#Campus setup

[veralernt]

Early morning on campus ✨

(I was there an hour early because the automated schedule in my calender didn’t match with the most recent one given by our lecturer 🥲)

[yikesola]

I just wanna know what room they’ll be filming dapg in and I wanna know NOW

[littlebluebird2000]

Twirling Hearts- part 1

pairing: yeon si-eun x reader (female reader)

rating: 18+

genre: romance, smut

warnings: overprotective sieun, school bullying, discussion about food and weight, violence, harassment, eventual smut, mature language, sexual harassment, slow-burn, jealousy, baku always being at the scene of the crime…

summary: Who would've thought that a ballerina and the school's most feared nerd would complete each other so well? Being the new student was never easy—especially not when you were the only girl transferring into an all-boys school. To make matters worse, Eunjang High has a reputation for having its fair share of troublemakers. Some of the rumors were enough to make anyone second-guess stepping through those front gates…

author's note: the lack of fanfic dedicated to sieun is, in my opinion, completely unacceptable. I had to come back from hiatus for him. I’m warning y’all, it’s a long one. there’s a part 2 coming soon, maybe a part 3 if this goes well. please note that English isn’t my first language, so there might be some mistakes here and there. i hope you will enjoy, and if you do, please leave a comment <3

word count: 8k+ ( I know… I went overboard )

part : 1 , 2, 3., 4., 5.

Being the new student was never easy—especially not when you were the only girl transferring into an all-boys school. To make matters worse, Eunjang High had a reputation for having its fair share of troublemakers. Some of the rumors were enough to make anyone second-guess stepping through those front gates.

Your family had helped set up an apartment not too far from the academy and Eunjang High. A single bus route connected both places, making the commute manageable with your tight schedule. Originally from Busan, you welcomed the distance that Seoul offered. Being hours away from your parents gave you a kind of peace you hadn’t realized you needed until it now.

Back home, your father placed suffocating academic pressure on your shoulders, while your mother lived vicariously through your ballet career, projecting her own lost dream of becoming a prima ballerina onto you. Here, in this new city, you could finally breathe a little easier.

To balance both ballet and school, you needed a flexible academic setup. Thankfully, Eunjang High offered a unique mix of online and on-campus classes. A lot of the students there were repeating years or following unconventional tracks, which made the school more lenient with scheduling. It was one of the only reasons why they bent the rules to admit you, despite the school typically being reserved for boys. They needed to fill seats. You needed a compromise.

Although your father wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea of you attending a school like Eunjang, there weren’t many better options. This compromise—the odd, messy arrangement—was the only way both your parents could get a piece of what they wanted. As long as you kept your grades up at this so-called “lousy” school and continued to perform well in the online program, your father was willing to compromise to please your mother.

Each weekday followed a strict routine. Mornings were reserved for intensive ballet practice at the academy. From there, you’d head straight to Eunjang High for your campus courses: English, mathematics, social studies, and science. After that, it was back to the academy for evening classes. Your online studies could be completed anytime throughout the week, as long as you met the deadlines. The weekends were yours, thankfully.

Today was the day everything would change.

To say you were nervous would’ve been an understatement. Your stomach was in knots, your thoughts racing faster than your footsteps on the way to the academy. There was a strange heaviness in the air, like something big was about to unfold.

Later, you’d look back and realize—you had every reason to feel that way.

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The morning had started better than expected.

You were pleasantly surprised by the atmosphere at the ballet academy. Though the classes were clearly going to be grueling and demanding, there was something deeply motivating about the environment. It felt purposeful. Focused. The kind of place where real growth could happen.

Your instructor, Mrs. Kim, was a stern older woman with a sharp gaze and impeccable posture—clearly someone who had spent her life perfecting her craft. She wasn’t warm, exactly, and you didn’t expect her to be. But her corrections were precise and never cruel. She was strict, yes, but not out of ego or power—she pushed for improvement… And that made all the difference.

The other dancers were older than you by a few years, likely in their early twenties, and carried themselves with the kind of quiet confidence that comes with experience. They greeted you politely, if a little stiffly, introducing themselves one by one before falling back into an easy rhythm of conversation that didn’t quite include you.

You didn’t take it personally. They weren’t being unkind or intentionally cold. It was just the natural awkwardness that came with a new arrival—especially one as young as you, dropped suddenly into their already well-formed circle. They didn’t know you yet. That would come with time.

At least they were civil. That alone was a relief.

Back at your previous academy, competition had turned the other girls into enemies. Whispers behind backs, sabotaged shoes, icy glares in the mirrors—it was a toxic place that made you question your love for dance. But here? The air felt different. More mature. Healthier. Safer.

You could handle being the outsider for a little while longer, as long as respect remained part of the equation.

And so, when class ended and you washed up quickly, put on your uniform, and gathered your things to head to your first afternoon at Eunjang High, your nerves buzzed with a strange blend of anxiety and cautious hope.

You had survived the first half of your day.

The next part, however—was still entirely unknown

As soon as your feet hit the pavement, a chill ran up your bare legs. The bus doors closed behind you, and you stood there for a second, staring up at the towering gray building of Eunjang High School. It honestly looked more like a prison than a school, with its cracked concrete walls and rusted metal gates. You hugged your blazer tighter around yourself.

You could still hear your father’s voice from last night’s call echoing in your head: “Stay out of trouble. Don’t talk to anyone unless absolutely necessary. These boys aren’t your friends.”

You wanted to believe he was just being dramatic… but as you stepped through the gates and onto campus, you weren’t so sure.

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Chaos greeted you like an old friend

Boys were everywhere—some shouting, others chasing each other through the halls like it was recess, not school hours. Someone threw a water bottle across the courtyard. Another boy ducked just in time to avoid a roll of toilet paper flying through the air. You grimaced at the sight.

You felt your breath hitch. This was going to be hell.

A quiet voice at your side made you turn. “This way.” The speaker was a boy, small with thick glasses framing his face. He didn’t meet your eyes as he spoke, just kept walking, hands clutched to his backpack straps.

“I’m Seo Juntae,” he added shyly. “We’re in the same class—1-5.” You nodded, falling in step beside him, grateful for the guide. At least one person here seemed sane.

“The teacher should be waiting already,” Juntae mumbled as you reached the classroom door. “You’ll be fine, probably.” He gave a nervous little smile and pushed the door open.

Probably?

Inside, it wasn’t much better.

The classroom buzzed with noise. Some students were arguing over who’d stolen whose eraser, while others leaned out of the windows shouting at someone below. A few boys sat on desks instead of chairs, and more than weren’t wearing their uniform properly.

You felt every gaze turn your way as you stepped in.

A few low whistles rang out from the back. Someone muttered something you didn’t catch, followed by a burst of laughter. You fought the urge to turn and leave.

“Quiet down,” the teacher said firmly, standing up from his desk. He was tall and slightly hunched. “This is our new student. I expect you all to treat her with respect.”

He smiled at me. “Please introduce yourself to your classmates.” Swallowing your nerves, you turned fully, facing the other students.

“Hello, my name is (Y/N). It’s nice to meet you all. Please take good care of me.” You said, bowing politely.

The room fell quiet for a moment, then:

“I’ll take real good care of you, if you let me.” Someone said from the back. A few more snickers followed. You flushed but stayed silent, keeping your face blank. You couldn’t say that you didn’t expect that.

“Enough.” The teacher snapped, glaring in the offender’s direction. “Y/N, you can sit next to Yeon Sieun. He’s by the window. Put your bag in the lockers in the back.”

You made your way down the aisle, trying not to meet any of the stares that followed you. The boy you were assigned to sit next to didn’t acknowledge your presence, not even a glance as you slid into the chair beside him.

As you settled into your seat, you quickly adjusted your skirt, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You focused your gaze on the teacher.

You had to remind yourself that this wasn’t about making friends. Your ballet and your studies were your priorities. Everything else was secondary.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to focus on the lesson. The teacher, Mr. Yoon, was talking about social studies—something about historical figures and their influence on modern society. The words blurred together as you tried to push your thoughts aside, diving into your notes with the intensity you’d developed over the years.

It wasn’t easy. The whispers around you, the occasional chuckle, the glances…there was no escaping it. You heard the boys behind you muttering and laughing quietly, but you couldn’t make out the words. You didn’t want to.

The boy next to you, however, remained silent. Yeon Sieun hadn’t spoken a word since you sat down. He acted as if he didn’t care about you at all, like you hadn’t entered the room. You were weirdly grateful for that. The less attention you could get here, the better.

Social studies were now done. Mathematics were next. You sat quietly, shoulders tense, eyes fixed on the chalkboard as you copied the teacher’s writing. You were trying your best to blend in. Head down, mouth shut. Only three classes to go. Just three. You could survive this.

You glanced at the board again, where a string of complicated equations still glared down at you. Math had never been your strong suit. You were going to have to study harder than ever to keep up.

A tap on your shoulder made your heart skip.

You turned slowly, wary.

“Hey,” said a boy with a crooked smile, his tie hanging loose and shirt stained at the collar. “Got another pencil? Mine broke.”

Your stomach twisted. Something about his tone made your skin crawl. Still, you managed to nodded and offered him what you hoped was a polite smile. You pulled a pencil from your case, and handed it to him. “Keep it.”

You turned back around before he could say anything, silently praying that would be the end of it.

It wasn’t.

Another tap. You inhaled sharply through your nose, willing yourself not to react. You turned.

“Got an eraser?”

Without mentioning that there was one attached to the end of the pencil, you just grabbed your spare eraser and dropped it on his desk without looking at him.

Surely, that would be enough.

But you felt it again. A third tap.

Annoyed now, you spun halfway toward him. “What?”

He grinned, leaning forward. “Can I get your number too?”

A burst of laughter came from behind him. His friends fist-bumped like they’d just witnessed something brilliant.

You blinked, the question hitting like a slap. Your lips parted, but no words came. You just turned back toward the front of the classroom, disgust curling in your chest.

Pig.

The snickering didn’t stop. The teacher, annoyed at the growing noise, shushed them harshly.

You stared at the board, eyes blurry with shame and frustration. You should’ve known. Of course he didn’t want a pencil… You clenched your jaw and forced yourself to keep writing.

When the bell rang for lunch, the teacher dismissed the class and left before most students were out of their seats. You packed slowly, hoping the room would clear before you had to walk through it. As you reached for your last book, a shadow fell over your desk.

You could read his name tag now.

Hyoman.

He loomed close, too close. “So,” he said, voice low and smug. “You’re gonna give me your number or what?”

You looked up. His posture reeked of arrogance, and the heavy scent of sweat made your nose twitch. You pushed your chair back instinctively, putting space between you. “I don’t give out my number,” You said firmly but politely, smoothing your skirt and standing.

A chorus of oohs erupted from his friends and Hyoman’s grin vanished.

He stepped closer, and something in his eyes changed. Gone was the teasing gleam. In its place was something colder. More entitled.

“You’re gonna give it to me though,” He said, voice sharp. “I’m not asking. I’m telling you.”

Your pulse spiked. Hands clammy, you forced a calm expression. “I really can’t. I’m sorry.” You lowered your eyes, trying not to provoke him further. “Please, excuse me.”

You tried to step around him, but he grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked you back, hard.

You gasped, pain flaring at your scalp. Your back hit his chest and you froze, heart slamming against your ribs.

“Listen here, bitch,” He snarled, his mouth near your ear, breath hot and sour. “You don’t get to say no to me. I was nice. Now you give me your number, or I’ll take it out on you in ways you won’t like.”

Still frozen in shock, your breath was caught somewhere in your throat. You were just about to cave—just about to say something to make it stop—when a chair scraped loudly against the floor. The sharp squeal cut through the chaos like a blade.

“Don’t cross the line.”

The voice was quiet. Almost too quiet, but something about it made every sound in the room stop.

No yelling. No rage.

Just a thread of quiet authority that made the air go still.

You didn’t dare turn to look, still locked in Hyoman’s grip. But the tension around you shifted.

“Fuck off, Yeon Sieun,” Hyoman spat. But his voice faltered at the end, cracking under pressure. Still, he yanked harder on your hair, and you let out a strangled sound as fresh pain bloomed across your scalp. “It’s none of your business. Stay out of it.”

A pause.

Then, calmly, Sieun said, “This is your only warning.”

Click.

The sound was soft, like a pen snapping into place.

Strangely, the sound alone was enough to make Hyoman freeze behind you. His entire body stiffened like a wire pulled too tight.

No one laughed. No one moved.

Click.

Again. That sharp, quiet snap.

Someone whispered, “Shit” under their breath.

And suddenly, Hyoman let go of your hair. Just like that. He shoved you away roughly as if to save face, but there was fear flickering behind his eyes now. You stumbled forward, catching yourself on the edge of a desk, one hand going to your aching scalp. “I was just playing,” He muttered, voice small and strained. His hands lifted in mock surrender, but it was all performance now.

He walked away quickly, dragging his pride behind him as his friends trailed after him.

Blinking away tears, you now took the chance to look at the student who had came to your help.

Yeon Sieun stood there like he hadn’t moved at all. His uniform hung a bit too loose on his frame. His dark hair fell into his eyes, shadowing the expressionless mask he wore.

But it was his eyes that caught your attention.

Sad. Hollow. Tired.

Not the kind of tired from a long day, but the kind carved from sleepless nights and things too heavy for someone his age to carry. He looked distant, detached, like he wasn’t really here at all. The pen in his hand was held like a weapon.

With a slow, almost mechanical motion, he slid the pen into the inside pocket of his blazer. Without sparring you a glance, he turned, walking toward the door as if nothing had happened.

“Thank you.” You said before he left completely, your voice unsteady, barely more than a whisper. “Thank you, Yeon Sieun.”

He paused. Without a word, he turned slightly, just enough to acknowledge you with a sharp nod, then left.

And that’s how everything began.

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Most of your days were now spent going to ballet classes and hanging out with Sieun and his friends whenever you weren’t busy with your online classes. You would eat regularly with him, Juntae, Bakua, and Gotak. Even though Sieun didn’t talk much, you appreciated his calm presence, especially since the others could be a bit … much. Not Juntae though. He was a sweetheart.

It only took a few days for you to feel like you fit in with the group. While your father might disapprove of your new found friends, these guys had shown time and time again that they had your back in a way that none of your previous 'friends' had.

Five months had passed since your arrival at Eunjang High School, and things were going better now. Your ballet classes were going smoothly, you were doing well in your online classes, and now that you were close with Baku and his friends, no one dared to bother you. Plus, they were all terrified of Sieun and his pen. After hearing the stories from Gotak, you couldn’t say you didn’t blame them.

For the school classes, everything was fine, except for mathematics, which wasn’t surprising. You were very thankful that Sieun was taking some of his time to help you study. More than once, you would found yourself staring at him instead of listening to his explanation.

He was rough around the edges at first, but once you really started to know him, it was clear that he hid a lot of what he really felt.

It felt like a small victory every time you managed to pull even the faintest smile from him. You were sure you'd seen it twice. Once for real, and once when the corner of his lips twitched like it wanted to. It was rare, fleeting… but beautiful. Seeing even a glimpse of happiness on his face—however brief felt like sunlight breaking through clouds.

There was a quiet heaviness that always clung to him, a kind of sadness that never quite left his eyes. You remembered the night he opened up—told me about his old friends and how everything fell apart. You knew he hadn’t told you everything, only the outline of it, the parts he could bear to say out loud.

Sieun didn’t open up easily, and you didn’t push him. But even from that glimpse, you could see how deeply the guilt had rooted itself in him. You wished you could take some of that weight off his shoulders. Maybe if enough people kept on reminding him that it wasn’t his fault, he might start to believe it too. Someday.

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You met up with Baku and Gotak at your usual spot near a quiet corner shop downtown. The air had a sharp bite to it, the kind that crept under your clothes and settled in your bones. The sky was a dull, steely gray, and the wind whipped through the streets, rustling the fallen leaves that hadn’t yet been swept away. The chill in the air was a clear sign that winter was closing in fast.

You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, trying to trap in whatever warmth you had left. “I hate the cold,” You mumbled, already shivering as your breath came out in faint, misty clouds.

Baku laughed. “I can warm you up if you want to.” He teased, dancing towards me like a complete fool.

“Gross! Get away from me, you big brute!” You halfheartedly exclaimed, giggling a little as you pushed him away.

“What’s going on?” A voice said behind you.

You turned quickly, the smile still lingering on your face until you saw Sieun standing there beside Juntae, his expression unreadable but eyes fixed on us. There was a flicker of something in his gaze. Confusion, maybe, or something else you couldn’t quite name. You stepped to the side a little bit, creating a circle with everyone.

Gotak shrugged. “Nothing special. Just Y/N breaking Baku’s heart again.”

Baku whipped invisible tears from his eyes. “If this goes on, I might actually start to think that you aren’t interested in me, Y/N. Stop pushing me away.”

You only hit his arm, a smile of amusement still tugging on your lips. “You’re stupid.”

Sieun suddenly coughed and adjusted his hoodie on himself. You looked at him then, but he avoided your gaze, looking to the side with a bored expression on his face.

Juntae, bless him, stepped in before things got awkward. “Does anyone want anything in the store?” He asked pulling at the fogged-up lenses of his glasses with one hand.

“No, thank you.” You declined politely, looking down. You were suppose to follow a certain diet for ballet, and you were already toeing the line with the calories you’d allowed yourself for the week. Thankfully, the food at the cafeteria had healthy versions. The real issue was back at your apartment were snacks were always within reach and boredom made them way too tempting. You were trying hard to get it under control lately. “I’ll wait here.”

“Can you bring me some shrimp crackers?” Pleaded Baku, bathing his eye lashes dramatically. “I’ll pay next time!”

Juntae nodded, a small smile on his lips as he entered the shop. “I don’t know what I want. I’ll go have a look.” Said Gotak, entering as well.

Sieun stood next the entrance of the shop. For a split second, he looked straight at you. His eyes, dark and tired, held yours for a few seconds longer than you expected. Your breath caught a little, but then he glanced over your shoulder at something—or someone—and the moment broke. Without a word, he turned and stepped into the shop after the others two.

The cold wind nipped at your face, but it wasn’t what made you shiver. You stood there, arms wrapped tightly around your body, watching the door slowly swing shut behind him.

You turned back towards Baku, who looked like he was seconds away from bursting into laughter.

“What is it now?” You asked, already dreading his answer.

“I’m just wondering if I should ask him if he’s carrying a pen with him tonight.”

You recoiled, looking confused. “What? Why would you ask him that?” Your voice rose in disbelief.

He gave a dramatic shrug, puckering his lips like he was trying to look thoughtful. “Oh, I don’t know? Maybe because he just gave me the look.”

You shoved your hands into your jacket pockets, trying to preserve whatever warmth you had left. “The look? Really?” You rolled your eyes. “What does that even mean?”

Baku grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Come on, Y/N! You know exactly what it means. It’s that thing his eyes do when he’s trying not to lose it. Just for a second, it’s like you get a peek inside his brain. His eyes were practically screaming at me.”

You scoffed, tilting your head to the side. “Yeah? What were they saying then, oh great Eye Whisperer?”

He smacked his lips, pretending to deliberate. “Hmm… I don’t know if I should tell you. It might scare you.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, rolling your eyes again. “Just admit you’re making things up and talking out of your ass.”

He snorted, raising his hands in mock surrender. “All right, all right. You asked for it.” He leaned in dramatically, crouching slightly to meet your gaze. “I think our little Sieun has a big, fat crush on you and he was mentally murdering me with his eyes earlier because he was jealous.”

You stared at him, heart skipping a beat, mouth slightly open until you quickly shut it. “Stop speaking nonsense,” You muttered, shoving him hard in the shoulder. He stumbled back, unfazed, laughing so hard he had to wipe actual tears from his eyes this time.

“It’s not funny, Baku!” You exclaimed, still flustered. “You can’t say things like that.”

He calmed down a little bit. “It’s true though. I’m not lying.” He shivered, pulling his hoodie tighter. “Everyone sees it. He’s not exactly subtle, Y/N. Around you, he… speaks. That’s already saying a lot.” He wiggled his brows at you.

“He speaks to you guys as well, don’t be dramatic.” You looked away, trying to focus on the foggy shop window instead of the chaos Baku had just stirred in your chest. “You’re reading too much into things.” You muttered, but even you didn’t sound convinced.

It was true that over the past months, Sieun and you had gotten a bit closer. It just felt easy talking to him. At first, he’d simply stare blankly at you while you rambled on about your day at the academy. He wouldn’t say much…just the occasional nod as if he were barely listening. He seemed completely unapproachable, like there was some invisible wall around him that you could never quite break through. But slowly, you chipped away at it. By the end of the second month, he actually started listening. He’d sometimes ask questions, offer advice where he could. He even started helping you occasionally with mathematics after you broke down in tears over your mock exam grade.

Since then, even though he still mostly stayed quiet and distant, his presence never left you feeling completely alone. It was strange, but also comforting.

Your cheeks burned now, and it wasn’t from the cold. “Can we drop this, please?” You said as Baku was opening his mouth again. “He doesn’t treat me any different.” You spoke firmly, now too shy to meet Baku’s gaze. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he might see something in your eyes that you weren’t ready to face yet.

Before Baku could say anything, the door to the shop creaked open, and the rest of the group stepped out, carrying bags. Juntae handed Baku a bag of chips, and without missing a beat, Baku ripped it open, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth. He spared you a quick look, his grin still wide. You shifted uneasily, still feeling the weight of his teasing.

“Let’s go everyone.” Called Gotak, already heading towards the karaoke room with a purposeful stride. “Let’s not stay outside longer than we should.”

The walk between the karaoke room and the store was short, but with Sieun walking silently by your side, it felt much longer. The air between you two was thick with unspoken words.

You tried to focus on the sound of Gotak and Baku’s bickering when you felt something press into your hand. Looking down, you saw Sieun offering you a piece of triangle Kimbap along with a hand warmer pouch.

He kept his gaze straight ahead, as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

“Sieun,” You said softly, touched by his quiet gesture. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” he replied nonchalantly, not meeting your eyes. He shoved his hands into his pockets, maintaining his usual cool composure.

You decided to put the hand warmer in my pocket, saving it for when you would head back home . “I’ll give this back to you though.” You returned the Kimbap piece in his opened hand. “I can’t eat it.”

He stopped walking, and finally, his eyes met yours. For the first time in a while, you noticed how much better he looked. The dark circles under his eyes weren’t as prominent anymore, thanks to Juntae’s magnesium supplements. “What do you mean by that?” he asked, his expression slightly confused. “It’s the flavor you like, no? Spicy chicken?”

Always so observant.

“Yes, it is,” You replied, walking again and feeling his presence beside you. “But I can’t eat it tonight.”

“Oh.” He furrowed his brows. “Are you not feeling well? You should have said so if that’s the case. We could have rescheduled.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile, feeling suddenly uncomfortable talking about this. “It’s not that. I’m pretty sure I’ve gone over my calories for the week. I can’t eat anymore today.”

Before you could take another step, Sieun’s hand landed lightly on your forearm, stopping you in your tracks. The look on his face was incredulous, the biggest expression I’d seen from him in a long time, if ever. It was almost enough to make you laugh.

“You can’t be serious right now, Y/N.” He said, his voice low and almost… protective?

“Sieun,” You sighed, exasperated. “I’m not starving myself. Calm down. I’m just counting my calories to stay on track.” You suddenly felt a little uneasy , like you were exposing too much. “You know I’m a ballerina. It comes with the hobby.”

He only blinked. “I understand that, but a single piece of Kimbap won’t make much of a difference anyways. If your body feels hungry, you should eat. Everything is good in moderation.” He handed you back the black triangle. “Please.”

Reluctantly, you took the food and put in inside of my pocket. “You win.” You rolled your eyes, trying to act as if you didn’t care, but deep down you were touched by his concern. He was always acting so cold, but he was warm-hearted. “ I’ll eat it at the karaoke.”

Your heart felt strangely lighter now, though you still couldn’t explain why. Maybe it was the simple act of him caring, even in the smallest way. You smiled to yourself.

“What are you guys talking about?” Ahead of us, Baksu had also stopped his walk and had turned around to watch us. His eyes were sparkling with amusement and you hoped that he would keep his mouth shut.

Without responding to his question, Sieun and you both continued walking, side by side, your steps quiet as you neared the karaoke building.

Once you were close enough, Baku threw his arm around Sieun’s shoulders, pulling him close in a playful manner. He was grinning like a cat who had just found a mouse. You went ahead of them to enter the establishment, not wanting to hear the nonsense that was sure to come out of his mouth. You climbed the stairs rapidly, eager to join your other two friends and escape the awkwardness.

“So, I don’t get any of your precious Kimbap?” Baku teased in Sieun’s ear, his voice light, but with that edge of knowing exactly how to push Sieun’s buttons. “I thought we were friends, man. You’re gonna make me beg for it?”

Sieun stiffened, but only for a second. He didn’t answer, his face completely blank of emotion. He on gave a single glare as he shrugged Baku’s arms off with a slow, effortless motion.

“Don’t touch me,” he said flatly.

Only Baku could see the faintest flush spreading across Sieun’s neck.

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The triangle Kimbap was indeed delicious. You ate it in three single bites. While Juntae, Baku, and Gotak were singing their hearts out, Sieun and you were relaxing in the seats behind, content with watching. The room was dim, lit by rotating colored lights that swept across the walls in soft pulses—pink, blue, green—giving the whole place a dreamy glow. The screen was huge, displaying lyrics in bold font, while a score in the corner judged every note. You giggled at Gotak’s poor attempt at the Wonder Girls choreographer for the song “Tell Me”. His shoulders bounced like jelly, and Baku’s dramatic backup dancing wasn’t helping.

Sieun let out a quiet breath beside me. Not quite a laugh, but close. His arms were crossed, eyes half-lidded in his usual indifferent way, but you caught the subtle curve at the corner of his lips.

“You know,” You whispered, leaning a little closer, “You almost smiled just now.”

He glanced at you, and for a second, our eyes locked in the flickering lights. His expression was unreadable, but not cold. Just… careful.

“I didn’t,” he said softly.

“You did.”

He looked away, pretending to be more interested in the screen than you. “You’re imagining things.”

You giggled softly at him, eyes sparkling.

You let the silence hang for a while, watching the others collapse in laughter as Juntae hit a tragically off-key note and the karaoke machine scored him a humiliating 58. Your shoulder brushed lightly against Sieun’s, and you didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

For a long moment, you just sat there, side by side in the dim, glittering room, the noise around you fading into the background. The others were loud, off-key, ridiculous—and perfect. But here, in the stillness between songs, with the soft lights brushing his cheek and his presence warm beside you, something delicate hung in the air.

A feeling of melancholy suddenly came over you. You hadn’t felt this kind of friendship, ever. You never felt understood. Not at home. Not at school or at the academy… But here, with your friends… You had found your people.

Beside you, you felt Sieun shifted and you look over to see him already staring at you. His eyes… you could get lost in them. You cleared your throat, leaning slightly to make sure he heard over the loud music. “Are you alright?”

He nodded. “What about you? You seemed somewhere else.”

You shrugged, taking a deep breath in. “It’s nothing. I’m just being a child.” You took a sip of water.

Sieun was silent for a while. He just kept looking at you, quiet, unblinking—like you were something worth paying attention to. It made your heart beat faster

“You can tell me, if you want. I’m the least likely in this room to go around telling everybody.” He finally said, shrugging his shoulders.

A small delicate laugh escaped you, and your imagination could have fooled you into seeing a softness entering Sieun’s eyes. You looked down suddenly embarrassed.

“I was just being sappy.” You muttered, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Letting out a deep breath, you finally let the words spill—the ones you’d been holding in for far too long.

“I’ve never really had friends like you guys before.” You said quietly, eyes fixed on the screen ahead. “It’s… kind of a new feeling. Being around people who don’t just tolerate me but actually enjoy having me around. It’s nice.”

You bit your lip, hesitant but too far in to stop now. “With my parents, I always have to be this perfect version of myself. The one that follows every rule, never talks back, never messes up. It's exhausting. I feel like I’m always performing for them. But here… I can actually make my own choices. I get to be me—no filter, no pretending.”

Your gaze drifted from your lap toward the others now, to Baku laughing about something with Gotak, Juntae nudging him with a bag of snacks in hand. “It’s the first time I don’t feel like I have to shrink myself just to fit in. It’s a relief not to always be worrying whether I’m too much or not enough.”

You hadn’t noticed the sting in your eyes until a tear slid down your cheek, then another. Startled, you wiped at them quickly, hoping Sieun hadn’t noticed. Your voice came out a little bit shaky, rushed. “Sorry. Told you I was being a child.”

Sieun didn’t respond right away. You expected silence—maybe one of his usual non-answers—but when you looked back at him, he was still watching. There was no judgment in his expression, no awkwardness. Just… stillness.

And his eyes.

They held so much sadness, so much depth, like the ocean. You stared too long. Long enough to forget what you had just said. Long enough to forget we were in a room filled with singing and ridiculous dancing. All you could see were those ocean eyes.

“I know that feeling,” he said at last, voice low. “Being around people, but still feeling alone.”

Your throat tightened. “It’s exhausting,” You whispered.

Sieun gave the tiniest nod. The glow from the karaoke lights painted faint purples and pink across his skin, and for a moment, you thought he looked almost unreal. His hair fell slightly into his eyes, and he didn’t bother fixing it.

He was pretty. So damn pretty.

“Do you ever feel like… no one really sees you?” You asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Sieun turned his gaze away briefly, as if the weight of the question was too much to meet head-on. Then, with the softest voice you’d ever heard from him, he said, “All the time.”

You reached over without thinking and lightly touched his sleeve. “I see you.” You said.

His eyes flicked back to mine—just a flicker—and something unreadable passed through them. Not quite surprise. Not quite disbelief. Maybe both. But underneath it, there was something tender. Shy. His lips parted like he might say something, but then Baku’s voice echoed through one of the microphones.

“Lovebirds in the back! You’re making us single people look bad!”

You jumped, pulling your hand away from Sieun’s arm like you’d been caught doing something forbidden. Heat bloomed across your face.

You were about to protest, but Sieun, for once, beat you to it. “Shut up, Baku,” he said, still calm but with a rare hint of embarrassment. His ears had gone red.

Baku only snorted. “Touchy!”

Juntae frowned between bites of leftover chips. “What did I miss? What happened.” Gotak blinked, eyes darting between Sieun and you.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, and Baku seemed to suddenly have some sympathy for you.

“You didn’t miss anything.” He said to both Gotak and Juntae. “False alarm. Let’s not make it weird.”

Without any more explanation, Baku marched forward and quickly cleaned up the trash left on the table in front of Sieun and you. The former was still glaring at him.

Noticeably, Baku made sure to take Gotak’s leftover ramen along with his chopsticks.

“I’m not risking my life tonight.” He whispered to you two, but mostly to Sieun with a wink.

Baku turned back around, snickering to himself. He gave Juntae’s shoulder a playful shake, hand already reaching for his bag of chips. “Back to the important stuff—karaoke and salty junk food.”

Gotak and Juntae still looked mildly suspicious, but Baku had already grabbed a mic and queued up the next song, dramatically clearing his throat.

With a resigned shrug, they both let it go, and soon the room was full of singing and laughter again—as if nothing strange had happened at all.

When Sieun’s knee brushed yours again, you didn’t move away.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The group was still lingering outside the karaoke building, debating whether to get late-night ramen or just call it a night. Baku, as always, was still hungry.

“I’ll be right back,” You said quietly, pulling away from the circle. “I need the restroom.”

Juntae gestured vaguely. “There’s one beside the café next street—they let us use it last time.” You nodded.

“Don’t get murdered,” Baku called after you, half-joking.

“I’ll try not to,” You muttered with a laugh.

The city was quieter now, the glow of signs reflecting off the pavement. You turned down the narrow path between the karaoke place and the café, leading to the next street. You quickly head for the door with the bathroom sign.

That’s when you heard it.

“Well, well. Didn’t expect to see you here alone.”

You froze.

That voice—it sent a ripple of nausea straight through you. Slowly, you turned.

It was him. Hyoman.

From school.

He was leaning against the wall like the world owed him something. “I heard you were into ballet.” He said, looking me up and down. “Guess that means starving yourself and hanging out with losers, huh?”

You clenched your jaw. “Leave me alone, Hyoman.”

He stepped closer, not listening. “Or what? You’ll twirl away from me?”

His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. “You act all quiet and high-and-mighty, but I know what girls like you are really like. You think you’re special. But you’re just fake.”

“Let go of me” You snapped, trying to pull back, fear creeping in.

He didn’t.

A smirk curled at his lips. “You still pretending to be all graceful and perfect?” he sneered, stepping closer. “Still playing the innocent card, huh?” Your eyes filled with tears, and panicked grounded you in place.

“You think just because you hang out with Baku, you’re safe now?” His eyes raked over you repeatedly, colder this time. “I bet under all that discipline, you’re just waiting for someone to mess you up a little. Isn’t that what you dancers want?” My throat tightened again.

“Let go of me,” You said softly, your voice trembling, breath caught in your chest. “Please.”

He leaned in, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath. “C’mon, just a little fun. Don’t act like you’re too good for it.”

And then, like lightning—

Sieun.

He grabbed Hyoman arm and yanked him back with so much force that the boy stumbled and hit the wall behind him with a grunt. For a moment, Hyoman looked stunned.

“She said to let go.” Sieun said. His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t have to be. It was sharp. Direct. Steady in a way that made the hair on your arms rise.

Hyoman pushed off the wall, sneering. He stumbled a little bit, and you suspected that it wasn’t just because of the alcohol. “What, you gonna fight me? You’re just some freak who never talks. You think being quiet makes you scary?”

Sieun stepped forward without hesitation and shoved him again—harder this time. “Try touching her again,” he said, “and I swear I won’t just push you.”

Sieun’s eyes burned with something raw. Not anger, exactly. Something more dangerous..

Hyoman backed off, scowling. “You’re both crazy,” he muttered, spitting to the side before stalking away.

The silence he left behind felt suffocating.

You stood frozen, staring at Sieun. Your chest was still tight, adrenaline spiking through you.

He was breathing heavily. The fury slipped from his face when he saw your face.

“Are you okay?” He asked, stepping closer.

You nodded, but it was a lie. The moment you met his eyes—soft now, worried—you cracked.

“No.” You whispered.

He didn’t hesitate.

Sieun stepped forward and pulled you into him, his arms wrapping around you like it was the most natural thing in the world. He held you—not too tight, just enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.

And you broke.

The tears came fast. Hot, angry sobs that you couldn’t hold back any longer. You clutched his hoodie in your fists and buried your face against his chest. You couldn’t stop shaking.

Sieun didn’t say anything. He just stood there, solid and quiet, letting you fall apart in his arms. For someone who rarely showed emotion, he held you like he’d done it a hundred times. You melted into his warmth.

That was when you heard footsteps.

“Y/N?” Baku’s voice called, too cheerful at first, until it dropped with concern. “Y/N, what happened?!”

The rest of the group came into view, Juntae and Gotak behind Baku, who stopped mid-step when he saw you in Sieun’s arms.

Gotak blinked. “What the hell…?”

Juntae looked concerned. “Wait, is she crying?”

Baku’s eyes narrowed as he looked around. “What happened, Sieun?”

Sieun didn’t move. He kept holding you, shielding you with his body from the boys’ growing panic. You didn’t lift my head, not yet. You didn’t want them to see you like this.

“She’s okay now,” Sieun said, voice flat but firm. “Someone crossed a line. It’s handled.”

The others were still trying to piece together what had happened, but something in Sieun’s tone, something cold and sharper than they were used to, shut them up.

Baku muttered under his breath, something about looking for whoever did it. But he didn’t press further.

Sieun’s arms didn’t move until your breathing calmed. And even then, he didn’t let go until you gently pulled back, cheeks still damp.

There was no judgement on his face when you backed away.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The walk back to the karaoke room was quiet.

No one asked questions. Not even Baku, who usually couldn’t stay silent if his life depended on it.

Sieun didn’t speak.

He just stood beside you in the quiet night air, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable as always—but there was a tension in his posture, like he was still on edge.

“I think I’ll go home,” You said finally, voice hoarse from crying.

Sieun looked at you, then gave a small nod. “I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know.”

But he came anyway.

The city lights flickered around us as we walked. The only sounds were the occasional passing car and the soft rhythm of our footsteps. You kept your eyes on the ground, the cool breeze brushing against your cheeks, hand warmer between your palm. You didn’t feel like talking, and Sieun didn’t push you to.

Halfway home, you glanced at him from the corner of your eye. His shoulders were slightly hunched, like he was carrying something heavy.

“I’m sorry,” You murmured.

He looked at you, confused. “For what?”

“For ruining the night.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he said, tone even. “Don’t apologize for something that isn’t your fault.” Wind ruffled through his hair.

“I was scared,” You admitted after a while. “Not just in the moment. Scared he wouldn’t go away. Scared no one would come.”

You let out a quiet breath, the words catching on the edge of your hesitation before you finally spoke. “I know you were scared too. But you still stepped in. You chose to protect me.” Sieun didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at you directly—but something in him shifted.

His expression remained unreadable, but his shoulders eased, just slightly, like some invisible weight had loosened its grip. “Thank you,” you said, gently.

There was a pause.

Then, barely above a whisper, Sieun said, “I’ll always protect my friends. No matter what.”

We walked the rest of the way in silence, but it wasn’t the kind that made you feel alone.

When you reached your door, you turned to him and gave a small smile. “Thank you… for everything.”

Sieun stared for a second too long. Then, awkwardly, he nodded, eyes flicking away.

“I’m just glad you’re okay.”

And before you could step inside, he added—barely above a whisper, “Text me when you’re safe in bed.”

You blinked. “You want me to text you?”

He rubbed his neck, trying to look nonchalant. “I just… want to know you’re okay. That’s all.”

Warmth bloomed in your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile softly.

“Okay”

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

That night, you kept my promise and texted him.

[10:42 PM] In bed. Safe.

There was a long pause before his reply came.

[10:47 PM] Okay. Sleep well.

Simple. Distant. But it made you smile anyway.

You curled under the blanket, still feeling the ghost of his arms around you, the way he had pulled you close without hesitation. It stayed with you long after you closed your eyes.

You dreamt of him.

Of Sieun.

Not the quiet, cold version of him the world knew. But the one you saw tonight—the one whose eyes burned when he saw you hurt, whose voice sharpened when he defended you, whose hands didn’t shake when he held you.

In the dream, we were alone again. But it was warmer somehow. Softer.

You stood beneath a streetlight, the city blurred around you. He stepped close—too close—and reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered just slightly against your skin, and his eyes… they were locked on mine like I was the only thing that existed.

And then—his hand slid gently to your jaw. His thumb brushed your cheek.

He leaned in.

His breath touched yours.

And just before your lips met, you—

Woke up.

Your eyes snapped open. The room was dark and quiet, the covers twisted around your legs. Your skin felt hot and sticky.

You sat up slowly, pressing your hands to your cheek.

It had been so vivid.

Too vivid.

You groaned quietly and flopped back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling.

What was wrong with you?

It was just a dream. Just a dream. Just—

But the image of his eyes, the sound of his voice, the way he held you like you were something precious… You pressed your palms against your eyelids. You knew, no matter how hard you tried, you weren’t going to forget it anytime soon.

You were screwed.

[littlehouseoftrinkets]

The end of the semester is always so bittersweet

[pomefioredove]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Operation Lonely Lion

summary: the first year's misguided attempt to get the two loneliest people on campus together type of post: fic includes: leona (romantic) ace, deuce, jack, epel, and sebek (platonic) additional info: reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

You haven't smiled in days.

You were back in Ramshackle, snug under piles of blankets, warm by the fire, a mug of your favorite hot drink in hand, and you pouted. You moped. You sighed.

You were downright miserable.

"D'you think it's the cold?" Deuce asks, closing the front door delicately, as if the sound might disturb you.

Ace scoffs. "Don't be dense. They've been acting like this since Azul's overblot,"

"Then that's it?"

Ace sticks his hands in his pockets and the two start their long, snowy walk back to the mirror chamber.

"Three overblots in..." Deuce counts on his fingers. "...Four months takes a toll on you."

"You and I know the Prefect better than anyone, and I don't think that's what's causing... this," Ace says.

"Hey, you two!"

Ace and Deuce tense on instinct, taught and upright, shoulders back and stiff like soldiers. But it's only Jack, not their housewarden, jogging to keep up with them in the cold.

"What're you doing out here so late?" he pants, winded from the snow and the ten shopping bags he's carrying on each arm and in each hand.

Ace rolls his eyes, and Deuce replies. "Visiting the Prefect. They've been weird lately... What're all those?"

"Hm?" Jack glances at the bags on his arms, as if he'd forgotten they were there. "Meat."

"Meat?"

"Yeah. Leona's been grumpy all week, and it's stressing Ruggie out, so he's having me run for groceries,"

"In this weather?" Ace grumbles.

Jack ignores him. "You say the Prefect is weird? Are they sick? I could run back to Sam's for medicine,"

"No, not sick. Just..." Deuce says. "Moping around, lying on the floor, sighing all the time."

Jack's ears prick up. The wind howls, blowing bittercold snow over them. It's late in the day, but the three boys suddenly seem more awake than before.

"...Same thing with Leona. I mean, he's always kind of like that, but it's been worse ever since..."

Deuce's eyes widen. "...Ever since the Prefect moved out of his room and back to Ramshackle,"

The wind settles, and the snow with it. Ace sputters, shaking the white stuff off his shoulders.

"That's it? They miss each other?"

Jack scratches the back of his head. "I couldn't imagine living in Ramshackle all alone. No one for company but Grim and ghosts..."

An eerie silence. Ace scoffs. Deuce watches his boots as they crunch the compact snow underfoot. Jack awkwardly adjusts his bags of beef.

Finally, Ace sighs. "Are we all having the same stupid idea?"

First Objective: The Setup

"I hope you guys don't mind, but I brought someone,"

Jack's silhouette casts a shadow over the wobbly, three-legged table Deuce had dragged from the curb, which Ace is decorating with tea lights from their dorm.

"...Uh," Ace says. "Dude, there's no one there. If this is your weird way of saying you wanna take over decorating, you can just ask. I'm not exactly an expert."

"Eh?" Jack jolts. "Oh! I'm in the way."

Ace rolls his eyes as the tall beastman steps aside, leaving a smaller, less scary boy in his place.

"Howdy!" he chimes.

"This is Epel. He's in my class. He's real good with food."

Epel smiles. "Aw, shucks. I just know my way around a barbeque, 'thas all. And anything to get outta dinner with my dorm. Now, 'les see..."

Ace and Deuce step aside, letting Epel have a look at the mountain of meat behind them.

"...Yup," he nods. "I could whip up a good Harveston-style barbeque with this in no time- oh, I'll haveta get some apples from my dorm for the-"

"On it," Jack barks, tearing out of the building as if it were on fire.

Then it's just the three of them, though Epel is already mumbling about spices and marinades under his breath, holding the thawing meat as if it were made of gold.

Weird. Ace looks at Deuce. "Someone's gonna have to get Grim outta the way. The second he hears dinner, he'll come scratching at the door like he's been starved,"

"And Ruggie," Deuce mumbles. "We'll need something that will distract them both..."

Ace smirks. "Leave that to me,"

Second Objective: The Distraction

Ace whistles a merry tune as he slides a plate of doughnuts under a box propped up with a stick, the words "FREE" scribbled on the cardboard in black ink.

Third Objective: The Secret

The smell of spices and cinnamon makes the dim, dirty botanical gardens almost serene. Epel whistles while he works, slicing apples with a precision that's almost superhuman.

Deuce had awkwardly thrown a few empty sacks of seed together, making a tablecloth, and Ace had dragged a few folding chairs out of school storage (may Crewel have mercy on their souls).

Bunsen burners make for good cooking, and Epel was nearly done with the main course.

"...Now, how're we gonna convince those two to come out here?" Ace asks, dusting the last of the dirt off the chairs. "The Prefect'll be easy, but Leona..."

"HALT! WHO GOES THERE!"

Deuce jumps. Epel nearly drops his knife into the open flame. Ace groans. "Please, Sevens, not him,"

Sebek throws open the doors of the gardens, letting a gust of cold winter wind inside. "Ne'er-do-wells! Just as my knightly senses had suspected! State your purpose at once!"

Ace sighs. "Sebek-"

"I shall have your conspiracy turned over to the Headmage- breaking curfew, stealing supplies, and- c-cooking-? What are you making?"

"This? Apples baked in cinnamon, and-" Epel is hushed by a hissing Ace.

"Don't tell him anything. He's a narc,"

"YOUR INSULTS WON'T SAVE YOU FROM A SWIFT AND JUST PUNISHMENT!"

"S-Sebek, wait!" Deuce says. "This isn't what it looks like. We're just... we're trying to... we..."

Sebek's slitted eyes narrow at the meager setup. The broken table, the planter plates, the Bunsen burner barbeque...

"Hmph. I see," he says. The others tense, even the wind seems to wait and listen, and-

"You've arranged a romantic rendezvous for forbidden lovers! Worry not, your secret is safe with me!"

Ace and Deuce both give each other a look. Jack scratches the back of his head. Even Epel is confused.

"How'dya know all that?"

"Hm," Sebek smirks, crossing his arms. "Any fool with eyes and an intimate knowledge of the Briar Valley court rules from six hundred years ago could deduce as much. I was just reading of this sort of affair between a count and a kitchen maid, in which-"

"Alright, alright! Just promise not to tell," Ace sighs.

"As I said, your secret is safe with me. Now, how may I be of service?"

Fourth Objective: The Invitations

"We're going to need a good excuse," Deuce says, pacing. "The Prefect will be easy. But Leona-"

"-Will question every damn thing until 'ya give him a straight answer," Epel sighs. "He's like that at Spelldrive practice, too."

Sebek finishes lighting the last of the tealights, an unexpectedly delicate task for him, and thinks.

"I will retrieve the Prefect. I elect Jack Howl to retrieve Kingscholar- the disrespectful human- as a member of his dorm,"

Jack scratches the back of his neck, glancing awkwardly at the glass ceiling. "I dunno, it's not like he'd treat me any different than the rest of you, but... eh... wait, I've got it. I know what'll get him here for sure! Let's go,"

Sebek is swifter, bursting into Ramshackle with the ardor of a battle cry.

"PREFECT, YOU MUST FOLLOW ME AT ONCE! YOUR DIREBEAST HAS BECOME STUCK INSIDE A FLASK IN THE BOTANICAL GARDENS!"

You pale. "Oh, no, not again!"

Jack walks to Savanaclaw, knocks before coming into Leona's room, and talks with feigned worry.

"Leona, come quick! Vil tripped on one of the sleeves of his dorm uniform like you always say he's going to, and he fell and-"

Leona shoots up straight in bed. "Where?"

"-In the botanical gardens, and-"

The Housewarden is already putting on his shoes, smiling like he just won something. "Face-first? In the dirt?"

"...Uh, sure, but- aren't you worried-"

"Oh, yeah, yeah, it's a real tragedy," he stands, making sure his phone camera is ready.

"Lead the way."

Fifth Objective: The Date

"We really didn't think this one through, huh?"

Ace grumbles, watching you and Leona walk towards the botanical garden from different directions. Deuce glances at him.

"No music, no entertainment, no warning, no-"

"Well, we got plenty 'a food, so quit your whining and help me plate these!" Epel shouts.

Ace and Deuce wince. "Man, he can be scary when he wants to,"

The glass doors of the gardens swing open, and Leona and you nearly walk right into each other. You stumble, almost into the dirt, but Leona catches you by the arm.

"Ah- Leona?"

"Herbivore?"

"Sssuuurpriiiise...." Ace says, forcing a weak smile.

You and Leona both look at him, then at the ugly table, then at Epel, still crouched over the burner on the floor.

And then...

"Heh. Haha, hahahaha!"

You both burst into laughter, losing your balance and tumbling into the grass and dirt. Ace and Deuce stand over you, waiting for you to breathe again.

"...It's not that funny," Ace mutters.

Leona stands first, and then pulls you to your feet like a proper gentleman. He dusts the dirt off his pants.

"You froshes are really something else. This is all for us?"

Deuce nods. "We thought-" but Ace slaps a hand over his mouth and smiles. "Just... go with it?"

...And you do.

For all of two hours preparation, the date is surprisingly fancy... in... its own way. The food is good, the seating is comfortable, and Sebek even recites his favorite poetry in place of music.

At least you're smiling again. That counts as a success for the first years.

And at the end of it, even Leona looks pleased.

"You kids don't know when to give up, I'll give you that," he grins. "But I'm still gonna kill all of you for this tomorrow."

They laugh awkwardly.

The End

After handing your unfinished food to the drooling first-years, you clear your throat.

"So, Grim's not... really stuck in a flask, is he? That was a lie to get me here?"

They shake their heads, and you sigh. "Can never be too sure... where is he, anyway?"

"Probably in a box outside," Ace says without thinking, and Epel smacks him upside the head.

"What?"

Deuce sighs. "See... the thing is, Ace had this thought..."

Your eyes widen as he explains, and you stand, going straight for the door. Leona and the first years follow.

"Come on!" Leona yells after you. "There's no way anyone would actually fall for such a stupid-"

You pull the aforementioned box off the ground, and Ruggie and Grim are curled up beneath it, both covered in icing, jam, and sugar, snoozing away.

You all sigh, and Leona smirks.

"Seems like someone had an even better time than us,"

[mischievousmoony]

𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚎𝚜

⟢ frat boy!james potter x fem!reader ⟢ as president of a fraternity, your boyfriend has pledges at his beck and call. so naturally, he tasks them with handing you valentines roses throughout the day ⊹ 1.1k ⟢ warnings/tags: fluff, american!james (not that it's explicitly stated)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

It starts with a knock at your door early in the morning. You let your roommate answer it while you continue to enjoy your yogurt and granola at the kitchen counter. You don't think anything of the hushed whispers between your roommate and the visitor until she swings the door wide open, revealing a stranger in a suit and tie.

He's looking right at you, holding out a single red rose in your direction. "M'lady," he says simply.

You hesitantly slide off your stool, wrapping your arms around yourself as you shuffle forward in your fuzzy slippers.

"Thanks," you say, accepting the rose. Just as soon as you do, the boy scurries away.

Your roommate shuts the door as you stand idly by, twirling the flower between your fingertips. "Weird. I wonder what that was about," she muses, but you have an inkling. This has your boyfriend written all over it.

The next well-dressed mystery man finds you in line at your favorite cafe on campus.

He hands you the rose with a slight bow, the same practiced "M'lady" you've heard before, then turns on his heel and walks away without another word.

When one of them shows up in your lecture hall, you sort of want to die on the spot. The sight of a man in a suit at ten in the morning catches almost everyone's attention. Their eyes follow him as he makes his way across the large room and down your row, finally dropping the rose on the desk in front of you with a bow of his head and the familiar greeting.

By lunchtime, you’ve collected a dozen roses. But apparently, that was just the warm-up.

In the dining hall, they come in an endless stream, one after another, only minutes apart. They come while you wait in line to order. While your food is being made. The entire time you eat. Each boy, a stranger. Each one handing you a rose with the same solemn "M'lady" before disappearing.

You try to ask what’s going on, but they never answer. Just a nod, a rose, and then they’re gone.

"Sirius," you huff, placing the bundle of flowers on the desk you share with him in your next class. "What is this?"

If the flower delivery boys won't tell you, you hope your boyfriend's best friend might be kind enough to give you some insight.

Sirius snickers as he plucks up one of the roses, bringing it to his nose to inhale the sweet scent with exaggerated appreciation.

"What pretty flowers you have. Where ever did you get them?" he teases, clearly finding enjoyment in your situation.

"Come on," you complain, swiping the rose from his hands and neatly setting it back with the others.

He chuckles, finding it sweet that you're so careful with the flowers even as you mock annoyance. "What do you think? It's Valentine's Day. Does he need another excuse to shower you with flowers?"

You chew your lip to hide your grin. "They're pledges, aren't they?" you ask, even though you're pretty sure you know the answer.

"Who else would they be?"

By the end of the day, you have an armful of roses. You had to grab a brown paper bag from one of the dining halls just to carry them all, and the flowers are packed in so tightly that the bag barely contains them, the petals peeking over the top and spilling over the edges.

Much to your dismay, a handful of the roses have shed a few petals due to the less than ideal setup. With a determined stride, you make your way to your car, intent on getting the delicate gifts home and into water.

As you near your car, you notice someone leaning against it. He looks just like the others, dressed just as formally as the rest—except this time, there’s a bouquet of flowers in his arm instead of a single rose. And, of course, you recognize him by the back of his head.

You press the button on your key fob, unlocking the car with a beep. James flinches slightly at the sound, then turns quickly—his eyes searching until they find yours. The moment he sees you, his expression softens, a radiant smile spreading across his face.

"Hey, baby," James says, his voice warm with affection.

"James," you greet back with a sparkling smile to match his own.

He holds his arms open for you, and after setting the grocery bag of flowers on the hood of your car, you happily step into his embrace.

"Happy Valentines Day," he murmurs into your hair.

You return the sentiment, giggling as you lean back from the hug to see his face, keeping your arms around him. "It was certainly and interesting one."

"You didn't like my flowers?" he teases. The wind picks up, sending a loose strand of hair into your face, and he gently lifts one of his hands from your waist to tuck it behind your ear. His touch lingers, his hand settling on the side of your neck, his thumb brushing over the curve of your jaw.

"I love them," you say, your voice earnest as you instinctively lean into his touch. "Though I will admit it was a little embarrassing when one of them came into my lecture hall."

"What? When? They were supposed to catch you before you went into any of your classes." James pouts slightly. Even if you are just teasing, he didn't mean to embarrass you with his stunt.

"It's okay." You lean in and give him a quick peck on the lips, an effort to smooth the pout from his face. "I don't want to tattle on any of the pledges."

A quick peck isn’t enough for James, as evidenced by the way he pulls you back in almost immediately, pressing his lips to yours for a real kiss. It's gentle at first, but James can never get enough of you. His arm tightens around you as he deepens the kiss, the cellophane wrapped bouquet in his hand crinkling behind your back.

"Don't crush my flowers," you mumble against his lips. "I only have so many."

James pulls away, a laugh escaping him. "So, you liked them? All the flowers?" he asks, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability as he asks for reassurance.

"I really love them," you promise. "Although, I'm not sure what I'm going to do with all of them."

"We'll find a vase for most of them." James smirks, his voice carrying a hint of mischief as he continues, "As for the rest... I'm picturing candles and a bed covered in rose petals."

"Oh, are you?" you tease, leaning back in and brushing your lips against his. "I think that can be arranged," you murmur, before locking your lips together again.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[handlemehyuck]

bf dreamies 𓍼 dating a full-time student

꩜ i received a request on my main blog, but it honestly feels weird to post there for nct now lol, so i decided to let it live here >.< thank you for requesting, anon 🤍 happy reading!

mark: he brings you lunch during your shifts at the library. he melts watching you run down the stairs, skipping to his car because you know his adoring gaze is locked on you. the excitement twirls you, and he laughs in the driver’s seat, observing the curious students, probably wondering what on earth is up with this girl. they’d understand if they knew her boyfriend was here. her very busy boyfriend with her favorite food and a kiss to give. a few kisses. as many as she has time for.

renjun: he thinks you’re incredible. he finds your major fascinating and has shown more interest in your studies than anyone else in your life. he quizzes you with your stack of flashcards, throwing in spontaneous questions to make you laugh. he reads over essays. he asks about your lectures, curious to know what the most interesting part was. he loves it when you text him after an exam, confident you crushed it, and gracious for his help, but he always says: no, baby. that was all you.

jeno: you stay up late together. he plays video games and you sit at the desk he built beside his gaming setup. you wear one of his AirPods, attention focused on your laptop screen and the opened textbooks around you. he stopped playing an hour ago and is admiring you, but you haven’t a clue. he leans over to kiss your temple, asking if you’d like some water or tea. all you do is nod, and he laughs. “which one, baby?” “hmm?” “water or tea?” “whichever’s easiest.” your eyebrows furrow, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you flip back a few pages. “i’ll make tea.”

haechan: you’re in an online grad program that’s kicking your ass, so anytime you’re on break, he spoils the hell out of you. you’ve been flown to cities across the world after exam season to sing and dance in arenas and experience top-tier stress relief. when deadlines are compressing, he cooks for you and pulls you away from your desk to eat with him. he’s supportive and sweet but intense about your health. you’re a perfectionist, and he’s received far too many texts from you in the middle of the night like it’s normal to completely disregard rest. your favorite thing to do is nap with him, or feel his fingers in your hair while he watches tv at a quiet volume so you can rest.

jaemin: a part of him—and maybe he doesn’t admit this—is living vicariously through you. any opportunity he has to pick you up after class is taken, and he finds himself leaning forward against the steering wheel to get a better view of the students passing by. the campus is slow and quiet before erupting into a sea of bobbing heads and heavy backpacks as another morning class ends; they navigate the rush like it was choreographed. in another life, he wonders if your paths still would’ve crossed. if you would’ve spent every waking hour studying together in the library, at cafes, in the grass outside the science building once spring’s warmth is delicious. when he sees you, he slides back into reality, feeling the leather beneath him, and smiles widely through his window.

chenle: when he finds out you’re on the uni’s club soccer team, he asks for your game schedule. there’s a twitter page that posts updates, so he makes an account for the sole purpose of following it. his liked tweets are filled with every goal you scored and assist you made; he replies too: that’s my girl!! he has your last name on a sweatshirt that he wears to every game he can make, a mask covering his face, and sunglasses covering his eyes. he loves greeting you after games, your lips still parted, catching your breath. your cheeks are red from the excursion. flyaways frame your face, ponytail messy and much looser, so much looser than it was when you ate breakfast together hours earlier. you unravel the hair tie in his car, run your fingers through your hair, and contemplate what you want for dinner. his treat.

jisung: he’s your safe haven. his apartment is your oasis. his heart lurches whenever you text him about heading over, even if you know he won’t be home for hours. his demeanor always shifts slightly when he knows you’re at his place, and he can’t be there. he always texts back, wondering if you’re ok, and hoping you were just seeking a different environment to study in. when he gets home, sometimes you’re still studying. other days, you’re asleep in his bed or standing in the kitchen in one of his t-shirts with wet hair, waiting for the kettle to whistle. he wishes you’d just move in with him, knowing it wouldn’t only save you money, but he craves your presence. he sleeps better when you’re in his bed, and he prefers to know you’re eating. it warms his heart to see your folded figure studying on his couch, taking short breaks to peer out the window. he takes your picture, sometimes calling your name and catching a soft smile and warm eyes on film.

[mrrharper]

Enforcing The Bro Code

Trent was livin’ the high life. Living in the best frat house on campus, with the best bros on campus, partying hard and working out all day. Life was good for Trent, especially with his best bro around. Colt was a party animal and a damn good lifter, which made him a perfect brah to keep around.

There was only one issue. Colt was gay. Of course, Trent has no issue with that, he wasn’t some dumb homophobic asshole, duh. But still, there was something weird about a frat bro, especially a jacked bro like Colt, to not be thinking of pussy every day, right? Every time he mentioned going on a Grindr hook up or commenting about ”that one hot bro” that attended their gym, Trent cringed a bit. This didn’t fit with his view of the frat bro life. Of course, many bros fucked around with each other from time to time, but they didn’t talk about it, didn’t boast about sticking a dick into another dude’s ass. That was like, against the bro code and stuff. In the end though, Trent’s loyalty to his best bro was more important, so he didn’t say anything.

Although.

A while after Colt’s coming out, Trent began wondering. He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed and he knew that - his brain was made for football and lifting, not for complex analytical thought, but he started thinking if there was any way to gently nudge Colt to follow the supreme rule of the bro code, no homo bro. His bro wasn’t the smartest guy in the frat house either, a textbook example of a meathead, so maybe if he just showed him the true purpose of a bro, Colt would adjust and conform to the standard. Yeah, he’d show him some great pussy and get his brain into straight mode! Trent would just need to wait for the best moment to strike, when Colt’s mind would be the most malleable.

The opportunity came one evening when Colt and Trent were coming back from a party some hockey bros threw at their place. Colt was visibly drunk and talking about the most random shit while leaning on Trent for support. As they neared their house Trent studied Colt and when they came to the door a plan quickly formed in his mind. He maneuvered Colt through the door, but instead of guiding him to his room, Trent grabbed his best bro and took him to his own bedroom. There he grabbed a chair from his desk and put it in the middle of the room, then asked Colt to sit in it. The drunk jock obediently followed the suggestion and sat down, grinning like an idiot with a bit of drool leaking from his mouth.

”kay, bruh, what am gonna do is a bit extreme, but it’s for yer own good, ya get me brah?” Trent looked into Colt’s eyes and the other bro nodded his head and chuckled. “so like, just stay here, don’t panic n’ let me do my thing” Trent then turned around and grabbed a football helmet, which he put onto Colt’s head. The helmet had seen better days and had a smelled faintly of sweat, but this was what Trent wanted - to get Colt’s brain surrounded by manly shit so that the whole process could go smoother.

Next, Trent finished the setup for his bro’s realignment. He put a laptop in front of Colt’s face and loaded the first video. It was some random gay porn, copied from the first link Trent stumbled upon cause like, he wasn’t gay or anythin’ so he couldn’t go any further than that. A pair of guys appeared on screen, a hunk fucking some twin into the mattress and Colt seemed really into it, which was, for now, good. Trent’s plan was going to work. His bro was getting agitated by the experience, his cock hardening under his gym shorts and he began grinding his hand against it.

”Nah dude” Trent jumped up to him and grabbed his hand. “Ya can’t do it yet. Gotta wait for the right time dude” He let the video play for a few more moments, making sure that Colt was hard and horny. When he was absolutely sure this was the case he quickly swapped the porn for one of his favorite vids of a bro type guy eating out a chick with awesome tits. As the sound of female moans filled the room, Trent grabbed Colt’s hand again and put it on the visible bulge in his shorts.

“That’s the stuff ya should jack off too, bro. Cause like, no homo. Right bro?” Colt didn’t respond with words, but he grunted and started once again grinding his hand over his hard cock. For a moment at least. Because a minute later he looked at Trent with a furrowed brow.

”bruuuuuuuuh, like… no chick…. that vid… before…. hooooot brah”

Trent groaned. Fuck, he didn’t expect things to go perfectly smooth, but still… damn. But he was going to survive this. It was all gonna still work out in the end. Trent went back to the gay vid for a moment, which woke up Colt’s dick. But as the other bro kept jacking off, Trent leaned over next to him and started whispering with a stern tone of voice.

”dude, ya see this shit? so fuckin’ gay. not like us bro, nah, we’re real bros, and ya know dude, no homo bro. yer a real jacked bro, and no jacked bro looks at gay shit. like man, no homo bro, ya get me, right dude?” As he kept talking, Trend once again switched the video playing on the laptop, going back to the bro destroying a chick’s pussy with his mouth, then moving onto good ol’ fucking. To assure that Colt didn’t relapse, Trent held his bro’s hand to make sure the other jock kept jacking off while also checking that his eyes stayed glued to the screen. All throughout this he kept talking to Colt, improvising a hypno-sounding mantra, repeating the sacred phrase “no homo, bro” over and over again.

”Yeah dude, look at this shit, look at that bruh destroyin’ that wet pussy. cause like ya ain’t no homo, bro, and ya see how fuckin hot this shit is. this ain’t none of that homo shit, nah, this is prime alpha bro stuff, right here dude.”

That seemed to lead to results. Colt’s enthusiasm didn’t disappear after Trent switched back to straight porn, and his dick was just as hard as before. After a while Trent’s help was no longer necessary as Colt sloppily took off his shorts and was now jerking off at full blast. Trent kept on going with his whispers to keep Colt in that trance-like state for as long as possible, all with the goal of getting Colt’s dick to understand the message - that a bro could only get turned on by pussy.

The whole process lasted for an hour. Trent came prepared, with a whole playlist of the hottest vids he knew of so that Colt’s horny bro brain could be overwhelmed with images of straight sex, of a real bro like him doing the only proper thing - sticking his cock into a hot chick’s pussy.

Around halfway through the fifth clip it finally happened. Colt came, covering his Under Armour briefs with his cum, while watching straight porn. Trent fist-pumped in the air and clapped Colt on the back.

”fuck yeah dude, now ya know how good it feels to be a normal bro, not any of that homo shit” He chuckled as he saw his best bro look at him with a confused look. “kay, ya pussyhound, let’s get ya to yer room” Trent grabbed his friend and helped him walk over to his bedroom, where he collapsed onto his bed still wearing the sum-stained boxer briefs.

So the plan seemed to be working. Now Trent just had to make sure that his “session” with Colt had the desired long-term effect. And the first signs were quite promising. Colt hadn’t mentioned hooking up with a guy at all over the following week, which was unusual for him, as he was one horny bastard and was usually very eager to share stories of his sexual conquests or general comments about how much he needed to fuck a random guy. Now, there was none of that and when prompted, Colt just avoided the topic, seemingly surprised it even came up.

The big break came about two weeks later when Trent mentioned going to bed with a girl from a sorority house close to them and Colt commented that he’d do the exact same thing if he had the chance. This was huge. Trent’s best bro finally joining in on the banter about hot chicks. It didn’t stop there. From that point on the frequency of comments from Colt concerning his sex drive returned to normal but they were now all concerned with women. And when Trent heard from another frat bro that Colt hooked up with a chick from the cheerleading team he officially confirmed success. His best bro was now fully aligned with the bro code. Fuck yeah dude!

no homo, bruh!

[veralernt]

exam time 🎩🐇💃🏼

[isak-dot-gov]

Operation Surprise Paige

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Summary: It’s Valentine’s Day, but Paige’s busy practice schedule keeps her from spending the day with the reader. Wanting to make the night special despite the circumstances, the reader surprises Paige by setting up a cozy indoor picnic in her dorm,

Word count: 1069

My Masterlist :)

You stared at your phone screen for what felt like the hundredth time that day, rereading Paige’s last text:

PB: I’m so sorry, babe. Practice is running late. I promise I’ll make it up to you.

You sighed, setting your phone down on your lap. It wasn’t like this was a huge surprise—basketball was Paige’s life, and you knew that when you started dating her. But Valentine’s Day was supposed to be special. You had hoped for at least a few uninterrupted hours together, maybe a cute brunch date or a late-night dinner after practice. Instead, Paige was stuck in the gym, and you were sitting in your dorm, alone, wondering if you’d even get to see her before the day ended.

A part of you wanted to wallow in your disappointment, but another part—the one that loved Paige more than anything—refused to let this day be a complete letdown. If Paige couldn’t take you on a Valentine’s Day date, then you’d bring the date to her.

You wasted no time putting your plan into action. First, you grabbed your coat and headed off campus to pick up a few essentials. A quick stop at the store got you everything you needed: a fluffy picnic blanket, a string of warm fairy lights, a few battery-operated candles (because real candles in a dorm were a fire hazard), and, most importantly, all of Paige’s favorite snacks.

Then, you made a second stop at a bakery that you knew Paige loved. They had a special Valentine’s Day section, and you couldn’t resist grabbing a small heart-shaped cake with pink frosting that read, Be Mine? in white icing. It was cheesy, but you knew Paige would love it.

By the time you got back to her dorm, her roommate was nowhere to be found—perfect. You got to work, pushing the coffee table aside and setting up the picnic blanket in the middle of the floor. You arranged the fairy lights on the nightstand and around the window, their soft glow making the space feel warm and romantic. You placed the food neatly on the blanket, including the strawberries and Nutella because you knew Paige would devour them in minutes.

For the final touch, you pulled out a handwritten card you had made earlier. It wasn’t anything extravagant, just a simple message:

“Happy Valentine’s Day, my love. Since you couldn’t take me on a fancy date, I figured I’d bring the romance to you. Hope you’re ready for the best dorm-room picnic of your life. Love, your #1 fan.”

You set the card next to the cake and took a step back, admiring your work. It wasn’t some expensive five-star dinner, but it was filled with love, and that’s what mattered most.

It was past 9 PM when you finally heard the sound of keys jingling outside the door. You quickly sat down on the blanket, waiting with anticipation.

The door swung open, and in walked Paige, looking absolutely exhausted. She had her gym bag slung over one shoulder, her hoodie slightly oversized, and her damp hair from a quick shower falling messily around her face. She was clearly ready to collapse into bed—until she took in the sight in front of her.

Her tired eyes widened as she scanned the room, from the fairy lights casting a soft glow to the carefully arranged picnic in the middle of the floor.

“Babe…” she breathed, dropping her bag by the door. “What—what is all this?”

You smiled up at her. “Your Valentine’s Day date,” you said, motioning to the setup. “Since we couldn’t go out, I figured I’d bring the date to you.”

Paige just stood there, staring at you like you had just hung the moon. “You did all this… for me?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “No, I did it for your roommate,” you teased, making her laugh softly.

She stepped forward, dropping to her knees on the blanket and cupping your face in her hands. “I don’t deserve you,” she murmured, her thumbs gently brushing against your cheeks.

“You really don’t,” you joked, earning another laugh before she leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

Paige wasted no time making herself comfortable, pulling you into her lap and resting her chin on your shoulder as she eyed the food. “Are those strawberries and Nutella?”

You grinned. “Of course.”

“God, I love you.”

You laughed, reaching for a strawberry and dipping it into the Nutella before holding it up to her lips. She took a bite, humming in satisfaction. “Mmm. Best Valentine’s Day ever.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Even better than last year, when we actually got to go to that fancy restaurant?”

Paige nodded without hesitation, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Way better. This is perfect.”

For the next hour, you sat together, eating and talking about everything and nothing at all. Paige stole more than her fair share of strawberries, and you made her feed you a few in return. The heart-shaped cake was a huge hit—Paige insisted on taking pictures of it before cutting into it, and she made you share the first bite with her.

At one point, she stretched out on the blanket, pulling you down so you were lying on her chest, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on your back. The sound of soft music playing from your phone mixed with the occasional sound of Paige yawning as she relaxed against you.

“This might be my favorite Valentine’s Day ever,” she admitted, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple.

You smiled, your fingers gently playing with the hem of her hoodie. “Really?”

“Really.” She tilted her head to look at you, her blue eyes filled with so much love it made your heart ache. “You didn’t have to do all this, but you did. You always do the little things that make me feel special.”

You felt your cheeks warm. “Well, you are special.”

Paige grinned before leaning in, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss. When she pulled back, she whispered, “I love you.”

Your heart swelled as you nuzzled closer to her. “I love you too.”

And in that moment, wrapped up in each other’s arms, surrounded by fairy lights and the warmth of your love, you knew that no matter how busy life got, as long as you had each other, every day would feel like Valentine’s Day.

[basicallyreigenarataka]

Sun-kissed lovin’!

Lads x reader

you finally forced yourself to take a much needed vacation after your excruciatingly long and disastrous semester. you expected to relax, to soak up some sun and forget about your stupidly hard major, but fate had other plans for you! now you’re stuck in some odd love… hexagon?! how could you have possibly made five boys fall for you in such little time!

pairings: xavier x reader, zayne x reader, rafayel x reader, sylus x reader, caleb x reader

content: MDNI, fem!reader, modern au, college au, fluff, embarrassment, jealousy, caleb is down horrendously bad, caleb focused chapter the other boys aren’t here yet BUT are foreshadowed/mentioned teehee, some outfit inspo to show off the cutesy tootsie outfit you’ve got on!! on a mannequin so u can imagine urself wearing it, basically just an intro chapter to get u into the vibe of the fic! next chapter is xavier… 🤤

masterlist

Chapter One

College has been a drag. You endured five long years of this bullshit assignments, sleepless nights, and absolute academic hell. But finally, you only have one year left before you’re running off that stage with a diploma in hand! You could practically taste the freedom- sweet and delicious right on the tip of your tongue. You’re never turning back to that shitty campus once you’re finally off it’s grounds, you promised yourself.

You told yourself you needed a vacation- no, you deserved one! Five long years of dedicating yourself to your stupidly vigorous major and you were absolutely beat! you need a vacation- and a reward!

After some back and forth with yourself, some researching, and some planning, you booked a summer-long vacation at some cheesy rental in an even cheesier beach town - Seaside Point. You snorted when you read the name, totally a tourist trap, you thought with a giggle.

Despite renting the place for a long two month stay, the place was actually pretty cheap! The house was big enough to house up to two people, with each having their own side. So, only renting for one, it only costed about half of what it usually costs. What a deal! You immediately booked and paid that sucker before booking your airplane tickets and all other necessities.

That was three months ago, now, you were standing right outside the rental house, numerous amounts of suitcases laid by your feet, fresh out of the Uber that drove you straight here from the airport. The salty breeze hit your face just right, the sound of the crashing waves in the distance like music to your ears, and that’s when you knew you were finally free.

The rental was gorgeous. It was spacious, just a stroll away from the cute little tourists town, and (possibly your favorite part of the whole place) right by the shore! You didn’t want to buy a rental car, and with everything in walking distance, this was the best possible setup! You mentally congratulated yourself for scoring such a great place before walking up the porch, punching in the code the owners sent you to unlock the house, letting yourself in.

Just like the listing said, the house was big enough for two people. The house was split by two doors on opposite sides of the foyer, lockable from the inside, effectively creating a private, separated living space. The foyer was the only shared area, intended for each guest to come in and out as they pleased. You smiled, despite sharing the rental with someone, there was a lot of privacy! The likelihood of you meeting the other guest in the foyer was super low, anyways. Besides, judging by the silence, it seemed like the other guest wasn’t even here yet, either! You clapped your hands together happily, relieved you wouldn’t have to interact in any unnecessary situations.

With a satisfied smile, you began to drag your luggage to your side of the house. It was time for you to finally settle in!

It took three trips to get all your bags inside. You had to pack a lot! You were staying for two months- that’s no joke! There was no way you weren’t about to show off every outfit and swim suit in your wardrobe. Plus, the essentials! Hygiene products, multiple so you wouldn’t have to buy shitty ones from those tacky tourist markets, all your makeup and skincare products, at least three chargers for your phone and laptop incase any broke, bedding, cleaning products, and two first aid kits, just in case, and random products or necessities here and there, each and every bag stuffed to the brim.

It took you about two hours to unpack everything. You hung up all your clothes neatly in the closet, the poor thing overflowing with shirts, pants, skirts, and dresses. You put your variety of swim suits, bras, panties, socks, and whatever else you may need in the dresser drawers, not before cleaning them, of course. You never know what freaky stuff other guests have been up to… You shuddered at the thought, face scrunching up in disgust as you shoved the rest of your bikinis into a drawer and slammed it shut.

After you had finished unpacking and making the bed, you let yourself flop right on top of the fluffy sheets with a dramatic sigh. You closed your eyes, perfectly content with falling asleep right now from how soft the mattress and pillows were, but the sound of your growling stomach perked you right up.

I guess I am pretty hungry… Last I ate was at the airport… You thought with a hum, sliding off the bed and picking up your purse, rummaging through for your phone and wallet.

You made sure to bring plenty cash, you had been saving up for at least a year for this trip! It wouldn’t hurt to go out and get yourself a bite to eat. You wanted to walk around the charming town, anyways.

And with that, you giddily hopped over to the overstuffed closet you had just organized. Better put these clothes to good use!

Despite the growing hunger pain, you still took your sweet ole time to construct the cutest outfit possible.

It took you a good thirty minutes of trying on clothes, disliking them, and trying on even more before you finally constructed a simple, cutesy outfit that looked just right on you! You slipped into a blue corset top that hugged your chest and waist just perfectly, accentuating all the right places. To match the delicate white lace of the top and white pearls you wore around your neck, you wore a ruffled white skirt that just barely covered your ass. You were on vacation- who cares if you’re showing a little too much! That was the point!

You checked yourself out in the mirror, an appreciative hum leaving your lips.

“Gosh, I am so hot.”

You have yourself a happy little twirl, admiring the cute outfit on your even cuter self. Oh, thank God you had the best fashion sense on Earth! You were so ready to show it off, even if it was just at a nearby restaurant.

With that, you slipped on some simple white sandals and made your way out of the house, ready to enjoy yourself for the foreseeable future.

You tilted your head curiously when you noticed no noise coming from the other side of the house as you entered the foyer, hand on the front door. Maybe no one was renting that side after all?

You skipped out of the house joyfully, bright smile on your face. You knew exactly where you wanted to go.

In preparation to your big vacation, you made sure to research the town and its little shops. Turns out, there’s this super cute TikTok famous cafe nearby! You have been dying to try a latte from the place, and a little dessert.

You knew this wasn’t exactly smart. If you were hungry, you should go buy real food. But nope! You’re stubborn, and you are determined to get your hands on a sugar packed pastry.

The cafe was only a good fifteen minutes away in walking distance. It was totally doable, especially with a calming walk like this. The sea breeze felt amazing against your warm skin, cooling you off from the unforgiving sun that blazed down on the cute town.

The sea air was a bit funky, but more nostalgic than anything! It reminded you of your days as a kid, going to the beach with your family and your best friend, Caleb’s family.

You mentally noted how long it’s been since you last spoke to Caleb. The two of you made sure to stay in contact even when you went separate ways in college, but you haven’t seen each other in ages! Plus, your texts have been looking a little dry. You’ve both been so busy with school.

You debated sending him a little text, asking him what’s up and how his own schooling is going. After a long moments thought, you decided you better should! Maybe after this cafe run, though.

You arrived to the cafe just a few minutes later, skipping down the sidewalk with little care. You were just happy to finally be free from the clutches of shitty professors.

You stepped into the cafe, awing at the selection of baked goods, drool pooling at the corner of your lips as you stared. You wiped your mouth quickly, looking back and forth to make sure nobody saw you drooling over pastries like a little kid.

But then, your eyes fell onto a man.

A man who looked way too similar to caleb.

Like, he could be his twin, similar.

You blinked, staring at the man unconsciously. Gosh, he looked just like him! What a coincidence!

You were about to turn away, when the man turned to face you and suddenly made eye contact.

You immediately jumped back, eyes widening as you spun right around on your heel. Oh man, he totally caught me staring. Totally thinks I’m a creep. You thought as you scrunched up your nose in embarrassment, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks as you prayed he hadn’t noticed-

“Pipsqueak?”

Huh?

You spun right around. Eyes still wide as you took in the familiar nickname. What did this guy just call you? There was actually no way this was-

“Caleb?” You spoke with uncertainty, voice small as you were left frozen in place as you stared at the familiar man.

Oh, you were so fucking dumb. The guy who looked like Caleb’s twin was Caleb!

“Oh my gosh- pipsqueak! It really is you!”

Caleb lit up the moment he saw you, the conversation he was having with someone unfamiliar to you totally forgotten. Without hesitation, he instantly bounded towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist almost possessively and lifting you right off the ground like you weighed nothing. You let out a surprised squeak that turned into a lighthearted giggle as he spun you around happily, like this was the end to some cheesy disney film.

“I can’t believe it’s you! How have you been, pips? School treating you well? Are you on vacation? How long are you staying for? Are you-”

Gosh, he acted like such a puppy sometimes. A cute puppy, but a very overwhelming puppy.

“Caleb, one question at a time!” You said with a breathless laugh, slapping his arm lightly. Not enough to hurt him, but enough to cut him out of his endless questioning.

Caleb blinked, his own face flushing when he realized how overbearing he may seem- and how pretty you’ve gotten. He rambled apologies before setting you back down, the height difference between you two was laughable.

“I’ve missed you so much, Caleb! Let me just buy a latte and something to eat first,” you told him, eyeing a delicious looking eclair, “then I’ll answer every question you’ve got for me!” You didn’t wait for a response, already spinning around to inspect the treats before ordering.

He nodded firmly, though his focus was already drifting. His gaze dropped down to finally take in your revealing outfit. He was glad you had your back turned to him, too busy studying the pastry selection to notice the way he was checking you out. Not just because he’s rather die than get caught staring shamelessly, but also because he had an incredible view of that way too short skirt you were wearing.

She should not be wearing something that short. He thought with a grumble, eyes narrowing and lips forming into an angry pout. Yet he continued to stare shamelessly, chin propped on his hand as he took in your figure, licking his lips unconsciously. You, completely oblivious to his not-so-bestfriendish-thoughts, was busy ordering some stupidly overpriced latte and ridiculously fancy slice of black forest cake.

When you finally returned to the table, Caleb immediately jumped at the opportunity to question you, again. He smiled innocently, gaze returning to your face as if he wasn’t just staring at your perfect bust and thinking dangerous things due to your ass barely covered from that short skirt.

“So, pips, it’s been like, I don’t even know how long since we’ve last seen each other! What a coincidence we bumped here,” he chuckled as he snagged a bite of your black forest cake, earning a loud whine from you. That sound alone almost had him mentally spiraling. He choked on a cough as he continued, looking anywhere but your face. “So… What exactly are you doing here?”

You shot him a glare, tugging the plate closer to you so he couldn’t steal another bite. “Uh, vacation. Duh. Classes have absolutely ruined me! I needed a break. I’ve been planning this for like, the past year! I’m staying for the next two months. I actually just landed today.” You took another bite of your cake, humming in approval as you washed it down with the latte.

“How about you? I haven’t seen you in ages, Ca!”

Caleb was fighting back every voice that mentally screamed at him to reach over the table and kiss you silly. Admittedly, he’s always had a thing for you. Since middle school, probably. But seeing you like this- all dolled up and practically moaning from a few bites of cake, it was doing things to his poor brain. He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, still looking away as a means to hide his blushing face. “Sorry, classes been super busy. I didn’t mean to not text you as much… I’m really sorry.” His expression softened sadly, realizing how much they’ve drifted over the past year. He never intended for that to happen, in fact you’re the last person he wanted to lose.

You frowned looking at Caleb’s saddening expression. Oh, he looked like a hurt puppy! The sight made your heart clench.

You reached out and rested your hand over his, offering a comforting squeeze. His eyes widened instantly, and you swore you could see him blushing.

“Aw, Ca… Don’t blame yourself. Both of us got busy, it neither of our faults.”

You offered him a soft smile, one that could light up a room. He could feel his face getting hot, his hands getting clammy. God, it was like high school all over again. He wasn’t ready to come to terms with his attraction to you, it felt so… wrong. Like it was a sin. Like he shouldn’t like you- wasn’t allowed to like you because of your bond since childhood.

“Thanks, y/n…” He spoke, voice still small with his own worries, but his pout was turning into a small smile. “Truthfully, I’m here because a friend tagged me along. He’s interning at the nearby clinic over the summer. He’s my roommate.”

You nodded, humming as your eyes lit up, “oh, that’s awesome! Do I get to meet him?” You giggled cheekily, batting your eyelashes at him playfully.

Your question and attitude seemed to have upset Caleb, because his expression immediately faltered. He got this look to him, the same look he got in high school when some loser tried to ask you out to some stupid dance. His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes were narrowed, and his brows were furrowed impossibly together. You swore you could even see his eye twitch. But as quick as his face tensed, it returned to normal.

The whole thing was bizarre. You were about to ask him if he was okay, apologize for the question thinking it may have been personal. But before you could, he cut off your thoughts with his borderline jealous tone.

“Um. I’m not sure…” Caleb trailed off, refusing to maintain eye contact. Now it was your turn to narrow your eyes, confused by Caleb’s sudden shift in demeanor.

“Huh?” You asked, head tilted to the side in confusion. “Why not? He’s your friend, right? We could all go down to the beach or something-”

“No.”

Caleb’s voice was firm, with a harsh and mean edge to it that left you flinching. He’s never spoken to you with this tone.

Your lips parted, but no words escaped your lips. You didn’t know how to respond to him.

“You don’t need to meet him,” Caleb finally grumbled, arms crossed as he stared at anything but you. His tone got lighter, as if he noticed you flinch and he felt guilty. But it still had that edge to it that left you with goosebumps. Something about it was so… primal, possessive.

You blinked, ready to ask him another question, but he cut you off once more.

“I just… I think we haven’t seen each other in a while, and I want it to be just us.” His words were much softer now, more aware of your feelings. It had an almost bashful undertone to it, so boyishly charming it made you blush.

You wanted to tease him, call him jealous and watch him get flustered and whine. But you didn’t. You just nodded along, cheeks red from how honest he sounded.

Caleb finally stood up, looming over your still sitting form at the dainty cafe table. You’d just now noticed how tall, how muscular Caleb had gotten. How did he even fit in that small chair? And how have you never noticed?

Caleb leaned down slightly, gently brushing some stray hair from your face. His touch was impossibly gentle for such large hands, like he believed he could break you with just a touch. “I gotta head back,” he said, a soft smile on his face as he stared into your eyes. “But text me if you need anything. I’m serious.”

You nodded, a little surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “O-of course. You text me, too.” You huffed.

Caleb chuckled at your defiant huff, standing back up and away from your face, much to your disappointment.

He turned around, ready to head out, but not before sliding a crisp twenty dollar bill beside your now empty plate.

“For the food.” He spoke, not turning back around to face you. “I don’t want you paying when I’m around. See ya.”

You didn’t even get the chance to decline the offer- to shove the move back in his face. He had already left the store!

“Determined bastard…” You muttered, shoving the now crumpled bill into your purse.

You stood up, cleaning up your spot at the cafe table before heading out, eager to spend some time on the beach before you headed off to sleep.

dividers by @/h-aewo and @/anitalenia

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[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝒶𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓅𝒽𝒾𝓁𝑒 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒 𝓍 𝑔𝓃!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: You weren’t meant to stand out—just orbit quietly beside the ones who burned brighter. But then Crowe noticed you. With his crooked smile and sunlit warmth, he pulled you in, piece by piece. Late nights. Lingering touches. The kind of closeness that made you forget how far you'd come just to feel seen.

To be chosen by him felt like a miracle. But even miracles cast shadows. Set against the glow of late-night party event, sharp smiles, and a moon who always stood just a little too far outside the spotlight, this is a story about timing, tenderness, and the truths we bury in our silences. After all, some stars shine for the world. 

And some are only for another star.

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: from Anonymous. Not gonna lie, I’m writing this because Crowe’s felt like a stranger lately—faded into the background, and I don’t even know when. Perfect time to change that… and maybe break some hearts.

So, here’s the setup: Brittney—fashion major for sure—needs a model for her final piece. You volunteer. Simple, right? I also added my favorite song, Reflections by The Neighbourhood. Listen to it at the end. It’s perfect. T-T. bro i kinda cried writing this...

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: crowe x gn! reader, morally grey reader??, established relationship, mutual pinning, angst, emotional rollercoaster, slow burn, unrequited love, one-sided love.

The student council room was quiet

Too quiet, for a space usually crackling with fake smiles and veiled threats behind designer coffee cups. Today, it was just you and Crowe. No council members, no sycophants, no interruptions. Just the low hum of the overhead lights and the sharp click of your heel tapping against the polished surface of the desk you were perched on.

Not seated at it. On it.

The chairs, the long table, the gilded emblems of prestige—they were all part of the decor. Crowe sat in one of them, fingers laced loosely under his chin, posture proper, however, gaze soft. He watched you the way someone watches a lit match near gasoline: unreadable, but not uninvested.

You stared past him at the window, where the night bled into the high-rise skyline of Titan City like oil in water. Neon signs blinked far below, the lights of Olympus University’s main campus flickering like fireflies trapped in a jar. Cold glass and concrete, all dressed up in elegance.

That was the city. That was the school. That was the game.

“Astrophile,” you said at last, the word tasting expensive in your mouth. You glanced at him. “Funny name for an event run by people who spend their lives in the dark.”

Crowe smirked, the corner of his mouth lifting in that slow, familiar way that made him look both amused and a little smug.

“It means someone who loves stars,” he said, voice soft but sure. “The sky kind. Not the celebrity kind. Though, here… they probably think it’s both.”

You scoffed under your breath, the sound almost a laugh. “Of course they do.”

Crowe leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking faintly as he folded his arms behind his head and looked up at the ceiling like the constellations might be painted there.

“It started a few years ago,” he said. “A high-society thing, strictly invite-only. The idea was to celebrate the brightest students—the future of the elite. They picked the top 1%, dressed them in silver and black, threw them under chandeliers, and called it destiny.”

“Sounds cult-y.”

“It is. Just with better lighting.”

You snorted, gaze flickering back to the skyline, but your attention stayed tethered to Crowe—the way his silhouette leaned slightly toward you, his thigh brushing yours with casual closeness. His presence was a quiet kind of gravity, the kind you didn’t always notice until the world tilted slightly and you realized he was the only thing holding you steady. 

In the reflection on the glass, his outline blurred with yours like two pieces of a shadow that had learned to overlap. 

“So, what? They gather a bunch of legacy kids, pour expensive wine, and pretend they're the second coming of the stars?”

Crowe offered a small shrug, his voice low. “Basically. It’s branding. A night to remind everyone who runs this place.”

“And you’re invited,” you said, not asking—because you already knew.

Crowe didn’t deny it. He just gave a slow nod, his fingers rising to rub the back of his neck like the motion might relieve some unspoken pressure. His gaze dropped to the floor before he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, fingers threaded together in a tense, white-knuckled grip. 

“Yeah. I have to go. It’s… complicated why I ever have to.”

You studied him, head tilted slightly, trying to read the silence between his words. “Then why even go?” you asked, voice quieter now, but edged with that signature dry note you always carried when concern was disguised as sarcasm. “You know I could come with you. Be your emotional support partner or something. I clean up nice.”

A half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His head turned toward you slowly, like he didn’t want to say it—like the answer was heavier than he’d like to admit.

“Well… you can’t,” he said finally. “Not this one.”

Your brows lifted, not in offense but surprise. Crowe had never said no to you. Not directly. Not like that. It wasn’t just the words—it was the weight behind them. Measured. Certain. Kind, even. But final.

He must’ve seen the flicker of confusion cross your face, because he softened, adding, “After the event, I’ll come over. Your place. We’ll order something greasy, you’ll put on one of those awful romantic comedies with the rain-drenched kisses and bad lighting, and I’ll pretend not to enjoy them.”

You blinked at him, caught in that quiet moment of dissonance where nothing felt wrong but everything felt off. A part of you itched to ask more, to tug at the loose thread he didn’t seem ready to let unravel. But another part—deeper, sharper—recognized the shift in his tone. 

This wasn’t just an event. Not for him. 

Whatever Astrophile was, it wasn’t a party. Not really. So you exhaled, steady and slow, and nodded. Just once. Letting it go—but only for now. Whatever this was, Crowe would tell you eventually.

No—fuck that. 

You already knew.

You knew about Astrophile before Crowe ever said a word. Poor kids always knew about it—like how rats knew where the poison was kept. 

It wasn’t just a party. It was the party. 

Invitation-only, legacy-guarded, drenched in soft gold lighting and stinking of old money and newer sins. A place where the heirs of corporate empires, aristocratic bloodlines, and political dynasties came together to congratulate each other for surviving another year of inherited relevance.

They dressed it up as networking. Branding. Prestige. But everyone else knew it for what it was: a modern-day masquerade ball for the ruling class, draped in opulence to mask its rot.

You didn’t need Crowe to explain that to you.

Simple, sharp-edged thoughts rattled through your skull like bullets in a chamber: ‘You weren’t here to beg for a place at the table. You were here to take it.’ What you felt wasn’t admiration or envy. Not even ambition. It was colder. Sharper. More enduring.

A fixation. An obsession.

Everyone wanted to be high-class. That was the disease. The dream sold in every magazine, every streaming drama, every admissions brochure. Even those who’d never see wealth pretended to wear its scent. But for people like you, the truth was different.

There was a line. Thick, gleaming, and deliberate. And it wasn’t just about money—it was about access. Ancestry. Advantage. Power passed down through last names and trust funds, through club memberships and generational seats on the Olympus board.

If you weren’t born into it, you were born beneath it.

At University Olympus, that reality wasn’t whispered—it was branded into the architecture. Gold in the trim, pedigree in the curriculum, and secrets baked into every ivy-covered wall. 

Here, your family’s worth meant more than your personal achievements. Your name got you further than your GPA. You could vanish for months, cheat through every class, and still walk the stage if your father donated a library wing.

You were low-class. You knew what that meant.

People like you weren’t expected to survive Olympus, let alone thrive. You were the diversity hire. The quota student. A sympathetic marketing piece for their brochures. Smile for the camera, then vanish before you embarrass anyone.

And when you stepped out of line?

They erased you.

Quietly. Efficiently. They called it attrition. You called it what it was—institutional execution.

The ghosts of students who came before you lingered in the silence. In empty chairs. In files quietly deleted. They had screamed once, fought back, and held signs. And still, they disappeared.

But you were different.

You didn’t come here to play fair. You didn’t come here to smile and curtsy. You came to adapt. Your family needed you at that party—not because of some glittering dream, but because survival demanded it. 

How else would the right people see you? How else would they start saying your name in rooms you’d never stepped into?

Every glance had to be weaponized. Every move, a calculation. 

You’d bleed charm when needed, bite when necessary, and burn if cornered.

University Olympus wasn’t a school—it was a war zone dressed in ivy and tradition. A place where one wrong step could blackball you forever. But if you played it right? If you moved fast, struck clean, and kept your face pretty and your intentions hidden?

Then everything will go perfectly, as planned. 

Understand that climbing up in Titan City had nothing to do with merit. It wasn’t about how hard you worked, how smart you were, or how much you wanted it. 

That was the story they told people like you.

The truth was sharper. Colder. Power wasn’t earned—it was acquired. Leveraged. Inherited. You got in by knowing the right people, by being in the right rooms, by saying the right things to the right names.

And what better room than Astrophile?

One of the most exclusive events in the city. Masked as a fashion show, wrapped in silk and diamonds, but underneath—power. That’s what it really was. A glittering chessboard of influence. The kind of place where legacies mingled, where alliances were forged over champagne, where one conversation could change your entire future.

It wasn’t about the clothes.

It was about being seen. About the right photos. The right whispers. 

The right eyes are noticing you.

If you wanted to rise in Titan City, you had to be there.

Your eyes narrowed, lost in thought—calculating, cold. Crowe caught the flicker of it instantly, like a spark behind glass. Then came the soft click—the quiet creak of your desk chair shifting beneath you.

Crowe's hand slid up your thigh, slow and unhurried, interrupting your thoughts without apology. His fingers curled lightly against your skin, grounding you in the present. You didn’t move—not when he stepped between your legs like he belonged there, not when his knees brushed yours, not even when his breath kissed your lips.

He looked at you, really looked at you. His brows furrowed, eyes darker than usual, not with desire, however, a hint of something heavier. Guilt. Regret. Maybe both.

Then, without a word, he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, or rough, or hungry. It was simple. 

It wasn’t the kind of kiss that begged for permission. It didn’t need to. It was his way of pulling you back from the edge—away from the cold machinery of your mind, the calculated climb, the next move, the next lie. His lips lingered, warm and sure, pressing against yours like a silent apology. Like he wished this world didn’t work the way it did. Like he hated himself a little for being part of it.

You blinked, caught between strategy and softness, letting the silence stretch. Then—“Oh,” you murmured, lashes lowered, voice dripping with feigned disappointment. A pout curled at the edge of your mouth as you tilted your head slightly. “Guess I’m not rich enough for Astrophile, huh? A shame. I’d look so good in designer…”

Crowe exhaled, his forehead brushing against yours. “Don’t do that,” he whispered.

“Do what?” you asked innocently, fingers trailing up the hem of his shirt as if you weren’t already slipping back into performance.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. 

“Pretend it doesn’t hurt.”

You went still. Just for a second.

His hands stayed firm on your thighs, however, his grip had gentled. Like he was scared of pushing too far. “You wanted to go. I know that. And I—I could’ve pulled strings, but I didn’t. I didn’t think it mattered that much to you.”

You gave him a small, practiced smile. “It’s just a party, Crowe.”

“No,” he said quietly. “It’s not.”

And there it was again—that look in his eyes. The guilt. The ache. The knowing. He knew you. Knew how hard you worked to hide your hunger behind elegance. Knew that Astrophile wasn’t about dresses or runway lights. It was about proximity to power.

You tilted your head, fingers idly toying with the collar of Crowe’s shirt—just enough to remind him how close you were. “You didn’t think I could handle it?” you asked, voice light, teasing.

His jaw clenched, just slightly. “I didn’t think they deserved you.”

The words landed heavier than you expected. You blinked once, then nearly laughed. Almost. But instead, you leaned in again, your lips brushing his—soft and ghostlike, a whisper of affection you didn’t let linger. “You’re sweet,” you murmured, feigning warmth.

But Crowe didn’t smile.

“And maybe I’m selfish,” he said, quieter now, voice raw and stripped of all his usual steadiness. “Because I didn’t want you to go into that place and have to become like them to survive it.”

You stilled, fingertips pausing on the fabric between you. His words pulled something uncomfortable to the surface—something familiar. Something you thought you'd buried. For a moment, you just breathed, eyes locked on his, reading the guilt sitting just beneath his gaze.

Then you leaned back on your hands, letting your lips part in a slow, calculated sigh. “You know, I could almost believe you’re trying to protect me.”

“I am,” he said, and it wasn’t just a response—it was a confession.

Your smile returned, but this time it wasn’t soft. It was the smile of someone who’d already made their next move. “Too late for that,” you whispered, the words tasting like the truth. 

Because while Crowe’s guilt sat in the room like heat from a dying fire, something colder had already taken root in you. Something that moved fast. Precise. Inevitable.

Plan A was dead.

But Plan B?

Plan B had a tall height—and a pair of high heels.

“You wanna do what now?” Brittney stared at you like you’d just announced you were going to hijack a helicopter.

You barely looked up from your phone. “To go to Astrophile.”

She blinked once. Then again. “Babe, that’s not an easy party to get into. You’re gonna get kicked out.”

The two of you sat on the sun-drenched campus lawn, a pastel pink blanket spread beneath you like a magazine spread. The breeze carried a hint of fresh-cut grass and distant flowers. It should’ve been peaceful, but Brittney—never one for stillness—looked like she was preparing to fight off a dragon. Arms crossed, legs angled like a blade, and her eyes—razor-sharp and skeptical—trained on you.

You knew she’d react like this. Brittney wasn’t just anyone—she was Brittney. Gyaru perfection: long legs, longer nails, sun-kissed skin, and hair that curled like it had been kissed by gods. Everything about her screamed power, the kind earned through sweat, manipulation, and perfectly curated Instagram posts.

But she hadn’t always been up top.

You’d read between the lines. Middle-class girl with expensive taste and dreams too big for her zip code. Not rich enough for Olympus' elite, not poor enough to be invisible. Which meant she'd been chewed up by both sides—mocked for dreaming too loud, too bright, too unapologetically.

So she made herself untouchable. Every outfit, every word, every strut across campus was armor.

And right now, she was using all of it against you.

“You do realize Astrophile is invite-only, right?” Brittney said, raising a brow as she flicked a crumb off her thigh. “Like, you’re not just gonna walk in with a cute face and a half-baked plan.”

You tilted your head and gave her a slow, knowing smile. “I know.”

She froze. For once, her perfectly lip-glossed mouth parted in visible disbelief. You watched the gears shift behind her eyes—calculating risk, outcome, and just how badly this could come back to bite both of you. “You’re insane,” she said finally, almost in awe. “Clinically.”

“And yet,” you replied smoothly, folding your arms behind your head with faux ease, “you’re not shutting it down.”

She didn’t deny it. Because even if Brittney talked like a realist, she moved like a strategist. And she knew, maybe better than anyone, that in a city like Titan, appearances weren’t just everything—they were currency. And you were prepared to cash in.

Brittney sighed, stretching her long legs out on the blanket as the breeze toyed with the hem of her skirt. “Look. If I could help, in my words, you don’t need to go to Astrophile. Do you even realize how rare it is to land an invite? It’s damn near sacred. I’ve only been because I know someone who knows someone, and even that was barely enough. Unless you’ve got the right connections, a dress worth more than your tuition, and the kind of social resume that makes you look born into wealth…”

She let the implication hang.

“And the tickets?” she scoffed. “Don’t get me started. You’d have better luck sneaking into the Vatican in hot pink heels.”

You shrugged, entirely unbothered. “Yeah. I know.”

Her eyes narrowed, lips pursed. “Then why?” 

Because you had to, duh.

But Brittney didn’t operate on emotional pleas. She respected power plays, not poetry.

You leaned forward, voice calm, collected. “Astrophile isn’t just about fashion. It’s a signal. A stage for the hidden elite. The kind of people who don’t bother with résumés because they’re the ones writing them. I don’t care about the show—I care about the people in the front row.”

Her gaze didn’t break. You saw the flicker of recognition in her eyes. She knew you weren’t wrong.

“You and I both know that Olympus doesn’t give a damn about students unless they see a headline in it. I’m not going to Astrophile to be seen—I’m going because it’s the only room in this city where not being there counts against you.”

There were a few seconds of silence. The kind that clung to the edges of your words like static. Then Brittney sighed—long, dramatic, and somehow still graceful. 

“And what? Do you think just walking in with my name is enough?”

“Maybe, I think it’s a start.”

Another pause. She clicked her tongue and leaned back on her elbows, eyes lifted to the sky. “You’re ridiculous.” But even as she said it, she didn’t sound entirely convinced.

You were about to nudge her again when her phone buzzed, the soft chime breaking through the lull. 

Brittney glanced down—and immediately froze. 

Her expression shifted. Not her usual dry skepticism or feigned boredom. No—this was different.

“What?” you asked, already leaning in. 

She angled her screen away like it was instinct, brows furrowed as she read. “It’s from Olympus.”

That made you sit up.

The university didn’t contact this side of useless students unless they wanted something or needed something from them to look good in the press. Brittney scrolled with her thumb, silent for a beat. 

Then: “No way…”

“What? What?”

She looked at you, stunned. “They’re inviting all Fashion majors to submit designs for Astrophile. Like... actual student representation. Showcasing our work.”

You blinked. Then blinked again. That was big.

You should have expected it. Olympus was always trying to claw its way into the good graces of the elite. And Astrophile? It wasn’t just a fashion event—it was a move. A coronation. Where influencers were chosen, not found. Where names were turned into brands.

And Brittney?

She wasn’t just a Fashion major. She was one of the best. Known for her bold design taste, sharp silhouettes, and tailoring that could make a mannequin cry. If anyone had the credibility to be there, it was her.

You looked at her, seeing the shift—the calculation, the rare vulnerability she kept buried under bravado. Because despite everything, part of her wanted this too. She just never wanted to be seen wanting.

“This is it,” you said, your voice lower now. “You get your name in. I get inside. We both win.”

Brittney stared at her screen, then at you.

No sarcastic jab. No clever, backhanded compliment. Just silence.

Then, finally—soft, almost like it slipped out without permission— "They never do this. Ever."

You leaned forward slightly, studying her expression. “And you’re going to enter?”

She didn’t answer right away. And that meant something.

Because Brittney didn’t hesitate.

She was the kind of woman who executed decisions with the precision of a scalpel—calculated, clean, deadly. If her name was going to be attached to something, it had to be flawless. She wasn’t just some fashion major sketching gowns in a notebook during lectures—her work had already earned whispers in underground showcases and campus gossip. She’d been biding her time, waiting for the right moment to strike.

But Astrophile?

That wasn’t just a stage. It was a spotlight.

And you didn’t just show up in the spotlight unprepared.

She exhaled sharply through her nose, tossing her phone onto the blanket with a thud, the screen face-down like it had offended her.

“Of course I’m entering.”

You smiled, slow and satisfied. “Perfect.”

Her gaze cut to you, sharp and suspicious. “Perfect, why?”

You didn’t flinch. “Because now it looks like we’re both going to Astrophile.”

Her eyes narrowed, head tilting with something between curiosity and irritation. “Last I checked, you weren’t a fashion major,” she said, tone edged in polished venom. “So, unless you’re planning on crashing the event in a stolen gown, how exactly are you getting involved?”

You gave her your most nonchalant smile, laced with mischief. “Easy,” you said. “I’ll model for you.”

That earned you a full pause. One heartbeat. Two.

Then she laughed—short, breathy, involuntary. Not the cold, rehearsed kind she gave to flatter donors or manipulate professors. This was different. Sharper. Realer. It cracked out of her like a fault line giving way.

“You’re serious?” she asked, crossing her arms, the corner of her lip twitching. “You? A model?”

You arched a brow, feigning offense. “Why not?”

Her expression shifted—still amused, but with something else beneath it. A touch of disbelief. A spark of interest. A test. She scanned you, gaze assessing, like she was sizing up a dress form.

“It’s not that you’re bad,” she said finally, eyes lingering on your face. “You’re cute—annoyingly so. But modeling?” She let out a breathy laugh and waved a hand, gesturing vaguely in your direction. 

“You’re just so... you.”

You tilted your head, playing innocent. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Brittney didn’t answer at once. Her gaze held yours, lingering—too long to be casual. Like she was digging through your eyes for something unspoken, something hidden behind the bravado.

Then she sighed. A long, theatrical exhale, like the weight of the moment demanded it. With a dramatic rub to her temple, she finally spoke. “Look. Again—you’re hot, okay? Pretty, even. But modeling? It’s not just about looking good. It’s a discipline. It’s knowing how to command a room without opening your mouth. It’s being aware of every inch of your body—how it moves, how fabric reacts to it, how light cuts across it. It’s understanding angles, tension, and control. You can’t just be different. You have to be intentional. Every blink, every breath, every step.”

Her words landed like a checklist, and you knew she wasn’t trying to be cruel—just honest. Brutally so.

You crossed your arms, your tone cooling but with a trace of amusement curling at the corners. “Okay. So who were you going to pick then?”

That gave her pause.

You leaned in, eyes locked. “Seriously, Brittney. Who in our unhinged little friend group do you think could model better than me?”

She opened her mouth—but nothing came out.

You raised a hand and started counting them off, each name a deliberate strike.

“Deryl?” You scoffed. “Sure, he’s got energy. But he treats every serious event like a food court. You really want to risk a rack of ribs ruining your centerpiece mid-rehearsal?”

She huffed a laugh, reluctant, but not denying it.

“Jess?” You tilted your head. “Too soft. She’d be gorgeous in print, I’ll give you that. But put her on a runway? One harsh glance and she’s folding like a paper crane.”

Brittney didn’t argue. Her silence was agreement enough.

“Geo?” You actually laughed. “He’d set the outfit on fire out of spite before he let someone dress him. The guy can barely commit to sleeves.”

That drew a more genuine laugh—a quick, breathy one. You saw the tension in her shoulders loosen just a little. Then your voice lowered.

“…Crowe.”

You didn’t need to explain the weight of that name. Everyone knew it. Jericho Ichabod, Crowe was a force—sharp smile, effortless charm, the kind of person who changed the temperature of a room just by walking in. He didn’t have to try. People followed him like gravity.

“He’s got it all,” you admitted softly. “The presence, the look, the confidence. If I were in your shoes, I’d pick him, too.”

But before your thoughts could sink any deeper into that particular tide, Brittney cut in, hand slicing the air.

“I can’t.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“He’s vice president of student council, and I’m also sure he’s attending as well,” she said, tone clipped, like she’d rehearsed this excuse before. “If I pick him, it’ll look political. Like I’m using his name for credibility, or worse, like he’s playing favorites. Astrophile has to be clean. No drama. No conflict of interest.”

It made sense. The show wasn’t just a fashion event—it was a launchpad. And any whiff of favoritism would rot it from the inside.

You were quiet for a beat. Let it settle. Let her hear the conviction when you finally spoke again.

“Then pick me.”

Brittney didn’t respond—she just stared at you, unblinking.

You moved forward, letting the words drop with careful weight.

“If Crowe’s off the list, then I’m your best bet. You know it. I’ve been next to him long enough to learn the tricks. I know how to keep a room’s attention. I’ve watched how power walks and how silence speaks louder than flash.”

You paused. Then: “You want someone pretty? I’ve got that. You want presence? I can summon it. And unlike the rest of them, I don’t need to be adored. I just need to win.”

Your voice dipped, low and clear.

“I don’t care if I stumble. I’ll bleed for your vision if that’s what it takes. Just make sure the audience remembers the clothes I was wearing when I hit the ground.”

Brittney was still. The air between you stretched thin—vibrating with the hum of decision. Her nails tapped against her bicep in restless rhythm. Her eyes scanned you up and down like you were a puzzle piece she wasn’t sure would fit—but desperately wanted to try.

Finally, finally, she let out a sigh that was half exasperation, half something dangerously close to impressed.

“…God help me,” she muttered, voice low. “You might actually pull this off.” But of course, Brittney wasn’t one to give the last word easily. She raised a perfectly sculpted brow, mouth curling into something sly and loaded. “Go as far as I need you to, huh? And what exactly does that mean?”

You leaned in just enough to make the air between you crackle, locking eyes with Brittney. 

Your smirk was teasing, and you could feel the tension shift as her gaze flickered to your lips before snapping back up. She blinked, just once, like you’d caught her off guard—and for a moment, you reveled in it.

“Tell me how far,” you said, voice low, laced with something daring, almost unholy. “And I’ll show you what I look like when I burn the runway down.”

Brittney’s lips twitched, a struggle between laughter and disbelief. She didn’t say anything at first, just stared at you, as if weighing the gravity of your words and the audacity that laced them. 

Then, slowly, she shook her head, like she was reconsidering every choice she’d made up to this point. “You’re insane,” she said, rubbing her temple dramatically. “You don’t even know what you’re signing up for.”

“Exactly,” you replied with a devilish grin, your confidence radiating like an aura around you. You leaned back, throwing your hands behind your head with a carelessness that bordered on dangerous. “That’s the fun part. You need someone bold. Delusional. Someone with main character energy and absolutely no self-preservation instinct. You need me.”

The silence hung for a moment, thick with the weight of your words. Brittney stared at you like you were both the problem and the solution, the lines blurring in her mind.

She sighed, a long, heavy exhale that spoke volumes about the burden she was about to take on. “Fine,” she said at last, her voice laced with reluctant acceptance. She rubbed her temples again, like she was trying to stave off a headache. “I’ll bless you with these hands.”

You blinked, a little lost at first. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll design you a dress,” she clarified, with a slight roll of her eyes.

Your eyes lit up. “Oh, wow. I didn’t think you’d agree to this. You’re really going to design me a dress?”

Brittney groaned, her head falling back slightly. “How about a ‘thank you,’ Britt?” She sighed, “God, why do I like you?” with a smirk, half-joking but fully aware of the chaos you brought into her life.

“Because I’m a menace dressed like a muse,” You, mocking innocence. “I don’t see the problem with that.”

Her expression tightened in a playful mix of disbelief and amusement. “All right, all right. You want to be a model? Then you’ll be my model. Just don’t come crying to me when you’ve got blisters on your feet and back pain from trying to hold in your core for hours.”

You crossed your arms with smug confidence, a look of satisfaction crossing your face. “Pain is temporary. Slay is forever.”

She gave you a deadpan stare. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet here we are,” you said, grinning like the world was already yours.

Brittney paused for a moment, clearly mulling over your audacity. Then, with a defeated sigh, she tossed her phone onto the blanket like it had suddenly burst into flames. “Yeah,” she muttered, “I’m gonna enter.”

Your smirk widened, a feeling of victory creeping in. 

One obstacle cleared.

Brittney caught the look on your face and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Don’t think this means I’m helping you sneak in, you little gremlin.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you said with mock innocence, though the gears in your mind were already turning. You’d be sneaking in; that was a given. And you had a plan—of course, you did.

The silence between you and Brittney lingered, the soft rustle of leaves and the murmur of distant voices filling the void. 

She didn’t immediately break it, her gaze turned upward, looking at the sky as if searching for an answer to a question that was brewing inside her mind. When her focus shifted back to you, the weight of her unspoken thoughts was clear.

“Why?” Brittney’s voice was quiet but sharp, cutting through the stillness with precision. “Why do you want to get into something like this? What’s in it for you?”

Her question hung in the air, and for a moment, you didn’t answer, letting her words sink in. She raised an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation that wasn’t coming. “You’ve got the prince himself, Jericho Ichabod,” she continued, her tone tinged with skepticism. “I’m sure he’s got connections that could get you into anything you want. You don’t need to go through all this trouble. So what’s your angle?”

You didn’t answer right away. 

The truth? It was complicated.

To anyone watching from the outside, it might look like you were using Crowe—playing off his wealth, his quiet influence, the way doors seemed to open for him without effort. He was rich, sure. Humble, sweet, and entirely oblivious to just how ruthless the game could get. And yes, he was in love with you—hopelessly so, in that way only someone who saw the best in others could be.

But they were wrong about you.

Because you cared about Crowe.

Genuinely. Maybe too much, in ways you didn’t always show. He brought out something softer in you, something real—something that scared you more than anything else. But love, no matter how sincere, couldn’t be the foundation for your survival. Not in this city. Not in your world.

You didn’t keep him at arm’s length because you were cruel. You did it because you had to. Because you learned a long time ago that if you wanted anything in this life to last, you had to build it yourself.

Relying on Crowe—leaning on him, letting him carry you up the ladder—would only make your victory feel borrowed. And you couldn’t afford to owe anyone. Not even him.

You loved him, but your ambition came first. Not out of greed or coldness, but out of necessity. You had something to prove—to yourself, to your family, to a world that refused to take you seriously. If you didn’t take care of yourself, no one else would.

Your gaze drifted back to Brittney, her questions still echoing in your mind. Crowe might be a piece on the board, but he wasn’t the reason you were playing.

No. The real reason was deeper. Much deeper.

You leaned back slightly, the weight of your thoughts pressing on your chest as you let the silence stretch on a little longer. Brittney waited, expectantly, but you weren’t ready to let her in just yet.

“Why do you think I want to do this?” you asked, your voice quieter than usual, a rare glimpse into the part of you that wasn’t always so carefully hidden.

Brittney squinted, clearly sensing the shift in your demeanor. “I don’t know, because you want to prove something? Get ahead? Use Crowe’s connections and his love for you to get what you need? Seems like that’s the only thing that makes sense.”

You didn’t react to her words, though they were close. Too close for comfort. The truth you hid behind so many layers of your carefully crafted persona was too dangerous to let slip.

But what she didn’t know was that you weren’t just using Crowe for his connections. That was too simple, too small a reason. This was about something far bigger. You weren’t in this for yourself, not entirely. This wasn’t just about stepping into the spotlight—this was about becoming someone who could never be overlooked, someone who would finally be recognized by those who mattered.

And Crowe, though he had no clue, was a part of that plan.

You felt a flicker of something—frustration, maybe—or was it pity—as you thought about how deeply in love he was with you. He didn’t know you the way you needed him to. He didn’t see the parts of you that were cold and calculating, driven by something much darker than affection.

Geo knew. Geo, your number one hater—i will never stop brining up my man—always there to shoot you down, to remind you of the walls you kept up, the lines you never crossed. He somewhat didn’t like you, and yet, in a way, he understood you better than anyone. 

He saw the drive, the ambition that no one else could see because it was wrapped in a veil of charm and wit.

Brittney, though, she wasn’t in that inner circle. She didn’t know the full weight of what you were carrying inside, the reason you were so determined to make it in a world that was never meant for people like you. It wasn’t just about proving others wrong; it was about proving to yourself that you belonged in the same league as those you envied.

In a city where status was everything, you needed to be seen. You needed to be recognized. Not just by anyone—but by the ones who could change the rules. The ones who mattered.

You didn’t need to explain everything to Brittney. No. She didn’t need the full story, the weight behind your silence, or the quiet sacrifices you’d already made just to be here.

All she needed to know now was what mattered most.

“I’m not here to play,” you said, voice cool and deliberate, like velvet pulled taut over steel. “I’m here to win. And not just for me—for you.”

A lie, partially. But not a cruel one. 

You weren’t here to save her—you were here to survive. Still, survival required alliances. And if you wanted to get what you needed, you had to give something in return.

You’d be her model. You’d wear whatever she put you in, walk however she needed, smile, pose, flirt, and claw your way through whatever gauntlet this event threw at you. In return, you’d drag her name into rooms it hadn’t touched yet. You’d make her impossible to ignore.

Because if you were rising, you weren’t going to do it quietly—and you’d be damned if you weren’t dragging her right up with you.

“I’ll push myself,” you added, stepping closer. “And I’ll push you. If I’m putting your designs on my body, then we’re networking. We’re building. I’ll be your walking portfolio, Brittney. Your billboard.”

She went quiet. Her eyes searched yours, trying to find the angle, the manipulation, the catch. You let her. Let her sit in that silence and feel the weight of what you were offering.

Finally, she sighed. A slow exhale, as if releasing something she’d been holding onto.

“Fine,” she said, her voice low but sure. “If you’re serious about this, then I’ll take you as my model. But you remember what I said—no backing out, no second-guessing. You screw up, I’m killing you.”

You nodded once, your expression unwavering. “I don’t screw up.”

She rolled her eyes, the corner of her mouth twitching with a mix of amusement and disbelief. “Cocky.”

“Confident,” you corrected smoothly, without a second thought.

“Delusional,” she shot back, her voice sharp but amused.

You smirked, unbothered. “You’ll see.”

Brittney chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Whatever. Let’s do it.”

And just like that, it was set. 

And naturally, Brittney was impatient—of course, she was. The second the plan rooted itself in her mind, she had to act on it. Immediately. Which is why you now found yourself being dragged through downtown Titan City like some unwilling extra in a high-stakes fashion documentary.

Jess—her ever-loyal best friend assistant, or as you liked to call her, The Voice of Reason—walked beside her, looking resigned to her fate. You got the feeling she’d learned the hard way that fighting Brittney when she was "inspired" was a lost cause.

Titan City was, as always, alive. The streets buzzed—the chatter of pedestrians, the blare of car horns, the steady click of heels against concrete. The air smelled like strong espresso from street cafés mixed with expensive perfume trailing behind the passing elite.

Boutiques lined the blocks, all gleaming glass and curated perfection—displays showing off dresses that cost more than rent, heels sharp enough to kill a man, and handbags you needed political connections just to wait for. Mixed in were smaller shops, their neon signs flickering promises of limited runs and underground trends.

You were already tired just looking at it.

Trailing a step behind, you watched Brittney and Jess carve through the crowd like they owned the place. They were opposites in every way—Brittney, tall and magnetic, her blonde waves catching the sunlight like she was the main character of the city itself. The sleek black leather jacket she wore fit her so perfectly it had to have been tailored for her attitude alone.

Jess was the balance. Quieter, sharper, dressed in a crisp blue blouse and tailored black trousers, accessorized with a chunky silver necklace that said, ‘yeah, I know what I'm doing. Calm, smart, grounded.’

They were mid-argument—talking trends, arguing over designers, spitting out names like grenades.

"We need something bold," Brittney said, flipping open her sketchpad without even slowing down. "Not 'statement-piece' bold. I mean walk-in-and-shut-everyone-up bold."

Jess hummed. "Dramatic, but clean. Oversized jewelry is trending, but we’re not doing costume party."

"Obviously," Brittney snapped, scribbling something down. "And no soft pastels. God help me if I see another millennial pink dress—"

"Power colors," Jess cut in before she could spiral.

Brittney stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk and turned on you. That razor-sharp gaze of hers pinned you to the spot. "And you," she said, jabbing a finger at you like you were a puzzle she was two seconds from solving. "You’re not just gonna wear the design. You are the design."

You blinked. "That sounds... horrifying."

Jess snorted, and Brittney just rolled her eyes before grabbing your arm and steering you toward a boutique like you didn’t get a say.

"Shut up and trust me. This is art in the making."

And just like that, you were dragged into the chaos of Brittney’s latest masterpiece. You couldn’t help it—you felt the buzz under your skin. That barely-there thrill winding up your spine. Somewhere between fear and excitement. The last time Brittney mentioned Astrophile, she dropped something important:

Every designer needed a showstopper model.

You’d assumed she’d pick someone seasoned. Someone who knew what they were doing. Someone who wasn't... well, you. But now, standing here in the thick of it, you knew one thing for sure:

You were going to prove you could be that someone.

As Brittney and Jess threw around talk of fabrics and color palettes, your gaze drifted to the vibrant windows flashing around you. A blur of color here. A glint of jewelry there. It was overwhelming—and completely addictive. The idea of standing on that runway, owning it, felt unreal. But more than anything?

It felt right. And as that realization sank in, so did another—

You couldn’t just be good. You needed to be perfect.

And it wasn’t just about looking good. It was about making a statement, commanding attention, and owning the room in a way you never had before. Brittney hadn’t really mentioned the full scope of what was required for Astrophile, but you were piecing it together now.

This wasn’t about being just a ‘pretty face’—you had to become something more. Someone who fit the part. Someone who embodied the look. It was a tall order, but you were more than willing to rise to the challenge.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when Brittney suddenly stopped in front of a boutique, the door chime ringing out like the universe signaling the start of something important—or maybe it was just a door chime. Who knows?

Regardless, she walked in with Jess, and for a second, you considered just standing outside and watching. But then you remembered: you were in the middle of some grand fashion scheme, and standing on the sidewalk wasn’t going to get you anywhere.

So, with a quiet sigh, you followed them inside.

The store was one of those minimalist places that looked like it belonged in a fancy art museum—bare walls, low lighting, racks of clothes arranged by a team of very serious professionals whose only goal was to make you feel poor and underdressed. The palette was mostly soft neutrals, punctuated by bold pops of neon to keep things ‘edgy.’

Brittney was already deep in ‘fashion mode,’ dramatically scanning every rack like she was searching for something only she could see. Jess, as usual, was more practical—holding up a few pieces and offering her two cents like the resident voice of reason.

You leaned against a nearby wall, arms crossed, trying to make sense of what they were saying. It sounded like a foreign language—‘structured,’ ‘flowy,’ ‘balance of strength and softness’—terms you only kinda, sorta understood, but weren’t exactly sure how to apply in real life.

“So, what are we thinking?” Brittney said, tapping her chin with her signature mix of smug confidence and absolute self-assurance. She was already sketching in her open pad, her pencil moving in quick, confident strokes, mapping out rough lines and shapes.

It was mesmerizing to watch her work. Like she was pulling something out of thin air—and you were just lucky to witness it.

“I don’t know... maybe something with... pizzazz?” you offered weakly, fully aware it wasn’t a real suggestion but still feeling the need to contribute.

Brittney glanced at you and snorted. “Pizzazz?” she repeated, like the word itself was an insult. She turned to Jess instead. “We need bold. But not too bold. Elegant, sophisticated—with a twist. You know, like ‘I’m classy, but I could break your heart if I wanted to.’”

Jess gave a knowing nod and immediately pulled out a deep burgundy gown from one of the racks. “How about this? Structured, but still flowy. Strong, but soft.”

Brittney immediately grimaced. “It’s fine. But too safe. I want something that grabs attention without screaming ‘I’m trying too hard.’”

You rolled your eyes, mostly to yourself. Safe? Brittney could make a potato sack look like high fashion if she wanted to. You had no idea how her brain worked—and honestly, you weren’t sure you wanted to.

You watched them volley back and forth, throwing out suggestions and tossing aside dresses like they were picking fruit. 

Jess suggested something classic, Brittney rejected it, sketched another idea—and repeat. It was like a chess match, except with fabric and pins instead of pawns.

Finally, Brittney turned to you, wearing that unreadable smile of hers. “What do you think? Still want to model for me?”

You straightened up, the seriousness in your voice immediate. “Of course. I’ve been thinking about it. And whatever you come up with? I’ll make it unforgettable.”

Brittney raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed by the conviction in your tone. She gestured toward the racks. “It’s not just about showing up, you know. You have to embody the designer’s vision. Become the walking, breathing version of their creation. You’ll need to bring your A-game—and not just be the pretty face.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of her words settle in your chest.

But pressure? That was nothing new. You thrived under pressure.

After what felt like hours combing through endless racks and listening to Brittney and Jess debate the existential meaning of fabric choices, we finally left the boutique—victorious, in a way. Brittney, true to her word, promised to buy food for tagging along.

Naturally, we gravitated toward the food court’s shining crown jewel: the pretzel stand. The warm smell of baked dough, butter, and sugar hit us like a freight train. It was impossible to resist.

"Okay, real talk," Jess said, dead serious, in a quiet tone "if we don’t get sugar pretzel nuggets, I might actually die."

Brittney, flipping through her phone absentmindedly, nodded. "We’re getting everything. Nuggets, pretzel dogs, classic pretzels, lemonade, cheese dip, caramel... whatever. My treat."

You smirked a little, folding your arms loosely. "You're unusually generous today."

Brittney tossed you a sideways look, pretending to be insulted. "Don’t read into it. I just reward loyalty."

You rolled your eyes but didn't argue. Loyalty was currency with her—and you, in your own way, were rich.

The line was mercifully short. Brittney placed the order while Jess and you loitered nearby, plotting your dipping sauce strategy like generals at war. As the smells got sweeter, your bladder reminded you of the lemonade you'd chugged earlier.

"I'll be right back," you said, jerking your thumb toward the nearby restroom.

"Don’t get kidnapped," Jess called after you, half-joking.

You gave her a dry smirk. "They wouldn’t survive me."

A minute later, you come from the restroom, wiping your hands on your jeans. You scanned the food court automatically—and froze.

Jess stood by the pretzel stand, tense. Facing her were three girls, decked out in matching color schemes—burgundy skirts, white cropped sweaters. Pack animals.

At the center of it was the ringleader: Sierra, a tall girl with waist-length red hair, a smirk carved into her perfect face like a battle scar. Flanking her were her loyal shadows: Paige, a girl whose only talent seemed to be laughing too loud, and Amber, who looked like she barely knew where she was most of the time.

And standing rigid just beside them, her newly bought shopping bags crushed against her side, was Brittney.

Her outfit—once clean and sharp—was now stained, a sticky red-purple splash across the front. You spotted the empty cup rolling by Sierra's feet, like a confession.

Brittney’s expression was tight, jaw clenched, arms stiff. She wasn’t backing down—she never would—but you could see it: the calculated coldness, the armor snapping into place over old wounds. 

Sierra laughed, a sharp, condescending sound that scraped down your spine. "Aw, what’s the matter, Brittney? Thought if you dressed up like a real model, people would forget you’re just middle-class trash?"

You inhaled slowly, quietly, like a hunter getting into position. Something twisted low in your stomach—not anger, not exactly. Something colder. More focused.

You stepped closer, your movements quiet, deliberate. Jess caught your approach first, her eyes flickering toward you, then quickly away, like she didn’t want to give anything away. Smart girl.

Brittney, God bless her, looked like she was about to deck Sierra right then and there, but your presence stopped her. You gave the smallest, most subtle shake of your head. Wait.

Then, casually, you reached over to the counter where a plastic cup of bright yellow cheese dip sat waiting for an abandoned order. 

No one noticed. All eyes were on the drama unfolding.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t warn. You just moved.

Let’s just say, in a smooth, efficient motion, you ‘accidentally’ bumped into Sierra hard enough to tip the cheese cup—and the entire thing splattered across her white sweater and burgundy skirt, dripping in a slow, ugly mess.

There was a stunned, breathless silence.

Then Sierra shrieked, backing up like she’d been shot.

"You freak!" she howled, pawing at her clothes in horror.

You stared at her, your expression unreadable, your voice calm, almost bored. "Oops. Must be hard being so... delicate."

Paige and Amber immediately started shrieking too, like confused, brainless birds, and Sierra—face burning with humiliation—shoved past you, almost slipping on the floor. The three of them stormed off without another word, Sierra's ruined outfit drawing stares and a few suppressed snickers from the surrounding tables. 

Only once they were gone did you allow yourself to breathe normally. You turned to Brittney and Jess, your stance relaxed again, but your eyes, according to Brittney’s lingering look, still held that cool, irritated. Jess gasped quietly "Whoa. Remind me never to get on your bad side."

Brittney said nothing at first. She just stared at you, as if seeing something she hadn't before—or maybe something she always suspected was there.

The calculating way you had anticipated the situation. The way you stepped in, silently, without grandstanding or theatrics.

Just clean, effective loyalty.

Finally, Brittney exhaled a soft, humorless laugh. She picked up one of the pretzel bags and shoved it into your hands. "Here," she said, her voice oddly gentle, almost reverent. "You earned it."

You accepted it, a small smile appears across your face, “Oh my, yes.”

Brittney lingered a step behind as you and Jess strolled ahead, your voices mixing with the late afternoon buzz of the mall. Her arms were folded, pretending to be wrapped up in checking her nails, but her eyes kept drifting up toward you.

She should be happy—she was happy—but something in her chest curled up, small and sullen. Maybe it was jealousy. Maybe it was admiration. 

Maybe it was both.

You... you weren't from some shiny family background, no silver spoon, no high-rise apartments like the ones Brittney used to dream about before she realized even money couldn't buy her a safe place.

When she first met you, you carried yourself like it didn’t matter—like none of the status games everyone else obsessed over even deserved your attention. You were Crowe’s first close friend. Crowe’s person, his partner, if she really wanted to be honest about it.

And Crowe... Crowe never handed pieces of himself out easily.

He picked you. Vice visa.

You’re his. And he’s yours.

Brittney glanced down for a moment, lips pressed into a thin line. Her reflection in the glass of a boutique window flashed back at her—glossy curls, expensive lipgloss, perfect outfit—and yet she felt oddly… hollow.

You laughed up ahead, tossing some sarcastic comment Jess' way, a playful smirk pulling at your mouth. Jess barked a laugh, leaning into your shoulder, grateful.

You made it look so easy.

Making people feel better. Taking punches that weren't even yours to block. Dismantling bullies like it was second nature—like you'd already seen far worse, fought through far worse, and this was nothing but a minor inconvenience.

No wonder Crowe likes you so much

No—Loves you, even if the way your eyes softened up whenever you even said his name was anything to go by. Despite the buzz of the mall, the noisy chatter, the stomping feet of strangers brushing past, Brittney could still pick it out—the way your voice changed.

It got all soft, sweet, like rain water falling from the sky. It was sure. It was real. It was something that didn’t even need explaining.

Brittney tugged her arms tighter around herself, fighting the cold bite of the AC, or maybe it was just the hollow ache sitting low in her ribs. Maybe someday, someone would look at her like that. Or hell, maybe she'd just get used to watching from the sidelines.

However, you caught it—the fleeting look of something almost vulnerable in her eyes before she turned away, busying herself with adjusting her bag strap.

“Brittney!”

She looked up, blinking, the sound of her name ripping her clean out of her thoughts. There you were, standing a little ahead, that dumb, perfect smile on your face. "Let’s make it back before it rains, okay?" You reached out without hesitation, grabbing her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, tugging her closer to you and Jess.

Brittney didn’t say anything. Didn’t know what to say.

You were always the one who took initiative, who cared first, even when you had every reason to keep your distance. Even when you spent most of your time alone, waiting for a guy who, honestly, probably wasn’t even free enough to be waiting for.

Crowe—with all his walls, all his mystery, all his bullshit—had picked you. Saved you before anyone else even thought to move.

And it showed in you.

The way your eyes stayed soft, even now.

The way it looked like there were tiny stars caught inside them, like Brittney could throw a wish in there if she was selfish enough. 

Or maybe...

Maybe it was enough just to stay close to stars like you.

The ones who didn’t just survive but fought like hell—and somehow still came out shining. She shook her head a little, picking up her pace, boots clacking fast against the mall tiles to catch up with you and Jess. When she finally reached you, she bumped your arm with her elbow, playing it cool, like always.

"You’re lucky you’re cute," she said, flicking her hair with dramatic flair. "Otherwise, you’d be a real pain in my ass."

It wasn’t a lie.

It was the truth—brutal, annoying, aching truth.

After Crowe started getting even busier, disappearing for weeks, like damn near an month at a time, Brittney somehow ended up standing in as backup—backup leader, backup friend, backup everything—all because he asked her to ‘keep you company.’

At first, she thought it’d be easy.

But the more she hung around you, the more you cracked jokes, shared stupid little facts, messed with Jess, or stared off with that look like you were hiding a whole library of secrets under your skin... the harder it got to pretend you were just another favor she was doing for Crowe.

You didn’t act like someone waiting for a hero.

You acted like the damn hero yourself.

And maybe that’s why Brittney was here now, standing in the middle of her own hot pink chaos of her bedroom, still making a dress for you like it was the most important thing in the world.

You were standing at the edge of the room, spinning a loose bracelet around your wrist, lost in your own head.

The walls were splashed with posters, glittery stickers, shelves full of perfume bottles, and piles of gyaru magazines shoved under the bed. The air smelled like vanilla body spray and fresh laundry. Makeup palettes littered every flat surface, a kind of chaotic clean that only Brittney could navigate.

It was a mess, but it was hers. 

And now you were in it. Like you belonged.

Brittney sat cross-legged on the bed, sewing needle between her fingers, threading rhinestones into the hem of your dress. 

She didn’t say anything. Just looked up every now and then, catching glimpses of you twirling absentmindedly near her mirror, humming to yourself, tapping a rhythm against your thigh.

After the mall incident, it became normal. You’re dropping by almost every day, sometimes with Jess or Deyrl or even Geo, tagging along. But the best days—the ones Brittney almost hated herself for liking the most—were the ones where it was just you and her.

Just the two of you, like now, in a room full of pink, rain tapping softly against the window outside, the whole world small and far away.

She tied off another stitch and looked up at you again.

You caught her eye and smiled.

And god, it made something ache in her chest so bad she almost had to laugh. She watched as your eyes looked all around the walls of Brittney’s room looked like they were losing a war.

Fabric scraps, sequin tins, mannequin limbs, open sketchbooks—there was barely a clean surface in sight. But somehow, Brittney herself moved through it all with purpose, a cigarette tucked behind her ear, a pin cushion strapped to her wrist like a weapon.

You shifted your weight on the edge of her bed, letting the mattress dip under you. The dress was half-finished on the mannequin in the corner: a masterpiece, heavy with promise, stitched with the kind of careful devotion Brittney rarely let anyone see.

You tugged absently at the hem of your sleeve, voice soft enough to be buried under the whir of Brittney’s deep focus.

”Hey... Have you heard from Crowe lately?"

The question hung between you for a moment—too casual to be innocent, too pointed to be missed. You hadn’t seen him in days. Maybe even weeks, if you were being honest with yourself. 

“Busy with family stuff,” or “Ask Geo, not sure,” Brittney had said many times before, offhand, like it was supposed to mean something. But the ache of missing him had started settling under your ribs, stubborn and heavy.

Brittney didn’t answer right away.

You caught the way her shoulders tensed. The way the needle in her hand hesitated just a little too long over the fabric. When she did speak, her voice was sharper than it needed to be. "He's... Jericho. You know how he gets. Disappears sometimes. Doesn't mean anything."

But it did, didn't it?

You could see it all over her face—the tightness around her mouth, the way her hand clenched the fabric a little too hard. Before you could push further, you heard her hiss in pain. "Fuck!" Brittney jerked her hand back, a tiny bead of blood welling up from her fingertip where the needle had bitten her.

You were up in an instant, instincts kicking in before thought could catch up. "Britt—hold still."

You ducked into her tiny bathroom, snagging the first aid kit she kept stuffed behind the mirror. When you came back, she was sitting cross-legged on the bed, cradling her hand and muttering under her breath. You sat close—closer than usual—the bed dipping further under your combined weight. Your hands were gentle, careful as you cleaned the tiny wound, the sting of antiseptic filling the air between you. 

Her eyes were on your face.

You could feel it—the way her gaze burned, lingering a little too long, searching for something you probably didn’t even realize you were showing.  "You didn’t have to," she muttered, but her voice had softened, the sharp edges dulled into something warmer, almost fragile.

You smiled softly, small, instinctive, and kept your eyes on her hand as you wrapped the hot pink leopard pattern band-aid around her finger. "I don’t mind," you said. “Like, I don't mind being your model either. It's kinda fun. Astrophile sounds... exciting."

She went still. Completely still, like a string pulled too tight.

You glanced up, blinking when you caught the way she was staring at you, like you’d said something wrong without knowing it. And then she said it. Quiet, but steady.

"I picked you because you’re close," Brittney said, voice low. "Because you fit the aesthetic without even trying... and..." She hesitated—a rare, honest crack in her usual armor— "...because I just wanted to spend more time with you."

You froze, heart stumbling in your chest, caught off guard by the sudden, naked honesty of it. 

For a second, all you could do was blink at her, wide-eyed. Then you laughed. Soft and startled, a breath of sound that escaped without your permission.

It was a sound Brittney had never heard before—light, real, pretty— and it made something strange and aching tighten behind her ribs.

And maybe that was why she said the next thing.

Why she blurted it out, unable to stop herself. "You and Crowe," Brittney said, cutting through your laugh mid-breath. Her voice was low, almost accusing, but there was something vulnerable curled under it. Something that almost sounded like fear.

"...What are you two, really?"

You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, you sat back a little, your gaze slipping past Brittney, past the cluttered room, past the half-finished dress—as if you were looking somewhere far beyond it all. "Crowe and I..." You exhaled, slow and quiet, trying to find the right words. 

"They say stars are always burning, even when we can't see them. Even when they drift out of sight, they’re still there. Still shining." Your fingers toyed with a loose thread on your sleeve, your voice growing steadier.

"We’re like that. Even if we’re not together, even if there’s distance... there’s this pull between us. Like gravity. Like... we're part of the same constellation, and no matter how far apart we end up, we’re still connected. Written into the same sky."

You smiled a little—soft, almost sheepish.

"I guess... Crowe’s my favorite star. The one I always end up finding, even when everything else feels too far away."

For a long moment, Brittney said nothing. She just watched you, something complicated and aching in her eyes. You didn’t notice the way her hands tightened slightly around the hem of the fabric she was holding. Or the way her throat worked, like she was swallowing down a hundred things she couldn’t say.

Instead, she let out a rough, exasperated breath—half—laugh, half—sigh—and shoved the tape measure into your lap. "Alright, Shakespeare," Brittney said, trying for dry and unaffected, but her voice cracked just enough to betray her. "Enough star metaphors. I need your damn measurements again before you start waxing poetic about soulmates or whatever."

You snorted, grabbing the tape measure, tossing it back at her with a lazy flick of your wrist. "Sorry for having a soul, Brittney."

"Yeah, yeah, don’t get used to it." But there was a ghost of a smile on her lips as she stood, brushing her hair out of her face.

The fitting was… painfully awkward. Hilariously so.

Brittney tried—God, she tried—to keep a straight face, forcing herself into some imaginary role of professionalism. But the moment she draped the fabric across your shoulders, her fingers hesitated, lingering just a little too long against your skin. She muttered a sharp curse under her breath and immediately jerked her hands back like you had burned her.

"Jesus, stand still," she snapped, cheeks blooming pink.

"I am standing still," you shot back, grinning. "You’re the one having a full-blown crisis over there."

"Shut up. You're—you're uneven," she huffed, clearly flustered.

"Pretty sure that’s not how anatomy works, Britt," you teased, laughter bubbling up easily when she yanked the fabric a little too aggressively around your waist. And just like that— 

It made you stumble forward, straight into her.

Right onto Brittney.

The impact wasn't harsh, just awkwardly intimate. Tangled limbs. Soft fabric. A gasp caught between your collarbones. Your breath stalled somewhere between her neck and your throat, and her hands, once so determined and focused, now lay splayed against your sides like they didn’t know what to do—hold you up or push you away.

Chest to chest. Too much warmth. Too much proximity.

She groaned in clear exasperation. "Seriously?" she hissed, a sharp edge in her voice. But you...

You just laughed. A quiet, almost guilty sound. Like velvet unraveling under tension.

And then you looked at her. 

Your eyes met, and something shifted.

There, hidden beneath her frustration, you saw it—that blue.

That deep, familiar kind of blue. The kind you always adored in paintings and stormy oceans. Her eyes looked like that. Like the kind of night sky that doesn't ask for attention but always has it anyway.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just stared, a breath caught in your chest that had nothing to do with the fall. And then you said it—soft, as if speaking too loudly would break the spell:

“Why aren’t you taken yet, Britt?”

Her brows scrunched. “What?”

“I mean…” You trailed off, letting your eyes scan her—artfully done hair, the precision in her outfit, the quiet elegance in her every movement that didn’t try to be elegant, just was. “You’re so pretty,” you murmured. “Like... you walk around looking like this and no one’s scooped you up yet? They must be blind or cowards. Or both.”

Brittney’s entire face flushed, color blooming down her throat like spilled wine soaking silk. “Don’t flirt with me when you’ve just body-slammed me,” she muttered, voice cracking somewhere between embarrassment and something more dangerous.

You grinned, still hovering far too close, like gravity had taken sides and decided you belonged there. “Just saying what’s true,” you murmured. “Don’t get mad at me because you’re stunning and terrifying. You have such pretty blue eyes...”

Brittney’s eyes narrowed, though her cheeks betrayed her with that stubborn flush. “Get off,” she snapped, firmer this time. When you didn’t immediately budge, she shoved your shoulder—harder now. Not playful. Not tentative. A sharp push that sent you back a few inches, enough to break the spell.

The warmth between you snapped like a stretched wire.

“You’re seriously—ugh,” she exhaled, flustered beyond repair. “I swear to God, if you don’t stop being you, I will call the police and say you broke into my apartment through the ceiling tiles.”

You laughed anyway, delighting in her unraveling. “Do I at least look good enough for them to believe it was worth the risk?”

“God, shut up,” she hissed, eyes wide like a cornered animal—but not scared. Unprepared. “You’re... distracting,” she muttered, like the word had weight she couldn’t shake.

For a moment, she stared at you again—longer this time. Like she wanted to say something more.

Brittney blinked, then suddenly jolted like waking from a trance.

She coughed—sharp, deliberate, like forcing her system to reboot. Then, without ceremony, she shoved her palm against your forehead and pushed you back. "Off. You're a radiation leak of comments," she snapped, tone biting but not enough to mask the fluster beneath.

You barely had time to regain your balance before the door clicked shut behind her. "Don’t touch anything. I’m getting our DoorDash," she threw over her shoulder, voice too pointed, too practiced—betraying the nerves riding her spine.

“Okay,” you replied, unfazed. Typical.

She didn’t answer. Just slammed her bedroom door shut and leaned against it, exhaling like it hurt. Alone. Or at least, only with you in the house. She stood still, motionless for a moment, her breath catching in her throat. Then, with effort, she peeled herself off the door and headed for the stairs.

The house had shifted in the quiet—muted and breathless, like it knew what she was thinking. Floorboards groaned beneath her bare feet, each creak swallowed by the hush of late-night stillness. The fridge hummed softly in the distance. The silence felt too large. Too knowing.

But Brittney didn’t notice. Couldn’t. Her head was full.

Burning. Overheating.

She pressed her fingers to her cheeks. Still warm. Stupidly warm. Embarrassingly so. You had done that—again. With your impossible grin and that voice that slipped past her guard like silk. “Distracting,” she mumbled, echoing her pathetic attempt at brushing you off earlier.

What a lie.

You weren’t distracting. You were devastating.

A walking celestial event she couldn’t stop tracking, pretending she wasn’t being pulled into the tailspin every time you passed. She paused at the foot of the stairs, catching sight of her reflection in the crooked mirror on the far wall. The picture-perfect makeup was intact, but the control beneath it?

Fractured.

"You're stunning and terrifying," you'd said. Not flirty. Not casual. Like it meant something. And that was the worst part. It did. You meant every word—you always did. That maddening, fearless honesty you carried like a blade. Or a promise.

She touched her lips. Shook her head. It didn’t help.

Your voice still lingered. Your nearness still clung. The afterglow of your smile haunted the air. You weren’t hers—probably never would be. You belonged to freedom. To chaos. To the kind of truth, she wasn’t sure she could survive.

But God... you made her want to be someone worth surviving for.

Meanwhile, you sat cross-legged in the center of Brittney’s room, the soft thud of bass from your heartbeat the only real sound now that she'd gone. The light from your phone screen cast faint glows across your bored features, thumb scrolling with no real focus—just killing time until she returned with the food you’d both been craving for hours.

Still, she was taking forever.

You leaned back slightly, arms crossed, gaze drifting around the room. The air still smelled faintly like her—berry perfume and something sharper beneath it, like citrus and nerve. Familiar. Distracting.

You weren’t planning to touch anything.

And yet—Buzz.

The sound cracked through the silence like a pin-drop in a cathedral. Your head turned automatically, instinctive and subtle. Her laptop sat open on the bed. Lit. Humming. The screen glared in the low light, untouched in her rush to get the door. No password prompt. No attempt at discretion. 

Just... open. Waiting.

A thread of messages stared up at you like they wanted to be seen.

You shouldn’t have looked. You didn’t mean to snoop.

But there it was: Jericho. Not Crowe.

The name hits wrong. Too formal. Too cold. Brittney always used it. Even when they are close friends. That name was a line drawn in the sand, sharp and sterile, like she was filing him under “miscellaneous” instead of “used to matter.”

You edged forward, unable to help yourself now, gaze tracing down the digital conversation etched into light.

Jericho: “How’re they doing?”

You didn’t need to ask who they meant.

Brittney: “They’re good. Keeping busy. I’ve been keeping an eye on them.”

Your stomach twisted. Not “they’re fun to have around.” Not “I missed them.” Just… surveillance. Like you were some chore on a checklist. A responsibility to manage. A watchful obligation. Not a friend. Not even a person, really. Something sank in your chest. Low and cold, your eyes still glued to the screen. It buzzed again.

FaceTime: Incoming Call – Jericho

And without warning—without your input—it answered. Auto-answer. Still linked to her phone downstairs. The connection causes the green and white camera symbol. Active. Your breath caught.

Crowe’s voice filtered in—low, slightly warped by digital grain but still unmistakable. “—seriously, Britt, if you’re not being honest, I need to know. This wasn’t the plan.” You could hear by the direction of his voice—he was in her kitchen or near the front room. Talking to her. Talking like this wasn’t the first time.

You crept toward Brittney’s bedroom door and eased it open just a sliver. The wood didn't creak—only a soft whisper of displaced air, like the house itself was holding its breath with you.

Downstairs, her voice filtered up—muted, casual, almost bored. “I can’t talk long,” she said, followed by the rustle of a plastic bag. “They’re upstairs, hopefully still waiting for me to bring up the food.”

You stilled, heartbeat slow and deliberate.

Then: Crowe. His voice came sharp, like it had been simmering beneath the surface. “Brittney… why them?”

You didn’t move.

“Out of everyone,” he continued, voice edged with disbelief, “you picked them to model for you?”

She sighed. “Because they’re competent? Because they get it? Because they don’t flinch when things get serious?”

“No.” His reply was immediate. Quiet. Controlled. Like he was trying not to sound angry—but failing.

“No,” he repeated, lower now. “I didn’t want them to go Astrophile for a reason. I didn’t want them in that kind of space, Britt. You know what it’s like down there—what people become in that studio, in that scene. I didn’t want them changed by it.”

Your fingers curled against the doorframe.

“I didn’t want them swallowed up by all that pressure, all that noise. I didn’t want to watch them turn themselves into someone else just to survive in that place,” Crowe said. “I didn’t want to see them start pretending.”

Something was aching in his voice—too raw to be rehearsed. And suddenly, the weight of what he wasn’t saying sat heavy in your chest. “I didn’t want to lose who they are,” he murmured. “Even if that makes me selfish.”

You weren’t excluded. You were shielded.

Not because he underestimated you. Because he was afraid of what it would do to you—of what it would do to him, to see you fade into the same haze he was still trying to claw his way out of.

A silence hung thick between them.

Then Brittney’s voice cut through—tired and done with it. “Jericho, they’re grown. They made the choice. And once their mind’s made up, nothing—no one—is stopping them.”

You could hear her shifting the bag, checking its contents. She wasn’t even looking at the phone. She was over this argument. “You told me to keep an eye on them? Fine. That’s what I’m doing. But I told them not to go. I did. I tried,” she said, almost defensively now. 

“Doesn’t matter now. They’re not doing this for themself,” she continued. “They’re doing this for me. For the project.” And that stung in a different way. Not out of guilt—but out of something deeper. You had decided. You had committed. But underneath all that drive, all that control, was a quieter truth:

You were willing to burn a little—for her.

To prove something. To protect the vision she was clinging to, even when she couldn’t admit how much it mattered.

“They’re not dragging them into anything they didn’t choose,” Brittney added, more quietly now. “They knew what it would mean to stand in front of those cameras. They wanted to be seen.”

You imagined Crowe’s jaw clenching on the other end. You imagined him looking away from the screen like he always did when he couldn’t win the argument, but still hated losing it.

“I just didn’t expect it to feel like this,” he said eventually. The words came slowly. Bitter. “Like I just… handed them over.”

“They’re strong,” Brittney said, but there was less fire in her voice now. “More than you think.”

“No,” he said quietly. “I know they are. That’s why it scares me. Because strength doesn’t mean they won’t break. Especially not in a place like that.”

You didn’t stay to hear the rest.

You stepped back and closed the door with the softest click, careful not to let the sound betray the tremor building in your chest. The hallway air felt sharper now, colder, as though the words you’d just heard had chased the warmth from the walls.

You hadn't come here to be protected.

You hadn’t asked to be shielded, to be spared.

You came to matter. To do something real.

And whether that meant posing in front of cameras or walking headfirst into Astrophile’s shadowy depths—you had chosen it. Eyes open. Chin up. No one had dragged you here.

Still, that didn’t make shit hurt less.

Your breath slipped out, shallow and slow. Your eyes narrowed, dark with thought, but your face remained still. Detached. Cold. Because that was easier—wasn’t it?

Easier than admitting what really hurt.

You weren’t sure what stung more: That Brittney spoke about you like a mission, like a tool she had to justify keeping. Or that he—Crowe—still had that kind of hold on her. That she still picked up when he called. That he still had access to her voice, her trust, her loyalties... in ways you weren’t sure you ever would.

You were already in it. Too deep now to look back.

So you repeated the words to yourself like a command. 

A creed. A curse: Keep going. Keep burning.

Push harder. Go colder. Make it count.

But the truth settled inside you anyway, slick and heavy like oil in water. It clung to your ribs, clutched your lungs, and made each breath feel just a bit more artificial.

Downstairs, you heard Brittney grab the food. Paper bags. The clink of drinks in a tray. Her footsteps moving without hesitation—her body efficient, practiced. You followed without thinking. Your limbs moved before your mind caught up.

By the time you reached her door and pushed it open, your face had already returned to form. Calm. Composed.

Your mask—the one you wore so well—was back in place.

She had no idea what you’d just heard. What it did to you. And when she finally looked up, smiling faintly, expectant, ready to return to business, you said nothing. Because there was nothing to say. 

The battle was already behind your eyes. And she wouldn’t see it. Not if you didn’t let her. So you nodded once, slow and silent, and sat like nothing had shifted.

Even if everything had.

After all, it wasn’t long before you tasted the air inside Astrophile was thick with hushed voices and the subtle hum of orchestral music piped through hidden speakers. 

Soft lights glowed from sleek, modern fixtures overhead, casting a dreamlike shimmer across the crowd gathering beneath the vaulted glass dome of the planetarium.

Above it all, the stars turned.

Projected against the curved ceiling, galaxies spun in lazy, breathtaking spirals. Nebulae bloomed in slow motion. Shooting stars flared and died in silence. The entire world outside the dome—the noise, the obligations, the expectations—faded into a muffled afterthought.

Here, the universe reigned.

Brittney, from a quiet corner, moved easily through the crowd, vibrant and conspicuously golden against the subdued black-tie backdrop.

Tonight, Brittney wore a long, dusty pink gown that shimmered faintly whenever she turned beneath the planetarium lights. 

The cowl neck of the dress draped elegantly across her collarbones, while two long ruffles cascaded from her shoulders, floating slightly as she walked. The hem swept the floor, brushing just above her gold heels, each step deliberate, measured. Gold jewelry gleamed against her tan skin—bracelets that caught the light, delicate chains layered across her collarbone, and tiny gold star earrings that winked with each tilt of her head.

Her face, reflected briefly in her small handheld mirror as she checked herself, was a study in careful beauty: soft, understated makeup that highlighted rather than hid—long, thick lashes framing her deep blue eyes, a flush of warmth brushed over her cheeks, and bubblegum pink lipstick pulled across her lips in a neat, glossy smile.

Her blonde hair, usually yanked back into a tight high ponytail with a playful bow, was left down tonight—loose, flowing, and faintly curled at the ends. It framed her face in two distinct tendrils, one dyed a soft sky blue and the other a pale candy pink, mirroring the two dyed streaks that blended into her bowl-cut bangs. Two additional tendrils, smaller and more delicate, fell in front of her ears like a calculated afterthought.

Her nails—sharp, glossy, meticulously kept—flashed when she lifted her glass, alternating shades of pastel blue and pink in a pattern that only she could make seem effortlessly bold.

She looked good. She knew she looked good.

The confidence radiated from her, a tangible heat that someone could feel even across the room. Above her, the stars continued their endless dance. 

Impersonal. Distant. Beautiful. Much like the night ahead.

She hadn't even noticed him at first.

One moment, Brittney was laughing lightly at something one of the investors said, her face tilted up toward the artificial starlight, and the next—

Crowe was there. 

Or rather—again… Jericho.

He materialized almost like an illusion—moving from a small knot of wealthy patrons near the edge of the event space, his posture relaxed but alert, a quiet command in the way he carried himself. It was jarring at first: seeing him here, in this kind of setting, speaking with rich men and women dressed in velvet and silk like it was second nature.

But then again, she reminded herself, Crowe had always been more than he let on. Humble didn’t mean poor. It meant private. 

The planetarium lights caught the edges of his outfit, drawing every eye in the room to him without him even trying. He wore a modernized version of something princely—a deep navy jacket tailored within an inch of his life, embroidered with faint silver constellations at the cuffs and collar. The fabric clung to his broad shoulders and tapered down into dark trousers tucked neatly into polished boots.

It shouldn’t have worked. It did.

His dark brown hair, usually messy and hidden under a hat or hood, was tied into a loose braid that fell over his right shoulder, several strands escaping to frame the right side of his face, pushed haphazardly behind his ear.

And when he lifted a hand to tuck one stubborn piece away, you caught a flash of his nails—long, neatly shaped, cared for with the kind of quiet precision you knew Crowe never bragged about.

His deep blue eyes found Brittney immediately. "Britt," he said warmly, arms already moving to pull her into a casual, brotherly hug.

Brittney, caught completely off-guard, "Jericho,” whether from surprise or simply just lost, hard to tell. He pulled back slightly, hands resting lightly on her shoulders. "How are you enjoying your night? You’re practically the star of the show—you showing off your project to the big leagues yet?"

Brittney, regaining her footing with a breathless little laugh, shrugged. "It's fine, I guess," she said, forcing brightness into her voice. "Got a few compliments so far. Would’ve gotten more if my beautiful model wasn’t taking thier sweet time hiding somewhere in the damn event."

Crowe—blinked once, slowly, his expression shifting just slightly. Concern flickered behind his composed exterior. "Wait... hiding? Why would they be hiding?" His voice dropped lower, serious now. "Did something happen? Are you okay?"

Brittney rolled her eyes with a tired, dry laugh, waving one manicured hand in a dismissive circle. "I dunno, Jericho. Think about it, maybe if my boyfriend ghosted me for, oh, about a month, and they’re not sure how they should feel about showing up all dressed up and sparkly like nothing ever happened." Her voice was sarcastic, flippant. 

Her eyes, however, were sharp. Hurt. Tired.

Jericho froze for a fraction of a second. 

Barely enough for anyone else to notice.

Brittney stared at him, dumbfounded, as if seeing something she hadn’t expected. The false casualness of her shrug didn’t hide the weight of what she'd just thrown at him. 

Crowe's face didn’t move at first.

There was a tiny shift in his posture—shoulders tense, jaw clenching for the barest second—but otherwise, he held himself still, like a statue carved under centuries of pressure.

He didn’t rush to explain himself. Didn’t stammer out excuses. Crowe... simply looked at Brittney with something hollow flickering behind his deep blue eyes. The silence stretched long enough to bruise. And then—

A ripple moved through the room. Heads turned, subtle but certain, pulled by the gravity of something... different.

You.

You emerged from the shadows of the planetarium's grand archways, the starlight bathing your form like a silent coronation. Your gown clung and floated all at once—a fitted silhouette of deep navy-blue silk so dark it almost seemed black, strewn with tiny, scattered gems and embroidered stars that shimmered with every movement.

The off-the-shoulder straps and sheer boned bodice added structure without confinement, leading down into a flowing skirt with a daring slit that revealed the strength in your step. The sweetheart neckline framed you like a whispered promise.

Hair pinned elegantly up, the glow of delicate silver jewelry catching every phantom beam of light. Your makeup was simple, precise, pretty—designed not to mask, but to sharpen.

You looked like something woven out of the night sky itself.

And Crowe—

Crowe felt the entire world stutter to a stop. For one raw, suspended heartbeat, he almost didn’t recognize you. Not because you were a stranger, however, because, somehow, impossibly, you had crossed some invisible threshold. 

From someone he cared for quietly in the background...

To something so devastatingly unattainable, he could barely breathe.

The soul-struck silence hit him hard, right to the chest. Crowe didn’t think ‘wow, you look nice.’ No. 

He thought, ‘I am not ready for the way I want you.’

You moved with effortless command, gliding through the murmuring crowd, an investor trailing respectfully beside you. As you passed by, your eyes caught Brittney’s—sharp, knowing, protective—and you stopped deliberately, every movement designed, controlled. 

With a poised smile, you spoke clearly, voice carrying just enough to be overheard by the nearest circles: “Brittney Claire,” you announced smoothly to the investor, gesturing lightly toward her. “She’s the true artist behind the evening’s highlight pieces. Her work speaks for itself.” More heads turned.

Brittney blinked, flustered for half a second before recovering, her tan skin glowing under the artificial starlight, her dusty pink dress and glittering jewelry framing her perfectly under your deliberate spotlight.

A nearby group of potential investors leaned in, suddenly far more interested.

You stepped back just slightly, allowing Brittney the room to shine, but not leaving her side—an unspoken, strategic shield against any whisper of disrespect.

Crowe watched, mute, as you navigated the room with effortless grace, elevating Brittney higher with every word, every small, calculated glance.

You didn’t just attend the event. You orchestrated it.

Without stealing the stage. It was the kind of precision Crowe knew only a few could manage. And in that moment, standing there with the stars spinning silently above him, he realized—

he might have already lost the right to stand at your side.

At first, Brittney didn’t understand what you had done. 

She just stared—a little dazed, lashes fluttering—as the investors around her leaned closer, curious, smiling, intrigued. Your voice, steady and sure, had acted like a blade cutting the way through dense mist.

You hadn't just introduced her. You'd positioned her. Protected her.

The realization hit Brittney like a slow-moving train. Her hands, manicured perfectly in alternating pink and blue, trembled slightly at her sides. For the first time all evening, she didn’t feel like a guest trying to justify her worth.

She felt... seen. Elevated. And she hadn't done it alone. 

“...Thank you,” she whispered, voice catching, almost broken by the rush of overwhelming gratitude. Her eyes glittered too much under the starry lights—not just from the shimmer of the room, but from the threat of tears she fought viciously not to shed.

You offered her only the slightest nod, a quiet flicker of your eyes that said: ‘Stand tall. Don’t waste it.’ You didn’t linger to take credit. 

You turned on your heel, skirts whispering against the gleaming floor, and walked away before Brittney could even gather herself enough to follow. Crowe moved instinctively after you. But you were faster. Not running, no—You were too composed for that. 

You glided through the crowd, deliberately slipping between conversations and pockets of laughter, avoiding Crowe without a word, leaving only the soft scent of your perfume and the trail of your long, elegant silhouette in your wake. From behind you, Crowe called your name once under his breath.

But you didn't turn. You didn’t even slow. Only a fleeting, tired expression crossed your face—like you were so deeply, intimately weary of him that it didn’t even burn anymore.

It just... hurt. 

And then—

You collided lightly with a woman.

She was striking—mid-forties, maybe early fifties—with flawless dark skin, well-coiffed hair, expensive earrings that caught the dim light. She was sipping champagne lazily, the glint of judgment in her gaze immediately clear. “My,” she said, a slow, approving tone in her voice, looking at your dress.

“Who created that gown? It’s exquisite.”

Without missing a few seconds, you placed a polished mask over your features, lifting your chin slightly with subtle pride. “Brittney Claire," you said smoothly. "A rising star. Her designs are tonight’s best-kept secret."

The woman raised a brow, clearly impressed. And then—a hand landed gently, but insistently, on your bare shoulder. Your body stiffened under the touch.

You already knew who it was without looking. Crowe.

Still, you didn’t turn right away. You didn’t owe him your attention. Not yet. Not when you had this to face.

The woman—older, elegant in the way money always tried to wear sophistication like a perfume—tilted her head as Crowe approached, the easy familiarity between you two clearly catching her eye. Her expression shifted. Sharpened.

“Jericho?” she asked, disbelief softening her voice as she set down her crystal flute. Her eyes narrowed faintly. “You know them?”

Crowe smiled—just barely, that quiet kind of smile that spoke louder than full-throated declarations. One hand remained respectfully but firmly on your shoulder, grounding you in place.

“They’re my partner,” he said.

The words dropped like stones into still water. A ripple. A hush.

His aunt blinked once. Then twice. Like the term didn’t quite register in her world of tailored norms and manicured expectations.

Then—she laughed. Polite. Brittle. 

A crack in her mask, quickly smoothed over by the glide of her hand down the front of her pristine designer gown. “Is this the one you were speaking of? From the... lower class?” Her tone dripped with disdain, wrapped in a veil of civility.

She turned to you then, smiling sweetly. The smile of a serpent.

“Tell me, dear,” she cooed, as if to a stray dog taught to dance on its hind legs. “How ever did you manage it? You speak so nicely. You clean up so well. Almost like one of us…” Her gaze skimmed you up and down, dissecting you. 

“But surely not really one of us. Right?”

Crowe’s hand on your shoulder tensed—just slightly—but you felt it.

You could’ve stayed quiet. You didn’t. Your smile didn’t waver. Didn’t twitch. But your eyes did narrow, just enough to gleam—like starlight on broken glass. And when you spoke, your voice was a razor: calm, composed, cutting.

“I’m a student model, only for the night,” you said coolly. “Built to be looked at. Paid to be seen for the sake of the artist.” You turned to her now, slowly, like you were doing her the favor of your attention. 

“I don’t belong here because I fooled anyone,” you said. “I belong here because I earned it. My presence isn’t an accident—it’s a warning.”

Her smile was no longer sweet. It was taut.

You didn’t stop.

“I’m the first in my family to step foot on a campus, let alone a ballroom. First-generation student. First with honors. First with options. I wasn’t born into legacy—I became one.” You stepped forward now, just a hair, enough that Crowe’s hand slipped from your shoulder, as if even he knew this wasn’t his to interrupt. “You want to know how I did it?” 

Your voice dipped lower, honeyed steel. “I made myself into a star.”

You sighed softly before explaining, “And not one of your cold, distant pedigree-no-no—no, I became the kind of star that burns on borrowed oxygen, that lives despite being smothered. A star that refuses to fade just because you weren’t the one who lit it.”

Her eyes widened.

“Your world,” you said, gesturing faintly to the glimmering sea of silk and champagne around you, “is stitched in gold thread and safety nets. But mine? Mine was built from fire escapes, night shifts, and public buses that smelled like rust and defeat. And still, I outshined the rest.”

Your voice lowered again—polite, sweet, and lethal.

“So the next time you wonder how someone like me got here... maybe wonder why so many of you never had to fight.”

There was silence—real silence—now. The kind that follows impact. A heavy, sharp pause that left no room for breath. Crowe’s aunt stared, eyes flat with unspoken rage, or awe, or both. 

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. But Crowe?

When you finally turned to him, there was something raw in his gaze—like he was seeing you clearly for the very first time. Not as someone brought into the room...

But as someone the room should’ve been built for.

“Well," Crowe’s aunt eventually tilted her head, voice wrapped in velvet and vinegar, drawled, swirling her champagne, "your manners are certainly refined enough, dear. One almost forgets where you come from.” Almost.

Crowe’s hand shifted subtly against you, as if sensing the final blow she tried to land. But you simply inclined your head, serene.

"One's origins," you said coolly, "have little to do with one's destination."

She arched a brow, a wry, displeased little smile twisting her mouth. But you could tell you’d struck something. Something old. Something she didn’t want to admit.

Still, despite winning the exchange—despite silencing her, standing your ground, and delivering your truth like a blade—you felt it.

Something sharp, tight, and quiet began to twist in your chest.

That awful, swelling pressure that didn’t come from fear or regret, but from being overwhelmed, completely and utterly.

And worse... from knowing Crowe has been right once more.

You weren’t as prepared as you thought. All that training in poise, every silent rehearsal in your head, every thread of pride woven carefully into your outfit, your words, your presence—it didn’t matter now. Not really. Because the moment your composure cracked, even subtly, all you could hear echoing through your mind was him.

“I just don’t want you to feel overwhelmed.”

And you did. You were. You hated it.

You hated that he’d seen this before you did. Hated that his concern wasn’t condescending—it was correct. You’d come here thinking you had something to prove. First for yourself. Then, maybe, for the promise of opportunity—networking, exposure, power. But in the end?

Right now?

You were only here for Brittany. Because you offered.

Because she believed in you, and you were too damn stubborn to admit you were starting to lose faith in yourself.

Yes, you spoke your truth. You carved it into the air like scripture. You lit yourself on fire just to show them you could burn brighter than the chandeliers. But none of it felt real anymore. None of it felt like it mattered.

You were still the outsider in the room full of legacy ghosts.

And Crowe had known that. He always knew. He saw the fault lines before you even felt the tremors. And that—that was the worst part. Not that he doubted you. But that he didn’t. That he saw you, saw your strength, your mind, your fire—and still, with all the love in the world, gently asked you not to do this to yourself.

And you did it anyway.

Because you wanted to win.

You wanted to show him he wasn’t the only one who could play this game and walk away unscathed. But the truth sat heavy in your throat now, like a selfish, bitter little thing.

He was right. You were wrong.

And you hated how lonely that made you feel.

So you excused yourself—quietly, gracefully. Not a single crack in your tone, not a tremble to betray you. No one could accuse you of running.

You stepped onto the nearest open balcony, the cold night air lashing against your skin like punishment.

You stood there, arms folded, chest tight, jaw clenched. You needed to breathe. You needed something steady, something real. Because for all the noise inside the ballroom, and all the glory you tried to claim for yourself, what you needed most now...

Was control. Your own control. 

Not borrowed confidence. Not brittle pride.

Just you, again.

As the stars spun lazily overhead, your mind flickered backward to earlier that evening. You sat on a stool in Brittney’s chaotic room, makeup strewn across the vanity, dresses and shoes everywhere.

However, she stood in front of you with the intensity of a surgeon, applying foundation with careful, reverent strokes. You sat still, obedient, eyes closed so you didn’t ruin her careful work.

"You look beautiful," Brittney murmured absently, smoothing blush across your cheekbones.

You hummed lightly, noncommittal.

Brittney’s hands slowed, the brush of shimmering eyeshadow forgotten halfway across your eyelid. You felt her hesitation before you heard it—the tension in the air tightening like a string about to snap. “You know," she murmured, voice low, "you’re like a star.”

You opened one eye lazily, an eyebrow raised in dry amusement.

Brittney didn’t smile. Her reflection behind you was dead serious.

“Not one of those pretty ones either. Not a harmless little twinkle in someone’s safe night sky," she continued, tone sharpening into something almost bitter.

"You’re one of those stubborn, goddamn different stars. The kind that flares too hard, too bright. The kind that was never made to fit in up there—but forces its way in anyway."

You said nothing. Let her talk. 

Because deep down... you knew Brittney rarely spoke without knowing exactly where her knife would land. “You think I didn’t see it?” she asked, her voice getting a little louder, a little rougher, her hands now resting on your shoulders, gripping them lightly like she was trying to keep you still.

"This whole thing—Astrophile, Crowe, all of it—it was your way out. Your way in. Status. Connections. Being seen.” She pulled back, pacing now, lip gloss forgotten in her hand.

“You’ve achieved more than anyone else I know," she said, fierce and furious. "Clawed your way out of a life no one ever cared to look at. But it’s not enough, is it?" She laughed once—dry, sharp. 

"Because you’re still poor. And no matter how brilliant you are, how hard you work... the world doesn’t see stars like you when you’re born on the wrong side of the sky." Her words hung there between you—ugly, brutal, undeniable.

"You’re lucky you even blend in," Brittney hissed.

"But what happens when you burn out? What happens when that fire you keep killing yourself to feed... finally runs out of fuel?"

You swallowed thickly but didn’t move. Eyes still closed. Still silent.

“And Crowe," she added after a beat, softer now, more wounded. "Are you gonna tell him? About all of it? About how heavy it is, carrying a dream so goddamn big it breaks you first?"

The question cut deep. Deeper than anything else she said.

You didn’t answer right away. You didn’t need to.

Brittney stepped closer again. Caught your chin in her hand— ough, not unkind. Tilted your face up until you had no choice but to meet her eyes. And in your gaze—sharp, quiet, mournful—she saw it:

It was already too late to back out.

Because, despite everything—despite the world you were stepping into, the fires you would have to keep feeding just to stay alive— your love for Crowe had already rooted itself deeper than Brittney’s hate for the rich could ever reach.

She saw it. Accepted it. Grieved it, even.

And still, in a whisper barely louder than breath, she asked the question again:

“How do you feel about Crowe?”

Your mouth twitched upward into a sardonic, knowing smile. "That’s the second time you’ve asked me that," you said, voice low, almost teasing, but your hands tightened slightly in your lap.

Brittney smiled too, but it was small. Tight. Sad.

"I’m just asking," she murmured, returning to the vanity, beginning to work again with trembling hands, "because... if this goes further..."

She didn’t finish.

Instead, she unscrewed the tube of lip gloss, pressing it carefully across your mouth—slow, reverent—her gaze pinned to the small, subtle tremor you couldn’t quite hide. “You haven’t even met his family yet," she said, almost to herself. "And being loved by him... doesn’t mean you’ll be loved by them."

Her voice dropped lower, almost mournful:

"And being up there with the rich... Is that really a life worthy of living for you?"

You sat still. Rigid. Eyes closed.

The coolness of the gloss across your lips felt almost mocking, a soft cruelty against the sudden burning in your chest. But when you spoke, your voice was steady. Mature. Certain. "I know what I’m going into."

And even though a part of you screamed silently beneath the words, you meant it.

The door clicked shut behind you with a soft finality, muffling the roar of the party to a distant hum. You stepped barefoot onto the balcony, the stone cold beneath your feet, the night colder still.

The stars above seemed almost indifferent.

Silent witnesses to a life you weren’t sure you belonged to. The wind pulled at your dress, your hair, your carefully composed mask, as if trying to peel it away piece by piece. You wrapped your arms loosely around yourself, not out of fear, not out of fragility—more like something contemplative.

Almost resigned. ‘Did you really mean those words?’

"I know what I’m going into."

Your chest ached in the places pride couldn’t protect. You had said it with certainty. You believed it at the time. But now... Now, standing out here where the air was sharper, crueler, less forgiving, you weren't so sure. Inside, the world churned on without you. You could almost picture it:

Crowe’s aunt drifted back to her circle of painted smiles, whispering something acidic and self-satisfied. Another little dagger twisted in your absence. And Crowe himself...

Maybe he’d notice you were gone. Maybe he wouldn’t. It didn’t matter.

You had already chosen. 

Even when it hurt. Even when the air you fought for felt colder than the broken places you left behind. You stayed outside longer than you needed to. Letting the quiet gnaw at you. Letting the ache settle into your bones. You told yourself you were just catching your breath.

That you weren’t falling apart. Not yet.

And then, behind you—the balcony door creaked open.

You didn’t turn. Not right away. The air shifted, heavier with a familiar presence. And then—his voice, soft and raw and unbearably gentle: 

”Starlight."

You closed your eyes. The sound of it—low, tender, reverent— struck something deep, something fragile, something that had been shaking quietly inside you all night. He stepped closer, cautious like he was approaching something hot, a burning star.

You felt the warmth of his hand ghost over your elbow, but not quite touch, giving you the choice. You breathed out, shaky but silent, letting the wind carry it away.

"I didn’t come out here to pull you back in," Crowe said, his voice low, steady despite the storm you knew he carried in his chest. "I just—"

He stopped, biting the inside of his cheek, searching for the right words. "I just didn’t want you to be alone... if you didn’t want to be."

The stars overhead blurred slightly.

You blinked, swallowing hard. Slowly, you turned to face him.

His deep blue eyes were waiting. Bright, earnest, unwavering. There was no demand for them. No anger. Only the kind of fierce, aching patience that could undo a person if they let it.

You stared at him for a long moment.

The way he stood there, heart in his hands, without even realizing it.

The way he said starlight like it was a secret only the two of you shared. The way he, without meaning to, made you believe, for a moment, that maybe you could survive this. 

Maybe even more than survive. Maybe you could belong.

Your voice, when it finally came, was a whisper against the cold:

"I’m scared, Crowe." It slipped out before you could stop it. A truth raw and bleeding and undeniable.

Crowe’s face didn’t change much. Just a small, almost imperceptible softening around the edges. "I know," he said simply. And then, finally, he reached for you—one hand warms against your chilled cheek, steady, anchoring.

"You don’t have to burn yourself alive for them to see you," he murmured, thumb brushing lightly against your skin. "I already do."

The night spun a little around you. You let it. You leaned into him, the way a drowning thing leans into a lifeline without needing permission.

And for the first time that night, you breathed. Really breathed.

Crowe didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to.

Because in that quiet, shivering space between two beating hearts, a different kind of promise took root—one no amount of status, money, or cruel stars could ever erase.

You stayed like that for a long while. Silent. Breathing him in, breathing yourself back to life. The party behind you blurred into nothing. The night wrapped the two of you in a thin, trembling sort of peace.

Crowe didn’t rush you.

He just held you there, steady and real, letting you take what you needed. Letting you decide. Then, when the shaking in your chest had dulled to a low, aching throb, he shifted—offering you a hand.

"If you want to leave, starlight..." his voice was low, almost unsteady, "...just say the word. I'll get you out of here." His palm hovered there, open and sure. A silent promise. You stared at it. At him. And something broke loose in you.

The words tumbled out, cracked and searching:

"Where have you been?"

His expression faltered—just a flicker. But it was enough to tell you he heard everything layered in your question. Every fear, every shadow that curled beneath your ribs, whispering things like you're not enough, like he’s too good for you, like he’ll leave the moment he sees the truth of you.

You hadn’t meant to say it. Not like that. Not with your voice trembling and your resolve unraveling like thread. But you’d meant it. While you’ve been pretending that love isn’t currency, that feelings aren’t forged from power dynamics and the sickening need to be chosen.

While you’ve been lying—to yourself, to him, to everyone—because the truth is: you never felt like you deserved this. Him. Not truly.

You came into this thinking you had something to prove. That if you played your cards just right—if you dressed the part, walked the walk, wielded your words like weapons—you could erase the gap between what you were and what he was.

But the gap was still there. It always was.

And standing there now, the weight of your own pretenses pressing against your ribs, you realized just how tired you were. Of fighting. Of chasing. Of proving.

Crowe’s brows knit together, subtle but sharp, like he saw straight through you, like he always did. “Right here,” he said, voice soft but firm. “I’ve been here. Maybe not the way you needed—but I’ve never left.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

What could you possibly say to that?

That you’ve been selfish? That you’ve used honesty like a scalpel—cutting truths down to size, offering him just enough to feel close while hiding the rot underneath? That you spun silence into safety, not for his sake, but because the whole truth made you feel too exposed, too small next to him?

That every time he smiled, you counted the ways you weren’t enough?

“Do you even know when you're coming back?” you asked, the words brittle, breaking as they left you. “Since you’ve been gone—“

You tried to laugh, but it came out hollow. Ugly. More like choking.

“I’ve survived. If that’s what you’re wondering.” You looked past him, to the dark edge of the rooftop, to the glittering lights far below. “But surviving isn’t the same as living, Crowe. Not even close.”

His expression twisted. You saw the hurt there, but also the guilt. 

The kind that settles behind someone’s eyes when they know they’ve let something important bleed out between the cracks. “I tried to show you,” he said softly. “I thought you saw it. I thought you knew.”

You smiled then. But not the kind he’d remember. This one was bitter. Tired. Full of splinters. "Could've. Should've. But you didn’t." You finally looked at him, really looked. "I just kept hoping you’d want this... want me... a little bit more than it looked like you did.”

The silence that followed wasn’t cruel. 

Wasn’t kind either. Just... real. 

The kind that settles when two people finally run out of excuses.

He reached for your hand. Slow. Careful. Not demanding. 

Just offering.

“You don’t have to win anything to be with me,” he said. “This... it was never about keeping up. You don’t have to prove you deserve me.”

Your hand trembled in his. “But I did, Crowe. I do. Every day. Because people like me don’t end up with people like you unless we earn it.” You blinked, and tears slid hot down your cheeks, unnoticed. “And the worst part is? I don’t even think I was trying to earn you. I think I just wanted to prove to myself that someone like me could have something beautiful and not ruin it.”

You pulled away—not hard, just enough.

"It always felt like I was asking too much just to be seen," you whispered. "Like it hurt you to love me out loud.”

Crowe’s lips parted, but nothing came.

“And maybe that's my fault," you added, arms folding across your ribs like armor. "Maybe I made it too hard. Maybe I asked for too much without giving enough. Maybe I held you close just to stop myself from falling." You took a step back. The stars looked farther now.

“You and I…” your voice broke mid-thought, barely above a whisper, “…we were too close to the stars, weren’t we?”

Crowe didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Just watched you unravel—thread by thread, truth by truth, until the shape of you started to look like something he couldn’t fix. Couldn’t hold. Couldn’t even name. 

And in the end, maybe that was the problem. Maybe you flew too high on wings sewn from panic and borrowed strength—stitched from fear and too many almosts. Maybe the gravity of loving him cracked your ribs before the fall even started.

"I never knew somebody like you, Crowe.” Your voice trembled, but you didn’t stop. You never did when it really counted. “Somebody falling just as hard.”

He could see the battle in your body—the urge to back away, the instinct to fold in on yourself, to disappear behind that polished mask of quiet composure. But you stayed. You bled in front of him. “I’d rather lose somebody than use somebody,” you said. Quiet. Clear. Like a confession buried too long.

You bit down hard, the taste of blood sharp on your tongue, grounding you in the moment, forcing the pain to stay real.

"I never expected to love you this deeply," you admitted. "Never expected to feel like this. You—" Your gaze flicked up to his, and the betrayal that shone in your eyes hit him like a gut punch.

“Why did you give me a chance?” you asked, raw and vulnerable. 

Crowe looked hollow. Shattered in the dim light, like all the air had left him. His lips parted like he might speak—but nothing came. Nothing ever did when it mattered.

“Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise,” you said, softer now. Tired.

“I see my reflection in your eyes.” Your laugh wasn’t a laugh at all. Just an exhale shaped like surrender. “I know you’re sick, Crowe. Sick with guilt, sick with grief. I know you keep hoping you’ll fix whatever’s broken, but you never let me try. You pushed me away when all I wanted was to stay close.”

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, your arms aching with all the things you could have held if he’d just let you. “I heard what you said to Brittany that night,” you said, barely above a whisper.

Crowe’s head jerked. His eyes widened.

"I waited,” you continued. “Waited for you to come back. To explain. To lie—anything. But you left me alone, and it hurt, Crowe. It hurt more than I can stand. Tell me you see that. Tell me you see me.”

Still, he said nothing. But he moved.

Just a step. A single step forward, like he couldn’t stand to stay away anymore. The distance between you collapsed into something unbearable. His hand trembled as it hovered near yours, like he wanted to hold you but knew he didn’t deserve to, tracing your hand across his heart.

You could feel his heartbeat pounding—wild, guilty, begging—in the space between your ribs and his. And in his eyes: a galaxy of regret. A thousand unsaid sorries lodged behind his tongue, too afraid to be spoken, too late to make a difference.

You stared at him. So close. So damn close. 

But not enough.

He was a blue giant—brilliant and devastating, burning himself out in real time. The kind of star you wish on, even when you know it’ll never reach you.

And you?

You were a brown dwarf. Half-formed. Half-lit. Unseen by most, unfelt by many. Existing in the quiet corners of space, no one ever bothers to look for.

Unremarkable. Useless. Forgotten.

And still... even now, with your heart cracking in your chest—You couldn’t bring yourself to use him. Not even to shield yourself from the hurt. Because you knew better. You’d always known better.

And still... even now, with your heart cracking in your chest—

You couldn’t bring yourself to use him. Not even to shield yourself from the hurt. Because you knew better. You’d always known better. In the end, you couldn’t believe it.

You just… couldn’t.

Not after everything you’d done. Everything you were. After the silence, the nights you pulled away, the sharp words you’d used like razors just to see if he’d flinch—just to prove he was real, that he’d bleed, that he wasn’t some beautiful illusion meant to slip through your fingers.

But Crowe had never broken. Not even once.

He stood there now—tired, yes. Weathered, definitely. There were new shadows beneath his eyes, and the light in him had dimmed around the edges. But he was still there. Still standing. Still looking at you like you mattered. Like he hadn’t been the one dragged through every emotional minefield you’d built around yourself just to survive.

You hated that part of you. The part that ran before it could love properly. The part that pushed people away just to feel in control.

And still—he stayed. How? 

How could someone so gentle carry so much weight without shattering? How could someone so radiant choose to stay, even when your love was all thorns and no petals?

You wanted to look away. To shrink. To vanish into the hollow of your own guilt and disappear before he realized the truth.

Because the truth was this: You didn’t deserve him.

Not his steadiness. Not his kindness. Not the way he kept showing up with his heart in his hands, bleeding, broken, but never blaming you for the cuts. Again, he was a star—pure and incandescent. The kind that didn’t ask for praise, didn’t demand to be named or owned. Just existed in spite of it all. Burned without apology.

And he—he stood like he always had. 

With that same quiet ache in his eyes. That same refusal to let your damage change him. You could see it now, clear as day:

You had been cruel, and still he chose compassion.

You had been reckless, and still he offered patience.

You had been unkind to yourself, and yet he loved you in a way that made you want to be better. Not for him. But for you. And that—that was the moment your heart finally cracked open: You couldn’t believe it. You shouldn’t have had him.

But somehow… you did.

And that made losing him the most terrifying truth of all.

It was happening again.

That familiar, icy rush in your chest—the kind that made it hard to breathe, to think, to stand. You told yourself you’d be fine on your own. That you'd learned by now how to pick up the pieces alone. But you hadn’t. Not really. Not when it came to him. And now, with Crowe standing there—so close, so painfully real—you broke.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore.

Your body trembled as you reached for him, fingers tightening around the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing anchoring you to the world. You buried your face against his chest, desperate for his warmth, for the steady drumbeat of his heart that somehow always calmed the chaos in yours.

The tears came faster than you could stop them—hot and endless, streaking down your cheeks like the storm had finally torn through.

"I don’t know how to be solo, Crowe," you choked out, voice splintered at the seams. "So don’t go. No—please. Just stay."

You swallowed hard, but it was like your throat had collapsed in on itself. Your chest ached, ribs constricting as if grief had wrapped hands around your lungs and squeezed. Your arms wrapped around him tighter, clinging like you might dissolve if you let go.

And Crowe… he didn’t move. 

He didn’t push you away. 

He stood still, letting you fall apart against him, arms slowly encircling you like he’d been waiting—hoping—you’d finally let yourself need him.

"We were bright," you whispered against the cotton of his shirt, your voice muffled and wet. "Shootin’ through the sky daily..."

"Yeah," he breathed, and the word sounded like it cost him something—like it scraped its way out of a chest full of unsaid things.

You pulled back just enough to see him. His gaze was already locked on you—soft, wide, unreadable in that way only Crowe could be. But you felt the weight behind it. The ache. The tether.

"Lighting up the night wasn't always right, baby," you murmured, voice quieter now, trembling at the edges. Your eyes fell, unable to hold the intensity of his, but his never left you. He looked like someone trying to memorize a moment before it slipped away.

“Mhm.” It was barely more than breath, but it held a world of meaning—agreement not with logic, but memory. Shared chaos. Shared light.

“Every time that we realign… it’s crazy,” he said finally, voice frayed and vulnerable. Like even he couldn’t understand how you kept finding your way back to each other after all the mess, the silence, the pain.

Your hand moved before you could think, pressing flat against his chest—right over his heart.

The rhythm was erratic. Fast. Unguarded. Not at all like the mask he wore around others. You felt it beneath your palm like the truest part of him. And when you looked up, he didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Didn’t retreat behind walls or words or distance.

He just looked. At you. Like he’d been waiting an eternity to see your face again. And suddenly, the distance between you didn’t exist.

You leaned in—slowly, carefully—giving him space to stop you if he wanted. He didn’t. "And you save me," you whispered. The words trembled between your lips, too fragile to survive the air for long. A confession. A wound. A truth.

And then—finally—you kissed him.

Not like before. 

Not out of desperation, or fear, or fleeting passion.

But like someone drowning who had finally broken the surface. And Crowe melted into you like he’d been holding his breath for years—waiting for permission to feel again.

Your lips parted just enough to breathe, to look at him—and that’s when he moved. Slowly, carefully, he slid his arms around your waist, one hand resting gently at the small of your back, the other curling protectively at your side like he was afraid you might shatter if he held you too tightly.

Before you could even ask, he lifted you—not high, not showy, just enough that your heels left the ground, just enough for the air between you to shift and the moment to hush.

You blinked, taken off guard. "...What are you doing?"

Crowe’s voice came low and warm, a little sheepish. “Dancing with you,” he said softly.

And then, as he began to gently sway beneath the sky’s quiet hush, he added, “Like we used to... before everything got so tangled.”

You didn’t remember when your arms found their way around his shoulders, or when your body started following his lead. But your feet knew. Your heart knew. It was familiar, like a song you hadn’t heard in ages but never forgot the words to. 

His breath stirred against your temple as he held you close. 

You could feel the way his hands lingered, hesitant and reverent, as though this—you—were sacred.

"I didn’t leave you ‘cause I wanted to,” he murmured, voice barely more than a breath. “My aunt… she needed me. Some event. Formal, full of high-class expectations and legacy nonsense. She wanted me there last minute, and I didn’t know how to say no. She’s... hard to argue with. The kind of rude that’s so well-dressed in charm, you feel guilty for being mad."

You rested your forehead against his. The old pain stirred, but it didn’t burn the same. The tension in your spine began to ebb with the motion of his steps and the hush in his voice.

“I thought you were ashamed,” you whispered.

His arms tightened. Protective. Immediate.

“No. No, starlight. God, no. It wasn’t shame. It was fear. I… I doubted whether I should’ve brought you into that world. Whether you deserved to be there." He paused, swallowing thickly, voice roughened by regret. “And I realize now how insulting that was—how wrong. I should’ve known you could hold your own.”

You stayed silent, eyes shut, letting him speak.

“She’s like a snake in pearls, that woman. I thought she’d eat you alive with that sugar-sweet venom of hers. I didn’t want you anywhere near it, because—” His voice caught. “Because you didn’t think I’d survive it,” you finished for him. Not bitter. Just… tired.

Crowe’s voice cracked as he answered. “No. Because I didn’t want you to think you didn’t belong there. Because that... that would’ve hurt you. And I couldn’t stand the thought of you feeling like you weren’t enough. I thought keeping you out of it was protecting you—but I was wrong. You’re stronger than I gave you credit for, and I hate that it took me hurting you to see that.”

You looked up at him. He didn’t look away. If anything, his gaze clung tighter—like he was terrified to miss another second.

“I didn’t want to be the reason you felt left behind,” he admitted, forehead pressing gently against yours now, his voice a fragile thing wrapped in guilt. “But I became that reason. And that’s on me.”

Your fingers curled into his shirt, grounding yourself in the rhythm of his heartbeat and the sway of your shared steps. The past still echoed—ghostly, painful—but the warmth of his touch anchored you to now.

His breath hitched. “I missed you every single day, starlight. And I know that doesn’t fix it—but I did. I do.”

You leaned into him, forehead against his, your lips close enough to ghost over his again. Voice hushed. Honest.

“I needed to hear that.”

He nodded—barely. Like, even movement might break the fragile peace that had formed between you. And still, you danced beneath the sky—two lost things finding rhythm again. Not because everything was healed.

But because you still chose to stay. With him.

Off to the side, just past the soft glow of hanging lights, Brittney stood near the balcony entrance. The shadows clung to her like silk, veiling her in quiet observation. Her gaze was locked on you—on the way you folded into Crowe like gravity pulled you to him, the way he danced with you like nothing else existed. 

He held you like he’d never let go again.

Brittney didn’t move. She didn’t breathe.

She just stood there, spine straight, expression unreadable—save for the twitch at the corner of her mouth and the slight tremble of her hand as she looked down. A stack of cards. Clean. Elegant. Networked through you. Investors’ names etched in sleek fonts. Business opportunities. Dreams stitched into reality.

For her. For the dress you wore tonight.

You were her muse. Her key. Her star. And you never asked for credit—just handed her the tools and watched her shine.

She should feel proud. She was proud. 

But it ached.

The pride came tangled in something bitter, something sharp and uninvited—because part of her wished she had been the one to comfort you first. To hold you. To be seen.

After all...

She and Crowe had the same deep blue eyes. Right?

Same calm, same quiet sadness, same hidden depths. But he got there first—and you looked at him like he’d hung the constellations just for you. She saw it all. The whole performance. The whole truth. Her heart clenched, a stutter beneath her ribs. Bittersweet.

Maybe that’s all she’d ever get from you.

She flicked her hair over her shoulder, lips curling into a practiced smirk, masking heartbreak behind glossy confidence. Someone should say something. Break the tension. “Well,” she called out, voice light, smooth as champagne, “someone should probably fix your makeup before heading back inside, right? Before embarrassing yourself.”

It was sharp. It was funny. It was safe. 

However, she didn’t expect you to move. Not like that. Not like you felt it. Not like you heard the ache she never spoke aloud. But then, when you and Crowe faced her from the sound of her voice, you slipped from Crowe’s hands—soft warmth turned cold in an instant—and ran. Right to her. 

“Brittney!” 

Her name hit her like a bullet wrapped in silk. Your arms wrapped around her the second you reached her, clinging to her with a force that knocked the air from her lungs. You hugged her like she was the one thing that mattered in the world.

Like you meant it.

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice cracking with sincerity. “You made this night happen. You made me feel seen. You—You gave me more than anyone else ever has, Brittney.”

She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to breathe. Her mouth opened, but no words came—just a laugh, broken and bright and painful all at once. She looked away, blinking quickly, hiding the way her eyes glistened like glass under firelight.

“God, you’re such a sap,” she muttered, trying to swallow the scream in her chest. “You’re gonna get glitter on this dress, hugging me like that.” But she hugged you back. Tight. Like she never wanted to let go.

And then—Crowe. Of course.

He came up behind you, arms looping around your waist like vines finding sunlight, his chin resting on your shoulder, lips brushing your neck in a kiss that was far too smug to be pure. “Seriously?” he teased, his voice warm and low. “I give you a dance, a speech, a moment, and the second I blink, you’re already running into her arms? Some prince I turned out to be.”

You laughed. A real laugh. Loud and unguarded.

“Jealous?” you teased back.

He chuckled, nuzzling the crook of your neck. “A little. But honestly? Can’t even blame you. She is dangerously charming.”

Brittney smiled through it. Perfect smile. Perfect everything. But her arms were still around you.  

And for once, she let the mask slip. Just enough.

“You two,” she said softly, so only you could really hear it, “you’re lucky. Don’t mess this up, for the sake of myself.”

You turned in her arms, one hand brushing her cheek, tender, knowing, grateful. “Hey,” you whispered. “You’re part of this. You always have been. I love you, Brittney. In so many ways.”

Her heart stopped. Then stumbled forward again. She nodded. Bit her tongue. Said nothing more. Because maybe that was enough.

Even if you'd never know the kind of love she meant.

You turned back once. Of course you did.

The party behind you shimmered like a galaxy in motion—laughter flickering like comets, bodies orbiting one another in slow, sparkling collisions. Crowe had taken your hand again, drawn you back into the swell of music and light and gold-dusted dreams.

But still, you looked back.

“Brittney?” you called softly, pausing just before the threshold where night gave way to noise. “You okay?”

She smiled like she meant it. Like it didn’t crack something inside her to be seen by you, just seen, and not chosen.

“I’m fine,” she said, voice weightless. “I just… need some air.”

Your eyes softened. You always did see too much, didn’t you? But never the right thing. Never the thing that counted. You nodded. Held her gaze like a promise you didn’t know you were breaking. And then Crowe tugged you gently, and you went—back into the glitter and the warmth.

Back into the stars.

Back to where you belonged.

You were a star. Not just any star—no. You were the star.

A celestial wonder with laughter like comets and a smile that pulled gravity. You shimmered with the kind of warmth people mistake for salvation, the kind that wakes the dead things in others and makes them believe again. To Brittany, you weren’t just light. You were life. The night sky bowed around you, painted in hues of violet and gold, alive with everything she had only ever dared to dream.

And she—

She was the moon.

Distant. Orbiting. Forever watching.

Reflecting what little radiance she could gather and pretending it was her own. Not glowing—echoing. A mirror in silver sequins, always shining secondhand. The kind of beauty that was quiet, conditional, and cold when the sun wasn’t near.

You were surrounded by stars now, dancing where the universe pulsed with celebration. She could hear you laugh—see the way Crowe looked at you like you’d hung the constellations himself. He held your hand like it was the only anchor in the galaxy. No one has ever looked at Brittany that way. No one ever did. 

Expect you. At least you gave her light.

She leaned against the balcony railing, the cool metal biting into her skin like it might anchor her here a little longer. The music pulsed behind her. The sky stretched endlessly above. 

Somewhere in the crowd, you were laughing—your hand curled in Crowe’s like a vow. And Brittany… she stood there like a monument to a love unspoken.

“I see myself in you, you know,” she whispered to the wind, voice cracking like glass. “I sold my soul for you.”

Then quieter. A confession folded in starlight:

“Maybe you should’ve stuck with us.”

Not because it would’ve changed anything. But because… for a moment, in some lost and better version of this story—

She believed you could’ve loved her back.

“I’m the moon,” she whispered, the words barely slipping past her glossed lips. “And you… you’re a star.”

A star that belonged in the heavens. Among others like you—burning, brilliant, untouchable.

Because stars don’t love moons. Not really.

They don’t stop to notice the one that’s been following them through the sky. The one who’s always been there, lighting the dark in quiet ways, giving everything without ever being asked. They don’t realize the moon is just a satellite, stuck in orbit, always just close enough to see but never close enough to touch.

And the moon never complains. Not aloud.

Because to love a star is to love from afar. To stay locked in orbit, tethered by longing and gravity you never asked for. To offer silence and smiles as placeholders for truth. To take a heartbreaking, and call it friendship—because that’s the version you were willing to carry.

But still...

Didn’t you feel it?

The way her laugh faltered when yours did. How her eyes always found you in a crowd, like they were pulled there by instinct. The way she leaned in—just enough—never more. How her voice softened like an apology when it was only ever meant for you.

But you never said anything. Never stopped her. Maybe that was kindness. Or maybe cruelty. Because Brittany, for all her glitter and glamor, would rather break than be your burden. Would rather fade than make you stay.

And you—

You were never meant for her gravity. You belonged in the sky, arms stretched toward the cosmos, flying free. Not tethered to her ache. Not caught in her quiet, collapsing world.

You were meant to soar with the rest, and she—

She was the thing left behind when you took flight.

She looked down at the cards in her hands. Her Dreams, she shared with you and made them real as you promised. Hopes that once aligned. Reflections of yours—of hers. But hers had dimmed. Yours still burned. And when she looked back up, she could see it:

The way Crowe looked at you like you held the map to every lost place he’d ever known. The way you smiled back, not just with your mouth—but with your soul.

You had found somewhere to belong. And Brittany could see it so clearly now—You belonged. 

You belonged in his hands.

And that should have been enough for her. It had to be.

Because Brittany… She understood you. 

More than anyone ever did. Loved you—not the way people say they do, but in the way that destroyed her from the inside. Slowly. Softly. Like a secret that never got spoken out loud. And she buried it under perfect eyeliner, sharp humor, and the kind of charm that made people think she couldn't hurt.

But she did. She hurts.

The jealousy bloomed beneath her skin like poison—rich and purple and still somehow beautiful. It sat behind her ribs, in the hollow where your voice used to echo.

And even as she clapped for you…

Even as you laughed in the arms of someone brighter…

She smiled.

Because loving you meant letting you shine—even if it scorched everything inside her. So what did you want from her, babe? Maybe nothing. Maybe she was already giving everything—and you didn’t even notice. Maybe that had to be enough. Even if all you ever saw in her was a flicker of Crowe’s confidence, a flash of his charisma—never her heart. Never her truth.

And that was the thing no one warned her about:

Stars don’t fall for moons who wait.

They fall for other stars—ones who burn back.

[hivemuthur]

The Game of Teaching Body - Ch. 1.

viktorxfemale!reader mature! (for now, I will mark later chapters as explicit when the time comes)

AU university, AU modern era, slow burn, frenemies to lovers, teasing, pinning, banter, eventual romance and therefore smut, Viktor is simultaneously a menace and needs a hug, TA Viktor

Ch. 2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12.

word count: 4,3K

tag: #the game of teaching body

summary: Reader is a second-year science student that had just switched schools to escape the suffocating love of her parents and Viktor is being a black cat all the way through. A 12-chapter story of two emotionally problematic people falling in love through acknowledging each other's imperfections.

author's note: This is less introspective than my other fics, attempts to be lighter and funny at times. World is completely made up, even though contains some real things in it. Viktor's disability is present, but decreased (no back brace and breathing affliction). I will soon create fic masterlist and pin it on my blog and will be linking chapters with future updates.

Cross-posted on AO3 + POV3rd Person Version

—

You sat wedged between a hot, doe-eyed girl named Sue who was going to be your roommate, and some skinny guy whose name you hadn’t caught—Callum, maybe? Your friend Hale had ditched you to join his theatre group on the other side of the campus, leaving you to navigate introductions with your new course mates alone. Changing universities mid-degree was stressful, but staying back in Sheffield with your parents had been worse. So, yes, it had been the right call. A very good call, you reminded yourself.

Camden had a tiny science department with a handful of brilliant professors. It wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t Sheffield. And it had Hale, who had convinced you to come down south with promises of freedom, self-discovery, and the chance to reclaim your status as the unstoppable friend power-couple you’d been in high school (not that you had mattered at all back then, of course).

The room buzzed with overlapping conversations and sporadic bursts of laughter, the faint thrum of inoffensive pop music humming from a Bluetooth speaker in the corner. The second-year welcome party was more like a casual gathering, hosted in one of the university lounges with just enough couches and harsh fluorescent lighting to feel awkwardly cozy. You sipped from a plastic cup of lukewarm cider, your attention flitting between three different conversations happening around you.

To your left, Jayce was in the middle of an animated retelling of how he’d nearly blown up a lab during his undergrad years. His booming laugh and sweeping hand gestures kept everyone engaged, even those who had only half-heard the setup to his punchline. You found yourself smiling despite having missed most of the story. You vaguely recalled his introduction earlier in the evening—Jayce, one of the TAs for your course this year. From Sheffield, like you. Big personality, bigger grin.

On your right stood Viktor, the second TA, his hands resting lightly on his cane. He exuded a quieter kind of presence, his sharp amber eyes scanning the group with an air of detached curiosity. He’d joined the circle mid-conversation, offering the occasional dry comment that earned chuckles from those paying attention.

“You’re training to be a geneticist?” Viktor asked, leaning slightly toward you. His accent caught you off guard—it was Slavic, you thought, though you weren’t confident enough to guess further. You made a mental note to ask him about it one day.

You blinked, surprised to be addressed. “Oh, yeah,” you replied quickly, nodding. “Second year. Still deciding whether I want to focus on medical or research applications, though.” You paused. “You’re in bioengineering for your PhD, right?”

“Correct,” Viktor said with a slight upward quirk of his lips. “It is refreshing to meet someone undecided. Most claim they will change the world before finishing their first term.”

You laughed nervously, unsure if he was mocking you or just making an observation. “Yeah, I’m saving that for third year.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, his expression hovering somewhere between amused and sceptical. “Ambitious,” he said dryly.

Before you could respond, Jayce turned toward you, pulling the group’s focus with him. “What about you? Have you had Professor Albin yet? He’s a character, let me tell you. Loves his experiments more than his students.”

You grinned, drawn into the shift in energy. “Oh, yeah, I’ve heard about him. But wait, is he the one who smokes under the laboratory fume hood?”

Jayce snapped his fingers in mock recognition. “Exactly! Last year, he almost caused the whole building to evacuate because he didn’t realise the hood was broken.”

The group erupted into laughter. You found yourself relaxing, leaning into the easy rhythm of the conversation. You missed the glance Viktor cast your way, faintly bemused.

He cleared his throat, a subtle gesture that drew only a few eyes. “Albin may be forgetful, but he has published groundbreaking work on single-cell RNA sequencing. One might forgive the eccentricities, no?”

The remark hung in the air for a beat, slightly out of sync with the conversation’s playful tone. Jayce, quick to keep the mood light, grinned and waved it off. “True, but it doesn’t make his lectures any less painful.”

The laughter resumed, bubbling back up with ease. You smiled, but something about Viktor’s expression lingered in your mind—a subtle tightness around his mouth, almost imperceptible but impossible to ignore once noticed.

You thought to say something, maybe steer the conversation back toward him, but Jayce was already pulling your attention with another question, his energy impossible to resist. The moment slipped away, and with it, that fleeting glimpse of something unreadable in Viktor’s eyes.

The party dispersed shortly after midnight, and you went to find Hale for the promised cigarette and your earlier-agreed session of impression comparing. You spotted him by the fountain, his tall figure hunched over in his velvet vest, already smoking.

“My darling!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms wide in a theatrical flourish. “So, spill the tea—how was it? Anyone hot? Anyone you already hate? Good decision? Bad decision?”

“Uh… Can I bum a fag? I forgot my pack in the room.” You patted your pockets distractedly as Hale swept you into his arms, spinning you around dramatically. He placed his own cigarette between your lips with a flourish.

“I’m going to burst if you don’t tell me right now. Your mother already hates me—I need to know you don’t hate me too!”

“Joanne is going to be fine,” you replied, rolling your eyes but letting yourself be twirled in your exaggerated tango. “She already sent me, like, a thousand affirmations for my ‘new beginnings.’”

Hale dipped you low, grinning. “And?”

“I… don’t know,” you sighed as he held you in the dramatic pose. “It’s a bunch of nerds, like me, so I guess I’ll be alright.”

Hale gave you a pointed look, his brow furrowing. “You are not just some nerd. You are brilliant, and they are not ready for you.” He placed a soft kiss on your forehead, his voice gentle but firm.

“Alright, alright,” you muttered, waving him off with a small smile. “Full report is as follows: Sue, my roommate—hot and completely oblivious about it. Nobody else really standing out. It’s an even mix of guys and girls.” You started pacing along the edge of the fountain, ticking details off on your fingers. “We’ve got two TAs: one would make you drool, and the other one would make you run for your life.”

“I have to meet them both,” Hale declared with a dramatic flourish, grinning mischievously.

Hale twirled you one last time before pulling you upright with exaggerated care. “You’re lucky I’m such a gracious dance partner, darling,” he said, letting you go with a flourishing bow.

You laughed and brushed your hair out of your face. “Oh, you’re too kind. I didn’t know you’d start your evening in full drama mode.”

Hale smirked, looping his arm through yours as you strolled around the fountain. The air was crisp, the faint glow of the nearby building lights reflecting off the water. “I’m always in drama mode. You know this. Now, tell me—what’s the plan tomorrow? More parties? Some secret nerd ritual?”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him with your shoulder. “Yes, we are totally raising someone from the dead tomorrow,” you smirked. “The TAs are swinging by each room tomorrow to hand out schedules and do a quick orientation. Viktor mentioned it tonight in passing.”

Hale gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Viktor, you say? Is that the one who would make me drool or the one who’d send me running for my life?”

You laughed. “The latter. He’s got this whole ‘intimidating genius’ vibe going on, but I can’t tell if he’s just really smart or if he practices those broody stares in the mirror.”

“Oh, I have to meet this man,” Hale said with a gleam in his eye, spinning you around. “And what about the one who’d make me drool?”

“That’s Jayce,” you replied. “Big, loud, charming. Like a golden retriever who also happens to be jacked and into science.”

Hale pretended to swoon, leaning on you for support. “Be still, my heart. This place might actually be worth sticking around for.”

You smirked, brushing ash off your borrowed cigarette. “Speaking of sticking around, how was your night? Any tragic love stories waiting to happen?”

Hale shrugged nonchalantly, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Same old faces, same old dramas. Nothing new. Nobody around here who could really crush my heart, but you know me—I’ll eat anything when I’m starved.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “That’s the spirit. Settle for mediocrity!”

“It’s a survival skill, darling,” Hale replied, grinning as he plucked the cigarette from your fingers and took a long drag.

You walked in silence for a moment, your steps slow and unhurried. You glanced at the fountain, its gentle ripples catching the light, and exhaled a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.

“I think it was a good decision,” you said softly, breaking the quiet.

Hale raised an eyebrow, handing the cigarette back to you. “Camden? Or letting me drag you here tonight?”

“Both,” you admitted, a small smile playing at your lips. “Thanks for making me come. For once, I actually feel… scared of something. Not stuck.”

Hale’s expression softened, and he threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “That’s because you’re brilliant, and the world doesn’t stand a chance against you.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into the gesture, taking one last drag of the cigarette before flicking it into the fountain.

“Here’s to not being stuck,” Hale declared, lifting an imaginary glass.

“To not being stuck,” you echoed, laughing as the two of you turned and headed back toward the dorms.

***

The sound that woke you and Sue was impossible to describe—a cacophony of metal being violently banged together, accompanied by a high-pitched whining noise. Then came loud banging on the door.

A soft groan came from Sue’s bed as she rolled out, stretching her limbs before sinking onto the floor and curling into a foetal position. “I think it’s the TAs,” she said weakly, yawning.

You decided to be brave, though your first instinct was to shove a pillow over your head and wait for the monster to go away. Dragging yourself out of bed, your head pounding from the cider and cigarettes you’d had with Hale the night before, you trudged to the door. Your expression was one of pure pleading as you opened it and asked, “Is this really how you guys want to start this relationship?”

In front of you, Jayce froze mid-motion, one frying pan held in each hand. Viktor stood just behind him, clutching a bicycle horn and smirking mercilessly.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Jayce boomed, lowering the frying pans slightly but keeping his grin firmly in place, like a weapon. “Ready to seize the day?”

You squinted, shielding your eyes from the hallway light as though it were a personal attack. “Seize the day? I’m about to seize your frying pans and toss them out the window.”

Jayce laughed, completely unbothered, while Viktor raised the bicycle horn and gave it a sharp honk. “Consider it your wake-up call,” Viktor said smoothly, his smirk deepening. “Promptness is a virtue, no?”

“I’m promptly considering murder,” you muttered, glaring at them both.

Behind you, Sue groaned from her spot on the floor. “I’m not coming out. Tell them I’m dead.”

Jayce leaned sideways to peer into the room. “Good morning to you too, Sue!” he called cheerfully.

“Sod off,” Sue replied, her voice muffled by her arm.

Viktor glanced at Jayce, shaking his head slightly as though disapproving of his partner’s antics. Then he turned his attention back to you. “We are here to distribute schedules and perform a brief orientation,” he said, his tone more measured but no less smug. “You should be grateful. Only the science department students receive such... personal service.”

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, I feel so special. Is banging cookware a requirement of this personal service, or is it just a special treat for us?”

“Just for you,” Jayce said with a wink. “And hey, it worked, didn’t it? You’re awake.”

You sighed, stepping back to let them into the room. “Fine. Come in. But if you touch anything, I’m calling security.”

Jayce sauntered in like he owned the place, plopping the frying pans onto the desk with a loud clang. Viktor followed more quietly, his eyes sweeping the room in a quick, assessing glance. He placed the bicycle horn next to the pans, the absurdity of the scene making you shake your head in disbelief.

“You’re like two chaotic sitcom characters,” you said, rubbing your temples. “And I’m the poor, sleep-deprived protagonist who has to deal with your nonsense.”

Jayce grinned. “I like to think of myself as the lovable goofball.”

“And Viktor’s the straight man?” you guessed, glancing at him.

Viktor’s lips twitched, but he didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he handed you a neatly folded piece of paper. “Your schedule,” he said. “I trust you can manage to read it despite your current... condition.” He gave you a once-over and added, “Nice pyjamas.”

You looked down at yourself, remembering too late that you were wearing red cotton pants with white hearts and an oversized Nirvana sweatshirt. It was a damn nice set of pyjamas—what was the problem? You snatched the paper from him, your mouth twitching into a reluctant smile despite yourself. “Thanks. I’ll try not to faint from gratitude.”

“Much appreciated,” Viktor replied dryly.

Sue, still sprawled on the floor, finally raised her head and groaned. “Do we at least get coffee with this torture?”

Jayce perked up. “Now that’s an idea! Viktor, we should’ve brought coffee.”

“I am not your barista,” Viktor deadpanned.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the morning starting to chip away at your hangover. “Alright, alright. Give us five minutes, and we’ll join the rest of the poor souls you’ve terrorized this morning.”

“Make it three,” Viktor said, his smirk returning as he turned toward the door.

Jayce followed with a wave. “See you downstairs!”

As the door closed behind them, you turned to Sue, who was now sitting up, her hair a wild mess.

“So,” you said, leaning against the door. “Drool-worthy or run-for-your-life?”

Sue blinked, still half-asleep. “What?”

“The TAs,” you clarified, holding back a grin. “Jayce and Viktor. What’s the verdict?”

Sue rubbed her eyes, yawning. “Jayce is like a golden retriever on caffeine. Viktor... is something else. Sharp. Kinda scary. But, like, in a hot way?”

You snorted, tossing the schedule onto your desk. “I’m just trying to survive their weird buddy cop energy.”

Sue flopped back onto the floor with a groan. “Wake me up when it’s over.”

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “It’s never over, Sue. Welcome to Camden.”

***

Orientation and the first classes passed in a blur of introductions, schedules, and information overload. By the time the fifth person introduced themselves, you’d already forgotten the first three names. Professor Heimerdinger, perched at the front of the lab like an animated encyclopaedia, launched into an overview of the semester: rules for grades and exams, expectations for in-class behaviour, and a note about optional after-class activities for the particularly ambitious—or masochistic.

You braced yourself for the inevitable repeat classes like chemistry and biophysics, but it didn’t bother you. Repetition wasn’t so bad if you could zone out without missing much.

Jayce and Viktor drifted through the room during the lecture, their presence oddly complementary—one buzzing with boundless energy, the other moving with deliberate precision. They pointed out key locations: lab glass, gloves, coats, goggles, and the cabinets you’d definitely forget the moment you walked out. They handed out maps of the department and listed their office hours. Standard procedure. Functional. Dandy.

When it was finally over, Sue nudged you, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Wanna head to the bar nearby?”

“You want to drink again?” You raised an eyebrow, though her expression hinted at ulterior motives.

Sue tilted her head, all innocence. “Or… maybe I want to go to the bar to spy on our TAs,” she said, her gaze trailing after Jayce and Viktor as they left the room.

You sighed, exasperated but amused. “By my calculations, we have about a week to live before we’re buried in coursework.”

“Exactly! We should enjoy it while it lasts.” Sue clasped her hands together and unleashed the puppy eyes. “Please?” she added, her lower lip quivering with Oscar-worthy conviction.

You rolled your eyes, defeated. “I am genuinely terrified of you. And convinced I’ll never be able to say no to you. Fine. One condition: I get to drag Hale along.”

“Is Hale your hot theatre friend?” Sue’s excitement was palpable, her grin wide enough to make you laugh.

“Yes, and he’s also gay, so don’t get your hopes up. He’ll break your heart,” you warned, pulling out your phone to text him.

“I am desperate for a gay boyfriend, so please drag him along whenever you feel like it,” Sue replied, already on her feet, coat slung over her arm.

Your phone buzzed almost instantly: I know the place – seedy shithole. Be there in no time! Hale’s response sealed the deal. You were officially going to a bar to “spy” on your TAs.

The bar was, indeed, a seedy shithole, but it had a quirky charm. Posters plastered the walls, advertising plays, gigs, and questionable student endeavours. Lamps made of beer bottles cast a dim, golden light, and the furniture was an eclectic mix—like someone had raided every grandmother’s attic in a three-mile radius. A fireplace crackled in one corner, surrounded by mismatched cushions for floor seating, and a jukebox stood proudly by the bar, humming with potential.

You approached the bar with Sue, scanning the menu. Sue’s brows furrowed in confusion as she searched for something that wasn’t beer. The bartender, a man with a weathered face and a disarming smile, leaned in. “What can I do for you, honey?”

Sue’s voice turned soft and sweet, almost like a fairy casting a spell. “Do you have anything… sweet?”

The bartender paused, giving her a look like he’d climb mountains to fetch whatever she wanted. For a moment, you wondered if he might actually run to another bar, buy something sugary, and bring it back. The thought made you chuckle as you watched Sue charm her way to a perfect drink.

“Let me surprise you,” the bartender said, flashing Sue a sweet smile before turning to you. “And for you, darling?”

“I’ll just have a pint, cheers,” you replied, your gaze lingering on the heartwarming interaction between the adorable Sue and the massive, tattooed bartender.

“Ah! Let me get this,” you registered an arm sliding between you and Sue, holding a credit card. “Since we forgot the coffees this morning,” Jayce’s familiar grin soon followed, putting a face to the offering hand.

“I’ll be the one buying drinks for my pookie today,” a strong arm wrapped around your neck and shoulders, and you immediately recognized Hale’s voice from above you. “Let me guess… drool-worthy and”—his eyes shifted toward Viktor—“run-for-your-life?”

“I’ve also been called ‘the straight man,’” Viktor remarked, giving you a questioning look.

“Ah, I can see why,” Hale replied, on the verge of ruining your chances for any semblance of dignity this semester. Then he turned to Sue. “And you must be the hot Sue?”

“Oh my god, did you say that?” Sue squeaked playfully, leaning over to grab your hand. “I think you’re hot too,” she added with a wink.

You wanted to sink deep underground and let the demons of hell swallow you whole.

Waiting for your drink to be poured, you watched Jayce, Sue, and Hale drift toward the fireplace sitting area, Hale’s arm already wrapped around your roommate as they chatted animatedly.

“You seem to have a lot of opinions already formed,” Viktor’s voice came from above your shoulder as he reached for his drink—a vodka on the rocks.

“Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll indeed run for my life,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at him, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

Viktor raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. “Is that so?” His tone was smooth, with just a hint of challenge.

“Absolutely,” you replied, leaning in slightly with mock seriousness. “You’re giving off dangerous, 'I’ve got a sarcastic comment for everything' vibes. It's a threat.”

Viktor chuckled, the sound warm and surprisingly disarming. “A threat, huh? I’ll have to be careful then.” He took a sip of his drink, his eyes glinting. “Don’t worry. I won’t bite.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile forming at the edge of your mouth. “I wasn’t worried.”

For a moment, you both stood there, the noise of the bar buzzing around you. Viktor’s gaze lingered a moment too long, making you feel slightly off balance. Then, with a casual shrug, he turned back to the group by the fireplace.

“Let’s go join the chaos,” he said nonchalantly, throwing you a brief glance over his shoulder as he walked away.

You followed, still trying to shake the unexpected buzz of the encounter. It was weird how Viktor could throw you off without even trying.

By the time you approached the group, Hale had already charmed Jayce and Sue, effortlessly pulling them into his world with animated tales of his theatre exploits. He gestured enthusiastically, his voice rich with excitement. “So, we’re doing Rocky Horror Picture Show this year for the mid-semester final,” he announced, his theatrical tone drawing everyone in. “We’re looking for actors—are any of you up for it?”

Sue, looking both intrigued and a little unsure, glanced over at Jayce, who was already grinning. “I’m afraid that my singing would have you fail the final, Hale,” Jayce said with a laugh, clearly weighing the possibilities. “I will gladly come and watch, though?”

Hale grinned wider. “I’ll put you in the front row! And Y/N’s been trying to convince me to take on Frank N. Furter’s part, which made me think she’d make a killer Janet.”

At that, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, your playful tone cutting through the banter. “Only if I can play Magenta,” you said, tossing your head back slightly. “Otherwise, it's a no-go.”

The group chuckled, but Jayce, who had been half-listening as they continued talking, suddenly perked up. “Wait, hold on. Are you both actually from Sheffield?” He leaned forward slightly, clearly curious.

You smirked, folding your arms across your chest and leaning in, dropping the playful façade for a second. “I don’t have my Pulp T-shirt on me today,” you quipped, “but I can show you my ID?”

Raising an eyebrow, you knew full well that a bit of playful sarcasm could spark a reaction. Viktor, standing just a few steps behind, glanced over at you as your words hit the air. His eyes flicked between you and Jayce, his attention sharpened but still calm, like he was quietly enjoying your back-and-forth with the others.

Jayce laughed, shaking his head. “You really are from Sheffield, aren’t you?”

“Born and bred,” you shot back with a grin, your hands slipping into your pockets. “Don’t let the accent fool you.”

Viktor took a small sip of his drink, a glimmer of amusement flickering in his gaze as he continued to watch you. You had a way of carrying yourself—like you knew how to hold your ground, even when teasing. And now that you had mentioned it, there was a non-Sheffield accent lingering underneath your words.

“Eh, it’s not a place for stars like us,” Hale mused, giving your thigh a playful squeeze.

“My darling, brilliant man, you know all I wish for you is to never step foot in that shithole again and rise to stardom so fast the bystanders get their eyes burned,” you replied with a dramatic flourish, your grin wide and teasing.

Jayce laughed, raising his beer. “Well, before anyone dies burned by Hale’s halo, I guess we could all drag along back for Christmas together?”

“Jayce, if there is anything to drag by then, be my guest,” you responded with a quiet clank of your glass against Jayce’s.

“Oh yes, Christmas is a must. I have to bring a peace offering to Y/N’s mother for stealing her precious daughter away from the family nest,” Hale said, making an exaggerated frightened face when mentioning your mum, Joanne.

“Hale, repeat after me: Joanne is going to be fine. It’s about time she grows up.”

***

Jayce and Viktor walked down the dimly lit street, the buzz of the bar still echoing in their steps. The night air was cool, and the muffled sounds of laughter and music faded behind them as they made their way back to the dorms.

“I love freshmen,” Jayce said, a grin tugging at his lips.

Viktor shot him a sidelong glance. “That’s disturbing.”

“Come on, they’re cute.” Jayce shrugged; his tone playful. “Good idea with the morning orchestra, by the way. Got them all riled up.”

Viktor’s lips twitched at the memory. “The girls sure have their eyes on you.” He looked at Jayce, raising an eyebrow. “You planning on visiting Y/N’s family for Christmas already?”

Jayce laughed. “I don’t know, man. I have a feeling her eyes are actually on you.”

Viktor paused mid-step, narrowing his eyes. “She literally called me 'the straight man' and the 'run-for-your-life-one.' I highly doubt it.”

Jayce nudged him with his elbow. “You know nothing about girls, Viktor.” Viktor gave him a sceptical look, but Jayce’s grin only grew wider, and for once, Viktor couldn't help but wonder if Jayce was right.

[englishisaboutconfidence]

Mi Amor :Part 1 of Ahyeon knows best

--

You don't truly care about Ahyeon.

She's one of your sister's best friends so of course you care about her because of your sister, but you yourself don't truly care about her.

At least that's what you tell yourself…

--

It's your first semester at University and frankly, you are killing it. Okay, you might not be popular or doing extremely well in your classes, but you have found a great group of friends, and you are having a great time even if your sister is attending the same school as you. You and your sister Pharita were never the closest, but being the same age (you were adopted from Vietnam by her family when you were 10 months old, so this is the only family you have known) you two still had a very good relationship. The only problem you have, well not really a problem per say, is that her best friend Ahyeon is also student here and they lived together.

Throughout your childhood, it had been impossible not to notice Ahyeon. Whether it was at school because she was always the most popular while still doing well in her classes, or at home because she and your sister had been joined at the hip ever since they met in the 1st grade. Ahyeon, while extremely popular and smart, was also a very kind and down to earth person, so there was no logical reason for you to be annoyed at her; but nonetheless, she annoyed the hell out of you. She was always over at your house, hanging with your sister, even being over when your sister wasn't home. Your parents loved her and treated her like their third child, so whenever you complained about her to them, they would just laugh it off and say you were being overdramatic. But the thing was, you weren't being overdramatic, you literally couldn't spend more than hour without seeing her. You and her were always in the same class at school, even when Pharita was in another one. She was always at your house, even when Pharita was doing something else. She even would invade your room, take naps in your bed, and even forced you to keep a lounging chair next to your gaming setup so she could "watch". The only time you had a break from her was when she would go home, which some nights she didn't even sleep at since your parents insisted on giving her a bed in Pharita's room.

So yes, while you didn't have a real reason to be annoyed at her, her constant physical presence was enough of a reason in your eyes to be hold a grudge against her; so you didn't even need to mention the fact that another reason you were so annoyed by her was the fact that you could never get her out of your head…

--

You and Pharita had a mutually understanding that you were going to give each other some space while on campus so each of you could have a freshman experience without everyone grouping you together as siblings. You two said hi in passings or would approach each other if necessary; but it wouldn't be over the top. Unfortunately, this did not hold true with your relationship with Ahyeon. Unluckily, you two were both Economics majors and somehow were again in all of the same classes; and of course she insisted on sitting next you (even forcing you to sit with her when you came to class after her). Although she did spare you from any interactions aside from group projects and general chit chat during class or during group discussions.

Luckily, non of your friends shared your major or any classes with you, so you were able to dodge the "you know Ahyeon" discovery… for a while at least.

It was the Thursday before Fall Break, so you were hanging out with a few of your friends in your dorm when your dorm mate Niki walked in with one of the class mates who was paired up with for a group project.

"Hey guys, this is Theo from my Marketing class. Theo, these are my friends Sunghoon, Jinyoung. And Y/N. Y/N is also my dorm mate".

"It's nice to meet you all" Theo said. He then looked at you and said "Wait, do I know you? Are you in Principles of Mico Thursday morning block?".

"Yeah I am" you responded. "Dude, how did you get so close with Ahyeon? You two are always sitting together and are always partners in discussions and projects. Every other guy in our class has asked Ahyeon to partner with them but she always just tells them she already has one. I've also spoken with other Econ majors who share more classes with her and they told me that it's the same in every other class too."

"Wait you know Ahyeon???" your three friends practically screamed which only caused you to sigh in annoyance cause of course Ahyeon had to ruin your college experience as well.

Dude to her and Pharita's popular in high school, guys were always asking for your help in hopes of dating one of the two. And of course, the two of them had also rise to fame on your college campus as well due to their looks and intelligence, they were both seen as the complete package, so guys were lining up in hopes of dating them. Luckily, most guys hadn't realized your history with Ahyeon (or so you had thought) and most of them had the common sense to not ask the brother of the girl they were trying to get with for help.

"Yeah, I went to school with her and she is my sister's best friend"

Putting two and two together, "Wait your sister is Pharita???"

"Ugh, yep. And no I will not help any of you 'bag' her" You tiredly said.

Annoyed with their constant badgering, you eventually kicked them all out of your dorm even Niki who just worked on his project in the study room.

After a few hours, your friends stop bugging you about Ahyeon and Pharita and asked if you wanted to grab dinner at the dining hall. After grabbing some food and finding a place to sit, you were happily eating and chatting with your friends when a cheesecake was placed in front of you and you heard a chair pulled up next to you. Whoever sat next to you started to take forkfuls of the cheesecake, before being rebuffed by a familiar voice "Ahyeon! You aren't supposed to eat that yet, I need it to bribe my brother".

Looking to your right, you see Ahyeon stuffing her face with your cheesecake and behind her, your sister Pharita.

"Hey sis, what's up?"

"Mom and Dad want me to stay at the house this weekend and take care of Lucy (the family dog who was a gift for my sister when she was 14); but I want camping over the break, would you please watch her instead?"

"I don't want to go home over the break. I want to stay here and hang out with my friends" "Please Y/N, I'll owe you"

While you were mulling it over, Ahyeon stopped eating and spoke up "Oh shit, I forgot to tell you Pharita. I told your parents I could watch Lucy last night."

"Really Ahyeon, you don't want to go camping with the rest of the girls?"

"Yeah, I never liked camping and plus, now you owe me :)" Ahyeon said.

"Thanks, I appreciate you giving up your fall break." your sister happily responded.

"Of course, anything for my best friend. Although…" Ahyeon said while turning and giving you a quick smirk "your parents did say that they didn't want me to stay there all alone all break, so they are going to call and tell Y/N that he has to stay there too".

As she said that, your phone started to buzz and you picked up phone to see your Mom calling. You sent Ahyeon a quick glare before picking up the phone "Hey Mom" you said before hearing your her tell you exactly what Ahyeon said "Fine" you responded before hanging up. Glaring once again at Ahyeon, she responded with a raise of her fork, once again full of your cheesecake, "you should really eat this before its all gone Y/N". Like a child not willing to share their candy, you snatched the rest of the cheesecake from her.

With a look of victory, Ahyeon stood up and gave you a condescending pat on the head before saying leaving and saying "See you later"

You angrily ate what was remaining of the cheesecake while your friends started babbling about how lucky you were getting to spend a weekend alone with Jung Ahyeon.

--

A few hours later, your sister let you into her and Ahyeon's dorm before saying a quick thank you to Ahyeon and leaving for her camping trip, leaving you alone with Ahyeon once again while she grabbed a few things she needed for the weekend.

"Stop looking so grumpy Y/N, be happy, you get to spend a weekend with your puppy and a beautiful girl. What's better than that?" Ahyeon said while sporting a shit eating grin.

Being the mature adult you were, you eloquently responded with a quick "Blah Blah Blah".

"Don't worry, I just need one more thing and then we can head out" Ahyeon then starting to try to grab a hoodie that she had placed on the top shelf in her closet. Her attempts at grabbing the hoodie cause the bottom of her tank top to rise significantly which gave you a great view of her lower back as well as her ass which was framed perfectly by her leggings. You didn't realize how much of a trance you were in that when she had grabbed her hoodie and turned around, you didn't realize you were staring at her perfect abs and they were right in front of you and she had lifted your head to meet her eyes. "Eyes up here babe" She said before turning around and giving you another view of her ass while she walked to grab her bag while putting on her hoodie.

"Whatever" you grumbled

--

A 25 min Uber ride later, you and Ahyeon entered your house and were greeted by your Goldendoodle Lucy. After giving her the pets she deserved, you and Ahyeon went to put your bags down in your respective rooms… except when you entered your room, Ahyeon followed you instead of heading to her own designated room.

"Umm, what are you doing Ahyeon?"

"Nothing babe, just putting my stuff in our room"

"What do you mean our room?"

"God, you are such a jokester Y/N" Ahyeon said while she started to unpack her backpack and put her stuff in your drawers. Well, in the drawers should had stolen from you over the years. Here's the thing that nobody else saw, it was that Ahyeon had pretty much inserted herself into your life, stuff, and area from the second she entered your life. Your parents knew that Ahyeon kept clothes in your room and spent most of her time at your house in either yours or Pharita's room even when they gave her own. Oftentimes, she would even steal your bed from you and force you to share your bed with her… the nerve! Oh yeah, she also would fuck with your head by calling you all the pet names in the world… PLUS she would even purposely wear little to no clothes or thirst trap clothing around you and then make fun of you for checking her out. It's not your fault that you're a young man with raging hormones. Ahyeon was the worst and no one else would ever believe you about that.

Giving up, you go back down to the main floor and let Lucy would to use the rest room. After bringing her back inside and making sure she had enough water, you grabbed a few beers and a bottle of soju. You quickly took 2 shots of the soju to help you deal with the rest of the night before sitting down on the couch and flipping through Netflix. While you were browsing, Ahyeon had finished unpacking and came back down, once again only sporting her tight black leggings and a flimsy little pink tank top. Out of the corner of your eye, you see her start to approach the couch in her "casual" wear. You expect her to grab a seat at the end of the couch or even in the middle; but what you didn't expect was her standing in front of you with your eyes directly in line with her breasts barely covered by her tank top and no bra, since you could clearly make out her hardened nipples. Your mind went blank aside from the almost overpowering urge to take one into your mouth. You were knocked out of your daze when Ahyeon shoved you back against the couch before turning around (and giving you a great view of her ass) and plopping right down on your lap.

This caused your already slightly hardened cock to harden even more. You tried to adjust so that Ahyeon wouldn't feel your mounting erection; but every time you tried to move your cock away from her ass, Ahyeon shifted so that she was firmly planted on your hardened dick. "Ahyeon" you warned but she just ignored you and stole the remote and turning on The Office. She then leaned back and grabbed your arms so you were wrapped around her waist that was only partly covered by her shirt. Not liking how part of you was touching her directly and the other touching her shirt, Ahyeon moved your arms so they were both under her top and against her perfectly sculpted abs.

You two stayed like this for a few minutes, with your heart pounding 200 MPH. While you weren't a total stranger to these kind of situations with Ahyeon (she loved to sit on you or near you while watching TV even when your parents or sister were there too and she would force you to cuddle her when she stole your bed); but something about this was different. You don't know if it was the soju, your hormones, or maybe the fact that your friends had been grilling you about Ahyeon because as they said "she was the hottest piece of ass" at your school; but the feeling of her body and the strands of her hair slightly blocking your full view of her face, caused you to be unable to focus on anything but her. Ahyeon, of course, noticed this and turned to face you after you were staring a little too long.

"Y/N, I know I'm beautiful, but you should really focus more on the show"

She said before giving you a peck on your cheek. She had given you dozens of pecks on the cheek over the years and your normal response was to push her off of you and to scoff; but today for some reason, her act of affection (and not of mockery which you would later find out), only caused you to blush. Which of course she caught.

"Oh, Y/N, are you blushing because I kissed you on the cheek?"

"Pfft, of course not Ahyeon"

This only egged her on, so of course she turned around fully, so she was now straddling you and could clearly feel your arousal, while before you could at least pretend that she might not have felt it when facing the tv. This new position caused you to subconsciously move your arms from around her waist to her hips. She then leaned in so close to you that your lips were practically touching, before saying:

"Really, then lets see how you react to this" before capturing your lips with hers. Overwhelmed by the emotions you were feeling, you two were lost in the kiss for a good 30 seconds before you finally broke apart for some air while resting your foreheads together. You slowly went over every part of her face before finally meeting her eye to eye. Unsure of where it came from and with nothing left in your brain, you softly breathed out the words that you never thought you would say to Ahyeon "I Love you".

Realizing what you said, you quickly tried to find to mutter out an excuse for why you said that and that you didn't mean it and you don't know where the hell that came from; but before you could do so, Ahyeon once again captured your lips with hers and you quickly responded with equal fervor. After a few dozen seconds of mindlessly making out, you two once again broke apart. Before you could put your foot anymore in your mouth, Ahyeon quickly silenced you with a finger on your lips.

"I love you too Y/N. I have for a long time"

Completely baffled and confused by what you just heard, you asked her to repeat it.

"I love you Y/N"

"What do you mean you love me???"

"I mean that I love you, I want to marry you, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and of course, I want to be the mother of your children"

"Wait, are you being serious Ahyeon because I swear to god if you are fucking with me"

Softly grabbing your chin and forcing you to stare at her straight in the eyes, Ahyeon slowly spoke "I love you Y/N. I always have and always will."

Still confused, you stupidly asked "So all the times you spent with me and all the times you forced me to cuddle or hold you or even kiss you for kissing practice, it's because you liked me and because you wanted to fuck with me?"

Softly laughing, Ahyeon responded "LOVE, not like. And partially yes and partially no on the fucking with you part. Of course, I want to spend time with you and being held by you; but it was also fun to make you think I was doing it to fuck with you. You know all is fair in love and war".

Seeing that you were still trying to wrap your head around everything, Ahyeon decided to give you clear push "Are you going to keep acting like I gave you a math problem 3 classes beyond your comprehension level or are you going to ask me to help with your little situation down there? I am your girlfriend after all"

"Huh" is all you could come up with in responds which only caused Ahyeon to giggle before standing up, grabbing your hand, and dragging you to your (and Her’s now too apparently) room. She then once again shoved you but this time you fell back onto your bed before she climbed on top and started to straddle you again. Knowing that you wouldn't be able to function without more answers, she decided to fill in some blanks for you that she knew you would be wondering about "I started liking you in the 5th grade and decided we would end up together in the 7th grade. You started to like me in the 6th grade, remember when we were at the waterpark and those boys kept annoying me and you came over to sit next to me while I was messing around with the tube, well that's when I knew that you liked me too. While you have always been a good guy, after that interaction, you always kept me in your line of sight when we were together and would always rest your eyes on me and I noticed that even if you didn't notice it yourself. Now for the dating part, we started dating our Junior year of high school when we went to get dinner just the two of us and your parents and sister were busy. Cool?" "Uh Huh" you intelligently responded.

"Perfect, now let's get down to business" Ahyeon responded before taking off her tank top to reveal her naked boobs adorned with the most beautiful pink areolas.

Once again caught staring and with no thoughts in your head, Ahyeon started to lose some bravado due to your lack of action and meekly said "Please Y/N"

Realizing how much of an asshole you were being and finally letting your brain turn off in a good way, you let your instincts take hold and you quickly captured one of her tits in your mouth and the other with your left hand. After given each of her tits the worship they deserved, you finally tore your head away her chest and quickly captured her lips with yours. While you two you were busy making out, you softly switched your positions so she was lying on the bed and you were above her. After a few more seconds of frantic kisses, you separated her and said the feeling that you hadn't realized had been present in your for so long and had shaped your life in such drastic ways

"I love you Ahyeon. I'm so sorry it has taken me so long to realize how much of a dumb ass I am; but I love you so much and I can't believe how blessed I am to have you in my life."

Her face filled with joy and eyes close to tears, Ahyeon happily responded "I love you too Y/N. And I am serious, I want you".

Hearing her reaffirmation of her feelings led you once again kissed her, this time while trying to take off her top. Wanting to spare you the struggle, Ahyeon separated you two and took off her tank top leaving you dazed and your attention ensnared by her naked breasts. Noticing your distraction, Ahyeon started to take off your shit which you absentmindedly helped her do while your main focus was still on those beautiful orbs hanging off her naked chest. Knowing you were still stun locked, Ahyeon moved your hands to her tits and started to dry hump you while making out. You quickly get the message and start groping her wonderful tits adorned with the most beautiful areolas you had ever seen. After a few minutes of mindless groping and kissing, you two finally separated. Seeing your lust filled eyes, Ahyeon stood up and grabbed your hand, pulling you up the stores and back into your bedroom, before shoving you onto your bed.

Falling backwards, your eyes naturally land once again on those perfect tear drops that Ahyeon called her tits.

"Eyes up here Y/N" Ahyeon said before slowly stripping her form fitting leggings.

Seeing what she was doing, your eyes once again wandered below her face, but this time went past her chest and found themselves landing on her naked pussy. Confused but not disappointed you asked Ahyeon "Ahyeon, were you not wearing any panties?". Seeing her shack her head, your dick throbbed even more.

"Y/N sweetie, if you are going to bury that cock of yours in this waiting pussy, you are going to need to take off those pants"

Hearing this, you got off the bed and quickly discarded your pants before grabbing Ahyeon and pulling her onto your bed so she was laying down now.

Softly grabbing her face, "are you sure about this Ahyeon?"

Giving you a quick peck, she responded "Of course baby, I've been waiting for this for a long time. Saving myself just for you".

Hearing her words of confirmation, you line your dick with her entrance and slowly pushed in, pausing for a bit when she would make a noise of discomfort, before slowing burying yourself to the hilt.

"Is it all in?"

"Yep"

"Okay you can start moving"

Hearing this, you slowly start to move inside of her. Pulling out almost completely before burying yourself in her once again. Once again lifting her face to meet yours, you giver her a soft kiss while thrusting in and out of her. After a few minutes of making love, you feel yourself start to lose control.

Sensing her release nearing as well, Ahyeon softly said "I'm close Y/N. Please Please. Fuck. Please come inside me. Show me how much you love me"

You quickly capture her lips in a bruising kiss and a few thrusts later, you feel her tighten around you and start to release her sweet nectar. The added tightening along with her legs wrapping around you to lock you in place, you lose your resolve and you start to feel yourself fill Ahyeon with rope after rope of your cum. The feeling of you spilling inside of her causes Ahyeon to have a second mini orgasm which causes you to empty every last ounce of your seed in her.

Feeling that you both were spent, you flipped you and Ahyeon over so now she was laying on top of you, you give her a few soft kisses before starting to pull out. Feeling you pull out, Ahyeon quickly wraps her legs around you again and forces you to bury your entire length in her once again.

"Don’t you dare fucking pull out Y/N. If you ever fully exit me tonight, I will make your life a living hell."

The mix of Ahyeon's threat along with the feeling of once again being fully inside of her causes your dick to twitch which of course she feels.

"See Y/N, even your body doesn't want to be separated. Or is it that I acted like a bit of a tsundere? I'm kidding baby… I know you like your women sweet but also cold as hell."

You simply respond with "I love you"

"I love you too baby. And after a quick rest, you are going to fuck me and give a few more loads to this needy little cunt. And when I mean fuck Y/N, I mean fucking me with the intent to fuck the ever living shit of me while marking me as yours. You're going to breed this pussy and give it so much of your spunk that it will be leaking for days. I don't want to be able to walk, okay?"

Being the normal person you are, you gave her a quick kiss on the lips before saying "I can't wait to marry you and see you as the mother of my kids"

Soft slapping your chest, Ahyeon said "Hey, you can't just respond with such a sweet statement".

"Oh I'm so sorry Ahyeon. Do you want me to talk about how many times I jerked off to a picture of you? Of how I can get off to just the sight of you in the simplest clothing? Or do you want me to talk about all the fantasies I have had of fucking you unconscious, of filling you with so much of my cum that its impossible for you to not get knocked up, of breeding you so that everyone knows you are mine?"

"That's better, so much better baby"

Whispering into her ear, you quietly tell her "Or should I talk about the fact that I've dreamed off spending nights with your pussy warming this cock before burying inside that tight little ass of yours. Of swapping between this cunt and this ass so many times I couldn't even remember where I was buried inside."

"Yes" she simply said while smirking.

"Good, because I intend on falling asleep every night for the rest of my life with you in my arms and my cock buried in your pussy"

Giving you quick peck, Ahyeon said "Your pussy. I am yours and you are mine."

Smiling, you pull her close and let sleep take hold of you.

--

A few hours later, you wake up disoriented and sore. You try to raise your right arm to swipe the sleep out of your eyes, but you are unable to raise it as Ahyeon has made sure to trap it between your bodies. Seeing her sleeping form, you suddenly remember all that happened last night, specifically how you fell asleep. Remembering that, you feel your cock start to harden which elicits a soft moan out of Ahyeon. You try to pull out of her warmth but her weight along with your body not really wanting for you to pull out causes you to reenter her fully after pulling out halfway. This causes Ahyeon to moan louder and for her to walls to squeeze you even tighter causing you also to release a quiet moan. You try to calm yourself but your body works against you and starts to softy thrust in and out of Ahyeon while she was still asleep. Eventually you succumb to your base desires and you flip Ahyeon and you over, while making sure to remain buried inside of her, before you start thrusting even faster. After a few minutes of fucking Ahyeon while she was asleep, you let your release take hold and you fill her cunt with her your seed once again. Feeling your seed fill her, Ahyeon's orgasm quickly follows yours accompanied by Ahyeon screaming your name.

Startled, you look down to see Ahyeon's smirking face "Were you really so horny Y/N that you fucked me while I was asleep"

"I I I" you start to stammer out before being cut off by Ahyeon

"Don't worry babe. I love the feeling of you filling me especially as a good morning present". Leaning in close, she whispered "I've had so many wet dreams where I woke up to you fucking the shit out of me and creampieing my little pussy". Before giving you a quick kiss and saying "now that we've had our morning fuck, carry me to the shower and we can experience shower sex for this first time too"

You get up and carry Ahyeon to the bathroom as fast possible, while making sure that your cock stays perfectly warm inside of Ahyeon's snatch. Turning on the shower, you begin to make out with Ahyeon against the class waiting for the water to warm up. After a few seconds, you bring you and Ahyeon inside the shower walls and under the stream of hot water. Seeing the water flow over her body, you start to harden inside of her once again. After giving her a few more quick kisses, you start to worship the rest of her upper body. Making sure to give the appropriate attention to her neck and even more to her teardrop shaped tits, giving both of them a few squeezes before capturing each of them with your mouth and sucking on her pink areolas like you were trying to get her milk. Knowing your love of her tits, Ahyeon had to pull you off of them and pull your face back up to hers before assaulting your mouth with hers. Remembering your main goal, you push her back against the wall before grabbing her ass (while she locks you in place with her legs) and quickly start burying yourself inside of her over and over again before eventually pushing her to her peak which was quickly followed by yours. After a few seconds of respite, you finally pull out of her after over 12hrs of being inside of her and you two quickly wash each other (with you giving extra attention both with your hands and mouth to her abs, ass, and of course pussy) before you both exit the showers and dry off. Not bothering to put on a towel, you both start to leave the bathroom before Ahyeon turns around and places a hand on your chest to stop you.

She slowly glides her body up against yours and whispers in your left ear "Don't forget what I said. This cock is mine and my cunt is yours" before grabbing your cock and giving it a few quick strokes to make it harden a bit and guiding it inside her. After a few seconds of recover and readjustment to the tightness and warmth, you smirk and respond to her with "Oh don't worry honey, I will make sure you remember who you belong to. before grabbing her ass and giving it a few quick squeezes which only causes Ahyeon to smirk even more and tighten around you.

The rest of the weekend goes by relatively quickly and in the same manner as the first night. You two don't bother to wear any clothing the entire weekend nor do you have to leave since your parents had stocked the fridge with enough food for the weekend and following week and if either you didn't feel like cooking, you ordered food in. With your basic needs met, you two were free to fuck to your hearts delight. You spent 99% of the weekend buried inside of Ahyeon's ass or pussy (with your first time taking her ass being the play fight/fuck after you two made breakfast after the first night). There were a few times throughout the weekend that you actually tried to pull out of her before while cumming; but each time, she would beg you to breed her or fill her or creampie her or whatever she would say, and you were powerless to do anything except fulfill her wish, you were a first time boyfriend and happy wife leads to happy life so who were you to deny her what she wanted.

When you returned to your dorm Sunday night, your friends asked you about your weekend with Ahyeon and you simply responded with "It was good. A lot better than I thought it would be" before ignoring the rest of their questions before queuing up a game of LoL.

[lilyprettyremy]

Mastering the It Girl Life on Campus/ at school : Confidence, Class, and Style

On-Campus Essentials: Sophisticated and Ready to Conquer

Structured mini tote – Think sleek and polished. Choose something that says "I'm on my game" while fitting your essentials: a slim laptop, your chic planner, and a pair of sunnies.

Signature scent – A travel-sized luxury perfume, like Byredo or Le Labo. It leaves a lasting impression without overpowering.

Hydro flask in a neutral tone – Hydration, but make it aesthetic. Bonus points if it matches your outfit.

Protein bar or matcha to-go – Snacks are essential, but we’re keeping it elevated. Opt for a protein bar with clean ingredients or a homemade matcha latte in a reusable tumbler.

AirPods Max or sleek earbuds – Perfect for tuning out the noise between classes with a curated podcast or chill playlist, keeping your energy cool and collected.

In Class: Own the Room with Confidence and Intelligence

Effortless note-taking setup – Digital is where it’s at. Use a tablet with a stylus for sleek, organized notes that sync across all your devices. Bonus: it looks high-tech and minimalistic.

Command attention – Sit where you can engage, but it’s not about the front row anymore—it’s about being present and prepared. Contribute thoughtfully when needed, and stay poised.

All-in-one app for organization – Ditch the old-school planner. Use an app like Notion or Google Calendar to sync your schedule, assignments, and deadlines. Effortlessly keep everything streamlined and on point.

Refined confidence – Instead of always speaking up, choose your moments wisely. Command attention through well-thought-out points that showcase your intellect, not just participation.

Breaks Between Classes: Elevate Your Downtime

Mini face mist – A refreshing face mist with a subtle scent keeps your skin hydrated and glowing, giving you a post-class refresh. Think Tatcha or a rose water mist.

Quick mirror check – Always have a compact mirror to do a quick hair and lip check. It's about looking polished and put together without effort.

Reset with movement – Walk around campus to stay energized, but with intention. Pop in your favorite playlist, take in the surroundings, and use this time to clear your mind before the next task.

Digital declutter – Use breaks to clear out any unnecessary tabs, update your notes, or respond to quick emails. Keeping your digital life tidy is the new version of looking organized.

[kevenchi]

★ — READ YOU LIKE A BOOK

★ — pairing: professor!abby x fem!librarian

★ — abby always kept an eye on you. working here was her distraction. you were smart, beautiful, and read her with ease.

★ — warnings: sexual content

★ — moodboard by me :)

🏷️ — @rosemariiaa @d3arapril @grey-jedi12 @mystellenia @vicsstufff @layalisthings

The library was quiet in the late afternoon, the golden sunlight streaming through the high windows, illuminating the rows of bookshelves. You were perched on your usual stool at the circulation desk, checking in a cart full of returns when you heard the familiar sound of hesitant footsteps.

Looking up, you saw her--Professor Abby Anderson.

Abby was a regular at the library, often dropping by to borrow research materials for her lectures, or just to spend time reading in the quiet corners of the building. Her reputation on campus was one of brilliance and humility, though she was known to be shy. But with you, there was something else--something that made her smile linger a little longer, her voice lower when she spoke.

"Hey," Abby greeted, her hands shoved into the pockets of her blazer, her cheeks already tinged pink.

"Hi, Professor Anderson," you replied, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. "What brings you here today?"

"Abby. Abby is fine," she corrected softly, glancing away for a moment before meeting your eyes again. "I was, um, hoping you might help me with something."

"Of course I can," you said, setting your work aside. "What'd you need?"

Abby hesitated, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "I--uh--there's this... thing I'm working on. In my office. At home. And I thought maybe... you'd like to come by? Help me organize?”

You blinked in surprise, her nervousness catching you off guard. It wasn't unusual for professors to ask for help finding books or resources, but an invitation to her home? That was new.

"I'd love to," you said, your curiosity piqued.

Abby's face lit up with a shy smile. "Great. Tonight? Around seven?"

"Sure," you agreed, your heart skipping a beat at the way her blue eyes sparkled.

----

Abby's apartment was exactly what you'd imagined—tidy, warm, and filled with books.

Shelves lined the walls of her living room, and soft lighting gave the space a cozy glow. She led you to her office, a smaller room tucked away at the back of the penthouse.

The office was a mix of order and chaos. Her desk was covered in papers and notebooks, while the shelves were stacked with books of varying sizes, some teetering on the edge. A small couch sat against one wall, and a window overlooked the street below.

"Sorry about the mess," Abby said, scratching the back of her neck. "I've been meaning to organize it for a while, but I always get... distracted."

"It's not so bad," you said, stepping inside and taking it all in. "It feels... lived-in. Comfortable."

She smiled at that, her eyes following you as you wandered around the room.

As you reached her desk, you leaned back against it, running your fingers along the edge. "This is a nice setup," you said, glancing at her.

Abby froze for a moment, her gaze fixed on you. You could see the faintest hint of pink creeping up her neck as her eyes darted from your face to where you were sitting, her mind clearly elsewhere.

"You okay?" you asked, tilting your head in amusement.

"Y-yeah," she stammered, rubbing the back of her neck. "Just, uh... you look really good there."

"On your desk?" you teased, arching an eyebrow.

Abby swallowed hard, her lips curving into a nervous smile. "Maybe."

The air between you grew heavier, the playful tension shifting into something deeper. Abby took a tentative step closer, her hands twitching at her sides as if unsure of what to do.

"You're staring," you pointed out, though your voice was softer now, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Can't help it," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Something in her tone made your breath catch. You reached out, brushing your fingers against her hand. That small touch seemed to break the spell holding her back.

Abby closed the distance between you, her hands resting on either side of the desk, caging you in but still giving you space to pull away.

"Is this okay?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

"Yes," you whispered, your gaze locked on hers.

Her lips met yours in a tentative kiss, soft and searching. But as you leaned into her, your arms wrapping around her neck, the kiss deepened. Abby's hand found your waist, pulling you closer as her other hand rested on the desk beside you.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, her forehead resting against yours.

"I've wanted to do that for a while," Abby admitted, her voice still shaky.

"Why didn't you?" you asked, smiling as you ran your fingers through her blonde hair.

"Didn't think l'd have the courage," she said with a soft laugh.

You cupped her face, your thumb brushing against her cheek. "You've got more courage than you think."

“You wanna test that theory?” Abby says, a sly grin creeping across her face.

“Maybe I do, Professor.”

——

You’re sitting pretty on Abby’s sleek, wooden desk, short pencil skirt leaving nothing to the imagination.

“Need you to take this off, honey.” Abby says, gesturing your neatly tucked blouse, that was practically see-through. Seeing you everyday in this little skirt drove Abby crazy, and spreading your legs open for her satisfaction was all she could think about.

“W-whatever you want, professor.” You whine, as Abby slowly slides her hands on your sides, towering over you to kiss your neck.

“What’d I tell you, honey. Abby. Call me Abby.” She says teasingly, brushing your hair away from your face.

“You smell so fuckin’ good, baby.” She murmurs into your ear, kissing that sweet spot on your neck, causing a moan to erupt from your core.

“You liked that, honey?” Abby says with a soft chuckle, taking this as a sign.

“Fuck..” You moan out, as Abby’s thick finger slowly circled your bud through your panties, stimulating you instantly.

“S—shiiittt… Abby. Keep talkin’ to me, please?” You whine again, your digits burying themselves into Abby’s hair, undoing the neat braid she had it in.

“Pussy’s callin’ my name, honey. Let Abby make you feel good, yeah?” She coos, her thick digits moving away from your cunt. You were soaked, and in the moment you were embarrassed that Abby made you feel this way, but you needed this. Bad.

Abby unbuttons your blouse, the lace black bra you wore underneath was a sight to see. Your tits were beautiful, and the dainty necklace you had sat classy right between them.

“You can take it off, Abby.” You tease, as Abby’s eyes were glued to the image in front of her, a discarded blouse with your tits on display, the tightest skirt imaginable with the thinnest lace panties underneath, all over her desk.

“Right, right. Sorry, you’re just… everything I’ve imagined.” She whispers, looking deep into your eyes.

“Yeah, Anderson? Wanna taste me?” You ask with pure seduction, batting your thick eyelashes at her.

She’s melting.

“Wanna fuckin’ taste you so bad, honey.” She says, pushing her glassed up slighty.

“Taste me, Abby.” You tease, stroking her chin.

Abby sinks to her knees, spreading your legs apart. She works her way up your skirt, slowly pulling the lace covering your pussy down. She takes the zipper of your skirt, taking her time to now slide it down your thighs.

Your legs, your thighs, your pussy.

Glistening. Perfect.

“Jesus…” She says, adjusting her glasses. “You’re soaked.”

You moan, her cold fingers caressing your folds, feeling the slick building up.

Abby spreads your legs apart, slotting her mouth right between them.

She laps mercilessly at your cunt, taking in all the juices spilled all over her desk. You tasted just as she imagined, sweet and perfect.

Abby thought about this moment ever since you started working on campus, the image of your plush tits in front of her, your legs open for her.

“Fuck… Abby—right.. mmph.. there.” You manage to moan out, your grip in Abby’s hair unstable.

“Mmm.. taste so… goddamn good, honey.” She groans, her grip on your thighs tightening.

Her tongue thrusts harder into your cunt, the sounds of your wetness pornographic.

“Need you.. to cum.” Abby moans into your pussy, the vibration bringing you closer and closer to the edge. You hadn’t felt like like this in such a long time, taking so much time with your own fingers stuffed in your cunt, in your lonely apartment.

“M’so.. close..” You cry out, causing Abby’s pace to quicken.

She slaps your thighs, and that familiar feeling of warmth erupts in your core.

And just like that, you snap, and cum all over Abby’s tongue.

“Perfect, honey.” She reassures, making sure to lick up every last drop of you.

You catch your breath, as Abby slowly lifts you bridal style, carrying you to her master bedroom.

She lays you down, tucking you under her silk sheets.

“Lemme read to you, yeah?”