bottle, Yunho holding it up out of her reach. “don’t tell me what to do.” She stomped her foot, Yunho smirking at her bratty attitude.

“Here.” Yunho shoved the tequila into the hands of some dude that walked by them, y/n pouting. “That was mine!”

Yunho reached for her hand again, spinning her and pulling her back flushed against his front, hands gripping her waist as he leaned down to speak into her ear over the loud music.

“You lied to us.” His voice, the deep thrum of it, sent a shiver down y/n spine in the best way. “Brat.” He nipped at her neck then.

Y/N had no control over the moan that escaped her and Yunho had no control over his dick getting hard at the beautiful sound and the way her ass was flushed against him.

“Can I take you out of here?” Yunho asked, grazing his lips against her neck. Nothing was going to his and Mingi’s plan. He had no idea where his best friend was but there was no way he was gonna wait on Mingi to show up.

“Please.” Y/N almost sounded as if she were begging him to and Yunho had to refrain from just taking her in one of the rooms in the old frat house. “Come on.” He grabbed her hand and lead her out of the party, the slight chill in the night air nipping at y/n exposed legs.

“GO GO GO GO GO”

Y/N and Yunho both came to a halt, the sight of Lee Seokmin chugging a beer atop a table before jumping onto another table that was on fire. The entire situation was completely outrageous, Seokmin or Dk as most called him, jumped up, his ass now on fire and running with Hoshi behind him, tossing beer at the flame eating at his ass. “Jesus…” Y/N watched them as Yunho snorted, spotting Wooyoung laughing alongside Jongho.

“Your dorm or mine?” Yunho asked. “My roommate is there.” Y/N roommate Karina had come down with a cold and had been resting in their dorm for the last two days knocked out by cold medicine.

“Woo!” Yunho tugged her close, walking over to his roommate. “You coming back late tonight?” It wasn’t exactly a question and one look at y/n beside Yunho, Wooyoung smirked. “Of course.” Wooyoung and Jongho watched Yunho pull coach’s daughter into his side, leading her back towards campus. “Him and Mingi have to be the dumbest players on the team or they just don’t care.”

Wooyoung snickered. “I think it’s a bit of both.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The walk back to campus only took them ten minutes and then another five minutes to reach Yunho’s dormitory. Y/N followed him inside his dorm room, eying each side of the room and assuming the bed on the left with the football posters on the wall along with a lone valorant poster and a spiderman plush on the bed above dark blue sheets could only be Yunho’s.

Yunho felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulled the black robes off, leaving him in black sweatpants and a black plain tank top. His phone began vibrating again and y/n watched him pull it from his pocket, smirking when he saw Mingi’s name light up the screen.

“Where are you?” Mingi’s voice yelled, barely audible over the loud music in the background. He hadn’t been able to find Yunho or spot y/n anywhere. “I left.” Yunho answered vaguely deciding to mess with his best friend. “Look I’m about to be very…” his gaze landed on y/n, raking his heated stare down to her legs and then back up to her face where she blushed. “busy. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Yunho.. YUNHO DON’T YOU HANG UP ON ME ARE YOU WITH…”

Yunho ended the call, turning his phone off and sitting it on the desk him and Wooyoung shared.

Y/N bit her bottom lip, the boldness to join him she could assume had come from the alcohol she had drank but she wasn’t drunk just a little buzzed enough to not be so nervous. To not think about consequences. She hadn’t been with anyone since Mingyu and he had been the only person y/n had ever been with.

“Am I going to be busy?” Yunho asked her, slowly walking closer towards her. “Because if I’m not, we could just hangout.” He wasn’t about to push her into anything, he hadn’t had a crush on her since freshman year just to fuck her and dump her.

Y/N waited until his tall frame was right in front of her, her hand reaching to tug at the end of his tank top, admiring the way it fit him and his biceps, not too small and not too big, her gaze settling on his hand that reached for her own. They were so big, the veins prominent. His fingers were so long. “Can I ask you something?” Her voice sounded breathless, loving the way his much bigger hand intertwined with hers, enveloping her own much much smaller one. “Is it true…. that you and Mingi like to share…” she couldn’t finish her entire question as Yunho gripped her chin gently with his other hand making her look up and meet his eyes. “Only if you want us to.”

Fuck! Y/N really really wanted them to but right now she’d certainly just have Yunho. If her dad knew or found out what she was about to do he’d probably blow up. Steam would pour from his ears like in an old cartoon but she didn’t care. She was a grown woman and she was horny.

Yunho felt his dick twitch in his underwear as he watched y/n drop to her knees in front of him. The little fake horns on her head peaking up at him as she reached at the waistband of his sweats, looking up at him through her lashes as she pulled them down his legs. Her eyes widened a little, darkening with lust and need at the sight of his bulge in his underwear. Oh he was big.

Her hands hesitated for a second, looking at Yunho and he nodded, reaching one of his hands down to pull the horns off of her, tossing them onto Wooyoung’s bed. He needed them out of the way. “Go ahead.”

Y/N wasted no more time, dragging his underwear down his legs to pool at his ankles with his sweats. His dick, already hard since the party, was free and y/n could have moaned at the sight. Oh he was really big.

She briefly wondered if Mingi were just as big before reaching her hand up to wrap around him, stretching up to be able to dart her tongue across his tip, swallowing the precum as she brought his tip into her mouth. “Fuck..” Yunho tangled his hand into her hair. “If I get too rough just pinch my leg.

Y/N nodded letting him know she understood, heart beating so fast she thought she might have a heart attack, his words making her clench her thighs together wanting some friction before she gagged as Yunho pushed his full length into her mouth, making her deep throat him and she moaned feeling him heavy on her tongue, tears brimming her eyes as her hands moved to grip his thighs, relaxing her jaw and allowing him to use her.

This had to be the filthiest thing she had ever done. Not that sex with Mingyu had been vanilla but he was never too rough and he certainly didn’t face fuck her. An act that had y/n a moaning mess as Yunho thrusted into her mouth, spit collecting at the corners of her mouth. Her moans and gags making him thrust faster.

Fuck if Yunho knew she was gonna feel this good, Kim Mingyu and Coach be damned, he would have pursued her that first day he saw her. His hand gripped tighter in her hair, pupils blown as he watched her deep throat him, gagging on his length.

He almost felt bad that Mingi was missing out.

Almost.

“Come here” Yunho pulled his dick out of her mouth, y/n breathing heavily, gasping and using a hand to wipe at the tears on her flushed cheeks. She allowed Yunho to help her up, his mouth crashing against hers, tongue darting out to taste himself. He wanted to drop to his own knees and eat her pussy until she was a mess but he had been waiting almost four years for this so decided to save her cumming on his tongue for another time. Because there will certainly be another time.

“I need to be inside you right fucking now.” He panted against her lips and y/n whined, her clit aching, her pussy completely soaked. “Then fucking do it.”

Yunho didn’t have to be told twice. He picked her up, setting her on his bed and yanked the black tank top over his head leaving himself completely naked. Y/N herself was still fully clothed and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t gotten to even touch her yet.

Y/N took in Yunho’s muscles and lean torso and the abs he had gained from years of playing football. He looked so fucking perfect she moaned. “Please take my clothes off?” She practically begged, needing to be just as bare as him. Yunho moved quickly, dragging her shorts down her perfect legs, stopping here and there to leave an open mouth kiss against her. It was him who moaned now at seeing the sopping wet patch on her white cotton panties.

He used one hand to slip inside her aching core, two of his fingers diving easily inside of her from how wet she was. How wet she was for him. Y/N cried out as he finger fucked her all while using his other hand to remove the rest of her clothes, unclasping her bra expertly and then his mouth was pulling one of her perked nipples into his mouth, slipping a third finger inside her, stretching her to be ready for him.

“Look at you…” Yunho pulled his mouth away from her breast “you’re already so fucked out just from my fingers” y/n moaned loudly as he applied pressure to her clit with his thumb still thrusting his fingers inside her, grinning like a mad man when he found her spot, that magnificent little spongey spot deep inside her that had her cling to him and start sobbing as she came, orgasm ripping through her and shaking as clear liquid sprayed Yunho’s arm where he let his fingers to continue to fuck her through it.

“Oh my god you’re a fucking squirter” he said it as if he just discovered the greatest treasure in the world. “I’m… what?” Y/N was breathing heavy, barely catching her breath or understanding what the hell he was so amazed by. “You’ve never squirted before, have you?” OH! If he ever saw Kim Mingyu again he’d have to refrain himself from rubbing it in his face.

Y/N watched Yunho get up and walk over to the desk that sat in the middle the room in front of a curtained window. “Fucking Wooyoung.” He used all the condoms again. “As much as I want nothing more than to fuck you until you’re squirting on my dick right now, I don’t have a condom.” He was gonna kill Wooyoung.

“I’m on the pill.”

Her words caused him to freeze, blinking and brain short circuiting at what she was implying. She was gonna let him fuck her raw. Yunho had never fucked anyone raw before. Never came inside anyone. He was suddenly nervous because he wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to last. “You sure?”

“Please”

He was on her in seconds, maneuvering her to where she was on top of him, gripping her waist and guiding her to help her sink on his length, choked sob leaving y/n as he stretched her and a literal fucking whine leaving Yunho as he felt her so tight and warm and wet around his naked dick.

“Yunho…” y/n moaned his name, needing to move but he was gripping her waist, holding her in place with his eyes closed. “Just give me a minute.” He was trying not to cum like a fucking virgin but the feel of himself balls deep inside her raw was proving to make that difficult.

The moment he opened his eyes, the sight of y/n eager to ride him pulled a guttural moan from him and then he was moving, gripping her waist so hard that it would probably bruise but y/n didn’t care as he lifted his knees to brace himself so he could pound up into her, lewd noises echoing in the room mixed with their moans and y/n cries. “You feel so fucking good…. gonna let me fill you up… watch my cum drip out of you”

“Fuck!” Y/N cried out, his dirty words causing her to clench her walls around him, second orgasm ready to rip through her. She could no longer hold herself up, Yunho sitting up to hold her as she came, clamping around his dick with a vice grip, creaming on him and once again squirting uncontrollably. He lifted her off of him, replacing his dick momentarily with his fingers once again, fucking her fast through her orgasm, the wet slopping sounds something straight from a porno.

“Yunho…. I can’t…” y/n was overstimulated he pulled his hand away and flipping them over, pulling her legs open, wrapping them around his waist as he pushed his dick back inside her, fucking her at a fast pace, his own orgasm so close as y/n was an incoherent mess below him.

He came harder then he thought was possible, painting her white inside, still thrusting, sloppy now, as he buried his face into the crook of her neck, gripping the sheets with his hands, moaning loudly in her ear followed by a whimper as y/n clenched around him, her sensitive and swollen clit being rubbed by his pelvis flushed against her pulling one last orgasm from her.

Yunho was breathing hard, dick still inside her, stopping his cum from leaking out as he lay on her, y/n hands tangled in his hair, playing with the short strands absentmindedly as they both came down from their highs.

Now Yunho really did feel bad for Mingi missing out.

Almost.

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tag list: @straycat420 @vtyb23 @saintriots @minkysmilk @gigikubolong29 @midnightrebel1028 @whyismingi @atzlordz

[fuckedupfate]

⭑𓂅 . ☘︎ ܁˖ ﹕ SAFETY NET.  

leading roles ﹕ dean winchester , f!reader

notices ﹕ swearing dean trying to ignore the fact he's in love fluff author's entry ﹕ this has been in my wip folder for WAY too long, but it's now here! made this while listening to safety net by ariana grande over and over again (i think i listened to it at least forty [maybe fifty] times) so i could get the vibe correct. so let's pray it helped and worked.

it isn't a secret that dean has trouble opening up, letting someone in. especially when that someone is of romantic interest. someone who he looks at and he feels his heart skip a beat, shoulders relax, expression soften. something he hasn’t felt for so long. and he wasn't even aware of it until he caught himself looking at you for longer than a second. or two. he looked at you for ten seconds. admiring you, head tilted to the right, eyes full of admiration, affection, and.. love? love? dean winchester looked at someone with love in his eyes? he was shocked himself, going into a deep rabbit hole of confusion and fear that he, for once in years, was falling in love. 

but he was. as much as he wanted to fight it, wanted to deny it and push it away, it was there. even if he hated it to be true. love. it was there. every time he looked at you. of course, he cared for you. of course he cared, and got worried, when you were hurt. or upset. or something happened. it didn't mean anything that he always felt inclined to help you. to grab anything that was out of your reach, to make sure you came out of fights unscathed, or without any major injuries. he’d hate himself if he let you get hurt. 

he saw the way sam looked at him after he, too, saw dean zone out while watching you. he saw it. the way sam raised a brow, gave him the ‘what was that about?’ look after dean—may have—gone a little overboard about you not getting hurt or putting yourself into a dangerous situation. he knew sam knew. he knew that sam saw the way he looked at you with complete and utter affection. softness. care. love. that fucking word again. love. he hated that he felt this way. he couldn’t get attached to you—no, he couldn't. because he knows how it’ll end. like it always does—you’ll be targeted. you’ll be hurt. killed. taken away from him. like everyone else he's ever loved, or decided to get close to. so he always chooses to never get close—even if he wants to. especially with you. 

but you’ve got him hooked, lined, and sinkered. despite all of his worries, fears, and paralysation, he was falling further and further. falling into a love with someone where there wasn’t a safety net for him to land into. there was no surface. no landing point. no stop. not even a pit stop. each and every day—without his permission—he finds himself slipping. falling at a speed faster than light and sound itself. getting sucked in by every single thing about you. your smile. your eyes. your hair. how you hold yourself. your confidence. every.single.thing. he tries, so desperately, to push you away, to keep you at arms length. not wanting you to get close to him. because he’ll be responsible if something happens to you. for if you get hurt. physically, emotionally, and mentally. every single way. he could scar you. lash out and hurt you. make you never want to get close to him ever again. he could lose you. you. and he won’t be able to save you, won’t be able to keep you safe, won’t be able to make sure nothing ever hurts you. and he hates it. it’s so unfair—and he’s the first man to ever know about unfairness. it’s his life. every thing in it. 

he’s unfair. cursed. 

he sits at the the table inside the bunker’s library, scrolling aimlessly on his laptop, searching for some sort of crisis which has happened so he and sam could potentially have a case on their hands. it’s been quite quiet lately within the supernatural world, so he doubts there’ll be anything. just as he’s roaming through the different websites and news outlets for anything, he hears footsteps. not heavy ones like sam’s, or ones that sound like cass’, no. they’re softer, more quiet, calculated. they’re your footsteps. he can tell. and as soon as he knows that you’re walking towards the library, his heart quickens without his permission, breath hitching slightly, and his mind races with what to say if you talk to him. 

a small smile graces your lips as you catch sight of dean. “whatcha doing?” you ask, head tilting to the right ever so slightly as you continue to walk, walking closer to him before you’re sitting down across from him at the table. shit. you’re sitting down too? his mind races, clearing his throat slightly to make sure his voice sounds as normal as he can make it. “just.. looking for a sign of any cases.” dean responds, voice even and sounding as it always does, but perhaps it’s a little softer? hopefully you don’t catch onto it. but what is he thinking? of course you’ll be able to hear it. damnit. 

“find anything?” you ask simply. and god it’s such a simple question, but for him? everything you say is more than simple. everything to him is a gateway for his brain to ramble with thoughts, for his body to fill with different feelings and emotions, for his heart to quicken, and for his eyes to glisten with admiration whenever he looks at you. fuck. fuckfuckfuckfuck. he gulps slightly, managing a small, rugged nod. “yeah—yeah.” it’s a complete lie, and when he catches that, he’s quick to backtrack. “no. no. actually. no. i didn’t. nothing out there, apparently.” he so badly wants to look at you, so badly wants to admire you, see the way your eyes are on him, see the way you’re looking at him. not sam. not some random person. him. but he doesn’t. he can’t. not with how he’s acting. not with how his heart is pounding and rushing blood quickly throughout his veins. 

he doesn’t see it, but he swears he feels the way your eyebrow raises at his response, at how quick he had spoken. he swears he can feel the way you’re letting your gaze flick over him, skeptical on what is going on with him, because he knows he is acting odd. acting differently to his usual self. get it together, dean. “..right.” you finally say, voice laced with skepticism and confusion, maybe even a hint of amusement. “and.. everything’s alright?” you ask, head tilting to the right slightly as your gaze remains on him. 

his heart skips another beat—which is like the fourth time in the few minutes you’ve been sitting there with him. he takes a beat of a moment before nodding slightly, clearing his throat once again and offering you his, watered down version of, signature smirk once he’s—finally—glanced up from the laptop screen and met your eyes. “perfectly fine, sweetheart.” he manages, ignoring the way his heart drops to his stomach when his eyes meet yours. 

you let out a quiet huff of amusement, nodding slightly as the corners of your lips twitch up into a small smile. you don’t push it, even if you can feel that there’s something off with him. “alright.” you hum and slowly get up from the wooden seat you have been sitting at, tapping the table with your fingertips before walking away and out of the library. 

and once you’re gone, it feels as though a weight has been lifted off of his chest, finally allowing for a normal amount of air to enter his lungs. finally allowing for his heart to slow down and go back to normal. finally allowing him to breathe. finally allowing for his brain to quiet, but not as much, because he can still smell the lingering scent of your perfume. the lingering presence. your voice echoing inside his mind. fucking hell. 

as you’re sat in the backseat of baby, talking with sam, dean is sat in the driver’s seat—driving, of course—but his mind is elsewhere. focusing on how your voice sounds. how he can smell your perfume. how he can hear the soft riffling of book pages from the book sat on your lap, which he found that you fiddle with mindlessly whenever you’re not reading it. in all honesty, the sound of sam’s voice is just a background sound in his mind, muffled and deafened by the workings of his mind, so he can completely focus on yours and yours alone. even if he doesn’t mean to. even if he doesn’t want to. 

he can feel you lean forwards, leaning into the front of the car’s space, arm reaching over in sam’s direction, trying to grab ahold of the bag which sits in his lap. keep it together. together, dean. keep.it.together. he forces his eyes to not stray from in front of him, from off the road before them. he hears the rustling of the paper takeout bag, hears you protest against sam’s disapproval of trying to grab the bag, hearing the quiet laughs which come from you. he then hears the sound of victory you make when you’re successful in grabbing the bag, laughing at sam and beginning to eat the fries which are inside. much to sam’s (faux) annoyance. on the road. keep your eyes on the road. 

eventually, the impala comes to a stop outside of the outer entrance of the bunker. sam moves, opening his door and getting out, the door shutting shortly after. along with your own door. dean is quick to get out, watching sam walk down the steps and to the door, and he stops you before you can. “wait—” he manages to get out, gently grabbing your wrist, causing you to turn and look at him. calm and collected, dean. ease it out. 

you quickly glance down to his hand wrapped around your wrist, but you quickly avert your gaze back up to his eyes. you tilt your head, raising a singular brow at him. “mm?” you hum out, looking at him confused and expectantly. 

he takes a shaky inhale, glancing away for a moment. don’t be an idiot. god, don’t do this. just.. “i—fuck.” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair before letting it fall back down to his side. this is such a bad idea. push her away, go inside. don’t do this. he can’t bring himself to meet your eyes, afraid of what your expression will be like, even if it’ll be the softest expression ever. he can’t bring himself to do it. he can’t look at you. it’ll just make everything harder. make speaking harder. make his heart beat quicker. make his mind ramble on quicker. “i just—i—” he’s never felt like this. well, sure, he’s felt his heart be like this before, and his head, and the blood rushing through his veins, and the hardness of breathing. yes, of course he’s felt like this. but this is more than he’s felt. more than he’s ever felt with his not so little crush on you. he doesn’t even think he can call it a crush. it’s like an obsession. a need. a longing. he yearns for you. 

what makes it worse is that you don’t speak. you haven’t said anything. it’s as if you’re trying to let him take his time, let him do all the speaking. he doesn’t know if he hates that or if he’s grateful for it. he’s on a line of confusion. at a stop in the road, and he can only go one of two ways. tell you how he feels, tell you the truth. risk getting closer to you. risk being with you. or he can lie, say something about something random. ignore his feelings. risk not being with you. risk never being able to touch you. risk never being able to feel your love, feel your softness. feel your lips against his. 

“i need you with me.” he manages to blurt out, words quick but sincere. and it’s easy for you to see that he is being sincere, you can see it in his averted gaze, on his face, in his tone of voice. your expression softens, though your confusion doesn’t disappear exactly. “i’ve—i’ve been—” he stumbles over his words, unable to figure out how he’s supposed to tell you how exactly he feels. he’s never been a sharer, never been one to be vulnerable, never been one to tell a woman that he wants to be with her. that he needs her to be with him. “i can’t let you go. i—i can’t—you feel good with me. i feel good around you. i’ve tried to ignore it. tried to ignore how i felt. but fuck. you’ve got me feeling things i have never felt. you’ve got me thinking things i’ve never thought about. and i’m terrified. i’m scared of what i feel. of what i want to do. of what i want between us.” 

he knows he’s oversharing, but he’s started and now he can’t stop. everything he has been keeping inside, locked and shoved away, never allowing to escape the depths of his mind. it’s all coming out, all at once. and he can’t stop. 

“i’ve tried to avoid it. tried to convince myself that it’s all in my head, and i feel as though it is. i—” he cuts himself off, exhaling quietly. “i don’t know how to do this. all i know is that i want to do this. i want to be with you.” 

after a few moments of silence between you and him, after you’ve stayed silent for some time, he finally dares to let his eyes drift over to you. finally allowing for his eyes to meet yours. to see the expression on your face. to see the way you’re looking at him. 

he sees your lips part, and both relief and dread wash over him. he’s scared. what if you don’t feel the same way? what if he has just blurted out all of his feelings, all for you to say you don’t think that about him? what if you don’t want him back? his fear, heavy and poisonous, fills his veins. freezing his blood, making his heart stop. 

“it’s not in your head.” you say. words and voice soft. truthful. sincere. not at all a lie, nor a cruel joke you’re wanting to play on him. but he has second guesses. concerns. doubts. and you see that, feel it rolling off of him in large waves. “it’s real, dean.” you add on, in hopes to reassure him. in hopes that he relaxes and trusts you. “i feel the same way. i’ve felt scared too. worried that this won’t go well if i let it happen. worried that i’ll tell you too late and you’ll have moved on from me.” your words are so impactful. to him, they’re more than a simple confession. it’s an arrow into his heart, allowing for the fear which froze over him to break and thaw. letting his heart beat, blood rush through his veins. 

he finds himself stepping closer to you, his hand which he forced to stay by his side finally moving. finally drifting up and pressing against the soft, warm skin of your cheek. he lets himself feel. for the first time for years. he just takes you in. takes in the feeling of your skin beneath his. takes in the warmth and comfort which washes over him. takes in how much he truly feels for you. 

“never let me run away.” he all but whispers. voice soft within the silence of the night, mixing in with the soft breeze which is felt against skin, brushing through hair. “i won’t.” you whisper back, giving him a wave of hope to wash over. a small smile now tugging at his lips. 

his lips then meet yours. soft, warm, safe. beginning to feel the same thing he’s been dreaming of ever since he started falling down the abyss of love. he doesn’t ever want that safety net to come. he wants to let himself fall so far down the way that he can’t get back out. that he can’t let himself push you away and run. 

tag, you're it ﹕ @littlesoulshine @h8aaz @multiversefanfics @blossomingorchids ⟆ transportation ! ∿ quickie back to the hub ∿ be in charge of a fic! ∿ join the game of tag!

[after-witch]

Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: Mahito doesn't like that you have an interest in a book character.

Word count: 1787

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of other people being tortured/killed, supreme self indulgence of the highest order

“Who is the smiling man?” 

The silence that had existed between the two of you was broken by a question that made you flinch. Well, why not? Mahito has been quiet all morning--and afternoon, actually, which perhaps should have startled you more than his sudden words. 

But you were too happy to enjoy some quiet (you would never say “peace and quiet,” not down here, not with him); all too happy to curl up in your haphazard nest on the floor with some books that took  you away from this place. Away from Mahito.

Who was, of course, still here. Lounging in his hammock with a pile of books sagging down the netting. 

You couldn’t tell exactly what he was reading from down here--you probably needed new glasses, a subject you were certainly not going to bring up with Mahito, who might reiterate his offer to “fix” your eyes. It looked like a bundle of pages stapled together. Maybe he went to the library and printed off obscure articles to read again. 

“Hey,” he calls down, and the first hint of worry begins to prickle on your arms at his uncharacteristically serious tone, “Answer me.”

Your mind stutters, tries to put one word in front of the other, and make sense of it all. 

The smiling man? The smiling man, the… ah. From Small Spaces. The otherworldly supernatural entity who lives in a world behind mist and has a penchant for making deals with people for their greatest wishes. 

It’s not your fault that you haven’t thought about him in ages. It’s not like you had copies of your books with you, and the fun you had with imagining him in an endless number of scenarios had fallen by the wayside considering your circumstances. 

It’s hard to daydream about worlds behind mist and cornfield servants when you’re watching people be turned into grotesque experiments that had them, sometimes quite literally and loudly, begging for death.

Mahito is looking down at you now, staring expectantly. 

“He’s a character,” you say, fidgeting on the floor. “From a book series.” You look down, flip a page in your book, although you haven’t finished reading the last one, and ask, casually as you can muster: “Why?”

Mahito, up above, flips a page. You can hear the wobble in the paper--not a bound book, that’s for certain. And there’s some low, primal sense that shivers through you which says, plainly, that he’s actually reading whatever’s in front of him. 

“You write about him a lot.”

Oh.

Low, slimy dread filters into your stomach. Thick and gelatinous, resting at the bottom of your belly like an unwanted slug. 

“I… don’t know what you mean,” you say, voice only half-there, because while you are apparently stupid enough to lie to Mahito’s face, you’re not stupid enough to think he’ll believe you. 

You are just stupid enough to think that he won’t know exactly how deep your interest in this particular character goes; before Mahito took you, you thought about him all the time. You’d take walks and daydream about him, write story after story; you’d even commissioned fanart of him, because it wasn’t like there was a plethora of fanart for a character from a middle grade horror book. 

Mahito huffs out a sigh. Quick and short, it sends a shock right down your stomach. 

“Get you a man,” he starts, and confusion buzzes through your brain until he continues. “Who is an otherworldly entity that is so petty when an 11 year old beats him that he traps her in another world, leaving her to a fate worse than death, and laughs until he cries about it.”

You wrote that. There’s a vague memory of when you posted it--after you’d taken a walk, you think, and reread your favorite parts in the books for a few hours. But the way Mahito says it makes it sound--you don’t know how to explain it. Like saying the words out loud almost pains him; they come out clipped and bitter. 

Bitter? But why?

He doesn’t stop there. He reads something else, voice getting higher, almost mocking the way you talk. And that bitterness is still there, a thread continuing through every syllable.

“What if we kissed in the corn maze before you turned me into a scarecrow servant whose soul slowly gets dried out and useless and in the end you feed it, crunchy and tasteless, to your hellhound.” 

He takes a breath. Then--

“One particular aspect of the Smiling Man’s cruelty that I truly adore is that he can make people feel understood. He can make them feel like he cares, like he’s lending a listening ear, like he’s wanting to help them out and make them feel nice.”

Another breath--and he continues, again and again, reading your posts. Quoting your stories. Listing off the titles, the imagine posts, everything you’ve said about him.

All the while, bitter and mocking, his voice raising now and then in an imitation of your own. 

Then he gets to the last page of his clearly self-created tome and stares down at you, waiting, expectant. 

And you… you actually glare up at him. 

Because you're scared, sure. You’re always scared in some way, when you’re with Mahito. But there’s something else too, something that digs its way out of the rot in your gut and sticks up a petulant middle finger.

How dare he do this. How dare he take something that was yours and make it his; put it in his mouth and sneer over it. 

“Have you been--” Your mouth sticks together, refusing to let you accuse him of what you know he’s been doing. Stalking your online profiles. “That’s… that’s private,” is what you finally mutter, cheeks feeling hot and that half-buried petulance pushing you forward. “It’s not any of your business.” 

“Private?” He mutters the word softly, cradling the sound.

And then--

Mahito doesn’t often move fast around you. He prefers to be slow, languid. Calculating. You think it’s because that terrifies you more.

But now, in a moment, he goes from being slouched in his hammock to leaping down and crouching right in your face--there’s sudden pain in your head, and you realize he’s grabbed your hair and yanked it back.

That metaphorical middle finger sinks back down into the slimy gut sludge.

“Not from me,” he says, low, a warning. “Not for you.”

This is all it takes for tears to prick inside your eyes.

Mahito’s lips quirk up. Just a little. Just enough for you to notice.

“You’re going to cry already? I didn’t even do anything.”

Your eyes dart up and back, towards where he’s currently gripping your hair hard enough for it to sting.

He sighs through his nose. “This isn’t anything. You know that. Don’t be childish now.”

But--he lets go of your hair, and doesn’t grab for you when you scoot backwards on your blanket nest. Instead, he plops himself down, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his elbow.

You don’t speak. You don’t want to, and you don’t know what to say. Sometimes it’s better to be quiet around Mahito, so he doesn’t get ideas. Although he comes up with them on his own just fine, even if you try to stay silent.

It’s Mahito who breaks the silence.

“Why do you like him so much?”

How silly, to feel embarrassed right now. With the creature in front of you, and what he can do. But that’s what makes your cheeks burn: embarrassment. 

“I don’t know,” you mumble, because while you are stupid in so many ways, you’re still smart enough to know he wants an answer. “I guess I just like antagonist characters sometimes.” Well, most of the time. But it’s better to keep that from Mahito, if you can.

Mahito’s lips quirk here and there while he thinks. Then he looks at you with something like genuine confusion.

“You say that you like how awful he is. The awful things he does. So…” He tilts his head a little. “You should like me. Right?”

Your fingers pick at the loose threads of your clothes. Your eyes don’t meet his entirely--they flick up and down, from your legs to his face. 

“It’s not the same thing,” is what you come up with. But how to explain that to a curse?

Mahito frowns. 

“I don’t understand.” No bitterness, no pouting. A simple statement of fact.

“He’s not real.” You swallow against the minefield that all of this is making you step through, hoping you’ll avoid them. “But you are. That makes it different.” 

Mahito leans forward, grabbing your wrists, pulling you closer to him with a yanking, childish gesture.

“So you should like me more,” he says, a slight pout in his tone. “Because I can really do those things.” His eyebrows raise, and you swear you can hear a buzzing light bulb go off. “I could turn someone into a scarecrow for you.” He smiles, sudden, excited. “Do you want me to find some school children to torment?”

“No!” Your voice cracks. There are brief images in your mind--the people he’s tortured and killed, experimented with, before you were here and while you’re here and probably after you’re dead and gone--and you shake them away. 

Mahito’s eyebrows furrow. He groans and rolls his eyes backwards until they are entirely white, not in mockery or an attempt to scare you, but in irritation. Fingers squeeze your wrists briefly and let go, and you stay quiet, trying to fight your urge to cry, until Mahito slowly rolls his eyes back to stare at you.

His gaze flicks over you, until he catches your eyes with his. 

“You won’t write about him anymore.”

You don’t take a moment to answer this time.

“I won’t.”

“You won’t read those books anymore.”

“I won’t,” you stay. “I haven’t. I--don’t even have copies anymore.”

Mahito smiles, a little. Maybe it’s a good thing you never asked him to find you a copy, a thought which had been a brief temptation a while back.

And then he leans in closer again, until his nose touches yours.

“You won’t think about him anymore,” he says, quiet, solemn. Not an order but a matter of fact. 

You don’t answer. You swallow against a bitter taste in  your throat; you swear, sometimes, that the sludge in your gut is real and tries to make its way out sometimes.

Mahito presses his nose against yours until it starts to hurt.

“You won’t,” he says again, this time more to himself. “I’ll make sure of it.”

[slytherinshua]

DID WE JUST FALL IN LOVE ?

genre. fluff. meet cute. warnings. reader owns fish. profanity. reader's thoughts are in italics. the number in this is completely made up btw i just thought of random numbers ksjdks. not proofread. pairing. leehan x fem!reader. wc. 762. request. requested by @lxvemaze. a/n. i literally wrote this like in 30 min IDK IT JUST CLICKED SKDJKSD. i love leehan. net. @onedoornet

You let out a satisfied sigh as the library doors slid open for you. It had been days since you had placed a request for a fish carebook from your local library, and finally it had come in today. Googling what to do to help your new pet angelfish wasn’t giving you the answers you needed. You were nearly positive that your sweet little baby was getting bullied by your tiger barbs, and weren’t sure what to do. You had already transferred her to a separate smaller tank until you read up on what to do, and you hoped desperately that the library had the fish guide you were looking for.

You scanned the shelves, fingers running across the spines of the manuals in the animal section: aquatic guides. Huffing, you let your eyes draw up to the shelf above, failing to find the care book for injured fish. You should’ve bought a copy when you first became a fish parent, but you hadn’t expected there to be so little answers online for your specific problem. 

With brightened eyes, you spotted the spine of the book you wanted; blue and purple swirling colours on the cover just as you remembered. The Care and Keeping of Angelfish: A Beginner’s Guide. You reached out to grab it, only to collide with someone’s else's hand instead.

“Sorry!” You quickly apologised, retracting your hand bowing your head slightly. Your eyes drew up to the man whose hand you had bumped, now holding the book you needed. Worry flooded your brain— you needed that book. You had already waited days for it. Leaving without it would mean more days blindly giving your angelfish medicine without a proper answer. 

But, as you finally focused on the man’s face, suddenly your fish situation was the last thing on your mind. You blinked, almost as if to see if you were really seeing things correctly. Did you just run into an angel at the library?

“No, I’m sorry— I should’ve seen you reaching for it. Here.” He stumbled over his words, awkwardly handing you the manual. You could barely focus on anything except his face. He was so… beautiful. 

“You’re… really hot…” You whispered. Realising what you had just let out, your cheeks burned and you turned around hurriedly. With the book in your hand and embarrassment pouring down on you like a ton of bricks, you scurried over to the checkout. Scanning your library card and the book, you tried to get out as fast as possible before the man had time to question why you had just said that to him.

You groaned, the screen lagging a bit and not letting you press the ‘DONE’ button. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the flash of colour from the shirt he was wearing. Oh, fuck, he was coming back.

“Wait— you think I’m hot?” He asked, jogging up to the checkout where you were. 

Shit, now the cute guy knows of my existence. You froze, trying to think of an acceptable defense for your earlier words but coming up with absolutely nothing.

“Uh, I— It just slipped out— I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.” You rushed out, gripping the book tighter and wishing you could just sink into the floor. God, why did he have to be cute?

“You like fish? Right?” He cocked his head to the side, eyes focused on the book in your hand. You hesitantly nodded, realising that there was no way you could leave this conversation without seeming even ruder. 

“Yeah, I have some pet fish, actually, so…” You trailed off, pointing to the door, hoping that he would piece together that it was your way of saying you had to leave and go back to your fish.

“101-422-5730.” He interjected. 

“Huh?”

“101-422-5730. My number.” He repeated, “By the way, I don’t think putting your angelfish with tiger barbs was the best decision. They don’t like each other.” 

Your eyes widened. How did he…?

“How did you know that I have tiger barbs?” You blinked, wondering if this was what love felt like. Something about him felt… right. Maybe you didn’t regret your slip up before after all. He didn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest.

He shrugged, “You just seemed like you would.”

You reached for your phone in your back pocket. 101-422-5730… He watched you enter the numbers, finger hovering over the ‘contact name’ section.

“Kim Donghyun.” He supplied, giving you a small smile. Hell, even his smile is cute as fuck.

“Donghyun. I’ll… I’ll call you.”

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@nonononranghaee

[colinrobinsonscardigan]

A Needlessly Thorough Examination of Raphael’s Diary Entries

A close reading by ✨me✨

-

Raphael’s diary entries are, without a doubt, some of, if not my favourite piece of video game flavour text, ever. They provide far more depth to our encounters with him in the game, an insight into his horrible little brain, and detail his downfall in three acts.

This close reading seeks to pick apart the entries, and see what they allow us to glean about this evil doom-seeking-missile of a man, starting with…

ENTRY 1

“[A chapter from a diary penned in Raphael's sybaritic hand].”

So right off the bat, this one line does a lot. His handwriting being described as ‘sybaritic’ is delightful: it’s not just neat, it’s not just nice, it’s luxurious—this is no utilitarian affair. Raphael consistently surrounds himself with fine things, so it’s unsurprising his hand reflects this, he probably wrote all these entries with a silver-nibbed, peacock feather quill or something.

It’s also notable that it’s not ‘a sybaratic hand’ it’s Raphael’s: his handwriting is distinctive. As someone who wants to be king of the Hells, and then the entire multiverse, it’s unsurprising that he wouldn’t want his handwriting to get mixed up with anyone else’s.

Lastly, this sets up a clear precedent for what Raphael’s handwriting normally looks like.


“While I have (over many a sumptuous season) cast the net of my contractual predilections both far and wide, never have I been so attracted to mortals as I am to those infested by the tadpole.”

First of all, and most obviously, his choice of words really is something: “sumptuous”, “contractual predilections”, as with his dialogue Raphael writes like he swallowed a thesaurus. Notable, however, is that this is a diary: this is private, he isn’t speaking like this to impress someone.

Whilst I do think Raphael likes to think of himself as a bit of an intellectual, it also alludes to his love of words. He’s constantly reciting poetry (his, perhaps?), Yurgir’s contract takes the form of a song, he has a giant fully stocked library. It’s showy, obviously, but I do think it displays an earnest passion for language.

This is furthered by the consideration for how his writing sounds. The sibilance (I got my Nat 5 English!) in “sumptuous season” especially displays obvious intention in regards to sound, perhaps shared by the repeated ‘ck’ sound in “contractual predilections”. This all serves to reinforce that Raphael’s love for poetry and music is more than just for appearances.

This is firmly headcanon territory, but I do wonder if Raph’s preference for poetry, music, and plays (see his frequent references to theatre), which are usually spoken aloud, are an attempt to distance himself from his father, Mephistopheles, who is basically Hell’s No 1 Wizard, and therefor almost certainly a book-guy.

Second of all, in terms of the actual things that he’s saying, Raphael essentially conveys that he finds those infected by mind flayer tadpoles unusually interesting, which I think is indicative of Raphael’s love of struggle.

He finds Hope fascinating because she’ll never bend to his will; he outright says Act 1 “I like it when my clients out up a fight, only to realise victory was never an option”; he picks up Mol and rejects Voss in Act 2, yes, because Mol is desperate and Voss has little to offer, but I suspect it’s in part because he respects Mol’s struggle, and objects to Voss’ pursuit of what he sees as an easy answer. He won’t even let you make a contract with him following his offer in Act 1! Dude this is literally your job!!!

So yes, undoubtedly the reason he finds the victims of ceremorphosis so interesting is because they are struggling against the inevitable. I also, and this is purely headcanon, wonder if this reflects the belief that he has set himself apart from his father and forged his own path, rather than accepting his nepo-baby status. Who knows!

This section also sets up the fishing metaphor he uses consistently through his diary entries, because of course he has an allegorical through-line in his own private diary.


“These particular fish find themselves splashing towards their doom, towards a steel hook unblemished by bait. How they resist the current! How inexorable its whelm, its tug, its dark undertow! At the other end of the fishing pole, the illithid. How their tentacles must quiver like cooled jelly at the prospect of more catches: more and more each day along the troubled riverbank. This process has a name I sample now aloud, to saver its taste: Ceremorphosis.”

Minor notes: the alliteration in “unblemished by bait”, and Raphael’s remark that “I sample now aloud, to saver its taste” do continue to emphasise his love of performed language.

“These particular fish find themselves splashing towards their doom, towards a steel hook unblemished by bait.” I would assume this is a reference to the fact that in order to take/corrupt mortal’s souls and take them to the Hells so they can become Devils themselves, Devils must make deals. This isn’t something illithids must do.

“How they resist the current! How inexorable its whelm, its tug, its dark undertow!” Continues Raphael’s delight in struggle.

“At the other end of the fishing pole, the illithid. How their tentacles must quiver like cooled jelly at the prospect of more catches: more and more each day along the troubled riverbank.” I feel that Raphael’s choice of “cooled jelly”, a slightly gross sounding comparison, does betray some level of disgust, disdain, or even just plain weirding-out at the notion of illithids. Remember, this the same man who brought us “sumptuous seasons”, he could have gone with something more appealing.

I personally just think he finds them icky, but maybe he’s trying to place them beneath himself: ‘yes, you kind of do the same thing I do, and maybe you do it in a more efficient manner, but I’m a lot cooler about it’. Who knows?

“I shall make crafty use of this development.”

Not much to say besides “crafty” definitely fitting with his perception of himself as a fox*: a cunning, resourceful creature. Raphael in general has an extremely high view of himself (sometimes to slightly deluded extremes) so this reinforces it, and I think it’s kind of funny.

*when Raphael meets the player, he recites the poem

“The mouse smiled brightly, it outfoxed the cat

Then down came the claw, and that, love, was that.”

If asked whether he’s the cat or the mouse, Raphael will answer ‘the fox’.


“For with the hook glinting, and death so close, what could loom larger in the stricken fish's mind than the prospect of rescue?”

So, amongst Raphael’s fixations, another which stands out maybe a little less but once you see it you can’t unsee it, is his love of perceiving himself as a saviour. He describes himself as “helper of the hopeless and despairing”, even here he picks ‘rescue’ over say ‘help’, which I (subjectively) feel has less knight in shining armour connotations. And of course let us not forget the ever-iconic "Am I a friend? Potentially. An adversary? Conceivably. A saviour? Now that's for certain".

To be absolutely clear, this is not a benevolent interest, getting people out of doomed situations is generally implied to be how he makes most of his contracts (including how he tries to, or does, make a contract with Tav). He is a saviour who takes complete and total advantage of those he “””saves”””. That said, idk, it’s an interesting thing for him to mention so frequently, and I wonder to what extent he believes it.

Still, for his possible misgivings regarding mindflayers, his final line confirms he finds ceremorphosis fascinating. “This process has a name I sample now aloud, to saver its taste: Ceremorphosis.” Perhaps because it’s very different to what do Devils, undoubtedly a little because he enjoys the struggle against the inevitable, and because, to dip wayyyy back into headcanon territory, I think it’s an erasure of the self that he finds morbidly fascinating.

Ceremorphosis, an assimilation into a hive-mind, stands starkly against the sort of prideful individualism that Raphael revels in. He wants to be King of the Hells! He wants to be the saviour! He wants to be the specialist little boy that ever lived! But becoming a mindflayer wipes out who you were, links you up to a collective consciousness, and makes you identical, cookie-cutter, incapable of going against the grain. You cannot be Hell’s specialist little boy if everyone else is just as special as you.

I think the idea of becoming a mindflayer scares him, but becaus it’s not happening to him, he finds it morbidly fascinating. It’s a bit like body horror having a tendency to appeal to those with negative/complicatef relationship with their own bodies, it’s seeing your worst fears played out whilst you’re totally safe. That said, where they did not actually turn Demi Moore into a horrible two-faced abomination for The Substance (as far as I’m aware) this is a real thing happening to real people, so it’s a little more fucked up that Raphael takes pleasure in it.

-

The only closing note I have on Entry 1, is that fishing as a choice of metaphor is important because it’s a very tranquil, very methodical form of hunting. You are not stalking your prey through the undergrowth, prey which has the chance to flee if they hear you, or you miss your shot; you are sitting back and luring your prey, and once it has bitten down on your hook it can thrash and thrash but is unlikely to get free. Fishing is even often regarded as a way to relax. This reflects the mindflayers’ and Raphael’s remove from their prey, and their relative positions of safety.

Uh, RIP king you would have loved Shakespeare.

———

ENTRY 2

Entry 2 is by far the weirdest, but it’s also probably my favourite. I will say that this whole entry, to my mind, is not supposed to tell a clear narrative (i.e. the fire represents Mephistopheles, the hooks represent his plans, etc. and when you slot those in you get a coherent story). I think it’s more representative of Raphael’s subconscious fears, and the forces he feels are acting upon him.

“[A chapter from a diary penned in Raphael's steady, imperious scrawl]”

Right in with entry 2, even before you’ve got the actual content, there’s an obvious tone difference from the previous entry. ‘Steady and imperious’ implies a lot less enjoyment than ‘sybaritic’. It’s a little more practical, there’s less flair, maybe even implying tension in the usually flamboyant cambion. ‘Scrawl’ is perhaps also a little less grandiose than ‘hand’ in terms of word choice. Still, it is collected: Raphael hasn’t gone off the deep end - yet.


“Last night I dreamt of a river. Waist-deep I waded it. Rusted hooks curled up from the water like the snaggled teeth of something ancient and diseased and submerged. The moon over the water cracked and fire flew out on the stubby wings of gormless insanely chirping chicks. They transformed into wriggling oblongs like sperm, yet by the time they hit the water they were fish with scales of orange and gold. There came a rushing sound, the dark water ablaze as if the fish were matches and the river a snake of oil. Approaching me out of the flames came the tadpole-infested. There was one among them who spoke for the rest. They gestured to the melting hooks, suddenly glanced my way, and in their face I saw they had the best of me.”

Because this paragraph is quite big, I’m going to go through it section by section for ease of reading. I would also like to point out the paragraph’s size as a possible indicator of Raphael’s descent. This is a man who delights in language, and takes pride in the way his diary is written: a structureless unburdening this not. Entry 1 has several, mostly even, short-ish paragraphs. This block of text evokes an unbroken stream of consciousness.

“Last night I dreamt of a river. Waist-deep I waded it.” These two sentences immediately place Raphael in the previous domain of the infected. Where before Raphael was the fisherman, casting his net, now he’s right in there with the fish. “Waist-deep” is also pretty deep, if you’re waist deep in a river, especially a fast moving one, you are very much at the mercy of the water. Does this represent that he feels he’s losing control over his situation? Mayhaps.

“Rusted hooks curled up from the water like the snaggled teeth of something ancient and diseased and submerged.” There are, I think, two main ways of interpreting this, but regardless this furthers Raphael being placed in the position of the fish (the en-tadpoled), no longer the hunter but the prey. Where before Raphael was either the fisherman, or a safe and removed observer, he is now in the shit with Tav and the gang. He is now in danger of being caught.

The first way of interpreting this line is that he has grown tangled in his own (and others’) metaphorical nets. He suspects (perhaps unconsciously, and almost certainly correctly if you’re rifling through his pockets) that Tav and Co, the increasingly powerful gaggle of oddballs, are going to turn against him.

He’s also battling with the Emperor, who has its own goals, and Most Certainly Does Not want Tav and Co making deals with Raphael, and is also actively subduing the threat of ceremorphosis, which was Raphael’s former point of leverage.

This also to say nothing of the rogue elements, like Gorthash and Helsik, whom Korilla accuses of spreading the word that Raphael has the Orphic hammer.

Raph may be beginning to wonder if he’s bitten off more than he can chew.

Speaking of chewing, based off Raphael’s allusion to “snaggeled teeth”, the other main interpretation I see is Raphael’s subconscious fear of being eaten. If you look in a crystal ball in the second floor of the Devil’s fee after you murder Raphael in his home, the Narrator informs you “*Within the ball you see Raphael, broken and bloody, dangling above the maw of the archdevil Mephistopheles, who is preparing to devour him.*”

Raphael’s mention of teeth could indicate this is a fate he already suspects will befall him if he fails, whether because it’s something Mephistopheles has threatened him with in the past, or because he’s seen the same fate befall others who incur his father’s wrath. It is notable that Mephistopheles is well known for killing those Devils in his court who threaten to exceed him, and it’s possible Larian feels that consumption is an appropriate execution method for a Devil as hungry for power as Mephistopheles.

I should clarify that I don’t think the hooks represent his father, rather that his choice to compare them to “snaggled teeth” indicates being eaten is one his mind (and not in a fun, sexy way!).

I think both these interpretations are valid. This whole entry is probably the most up to interpretation of all of them, and if you disagree with both these readings and/or have your own, please put it in the notes, I would love to hear.

“The moon over the water cracked and fire flew out on the stubby wings of gormless insanely chirping chicks. They transformed into wriggling oblongs like sperm, yet by the time they hit the water they were fish with scales of orange and gold. There came a rushing sound, the dark water ablaze as if the fish were matches and the river a snake of oil.”

This is a passage I am a little hard pushed to interpret, and I am certain other people are going to have different readings.

The chicks turned sperm, turned fish are almost certainly supposed to represent the tadpole infected, as indicated by the reference to fish (something Raphael previously compared the tadpole infected to in Entry 1) and sperm, something that the tadpoles do kind of resemble. The transformation from ‘gormless chicks’, a freshly hatched - flightless animal of little danger - to fish - something adapted to their marine environment- could perhaps represent Raphael’s fear that Tav and Co are growing more competent than he’d like.

I think that here fire implies Raphael’s own fears about his father. Mephistopheles is literally called the Lord of Hellfire, both for his fiery temper but also because one of the lates in Mephistopheles’ long line of arcane interests is hellfire. Mephista, the main city in Cania and where Mephistopheles resides is also often remarked upon for its warm, blazing hearths. Tldr, Mephistopheles is closely tied to fire, and it seems unlikely that Larian’s writers would have included such a prominent reference to fire without this in mind.

This doesn’t literally means that Raphael thinks Tav and Co are being aided by daddy-dearest, though Haarlep (gifted to Raphael by Mephistopheles) can end up a great ally to you in the House of Hope, rather that his father’s possible influence, or just his father in general, are on his mind.

Finally, the burning of the river is the transformation of his previously tranquil hunting grounds into something dangerous and volatile. Comparing the river to burning oil brings to mind a loss of control, something Raphael is averse to (before he fights Tav in the House of Hope he complains about their bringing chaos into his house). Raphael likes method, order, a fishing rod and bait, he doesn’t hunt his prey with oil and flame. His river no longer serves him.

“Approaching me out of the flames came the tadpole-infested. There was one among them who spoke for the rest. They gestured to the melting hooks, suddenly glanced my way, and in their face I saw they had the best of me.”

This section outright states Raphael’s fears of being bested. Out of the burning wreck of Raphael’s domain comes Tav and Co. The hooks (Raphael’s schemes and traps) are melting in the heat of the burning river. The leader, presumably Tav themself, has defeated him. This is Raphael’s worst-case scenario.


“In waking, my courage has firmed. I progress my plans for the tadpoled even now.

I am Raphael. I am not easily bested.”

For all the tomfoolery of the rest of the entry, these might be my favourite lines. Raphael dreams all of that, goes ‘nope! Not listening!’ and shoves it back down into the depths of his subconscious. No doubts to see here, folks! Because of course he is Raphael, and Raphael doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t fear, “retreat begets regret” as he once said to Mol, and he is not about to have his ambition checked.

“I am Raphael. I am not easily bested” is such a brazen display of arrogance, but paired with the entry we just read it feels more like he’s painting over the cracks. I don’t think that Raphael can admit the possibility of failing to himself, at least not consciously, but he’s kind of increasingly - though subconsciously - aware that it is a distinct possibility.

But also, he writes all of this down! For all his pomp at the end, he does not write ‘I had this really weird dream about a burning river but it probably means nothing lol. Anyway, here’s how my dastardly and most ingeniously constructed schemes are coming along.’ Raphael, is, in his own way beginning to doubt himself, which is fantastic because when you see him in the game he never comes across as anything less than 100% confident. He is bluffing, regardless of how much he would like to admit that to himself, and it adds a lot more depth to your encounters with him.

Fantastic! Peak flavour text! Amazing soup, Larian!

———

ENTRY 3

And so, this brings us finally onto Entry 3, and though I think Entry 2 is my favourite because I like my men pathetic and suffering, Entry 3 100% ends things with a bang.

“[The final chapter from a diary penned in Raphael's hand. Here and there his composed hand stiffens and moves erratically, as if he were by times seized by emotion both powerful and unexpected]”

This is it, folks! The culmination of our Raphael handwriting arc. Immediately, his hand is no longer ‘sybaritic’, not even ‘steady and imperious’ it is just his handwriting.

Furthermore, there is one thing Raphael seldom is (outside of brief bursts of quickly concealed anger) it is ‘erratic’. The handwriting and language in the first entry displays a level of care that goes into his diary, care which he has obviously been unable to maintain. Call this man officially ruffled. We have been told that Raphael is not his usual self.

“The plot thickens goes the aphorism - entirely inadequate. The plot mutates. It fluctuates. I have conceived no less than thirteen variations by which I might seize the Crown of Karsus. Yet in the tumult of this eternally flowing river of schemes, I, the most careful of fishermen, finds his catch elusive and difficult to wrangle. Even in cooperation such ambiguity and delicious surprise! But the hook has snagged, the doom of ceremorphosis has abated, yet they could not predict (could they? could they?) that in leaving behind the river they have in fact welcomed the fishbowl? I am master here. A prince of bargains cloaked like scarlet satin. All that hidden under sublimely obvious truths that cannot be discounted.”

Here again we get another large text block. Again, this diary is becoming less and less a leisure activity and more a confidante.


“The plot thickens goes the aphorism - entirely inadequate. The plot mutates. It fluctuates.” ‘Mutates’, ‘fluctuates’, these are not the words chosen by a man who is in control. ‘Mutates’ stands out especially because of its more organic connotations, the plot is alive and sick, something that undoubtedly does not appeal to the control-loving Raphael.

Also note the short sentences: these increase the tempo of the writing, like a quickening beat in music, as well as standing out as odd from the usually verbose Raphael. The staccato sentences convey a feeling of intensity, stress.

“I have conceived no less than thirteen variations by which I might seize the Crown of Karsus.” So we don’t know what Raphael’s typical number of contingencies is, but his use of “no less than” would seem to imply this is a lot for him. It could imply he is worried, and it could also be a form of self-reassurance - ‘I have devised so many ways by which I might gain the crown, surely I must succeed’ - I suspect it is a bit of both.

“Yet in the tumult of this eternally flowing river of schemes, I, the most careful of fishermen, finds his catch elusive and difficult to wrangle. Even in cooperation such ambiguity and delicious surprise!” He��s having difficulties, obviously, but Raphael of course delights in struggle, as he always does. I do think that Raphael found his battle for the Crown exciting, at least on a surface level, but I also suspect that this stroking of his own ego, describing himself as “the most careful of fishermen,” is similar to when he says he’s ‘not easily bested’ at the end of Entry 2. Yes, he believes it, he’s so far up his own arse he can probably see daylight again, but he’s also trying to reassure himself.

“But the hook has snagged, the doom of ceremorphosis has abated, yet they could not predict (could they? could they?) that in leaving behind the river they have in fact welcomed the fishbowl?” Raphael, at this point, sounds manic. “(could they? could they?)” marks the return of the short sentences, and also clearly expresses doubt: Raphael fears that he’s met his match. I’m also fairly certain the second ‘could’ should be capitalised, and if so, I feel that Raphael would have to be in a fairly dire state of mind to let slide poor punctuation.

His metaphors are also growing more strained. “in leaving behind the river they have in fact welcomed the fishbowl?” It gets his point across, but it’s not elegant, he’s stretching. Are you wanting Tav and Co as pets now, Raph? I thought you were hunting them.

This is also Raphael acknowledging that he has lost his original bargaining chip - the offer of saving Tav and Co from ceremorphosis - but he tries to reassure himself that they’re out of the frying pan and into the fire.

“I am master here. A prince of bargains cloaked like scarlet satin. All that hidden under sublimely obvious truths that cannot be discounted.”

See here the further boasting. This is Raphael at his most nervous, and it’s also when he’s the most self-aggrandising. He wouldn’t feel the need to clarify that he’s the ‘master’, that he’s in control, if he didn’t feel that control slipping. If you heard someone describe themself as “A prince of bargains cloaked like scarlet satin.” you would laugh, because it is a fundamentally ridiculous thing to say about yourself, and yet here he is, committing it to paper.

Having “All that hidden under sublimely obvious truths that cannot be discounted.” as a separate sentence is possibly for rhythmic reasons, but given the subject hasn’t changed, it should grammatically speaking definitely just be the same sentence as ‘scarlet satin’. Raphael’s punctuation has taken a wee bit of a nose-dive, which is absolutely deliberate. It is also a second, fundamentally ridiculous thing to say about oneself. On all levels possibly including physical, Raphael is white-knuckle gripping the bathroom sink as he goes through the world’s most absurd list of daily affirmations.


“So the fisherman reels! The tadpoled are my catch. Struggle as they might, writhe as they wish, flop and squirm and thresh with every ounce of strength, no matter.”

Return of the fishing metaphor, but Raphael has presumably dropped his previous ‘fishbowl’ comparison, unless we are to believe he’s casting his line into a fish-tank. There are two short sentences, followed by one very broken up one, which serves to ratchet up the tempo and tension before the final line. Raphael continues to try and convince himself of the inevitability of his victory, because surely he can’t fail.


“By all the reeking flames of Hell I will not be denied.”

What a closing line. Were I more trite, I might be tempted to call this bratty: to be clear, I do not believe he was spoilt by Mephistopheles, but his initial station as son of the Lord of the Eighth must have earned Raphael a certain level of entitlement, and the sheer magnitude of his ambition undoubtedly would have done the rest. Raphael will not allow himself to entertain the idea of failure, not least of all because he probably suspects that defeat would cost him more than the centuries of sunk time and energy.

-

My closing notes on Raphael’s final entry, is to point out how starkly it contrast with the first. Entry 1’s closing remark, “This process has a name I sample now aloud, to saver its taste: Ceremorphosis.” is an especially poignant comparison: he is savouring, he is taking his time. Compare this to Entry 3, which is rushed, impassioned, manic, and dare I say just a little bit scared.

The last entry also casts a whole new light on your final encounter with him in the game if you decide to kill him. That’s the first time you see him properly angry in the game (he quickly recovers himself if you accuse him of being scared of Yurgir in Act 2), and almost unprompted compares Tav to ‘doomed Karsus’: projecting much?

This entry shows us what was roiling beneath the surface to cause his agitation, and definitely gives an edge of desperation to Raphael’s final act. Perhaps that’s even why calls on Yurgir to aid him in his fight, someone you can make your ally instead, for a - granted, quite challenging - persuasion check, another of Raphael’s schemes you can turn against him.

———

Overall, Raphael’s diary entries serve to both reinforce and subvert what he see of him during encounters, and allow us a glimpse beneath the mask of a character who is always performing. Where Raphael wants Tav to see a cunning negotiator and saviour, one later catch seemingly completely off-guard, the diary entries paint the picture of a man driven to mania by his own ambition, and subsequently caught on the hook of his own line, then devoured.

Anyway, I do have more things I could say about Raphael’s fucked up little brain, but I think I’ll save that for another post, because this one is already pretty long.

Please, please share your own thoughts about this examination. The diary has been rattling about the echo-chamber of my own brain for weeks, so undoubtedly I have missed/misinterpreted things.

[sowerpatch]

every kiss but one

Paige Bueckers x Fem!OC

Summary: The first time it happened, it was so quick it almost didn’t count—but Jasmine never forgot how it made her feel. A story of five kisses Paige gave her best friend, and the one that changed everything. Basically a 5+1.

Word count: 3,379

They met during freshman orientation. Paige was already a campus name before the first lecture started. Blonde, tall, confident, and UConn's rising basketball star. Jasmine, on the other hand, had to earn her place. She wasn’t recruited like Paige. She tried out for the cheer team and made it through grit, a dazzling smile, and her refusal to back down from a challenge. 

They sat next to each other in a required public speaking class. Paige had walked in late. In a hurry she tripped on a backpack strap and landed face-first near the front. Jasmine laughed audibly and offered her a hand. 

“You good?” Jasmine asked. 

“Uh, not even close,” Paige replied, brushing herself off. 

From there, it was easy. Shared jokes, shared notes, late-night study sessions at the library that turned into Chick-fil-A runs. They clicked, like they'd always known each other.  

Paige brought Jasmine around the team and Jasmine introduced Paige to her favorite TV shows. They became inseparable, the kind of best friends who knew each other’s class schedules, food orders, and moods with just a glance. 

Everyone on campus knew them as a pair. Where there was Paige, Jasmine wasn’t far behind. And somewhere between all the friendship bracelets and shared secrets, things got complicated. But neither of them said it out loud. 

1. The First Kiss  Freshman year, March 

The energy inside Gampel Pavilion was electric. 

Paige’s lungs burned as she sprinted down the court, the final seconds ticking away. The ball left her fingertips just as the buzzer blared. A clean arc. A perfect release. Time slowed. The crowd held its breath. 

And then it swished through the net. 

Pandemonium erupted. 

The team exploded off the bench and the coaches threw their arms up in celebration. Fans screamed themselves hoarse. Her teammates rushed toward her, but Paige’s eyes were searching for someone else. 

She scanned the sidelines, heart racing with more than just adrenaline, and there she was. 

Jasmine. 

In her navy and white cheer uniform, her curly ponytail bouncing as she jumped up and down, pom-poms long forgotten on the court. She was shouting something, probably Paige’s name, her voice lost in the roar. 

Paige didn’t think, she just ran. 

The whole team could’ve tackled her and she wouldn’t have cared. She cut through the chaos and sprinted straight toward Jasmine, breathless, wide-eyed, and triumphant. Jasmine met her halfway, throwing her arms around Paige’s shoulders just as Paige scooped her up off the ground. 

“You did it!” Jasmine squealed, laughter bubbling in her throat. 

“No,” Paige said, spinning her once in a full circle before setting her down gently. “We did it.” 

They were still holding onto each other, arms tangled, faces just inches apart, when Paige leaned in and pressed her lips to Jasmine’s temple. Just a quick kiss, barely there. But it felt like something cracked open between them. 

Jasmine stilled.  

Paige froze too, as if realizing what she’d just done a second too late. But Jasmine didn’t pull away. She blinked at Paige with wide, surprised eyes, and softly smiled. 

Then the team caught up with her and the moment burst like a bubble. Aaliyah flung her arms around Paige’s neck. Olivia whooped behind them. Aubrey tackled her from the side in a group hug that knocked everyone off balance. 

“Yo, clutch queen!” Nika shouted over the noise. “That was insane!” 

Paige tried to focus, to nod, to high-five, but her eyes kept drifting back to Jasmine. 

Later, back in Jasmine and Carlas shared dorm, Paige scrolled through highlights on her phone while Jasmine sat cross-legged on her bed, braiding her own hair and talking quietly with Carla about weekend plans. 

Paige wasn’t really listening. She was still stuck in that moment where she can still feel Jasmine’s arms around her, the soft skin under her lips, the warmth that bloomed in her chest like spring. 

She didn’t know what it meant. 

She just knew it mattered. 

Meanwhile, in the room across the hall, Carla was watching Jasmine closely. 

“You’ve been touching your temple for ten minutes,” she said dryly. 

“I have not,” Jasmine said too quickly. 

“You so have. What’s that? The spot where Paige kissed you?” Carla teased. 

Jasmine tossed a pillow at her. 

“Shut up,” she muttered. 

But she smiled into the quiet. 

2. The Second Kiss  Sophomore year, October 

The smell of hairspray and drugstore glitter filled the air in Carla and Jasmine’s shared dorm room. Outside, music from the Halloween house party pulsed through the open window, and laughter echoed in the hallway. Inside, Jasmine had her hands full. Literally, with Paige’s face. 

“Stop squinting!” Jasmine scolded gently. “I’m trying to do eyeliner, not surgery.” 

Paige, sitting obediently on the desk chair in front of the mirror, rolled her eyes. “I’m not squinting. You’re just trying to blind me with that sparkle pen.” 

Jasmine smirked as she carefully applied another flick of gold to the corner of Paige’s eye. “You agreed to be a pirate. Pirates sparkle. It’s canon.” 

“Since when?” Paige asked, lips twitching. 

“Since now.” Jasmine took a step back and surveyed her handiwork. “Alright. Face done. Costume?” 

Paige stood and looked in the mirror. Her blonde hair had been braided loosely over one shoulder. A crimson bandana tied around her head. Gold shimmer framed her eyes. She wore a ruffled white shirt tucked into black jeans, with a cheap plastic sword at her hip. 

“I look good,” Paige said, brushing a thumb along her jawline. 

Jasmine leaned against the desk, crossing her arms. “You look hot.” 

The moment hung there, weightless, until Jasmine’s eyes widened. “I mean like, for a pirate. You look… convincing.” 

Paige turned, slow and amused. “Thanks. That sounded very professional.” 

“Shut up,” Jasmine muttered, grabbing her cat ears and slipping them on. 

Paige watched her for a moment. Jasmine wore a sleek black bodysuit and thigh-high boots, a painted-on nose and whiskers drawn neatly on her cheeks. She looked radiant under the dorm light, and Paige’s mouth felt a little dry. 

“I should pay you for this makeup job,” Paige said suddenly. 

Jasmine glanced at her. “You already owe me three lattes from last week.” 

“Well,” Paige said, stepping forward, “how about one small, very sincere ‘Thank you’ now, and three lattes later?” 

Jasmine narrowed her eyes playfully. “What kind of Thank-you?” 

Instead of answering, Paige leaned in and kissed her cheek. 

Just a quick touch, barely more than a brush of her lips against Jasmine’s soft skin. But it felt… warm. Intentional. Not like the temple kiss after the game. Not entirely like a joke either. 

When Paige pulled back, Jasmine blinked. 

“Consider that your down payment, Ma.” Paige said, breezing past her and heading for the door. “Now come on, or Azzi’s gonna finish the jungle juice without us.” 

Jasmine stood there, completely still, one hand slowly rising to touch her cheek. 

Carla appeared in the doorway behind her, holding her phone. “Did I just see what I think I saw?” 

Jasmine didn’t answer. But her smile said everything. 

3. The Third Kiss  Sophomore year, February 

The text came in just after sunset. 

JazzSpazz💜: you busy? 

Paige was sitting in her dorm room, reviewing game tape with one AirPod in and a french fry in her hand. But the moment she saw Jasmine’s name pop up, everything else faded. 

Paigey❤️: nvr too busy for u. be there in 5. 

She didn’t need to ask. Something about the lowercase letters, the lack of punctuation, it was Jasmine’s quiet signal for ‘I need you, but I can’t say it out loud.’ 

When Paige arrived, Carla gave her a soft smile, whispered, “She’s hanging there.” and slipped out without needing an explanation. 

The lights were low. Jasmine sat on her bed, knees tucked into her Paige’s oversized hoodie, her face turned toward the window where streaks of leftover snow clung to the corners. Her eyes were red. 

Paige didn’t speak. She simply walked in, took off her jacket, and climbed onto the bed beside her. 

Jasmine didn’t look at her. 

“He said I was too intense,” she finally said, voice hoarse. 

Paige’s heart dropped. “Your boyfriend?” 

Jasmine nodded. “Ex. As of this afternoon.” 

She sniffled and wiped at her cheek with the sleeve of her Paige’s hoodie. “Apparently, I care too much. Show up too much. Text too often. Want too much.” 

Paige let out a slow breath. “You care a lot because that’s who you are. That’s not a flaw, Ma.” 

“Maybe it is,” Jasmine mumbled. “He said I was exhausting.” 

Paige turned her body, kneeling slightly on the bed. “Jas. Listen to me.” 

Jasmine finally looked up, eyes glassy. 

“You ain't too much. You're thoughtful, passionate, kind. You make people feel seen. He didn’t deserve you, not even close. He couldn’t handle someone as real as you.” 

Silence settled in again, soft and heavy. Jasmine’s bottom lip quivered. 

Paige reached up and brushed a tear from her cheek with the side of her thumb. “You give people everything,” she whispered. “And you deserve someone who gives that back to you.” 

Then, without even thinking, Paige leaned forward and kissed Jasmine on the forehead. 

It was slow and gentle, the kind of kiss that lingered in the air even after it ended. Jasmine closed her eyes like it brought her peace. 

When Paige leaned back, Jasmine didn’t let go. She rested her head on Paige’s shoulder, curling into her side like it was the only place in the world she felt safe. 

They didn’t speak again for a while. They just lay there, Paige’s arm around her shoulders, Jasmine’s breathing slowing into a sleepy rhythm. 

Later, Paige queued up New Girl on Jasmine’s laptop and played it softly, just enough to fill the silence with something familiar. At some point, Jasmine fell asleep with her head in Paige’s lap, one hand curled loosely into Paige’s shirt. 

Paige stayed exactly where she was, heart full and aching at once. 

The next morning, Jasmine found a note tucked under her phone: 

you are not too much. he was just not enough. <3 —P 

She smiled for the first time in twelve hours. 

4. The Fourth Kiss  Junior year, April

Spring had finally stretched its arms over campus. The trees lining the sidewalks were budding, the breeze was warm again, and midterms were far enough away that everyone could finally breathe. 

Which is how Paige ended up at a team game night in Ice Brady’s apartment, curled on the floor with her back against Jasmine’s legs and a half-empty cup of Sprite in her hand. 

“I’m telling you, my version of Uno is the correct version,” Paige argued, waving a card in the air. “House rules are sacred.” 

“Your house rules are chaos,” Azzi said from the other side of the coffee table. “Skip, skip, draw two, reverse, skip again? That’s a war crime.” 

“Whatever. You just can’t handle my strategy.” 

“You mean cheating?” Ice teased, nudging Paige with her foot. 

Jasmine laughed, threading her fingers through Paige’s hair without even thinking. She was sitting on the couch behind her, legs folded neatly as Paige leaned comfortably between them. It wasn’t the first time they'd sat like this. But something about tonight, about the warmth in the room, the easy laughter, the way Paige leaned into her touch felt different. 

After a round of Uno that left Azzi dramatically fake-crying on the carpet, KK clapped her hands together and grinned. 

“Alright, alright, let’s shake it up. Truth or dare.” 

A collective groan passed through the room, but no one said no. 

They went around the circle. Aubrey took a dare and sang the chorus of a Justin Bieber song. Jana admitted her secret crush on their math TA. Ice had to eat three jalapeño slices in a row and nearly choked from the heat. 

Then it was Paige’s turn. 

“Truth or dare?” KK asked, eyes gleaming. 

Paige smirked. “Dare, obviously.” 

KK didn’t miss a beat. “I dare you to kiss Jasmine.” 

The room gasped. Carla snorted her drink through her nose. Jasmine stiffened. 

“On the lips,” KK added, wickedly. 

For a beat, Paige’s body stilled. She turned slightly, looking up at Jasmine, whose eyes were wide with surprise. 

“You okay with that Ma?” Paige asked softly. 

Jasmine searched her face for a long moment. Then, slowly, she nodded. “Yeah.” 

Paige pushed up to her knees. The others watched with poorly disguised excitement, some trying to act casual, others whispering behind their hands. 

Jasmine sat up straighter, nervousness flashing in her eyes. 

Paige leaned in. 

The kiss was gentle. Slow. Nothing like a dare. 

Their lips met with the softness of something tentative but full of meaning. It lasted just long enough to hush the entire room. Just long enough to remind them both this wasn’t pretend. 

When Paige pulled back, she smiled like she always did. Cool, unbothered. “Dare fulfilled.” 

But her eyes flicked to Jasmine’s lips before she turned away, her cheeks flushing red. 

The silence broke with a loud “Damn!” from Ice and exaggerated clapping from Azzi. 

Jasmine sat very still, hand brushing her own mouth. 

That night, when the games were over and the group had trickled out, Paige lingered by the door while Jasmine put on her coat. 

“You alright Jaz?” Paige asked, voice low. 

Jasmine nodded. “Yeah. Just… surprised.” 

Paige’s smile was small. “Me too.” 

Jasmine hesitated, then reached out and squeezed her hand. “Thanks for asking first.” 

Paige laced their fingers briefly before letting go. “Always.” 

Neither of them said it, but they both knew something had shifted. 

5. The Fifth Kiss  Senior year, January 

It was one of those bone-deep cold days that crept under your coat and into your skin, the kind of New England winter chill that no layers could really protect you from. Still, the cheer squad was out on the turf at halftime, doing a short outdoor performance for the rivalry game against Louisville. The game was televised. The crowd was loud. Paige could barely feel her fingers on the bench. 

But she felt the panic in her chest the second Jasmine went down. 

One second, Jasmine was being hoisted into the air during a pyramid. The next, her balance shifted, and her foot slid awkwardly as she landed. The routine didn’t stop, but Paige’s entire world did. 

Jasmine stumbled and crumpled to the ground. 

Paige’s stomach dropped. She stood up so fast her jacket slipped off her shoulders. Her heart raced faster than it ever had on a fast break. 

Azzi reached out. “Paige—hey—it’s probably just a slip.” 

But Paige didn’t listen. 

By the time Jasmine was sitting up, gripping her ankle and wincing, Paige had already jogged across the field. The trainers were just arriving, but Paige was faster. 

“Move,” she said firmly to no one in particular, kneeling beside Jasmine. 

“P?” Jasmine looked up, half-laughing, half-breathless. “I’m fine. Just twisted it. You didn’t have to—” 

“Yes, I did.” Paige gently brushed Jasmine’s hand away and started helping her out of her shoe. “You scared the hell out of me.” 

“It’s not broken,” Jasmine said, watching her carefully. “It just rolled. I’ve done worse.” 

“Doesn’t mean I’m allowed to freak out a little.” 

One of the trainers finally leaned in to assess. But Paige stayed there, still kneeling beside her, a protective presence. 

After a few minutes, Jasmine was helped to her feet, and Paige insisted on being the one to walk her to the bench. She draped her own jacket over Jasmine’s shoulders without a word and stayed next to her while the trainer wrapped her ankle with practiced speed. 

“You’re freezing,” Jasmine murmured, tugging the jacket closer to herself but giving Paige a look. “You gave this to me. You're shivering.” 

“I’ll survive.” Paige said. “You won’t if you keep pretending you’re invincible.” 

There was a pause. Jasmine watched her hands as they adjusted the ice pack around her leg. 

“You always take care of me like this,” Jasmine said quietly. 

Paige didn’t look up. “Someone’s got to.” 

Jasmine reached out, took Paige’s hand in her own. “Why you?” 

Paige glanced up at her, eyes soft. “Coz I care.” 

Then she leaned forward and kissed Jasmine’s temple. It wasn’t rushed or casual. It was deliberate. Tender. Her lips lingered there like a promise she couldn’t yet say aloud. 

Jasmine let her eyes close for a moment. 

“You always kiss me there,” she said, barely above a whisper. 

“I'no.” 

And that was all they said. 

Later that evening, back in Paige’s dorm with Jasmine icing her ankle and a blanket wrapped around both of them on the couch. They watched a romcom Paige had pretended not to like before but clearly had memorized. Jasmine leaned against Paige’s shoulder, silent and warm. 

The temple kiss still hummed between them. 

And in the quiet, Paige let herself wonder if Jasmine could feel how much she meant to her through every small, careful kiss. 

6. The Kiss That Mattered  Senior year, March

The season was over. 

Their final game had ended in a loss that left the locker room quiet, heavy with all the words no one wanted to say. There were tears. Some hidden in towels, others wiped away before the cameras rolled. Paige sat on the bench for a long time afterward, still in her jersey, still gripping her shoes like she hadn’t quite accepted the end. 

She didn’t cry. 

She didn’t move. 

Until her phone buzzed with a text from Jasmine. 

JazzSpazz💜: Meet me at the tree. Please. 

It was all Paige needed. 

The campus was calm that night. Cool spring wind whistled through the branches above, and a few lamplights flickered against the pavement. The tree was old, thick-trunked and wide-armed, standing outside the gym where they’d carved their initials—J + P—in a tiny heart two years ago. Jasmine was already there when Paige arrived, leaning against the trunk with her hood up and hands tucked into her sleeves. 

Paige stood in front of her for a long moment. Neither of them spoke. 

“I saw your press interview,” Jasmine finally said, voice soft. “You looked like you wanted to cry.” 

“I didn’t,” Paige replied. “Not there.” 

“I know.” 

They stood in silence, the wind brushing through the leaves like a whisper between them. 

“You remember the first time you kissed me?” Jasmine asked. 

Paige blinked, caught off guard. “At the Final Four game?” 

Jasmine nodded. “On my temple.” 

A pause. 

“You kept doing that,” she said. “Temple, cheek, forehead. You kissed me in all the places that meant something… but never in the place that would change everything.” 

Paige stared at her, her heart thudding against her ribs. 

“I thought maybe you didn’t want to,” Jasmine continued, her voice trembling slightly. “Or maybe you did, and you were scared.” 

“I was,” Paige said. She stepped forward. “I still am.” 

Jasmine looked up at her. The wind tugged a curl loose from her hood, and Paige gently brushed it back, letting her fingers linger against her cheek. 

“I'no if I’d lose you,” Paige whispered. “You’re my best friend. My home. And I didn’t want to risk that. But—” she swallowed, voice tight “—not kissing you the way I want to… hurts worse.” 

Jasmine didn’t say anything. She just looked at her, waiting. 

And then Paige kissed her. 

Really kissed her. 

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t afraid. It was everything they hadn’t said, everything that had lived in the spaces between all those years of almosts and nearlys and not-quites. 

Jasmine melted into it. Her hands slid into Paige’s hoodie, gripping tight like she’d been waiting for this for so long. 

When they broke apart, foreheads pressed together, Paige whispered, “That’s the only kiss that ever mattered.” 

Jasmine smiled, her eyes full of light. “Took you long enough.” 

They laughed, quiet and giddy. 

That night, under the stars, Paige held Jasmine’s hand like it was always meant to be there. 

And Jasmine kissed her back, like she believed it. 

[yuta-nakamots]

Like We Just Met - L.Jeno

Pairing - University!Jeno x University!GN Reader 

Genre(s) - Fluff, Angst, friends to lovers

Warning(s) - memory loss, reader almost gets hit by a car

Summary - Your love story with Jeno begins with a blur of headlights and a heartbeat, unfolding in a way that feels like destiny. But as memories start slipping away, you're left chasing the echoes of a love that once was, wondering if fate would let you fall for him all over again.

Word Count - 2.4k

Author’s Note - this was inspired by a dream i had, which led to the creation of some of the scenes and originally i just didn’t have a way to link them together until i rewatched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and i knew this was the answer i needed 

Taglist - @k-vanity @cosyhomenet @neocity-net (fill out this google form if you'd like to be added!)

Written for the Drive-In Collab originally hosted by @127-mile. 

Now playing: Like We Just Met - NCT Dream, We Can’t Be Friends - Ariana Grande, Night Changes - One Direction

Your first memory of Jeno is a blur of headlights and panic. In your stupor of sleep deprivation, you had unknowingly walked into the main street near your university’s campus. Jeno, who was waiting at the crosswalk, grabbed you by the wrist and yanked you back towards safety just as a car sped past. You were left breathless after coming within a hair's length of what could have been a very expensive hospital visit. 

Turning to give your savior a quick “thank you”, you were stunned by his strong features. Everything about him screams ‘knight in shining armor’. His strong jawline, furrowed eyebrows sitting above his dark brown eyes, lips pulled tight into a line, even down to his worn-in leather jacket and stoic demeanor. 

“You alright?” He asked, breaking you out of your trance. 

“Uh, y-yeah,” you manage to stutter as you return to your senses. 

He gave you a curt nod. “Be careful.” The crosswalk changed colors, allowing you and him to cross the street, eventually parting ways with shy smiles. 

From then on, he somehow kept appearing in your life. The next time you saw him was barely even a week later in the school library. Your books were scattered in front of you on one of the large desks situated in a quiet corner of the library. Midterms were coming up, and you were behind on reviewing all the content you were sure would come up on the tests. Poring over all the chapters left to go over, you were about ready to pack up and call it a day until you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned around, coming face to face with the boy who had pulled you out of the street. 

“Hey,” he began. “I take it you haven’t walked into traffic again?”

You smiled bashfully upon remembering the event. “I’ve been keeping myself safe, as promised.”

“Good,” he responded. “My name is Jeno, by the way.” You gave him your name, glad you could finally put a name to the face of the person who saved you. “You come here often?”

“Sometimes. Just so happened that I have four midterms and I haven’t really started studying yet,” you shared. 

Jeno shook his head in disbelief. “And you know it’s already Wednesday, right? Meaning that midterms are next week.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve just been busy lately.” You weren’t lying. Between taking care of class assignments and working at a cat cafe near campus, you were spent. 

Jeno hummed in acknowledgement. “Yeah, I get the feeling. I’ve been busy too.” He paused, taking in the sight of your multiple notebooks full of hastily scribbled writing. “If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t started studying either.”

You scoffed at him jokingly. “Hypocrite.”

“Mind if I study with you?” He asked. 

“Not as long as you stay quiet,” you tell him with a smile. 

His expression matches yours as he pulls up a chair from another table so he can sit next to you.

It continued like this for the rest of the week, you and Jeno seated together in the dim university library, tucked between bookshelves. He helped you go through your textbooks and highlight notes, his hand brushing yours when you reached for the same pen. Sleepy smiles were exchanged over cold coffee while his sneakers tapped the floor rhythmically. 

You doodled in the margins of his notebook, drawing anything that reminded you of him. A simple cat face with big, round eyes and soft little ears, a pair of headphones similar to the ones he always had hanging around his neck, and a small crescent moon that mimicked the shape of his eyes when he laughed. This was you falling in love with Jeno.

When you finish the last drawing, it’s then that everything shifts around you, and you're thrown into completely different surroundings.

This time, it’s a cold winter night, your breath visible in the air in front of you. Looking around, you realize you’re standing in the middle of the campus square, twinkling Christmas lights strung above, illuminating the area. Jeno was next to you, his head tilted back as he admired the twinkle of the lights. He turns to you, his cheeks pink from the cold. “I like you.”

“I like you too,” you tell him with a smile.

“Do you think we could be more than friends?” You couldn’t tell if he was shivering from the cold or because of his nerves, his breath coming out in large, cloudy puffs.

“Yeah, I’d love that.” Your heart was racing in your chest.

His gloved hand brushes against yours before taking your hand in his, interlocking your fingers together. “You’re the brightest thing here, you know that?” This was the day you and Jeno officially became a couple.

The lights above you—so warm, so familiar—began to dim, as if someone had tugged them from their sockets. One soft blink at a time, the night unraveled, until even Jeno’s smile became just another glimmer swallowed by the dark. 

You realize that these were fragments of your life with Jeno playing out in front of you, memories fading out one by one as time begins to slip. Perhaps your memories weren’t as permanent as the love you thought you had.

The next memory was brief. It was a simple moment in an ice cream shop, you seated across from Jeno as you both dug into a cup of black sugar honey boba ice cream, his favorite, on a quiet night. Your fingers brushed against his when you reached for a napkin, his pinky intertwining with yours. You looked up at him, his eyes crinkling into their signature half-moon shape. And then he was gone. 

You found him again in the cat cafe where you worked. He sat surrounded by cats, a little stray male kitten nestled in his lap while he fought the urge to sneeze. He was allergic, you later found out. Despite his allergies, he still showed up during your shifts, wanting to be involved in your interests and spend time with you, even if it meant being in a warm, cluttered cat cafe surrounded by sleepy kittens. 

The stray that sat in his lap had taken a liking to him in particular, and you knew Jeno was falling for it too. When you sat shoulder to shoulder with Jeno on the floor of the large play area, the stray had nestled itself in between the two of you as if the tiny creature knew it was a piece of your fate. 

You and Jeno adopted the stray together and named it Bongshik, a name that Jeno had suggested. Bongshik was your first real commitment to something lasting. This was something you and Jeno had built together, the feeling of home.

The image of Bongshik curled up in Jeno’s lap disintegrated, and in its place, you now saw Jeno seated next to you in the library, his hair falling over his eyes, and he squinted at his textbook. It was golden hour, sunlight slipping through the windows and filtering through the silence that surrounded you and him, sitting with your elbows brushing as you both pretend to study. It was finals week, the week before he had asked you out. 

Jeno bit his bottom lip in concentration. You, too, try to focus on your notes, but your pen drifts, sketching a familiar little cat face in the corner of your page. ‘Bongshik’ you label it, with a quiet smile. You draw lopsided hearts around it before glancing up at Jeno, his eyes still glued to his book, and everything feels right. The way his eyes scan the page, the way he hums under his breath, the way you can feel his warmth radiating off his shoulder next to yours. Jeno glances at your drawing, then at you. “That one’s not even close to what he looks like,” he teases. 

You roll your eyes, smiling. “You try drawing him from memory. It’s hard.”

Jeno is about to respond, something playful sitting on the tip of his tongue, but thinks better of it. “You always do that.”

“Do what?” You ask.

“You draw when your mind is wandering.”

You try to play it off with a shrug, but your voice comes out too quiet. “Maybe I was thinking about something else.”

His eyes search yours as if they’d tell you what you were thinking of. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, barely above a whisper. You nod, and Jeno leans in, slow and careful, yet completely real. His lips are soft and uncertain. Your heart stutters in your chest as you kiss him back, not even noticing when a pen rolls off the table. 

You smile against his mouth when he pulls away. “That was…overdue.”

Jeno grins. “Way overdue. At least not as overdue as my essay.”

You lean back in your chair, dizzy with warmth. The moment feels quiet, familiar, and perfect. But then the fluorescent lights above you begin to flicker. Your grip tightens around the pencil you were holding. The lines of Bongshik begin to fade from the page like it was being erased in slow motion. Your chest tightens. “No–no, not this one.” Jeno’s smile falters. He knows what’s happening. “This was real,” you tell yourself. “This was our first kiss. I don’t want to forget this one.”

“I know,” Jeno said, his voice steady, but his eyes beginning to water. “That’s why we have to run. Before they take it.”

He reaches for your hand as he stands from the table. You grab onto him like a lifeline. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere they won’t find us.” Jeno takes off running, dragging you with him. You don’t look back as the table, the bookshelves, and your first kiss with Jeno begin to blur behind you.

You and Jeno continue running until the library disappears, the hums of computers and scratches of turning pages are replaced with soft murmurs from a crackling radio, and the crayon drawings of your own childhood. You look around and realize where you are. Your old living room. A beam of sun slants across the floor, illuminating the half-finished drawings spread across a large, soft rug. You hadn’t thought of this place in years. “I used to color here,” you say slowly as you scan over all the drawings.

“Perfect. Let’s stay here for a while.” Jeno sat down among the papers, out of place but somehow blending right in as if he were always there. 

You sit beside him on the rug and pick up a stray crayon, bringing it to the paper to finish a drawing that you knew was a house. Jeno watches you reverently, like he’s memorizing the way you move. 

“Will it work?” you ask, connecting the scraggly lines of the house that your younger self drew.

“No,” he admits. “But at least we can be together a little longer.”

You look at the paper in your hand, then at Jeno. He doesn’t belong in this memory, but the ache in your chest assures you that he belongs somewhere in your mind. “If this is all we have left, I’m glad I was with you.”

Jeno reaches for you again, pulling you up from the ground as the room begins to fade from the edges. He takes you into the hallway you know leads to your room, and he pushes open your bedroom door, but inside isn’t your childhood bedroom, full of toys and imagination. It was a pathway on campus blanketed in snow. Looking around, Christmas decorations were hanging on the buildings. You recognize the way the snow was falling, the way your breath fogs in front of you, even the song that was playing from a restaurant nearby, its melody wrapped in warmth and nostalgia. 

You walk down the path with Jeno until he stops beneath the lights, looking just as he did when he first admitted his feelings for you. His hands were tucked into his coat pockets, eyes full of something heavier than before. You take a shaky step forward. “This must be the last one,” he says softly, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the memory. 

You nod. You can feel it too. The lights above are starting to flicker, one by one, like stars burning out. “I wish we had more time,” you quietly cry out. 

Jeno smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He takes your hand, pulling you close, and rests his forehead against yours. “If you forget me…if this all disappears, promise me something.”

You swallowed hard. “Anything.”

“Meet me at the intersection,” he says. “Right where I first pulled you out of the street. The place where everything started.” You nod, tears threatening to fall. “Even if you don’t remember why you’re there,” he continues, voice cracking, “just…be there. I’ll wait for you.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the lights around you blink out, and he flickers, his voice echoing and fading. You reach for his hand, but it turns into smoke between your fingers. The haze of the falling snow gives way to flashes of Jeno laughing in the library, then him whispering sweet nothings into your ear under the falling snow, but each time, it becomes harder to remember. All the settings begin to blur together, Christmas lights flickering off, library shelves warping, and cats vanishing. 

You try to hold onto a memory, desperately hoping to commit one to the deepest parts of your mind, but Jeno keeps slipping out of your grasp. He’s vanishing, piece by piece, until finally, you’re back at the very beginning. The street, the headlights, his hand pulling you to safety. This, too, begins to disappear. Jeno smiles at you, his face distorting ever so slightly. “If we met again, do you think we’d fall in love all over?” Tears stung your eyes, and you stood there, unable to answer his question before the memory was fully erased. 

Silence. A clean slate.

Months later, on a warm afternoon, you came to the intersection, standing on the same street corner you always did after class, waiting for the light to change. A guy brushes past you, and your hands touch for just a second. You look back. He does too. You don’t know who he is, but something within you stirs. His gaze is soft and yearning, as if he’s been waiting for something or someone.

Autoplay: If you liked this, you may also like Walk You Home - L.Jeno

[htaesan]

　ᅠ 💬　ᅠ EGG-TUALLY IN LOVE WITH YOU 　　───　ᅠ ( han taesan )

　　　ᅠ 한태산 ⠀⠀◜◡◝ ⠀⠀𝒇 reader ⠀wc 2.3k ⠀ genre smau fluff attempted crack secret admirer university au ⠀ contains mentions of food profanities some ocs etc ⠀ tagging @a-dream-bookmark ,@/k-labels , @k-nets , @k-films , @sgz-net , @onedoornet

　　　ᅠ 05. i’m not good with words, but i’m good at songs and dribbling

A long exhale escapes Dongmin’s lips, the breeze swaying the trees around him. It’s like nature is sighing with him too—as everyone’s beloved autumn, the season of love, is going to be replaced by winter anytime soon. The dried leaves crunch underneath each step, heavy and therapeutic in some way. 

He was taking a walk after his Sound Design midterm, hoping that the winds will blow away the thoughts that have been clogging his mind. It was nothing bad, Dongmin was just worried. 

What if everything goes wrong, and you don’t like him at all? 

What if he doesn’t meet your expectations?

What if he’s not good enough for you?

It’s hilarious, and Dongmin finds himself chuckling a bit. His past self wouldn’t ever feel this way—he wouldn’t allow it. But now, college had changed him, made him into someone who wasn’t at all afraid to achieve his dreams: his principles on love changed too. 

“Dongmin?” your voice rings in his ears, and he immediately looks left and right, searching for the source of the voice. 

You’re standing in front of him, bag saddled snugly by your shoulders. By the way your hair is clipped back, and the half empty coffee cup in your hand, it’s obvious that you had just completed a study session. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask, and it makes Dongmin confused. 

“I was taking a walk, seonbae.” 

You laugh sheepishly. “Ahh, I see!”

Dongmin glances at the library behind you. “Did you just finish studying, seonbae?” 

“Mhm,” you nod, and the rest of your words go unheard by Dongmin—too blinded by the beauty adorned by the soft smile on your lips. 

He doesn’t get it—you’re barely doing anything, just talking about your study session, the corner of your eyes crinkling a little bit due to your smile pushing up your cheeks. But he’s mesmerised by your beauty more than anything else. Flowers of feelings bloom in his chest, and he finds himself smiling. 

He doesn’t know what it is about you. Maybe it’s the way your smile doesn’t feel rehearsed and perfected, or the way you look at someone like you’re genuinely listening to each and every word they utter. 

It’s weird—it’s rare for him to find someone that made him comfortable that easily, whether in a full-fledged conversation of teasing and laughter, or in silence. With you, none of these moments feel like he failed. Instead, it makes him feel full. 

You’re talking, ranting about a psychology course that Dongmin has no idea about. But he watches you. He looks at you chuckling between your words, soft but unfiltered. You’re not loud, not too quiet either—you’re not the type of person that fills up every second with noise, but when you talk, people listen. 

Dongmin listens. 

Most of the time. 

His chest tightens with some kind of feeling. He’s standing close to you—not exactly in front or beside you. Your presence makes him feel strangely at ease, like never before. 

Your shadows collide into each other, and it reminds him of the line he’s been afraid to cross. 

“Dongmin?” you say, waving a hand in front of his face. “Are you okay? Do you need to go to the clinic?”

Dongmin widens his eyes. “No! No, not at all, I’m not sick.”

“You weren’t listening, so I figured something was wrong,” you shrug. 

“Wait– I’m sorry, seonbae! I got distracted—what were you saying…?” Dongmin rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. 

You shake your head slightly. “It doesn’t matter, just me ranting about the midterm I have tomorrow for Abnormal Psychology. Why were you distracted, anyway?”

Your question hits Dongmin like a splash of cold water to the face, and immediately, he says the first thing that comes to mind. “Pretty.”

“What?”

“You’re… pretty, seonbae.”

Your smile grows against your efforts of biting it back. “Really? Me?” 

Dongmin nods firmly. “Yeah, of course.”

You chuckle, consciously aware of the way your cheeks are getting warmer. “You’re exaggerating.”

Dongmin looks like you’ve cursed him and his entire lineage. 

“Exaggerating? Seonbae! Okay, let me list out the things that I find pretty about you. First–” 

“Okay, okay!” you shriek, covering his mouth with your hands. His eyes widen, and once he gets quiet, you slowly remove your hands away. “Fine.”

Dongmin smiles cheekily. “I won, seonbae.”

Your face flushes, and the both of you erupt into harmonious laughter. Dongmin’s eyes naturally find yours, and once your gazes lock together, he’s at a loss of words. 

Then, he feels it—a tug. That unfamiliar rush of adrenaline urging him to do something. It’s ridiculous and relentless, tugging at his chest. 

It’s familiar in a way, he’s felt it during the countless times he picked up his phone to text you, and the times he ran over to the other side of campus just to give you some snacks he bought. But this time, it’s stronger. Sharper, more urgent. Like he has to do something now. For once, the fear of losing this chance with you outweighs the fear of being with someone new. 

“Seonbae,” Dongmin begins, his voice quieter than he expected. 

You turn to him, the look in your eyes warm and hopeful. A little scared, but you’re waiting. 

“I-I’m not good at this. You know, the whole expressing myself thing?”

He pauses, but you don’t say anything. You smile softly, encouraging him to continue. 

“I’m not good at saying the things I mean. Letting myself feel a lot of emotions,” he presses his hand against his heart, his pulse racing, “...here.”

A beat of silence settles between the two of you, but it doesn’t feel awkward. Instead, it’s gentle and golden, like the world is holding its breath with you both. 

“But I’ll try my best with you, seonbae. I want to give you the best, even if I don’t know what I’m doing sometimes,” Dongmin concludes, his voice firm at the end. He looks at you directly in the eye now, determination blazing through his expression. 

Slowly, you nod. “Okay,” you exhale, “sure, I like that.” 

Your smile grows wider as you lock eye contact with the junior towering in front of you. Dongmin mirrors your smile, shy. 

It makes your heart somersault. 

“Hey, please don’t smile like that,” you joke, lightly smacking his arm. 

Dongmin tilts his head a little. “Why, seonbae?”

You open your mouth to say the answer, but your heart is loud in your ears. Your words get stuck in your throat. “I-”

Another wave of courage washes through Dongmin. He leans towards you, grinning. “Seonbae, let’s go get dinner?”

You laugh. “You’re so brave, aren’t you?”

Dongmin stands up straight again, clearing his throat. “So…?”

“Of course. Let’s go.”

THE walk towards the restaurant Dongmin suggested is mostly tranquil. He swallows—he’s never felt relieved but terrified at the same time. But here he is, walking beside you under the orange glow of the sunset sky, towards a place that he passed by a million times but never thought it’d hold a meaning close to his heart.

It’s not a fancy spot—just a hotpot place that also happens to sell side dishes like tteokbokki, one of your favourite foods. No one’s taking pictures there, no candlelit dinners or dimmed chandeliers. Just rice bowls packed to the brim, warm broth, and the kind of food that you always loved. 

It’s perfect. 

On the other hand, you’re quite nervous yourself. You couldn’t look at Dongmin, so you did what your mind first thought of—talking to him about the most random things you could think of. You keep it lighthearted and simple; the kind of talk that flowed easily and made you feel less timid. 

Dongmin’s responses are as random as the things you talk about too—an observation, nods and hums here and there, a question, and a dry comment that when you laughed, he looked guilty about it. 

It’s odd that it’s easy. Somehow, being with this guy—who all your friends say has been your secret admirer for almost three years—is not as complicated as you thought it’d be. 

When the two of you arrive there, Dongmin lets you take the lead. He merely observes and listens, letting you order whatever you want. 

“Oh, Dongmin, what would you like to eat?” you ask. 

Dongmin replies, almost too naturally. “Whatever you want, seonbae.”

The soft, just about shy smile that blooms instantly on your face makes his heart dance. He gives you a smile, trying to mirror your expression but awkwardly stopping halfway. 

He can’t stop thinking about it, and you don’t even know. 

You don’t know what he’s been quietly working on these past few weeks, cooped up in his room every chance he gets. How every note, every lyric, every single thing that he sees reminds him of you. Of every single moment he’s had with you, from the first day he saw you during his first day of freshman orientation. 

Dongmin knows, he’s always best spoken in silence. Through actions, not through words. Through cords and lyrics he’s never let anyone hear. 

Now, he wants you to hear.

“Seonbae,” he begins as soon as the waiter leaves. He catches your attention, causing you to look directly at him. 

“Yeah?” you respond, your words more like a whisper. 

You don’t know what to expect. 

Dongmin reaches into his pocket, pulling out his earphones. You watch as he untangles the wire and plugs it into his phone. He searches through it for a second, before meeting your eyes once again. 

He extends his hand, offering you the other end of his earphone. 

Reluctant, you take it from him. 

“What’s this?” you ask, putting the earphone in. 

Dongmin places his phone on a table, thudding stiffly. “I’m not good with words, but I’m good with songs… and dribbling.”

He grins, and you break out of the nervous bubble too, unable to hold back a smile. 

Silence. 

“This is kinda embarrassing, but… seonbae, this… is for you.”

Then, he presses play. 

“Don’t wither like a flower and be pretty forever, 

Be my first and last forever, 

So that I can always feel the heart flutter due to first love

So I can always tell you you’re beautiful

even after years have passed.”

You gulp, stealing a glance at Dongmin. He’s listening to the song too, eyes staring emptily down at the table, his fingers playing with the edge of his sleeves. 

But from the corner of his eyes, unbeknownst to you, he’s observing you. He sees your stillness—not frozen, but you’re listening. Thoroughly listening, just like you always do. 

“Your world doesn’t have a sense of reality, 

Like the main character of a youth movie. 

So I don’t even expect anything, 

You just shine wherever you go, yeah

Everyday in my memory.”

The lyrics don’t dance around the feeling—they are the feeling.

Your heart beats loud in your ears, along with the melody of the song Dongmin wrote especially for you. You look up again, only realising now how close your face is to him. 

You can’t pull away, despite how flushed you feel. 

“Don’t wither like a flower and be pretty forever, 

Be my first and last forever, 

So that I can always feel the heart flutter due to first love

So I can always tell you you’re beautiful

even after years have passed.”

Dongmin meets your eyes, and the world comes to a stop. 

It’s just you, him, and the song playing into your ears. 

You don’t even realise how close the wired earphones bring the two of you together. 

“So that I can say you’re beautiful, 

So that I can say you’re beautiful.”

The song comes to an end, and silence envelops you both. It’s filled with something heavy. Something more. Something real. 

“You… don’t have to say anything to this, seonbae,” Dongmin says, his voice quiet, “I just wanted to let you know, for once, what I truly feel about you.”

You smile—not the polite one you give to everyone else, not the polished, bubbly smile that you display to your friends and followers. You smile, and it comes from your heart. Genuine. Real. a sign that you’re finally taking the leap that you’ve been scared of. 

“You wrote that for me, Dongmin?” you ask, breathy. 

He nods slowly, uncertain of what to expect. “Yeah. I didn’t know… how else I’d say it.”

A pause comes in between his words, and you decide to slip in a tease to ease the mood. “Say what?” you jest, cheeky. 

A small smile creeps up on Dongmin’s face, but it quickly dies down. He’s serious now. “I like you, Y/N seonbae.” 

Hearing those words come from his own mouth, your grin immediately drops. 

This is real. 

“I know I’m younger, and probably the most awkward person you’ve ever met,” Dongmin continues his ramble, “but with you, I want to be the best. I want to be real with you, seonbae.”

Another pause. 

You’re sure now, all of your doubts disappearing into thin air. 

“Thank you, Dongmin,” you say, and your hand finds his across the table, gentle but certain. He freezes under the unexpected contact, but it takes him not long to melt under your touch. “And I’m glad you didn’t stay quiet, because I feel the same.”

Dongmin’s breath catches. 

For once, he doesn’t need to analyze, overthink, or plan his next move.

He just sits there, the warmth of your hand grounding him, knowing he said what mattered—and that you heard him. You’re with him, and you truly, deeply understood him.

He returns your gesture, giving your hand a firm squeeze. 

― © htaesan, 2025.

　　　ᅠ note ᅠ from ᅠ 𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐈 ! ᅠ YEAH HEHEYYY GUYSS HOW DO WE FEEL ABOUT THIS CHAPTER >< i wrote this in one sitting so pls tell me if it is good or not ^^ i hope you guys enjoy this chapter and the smau so far!! also, here is the link to the song mentioned heheh. I LOVE IT SM!!!! and p.s. do NOT forget to stream no genre!!! i love this album(?) and my boys so much dont play

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀back to the the 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[jeneveuxrein]

safety net [2/2] (BLACKPINK Rosé)

word count: 25.8K

part 1 (14.8K) | part 2 (11K)

(yeah, lol)

Self-loathing has always been something you’ve done. It was likely the result of never being good enough for your parents even when you delivered on every single expectation they’ve had for you. 

At this current point in your life, you hate yourself for the situation you blindly agreed to. 

It’s been about a month since Rosie disturbed your peace in the library, asking if you’d teach her how to have sex, which translates into having sex with her. 

You haven’t had sex yet, but you’ve done everything else a lot. Rosie has been eager to finally do it, but there’s something that always stops you. She gets frustrated, but you eat her out, quickly bringing her to an orgasm, and all is forgotten until next time. You sense her getting impatient, but you’re scared that once you finally do, that’ll be it. 

And it’s been nice spending all this time with her. You see her pretty much every day. The only times you don’t is if she has to finish a project or if she has a date with Soohyun. When it’s the latter, you get all broody, but your mood immediately changes when she messages you as soon as she’s home. 

Rosie doesn’t tell you much about the dates unless you ask. She has shared that they’ve exchanged a couple kisses here and there, but she often compares Soohyun to you—too much teeth, too aggressive, too… everything she’s not used to. It goes straight to your ego because how could it not. 

The physical aspect of your relationship aside, you two are actually getting along. You still bicker, but it doesn’t end with her yelling anymore. 

Rosie’s a catch, which is understandable based on the amount of people that want to be with her. She’s funny. She’s kind. She’s driven. She’s sometimes in her own world, that you often get lost with her when she rambles on about her day. She’s someone you could see yourself with if it was under different circumstances. 

You hear your name being called, breaking you out of your thoughts as you stare at your computer screen. You see Rosie approaching you with Jisoo, waving as the other woman looks bored already. 

“Hey Rosie,” You greet affectionately. “Jisoo.” 

Jisoo gives you a wave, smiling, as Rosie walks behind your chair. 

“Whatcha working on?” Rosie peeks over your shoulder. 

It’s an expense report that your father sent you to look over, but you’ve been swamped with exams coming up. 

“Just work stuff,” You answer, stretching your arms and letting out a yawn. “Are you done with your project?” 

“Yeah, Jisoo and I were going to grab dinner but I wanted to find you before we left,” Rosie ruffles your hair. “I’ll come by after though?” 

Jisoo makes a gagging sound, earning a glare from the woman behind you. 

“Sure, I’ll be home around 8. I have a game today,” You inform her, checking the time. 

“Oh what? You should’ve told me, I would’ve came,” Rosie sounds disappointed. 

“It’s alright, I probably won’t play that much anyways,” You send her an easy smile. “I’ll see you later.” 

Rosie nods, blowing you a kiss that has you blushing while Jisoo makes the sound again. She grunts when Rosie hits her arm, a quick bye before getting dragged away. 

You watch their figures get smaller, suddenly missing Rosie that you can’t focus anymore on work. You sigh, shaking your head, deciding that you’ll just shoot around before your game. 

--

“Why,” Rosie tears her lips away from yours, tilting her head back that you attack her neck. “Won’t you have sex with me?” She pants when you suck on her skin, careful to not leave a mark because he might see it. 

“Are you in a rush?” You murmur, hand sneaking underneath her blouse to palm her breast. 

“Well—no,” She gasps when you gently pinch her nipple. “I just think I’m ready. We’ve done a lot and I—fuck.”

“You what?” You continue your ministrations on her chest, massaging each breast with equal attention. 

“I’ve been thinking about how you’d feel inside me,” You stop and she squirms underneath you. 

If you weren’t hard enough before, you’re about ready to bust through your briefs. 

You pull back, staring at her. Your mind’s going a mile a minute because you weren’t expecting to actually follow through tonight. 

“I want this with you,” Rosie whispers, sitting up slightly to kiss you on the lips. “If anything hurts, I’ll tell you.” 

Fuck fuck okay. It’s go time and you couldn’t talk yourself out of this. 

“Okay,” You nod, kissing her forehead. “Are you sure?” You have to ask one more time. 

“Yes,” Rosie tugs her blouse over her head, leaving her completely nude. “You’re overthinking this.” 

You are, but for reasons she doesn’t know. You don’t even know yourself. You’re acting as if it’s your first time. 

“Kiss me,” And you do, resting your weight on top of her. 

It’s slow and sensual, her lips soft on your as you trail your hand between her legs. You swipe a finger in between her folds to check and she’s wet. She moans at the contact, rolling her hips for more contact. You repeat the movement just to be sure. You’ve been told that you’re above average in the size department, and you don’t want her to be in any pain. 

Rosie gets impatient, tugging your waistband down to free your cock. You groan when her hand wraps around you, stroking you gently as you kick the material off. 

When you deem her wet enough, you meet her hand with yours, guiding your cock in between her lips. Your body screams at you to enter her, but instead with your control quickly slipping, you run your length in between, moaning at the first contact of her pussy. 

“Stop teasing,” Rosie pants, body trembling beneath you as you rock your hips. 

“I’m sorry,” You’re really not. You don’t know what comes over you, but you lean back, spreading her legs wider as you grip your cock, spreading the precum over. “I need to get a condom.” You reach over to your nightstand, but she stops you. 

“Have you had sex with anyone since?”

“No,” You’ve been too wrapped up in her that any woman that you’ve seen at a party or hooked up with previously hasn’t been on your mind. 

“Then no condom, I’m on the pill,” Rosie says softly. 

You stare at her for a moment, heart pounding against your chest at what she’s offering. Rationale goes out the window because even though you’ve had a condom rule for the past year, you’d love to feel her without one. 

“Trust me?” Rosie bites her lip, nodding, eyes locked at your cock as you rest the head at her entrance. “Tell me if it’s too much.” 

You take a breath, more for your sake, as your cock slowly enters her. Her hands shoot to your hip, stopping your movement instantly. 

You’ve barely made any headway, but from what you’re feeling so far is too much for you to handle. She’s warm, wet, and tight as her body tenses at the intrusion. You keep reminding yourself to go slow because this is still her first time and going at the pace your body is telling you to would not be fair to her. 

“Holy shit,” Rosie gasps as her hands move to grip your arms. “Keep going,” She breathes slowly, catching her breath as you press your hips slightly forward. 

Her heat envelops you, applying a delicious pressure the deeper you go. You glance down at where your bodies are joined and you’re barely halfway there. 

What you want to do is snap your hips forward, completely, but you’re aware of Rosie’s breathing and expressions for any signs of discomfort. 

Though that awareness is quickly getting lost. 

“Are you all the way?” Rosie asks weakly, eyes scrunched closed. 

“Uh, almost?” You’re able to say as you gently rock back and forth to get your cock inside more. “How are you feeling?” 

“It’s—fuck—not bad, but there’s just a lot of pressure,” Rosie breathes out. 

Tell me about it. 

You distract her by kissing her all over, keeping your rhythm as her body relaxes to take more of you in. Her nails scratch at your arms, but you’d take a little bit of pain any day. 

You don’t realize it, but in no time, you’re fully sheathed by her heat, letting out a whimper when you see your cock disappear inside her. 

“You doing okay?” You grunt, burying your face into her neck to keep yourself from cumming right then and there. 

“Yeah,” Rosie sighs, experimenting by squeezing her inner walls around you. 

“You’re so hot,” You murmur, trailing kisses along her neck. “Your pussy feels so good around me, you’re taking me so well.” Her body responds to your words—interesting—as she spreads her legs wider to take you in. “You like hearing how you make me feel, huh?” Rosie can only nod, tipping her head back.

You lean back, slowly pulling your hips back, and watch, entranced, as your cock slides out. It’s covered in her slick, and you’ve never seen anything hotter. You let out a sigh as you feel her contract around the tip. She moans and something snaps inside you that you suddenly thrust back in. 

Rosie screams at the pressure, letting out a filthy moan that has you groaning. Your body moves on its own accord, slowly pumping your cock in and out of her pussy that has you seeing stars. 

“Fuck, baby,” She moans, pants, as she starts to babble nonsense as her walls accommodate to your girth. “You feel so good.”

You try not to pay attention to the pet name, but it only spurs you on more.

Her walls rhythmically squeeze every time you bottom out. It doesn’t stop you. It makes you chase the feeling, an addiction that you wouldn’t mind having. 

You lose yourself in her body, watching her bite her lip and lose her breath as she grabs onto the sheets. Hearing your name fall from her lips wakes something up in you.The sounds she makes drive you to thrust into her, and when you hit a certain spot inside, she demands you don’t stop. You don’t break rhythm as she squirms. You grab her hips, letting out groans of your own as you feel your orgasm coming. 

“Chaeng,” Your hips falter as her pussy contracts after a particularly hard thrust, “I’m gonna cum.” 

“Inside,” Rosie locks eyes with you, “Cum inside me.” 

Your resolve snaps as you thrust wildly into her, chasing your orgasm as you feel the start of hers, walls squeezing your cocks so tightly you feel lightheaded. You feel her nails digging into your skin, holding onto like her life depends on it.

“Yes, yes,” Rosie chants like a song as her head snaps back, showing her neck as her body is wracked with pleasure.

Cum shoots from your cock inside her, painting her inner walls white, groaning as you rut into her. Your brain shuts off as you fall on top of her. She doesn’t seem to mind as she wraps her arms around you, placing soft kisses all over your face. You hear a contented sigh from her as you gasp for air. 

When you come to your senses, you automatically kiss Rosie on the lips—a simple, sweet one—as you catch her breath against your lips. She tries to deepen it, but you pull away, smiling softly as you fully take her in. Your heart has never felt so loud. 

“Hi,” You say quietly. 

“Hey yourself,” Rosie returns your smile. 

“You okay?” You glance down where you’re still connecting, hoping—praying—you weren’t too rough. 

“A little sore, but never better.” 

“ I wasn’t too rough right?”

“Nope,” Rosie shakes her head. 

You gently pull out, watching her face wince, but she lets out a quiet moan when your softened cock brushes against her clit. 

“Sorry!” You rush out, falling next to her as she chuckles. 

“Stop,” Rosie lightly slaps your arm, bringing it to rest on her stomach. 

“Sorry,” You mumble again. 

“I feel it leaking,” Rosie states simply, sitting up to look in between her legs. You join her and see a dribble of your cum peak through her folds. “That’s kind of hot.”

“Chaeng,” You groan, the image of what’s between her legs etched in your mind forever. 

“It is,” Rosie nudges your shoulder, laughing. “I’m exhausted. I hope I’m not too sore tomorrow, I have to carry a bunch of things to the studio.”

“I’ll help you.”

“Like actually?” Rosie sinks back into the pillow, turning to face you. 

You nod. 

“You don’t even have classes tomorrow?” 

“I know, but I’ll take you to school with all your stuff,” You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t help her, knowing that she’ll likely be sore because of you. That wouldn’t sit well with you. 

Rosie kisses you on the cheek, smiling before snuggling into you. It all feels very relationship-y, spiking your anxiety because you’re more attached to her than you ever intended. 

And that scares you the most. 

--

“Thanks Eunbi,” You send a grateful smile to the girl sitting across from you as you’re finishing up the group project that completely slipped your mind. 

“It’s fine oppa,” Eunbi laughs. “It’s a low-stakes project anyways.”

“Still,” You roll your eyes, annoyed with yourself more than anything. “I would’ve literally forgotten about it if you didn’t say anything.” 

You and Eunbi were assigned as partners for a project that wasn’t worth much towards your grade, but it was supposed to help with the semester project that was worth your entire grade. Eunbi was someone you interacted with frequently, sharing the same classes, but spending the past couple days with her has kept your mind off a certain someone (who you’ve been actively avoiding for the past few days)z

The day after you and Rosie had sex, you did drop her off at school, carrying all her things to the studio so she wouldn’t have to lift a finger. Naturally, people saw you together, creating a small rumor about you dating. It freaked you out because everyone is aware of her and Soohyun that you needed to distance yourself from her. 

Of course, without her realizing what you’re doing. But Rosie was perceptive, so sooner or later, she’ll confront you. 

“Are you doing anything right now?” Eunbi asks after she finished packing her belongings. 

“Uh no?” 

“Did you want to get dinner?” 

“Sure why not,” You shrug because you’re not doing anything wrong, but why did you suddenly feel a weight on your shoulders? 

Eunbi smiles, and she’s pretty. She knows it too, but she doesn’t let that get to her head. She is someone you haven’t gone out with or slept with, so it couldn’t hurt to spend a little bit more time with her outside of school work. 

Right?

Wrong. 

The universe has a funny way of making things happen. 

As you’re exiting the library, Rosie’s outside. You try to avoid her, but she looks up at the right moment, eyes narrowing, and stomps her way over to you. 

“Seriously?” Is all she says, glancing behind you to see who you’re with. 

“What?” Your wall’s up, especially with people passing by. You pray to a higher being that she doesn’t make a scene. 

“You know what,” Rosie huffs, crossing her arms. 

“Uh, oppa,” Eunbi says before you could respond to the woman seething in front of you. “We can have dinner another time.” 

You turn your head, and Eunbi has an understanding smile on her face, nodding encouragingly while you feel the metaphorical daggers stabbing the side of your face. 

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll see you around okay?” Eunbi’s eyes crinkle, nodding politely at Rosie before walking away. 

Once Eunbi’s a good few meters away, Rosie tugs on your arm, “Seriously, what the fuck? You’ve been avoiding me.” 

Okay so maybe you haven’t been handling this the best. You’ve intentionally missed her phone calls and blatantly ignored her messages. You don’t know if it’s because of how you feel towards her, which you’re still trying to figure out, or if it’s because you thought that it was a one-time thing. 

“Can we not do this here?” You offer weakly, and her jaw noticeably clenches. 

“Fine,” Rosie relents, shaking her head, cursing you under her breath before walking towards the parking lot.

--

You’re sitting on the couch, watching Rosie pace back and forth across your living room. She didn’t say much to you on the car ride over except that she was playing music. She grunted a thanks when you opened the door for her, opting to change into more comfortable clothes, leaving her some on your bed in case she wanted to change. 

Other than that, she hasn’t said anything else. 

“Did you want me to cook something?”

No response, the sound of Rosie’s feet continues to shuffle on the hardwood. 

“You know,” Rosie stops in front of the window, back towards you as she looks out at the night city skyline, “I spent the last three days wracking my brain over why you weren’t talking to me.” 

“I can–” Rosie shakes her head, prompting you to not say anything more. 

“I thought everything between us was going well. Yeah we still bicker, but we aren’t arguing like we used to. We had sex. I thought it was great aside from the expected soreness, but then you just ghost me,” Thankfully she doesn’t see you wince. “I was like there’s no way he’s going to treat me like I’m one of his usual fucks, right? He has to have more respect for me.” Rosie turns around, eyes narrowed as she walks towards you. 

“Rosie–”

“I thought about it more and I even talked about it with Lisa and Jennie because I needed someone, anyone really, to make sure I wasn’t going crazy,” Rosie stands in between your legs, crossing her arms. “Lisa being Lisa said that I was overthinking it too much, but do you want to know what Jennie said?” 

“What?” You gulp, gaze locked on hers. 

“Since you and Jennie had a fling, or whatever,” You detect something off in her tone when she says that, but if you point it out, she’ll yell at you. “She said that maybe you had feelings for me.”

Fucking Jennie. 

“I called it absurd because it’s you and me. We set the rules, which for what it’s worth, we broke a couple of them, but that’s the one we absolutely couldn’t break,” Rosie’s eyes narrow, searching your face for truth. You hoped you weren’t giving anything away, but you weren’t too sure. 

Sentences weren’t forming under her intense gaze, so you could only nod. 

“I have to ask, do you have feelings for me?” Rosie asks point blank. 

Yes is the short answer. 

The long answer is much more complicated for you to put into words because you’re admitting to yourself that you do, and that’s what’s fucking you up more. 

“No.”

“No? Then why were you avoiding me? I called. I texted. I had half the mind of just coming over here to curse you out, but Jennie stopped me,” Her shoulders drop, defeated, as the hurt breaks through her façade. 

“I figured you were done with me,” You say softly. 

“Why would you think that?” Rosie kneels in between your legs, resting her hands on your thighs. Your brain short circuits because it’s a very familiar position that your body has become very conditioned to. 

“We had sex, isn’t that what you wanted? To just get it over with?” 

“Well yeah,” Rosie folds her arms, cradling her face in her hands as she stares at you. “But I still want to do more things with you. Soohyun and I have gone on a few dates, but we aren’t anything official.” 

“When he asks you out, that’s when this,” You gesture between your bodies, “Will be over?” 

Rosie nods, “It would make the most sense right? I would be cheating on him if we continued doing things and I called him my boyfriend.”

It stings to hear that more than you thought it would, but you swallow that, pushing it deep down. 

“That’s true. You’ll tell me when that happens?” You ask. You need to prepare yourself for a heartbreak you weren’t expecting. 

“You’ll be the first to know when he asks me out,” Rosie moves, straddling your lap. “But for now, I want to do things with you,” She grounds her hips down, showing you exactly what she wants to do. 

“Yeah?” Your cock starts to awaken, hardening as your hands grip her thighs. “Like what?” 

“Ride you,” Rosie brings her lips to yours, murmuring, “I’m not sore anymore.” 

You groan, mind clouded with her body bouncing on your cock—a very imminent reality as she pulls her top over her head, leaving her completely nude from the waist up.

“Go ahead, Chaeng,” You whisper against her lips, letting her take control of the night. 

And you know you’ll be absolutely fucked out by the end of it. 

--

--

Your hand contacts the flesh of her thigh, a loud smack rings through your room. 

“Fuck baby,” Rosie moans loudly, rolling her hips back, trying to get your cock where she needs you most. 

“Do you deserve it?” You bend forward, kissing her neck sweetly. 

“Yes,” She pants, nodding obediently, squirming in your grip as she continues her movement, brushing your cock in between her lower lips. 

Another loud smack echoes as Rosie nearly screams when you aim your cock at her opening, entering her in one swift thrust.

“Good girl,” You whisper, leaning back before watching your cock pull out just enough where your tip stays within her warmth. 

“Please,” Rosie turns her head around, biting her lip, nodding that she’s more than okay. You feel her walls contract on your tip, a groan falling from your lips before you thrust back in. 

You start off slow, wanting to savor this because whether Rosie knows it or not, this is the last time for this to happen. 

Another month has gone by and Soohyun still hasn’t asked her out. Everyone knows they’re an item, but it hasn’t happened—yet. 

Though everyone—besides her friends—doesn’t know that you fuck her every time after their dates. 

The universe still never works in your favor, so you just happened to be in line to get coffee behind Soohyun and one of his friends before you had class. They spoke loud enough for you to hear his friend ask Soohyun when he was going to ask Rosie to be his girlfriend officially. Curiosity got the best of you, and when Soohyun said tomorrow after dinner, you knew you had to see her tonight. 

It wasn’t out of the routine for you to see Rosie after school, but it was out of the routine for you to ask. You hardly initiated it because you didn’t want to assume, but the few times you did, it was because of your parents’ pressuring you to join them on an overseas trip to Japan to meet with the Nakamuras. You were overly stressed out and Rosie conditioned you to go to her to release any frustrations you had. 

Was she surprised when you walked up to her in front of her roommates? No, because you were friends with them too. Was she surprised when you asked if she wanted to come over tonight? You weren’t sure, but you saw her head tilt, questioning before answering sure. You ignored the smirks that formed on their faces. 

Rosie knew something was up the moment you pushed her against the front door as soon as it shut, dragging your lips across her neck. 

“Everything okay?” Rosie asked in between breaths, letting out a squeak when you grabbed one of her legs, wrapping it around your waist. 

“Yeah,” You answered, ignoring your thoughts as you grounded your hips over hers. 

She didn’t ask anything else, moaning softly as you sucked on her collarbone, lifting her other leg to carry her to your room.

Rosie’s inner walls tighten along your cock on every pull out, and she moans, chest heaving as she takes your cock. Her body quivers in your hands as you saw yourself in and out, in and out. 

“Baby,” The pet name falls from her lips. She only calls you it when your balls deep in her, and it spurs you on every single time. “You feel so good.”

“You’re a good girl,” You murmured, pressing your chest against her back. You stop your movements, leaving your length fully sheathed inside, “Show me what good girls do.”

Rosie lets out a small whine, squirming as she moves her body along your cock. Her hips gyrating on yours has you seeing stars, moaning in her ear. Her pussy tightens, rubbing itself over and over, and you scoff, knowing she found the special spot inside of her. 

One hand slaps her ass, and she stops. 

You’ve learned a lot about Rosie this past month. She may mouth off at you a lot in public, but behind closed doors, she’s obedient as ever, tapping into a side of you you hadn’t been since Nayeon. You both soon realized, after a particularly long night together, that it was something you both enjoyed with each other. Whenever she was particularly bratty, especially with her friends there, it would rile you up a lot. 

“Good girls don’t cum first,” You say flatly. “Guess we stop now.” You slowly pull out before her hand reaches for yours, stopping your exit. 

“No no no,” Rosie whines, vigorously shaking her head. “I’m sorry, you just feel too good.”

“Selfish,” You click your tongue, shaking your head. 

“Baby please,” Rosie begs. She squeezes her inner walls on what’s remaining inside her, a dangerous trick she learned quickly, that has you groaning, slipping your length back inside. “Oh shit,” She moans at being filled.

“Fuck fine,” You relent, but you had other plans for her. You stand upright. You reach for her long blonde hair, tugging with enough force to pull her back against your chest. “But I’m fucking your pussy. This,” You snap your hips against hers, “Is mine. Right?”

Eyes widening, Rosie nods enthusiastically, “Yes baby yes.” 

“Mine?” You snap your hips again, watching her breasts bounce. 

“Yes,” She moans. 

“Say it.” 

Her hand turns your head towards her, bringing you in for a lustful kiss, tongues dancing as she moans, yours, into your mouth. 

You suddenly drop the grip on her hair, her body falling onto the bed, taking you with her. You fall on top of her prone form and start hammering into her pussy. 

You hope her screaming doesn’t get you a noise complaint, but if it does, you don’t give a flying fuck. Especially with the pressure her pussy is, squeezing your cock for all you have. 

“Fuck you’re so good,” Rosie bites into her lip, eyes rolling back as she grips the sheets, crumpling in her hand. “So fucking good,” She repeats in between moans.

“You’re being good for me,” Her pussy tightens at the praise. “Keep being good for me.”

Your hands grip her ass, drilling your cock into her, and something snaps inside of you when she screams. 

“Fuck this pussy’s mine,” You groan against her tangled hair. 

“Yours, yours, yours—oh fuck,” Rosie chants, eyes shooting open as her orgasm surprises you both. 

You feel your cock get pushed out as Rosie begins to squirt against your body, and she fucking gushes.

You’ve never made a girl squirt before, and Rosie has never had such a bodily reaction. You feel a streak of possessiveness rolls through your body. You shove your cock through her wetness, and you feel another rush of liquid as you wildly thrust in and out of her body.

“Fuck Chaeng,” You moan, your mind screaming mine mine, as your orgasm hits, shooting your load deep inside her. It must’ve triggered another orgasm because her pussy tightens again, knocking the air from your lungs, as your hips stutter erratically. 

“Jesus fuck,” Rosie pants from underneath you, her body still quivering from her orgasm. Your chest heaves, hands slipping underneath her waist to hold her tightly. “That was…I don’t even know.”

“Yeah,” You grunt, kissing her hair before gently pulling your cock out. You don’t know either because you’ve taken Rosie roughly before, but never like this. She lets out a quiet moan, sighing, as you glance down to the mess between you. Quite a mess indeed. 

Your body collapses next to Rosie as exhaustion takes over, but she quickly snuggles into you, wrapping an arm over your back. 

“Are you okay?” Rosie mumbles into your ear, chin resting on your shoulder. 

“Are you?” You turn your head to face her. The guilt washing in after you realize how hard you were on her. 

“Well I know for a fact I’ll be sore tomorrow, but I’m great,” Rosie kisses your skin, mumbling out, “But seriously, are you okay?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You ask quietly. 

Rosie stares at you, peeking her head over to search for an answer you’re scared she’ll find. She looks beautiful, and you’d love to tell her, but with the way she’s looking at you, something else might slip out. 

“You called me mine,” Rosie says softly, bringing her fingers to comb through your hair. 

“Sorry,” You bury your face into your pillow, embarrassed. “Heat of the moment,” You lie, knowing damn well it wasn’t. 

“Don’t be shy,” Rosie scratches your head. “It was cute,” Giggling softly before adding, “Being yours sounds nice.”

--

You’re at a bar with a few of your friends—Jennie and Lisa included. It’s a normal night out with your friends to celebrate making it another week. You couldn’t really enjoy it like you normally would because you’ve been checking your phone every couple minutes, waiting for a message you know is coming your way. 

“Oppa, pay attention to us,” Lisa whines next to you as Jennie chuckles on her lap. 

“If you want to have a threesome, just ask,” That comment earns you a hard smack on the arm from Jennie, huffing in her now-girlfriend’s lap. 

“Oh fuck off,” Jennie spits out, muttering to Lisa about how much of an asshole you are and why she ever slept with you. 

You check your phone for any notifications and your heart drops when you see one from Rosie. You casually glance to make sure neither of the girls are peering over your shoulder, while you hear them talking to Ryujin on their other side. 

You take a breath, tapping the screen to read the message. 

Soohyun asked me to be his girlfriend. 

You already knew it was coming, so why did it still hurt?

You lock your phone, shaking your head, as you try to process your emotions. 

The time you’ve been spending with Rosie is over, and you couldn’t help but feel sad over it. It feels like when you and Nayeon broke up, but a thousand times worse. It’s not like you two were actually a couple, mere fuck buddies that spent hours together watching shows, eating out with, and a lot of other things in between. 

But then why does it feel like it was more than a fuck? 

You were aware that you were growing attached to Rosie, but you feigned it off that it was just because of how much you saw each other. She became part of your routine, that you couldn’t remember the time when she wasn’t. 

Your attachment clearly was more because you developed feelings, actual feelings that weren’t revolving around lust. So yeah, you like Rosie, hell, you may even be in love with her at this point, but you lost your shot. 

And there probably won’t ever be another. 

You groan, slamming your hand on the table loud enough that it jolts the girls next to you. 

“Oppa, what the fuck?” Jennie asks, concerned with your sudden outburst. 

“I gotta go,” Your voice cracks, walking away before you break down completely.

“Wait!” Lisa yells after you, spurring you to move quicker through the crowd. 

You turn your head before you exit, but you can’t pinpoint their face in the sea of people. You let out a sigh of relief, knowing you lost them, before the thought of Rosie seeps back into your mind. 

You need something—anything—to get your thoughts and feelings off of her. An idea quickly comes to you, one that you regret having, but it’s your only option. 

You pull your phone out, scrolling through your contact list before hitting call. 

The line rings once before a concerned voice answers. 

“Book me a flight to Osaka.”

--

--

It’s been two weeks since you received a message that shattered you. 

It’s also been two weeks since you left for Osaka abruptly, deciding to join your parents to meet with the Nakamuras for another business formality. 

Your parents were surprised that you wanted to join, especially since the last discussion you had with your father had your mother having to step in between before either of you slammed the other into the wall. Your father was excited the moment you showed up at your childhood home straight after the club while your mother looked concerned. She asked if everything was alright, but you brushed her off, not wanting to get into it with her. 

Regardless, they were still happy you joined them. Your father more so as he made the off comment that it would be good to spend some time with Kazuha. 

Which you did, and with Satoshi. 

You gave Kazuha the heads up that you’d be arriving with your parents. She was another person surprised, but she welcomed you nonetheless. You also met her boyfriend, who you quickly became close to, much to Kazuha’s dismay. She’d tell anyone that she was the third wheel by how much you and Satoshi spoke. 

It was only meant to be a weeklong trip, but Kazuha and Satoshi invited you to stay for their school break, to visit Tokyo and Hiroshima. You jumped at the opportunity. Anything that kept you away from seeing Rosie and Soohyun holding hands on campus was what you wanted. 

Satoshi brought his younger sister along too, Kasumi. You thought she was a bit of a hothead, but she was pretty and you were in another country trying to get over someone. 

When it came down to actually hooking up, you couldn’t. Your body physically shut down from anything you two alluded to. Making out had no effect on you. Her rubbing her hand over your crotch felt nice, but not enough for you to get hard. You felt bad, but you explained that you just couldn’t because you weren’t in the right headspace for it. You were so caught up in your feelings with Rosie that you couldn’t perform, no matter how much Kasumi was interested. 

She understood, chuckling because she figured there was someone else, but she thought you were cute so she wanted to at least try. There weren’t any hard feelings, leaving Japan with two great friends. And Kazuha too, you guess. 

You hear your mother call your name out from across the aisle, motioning for you to sit next to her as the plane starts its descent. 

“How are you doing?” Your mother asks once you buckle your seatbelt. 

“I’m fine,” An automated response whenever either of your parents ask, but the difference between them is that your mother has a tendency to prod. 

“How was Tokyo?” 

“It was fun. Kazuha and Satoshi took me around,” You answer vaguely, knowing that if you shared actual details about what you did, she would have a heart attack. 

“That’s great,” Your mother nods, smiling. “How’s Chaeyoung?” 

You freeze. You knew your mothers spoke often, but she had rarely ever asked you about her. 

“I saw Alice a few weeks ago as I was coming home. She mentioned you and Chaeyoung had been spending some time together,” Your mother continues, noticing your sudden apprehension. 

Oh. 

That’s news to you because you didn’t think Rosie mentioned you to Alice of all people. The siblings were close, like really close, so if she talked about you, it probably meant something. But you were trying to get over her, and thinking about what it could mean would drive you crazy. 

“Oh, uh, Rosie’s doing well. I think she’s going abroad for her internship this summer, she just has to decide where she wants to go,” You say. Rosie had been bouncing ideas off you since she heard back. You were there when she received a couple emails, watching her shock and excitement paint her face. She nearly ripped your clothes off when she got accepted into the one she really wanted. 

“Fashion right? Chaeyoung always had an eye for that,” Your mother answers pensively. 

You’re inclined to say something else, but another question is thrown your way before you could. 

“Are you two dating?” 

“Mother,” You roll your eyes. 

“That’s not a no,” She quips, chuckling at your expense. “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me. You’ve always been fond of her ever since you were kids. We, her mother and I, have talked about it before.”

“What’re you even talking about?” You sigh, shaking your head. This conversation has taken a turn for the worse. You thought your mother wanted you to marry Kazuha, but apparently, she has been talking to Rosie’s mother about you two for years. 

“You don’t remember? You used to come home frustrated with Rosie, whining and grumbling about why she wouldn’t talk to you,” Her words unlock a box you kept hidden away. “It wasn’t until you hit high school where you pretty much gave up trying to be her friend. Even at that point, Rosie would talk to you, or maybe more antagonize you is a better description. You were beaming after those weekly dinners with the Parks.”

You didn’t comment as thoughts and feelings rushed to the surface. 

“Regardless, we thought you two would date at some point,” Your mother shrugged as if what she just said had no impact on you. 

Your mother doesn’t say anything else, opening one of her latest novels, signaling that the conversation is over. 

It really didn’t matter how you felt before, but then why does it feel like it’s making it a hundred times harder to get over her? 

--

You drop your duffel bag on the floor, kicking the door shut, as you’re finally home after two weeks. You plop your body on the couch, yawning from the flight. You have to go to campus tomorrow, which you weren’t entirely excited about. The chances of you seeing her were high, but you didn’t know what she was going to do. 

You’ve been avoiding all messages she sent you, which were a lot. She called you too, leaving a few voicemails that you couldn’t bring yourself to listen to. Kazuha caught you staring at your phone one night and made you promise not to open any messages that could derail your trip. It didn’t help Satoshi agreed, saying that it would be like a reset. 

You decide that now was the time to check them. 

Where are you? 

Can you answer the phone? 

I’m coming over. 

I’m outside, can you open the door? 

Fuck it, I know your code. 

Where the hell are you? 

Did you go to Osaka?

All those messages were from the day after Soohyun asked her to be his girlfriend. You saw she texted you everyday for a week asking if you could call her, but her last message broke you. 

I can only assume you went to Osaka. I hope everything’s okay. 

It takes everything in you to not reply now. If you do, you’d just be an asshole to her for no contact for two weeks. You’re an asshole either way, but it would rub salt in the wound. 

You check your other messages and see a few from Jennie, who rightfully curses you out for being a dick and to just respond so Rosie knows you're alive. Lisa sent one too, asking you where you are, but no threats. Jisoo’s message made you chuckle, a simple reply to her or else, was clear enough.

You sigh, locking your phone and tossing it on the coffee table. 

You’ll deal with everything tomorrow. 

--

The first person that approaches you on campus is Jennie. She shoves you, letting her when you know you could overpower her. 

“You’re a fucking ass,” Jennie pushes you again, enough force to lose your balance. 

“What did I do?” You stupidly ask, avoiding her piercing gaze. 

“You know what the hell you did, you better fucking talk to her,” Jennie says firmly, poking your shoulder. 

“If I see her,” You mumble, rubbing the spot. 

“You better,” You wait for her to say more, but the sound of her walking away brings your gaze to her retreating figure. 

Sighing as this isn’t how you want to start your day, you decide to be early for class.

The universe doesn’t even want you to be early because Nayeon stops you along the way.

“Hey I need a favor,” Nayeon asks, standing in front of you. 

“What?” You didn’t mean to sound irritated, but blame Jennie.

“Can you do this photoshoot for Mina and Sana? Their original photographer flaked, and they’re out of options,” Nayeon explains and you know she’s telling the truth. 

“Why me?” 

“I suggested you. I remember you taking photographs,” Nayeon smiles softly. “It’s a project that’s worth half their grade and their professor wants quality pictures.”

“What class is it for?” You prod, adding, “I’ve never done a modeling kind of shoot.”

“Their visual concepts class, I think. I don’t know. All I know is that they texted the group chat, stressing out,” Nayeon explains, shrugging since she was a film major. 

“Fine,” Nayeon claps happily, “Are you going to be there?” You had to ask, needing the time to mentally prepare yourself to spend, most likely, the whole day with her. 

“What? No,” Nayeon shakes her head. “I’ll be in Busan this weekend. Why did you want to hang out with me?” She wiggles her eyebrows. 

“Absolutely not,” You say firmly and her shoulders drop. 

“Fine whatever,” Nayeon huffs, hiking her bag on her shoulder. “Anyways, I’ll text you the details about it later. It’s tomorrow. I don’t think you need to bring anything, but bring your camera stuff just in case.” 

You nod, thinking about your schedule for tomorrow, which thankfully nothing was planned. 

“Oh,” Nayeon turns her head, adding one last detail before walking away, “Chaeyoung will be there too. She’s styling them.” 

Nayeon doesn’t wait for you to reply, leaving you speechless and even more irritated. 

Fucker. 

--

--

“Let’s take a break,” You announce after checking the shots you just took, satisfied with the outcome. “Fifteen?”

“Oh thank god,” Sana sinks to the ground as Mina chuckles next to her. “If we weren’t desperate, I wouldn’t have said yes.”

“Be thankful I care about this, or your project would be shit,” You answer, flicking through the pictures and thinking of how to change the lighting. 

“Thanks again for doing this, oppa,” Mina squeezes your arm before walking off to sit with Momo. 

You grumble a reply, turning without even thinking, and you accidentally bump into someone. 

“Shit sorry,” You look up to see Rosie five seconds away from losing the grip on the clothes she’s carrying. You immediately drop the camera against your chest, reaching for the items and taking it out of her hands. 

“It’s fine,” Rosie grabs the clothes back without another word, walking towards Mina. 

You sigh, shaking your head, trying not to lose focus on why you’re here. 

When you arrived this morning at one of the parks at the Han River, most of the crew was already present, setting up. You greeted everyone before seeing Rosie with Dahyun, discussing the outfits and concepts. 

“Hey good morning,” You greeted softly as you stood in front of them. 

Dahyun gave you a bright smile while Rosie forced hers, the smile not quite reaching her eyes. 

“Morning oppa!” Dahyun was as cheerful as ever at eight in the morning on a Saturday. “You could use the school’s equipment if you want,” She nods towards the table with the camera and lenses, “But feel free to use yours, whichever you feel comfortable with.” 

Another woman walked up to Dahyun, asking her to come with her to make sure they were correctly set up. Dahyun excused herself, leaving you alone with Rosie. 

“Chaeng—”

“Now you want to talk?” Rosie’s words cut sharply. “I don’t have anything to say to you right now, can we just get through today?” 

“Okay,” Was all you could say, nodding. You knew she had a lot to say, but neither of you could exactly hash it out with all these people around. 

“Okay,” Rosie nodded, grabbing whatever was near her, and walked away. 

Once Sana and Mina arrived, you quickly switched gears. You pushed whatever thoughts and feelings you had for Rosie aside, and went straight into work mode. 

You had zero experience taking photographs like this. Sure you’ve taken photos of your friends, and Nayeon would force you to take pictures of her whenever you went out. The last person you took a photo of was Rosie when you walked through the streets of Myeongdong a few weeks back. 

That was about as close as you got to taking pictures of people, but working like this was exhilarating.

You and Rosie worked well together too. It made you a lot more comfortable with directing with how seamlessly it went. You asked her opinion on what lighting should be used and she gave feedback that had the shots coming out great. Other than suggestions, your conversations had been minimal.

“You know,” Sana joins you in the empty seat next to you as you sift through the photos on the laptop, “You’re an asshole right?” 

“Okay what the fuck,” You break your attention away from the screen to a smirk on Sana’s face. 

“Chaeyoung-ah talks to us, and she sort of filled us in about this guy, who wasn’t Soohyun, that she had been seeing,” Sana sinks into the chair, glancing at the picture of her and Mina on the screen. “It wasn’t really hard to put two and two together about who she was referring to, and Nayeon confirmed something was going on between you.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” You brush the woman off, rolling your eyes as you delete one of the blurry shots. 

“Sure you don’t,” Sana chuckles, “But regardless of whatever was going on between you two, you should know—if you don’t already—Rosie didn’t say yes to Soohyun when he asked her out.”

You don’t let her words faze you as you continue to delete shots you don’t deem worthy. 

“One could only wonder right?” Sana goes on, oblivious to your inner turmoil. “Soohyun’s a good-looking guy, nice enough, and spent a fair amount of time courting her, just for him to be rejected.”

“What are you getting at Sana?” You stop what you were doing, turning to face her. 

“Just wanted to figure out why Rosie said no,” Sana shrugs as Dahyun passes by, informing her that it’s time for the next outfit change. “Anyways, Rosie wouldn’t say, but it’s obvious why.”

“And why is that?” You take the bait, preparing yourself for whatever’s going to come out of Sana’s mouth next. 

“Because of you,” Sana stands, letting out a small yawn. “Anyways, let’s get this over with. I’m ready to drink. Don’t be a dick.” 

You aren’t sure if Sana was referring to herself or to Rosie, and you couldn’t ask since she left to go change into the next outfit. 

--

The rest of the photo shoot goes without a hitch. You tried your best to not let the conversation with Sana bleed into your work, and you hoped no one noticed. It was slightly harder than it was already to work with Rosie, but you maintained some sense of professionalism. 

There was a minor issue with the zipper breaking on Sana’s dress, but Rosie was quick to fix the problem by throwing a blazer over her. Other than that, everything went well. You thanked everyone for their help today, realizing it was a long day, which everyone was happy to hit the bar once everything was packed up. 

You offered to edit the pictures for them, since you didn’t exactly want to go out. Mina said you didn’t have to, but you were adamant about it. Sana shrugged, indifferent if you joined or not. 

You see Rosie talking to Momo and swallow your pride as you make your way to them. 

“Come on Chaeng,” You catch Momo say as you get closer. “It’ll be fun!” 

“I don’t think so Momo,” Rosie shakes her head. “I just want to stay in tonight.”

“One drink?” Momo begs as you stand next to the women. 

“Sorry Momo,” Rosie smiles, eyes falling on you before her smile slowly fades. 

“Oppa, convince her to go,” Momo pouts. 

“I’m with her on this one Momo,” She frowns, shaking her head, muttering something in Japanese that makes you laugh. “I understand, you know that right?” 

Momo’s eyes widened, cheeks starting to turn red before walking away. 

Once Momo’s a good distance away, you turn to Rosie, a sad smile forming on your face as she looks everywhere but at you. 

“Can we talk?” You ask quietly. 

“So talk,” Rosie crosses her arms. 

“Like in private? Please.”

Rosie relents, sighing. “Let’s just finish with cleaning up and we can go for a walk okay?” 

“Okay,” You nod, grateful that she’s giving you the time of day. 

You have to be honest with her, and if she rejects you completely, at least you can say you tried. 

—

Rosie shivers next to you, the chill of the sunset creeping in. You shrug your coat off, wrapping it around her shoulders. 

“Thanks,” Rosie mumbles out as you continue walking along the river. 

There are a few people out as well, mostly couples huddled together. It almost makes you want to wrap an arm around her to keep her warm. You won’t though because it’s awkward. 

Rosie walks into the convenience store without saying anything, which you follow her into. She grabs an instant coffee before turning to you, asking if you wanted anything. You shake your head, even though the bottle of soju behind the glass screams your name. 

When she goes to pay, you quickly swipe your card before she could say no. She scoffs, shaking her head, as she walks out. You follow her, keeping a small distance as you watch her take small sips with every step. She stops, leaning on the railing, and stares out to the river. 

Naturally you join her, letting the background noise fill the silence. 

After a few minutes, Rosie says, “You wanted to talk, so go ahead.” 

“First off, I’m sorry,” You say quietly. You apologize for not replying, and most likely worrying her. You explain that going to Osaka was an impulsive choice, but that doesn’t excuse your behavior. 

“Well why? Did I do something?” Rosie turns to face you, lip quivering. You notice her eyes suddenly glossy, and it pangs you to see her like this. 

“No, no,” You shake your head firmly, closing your eyes as you choose your next words carefully. “When I got that text about Soohyun, I finally accepted something.” 

“What?” 

You slowly open your eyes, staring at her features, completely enamored by her. Like you always have been. 

“I’m in love with you,” You admit for the first time out loud, and you’re happy it’s to her. 

Rosie’s eyes widen, gaze looking away as her whole body shifts to face the water again. 

“You’re an asshole, you know that right?” Rosie says quietly. “And an idiot.” She adds, huffing. 

Not the response you were expecting, but before you could ask what she means, she tells you anyway. 

“I’ve spent mostly every day with you for the past month, then we have a really intense night of sex where you fucking claimed me,” You wince at her words, “Then you just leave for two weeks without any contact to come back and say you’re in love with me because of a text of someone asking me out?” 

“Well when you put—”

“I’m not finished,” Rosie huffs, facing you once again. “I’m in love with you, too dumbass. After that last night, I realized that as much as you piss me off, as much as you’re so fucking stubborn, that the idea of being yours felt real. I couldn’t say yes to Soohyun when I unknowingly said yes to you.” 

“You want to be with me?” You stare at her, dumbfounded. 

“If that wasn’t clear enough, yes,” Rosie rolls her eyes. “We’ve basically already been dating, so if you’d just stop running away after and just talk to—whoa,” She gasps when your arm snakes around her waist, pulling her into you, tilting her head up. 

“Say it,” You ghost your lips against hers, moving as she misses. 

“See, stubborn,” There’s a sharp inhale when you kiss her sweetly. 

“Say it,” You mumble, dipping your tongue in as she lets out a moan. 

“Yours,” Rosie wraps her arms around your neck, melting into you as the kiss deepens. 

“I love you,” You detach your lips, resting your forehead against hers. 

“I love you too,” Tracing her fingers along your neck, “Even though you’ve been a jerk these past two weeks. How are you going to make it up to me?” 

“I can think of a few ways.”

--

--

Rosie slams the door behind you, wincing at the frames rattling against the wall. She kicks her shoes off aggressively, barely sparing you a glance as she walks to your room. That door also slams. 

She’s pissed. 

Maybe it was your fault. Okay so it was your fault, but you didn’t mean for it to happen. 

You met up with a few of your friends to celebrate the end of exams and the school year. It was also a small farewell to you and Rosie as you were going to Paris together for the summer. Rosie took the internship at YSL and she was able to get you one too after she sneakily sent over the portfolio from the project. 

Your parents didn’t mind, figuring it would be good for you to take this time before you graduate into the real world. They were supportive that if you decided to do it for real, they’d be more than okay with it. That surprised you, but you couldn’t complain. Though the teasing from your mother was enough. 

You were at the bar, waiting to get your order when Ryujin sat in your lap. You couldn’t do anything as her weight pressed you down. 

“What the hell Ryujin?” You try to get her off you. 

“Oppa, come on. When are you going to ditch Chaeyoung and get back to bed with me?” Ryujin grounds her hips over your crotch, stealing a moan from you as the movement catches you off guard. 

“I’m not going to,” You grit out as she repeats the movement. 

“What the fuck?” You hear Rosie’s voice behind you, gathering the strength to push the woman off your lap. 

“I can explain!” You turn to face her, hands up. 

“Come on Chaeyoung, share him,” Ryujin trails a finger up your chest. “I miss him.” 

“Oh you fucking—” You step out of Ryujin’s hold, lungeing for your girlfriend before she mauls the other woman. 

“Let’s go,” You nearly carry Rosie out as she squirms against your hold. A few people stare as you walk by, but she was about five seconds away from causing a bigger scene, that you couldn’t care less. 

Once you got outside, Rosie ripped into you. She called you every name in the book for doing that. When you explained that you were pushing her off, she called you an idiot for even allowing it. You had no response, knowing it was a lost cause. 

Officially dating Rosie for the past few months, you learned a lot, especially the type of girlfriend she was. She’s more affectionate, tender, soft when it’s just you or with her closest friends. She does a lot for you without even realizing you need help. She acts indifferent to the public about things, but tells you how she feels and what she thinks in private. She shows you in more ways than one just how much she loves you. 

But she’s still the same too. 

She still argues with you over anything and everything. She mouths off whenever she doesn’t get her way (you give in anyways). She relentlessly teases you any chance she gets. 

She’s also very possessive of you. She hates when any girls glance your way. She especially despises any of your past flings (except Jennie) as they boldly ask you to hook up with her right there. She can’t stand it when you say she’s jealous because she’s not. But her use of mine is repeated multiple times as she fucks you to remind you who you belonged to, like you could forget. 

She’s still the biggest pain in your ass, but you love her anyway. 

You open your room door, surprised to see Rosie already changed for bed. She’s adorable dressed in your clothes, the size just a tad too big on her body. You quietly close the door, ignoring her movements as you grab clothes from the dresser. 

When you join her in bed, sliding under the covers, you lay on your side, staring at her scroll through her phone. 

“Chaeng,” You pout as she continues scrolling. “Come on, you know I didn’t do anything.” 

“Why’d you let her sit on your lap then?” Rosie says sarcastically. 

“I didn’t. She just sat there,” You reason, rolling your eyes at her pettiness. 

“Cause you just keep your lap available for anyone to sit on?” 

“Jesus christ, you know I don’t. You’re acting like a brat,” You huff, rolling onto your back. 

“I’m acting like a brat?” Rosie raises her voice, her phone tossed on the nightstand. She hovers over you, eyes narrowing, “I’m not the one letting girls openly sit on my lap when I’m clearly in a relationship.”

“Believe me, everyone knows that I am,” You glare, deciding right then and there you’re going to taunt her. “Not my fault my dick’s just that good they miss me.” 

“You’re fucking unbelievable,” Rosie scoffs, “It’s not even that good.” 

“What do you have to compare it to? You’ve only slept with me and clearly aren’t going after anyone else’s dick,” It’s a low blow, but she’s starting to piss you off. 

In a flurry of movements, Rosie swings her leg over you, cupping your chin rather aggressively before whispering, “Did you want me to? I’m sure there’s still a line of guys dying to get inside of me.”

Your temper flares, hands gripping her waist before flipping her over. 

Now if Rosie’s possessive of you, naturally you’re possessive of her. Probably worse. 

You find your hands underneath your shirt, and she shivers at your touch. 

“Is that a no?” Rosie moans when you pinch her nipples. 

You remove your hands, reaching for the hem of your shirt before throwing it somewhere off to the side. You rip the shirt off her body before slotting yourself in between her legs, pressing most of your weight on top of her. 

“I guess I have to ask,” You start peppering her jaw with kisses, “Do you want to be disappointed?” 

Rosie moans as you gently suck on her sweet spot, smirking against her skin as her hips roll against your crotch. Your cock twitches, but you don’t let your control slip that easily. 

“How-how would I be disappointed?” Rosie tilts her head back, granting you more access as you continue leaving marks along her neck. 

“You’d be comparing them to me,” You thrust against her, just so she could feel what she’s doing to you. 

“Doubtful,” Rosie’s hand slips underneath your waistband, taking hold of your cock as she strokes you. 

“I know you would,” You whisper against her ear, “You wouldn’t cum, I know that for sure.”

“What makes you so confident?” Her grip tightens, a groan falling from your lips. 

“Maybe cause you’re mine,” You nip at her ear, grounding your hips against hers. Her legs wrap around your waist, an all too familiar move that has you rutting into her, mimicking exactly what you were going to do to her. 

“Yours?” 

“Mine,” You tear the shirt over her head, whimpering at her hand leaving you. You tug her shorts down to see her bare pussy, wet and glistening under the low light of your room. You salivate, but tuck those thoughts away for later because you need to get inside her more than anything right now. 

“Better remind me,” Rosie sighs, breath stuttering, as she stares at the obvious bulge in between her legs. “I could probably walk outside and someone would wanna fuck me.”

Your control snaps, shoving your sweats to free your cock. You miss the gasp falling from her lips, but you hone in as you aim your cock at her entrance. 

“Absolutely not,” You snap your hips forward, giving her no time to adjust to the ruthless pace you set on her body. “Only I could do this.”

You spread her legs wider, watching her eyes roll back. Her hips meet every thrust, taking you just like she knows how to. Her long drawn out moans quickly turn into high pitched screams that ring in your ears. 

“Baby,” Rosie brings one hand in between her legs, furiously rubbing her clit as her walls clamp onto your length. “You fuck me so—fuck.” 

Your earlier irritation bleeds away, suddenly feeling the need to make sure Rosie doesn’t forget exactly who makes her feel this good. 

You fill her to the hilt, groaning into the crook of her neck as her pussy contracts around your cock. 

“Baby,” Rosie pants, chest heaving against yours as she tries to move. Your hips have her pinned against the bed, so it’s futile as she writhes underneath you. “Don’t stop, please.” She breathes out, her hand still moving in between you, creating a delicious friction. 

You want her to beg, but with the way she’s squeezing your cock like her life depended on it has you giving in 

“Tell me.”

“Yours-please, please,” Rosie shakes her head, the pressure in between her legs growing. 

“Mine?” You draw your hips back, leaving the head of your cock in. 

“Fuck, yours,” Rosie screams when you slam into her body, hooking her legs over your shoulders as you resume fucking her with everything you’ve got. 

You’re usually not this rough, but a more primal, baser, need takes over. She yelled at you for something that was completely out of your control. Could you have handled it differently? Sure, but she could have handled it differently too. 

You’ve spent enough time with Rosie to know she acts like this to rile you up. You honestly have no problem putting her in her place, especially if it’s in between her legs. 

Rosie’s orgasm rips through her body, back arching suddenly as her hands hold you close. Her nails dig into your skin, nails scratching down your back, which you know will leave marks. 

“Again,” You command, fucking her thoroughly as her pussy spasms around your cock. 

Rosie’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out as her lips form a perfect ‘O’ before a gush of wetness drenches you. 

You pull out quickly, deciding that she doesn’t get to feel you cum inside her—at least right now. It takes you no more than four pumps of your cock before you explode over her body. You aim in between her lower lips, making a bigger mess of her as your mind shuts off. 

You’re both gasping for air, but your eyes fixate on the rise and fall of Rosie’s chest. Moving on impulse alone, you lower yourself, peppering her chest with your lips. One hand lazily drapes over your neck, scratching softly as quiet moans leave her body. 

“Okay,” Rosie mumbles after a couple minutes, gently tugging you off. “You made your point. I don’t want anyone else to fuck me.”

“Good,” You roll off of her, but quickly pull her body into yours. 

“No one else can fuck you either,” Rosie musters out as threatening as possible. It falls short because she’s still trying to catch her breath, exhausted. 

“I know,” You kiss her temple. “Only want you anyways.” 

“Good,” She snuggles into your side, slotting a leg in between yours. 

You offer to clean up, but she pulls you tighter, telling you five more minutes. You chuckle, knowing her body well enough that she’s going to pass out. 

“Love you,” You murmur, lips on her skin again because you couldn’t get enough of her. 

“I love you,” Rosie sighs dreamily. 

You hear light snores after a minute, eyes rolling fondly. You sink into the embrace, closing your eyes as well. 

You’ll clean later, content with the woman in your arms, who will—if you had to bet—want to go again. 

--

--

--

[writingpandagoth]

As promised the second part of the request:

Hiii!!!! Can you do one sev×fem reader in wich again she is James' little sister, but he truly loves her sis. So when she arrives to Hogwarts, Severus see her as an opportunity to get revenge over James for being his bully, so he and yn start a secret relationship but he treats her so bad and James doesn't know what is happening with her sis; eventually severus realize that he indeed loves her and it's up to you if it ends up good or bad, pleaseeee

Enjoy!

Safety Net 2

James didn’t go to breakfast. Didn’t go to class. Didn’t say much at all.

He only told Lily one thing:

Bring her to the library as soon as you can.

Then he left. He knew exactly where to look.

The old astronomy tower had been abandoned for years — too cold, too cracked, too forgotten. Which made it perfect for someone who wanted to disappear.

James took the stairs two at a time, his breath sharp in the freezing air.

And there he was.

Severus.

Curled near the window, his knees drawn in, eyes staring at nothing.

James didn’t say a word.

He just grabbed him — fist in his collar — and yanked him to his feet.

Severus didn’t fight.

Didn’t flinch.

In his mind he thought this was the end and he was ready for it.

But James didn’t hit him. He just dragged him out of the tower, down the steps, through the empty corridors, fast and silent.

Until they were outside the library.

Deserted. Cold. Quiet.

Severus stumbled as they stopped.

He was bracing himself.

Bracing for a hex. A punch. A shouting match.

Something public. Something loud.

Something that would finally make the rest of the castle see him for what he was.

But it didn’t come.

Just a shove. Hard enough to rattle and then James's voice, low and deadly:

“You absolute bloody coward.”

Severus blinked — confused.

No hex. No blow.

Just words.

And somehow, they hit harder.

“I should knock you flat,” James hissed. “But that’d be too easy. Wouldn’t it? You’d like that. You want to suffer. That’s what all this is — the fights, the bruises, the vanishing act. You think pain makes you noble.”

Severus didn’t speak. His jaw twitched — barely.

“You think getting expelled makes you some tragic little martyr? You think fading out makes you brave?”

James shoved his shoulder again.

“You used her,” James snapped. “You broke her. And then you broke yourself. And instead of doing the one thing that could’ve mattered — facing her, apologizing — you ran. You left her to pick up the pieces.”

James’s voice cracked — just barely — as he exhaled.

“You’re not hurting her because of what you did. You’re hurting her because you didn’t even try to make it right. You didn’t even try!”

James leaned in. Then pulled something from his jacket — and shoved it hard against Severus’s chest.

The book.

The one filled with I love yous.

“You love her?”

James’s voice dropped — low, sharp.

“Then act like it. Say it to her. Directly. Mean it. Fight for her. Prove it wasn’t all a lie. Prove you’re not just some pathetic coward hiding behind guilt because it’s easier than facing what you broke.”

Severus didn’t move. 

Didn’t breathe.

James’s voice went even lower.

„Stop hiding and prove your love and make her bloody happy.“

Severus stood frozen.

The book pressed against his chest like it might burn through.

He couldn’t move.

His mouth opened — slightly — then closed again but no sound came out.

He looked at James, truly looked at him for the first time.

There wasn’t rage in James’s face anymore.

Just disappointment.

And something that tilted his whole world upside down.

Permission.

James stepped back — one sharp move — eyes locked on his.

“Because if you don’t—If you run again—I’ll come back to that tower and next time, I won’t be dragging you out of it.”

Then he turned and walked away, footsteps sharp and echoing down the empty corridor.

Severus stayed where he was.

Clutching the book like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Breathing like it hurt.

Severus stood alone outside the library, where James had left him minutes before.

He still hadn’t moved. His head was still spinning, heart still pounding with the echo of words he never expected to hear from Potter.

Stop hiding and prove your love and make her bloody happy.

He hadn’t known what to do with that — hadn’t even had time to process it — when he heard footsteps again.

Two sets. Closer. Lighter.

And then he heard it.

Your voice.

“…Didn't he say why you should bring me to the library?”

His chest tightened painfully.

Then Lily’s voice — too soft for him to catch the words — and another footstep.

Severus turned slowly and there you were. You stopped in the middle of the corridor, a book clutched tightly to your chest. Hair slightly messy like you hadn’t been sleeping.

Eyes locked onto his.

And he waited for the ineffable, for you to turn around, to walk away from him and that would be it. He lowered his eyes. Prepared himself for the final quiet.

But then —

You walked toward him.

Severus looked up, startled.

You didn’t slow. You didn’t stop. And when you reached him, you raised the book and hit his shoulder hard with it.

“You—idiot,” you choked.

Another hit.

“You stupid, selfish—bloody idiot—”

Severus didn’t move, he just stood there.

Letting you yell.

Letting it land.

You hit him once more, but your hands were shaking now.

“How dare you” you whispered, tears rising in your throat. “You were actually going to leave. I thought—”

Your voice broke.

“I thought I meant nothing. I thought it had all been pretend and then you gave me that book. With everything I ever wanted you to say — only when it was already too late. I thought I lost you. I thought all I’d have left of you were those stupid little I love you's in the margins of a bloody book—”

Severus opened his mouth but his voice caught like it didn’t quite remember how to speak.

“I’m sorry,” he said, barely audible. “I—I didn’t know if…”

He trailed off — because what could he say? He hadn’t known if you’d want him. If you’d listen. If he even deserved to try

“You listened to me,” you said, the words breaking on a sob. “I told you to stay away, and you actually did.”

Severus’s eyes flicked up to yours — just for a second.

“I thought…” he started, voice unsteady, “I thought it was what you needed.”

His words weren’t defensive.

They were hollow. Honest. Full of regret.

“I didn’t need you gone,” you said, your fists trembling at your sides.

Your voice was stronger now — not louder, but steady in a way that cut.

“I needed you to fight. To show me you cared. To show me that not everything was a lie.”

Something shattered in him then. Not loudly. Not all at once.

Just… broke.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again — rougher this time. “I’m so—”

He swallowed hard. “I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t want to make it worse—”

He tripped over the words, like he wasn’t sure which part hurt more to say.

You shook your head slowly, voice breaking around the words.

“And you thought punishing yourself would be better?”

The question wasn’t angry.

It was soft.

Shaken.

Wounded.

“You really thought hurting yourself would make it right?” you whispered. “You thought if you bled enough I would feel better?”

Your voice broke again — soft, not loud.

„Because you thought I’d hate you, that I wouldn’t care enough to stop you?“

He flinched — visibly — like the words had hit harder than any spell.

“You heard a rumor,” you said, breath catching „and you destroyed yourself over it.”

You stared at him, voice trembling with something too big to contain.

“How could you believe that I’d moved on just like that? That I could stop loving you that easily?”

Severus’s eyes snapped to yours. He looked stricken — but he didn’t speak. His lips parted like he wanted to respond, but nothing came out. Just a breath — shallow, sharp.

„After the way I loved you.” you went on. “You really thought I could let you go and never look back.”

Severus shook his head — barely. His hands curled into fists at his sides, but he still didn’t interrupt.

"You didn’t even try to come back.”

You were shaking — not with rage not with hatred — but with the kind of grief that lived too deep to scream.

And then you stepped into him — like your body had made the choice before your heart could, pressing your face into his chest.

Severus made a sound — small, broken — like a breath twisted into apology. His arms came around you with quiet desperation, holding you like you were something he never believed he’d touch again.

You sobbed into him, and he pressed his cheek to your hair, eyes burning, whispering again and again:

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

The corridor was still.

The only sound was your breathing — uneven, shallow — pressed against his chest.

And his voice, low and breaking, whispering apology after apology into your hair like he didn’t know how to stop.

You stayed in his arms longer than you meant to. Not because the pain had faded, it hadn’t but because this — his arms around you, trembling and real — was the only part of him that had ever felt honest.

When you finally stepped back, you didn’t look at him. Your fingers let go of his robes slowly, like it hurt to do it.

His hands hovered in the space between you — uncertain, suspended — like he didn’t know whether to hold you, let you go, or fall to his knees and say nothing at all.

You spoke before he could.

“Come with me.”

Your voice was hoarse.

Not soft. Not kind.

Just final.

And he followed — wordless, without hesitation.

The classroom near the library was empty. Still. Safe.

You shut the door behind you, and the silence sealed the space like a ward. You stood — arms crossed, your back pressed against the desk like it was the only thing holding you upright.

“You said you were sorry,” you said, still not meeting his eyes. “I believe you.”

He inhaled sharply — just once — like the words had landed deeper than he expected.

„But I don’t want your apology if it’s still the edited version of what happened.”

Then, finally, you looked at him.

„So tell me everything.”

Severus stood stiffly, his hands clenched by his sides like he was bracing for a blow but he didn’t hesitate.

„It started with how James kept tormenting me,” he said, voice quiet. Raw.

You didn’t interrupt.

“I hated him. I hated how easy everything was for him. How he could humiliate me and never pay for it. And then I saw how he was with you. I saw how much he loved you and I knew… I knew the one line he’d never cross was hurting you.”

Your throat tightened.

“So I made a plan. If I could make you care about me…if you loved me...he’d stop going after me. And he did.”

He looked down at the floor.

“And I didn’t care that I was using you. Not then. I told myself you were just a way out. That it didn’t matter how kind you were. That it was just a means to an end.”

You flinched, but said nothing.

He saw it. He paused.

But he didn’t stop.

“Then I got used to it. You. The way you looked at me. The way you made me feel like… like I wasn’t something to avoid or mock.”

A beat of silence.

“I don’t know when it changed. Maybe that day in the classroom — when you made sure I have eaten and you just sat with me. Like it was nothing. Like I was worth your time.”

His voice dropped even lower.

“I pulled you into my lap because I didn’t want to let you go.”

You stared at the floor, jaw tight, every word carving itself deeper.

“And I should’ve told you then. I should’ve told you everything.”

He exhaled — long and shaking.

“But I didn’t. Because I knew the second you found out, I’d lose you. And I was too much of a coward to risk that. To risk… losing the version of me you loved.”

The silence between you felt too heavy to breathe in.

“Then James confronted me,” he went on, hollow now. “And I said what I said to hurt him.”

You swallowed hard.

“And then I heard.”

He nodded once — a stiff, pained gesture.

“And you left and you were right to do so. At first I didn't understand until I realized that I wasn't just missing you but that I actually did care for you.”

You moved past him slowly, your movements measured — like one wrong breath would shatter the room. Then you sat at the edge of the desk, facing the floor.

He didn’t follow.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t dare.

Your voice came out quiet. Fragile. “You really thought I wanted you gone?”

He blinked — startled by the question — then gave a small, broken nod.

“I—yes.”

“Even after I cried for you?”

He looked down again.

“I thought I was poison,” he said, voice nearly gone. “I thought if I stayed, I’d just keep hurting you. I thought loving you meant leaving you alone.”

“I hated you,” you whispered. “I hated you for using me.”

“I deserved that,” he said, eyes closed.

“But I hated you more for letting it end like that.”

Something in him flinched again — deeper this time, like those words found the last splintered place inside him and cracked it open.

And then — softly, like it hurt to let go:

“I forgive you.”

He looked up, startled — like he hadn’t believed he’d ever hear it.

But you didn’t look away.

“I’m still angry,” you said. “Because it hurt. Because you broke something.”

You let the silence sit there a moment longer.

“But I just needed to know the truth. I needed to understand. All of it. And now I do.”

He opened his mouth — but the words never came. You stood slowly, walked to him, and took his hand in both of yours.

“I don’t need promises,” you said. “I need you to try.”

His fingers closed around yours — so gently it barely registered as pressure.

“I will,” he whispered. “This time… I’ll stay.”

--

The next morning in Potions, you noticed it immediately.

Severus sat across the room — farther than usual, tucked into a quiet corner, notes open in front of him, hands motionless.

Slughorn paired you off alphabetically, and you ended up with a distracted Ravenclaw who nearly melted your cauldron in the first five minutes.

When your partner fumbled a vial of essence of belladonna, a pale hand appeared over your shoulder — steadying it gently, silently. You turned your head — just slightly — and caught him watching the potion, not you.

He handed your partner the vial with a quiet instruction, then walked away.

No glance. No name.

No pause for thanks.

You saw him again a few days later, just outside the library — not approaching, only standing at the far end of the corridor.

Waiting.

He didn’t look at you when you passed.

Didn’t speak.

But he didn’t leave.

He stayed until the door closed behind you — like he was standing guard, and didn’t expect you to notice.

Once, in Herbology, your gloves tore — and you hissed under your breath when the gillyweed juice burned your palm.

There were no extra pairs.

You didn’t ask for help.

But twenty minutes later, when you returned to your bag, a spare pair of dragonhide gloves — slightly worn, clearly used — sat folded on top of your notes.

No note.

No name.

Just the gloves.

But you knew.

One evening, you lingered in the courtyard after dinner, watching the sun bleed slowly into the edge of the horizon.

You weren’t waiting for him.

But you weren’t surprised, either when you saw him in the archway, standing still like he didn’t know if he was allowed to come closer.

but when he did it was slowly, cautious.

He sat at the far end of the bench, saying nothing. The silence stretched between you — not heavy.

Not cold.

Just… careful.

You didn’t look at him again.

But you didn’t ask him to leave, either.

He just stayed.

A few days passed like that.

Quiet moments.

No apologies. No questions. Just him — sitting beside you outside the greenhouses, passing by you in corridors without expecting anything, occasionally showing up in the library without ever asking to stay.

He never pushed. Never lingered.

Just… existed nearby. Soft and steady, like he was trying to be the kind of silence you didn’t mind anymore.

You didn’t speak much.

But you didn’t stop him, either.

Until one afternoon — somewhere between an unfinished essay and a restless ache you couldn’t quite name — you found yourself heading to the library.

Not by accident. Not this time.

You were looking for him.

The library was nearly empty when you stepped inside, the late sun casting long golden stripes across the floor.

He was in the corner where you used to sit together — far back, half-shadowed, almost hidden from the world.

You crossed the room slowly, the book in your hand forgotten.

You didn’t know what you were going to say until you were standing in front of him — close enough to hear his breath shift.

“Is this seat taken?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

His breath hitched — just slightly — and he shook his head.

You sat down and silence settled between you once again.

„You’ve been quiet.”

“I didn’t know if I was allowed to speak,” he said — not sarcastic, not defensive. Just honest.

You looked up, meeting his eyes.

“You nodded once.

“Well… you are.”

He swallowed.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said quietly. “How to be someone you deserve.”

„Then don’t try to be.“ you said. „Just…be you but this time without all the running."

Severus looked at you like you’d handed him something sacred — something he didn’t think he was allowed to touch.

“I can do that,” he whispered.

You leaned back, arms folded, studying him for a long moment.

Then, quietly — honestly:

“I missed this.”

He closed his eyes like the words struck something deep, like they hurt and healed at the same time. When he opened them again, his eyes were glassy.

“I’ve missed you,” he said. “Every second. From the moment I lost you.”

You looked at each other — two people standing in the rubble of something you both helped burn, deciding whether it was still worth building again.

You reached into your bag and pulled out a small wrapped chocolate from Honeydukes. You set it on the table and pushed it toward him.

„Don’t think this means I like you again,” you muttered, not quite meeting his eyes.

A ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth.

“I wouldn’t dare assume.”

You looked down, lips twitching despite yourself.

--

Just like in the very beginning it started small.

An extra hour in the library. A conversation that didn’t end in silence. A walk back to the common room — quiet, but not tense. Not avoidance.

Just peace.

One evening, the two of you sat on the cold stone bench outside the greenhouses, the sky dimming into blue-grey above the castle towers.

“It wasn’t supposed to hurt you,” he said, voice low.

You turned your head slightly, watching him from the corner of your eye.

“I just needed him to stop,” Severus continued. “for him to feel powerless for once. And I knew… he’d never touch me if I was with you.”

You swallowed hard. You’d known this part. But hearing it still stung.

“I thought if I could just make you fall for me—” He hesitated. “…that maybe I’d finally feel safe. Maybe I’d finally have peace.”

You nodded once — slow, quiet. The kind of nod that carried too much.

He didn’t reach for your hand. Didn’t press anything more.

He just stayed.

And kept showing up — every day.

It wasn’t like before. Not reckless. Not filled with hidden touches and borrowed time.

It was something steadier now. Unspoken. Uncertain. But real.

A rhythm forming in the space between grief and rebuilding.

Not quite friends.

Not quite something more.

Just… something.

You studied together again.

You spoke without walking on eggshells.

Sometimes, he made you laugh — really laugh — and it didn’t feel wrong anymore.

He didn’t touch you — not even by accident.

He never asked what you felt.

And he never said more than what was needed.

But he was there.

And you were, too.

And that had begun to feel like enough.

One night, after a long study session, the castle halls were nearly empty as you walked together toward the towers.

It should’ve felt ordinary by now. But it didn’t.

Not when his shoulder brushed yours and neither of you moved away. Not when the quiet between you stretched — not awkward, not cold. Just waiting.

You slowed near one of the alcoves by the windows. Moonlight poured through the glass, soft and silver.

He stopped when you did.

“Did you mean it?” you asked, surprising yourself.

He looked at you. Really looked.

“What?”

“When you wrote it,” you said. “In the book.”

His breath caught. Just slightly.

“Yes,” he said, voice low. “Every word.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment. You couldn’t.

The silence swelled — heavy with something real.

He reached up — hesitant — and brushed your hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered, just for a breath, and then pulled away.

You closed your eyes, just for a second.

There it was.

That spark.

But it faded just as quickly as it came.

He didn’t move closer.

He didn’t say it again.

And you didn’t ask him to.

Because some part of you still waited for him to be the one to cross that line. To mean it out loud.

So instead, you gave him a small, crooked smile. “Walk me the rest of the way?”

He nodded. “Always.”

You fell back into step, side by side — close, but not touching.

And neither of you said a word about how badly you both had wanted to.

--

The courtyard was quiet when he found you.

You were sitting on the bench near the edge, your book open in your lap but untouched.

You looked up as he approached, and for a second, you smiled — polite, easy — and shifted over to give him space.

He sat beside you without a word.

The sun was warm. The breeze gentle. The kind of afternoon that made it feel like time had slowed just a little.

You didn’t say much.

And neither did he.

But he kept glancing at you — sidelong, like he was trying to figure something out.

Finally, his voice broke the stillness.

“Are you happy?”

You blinked, startled by the question.

“With what?” you asked.

He didn’t look at you. “With… how things are now. With us.”

You paused.

Your first instinct was to say yes. But that felt too simple.

So instead, you said, “I’m at peace with it.”

And it was true. Kind of.

You didn’t notice the way he stilled beside you — how his shoulders dropped just slightly, like he’d been holding onto something and finally let it go.

His eyes flicked downward.

“You still wear it,” he said after a moment, almost to himself.

You followed his gaze — to the scarf around your neck.

You shrugged. “It’s warm.”

Your voice was light. Casual.

But when you glanced back at him, his face had shuttered again.

He stood a minute later with a small nod, mumbling something about needing to finish writing an essay. You didn’t stop him.

You watched him go, the silence settling heavier than it had been when he arrived.

You stayed a while longer, pretending to read but the words on the page never really landed.

Later that night, curled near the window in your dorm, you couldn’t stop replaying it.

The bench. The question. The look on his face when you answered.

You’d thought you were being honest.

At peace.

But now, in the dark, it didn’t feel like enough.

And the scarf — when he looked at it, something shifted. You hadn’t meant to brush it off. Not really.

It wasn’t just warm.

It was his.

And still, you hadn’t said anything more.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That if it had meant something, he’d have said so.

Still…

You wrapped it a little tighter around yourself.

And wished you’d told him why you still wore it.

--

You’d been meeting him in the side courtyard between afternoon classes — a quiet corner tucked away from the main walkways, where the ivy climbed high on the stone and the tables were usually empty.

Today, he was already there when you arrived — seated with a book open in front of him, but not reading.

You sat across from him without saying anything at first.

It was the third time this week you’d met like this. A new habit. A quiet one.

But today… something felt off.

He looked pale, darker circles beneath his eyes than usual, his posture tense despite the calm setting.

“You alright?” you asked finally.

His gaze lifted — slow, careful — and then dropped again.

“It's nothing...I just didn’t sleep well,” he said.

That was all.

You waited for more. He didn’t offer it.

You didn’t press.

Not until the moment changed.

You were both standing, about to head to class, when a trio of second-years came racing past — late for something, chattering loud and fast.

One of them clipped your shoulder as they flew by.

You stumbled slightly — and before you could right yourself, Severus’ arm snapped out, catching your elbow and pulling you sharply against him.

It wasn’t romantic. It was instinct.

But the way your body landed — flush to his side, hand braced against his chest — made your breath catch.

His eyes met yours for half a second.

Then the contact broke.

You stepped back, not coldly — just startled.

He let go.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “Didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” you cut in, voice quieter than you meant. “You were just… helping.”

Neither of you moved.

For a moment, the silence between you was loaded again — like it had been once before.

But no one said anything more.

Not yet.

You walked the rest of the way together, shoulder to shoulder but never quite touching.

And for the first time in weeks, it felt like something might happen again.

The corridor was crowded, but the energy was easy. You’d just finished telling him a story about James nearly slipping into a pail of magical compost in Herbology.

He laughed — that quiet, low sound you hadn’t realized you’d missed this much.

Then someone stepped out of the stream of students and stood in front of you.

You recognized the boy from Transfiguration — polite, charming in a harmless sort of way.

„Hey,” he said. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

You blinked, slowing your steps. “Um… sure?”

He glanced once at Severus — who had already taken a subtle step back.

“Would you want to go to Hogsmeade next weekend? Just us? like as in a Date?”

There was a beat of silence.

Not awkward.

But everything in it shifted.

You turned toward Severus — not sure why. Only that you had to.

Severus didn’t speak, didn’t react — not visibly — but something in his face froze, locked behind that old, familiar blankness. He gave a soft, awkward nod and took another step back.

“I’ll see you later.”

His voice was low. Controlled. Empty.

“Wait—” you said, your hand half-reaching toward him.

But he was already turning. Already walking away.

Like he hadn’t just shut down in front of you completely.

The boy said something — you didn’t hear a word of it.

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly. “I can’t.”

And then you were moving — fast. The crowd swallowed the corridor behind you.

You found him in the in the library.

Of course.

Back corner, same spot the two of you first spoke— pretending to read. One hand curled tight around a page he hadn’t turned in ten minutes.

You stood there a moment, just watching. Then you set your bag down — quiet, deliberate — and slid into the seat across from him.

He didn’t look up.

“Didn’t we agree you wouldn’t do that anymore?” you asked, voice gentle. “Running?”

His shoulders tensed.

“I wasn’t running.”

“Then what was it?”

“I said I had something to finish,” he murmured — eyes still on the page, still refusing to turn it.

“I don’t believe you.”

His fingers curled tighter.

"Just tell me the Severus..."

He exhaled — tight, brittle.

„I didn’t want to make it awkward for you,” he said. “Standing there as someone you...dated, while you got asked out. I didn’t want to stick around to hear it.”

You frowned. “Hear what?”

“You saying yes.”

He closed the book gently, finally lifting his eyes to meet yours. They weren’t angry, not even jealous.

Just tired. Wounded. And trying so hard not to be either.

“I know I don’t have the right. You don’t owe me anything — not your time, not your answers. It’s enough that you’re here. That we’re still…”

He shook his head.

“I’ll figure it out. Eventually. How to stop feeling like this. I’ll find a way to love you differently.”

You opened your mouth but he shook his head gently, stopping you.

“I’m not saying it to make you feel guilty,” he said. “You’ve moved on. That’s fine. You should.”

A pause.

“I’m just… glad I didn’t lose you completely.”

He looked down, his fingers resting lightly on the edge of the book — like it was the only thing holding him together.

You stared at him for a long second. “You really think I moved on?”

“I think I gave you a thousand reasons to,” he said quietly. “And no reason not to.” And for just a moment, your heart broke all over again — not from pain this time, but from the way he loved you:

Hopelessly.

And finally out Loud.

You pushed your chair back slowly, the soft scrape of wood against stone the only sound between you.

Then without a word you moved around the table and sat beside him.

Not across.

Not apart.

Right next to him.

Close enough to close the distance he had always left for your comfort.

His breath hitched when your shoulder brushed his.

Slowly you reached for his hand. His fingers twitched, startled. But you threaded yours through them — gentle, steady.

“I didn’t say yes,” you said softly.

He didn’t move — but he turned his head, just enough to meet your eyes.

“To the date,” you added.

“I didn’t say yes.”

He watched you — unmoving. Unspeaking. So you kept going, your voice softer now. But certain.

“I never stopped.”

There was a long, quiet pause.

Then — almost a whisper:

“Stopped what?” he asked.

You turned toward him fully, your fingers still threaded with his.

“Loving you.”

He went very still.

You felt his breath hitch — soft and sharp — like it surprised him.

Like the words hit him harder than anything else had.

Like it was the first warmth he’d let in since everything shattered.

“Not even after everything,” you whispered.

You glanced down at your joined hands.

“I just… didn’t want to say it first this time. I needed to know you’d mean it. I wanted you to say it out loud.”

Severus stared at you like you’d just rewritten the laws of the world — like you’d made the impossible true.

You held his gaze, steady now.

“I can’t promise it won’t hurt sometimes,” you said softly “But I know who you are. And I still choose you.”

And that was it.

He leaned in — slow, careful — watching you the whole way.

You met him halfway.

When you kissed him — slow, real — it didn’t feel like a beginning.

It felt like coming home to something you never should’ve lost.

You stayed like that for a long time.

Not speaking.

Not rushing.

Just close.

His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, like he needed the reminder that this wasn’t some fragile daydream. You leaned into him again, nose brushing his cheek.

And then you both laughed — soft, breathless — like something inside had finally loosened.

Like the world had cracked open into something gentler.

He kissed you again. Not desperate. Not urgent.

Just… honest.

Neither of you noticed how James stood quietly by one of the shelves, a book in his hand, half-raised like he’d meant to return it.

How he froze when he saw you.

Curled beside Severus in your old spot near the back — half-shielded by rows of books and soft, late-afternoon light. Close. Quiet.

You were laughing — not loud, not forced — just that quiet, easy laugh he hadn’t heard in weeks.

The kind he remembered from before everything broke.

Severus leaned in to kiss you — slow, soft, like it wasn’t new… but still meant everything.

And you kissed him back like it was something you’d never stopped waiting for.

There was no tension in you.

No fear.

Just the quiet gravity of two people who had broken, and rebuilt, and chosen to try again. Two people who had gone through hell and still found their way back to each other.

James still stood frozen, the book limp at his side, forgotten entirely.

He remembered dragging Severus to this very library. He remembered standing in the corridor, fury in his chest, and giving the one thing it nearly killed him to offer:

Permission.

Not forgiveness. Not approval.

Just space — to be better.

To make it right.

To love you the way you deserved.

And now, standing there, watching this, he saw what had come of that choice.

This wasn’t what it had been before. It wasn’t a game.

It wasn’t a plan.

It wasn’t a performance anymore.

It was real.

Severus wasn’t looking past you — not toward him, not toward anyone else. He was just looking at you.

Just… loving you.

And you — for all your softness, all your fire — were whole again.

James blinked once, eyes dropping to the book in his hand. Then, slow and deliberate, he slid it back onto the shelf — his fingers lingering a moment on the worn spine.

He glanced back, one last time at the two of you. Tangled up in something honest. Something earned.

And then he smiled — not bitter, not forced.

Just... quietly content.

Because it was over. Because it had all been worth it.

You were safe and happy.

Your heart wasn’t in danger anymore.

It was home.

And with that

James turned and walked away.

Tag: @tsmarvelpotterhead @charlottesnape @rowdette