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wooyoungiewritings · 2 months ago

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"A familiar Kind of New" - Mingi x Reader (PART 1)

Summary: You, the most popular girl at school, and Mingi, the school’s geek and punching bag, grow a friendship at the library after school as he tutors you. You beg him to come to prom but instead, he disappears. No texts, no goodbye, nothing. But after 10 years, he suddenly appears again. The quiet, nerdy boy who used to be bullied and ignored, is now a successful, confident and heartbreakingly handsome man. As time pass, you both open up about the past and maybe you realize that maybe he was never just your tutor. Maybe he was the one that got away. Word count: 13.9K

Genre: Fluff, nerdy boy x popular girl, slow burn, old friends to lovers, "the one that got away"-type love (smut in part 2... WOOOH you’re not ready for that)

warnings: Nerdy Mingi with fem reader (fem pronouns). Mingi gets bullied and it gets really personal, lmk if I missed anything!

This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Mingi in any way.

10 YEARS AGO

The lunch table was loud like always. You sat between two of your friends, half-tuned into the conversation and half-dreaming about being anywhere else. The courtyard buzzed with voices, clinking soda cans, and the occasional distant squeal from the freshman corner. Same chaos, different day.

One of the guys from your friendgroup slammed his hand on the table, gesturing toward his phone with a dramatic flair. “Fuck off, I paid so much for that shit.”

Jae raised a perfectly sculpted brow, scoffing. “And yet it still looks like a car my grandma drove.”

Your friend snorted into her water bottle. You just kept picking at your fries, already bored.

The guy friend didn’t miss a beat. “You’re just jealous.”

You drifted out of the conversation entirely, letting their bickering fade into white noise. Your eyes scanned the courtyard, just faces and backpacks and half-eaten lunch trays - until something made you pause.

There, at a table tucked under a tree, sat a boy. Alone.

He had headphones half on, half off his ears, scribbling intensely into a notebook while eating what looked like a PB&J and carrot sticks. A plastic Rubik’s Cube sat beside him, like some weird emotional support item. His backpack was covered in patches (some science stuff, a few anime ones) and his dark hair flopped messily across his forehead every time he looked down.

You had no idea what class he was working on, but he looked… focused. Like nothing else existed in the world except that notebook and his sandwich.

It was kind of cute.

He looked up, maybe sensing your stare, and your eyes met. It was only for a second, but it made your stomach flutter.

Then a heavy arm dropped around your shoulders, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Hey,” Jae said, voice a little too smug, a little too loud. “What about you?”

You blinked and turned back to him, forcing a smile. “What about me?”

He leaned in like he was letting you in on a secret. “Can I take you out for a ride soon? I promise my car doesn’t smell like grandma like his does.”

Your friend rolled his eyes across the table, muttering something under his breath.

You gave a small laugh, brushing Jae’s hand off gently. “I’m not really into just… driving around.”

Jae wasn’t fazed. “Okay, fine. How about a movie at my place? My parents are gone this weekend. I’ll even let you pick.”

You tilted your head, keeping your voice light. “Tempting. I’ll check my schedule.”

He grinned, satisfied with your vague answer even though you knew you weren’t interested in the offer.

The bell rang, saving you from another round of cocky persuasion. Everyone groaned, collecting trays and backpacks in slow motion. You let the crowd carry you forward through the halls, moving like a wave of too much energy and too little interest.

Later you saw him again.

Same boy from under the tree.

He was by his locker, arms full of books he was clearly trying to juggle while still managing to read something tucked inside his physics textbook. Big glasses. His shoelace was untied. He nearly dropped his water bottle twice.

You watched as someone bumped into him without apologizing. He didn’t even flinch, just gave a soft “sorry” and stepped aside like he was used to being invisible. And yet, something about him stood out to you. You weren’t sure what it was. Maybe the fact that he didn’t care about being cool. Or that he was so unapologetically himself. You couldn’t tell if he was clueless or just didn’t give a shit.

You paused at your locker, still watching as he walked down the hall, nose buried in a notebook again, nearly walking straight into a trash can.

You smiled to yourself. A little too long.

Yeah. He was definitely kind of cute.

***

You're sitting on your bed, staring at the three red-inked math tests in a row, your heart pounding with the quiet dread of what your parents said at dinner: “If your grades don’t improve, you’re not going to prom.”

Prom.

It’s not even that you care about the glitz and glitter of it. You’re not the type who dreams about the perfect dress or slow dances. But everyone’s going. Your friends. Your whole group.

“I’ll talk to the school and ask them to find you a tutor.” You dad had said across the table.

“A tutor?” you repeated, eyebrows raised.

“Yes.” He looked you straight in the eye. “If you want to go to prom, you need to be better, honey.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words stuck.

***

Mingi liked the library because no one paid attention to him there.

It was quiet, predictable. No one tripped over his backpack or called him weird for using five different highlighters. In here, he was just another student. Nameless, invisible. Safe.

He sat at his usual table in the back corner, notes already spread out with machine-like precision. Calculators, rulers, extra pens, even a printed cheat sheet he’d made for you. He wasn’t sure if you’d use it, but it made him feel prepared.

You were late. Two minutes and seventeen seconds late, to be exact. Not that he was keeping track.

He’d never talked to you before. Not really. He knew who you were, of course, everyone did. You weren’t the type to be cruel like Jae and the rest of the friendgroup, but you were still part of that world. A world that didn’t include people like him.

Which is why it didn’t make sense when the teacher told him he’d be tutoring you. It made even less sense when you walked in like you actually wanted to be there.

“Hi!” you called out, your voice carrying gently through the quiet room. “You’re Mingi, right?”

He looked up. You were smiling like it was the most natural thing in the world to greet him like that.

“Yeah,” he said, sitting up straighter. “Um, that’s me.”

You pulled the chair across from him and sat down, tossing your bag under the table and immediately unzipping it. “Sorry I’m late. I swear, my backpack eats everything. Took me forever to find a pen.”

“That’s okay,” he said, watching as you dumped out a mess of notebooks, lip balm, crumpled gum wrappers, and a sparkly pink pen. “You… found one.”

You looked up and grinned. “Yep. Lucky for you. Otherwise, this would’ve just been me staring at you and pretending to learn.”

He blinked, catching his breath between your excited energy. “Uh. I made you this.” He slid a little folded sheet across the table. “It’s just… a summary of what we’re starting with. Kinda like a cheat sheet. I mean, not cheating.. like, just helpful stuff. In case you wanted a-”

You picked it up and unfolded it, eyes scanning over his precise, tidy handwriting. “Mingi, this is so nice. Did you make this just for me?”

He shrugged, ears turning pink. “Yeah. I mean. I do it for myself anyway. So I figured…”

You smiled again, softer this time. “That’s really thoughtful. Thank you.”

He didn’t know what to say. Most people didn’t even notice when he held the door open for them, let alone thanked him for… being prepared.

You looked at the paper again, then back up at him. “So, how long have you been good at math?”

Mingi blinked. “Huh?”

“I’m just curious. Like, were you the kid who knew how to divide in kindergarten?”

He laughed. Awkward, but genuine. “I guess? I liked numbers more than people back then.”

You tilted your head. “Still true?”

He panicked for a moment, unsure if it was a joke or if he was supposed to say something cool.

“I mean… I like people too. Sometimes.”

You laughed again, and he swore it echoed through his ribs.

“I like you already, Mingi,” you said, flipping to a clean page in your notebook. “Okay, let’s do this. Teach me something.”

He tried not to show how much that sentence meant. I like you already. You said it like it was obvious. Like you’d known him forever. Like he wasn’t just some nerdy guy you were forced to study with.

And the thing was.. you meant it.

You didn’t pull out your phone. You didn’t sigh dramatically when he started explaining linear equations. You actually listened. Asked questions. Made jokes. Doodled tiny hearts and cats in the margins of your notes.

You were just adding tiny whiskers and a bow around its neck when you felt it, that unmistakable feeling of someone watching. You glanced up and caught Mingi staring. His head was tilted slightly, his chin resting in his hand, and his big round glasses framed the warmest, softest eyes you’d ever seen. They looked like melted tapioca pearls, dark, kind, a little surprised at being caught.

“I’m sorry,” you said with a breathless little laugh, quickly sitting up straighter. “I have a hard time focusing.”

Mingi blinked, then smiled, braces and all. “It’s alright. If it makes you learn better, then draw all you want.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the softness in his voice. There wasn’t even a hint of judgment. Just… kindness. He meant it. And it made something flutter gently in your chest.

"Thanks," you suddenly didn't know how to continue the conversation nor the drawing.

"You draw a lot?" He asks softly, eyes still on the cat on your paper.

"Yeah," you couldn't hide your excitement. "I wanna go to art school at some point, hopefully get better." you send him a smile. "I'll invite you to see my art if I ever get that far."

That threw him off. You saw it. You met his eyes and despite looking into yours, they flickered like they tried to escape. You invited him to something? He knew it was a thing probably far into the future, but the fact that you included him in something, anything, made him both feel nervous and... excited.

“Do you like to draw?” you asked, changing the subject slightly, your eyes flicking to the closed notebook next to his elbow, worn at the edges, covered in tiny graphite smudges.

He followed your gaze, then nudged the book slightly away with his fingertips. “No, not really,” he mumbled. “I’m just… practicing formulas.”

“For fun?” Your tone was curious, not mocking. You genuinely couldn’t imagine anyone doing math equations in their free time, especially not by choice.

He gave a small, nervous shrug. “Yeah…”

The silence that followed was awkward for half a second, like he was bracing for you to laugh or roll your eyes.

Instead, you smiled, soft and sincere. “Really? That’s so cool.”

Mingi looked up. Blinking. As if he wasn’t sure he heard you right.

Cool. You just called him cool.

And when he realized you meant it, his whole face changed. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, quiet and shy, but unmistakably there.

The study session went on like that, filled with light jokes, quiet scribbles, and your occasional groans of despair every time a new formula appeared. You treated him like an actual person. Not a tutor. Not a ghost in the back of the classroom. Just… Mingi. And Mingi realized something, sitting across from you, listening to you hum while you copied down a graph.

Maybe he wasn’t completely invisible.

Not to you.

***

You’re two hours into your third study session that week, and your brain feels like it’s leaking out of your ears.

“I swear this is actual gibberish,” you mumble, poking the page like it personally offended you. “Who even decided this was important? What am I ever gonna do with the pH of a mystery liquid? What if I never drink liquid again?”

Across the table, Mingi chuckles. He’s got his chin in his hand, watching you with a kind of quiet amusement.

“You don’t have to drink the acid,” he says gently. “Just understand it.”

You groan, dramatically collapsing over your notebook. “I don’t understand it.”

“You will.” His voice is so steady, so sure of you, it makes you pause.

You peek up at him from under your arm. He’s still smiling, soft and patient and maybe a little bit too good at this.

“You have a weird amount of faith in me,” you say, straightening up.

He shrugs one shoulder. “You’re trying. That’s what matters. And you’re smart. You just learn differently.”

You blink. That’s not something you’ve heard before. People usually go with “you’re not applying yourself” or “why can’t you focus for once?”

Mingi’s just watching you like the answer is obvious. Like he means it.

Something tugs at your chest.

You look back at the page, determined to make the equations make some kind of sense. Mingi leans in, pointing to a part of the problem, walking you through it again. Slower this time, with smaller steps and silly metaphors that make you laugh in between frustrated sighs.

And then.. somewhere between the third eye-roll and the tenth doodle in the margins. It clicks.

“Wait-wait.” You sit up straight, pointing to the next step. “Is it because the hydrogen ion count doubles in this one?”

Mingi’s eyes go wide. “Yes! Exactly! Because it’s a strong acid, so the dissociation is complete!”

You gasp. “Oh my god, I got it? Like, actually got it?”

“You got it,” he says, grinning like you just solved world peace. “Good job.”

And before you can stop yourself, you grab his hand and squeeze it. “Mingi! I did it!”

His breath catches. You don’t notice.

You’re beaming, still buzzing with the thrill of understanding, and he’s just sitting there, frozen with your hand in his, heart hammering way too fast.

And that’s when it happens.

That shift.

It’s not your smile. Not the way you threw your head back when you laughed. It’s this. This moment where you were so ready to give up, and you kept going anyway. And when it finally made sense, you didn’t just celebrate. You shared it. With him.

Something in Mingi’s chest tightens.

He’s always thought you were pretty. That was easy. But this? This fierce little light in you?

He didn’t expect this.

You finally notice you’re still holding his hand and let go quickly, not awkward, just distracted. Still glowing from your little academic victory.

“Okay,” you say, eyes determined. “Teach me another one.”

He smiles, softer this time. “Anything you want.”

***

The cafeteria is loud today. Louder than usual, maybe because finals are creeping up and everyone’s either high on stress or already spiraling. The last few days has been fully booked with school and studying with Mingi afterwards. You’re trying your best not to seem too excited about having an excuse not to hang out with your “friend group” after school. The study sessions with Mingi has saved you from a bunch of meaningless conversations with the people you hang out with because they just happen to be in your closest circle.

But you actually enjoy your time with Mingi. It’s… Different.

You’re halfway through your tray of rice and whatever protein today’s lunch is pretending to be when you spot Mingi. He’s alone, like always. Sitting at the edge of a seat, his head bent over a book, the straps of his backpack still over his shoulders like he’s planning his escape.

You don’t say anything right away. You just watch him. Long fingers flipping a page, the crease between his brows when he reads something too fast, the way his foot taps like it’s keeping tempo with a song only he can hear. It’s weird. You’ve started noticing things like that.

Then Jae slides into the seat beside you, tray clattering. “Babe,” he says, though you’ve told him a hundred times not to call you that. “You look like you’re trying to solve world hunger over there.”

You force a smile. “Just spaced out.”

Jae follows your gaze, then scoffs when he sees Mingi.

“You know that guy probably sleeps with his calculator,” he says, loud enough for people around to snicker. “Like, deadass. Bet he dreams in equations.”

Your stomach twists. You’re not prepared for Jae suddenly standing up and taking a few steps closer to Mingi’s table.

“Hey, Mingi!” Jae calls, and your eyes snap to him in horror.

Mingi looks up slowly, already bracing himself.

Jae grins. “You ever kiss a girl, or are you still waiting for the quadratic formula to do it for you?”

People laugh. Not everyone, but enough to make it echo. Mingi flushes, adjusting his glasses with shaky hands. He doesn’t say anything. He never does.

You look down at your tray. The rice is cold now.

You should say something. You want to. But your voice catches in your throat, and instead you just press your lips together and pretend to be really focused on your fork. Jae’s attention drifts after a moment. Someone calls his name from another table, and he struts off like he didn’t just pour gasoline on someone’s self-esteem for sport.

Mingi gets up a minute later. Doesn’t look at you. Just packs his book away and slips out of the cafeteria like he was never there.

And you?

You feel like shit.

You catch up with him after third period, rushing down the hallway as he’s stuffing his books into his bag like he’s trying to disappear.

“Mingi!”

He turns, startled, like he wasn’t expecting anyone to speak to him for the rest of the day.

You slow to a stop in front of him, breath caught in your chest. “Hey. Um. I just-” You scratch the back of your neck. “We still on for our study date later?”

He blinks. A beat passes. Then he gives you a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Of course.”

You nod, heart heavy. You’re not brave today. But you will be.

***

You spotted Mingi at your usual library table before he spotted you. His nose was in a book again, shoulders slightly hunched, and his pen tapped anxiously against the edge of the page. You swore you could hear the awkward silence already forming between you. You made your way over and dropped your bag into the chair with a dramatic thud.

“Hey,” you said cheerily, sliding into the seat across from him.

Mingi looked up, surprised, his pen pausing mid-tap. “Oh, hey.”

You hesitated for half a second before blurting, “I just wanted to say sorry. About earlier.”

Mingi shook his head before you could go on. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

You hated that.

“But you didn’t deserve that,” you said. “You were just sitting there, being your smart self, reading your big-brain-book about DNA or genomes or whatever, and Jae had to make it a thing.”

You waited, watching him. A short silence. His mouth twitched into a hidden smile.

“‘Big-brain-book’?” he asked quietly.

You grinned. “Yeah. I’m not the one tutoring someone in math and biology, so don’t expect fancy words from me.”

That earned you a small laugh, and it lit you up like a light switch.

Success.

“I just…” You leaned in on your elbows. “I think it’s cool, you know? That you read that stuff because you want to. I have to reread the same sentence like ten times. And even then, I’m still confused.”

“That’s relatable.”

“See? We’re not so different,” you said with a playful smile. “You read about chromosomes for fun, and I.. well, I memorize the school vending machine schedule. Both important things.”

He was smiling now. “Critical survival skills.”

“Exactly,” you said. “Now, are you ready to witness the academic disaster that is me trying to solve basic equations?”

“I’m ready,” he said, already flipping to a fresh page in his notebook.

And as he began explaining the first problem, you couldn’t help but sneak a glance at him. How his hands moved carefully across the page, how his voice grew more confident the more he talked. He was still the quiet guy in the corner, the one nobody really paid attention to.

But somehow, you were starting to notice everything

1 month later

The library feels different lately.

It might be the way the late spring sunlight filters through the dusty windows, warm and golden, casting long shadows across the tables. Or maybe it’s just him. The way he smiles more now. The way he teases you gently when you get a question right on the first try. The way he sits a little closer than he used to.

He’s tucked into your usual corner as you enter the library. You set a cup down in front of him, condensation beading along the plastic.

Mingi blinks. “What’s this?”

“A vanilla-sea-salt-olive-oil-milkshake,” you say, smug. “You said it’s your favorite.”

His ears go red instantly. “..I didn’t think you remembered that.”

You nudge the cup toward him. “Of course I remembered. It’s literally the weirdest milkshake combo I’ve ever heard of, but I respect it.”

He laughs, full and soft and a little shy. “It’s good, okay? Don’t knock it until you try it.”

You grin, sipping your own drink. “One day.”

The moment lingers, a gentle quiet settling between you. Pages flip. Pencils scribble. Your foot taps against his without thinking, and this time, he doesn’t pull away.

“So…” you say, casually flipping your pen in your fingers. “Prom’s coming up.”

Mingi freezes mid-sip. “Ugh,” he mutters, setting the cup down. “That.”

You raise a brow. “What? You’re not going?”

He shakes his head. “No. Definitely not.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs like it’s obvious. “Because prom is for… Popular people. The ones who actually get invited to things and, like, exist in other people’s minds.”

You frown. “Mingi…”

“It’s not a big deal,” he says quickly, avoiding your eyes. “I mean, even if I wanted to go, who would I go with? No one even knows I’m here most of the time.”

Your chest tightens. Because it’s not self-pity. He says it like it’s just a fact, like rain or gravity. “But I know you’re here,” you say, quiet but firm.

He glances at you, eyes flicking up from his notebook.

Your gaze holds his. “I know that you bite your pen when you’re thinking too hard. I know you get weirdly happy when you talk about physics. I know you pretend not to laugh when I mess up, but you totally do.” You smile, just a little. “And I know you deserve to be there. Just like anyone else.”

Mingi swallows. “Even if I’d spend the whole night standing in a corner?”

“I’ll stand in that corner with you,” you say, bumping his foot under the table. “We can be anti-prom together. In the middle of prom.”

He laughs, but there’s something wistful in it. Like part of him wants to believe you.

You don’t press him. Not yet. But the look in his eyes when he sips his milkshake again is softer. Lingered. Like maybe - for the first time - he’s imagining himself there.

2 months later

You practically crash into the library door, breathless and beaming. Your backpack thuds against the floor, and you don’t even care that people turn to stare. You spot him immediately. Mingi, already seated at your usual table, scribbling quietly into a notebook, glasses slipping down his nose.

“MINGI,” you shout-whisper, rushing toward him.

He looks up, startled, but when he sees your face, his whole expression softens.

“What’s going on?”

“I PASSED!” you whisper-scream, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Like actually passed! No - aced! Bio? A-minus. Chem? B-plus! Mat? B-plus! I DID IT.”

His mouth drops open. “No way.”

You nod furiously, hands flapping like you don’t know what to do with all your excitement. “YES way. My parents were so shocked they actually hugged me. Hugged me, Mingi. That’s how you know it’s real.”

He laughs, wide and full and so proud. “Y/N, that’s amazing.”

“You helped me so much,” you say, grabbing his hands before he even knows what’s happening. “Like, I literally would’ve failed without you. You are a godsend. A genius. An angel. A cute science wizard.”

Mingi turns bright red. “O-okay, let’s dial it back-”

You’re glowing. Practically vibrating. “And you know what this means?” you say, eyes wide. “I get to go to prom. I get to go to prom!”

He grins, but it’s a little quieter now. A little more contained. “Yeah,” he says, squeezing your hands once before letting go. “You’re going.” To a world he still doesn’t feel like he belongs in.

“So,” you breathe, eyes shining, “are you coming?”

Mingi blinks. “To prom?”

“Yeah!” you say, sliding into the seat beside him, your knee bumping his. “You should come! You’re, like, half the reason I’m allowed to go. I need my study buddy there.”

He laughs under his breath. “Y/N…”

“Come on,” you nudge him, teasing. “It’s just one night. Who cares if it’s lame? We can make fun of people’s outfits. Drink gross punch. Hide in a corner and complain about music.”

“You already have a date,” he says softly.

You pause. The other day, Jae asked you to be his date in the middle of the cafeteria and you agreed. You couldn’t explain why you say yes, honestly. Your excuse was that it felt “safe”?

“Yeah,” you admit. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be there. You’re my friend, Mingi. I want you there.”

He looks at you. Really looks at you. And for a second, you think he might say yes. But then he smiles, a little sad. A little distant.

“I’ll think about it.”

And you don’t know why that answer makes your chest feel weird.

But it does.

***

The music pulsed from inside the building, muffled by the heavy doors and the hum of chatter echoing under the lights. But you weren’t listening. You stood just outside the prom entrance, your hands wrapped tightly around your phone like it was going to deliver you something. Anything. A text. A call. A simple “I’m here.”

But the screen stayed stubbornly dark.

Your blue dress sparkled under the string lights lining the school entrance. You looked like you belonged at prom. You looked like you were having the night of your life. But your eyes kept scanning the parking lot instead of walking through the doors.

Where was he?

You checked your phone again.

Nothing.

A part of you told yourself to stop. That maybe he got nervous. That maybe he changed his mind. That maybe he was late and you'd feel stupid for worrying. But your stomach twisted anyway.

You paced a little, heels clicking softly against the pavement as couples and groups passed you by, laughing, already inside. You ignored them all. You were too busy searching each new arrival’s face, hoping to see that familiar mop of dark hair, those glasses, that slightly awkward stance.

Still nothing.

“Y/N!”

You turned to see Jae walking toward you, his tux sharp and pressed, but his smirk even sharper. The rest of the friend group trailed behind him.

“There you are,” Jae said, eyeing you up and down. “Took you long enough.”

“I was waiting,” you said, before you could stop yourself.

Jae raised a brow. “For who?”

You didn’t answer, just glanced down at your phone again. All you could hear was the pounding bass inside, the quiet buzz of your phone still not lighting up in your hand. Then one of your friends appeared at your side, tugging your arm. “Come on! We’re gonna miss the pictures!”

You hesitated. Just one more look at the parking lot, just one more second.

Still nothing.

With a deep breath, you turned away and let yourself be pulled through the entrance. The lights are too bright. The music is too loud. The fake smiles, the crowded dance floor, the punch that tastes like sugar and cheap vodka.

You keep looking. Every time the door opens, every time someone tall walks by, your heart jumps. Just for a second. But it’s never him.

Not Mingi.

Not the person who got you here.

“He’s not coming,” Jae said beside you.

You flinched. You didn’t even hear him approach.

“What?”

“That loser. Mingi. You’re still looking for him?”

You didn’t answer. Just tried to keep your face neutral, even though your pulse jumped.

Jae huffed a laugh and leaned in closer. “You seriously thought he’d show? C’mon. Guys like him don’t come to prom. They stay home jerking off to anime or some shit.”

“Jae-”

“Let me guess. You told him the theme was ‘under the stars’ and he took that literally and went home to read a book about astronomy?”

You rolled your eyes and moved to walk away, but he followed.

“I mean, sure, he’s helping you with school, but let’s be real.. He’s just using that as an excuse to hang out with you. He’s probably obsessed with you. Guys like that always are. You smile at them once and they think they’ve got a chance-”

And that’s when the drink left your hand.

Red punch, sticky and cold, splashed across Jae’s face and tux in one glorious arc. He froze mid-sentence, blinking as drops clung to his lashes and dripped from his nose. The room around you stilled, just for a second, as people turned to see what had just happened. You dropped the empty cup on the table.

“Say one more thing about him,” you said, voice low but steady, “and I swear to God, I’ll make sure the next thing that hits you isn’t a drink.”

Jae sputtered, wiping his face with the sleeve of his very expensive jacket. “Are you serious right now-”

But you were already walking away, heels clicking hard against the floor as you pushed through the crowd and out of the gym. The music was still playing, the lights still spinning, but none of it mattered. You stepped into the quiet of the hallway, heart pounding. You didn’t know where Mingi was. You didn’t know why he didn’t come. But what you did know was that Jae was wrong.

Mingi wasn’t the loser in this story.

Jae was.

And he wasn’t worth one more second of your night.

10 YEARS LATER

The Friday night rush had officially taken over.

You balanced a tray of drinks in one hand and menus in the other as the host called out another name behind you. The restaurant was buzzing, the clink of glasses, low conversation humming under the jazz overhead, the quiet pop of champagne bottles in the back.

You weave between tables with practiced grace, a tray balanced on your hand, smile plastered on like muscle memory. Your feet ache. Your shift is only halfway over. Someone just spilled red wine near table 6. Again.

You ducked behind the host stand to check the reservation list and refill your apron with pens and receipt slips.

“Y/N?”

You froze. Your fingers tightened around the pen you were holding, and slowly, confused, you looked up.

And then everything stopped.

Standing a few feet in front of you was someone tall, broad-shouldered, and terrifyingly good-looking. A sharp suit. Clean cut. Confident posture.

But his eyes… his eyes were the same.

“Mingi?” you said before you could stop yourself, and your hand knocked the plastic cup of pens off the counter with a loud clatter, sending pens bouncing in every direction like startled insects. You dropped down to gather them, cheeks burning, brain still scrambling to make sense of what you were seeing.

He crouched too, already reaching to help you.

“Here,” he said quietly, handing you a few.

You looked up at him, still crouched. His face was more angular now, more mature. His jawline sharp. Lips full. Hair perfectly styled. There was nothing nerdy left about him, except maybe the warm flicker in his eyes as he looked at you like he wasn’t quite sure he was seeing right either.

But before you could say anything else, a woman's voice cut in.

“Mingi,” she said flatly, bored already. “They’re waiting on us.”

You glanced up at her. Tall, flawless, designer from head to toe, clutching her purse like she hated touching public surfaces. She didn’t look at you. Not once.

Mingi stood slowly. “Right. Reservation under Song.”

“Of course,” you said, straightening quickly, stuffing the last pen back into your apron. Your voice sounded weird. Too high. Too unsure. “This way.” You led them in silence, your heart pounding in your ears.

He didn’t say anything. You didn’t either. Not because you didn’t want to, but because neither of you seemed to know what to say. And it wasn’t the time anyway. The restaurant demanded your attention. Tables to serve. Dishes to clear. Orders to double-check.

After delivering food for another table, you grabbed your notepad and made your way over to table seventeen, smoothing down your apron. You already knew this was going to be weird. Your old high school tutor, now looking like a literal GQ cover model, sitting in the corner booth with a woman who’d already made you feel like gum on her designer heels.

“Hi again,” you said, putting on your best server voice. “Can I take your drink orders?”

The woman didn’t look up, still scrolling through her phone. “Ugh, can you give me a minute? I haven’t even had a chance to look.”

You blinked. “Of course. Take your time.”

She sighed dramatically, tossed her phone into her bag, and finally glanced at the menu. “What’s the least sugary wine you have? I don’t want anything cheap or mass-produced. I only drink biodynamic wines from small family vineyards.”

You nodded. “We have a dry French Sauvignon Blanc that—”

“Is it vegan?” she interrupted.

You hesitated. “I can check with the bar.”

She rolled her eyes. “Unbelievable. Why don’t restaurants ever just know that?”

“I’ll double-check for you,” you said, voice still even.

“I guess I’ll just have sparkling water for now. No ice. Room temp. With a twist of lime. Not lemon. And not in the water. On the side.”

Mingi spoke up gently. “I’ll just have a ginger ale.”

Your eyes met his for a moment. You smiled tightly and moved on. “Are you ready to order food?”

“Give us a second, just bring the drinks.” She instructed and you sent her the most professional smile you could manage.

“I’ll be back.” You smiled before making your way up to the bar, order slip in hand, and dropped it dramatically on the counter like it weighed fifty pounds.

Wooyoung, the bartender, glanced at it, then glanced at you. “Table seventeen?”

You just nodded and exhaled.

He raised a brow, already filling a glass. “So what’s she allergic to? Joy? Basic manners?”

You snorted. “Room temp sparkling water. No ice. Lime on the side. Not in the glass. God forbid.”

Wooyoung grabbed a bottle from under the counter, muttering under his breath. “She sounds like the human version of a Terms and Conditions page.”

“I feel like I’m in a Yelp hostage situation.”

He slid the drinks onto a tray, leaned in, and whispered, “Why is there such a tension between you and that guy across from her.. You know him?”

You gave him a look. “He was my tutor, turned friend, and then he disappeared for 10 years. It’s awkward.”

Wooyoung smirked. “Mhm. He is looking at you a lot though.. He looks rich, go for it.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the tiny smile. “I don’t even know him anymore, it’s been 10 years. He looks… different.”

“Different how?”

“Like he eats confidence for breakfast.”

Wooyoung leaned on the bar, grinning. “And his date looks like she eats waitresses.”

“She almost did.”

He gave you a dramatic pat on the shoulder. “Godspeed, soldier.”

You sighed, picked up the tray, and turned toward the battlefield. “If I don’t come back… avenge me.”

Wooyoung called after you, “I’ll write your name on the tip jar!”

You let out a giggle as you returned to the infamous table seventeen. You placed their drinks in front of them and found your notepad once again. “Ready to order your food?”

The woman let out a groan, flipping the menu shut like it offended her. “What do you recommend for someone who’s gluten-free, dairy-free, low-carb, and doesn’t eat anything with a face?”

“…A salad?”

“Ugh, boring.. I guess I’ll have the risotto,” she said, not waiting for your answer. “But no onions, no garlic, no salt, no dairy, and absolutely no parsley. I hate garnish. It ruins the presentation.”

“Of course.”

Mingi glanced down at his menu like it was the only safe place to look. “I’ll have the steak. Medium rare. That’s all.”

You scribbled it down and just gave a nod. “I’ll get that in for you.”

The rest of the evening drags in flashes of passive-aggressive comments and high-pitched scoffs. She sends back a plate because it’s “too pretty to eat, but not in a good way.” You keep your smile steady through all of it, a crack in porcelain.

Mingi doesn’t say much.

But you notice the small things. How he flinches when she talks down to the staff. How he keeps sneaking glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking. How he starts saying “thank you” every time you come near the table, soft and almost guilty.

It’s not the boy you remember.

He’s older now. Quiet, but not like he used to be. He’s learned how to hide in plain sight. But his eyes still say what his mouth doesn’t.

It's finally time for the m to pay and she sighs dramatically. “God, finally. Maybe now we can get out of here.”

Mingi looks at you one last time as you hand over the receipt. “It was…really good to see you again.”

You nod, heart too full to respond.

Too shocked to see the man you’ve been dreaming about for 10 years.

***

Youre half-jogging across the street, clutching your sketchbook under one arm and your much-needed coffee in the other. Late… again. The crosswalk light blinks red, but you’re already halfway through when the black luxury car comes speeding around the corner.

You jump back with a gasp, stumbling on the curb, and your coffee goes flying, straight out of your hand, splattering down your coat and shoes.

And in your panic-fueled rage?

You hurl the empty cup at the hood of the car.

“Watch where you’re going, asshole!” you yell, breath caught in your throat as the car screeches to a stop. It just sat there, glossy and silent, like it was too expensive to care. Your dignity abandoned you immediately.

Mortified, heart pounding, you turned on your heel and marched away before the tinted windows rolled down and revealed some ultra-rich devil ready to sue you for assault via paper cup. You storm into the next coffee shop, head down, coat stained, pride bruised. You’re still muttering to yourself about dangerous drivers when someone says your name.

“Y/N?”

You turn and time slams to a halt.

There he is.

Mingi.

Tall, broad, dressed in a tailored black coat that probably cost more than your rent. His hair is tousled like it had been done on purpose, his jawline is sculpted like he’d been carved from rich-boy marble, and in his hand…

… is your empty coffee cup.

“I believe this belongs to you?” he said, lifting it slightly, a nervous smile playing on his lips.

You blink. Then blink again. “Wait. You were the guy in the car?!”

“…Yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I figured it was best not to mention it while you were still holding a hot beverage.”

Your soul left your body. “Oh my god,” you groaned. “Please, no, I didn’t mean to throw that at your car.”

He was grinning now. “It was a great shot though.”

“I thought you were some reckless douchebag,” you stammer, pushing hair behind your ears, already dying of embarrassment.

“I mean,” he shrug, “the driver was going a little fast.”

You stare at him. You can see he’s trying to find the right words. “My driver. He almost hit you, but don't worry, he’s now banned from Bluetooth arguments while driving.”

You gave a weak laugh. “Sorry for the cup.”

“I deserved it,” he says easily. “I’m buying you a new coffee, anything else?… a soul cleanser?”

“Coffee is fine.” You smile, before he orders a new coffee for you. You wait, still too flustered to do anything but trail after him like a starstruck ghost. While waiting in line, you manage to gather your senses enough to smalltalk.

“So… you’re in the area?” you ask, glancing up at him. How do you talk to a person who disappeared for 10 years and comes back looking like a GQ model with wealth spilling out of them? You don’t know. But you're trying.

"Temporarily. I’m just back in town because I’m investing in some properties around town and I need to close some deals before heading back.” he said.

“Investing in properties?” You ask, not knowing exactly what to ask about first.

“Yeah, those long hours studying math really came in handy,” He jokes, sending you a smile that reminds you too much of the person he was 10 years ago. “I was heading to a meeting, but I think almost murdering someone takes priority.”

You snort. “Well, lucky me.”

“What about you?” He looks down at you. You recall him being tall in High School but he was definitely even taller now.

“I’m on my way to art class,” you said, lifting your sketchbook as proof.

His gaze flicker down. “You still draw?”

“Still trying to,” you say, smiling softly.

“I remember you used to sketch during our study sessions,” he said with a smile, surprising you. “I would scold you for making doodles on the paper instead of taking notes.” His voice is warm. The barista hands you your new coffee before you have time to react. And before you could thank him again, Mingi say, “Let me give you a ride.”

You blink. “What?”

“I insist,” he say. “You’ve suffered enough for one morning.”

“I can walk-”

“Please.”

You hesitate, then nod. “…Okay.”

As the two of you walk out of the shop, you spot the black car parked out front. Same one from earlier. And leaning against it like he was in the middle of a Vogue shoot is a tall guy with dark hair and rolled-up sleeves. He spots you and straightens, removing his sunglasses.

“This is my driver, personal assistant and best friend, Yunho.” Mingi introduce Yunho as he take a step towards you.

“I’m really sorry for earlier. I swear he was yelling about some meeting and I missed the turn.” Yunho apologize.

You raise your coffee. “I threw a cup at your car, so I think we’re even.”

Yunho grins. “Deal.”

Mingi opens the car door for you like a gentleman, and you step into the kind of interior that smells like new leather and old money. As the car pulls away, your coffee warms your hands and your thoughts whirl faster than traffic. You sit with your coffee in your lap, legs crossed, trying not to overthink the fact that you are in a car with Mingi. Ten years ago, you were calling him cute in the back of a library. Now? Now he is next to you, suited up like he owns the building your class is in.

“So,” you say, casually glancing his way. “Your girlfriend from the other night… she was really… sweet.”

Mingi lets out a quiet sigh, then glances your way, deadpan. “That wasn’t my girlfriend.”

“Oh?” You raise a brow, pretending to sound surprised. “Could’ve fooled me. She seemed really into the water with no ice and emotionally terrorizing waitstaff.”

“It was a blind date a colleague of mine set up. He’s no longer allowed to do that. Ever again.”

You try to hide your smirk behind your coffee. “She seemed super chill. I loved when she asked if the truffle risotto was gluten-free, dairy-free, and joy-free.”

“She sent it back because it smelled too ‘mushroomy.’ It was truffle risotto.”

“And the water. Can’t forget the water.”

“I’m still emotionally recovering,” He rolls his eyes. “She also told me the candlelight was too aggressive.”

That made you laugh, hard enough you had to set your coffee down. You shake your head, laughing as you lean back against the seat. “So... no second date?”

“I blocked her halfway through dessert.”

“That bad?”

“She told me I had ‘beta energy’ because I helped you with the pens.”

Your eyebrows fly up. “Wait, what?”

“I don’t even know what that means,” he says, looking over at you with that same old sparkle in his eyes. “But I don’t think it was a compliment.”

You smile into your cup, feeling lighter than you expected.

Then, after a beat, Mingi glances over again. “What about you?” he asks. “Are you… still seeing Jae?”

You blink, caught off guard. “God, no.”

He arches a brow.

You shrug. “We were never really a thing. I think I convinced myself to consider it for like five minutes back in high school. But… yeah. He was kind of a dick.”

Mingi laughs softly. “Kind of?”

“I was trying to be polite.”

He smiles at the windshield. “I could’ve told you that.”

You turn to him, mock-offended. “And you didn’t!?”

Mingi tilts his head with a knowing look. “Do you remember how he was back then? I liked my teeth where they were.”

You grin but you know how Jae was to Mingi in high school. Not a doubt in your mind that Jae would’ve been even worse to Mingi if he ever did anything back. The car slows to a gentle stop. You look out the window and see your art building. You hadn’t even realized you were this close.

“Thanks for the ride.” you say, unbuckling your seatbelt.

“Thanks for not throwing your coffee at me this time.”

“No promises for next time.”

You both smile.

As you get out of the car, you make eye contact with Yunho in the front before saying, “And sorry again for the cup.”

“Fair trade,” Yunho says with a shrug. “I almost hit you. You assaulted my windshield. Balance.”

You laugh, stepping out into the sun. “Well.. Maybe I’ll see you around, Mingi.”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “See you.”

***

You are halfway through balancing a tray of desserts when you spot him.

Tall. Broad. Too well-dressed for a Wednesday afternoon. He looks almost comically out of place beneath the dim chandeliers and overpriced floral centerpieces, like he walked into the wrong restaurant by accident and was just too polite to leave. Mingi stood by the host stand, hands in the pockets of a dark navy coat, glancing casually at the menu as if he hadn’t already made up his mind.

You smooth your apron and walk over. “Don’t tell me you’re here for another blind date.”

He looks up and smiles, just a small one. But you notice. “No blind dates today.”

“Thank God. I don’t think we have the emotional support risotto on the menu today.”

That earned a quiet laugh from him. “I came for lunch.”

Your brow arch. “You came to a place that serves foie gras in abstract geometric shapes for lunch?”

“I was… in the area.” He scratches the back of his neck, looking like he knew how unconvincing that sounded. “Is there a table for one?”

You bit back a grin. “As a matter of fact, there is.” You lead him towards a table by the window. Once seated, he looks up at you, eyes scanning your face like he hadn’t gotten the full view last time.

“Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.” He says while he’s looking up at you.

You raise a brow. “Pretty sure you’re the one who walked into my workplace.”

“Fair point.”

You hand him a menu and lean slightly on the back of the chair. “So, what’ll it be? More emotionally stale water? Or something new?”

He smiles again, barely. “Surprise me.”

You cross your arms. “I don’t think that’s how this restaurant works.”

“I trust your judgment.”

You give him a look. “You shouldn’t.”

But still, you turned towards the kitchen with a little smirk on your face, cheeks warmer than you liked. A few minutes later, you return with a plate of the daily special and a glass of iced tea, placing it down in front of him with a practiced hand. “I take it you’re not allergic to anything that grows in the dirt or has... feelings?”

He chuckles. “I’ll survive.”

You step back, folding your hands behind your back. “So, really. What brings you here, Mingi?”

He took a sip of the tea first, then shrug, avoiding your gaze. “I don’t know. I guess I was just curious if you'd be here.”

You blink. “That’s... weirdly honest.”

“I’m bad at lying.”

You smile despite yourself. “Well, congrats. I’m here. In all my apron-clad glory.”

“It suits you.”

You tilt your head. “The apron?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at you like he was maybe starting to figure out how much he missed out on back in high school. You cleared your throat.

“Anyway. Let me know if you need anything. A fancy salt, perhaps? A spoon blessed by a Michelin chef?”

He gave you that same small laugh again, the kind that stayed low in his chest. “I’ll be fine.”

You leave him with his lunch and try your best not to look back too many times. The rest of the hour, Mingi would steal your attention more than you cared to admit. Your eyes would naturally travel to his corner like it was the most natural thing in the world. It weirded you out seeing the boy who used to sit alone at lunch now sit alone in one of the most expensive restaurants in the city. Just for lunch.

After he paid, you finished stacking a few menus when you notice Mingi still lingering by the host stand, hands in his coat pockets, eyes flicking toward you like he wasn’t quite ready to leave.

You step closer, raising an eyebrow. “Forgot something?”

He shrugs casually, but his voice betrays him, just a little tight, just a little hopeful. “Not really. Just thought… maybe I could get your number?”

You blink, surprised. “For?”

He scratches the back of his neck, gaze dropping for a second. “I don’t know. In case I stop by again and… you’re not here. Or if I need a drink recommendation. Or table suggestion. Or something.”

You smile, amused by how awkwardly he was trying to be casual about it. “Right. For professional purposes.”

“Exactly.” He nods, clearly relieved you didn’t make it weird.

You pull out a receipt and scribble your number on the back before handing it over. “Don’t use it to order food though. I don’t take reservations by text.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, folding the paper and slipping it into his wallet. “Got it. No food orders. Just emergencies.”

And with that, he gives you a small wave and turns to leave. You are still smiling when you turn back towards the bar and almost jump out of your skin when Wooyoung is suddenly right there, propping his elbows on the counter like he’d been waiting for the curtain to drop.

“So,” he says, loud enough to draw attention, “that wasn’t suspicious at all.”

You groan. “Please don’t.”

Wooyoung points dramatically towards the door. “Tall, mysterious, dressed like he owns a yacht, came in just to stare at you for an hour and left with your number.”

“He came in for food.”

Wooyoung leans in. “And stayed for dessert.”

You grab a towel and toss it at him. “You’re so annoying.”

“Annoyingly observant,” he says, dodging. “You better invite me to the wedding. I want the first toast and the first slice of cake.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help laughing. “It was just a number.”

Wooyoung smirk. “Numbers become dates. Dates become soulmates. I’ve seen the movies.”

You give him a look. “It’s not a movie.”

He wink. “Not yet.”

***

You’re curl up on the couch, blanket over your legs and a bowl of cereal in your lap even though it’s nowhere near breakfast time. The TV plays quietly in the background, something forgettable you put on just for noise. You’re halfway through mindlessly flipping through your sketchbook when your phone buzzes beside you.

Unknown: Hey. Just checking if this is your actual number and not some cruel prank.

You blink, surprised to see a text from who you only imagine to be Mingi. It’s only been a few hours since he left the restaurant. You smirk to yourself and grab your phone.

You:Would a fake number reply to you this fast?

You immediately save his number and make him a new contact. You set your phone back down, returning to your cereal, only for it to buzz again seconds later.

Mingi:Bold of you to assume I haven’t had imaginary conversations with fake numbers before.

You huff a small laugh and sink deeper into the couch, spoon dangling from your mouth as you text back.

You:Sounds like something you should bring up in therapy.

Mingi:I did. My therapist ghosted me.

You snort into your cereal, nearly dropping the spoon.

You:Tough crowd.

Mingi:Tell me about it.

Your phone goes quiet after that, but the little exchange leaves you with a faint smile. You close your sketchbook, set the empty cereal bowl on the coffee table, and let yourself relax a little more into the cushions.

***

You don’t expect to receive a text from Mingi the next day. But you do.

Mingi So... do I have to schedule an appointment or can I bribe you with coffee to see your art?

You stare at the message, mouth twitching.

You You wanna see my art?

Mingi I wanna see what stole all of the attention while tutoring you

You Wow. Emotional blackmail. Hot.

Mingi You promised. And I am a man of follow-ups now.

You chuckle, feeling warmth bloom in your chest despite the gray clouds overhead. You meet him that evening outside your art school. It’s after-hours, but your professor gave you a key code. Perks of being one of the more “dedicated” students, aka “you’re here too much, go home sometimes.”

Mingi stands by the gate, dressed way too nicely for a quick art tour. Black trousers, a slate gray coat, a warm scarf that makes him look like he walked out of a drama set. He waves when he sees you, and the smile on his face is so familiar it kind of makes your heart trip.

“Ready to be wildly underwhelmed?” you say as you swipe your ID at the side entrance.

“Extremely.”

You lead him into the long hallway filled with student work. Some pieces hang proudly in frames; others are still drying on racks. There’s the smell of paint, turpentine, a little coffee, honestly, your comfort zone. Mingi walks slowly, taking everything in with surprising focus. When you stop in front of your section, you feel a flicker of nerves.

“This one’s mine,” you mumble, suddenly shy. “Well, this whole wall.”

He scans the canvases carefully. There’s a large abstract piece with messy strokes of crimson and gold, a smaller still life of a coffee cup you were once too broke to drink, and a half-finished portrait that still makes your heart ache when you look at it too long. Having been working on it for nearly two years, it’s one of those paintings you don’t think you’ll ever finish.

“You’re really good,” he says softly.

You shrug, trying not to make it a big deal. “I’m trying.”

“No,” he says, looking at you now. “You are.” There’s something in his voice. An honesty you remember from a long time ago. The same tone he used when he told you you’d pass your math final, even when you thought your brain was rotting.

You smile, a little flustered. “Thanks.” You continue slowly walking next to all the art in the room. A thought you’ve had the past few days blooms in your mind again and you get the urge to ask him. “So…” You start, trying to make your question natural and not open wounds that could possibly not be closed. “How long are you in town for?”

He looks at the ground. “Not sure yet, until the investment deals are closed, and then I’m heading back home.” There's a tug at your heart at the words “back home”. Just as you thought he was home he’s gonna leave again.

“Oh, of course…” You know exactly what you want to ask next, but once again scared that the question might scare him. That it might push him into something he wants to forget. You take a deep breath, keeping an eye on him and his reaction. “It's been 10 years since we graduated..” You glance at him. “You got the invite for the reunion?”

Last week, an invitation to the 10-year-high-school-reunion showed up in your mail. You already decided to be there, to get a feeling of where your past class-mates are in their lives. And maybe to see if there’s a chance you can convince the quiet boy who helped you through senior-year to come.

“Yeah.” He nods slowly. “I got the invite.”

“You going?”

A pause. A breath.

“I don’t know,” he finally says. “Feels like… walking into a movie I didn’t get cast in.”

You frown. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

He tilts his head. “You remember how people treated me, right? The only reason most of them knew my name was because they copied off my homework.”

“Well, they didn’t know what they had,” you mutter. “Still don’t.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh. You nudge him with your elbow. “I think you should come.”

“To be ignored by people who still think I'm invisible?”

You smile up at him. “No. To be acknowledged by people who don’t recognize you because now you look like a Calvin Klein ad and drive around in a car that almost committed homicide.”

He laughs, really laughs. That warm, breathless laugh that used to sneak out between tutoring sessions when you said something accidentally funny.

He shakes his head. “You really think I should go?”

“I think you should go,” you say firmly. “You skipped prom. Don’t skip this too.”

He looks at you for a long moment. Thoughtful. A little hesitant. “You’re going?” he asks.

“Of course,” you say. “My art is in the alumni showcase. And I look hot in formal wear. It’s a win-win.”

That earns another soft chuckle. “Okay,” he says eventually. “Maybe.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s what you said about prom.”

“And look how that turned out.”

You tilt your head. “Exactly. Don't ghost this one, Song Mingi.”

“I’ll try,” he says, quiet now. “No promises, but… I’ll try.”

And as you stand beside him in the echo of the empty hallway, you can’t help but feel the past and the present stretching and folding between you. Two threads that never fully came undone, tying themselves back together in small, careful knots.

***

The Allen key slips from your fingers again, clinking against the hardwood floor with a sound that feels almost personal at this point. You sit back on your heels, sweating lightly from sheer frustration, surrounded by mismatched wooden panels, screws that don’t seem to belong anywhere, and a manual that may as well be in ancient hieroglyphics.

You stare at the chaos in front of you, defeated. The IKEA coffee table should have been a simple, 30-minute build. It’s been an hour and you’ve gotten as far as accidentally screwing one of the legs in backwards. You sigh and grab your phone from the couch, already knowing who you’re going to text. The one person you can count on to both show up and mock you the entire time.

You: wooyoung pls help ikea is winning and i’m not strong enough

You toss your phone beside you and grab the water bottle at your side, taking a sip while looking over the battlefield.

Wooyoung: what is it this time? bookshelf? chair? a humble side table?

You snort and wipe your hands on your sweatpants before typing back.

You: coffee table i fear it might become firewood

Your phone buzzes again instantly.

Wooyoung: 😔 gone too soon rip flatpack

You grin a little despite yourself, dragging the manual closer as if something might magically make sense if you stare at it hard enough.

You: are you coming or not

He types back immediately, which is always a little suspicious.

Wooyoung: i could… OR

You raise a brow and lean against the couch cushion behind you.

You: or what

Wooyoung: OR you could text your new tall friend with the jawline and the tragic blind date taste you know mr. i-own-three-black-coats-and-a-personal-driver

You blink.

You: no

Wooyoung: come on he clearly has strong forearms he’d probably carry the table in one hand and read the manual with the other

You picture Mingi in that sleek coat, tall and effortlessly put together, showing up at your restaurant last week. You shake your head.

You: he’s not a superhero he’s just tall

Wooyoung: tall and rich. and he literally showed up to see you at work. idk sounds like someone who would build a table for a girl he likes.

You pause, staring at the screen. Your heart does a weird little flip, but you immediately squash the feeling. That’s not what this is.

Right?

You chew your bottom lip, typing slowly.

You: who said he likes me???

Wooyoung: me. i said it. and i’m rarely wrong

You groan into your hands, half-laughing and half-exasperated. This is what you get for asking Wooyoung for help.

You: so you’re not coming?

Wooyoung: no, i’m busy watching netflix and doing absolutely nothing ask him 😌

You let your phone fall to your lap and stare at the unfinished table. You could ask Mingi. He was nice. Surprisingly easy to talk to. And yeah, maybe you’d caught yourself looking at his hands more than once when he handed you his credit card.

Still…

You roll onto your back, hair splayed out against the rug, staring up at the ceiling. The idea of texting him makes your stomach flutter, but it’s just a table, right? You sigh. The coffee table creaks beside you, as if mocking your indecision.

It starts with a text.

you: hey um… super random but do you know how to build ikea furniture?

There’s a pause. Three dots appear, disappear, appear again.

Then:

mingi: this feels like a trap like if i say yes you’re gonna make me build a castle or something

You snort.

you: not a castle just a table a large, heavy, emotionally threatening coffee table

mingi: ah yes the sadistic swedish puzzle box

you: it’s been giving me death stares from the middle of my living room i think it’s winning

mingi: are you asking me to risk my life for you

you: ...yes?

This time the three dots hang for longer.

Then:

mingi: text me your address i’ll bring coffee and emotional support

you: you’re my hero

mingi: don’t say that until we survive step 12: “insert screw B into slot F without crying”

You laugh to yourself, heart doing a weird little jump. You’ve only seen him a handful of times after his 10-years-disappearance, but even through a screen, Mingi’s the same blend of soft and sarcastic that he used to be. Just taller. Richer. Hotter. And still, somehow, kind of a lovable nerd. You send your address. A second later, another text buzzes through.

mingi: just so we’re clear if the instructions has more than 5 pages we’re taking breaks every 40 minutes and i’m allowed to complain at least twice

you: deal

Maybe this won’t be so bad. Or maybe it’ll be a total disaster.

But either way… you’re actually kind of excited to see him again. And maybe, just maybe, you hope the coffee table takes a little longer to build than it needs to. And the second you open the front door, you know you’re in for chaos. Mingi’s standing there with two iced coffees, a tote bag slung over one shoulder, and a wide grin like he’s about to conquer Everest.

“I brought backup,” he says, pulling an Allen wrench out of his pocket like it’s a weapon. “And caffeine.”

“You really came prepared.”

You lead him into the apartment, pointing toward the warzone that is your living room: an opened cardboard, Styrofoam, and that infamous IKEA manual laying in the center like a threat. You both kneel by the box, pulling out panels and screws, the floor quickly turning into an obstacle course of wood and tools. Mingi is meticulous from the start, lining up the screws by type, glancing at the instructions like they’re a sacred text.

He reads the manual like it’s a textbook, brows furrowed, lips pursed slightly. You watch the gears turn in his brain and you’re flooded with memories, study dates where he’d do this exact same expression while explaining calculus, the way he used to get adorably serious about things nobody else cared about.

You had forgotten how much you liked that about him.

“You’re very serious about this,” you note.

“This is my Olympics,” he replies solemnly. “I will not be defeated by a coffee table.”

You work together, slowly finding your rhythm. He reads the instructions while you screw the panels into place. He slides a hand over a finished piece to check its sturdiness, nodding like a proud architect. At one point, he misplaces a bracket and looks genuinely offended.

“I swear I just had it.”

“You probably buried it under your precision screw pile,” you say, lifting a handful of mismatched screws with zero organization.

He gasps. “Blasphemy. This is an advanced sorting system.”

You glance at Mingi, sweat dampening his forehead, glasses sliding down his nose from all the effort, hoodie sleeves pushed up, a proud, dorky smile tugging at his lips. He’s ridiculous. And kind of adorable. And very much still the same Mingi you remember.

You don’t say anything, but you feel it. That weird fluttering thing that happens when someone does nothing but be completely, unapologetically themselves… and you can’t help but fall just a little.

“Okay,” he says, cracking his knuckles. “What’s next?”

You sip your coffee, smiling to yourself. “Dinner, I think.”

“You cooking?”

“I built half a coffee table. I’m not lifting a spatula too.”

“Fair,” he says. “I’ll order.”

The takeout containers sit open between you on the floor, still steaming slightly. You and Mingi are cross-legged beside the newly built coffee table like it’s your proudest achievement, because, honestly, it kind of is. The soy sauce has already soaked through one napkin, but neither of you moves to clean it.

“I was such a mess in high school,” you admit. “But I always looked forward to those afternoons.”

He looks over, eyes softer now. “Same.”

The moment lingers, quiet but full. Outside, a car passes. Inside, something has shifted, like time folding in on itself, letting the past and present breathe in the same space.

You lift a dumpling toward him. “Peace offering. For stealing all your melon candy.”

***

It had become a little routine. The texts had turned into phone calls that stretched for hours, picking up where the messages had left off, weaving in laughter and conversations that seemed to flow effortlessly between you and Mingi. It didn’t matter what you were doing. Folding laundry, sketching out designs, or sometimes just lying in bed, he was there. You’d talk about anything and everything. There were no filters.

Tonight was no different. You’re half-listening to Mingi talk about a bizarre TikTok recipe he saw involving canned peaches and instant noodles when your laughter interrupts him mid-sentence.

“You’re kidding,” you say through a grin, pacing around your living room in socks. “That’s almost as cursed as your high school milkshake obsession.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the call. “Cursed? Excuse you.”

You can hear the mock offense in his voice, and it makes your cheeks ache from smiling.

“You’re not really about to defend that vanilla–sea salt–olive oil milkshake again, are you?”

He scoffs. “First of all, it wasn’t just olive oil. It was cold pressed, and second of all, it was a masterpiece. That place on the corner knew what they were doing.”

“You brought it to the long study sessions” you laugh, flopping onto your couch. “And it always looked like... salad dressing with ice cream.”

“You bought them for me sometimes!”

“I was being nice!” You couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. “You were making me pass classes, the least I could do was give you your weird milkshakes!” Both of your laughs died down, and a short silence follows, but it’s comfortable now. The kind that lingers between two people who’ve been talking too long to bother with filters.

“…You know,” he says suddenly, voice a little softer, “you could come over sometime. We could… I dunno, sit around and talk like this. Maybe get some of those awful milkshakes.”

You blink, caught off guard for a moment, but the warmth in his voice isn’t flirty. He’s not trying to make a move. It just sounds like Mingi. Familiar. Gentle.

You clear your throat. “You buying?”

“If that’s what I have to do to make you try it, then yes. I’m defending my honor, so you better bring the evidence.”

A few hours later, you’re in the elevator of a glass building downtown, holding a cardboard drink tray with two sweating milkshake cups. One of them is chocolate. The other… well, you can’t believe you actually paid for the olive oil one.

His apartment is high up, some penthouse suite he’s temporarily staying in for work. And now standing in the entryway of his penthouse, the actual penthouse, like floor-to-ceiling windows, a huge balcony and gadgets enough to make anyone a millionaire, you realize nothing about Mingi is really “no big deal” anymore.

Except he’s still barefoot in sweats, big glasses and an oversized hoodie. Still blushes a little when he sees you staring.

“Holy crap,” you murmur, stepping inside. “You live here?”

“Technically, yeah, just for now” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. “It was a work thing… investment perk or whatever. It’s only temporarily while I’m in town as I’m investing in the property.”

“You live like a Bond villain.”

He shuts the door behind you. “Only on the outside. Inside I’m still the guy who alphabetizes his manga and cries over Studio Ghibli soundtracks.”

You hand him the tray. “Well, Bond villain or not, you’ve got your gross milkshake. Drink up, sir.” You walk further into the penthouse and it hits you in the head how far Mingi has come. But it still looks like his place. Stacks of books in the corner. A record player. A Gundam figure half-assembled on the counter. An old hoodie slung over the back of a leather chair. It's expensive in layout, but it feels like Mingi lives here. It feels like him.

You wander a little while he disappears into the kitchen. That’s when you see it.

Tucked into the bottom shelf, nearly hidden under old magazines: a dusty high school yearbook. You grin and crouch down to pull it out, fingers wiping across the cover. It’s old and familiar, instantly bringing back the scent of marker ink and locker sweat. When you flip it open, you’re already smiling, ready to find some awkward teenage photo of Mingi in braces or maybe a dramatic quote about science. But the sight in front of you makes your heart sink. All of the pages are blank.

No messages. No inside jokes. No “have a great summer!” or doodles of hearts. You pause, flipping through slower now. Every page is spotless. No one wrote anything.

Mingi comes back with the two milkshakes and sees you crouched there, frozen.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “You found that. I didn’t even realize I had that. Must’ve been in one of the boxes my mom dropped off. I didn’t mean to bring it.”

You look up. “Why didn’t anyone sign it?”

He shrugs, walking past you to place the shakes on the table. “No one noticed me back then. Kind of hard to sign a yearbook for someone you didn’t know existed.”

Your heart cracks a little. “That’s not true. I noticed you,” You notice his lips twitch, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, still wearing that lopsided grin. “It’s not a big deal.”

You didn’t say anything.

“I mean, high school was… whatever,” he went on. “I kept my head down. Did my homework. Got gum thrown in my hair once in gym class, that was fun. And Jae, of course. His favorite game was grabbing my backpack and tossing it into random places. One time it ended up in a bathroom stall. Still don’t know how.” He laughed a little, like it was funny now. Like it hadn’t mattered.

But you remembered. You remembered the way he used to flinch when Jae walked by. How his shoulders stayed tense until you were sitting down to study. You remembered how he never met anyone’s eyes in the hallway. How sometimes, he’d show up to your sessions looking like he hadn’t slept at all. But a part of you didn’t realize how bad it really was. Maybe you were just to scared to realise it back then. And now you feel even worse about how you handled everything during high school. How you could’ve been there for him, supported him, stopped the bullying or at least tried.

So now you regret not doing more.

“I used to hide out under that tree by the math building during lunch,” he added casually, tapping his straw on the lid. “One time Jae and his friends poured soda into my backpack. Said they were giving it a drink.”

Your grip on the yearbook tightened.

“But I survived,” he said, flashing you a quick smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Could’ve been worse, right?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you closed the book and put it back carefully. “I didn’t know it was that bad.”

“You were always nice to me,” he said. “That helped more than you probably realized.”

You glanced over at him and he finally met your eyes. The façade cracked, just slightly. You could see the truth there. It had been bad. And it had stayed with him. “You didn’t deserve any of it,” you said softly. He gave you a small smile, but said nothing. “I should’ve written in your yearbook,” you murmur. “I would’ve written so much.”

He chuckles softly. “You probably would’ve drawn something ridiculous, too.”

“Probably.”

Silence stretches between you again, but it’s heavier now. Like time is waiting for either of you to add to the topic, but what is there to say? you don't feel like pushing him too hard, and he seems to brush it off, like he isn't comfortable enough to talk about how it really was back then. So you do the next best thing and reach your arm towards him and extend your hand. “Okay. Give me the sacred Mingi Special.”

His eyes widen. “You sure?”

“Nope. But I’m brave.”

He hands out the drink and you take a sip of the infamous vanilla-olive-oil-sea-salt milkshake, and then blink. The mix of sweet and salty, with a touch of olive-oil balances out the flavors perfectly. “Wait… that’s actually not bad.”

He looks smug. “Thank you. Finally, vindication.”

You roll your eyes jokingly. “Still not better than chocolate.”

“Debatable.”

***

The past few days had passed in a blur of double shifts, aching feet, and too much caffeine. You were running mostly on autopilot. Pour, serve, smile, repeat.

And tonight, work had been hectic. A weekend dinner shift meant nonstop tables, last-minute party reservations, and a manager who couldn’t seem to stop breathing down your neck. But Wooyoung, ever the life of the kitchen and bar, had kept your spirits up the whole night.

As you both step out into the cool night air, you are still breathless from laughing.

“If I ever have to make another espresso martini for a man in flip-flops who calls me ‘chief,’ I’m going to lose my job,” Wooyoung says, dragging a hand down his face dramatically.

“You handled it so well,” you say, still giggling. “You told him the machine was broken and then walked away mid-order.”

“Because it was broken, emotionally. Like me.”

You snort, and he bump his shoulder into yours. The cool night air wrap around you both as you walk slowly down the quiet sidewalk. The restaurant lights glow behind you, and the street ahead was dim and calm.

“Come on, I’ll drive you home,” Wooyoung says as he reached into his jacket pocket for his keys. “No offense, but you look like you’re gonna fall asleep standing up, so you’re stuck with my terrible driving.”

“You’re not that bad,” you say, smiling up at him. “I only screamed twice last time.”

“That’s an improvement.”

But just as you’re about to follow him towards the lot, you freeze. A familiar figure stood under the streetlamp ahead, half in shadow. Tall. Broad. His posture straight, but his shoulders slightly tense like he hadn’t meant to be seen, standing still like he wasn’t sure whether to move forward or vanish.

Your steps falter slowly. “Mingi?”

His head snaps up like he hadn’t expected to be seen. His eyes find yours immediately.

“Oh,” he says, almost too softly. “Hey.”

Wooyoung glance at you, then back at Mingi. “What a coincidence.”

You heard the teasing in Wooyoun’s words.

“I was just… going for a walk,” Mingi says.

Wooyoung grins, playful but not mean. “At midnight?”

You elbow him lightly, but Mingi gives a half-laugh. Not awkward, just small. Quiet. Like he was trying not to take up too much space. Mingi only shrugs like it made perfect sense. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“We just got off work,” you say quickly, stepping slightly forward. “It was… kind of a wild night.”

Mingi nods, eyes flickering to Wooyoung. “Right. That makes sense.” His gaze flickers between the two of you. You see it written all over his face, it was the same look he had back in High School when he talked to you in front of Jae. Like he felt like he interrupted, like he wanted to disappear..

Wooyoung shifts beside you, suddenly less talkative. You don’t miss the way Mingi’s eyes flickers to the keys in Wooyoung’s hand. His expression doesn’t change, but something in his shoulders tightens.

“Well,” Mingi says, already taking a step back. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t,” you say quickly. “We were just-“

But he is already backing away. “I’ll see you around, okay?” he says, trying to smile. “Have a good night.”

You stand there for a beat, stunned by how fast he vanishes, like the night had swallowed him up. Wooyoung lets out a low whistle and turns toward you slowly. “That boy thinks we’re dating.”

Your stomach does a weird twist. “Do you really think so?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, just gives you a long, considering look. “He showed up here. After midnight. Just happened to be outside the restaurant you work at. And now he’s walking away like he just watched the love of his life get proposed to.”

“Wooyoung-”

“He’s into you,” he says, tone softer now. “In that quiet, I-would-definitely-die-for-you kind of way. You see that, right?”

You look down at the pavement, chewing the inside of your cheek, hoping you didn't give the impression you just think you did.

TAGLIST: (let me know if you wanna be added)

@lveegsoi , @vixensss

#ateez fic #ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez au #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #mingi fic #mingi x reader #ateez mingi #ateez x reader #atz x reader #atz

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vrtualchg · 4 days ago

Text

FORMULA FOR DISASTER

Y/N's failing chemistry—barely clinging to a passing grade and much more interested in lip gloss than Lewis structures. Naturally, her teacher assigns the school’s golden boy, Peter Parker, to tutor her. He’s top of the class, painfully polite, and irritatingly hot in that awkward, cardigan-wearing, accidentally-dominant kind of way. What starts as a tutoring session quickly spirals into something way more intense. She’s a teasing, pouty distraction in miniskirts and pink gel pens; he’s a tightly wound genius with too much self-control for his own good. But when she tests him—grinding in his lap, pouting over pop quizzes, and whispering "punish me, Professor Parker"—he snaps. Hard. Suddenly, chemistry isn’t just a subject—it’s a game of rewards and consequences. A slow, burning power play where every right answer gets her praise, and every wrong one earns her discipline. Over his thigh, bent over the desk, drooling on her own notes—he teaches her in every way she’ll let him. She wanted extra credit. Peter made sure she earned it.

pairing: Peter Parker x reader

genre: smut, academic tension, tutor/student dynamic, slow-burn to full burn, dom!Peter

Authors note: yes I know they’re doing basic chemistry. Piss off.

tw: MDNI 18+, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, choking, overstimulation, slight dubcon (consensual but bratty), possessive behavior, thigh riding, dry humping, praise & degradation, use of “good girl,” reader being a brat, Peter being accidentally dominant, teacher kink/“Professor Parker,” light degradation, hand on tummy during creampie, power imbalance (soft), aftercare tease, cheeky texting, nerd x bimbo dynamic (kind of), reader failing chemistry but not failing to seduce

bot version: PETER PARKER - nerdy

Peter Parker had long since accepted his fate as Midtown High’s unofficial poster boy for all things academically torturous. Honors student, science team prodigy, volunteer tutor, human calculator—you name it. If the school had a nerd hierarchy, he sat comfortably at the top, which, ironically, meant he had very few people below him and absolutely no one standing beside him.

So, naturally, when the chemistry teacher—exhausted and probably two missed paychecks away from snapping—needed someone to babysit a failing student, she turned to her ever-reliable go-to: “Peter, you're so gifted in this subject. Why don't you help her out?”

Her being Y/N.

Y/N: pink-acrylic-nails-tapping-on-her-phone-screen Y/N. Miss can’t-pass-chemistry-but-somehow-has-a-closet-bigger-than-his-entire-apartment Y/N. The kind of girl who showed up to school in designer sneakers and lip gloss that probably cost more than his entire monthly grocery budget. She wasn’t mean, exactly. Not the stereotypical Regina George knockoff people expected from girls like her. But she was exhausting in a way that felt deliberate—always flippant, always dramatic, and somehow always surrounded by this faint glitter-scented aura of chaos.

Peter should’ve said no. Should’ve bowed out, claimed he was too busy with Stark internship work or homework or literally anything else. But no. Because Peter Parker was pathologically polite, emotionally guilt-tripped by authority, and—for reasons he hadn’t yet admitted to himself—just a little too curious about her.

Which was why he now found himself sitting uncomfortably stiff on the edge of a designer couch that probably had a name. A French name. Her house—mansion, really—was the kind of place that belonged in movies where the girl dramatically descends a staircase during prom season. High ceilings, gold-accented crown molding, a literal chandelier in the foyer. He was half-convinced the doorknobs were real crystal.

Jesus Christ, even her WiFi is probably fast enough to download a Marvel movie in 10 seconds, he thought, adjusting his glasses and trying not to look impressed.

And then she walked in.

“Ugh,” she groaned theatrically, her glossy lips forming a perfect pout as she tossed her books onto the pristine desk like they’d offended her. “Why does chemistry even matter? I’m not trying to become a periodic table.”

Peter blinked slowly, fighting the urge to smile in that way he always did when people said stupid things with full conviction.

“Right,” he muttered, deadpan. “Because atoms are so last season.”

She ignored the sarcasm, flopping into her chair with a huff loud enough to echo against her crystal candle holders. Her hair was half-pulled up with a velvet scrunchie, her phone glittered in its pink rhinestone case, and her entire aura screamed sugar and fire.

Peter gave her a look. A long, tired, vaguely judgmental look.

Same, his brain whispered.

She blinked at him, then stood up with dramatic flair—bare feet patting softly against the plush carpet—and dragged over another chair from across the room. Not just any chair. A plush, bubblegum-pink monstrosity with bows carved into the wooden legs and little heart buttons stitched into the backrest.

It looked like it had been stolen from Barbie’s dream house.

She plopped it beside her desk chair and patted the seat like she was inviting him to sit on a throne.

“There. Come on, Parker. Tutor me.”

“Is this... my assigned seat?” he asked dryly, staring at the chair like it might swallow him whole.

“Obviously,” she said, smiling sweetly. “What, too much pink for you?”

“I didn’t know chairs could be weaponized.”

“Maybe I’ll bedazzle it for you next time,” she teased, twirling one of her earrings with practiced disinterest.

Peter sighed, muttering something under his breath about human suffering, and finally sat down beside her. Their knees almost touched. She was warm—too warm for someone who always acted like she didn’t care about anything. And he could smell her perfume, something sweet and citrusy and wildly inappropriate for studying.

He glanced sideways at her as she opened her notebook and stared at it like it had personally wronged her.

This was going to be a long afternoon.

But for some reason, he wasn’t all that mad about it.

Peter leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk, and flipped open his own battered textbook—the spine cracked, corners dog-eared, and annotated to hell with color-coded tabs. The difference between their supplies was... comical. Hers looked like it had never been opened for anything other than aesthetic purposes. Pink-tinted, untouched, and almost offensively sparkly.

He glanced over as she pulled her own books from her bag, and—of course. Covered in shimmery pastel paper, sticker-bombed with little hearts, cartoon cherries, and one aggressively winking Hello Kitty near the corner. She opened the notebook with a flutter of manicured fingers, and he nearly snorted when he saw the pages inside.

Everything—everything—was written in pink gel pen. Curly loops. Puffy lettering. A couple hearts dotting her i’s.

He tilted his head slightly, brow raised. “Do you have a vendetta against black ink?”

She blinked, looked down at her notes like she genuinely hadn’t noticed, and shrugged. “Black’s boring,” she said, twirling the pen between her fingers. “And pink makes me pay attention more.”

“Right,” Peter said, lips twitching. “Because neon ink definitely improves focus and memory retention.”

“I’m a visual learner,” she said innocently, batting her lashes. “Pink makes the mitochondria easier to remember.”

He looked at her, entirely deadpan. “The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. That’s not even chemistry.”

“Oh my God, whatever,” she groaned, dramatically slumping in her chair. “See, this is why I said I suck at this. I literally don't get what magnesium is. Why do I need to know what it is? I’m not trying to be, like, a magnesium... person.”

Peter blinked. “A chemist?”

“Yeah, that,” she said with a small pout, like the word had personally offended her. “Can’t I just, like, skip this part and move on with my life?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Magnesium is literally a basic element. It’s kind of unavoidable. It’s in your body. Your bones. Your cells.”

Her eyes narrowed. “So I am magnesium?”

“In a sense, yes.”

She made a face. “That’s gross.”

Peter couldn’t help it—he laughed. Actually laughed, soft and surprised, like the sound had been dragged out of him. She turned her head quickly, eyes catching his in a way that made something in his chest tighten for reasons he’d rather not unpack.

“Don’t laugh at me,” she said, though her lips were curling upward.

“I’m not laughing at you,” he said, still grinning. “Just... with a deep, deep sense of secondhand concern.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and he rolled his eyes, but the smile lingered. Something about her was infectious—loud and ridiculous, but weirdly sincere. She didn’t pretend to understand anything she didn’t, didn’t try to impress him with fake interest in formulas or elements. She was just unapologetically her. Loud. Sparkly. Utterly allergic to science.

And for some reason... it didn’t irritate him the way it should.

“Okay,” he said, taking a breath and adjusting the textbook. “Let’s start small. Magnesium’s an element on the periodic table. Symbol Mg. Atomic number twelve. It's an alkaline earth metal.”

She blinked, eyes glossing over almost instantly.

Peter paused. “...Which means it’s shiny and kinda chill.”

That got a smirk. “Like me.”

He gave her a look. “Magnesium also catches fire if you heat it up too much.”

Her smirk widened. “Like me.”

Peter stared at her, utterly unimpressed. “You’re literally a danger to chemistry.”

“And you’re a danger to fun,” she shot back, but it was playful. Teasing. Her eyes sparkled when she was being bratty, like she knew exactly what she was doing—and, God help him, it was working.

He cleared his throat and glanced back at the book. Focus. You’re here to teach. Not flirt. Definitely not to flirt with someone who probably thinks electrons are a TikTok trend.

Still, he couldn’t stop the thought as he glanced sideways at her again, catching the way she chewed lightly on the end of her glitter pen, eyes squinting at the page like the words were written in ancient Greek.

This was going to be painful.

But maybe... not in a bad way.

“Explain it to me in girl language, Pete,” she said, leaning a little closer, the curve of her pout deliberate and devastating.

Peter blinked at her, blinking twice just to be sure he wasn’t hallucinating how cute she looked when she did that. He wished she’d stop doing that thing with her mouth—the slight downturn, the soft lip jut, the puppy-dog eyes like he was the last person who could save her from the terrifying mysteries of magnesium. It wasn’t fair. It was a weapon.

“Girl language?” he repeated flatly, like someone who had just been asked to translate quantum physics into emojis.

She nodded earnestly, ponytail swishing behind her like this was some innocent favor instead of a personal attack on his willpower. “Yeah. Girl language. You know, like—pink-coded. Digestible. Fun.”

Peter stared at her like he was actively buffering. “You want me to translate chemistry... into girl.”

“Exactly!” she chirped, smiling like he’d just caught up. “Because all this periodic table, proton-neutron talk is, like, too much. You’ve gotta speak to me in a language I actually get.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Dragged a hand down his face, then slowly leaned back in his pink torture-throne of a chair.

“I’m going to regret this,” he muttered under his breath.

She grinned wider. “You already do. Now go on, Professor Barbie. Make it sparkle.”

Peter gave her a look that could curdle milk. Then, with a sigh so deep it came from his soul, he turned toward her fully and began, “Okay. Magnesium—Mg—is, like... the chill, underrated best friend of the periodic table. Not flashy like gold or dramatic like sodium, but still essential. Very supportive. Gives your bones strength. Helps your muscles move. Keeps your heart from, y’know, stopping. So basically? It’s like... the bestie who’s always holding your hair back when you cry after making bad decisions.”

Her eyes lit up. “Ooh, so she’s, like, the backbone friend. Silent ride-or-die. Not a main character, but necessary. Love that for her.”

Peter blinked. “You’re... actually getting this?”

“Bitch, yes. Magnesium is the bitch who holds my life together. I’m obsessed now.”

He tried not to laugh, but a sound escaped—half-snort, half-wheeze. He shook his head, eyes dropping to her glitter-smudged notebook, and then up again to her face, where she was looking at him like he’d just solved world peace.

“Okay,” he said, humoring her, “let’s keep going. Next up is calcium. Another ride-or-die. Works with magnesium. They’re, like, co-dependent besties.”

“So they’re Elle and Paulette.”

“...Who?”

She gasped. “Peter. ‘Legally Blonde’? Bend and snap?”

He stared blankly.

She looked personally offended. “Oh my God, we’re fixing that. You’re watching it next time. No wonder you’re sad all the time.”

“I’m not sad all the time.”

“You are scientifically the saddest boy I know.”

Peter bit back another smile, biting the inside of his cheek as she scrawled “Mg = BACKBONE BADDIE” in pink ink across the top of her notes.

He couldn’t decide if he was in hell or rapidly descending into something way worse—something that felt like liking her.

But then she scooted a little closer, her knee bumping gently into his, and smiled at him like he wasn’t just a tutor but a secret she was starting to enjoy keeping.

And suddenly, Peter wasn’t so sure he wanted to be anywhere else.

Peter kept talking, though at this point, he wasn’t entirely sure if he was teaching chemistry or performing a live spoken-word act called Science for Brats: The Glitter Edition. Still, he powered through—explaining molecular bonds and electron shells in his best attempt at “girl language,” which apparently consisted of metaphors involving friend groups, ex-boyfriends, and Sephora membership tiers.

It shouldn’t have worked.

But it did.

Except… she wasn’t writing any of it down anymore.

He’d noticed the subtle stillness at first—the soft stop of her glitter pen, the way her elbow relaxed from where it had been poised over her notebook. When he finally glanced up, she wasn’t even pretending to look at her notes. She was just... watching him. Chin resting in her hand, eyes locked on his face like he was explaining the formula for eternal youth, not atomic structure.

He trailed off mid-sentence.

“What?” he asked cautiously, brows drawing together. “Why are you staring at me like I just offered you a Dior lip gloss or a Birkin bag?”

She tilted her head, smiling in that lazy, dangerous way that always meant trouble. “You kinda sound hot. Like, nerdy hot.”

Peter blinked. Once. Twice. His brain short-circuited for a second, skipping over logical processing and heading straight into full system error. “You’re not serious.”

She was. God, the look on her face made that painfully clear—coy, amused, and just a little bit predatory. She shifted slightly, turning toward him in a graceful sprawl that should not have been as mesmerizing as it was. One leg tucked under her, the other stretching lazily out to the side. Her pleated skirt shifted higher along her thigh as she moved—dangerously high—and Peter’s brain promptly fell off a cliff.

“Oh, I’m very serious,” she said sweetly, voice dipped in honey and challenge. “If more of my classes were taught by awkward, hot nerd boys who talk about electrons like it’s foreplay, I’d be graduating with honors.”

“I’m not—” he started, horrified, “—I’m not hot. That’s not—no.”

“Debatable,” she said with a one-shouldered shrug, like it wasn’t even a question. “Anyway, you should say ionization energy again. That was kind of sexy.”

Peter stared at her, visibly struggling to maintain composure. His mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again, because he had to correct her, obviously, because that’s what tutors do, even when they’re being flirted with by a very-pretty-very-annoying girl in a skirt that’s suddenly his mortal enemy.

“It’s ionization energy,” he corrected weakly. “Not... ‘ionizatain.’ That’s not even—God.”

“Oh my God,” she mocked softly, mimicking his voice with a teasing smirk. “Say it slower, Professor Parker.”

Peter scrubbed a hand over his face, ears going pink. His entire posture shifted—shoulders tense, back rigid, eyes darting anywhere that wasn’t her thighs.

“I came here to help you pass chemistry,” he muttered. “Not be... verbally assaulted.”

“Assaulted? Peter, please. You’re blushing like a Disney prince who just saw ankle for the first time.”

“I am not blushing.”

“You so are. It’s cute. Like your little ‘serious tutor’ voice.”

He groaned and slumped back in the pink chair, defeated. “You’re impossible.”

“And you,” she said, leaning forward until her perfume clouded his thoughts, “are hot when you’re mad.”

Peter didn’t respond. Couldn’t. His brain had officially disconnected from the rest of his body, and all he could do was sit there, blinking, as she smirked at him like she’d just won a game he hadn’t even known they were playing.

Somewhere, buried under all that panic and embarrassment and mental chaos, was the very faintest flicker of pride.

Because if nothing else... she was definitely paying attention now.

“Are you gonna punish me, Professor Parker?” she asked with a giggle, the words lilting out like a joke, but her eyes said otherwise—wide and glinting, watching him for a reaction the way a cat watches a laser pointer.

Peter leaned back slowly in his chair, his expression unreadable, fingers folding loosely in his lap. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blush. He just looked at her, long and hard, like he was running an internal diagnostic on the entire situation—and maybe himself.

Then, in a tone far too calm for the storm he felt brewing inside, he replied, “Yeah. I will.”

She blinked. Once. Twice.

Peter’s gaze didn’t waver. “If you don’t stop whatever this is,” he said, voice quiet, collected, but firm, “and actually focus... I will punish you.”

There was a beat of silence. It stretched, thick and slow, the kind that made the air buzz.

She turned to him fully, body stilling, lips parted. Her breath caught a little, and her thighs subtly pressed together under the desk. “What?” she whispered, genuinely unsure if she’d misheard him—or if he’d just flipped some hidden switch neither of them realized he had.

But Peter just shrugged, the movement easy, fluid—almost too casual. Like this whole thing wasn’t cracking his moral compass in half.

“I’ll punish you if you keep teasing me,” he repeated, eyes never leaving hers. “But…” He leaned forward just slightly, elbows on his knees, voice dropping a fraction of an octave. “I’ll reward you if you try. If you actually pay attention. If you show me you’re listening.”

The breath that left her was almost inaudible. She couldn’t tell if she was being scolded or seduced, and honestly? She didn’t care. Her brain had turned to glitter-slush the second he rolled up his sleeves.

Which he just did. Casually. Absentmindedly. Like it meant nothing.

But it did something. God, did it do something.

Her gaze dropped—unconscious, involuntary—and locked on the sudden reveal of his forearms. Veins, tendons, subtle lines of muscle flexing under warm, freckled skin. They were stupidly unfair. Strong and lean and just—masculine in a way she hadn’t been prepared for. She stared at them the way she stared at designer heels: like they were expensive, dangerous, and possibly worth ruining her life over.

“Eyes up here, princess,” Peter murmured, dragging her attention back with that impossible, slow confidence he had no right to possess.

Her face flushed—just slightly—and she cleared her throat, trying to play it off with a smirk. “Well. Someone’s feeling bold all of a sudden.”

“You started it,” he said simply, flipping open the textbook again with one hand, the other draped lazily over the back of his chair. “You flirted. You teased. You said I was hot.”

“You are hot,” she said automatically, almost annoyed by how true it felt in the moment.

“And now you’re distracted,” he said, eyes flicking down to her lips for the barest second before meeting her gaze again. “Which is fine. If you want to be bad, be bad. Just don’t expect to pass the quiz at the end of this.”

Her brows shot up. “There’s a quiz?”

“There is now,” Peter said, utterly unfazed. “Five questions. Get them right? You get a reward. Get them wrong…”

He let the sentence hang, trailing off with just enough weight to make her swallow.

“What kind of reward?” she asked softly, sitting up straighter, trying to appear composed even as her pulse quickened.

Peter gave a small, knowing smile—more to himself than to her—and tapped the edge of her glitter pen with his own. “Study and find out.”

She hesitated for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip in a way that was definitely not helping either of their situations. But eventually, with something dangerously close to sincerity in her eyes, she gave him a tiny nod.

“Okay,” she whispered, voice breathy, softer than before. “I’ll listen.”

Peter glanced at her, mildly surprised by the shift in her tone—but he didn’t question it. He just gave a satisfied hum, nodding once like a teacher approving a particularly well-behaved student.

“Good girl,” he said absentmindedly, flipping to the next page in the textbook. “Now we’re talking.”

The words hit her like a slap and a kiss all at once. Simple. Offhand. Barely emphasized. But God. Her thighs clenched under the desk like it was reflex. Her breath hitched—just slightly—but Peter had already turned away, unaware of the small detonation he’d just caused in her lower stomach.

She blinked hard, trying to push air back into her lungs, her posture suddenly straighter, hands clenched in her lap. If he noticed the way she subtly crossed her legs tighter beneath the desk, he didn’t say anything. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t gloat.

Which somehow made it worse.

Because he was dead serious now. Back to chemistry. Back to explaining covalent bonds and energy levels like he hadn’t just casually dismantled her brain with two fucking words.

She swallowed and nodded along, trying to process anything that wasn’t the warm ache pooling deep in her core. His voice washed over her—low, steady, undeniably attractive now that she was actually paying attention. Which, unfortunately, she was. Too much.

She stared down at her notes, willing herself to focus, to be the so-called good girl he’d just praised. She wrote Magnesium = supportive baddie in the margin, then underlined it three times just to pretend like her hand wasn’t shaking a little.

Peter kept talking, guiding her through atomic structure, gesturing casually with a pencil in hand—occasionally using it to point at diagrams, or to tap her paper gently when she looked confused. And every time it made her jump just a little. Not because she didn’t understand—okay, sometimes she didn’t—but because now everything he did felt weighted, electric, impossible to ignore.

When he leaned over her shoulder to correct something in her notes, she stopped breathing. His cologne—clean and faintly cedar—wrapped around her like a noose.

“You see where you went wrong?” he murmured beside her ear, voice lower now that they were closer.

She nodded dumbly, though she couldn’t remember a single thing he’d said in the last two minutes. Her eyes were stuck on the way his fingers looked wrapped around her pen, steady and precise. She wanted to say something flirty—something biting, something to bring the control back into her hands—but all her usual weapons had short-circuited.

She was, for once, actually trying.

Trying to listen.

Trying to learn.

Trying not to melt every time he so much as glanced at her.

But then, just when she thought she might finally be settling into something resembling focus, he leaned back, tossed his pencil on the table with a soft thud, and said, “Alright. Pop quiz. Five questions.”

Her head snapped up. “Wait—seriously?”

Peter gave a small, wicked smirk. “I warned you.”

“This is so unfair,” she huffed, arms folded tightly beneath her chest, gaze narrowing in what she probably thought was intimidation but really just looked like a pout he was trying very hard to ignore.

Peter barely looked up from his notebook. “Life’s unfair,” he replied coolly, flipping the page with a maddening sort of composure. The kind that made her want to scream—or maybe crawl onto his lap and see how long that composure would last.

“Now,” he continued, pen poised, glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose, “question one.”

She groaned like he’d asked her to recite the periodic table backwards in Latin. “You’re enjoying this.”

He tilted his head, mouth twitching at the corners—not quite a smile, but a glimmer of something unholy. “A little,” he admitted. “But I warned you. Actions have consequences, princess.”

She muttered something unrepeatable under her breath, but sat up straighter, chin lifted in quiet defiance. Her arms stayed crossed—subtly pushing her chest up, not that she was doing it on purpose or anything. Not like she noticed the quick flicker of his gaze or the slight pause before he looked away.

“Alright,” he said, tapping the end of his pencil against the desk with slow, deliberate rhythm—like a countdown. “First question. What’s the difference between a covalent bond and an ionic bond?”

She squinted. “Wait, is this multiple choice?”

“Nope.”

“Can I phone a friend?”

He raised a brow, deadpan.

She sighed dramatically. “Ugh, fine. Covalent is, like… sharing? Electrons?”

He nodded slowly. “Go on.”

“And ionic is… a full transfer? Like one atom gives the electron away?” Her brow furrowed. “Like a rich dad paying off child support.”

Peter blinked at her. Then—despite himself—laughed. Soft and low and entirely involuntary. “Sure,” he said, biting back the rest of his smile. “Correct.”

She lit up. “See? Told you. I’m not dumb, I just need sexy incentives.”

He ignored that. Barely. “One point. Don’t get cocky.”

“Too late.”

“Question two,” he said, and this time his tone turned a shade darker—cool, clinical. “What’s the atomic number of magnesium?”

Her eyes widened. “You’re kidding. I barely know its name.”

He gave a patient shake of his head. “No cheating,” he warned, nudging her notebook shut with the eraser of his pencil as her eyes darted toward it.

That firm tone again. It went straight to her spine—and lower.

She narrowed her eyes, fingers tapping against the desk. “Uhh… twelve?”

Peter paused. Then nodded. “Correct again.”

She grinned, smug. “Two for two. I want gold stars.”

“You want a reward,” he corrected smoothly, sitting back just enough for the light to catch on his glasses. “You’re halfway there.”

Her smile faltered for a second—just a second—because his voice had changed again. Gone softer. Darker. Like a warning wrapped in silk. “I don’t choke,” she said quietly, almost to herself.

He smirked. “We’ll see.”

She blinked.

“Question three,” he continued before she could recover. “Define ionization energy.”

She blinked again. “That’s the hot one, right?”

Peter let out a sigh that sounded a lot like a laugh. “That’s not an answer.”

“No, wait! I know this one—it’s the energy it takes to… remove an electron from an atom?”

His brows lifted. “You’re getting dangerously close to being my favorite student.”

She preened. “Don’t stop now, professor. I’m learning so much.”

“Then let’s test that,” he said smoothly, flipping another page with that same deliberate slowness that made her stomach tighten. “Question four: which element has the higher electronegativity—fluorine or oxygen?”

Her eyes narrowed. “That sounds like a trick question.”

“It’s not.”

“…Fluorine is the toxic one, right? Like, yellow gas of death or something?”

He gave a noncommittal hum.

She squinted. “Okay. I’m gonna say oxygen. Final answer.”

Peter didn’t flinch. Just clicked his pen and marked a quiet ‘X’ beside her name.

Her jaw dropped. “Wait, it was a trick question!”

“Nope,” he said, too innocently. “It was just science. You were so close.”

She groaned, head hitting the desk with a thunk. “This is psychological warfare. You know I need pictures and glitter pens. My brain’s not wired for raw data.”

Peter chuckled under his breath, but the gleam in his eye said he was enjoying this more than he’d ever admit. “Don’t worry,” he said. “There’s still one question left. One more shot at redemption.”

She lifted her head slowly, leaning her weight onto her elbows, cleavage framed perfectly between her arms. “And if I fail?” she asked, voice pitched low.

He didn’t blink.

“Then you’ll learn what punishment really means.”

Her breath caught. A quiet flutter in her chest. “Kinky.”

“Consequential,” Peter corrected, but the look in his eyes betrayed him. His voice had dipped into something deeper. Something that made her spine straighten and her legs cross instinctively beneath the desk.

“Final question.”

She sat up, trying her hardest to look serious—and not like she was seconds from combusting. “Hit me.”

He tilted his head slightly, and asked, voice velvet-smooth, “What’s the electron configuration of sodium?”

She blinked.

“Okay—what the fuck did you just say to me?”

Peter’s lips twitched. “You’ve seen this in your notes.”

“Which you closed,” she muttered.

“Come on,” he coaxed. “Think back. Shells, sublevels—remember?”

She closed her eyes, trying to conjure some memory of that godforsaken diagram. “Okay… 1s2, 2s2… um… 2p6… 3s1?”

Silence.

Peter tapped his pen once. Then slowly set it down.

“That’s correct.”

She blinked. “Wait—seriously?”

He nodded once. “You passed. Barely.”

Her breath rushed out in a relieved laugh, her eyes lighting up. “Oh my god. I passed chemistry.”

Peter’s brow arched. “You passed my quiz. You still missed one.”

She stilled.

“…Which means you still get the punishment.”

Her smile faltered just slightly. “Right. That.”

“But,” he added, leaning forward, forearms resting on his thighs as his gaze locked with hers, “you also get your reward.”

Her lips parted slightly. “Okay… so… what’s the reward?”

Peter didn’t blink. Didn’t smirk. Just said, calm and devastatingly clear: “You get to sit in my lap.”

She stared.

“I—what?”

“You heard me,” he said, voice soft and measured. “Come here.”

Her heart was hammering now, pulse fluttering high in her throat. “And the punishment?”

Peter smiled—small, sharp, and entirely dangerous.

“You’ll find out if you move.”

She hesitated for a second—just a second—then slid from her chair and stepped between his legs, her heart jackhammering against her ribs. Peter didn’t say a word. Just watched her. Calm. Expectant. The silence thick between them.

Then, slowly, she lowered herself into his lap.

At first, she tried to keep a respectable distance—her weight barely resting on his thighs, posture stiff and uncertain. Her skirt rode up as she settled, the hem skimming far too high for decency, but she still kept her hands clenched in her lap like that would make any of this feel normal.

It didn’t.

Peter’s hands found her hips.

Without a word, he pulled her back—firm, steady, inescapable—until her spine was flush against his chest and she was properly seated. Full weight. Right over the growing bulge in his jeans.

The breath left her lungs in a soft, involuntary gasp.

And God, she could feel him. Hard. Thick. Pressed perfectly between her legs, separated only by the flimsiest excuse for lace and the whisper of her skirt. The contact sent a lightning bolt of heat straight through her, and her thighs instinctively tried to squeeze together—but it was him there, and the pressure just made it worse.

Peter leaned forward slightly, his mouth close to her ear, voice low and dangerously gentle. “You move,” he murmured, “I punish you.”

She nodded shakily, barely able to breathe. “Y-yeah.”

But Peter wasn’t finished.

His right hand stayed firm on her hip, thumb stroking lazily against the curve of her waist like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. His other hand? Calmly reached across the desk to pick up his pen again. Like this wasn’t a big deal. Like she wasn’t already soaked through and losing her mind just from sitting still.

She swallowed thickly, eyes fixed on the way the pen moved in his fingers. “Are we… Are we still doing chemistry?”

He smirked against her ear. “Of course.”

Then, like nothing was out of the ordinary, Peter opened his notebook again and started writing.

Meanwhile, she sat there—frozen, breath shallow, thighs trembling as every tiny shift of his legs beneath hers sent another pulse of heat through her. His cock was so there—right up against her, thick and hot even through the layers—and she knew he could feel everything. The slick heat between her legs, the tiny quiver of her muscles, the way her hips threatened to roll with even the smallest breath.

But she didn’t dare move. Not even an inch.

“Question,” he said after a beat, casually, like he wasn’t slowly unraveling her sanity with nothing but proximity. “How many valence electrons does nitrogen have?”

She stared blankly at his notebook. Her brain was soup. Her mouth moved but no words came out.

Peter glanced at her over his glasses, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Need a hint?”

Her breath hitched. “Y-Yes.”

His lips brushed her ear. “Don’t move,” he said again—soft but lethal. Then he nudged his hips upward.

Just once.

A gentle grind. A warning. A promise.

She bit down hard on her lip, stifling the gasp that tried to break free.

“Nitrogen,” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin, “has five.”

And she couldn’t tell if she was learning or being conditioned.

“Good girl,” he added absently, going back to his notes, completely ignoring the way she squirmed at the praise—except, of course, for the way his grip tightened just slightly on her hip, holding her still. Possessive. Controlling. Teasing.

She didn’t know how long they stayed like that—him casually quizzing her, her trembling on the edge of obedience and full-blown ruin—but she knew this: she wasn’t passing chemistry.

She was being rewired by it.

She heard his voice. Could feel it—low and smooth, rumbling through his chest and curling around her like velvet. He was still talking, flipping pages in the notebook, gesturing lazily to some diagram as if this were still about atoms and bonds.

But none of it registered. Not a word.

All she could focus on was the pressure between her legs and the way his thigh sat perfectly between them—solid, unmoving, a delicious point of friction. Without even realizing it, she started moving against him. Slow. Subtle. Barely-there rolls of her hips, grinding down gently, dragging her soaked panties along the rigid line of muscle beneath his jeans.

Peter kept talking.

For a while, he let her have her little secret.

But she should’ve known better than to think he wouldn’t notice.

He stopped mid-sentence, eyes narrowing behind the frames of his glasses. He didn’t say anything right away—just leaned back in his chair, arms folding slowly across his chest as he stared at her with unreadable calm.

“You’re not even listening, are you?”

She froze. Her breath hitched, her lips parted—but she had no excuse. Nothing to offer. Just need. Pure, aching, unbearable need.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I need you, Pete.”

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes. Something dark and heated. But then it was gone, replaced with quiet restraint and that maddening composure she was starting to loathe.

“No,” he said simply.

She blinked. “What?”

“You don’t get me,” he said, his voice cool and steady. “Not yet.”

He shifted, nudging his thigh up just enough to make her gasp softly, her thighs tightening reflexively around it.

“Use my thigh,” he murmured. “If you’re that desperate. Get yourself off.”

She stared at him, flushed and wild-eyed, shame and arousal bleeding together in equal measure. But she nodded. Of course she did. She’d take anything from him—anything he’d give her.

With shaky hands, she braced herself on his shoulders and began to move. This time with intention. No more subtle grinding—this was unabashed, slow friction, the lace of her panties dragging over the rough denim, her breath catching with every roll of her hips.

Peter watched her the whole time.

Unblinking. Silent. His eyes traced every stutter in her movement, every flicker of desperation that passed across her face.

“You’re such a mess,” he said quietly, more to himself than to her. “Look at you. So greedy.”

She whimpered, burying her face in his neck, her hips rocking harder now. “Please, Peter. Please, I can’t—”

Her hand reached between them, fumbling with the front of his jeans. Desperate. Mindless.

But he caught her wrist before she could even touch him.

“No,” he said again, firmer this time. “That’s not yours yet.”

He guided her hand away, placing it back on his shoulder as she whimpered in frustration, eyes glassy with need.

“Get yourself off,” he said again, voice dark and low. “Earn it.”

She nodded frantically, biting down on her bottom lip to keep quiet as she chased the friction, riding his thigh with increasing urgency. Her body trembled with it—overstimulated and under-touched, burning from the inside out.

And Peter just watched.

Like she was a lesson in control.

Like her pleasure was a science experiment he already knew the outcome of.

It happened so fast she barely remembered breathing through it.

One second she was grinding, her rhythm frantic and erratic, and the next—she broke. Her hips jerked, a gasp leaving her lips like it was punched out of her, her thighs trembling violently as pleasure surged through her. Nails dug into Peter’s shoulders for purchase as she came, messy and silent save for the high-pitched, shaky whimper that slipped out just before her body slumped back against him.

Her breath came in quick, uneven bursts, body still twitching in aftershocks. But Peter’s voice cut through it—low, measured, merciless.

“I didn’t tell you to stop.”

Her lashes fluttered. She blinked down, barely able to keep her head up. “Peter—”

He just looked at her, calm as ever, like he hadn’t just let her make a soaked, squirming mess of herself all over his leg. “I said,” he murmured, reaching down to tug her hips forward, forcing her to grind down again on his soaked thigh, “I didn’t say you could stop.”

She let out a broken sound—half sob, half moan—her clit already painfully sensitive, each new rub of lace and denim making her jolt. “I—I can’t—”

“You can,” he said, dragging her hips in rough, firm circles, his grip unforgiving. “And you will. Since you clearly don’t know how to listen unless I fuck obedience into you.”

Her mouth fell open, head tipping back as another wave of overstimulation rolled over her. “Wait, wait—please—Peter, it’s too—”

“No.” His voice sharpened, his patience finally fraying. “You just can’t follow instructions, huh?”

Then, in one fluid motion, he stood—taking her off his lap, only to bend her forward over the desk, palms flat against the cold wood, her skirt pushed up to bare her trembling thighs and soaked panties.

Peter stood behind her, undoing his belt with a slow clink of metal, his composure barely holding. “I came here to tutor you,” he muttered, more to himself than her. “Not to fuck the last five brain cells you have left out of that pretty little head.”

She whimpered under him, fingers curling against the edge of the desk, already pliant and arching back toward him despite her sensitivity.

Peter leaned over her, voice brushing hot against the shell of her ear as he dragged her panties down slowly, letting the wet fabric fall just to mid-thigh.

“You want to act like a brat?” he murmured. “Then I’ll fuck you like one.”

And with one devastating thrust, he was inside her—fully, deeply, to the hilt.

The breath was knocked out of her lungs. Her cry came out hoarse, wrecked, her knees nearly giving out beneath her. If it wasn’t for Peter’s grip on her hips, firm and possessive, she might’ve collapsed right there against the desk.

“You wanted to be a brat, right?” he growled, each word punctuated by a hard snap of his hips. “So take it.”

His pace was merciless. Sharp, relentless, the sound of skin against skin echoing through the room like some obscene rhythm. Each thrust punched into her so deep she could barely keep her head up, the force of it dragging her forward against the desk with every stroke. Her legs trembled, her mouth hanging open in a silent moan as he hit that spot—thatspot—again and again, until the edges of her vision blurred and her body forgot how to breathe.

Peter leaned over her, one hand pressing down between her shoulder blades, forcing her to arch for him. And that’s when he saw it.

A thin line of drool slipping from the corner of her mouth, dripping shamelessly onto her open notebook—right across the half-scribbled answers to questions she barely remembered him asking.

“Look at you,” he said with a low chuckle, eyes narrowing. “You’re fucking drooling all over the books.”

Without missing a beat, he reached forward and shoved them out of the way, clearing space on the desk while still pounding into her like he had no plans of stopping anytime soon.

“So messy,” he murmured, voice thick with mock-disapproval and something darker. His hand curled around the back of her neck, guiding her head to the side so he could see the dazed, fucked-out expression on her face. “So cock-hungry, huh baby?”

She let out a high, broken whimper, unable to form words.

Her body had gone limp under him—pliant, trembling, ruined in the most beautiful way—and Peter couldn’t help the smirk that pulled at his lips. “All that mouth earlier, and now look at you. Can’t even speak. Can’t even think.”

He thrust into her harder, dragging another gasping moan from her throat.

“I could teach you every element on the periodic table,” he whispered against her ear, “and you still wouldn’t remember a thing except how it feels when I’m buried inside you.”

Her fingernails scraped at the desk’s edge, her whole body shaking as she tried to hold on—but it was too much. He was too much.

“Poor thing,” he murmured, slowing his pace just enough to make her whine. “You gonna cum again for me, baby? Right here? All bent over your chemistry homework?”

She nodded desperately, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

“Then be a good girl,” he said, voice tightening, “and take what I give you.”

She barely managed to nod—her brain had short-circuited, thoughts smeared like the notes beneath her. And still, Peter didn’t stop.

He gripped her hips harder, bruising now, using her body like she was nothing but a toy made to take him. His thrusts picked up again, savage, the desk creaking beneath their weight. She couldn’t breathe right. Couldn’t think. Could only moan as every nerve in her body screamed at the overwhelming heat building and building, threatening to snap again.

Then she felt it—Peter leaning over her, chest flush against her back, his breath hot against her ear. His hand left her waist and moved up, fingers curling loosely around her throat.

“I said take it,” he growled, voice rough with restraint. “You don’t get to tap out yet.”

His fingers tightened—not enough to hurt, but just enough to make her mind spin, to make everything sharper and louder. Her hips jerked back against him, helpless and needy.

“Peter—fuck—I can’t—” she gasped, voice breaking apart.

“Yes, you fucking can,” he snapped, thrusting up into her so deep her vision went white. “You wanted to tease me? Act like a brat? Now you’re gonna cum until your legs give out.”

She cried out again, that pressure building viciously inside her until it shattered—her second orgasm crashing down hard, ripping through her with a sob. But even then, Peter didn’t slow. He didn’t let her.

She squirmed under him, too sensitive, whimpering as her body tried to twist away. But he caught her by the throat again, tilting her head back, breath hot against her cheek.

“I didn’t say you could stop,” he hissed, the filthy edge in his tone almost feral now. “You’ll cum again. I’ll drag it out of you if I have to.”

Her whines dissolved into moans as he fucked her through it, relentless. Her skin was flushed, slick with sweat, mascara smudged beneath glassy eyes. Her mind gone, tears streaking down her cheeks. And then—

Peter spat.

Right down onto her tongue.

She hadn’t even asked. But her mouth had been hanging open, breathless and ruined, and he just leaned over and let it fall—a slow, warm string that made her whole body jolt.

She moaned like it was the best thing he’d ever done to her.

“Fucking filthy,” he growled, voice wrecked now, jaw clenched tight as he watched her swallow it without hesitation. “God, look at you. Dripping, shaking, and still begging for more.”

One hand slid down to rub her clit, merciless in its rhythm, as he kept fucking into her like he wanted to mold her to the shape of his cock.

“Pete—Peter, I—too much—can’t—” she sobbed, her words blurring into wet, incoherent sounds.

But he just leaned closer, lips at her ear. “Then cum again.”

And she did.

Her body seized, thighs trembling violently as her orgasm ripped through her, messy and primal and raw. Her screams were muffled against the desk, fingernails scratching helplessly at the surface as she came hard—clenching around him, soaking them both.

Peter didn’t stop until her legs fully gave out, collapsing under her with a broken moan. Even then, he held her up, letting her breathe, his grip firm on her throat and her hips like she was the only thing anchoring him now.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice low and dangerously close to unraveling. “You’re such a good little mess for me.”

Peter groaned, the sound guttural—feral—as he felt her clamp down around him again, her pussy spasming with aftershocks. She was limp beneath him, trembling and soaked, barely able to hold herself up on her elbows. And he still wasn’t done.

He kept fucking into her, slower now but so deep it felt like he was rearranging her. Dragging it out. Grinding his hips forward with purpose—owning her.

“You’re still gripping me,” he breathed, one hand sliding from her hip to her belly, spreading over the soft skin there. “Fucking hell—do you feel that?”

He pressed down. Right over the swell of her lower abdomen where his cock kept driving into her, so deep inside it felt like he was punching into her core. She gasped, back arching, thighs twitching.

“R-right there,” she choked, voice wrecked. “I can feel you, oh my god—”

Peter’s eyes darkened, his jaw flexing as he felt the outline of himself through her stomach. “Yeah, you can. That’s me, sweetheart. That’s how fucking deep I am.”

Her moan was nothing more than a high, strangled cry as her hips rocked weakly back into him. She was long past gone, completely fucked out—and he fucking loved it. Loved the way she took it. Loved how ruined she looked—mascara-streaked, drool on her chin, eyes glossy and lost.

“You wanted to be filled, didn’t you?” he rasped, voice sharp and trembling with restraint. “Wanted me to fuck you dumb, huh?”

She nodded frantically, biting her lip to keep from sobbing again.

“Say it,” he growled, his thrusts picking up just enough to make her fall forward again, her cheek pressed to the desk.

“I—I wanted it, Peter,” she whimpered. “Wanted you to finish inside—please, I need it.”

That broke him.

His rhythm turned punishing again—fast, deep, brutal, the slap of skin echoing in the room as he chased it now, chest pressed flush to her back, his hand still firm on her belly like he was making sure she’d feel every last drop.

“You’re gonna take it,” he snarled against her ear, breath hot. “Take every fucking drop like the good little cumdump you are.”

And then—he groaned. Loud, raw, desperate. Hips stuttering as he buried himself one last time, grinding as deep as he could go. He spilled inside her with a low, broken moan, cock twitching as his cum filled her, warm and thick and so much it dripped back out before he’d even pulled away.

Peter stayed like that for a moment, cock still buried in her, both of them panting, their bodies trembling against each other.

He gave her stomach one last possessive press, almost reverent now. “Fuck,” he whispered, “look what you do to me.”

She just whimpered, so far gone she could barely respond, thighs sticky, cunt fluttering weakly around him still.

“You feel that?” he murmured, pressing in a little more, letting her feel the heat of him deep inside. “That’s mine. You get it now, don’t you, baby?”

And from the ruined way she moaned, he knew she did.

A week after that tutoring session—the one that started with flashcards and ended with her drooling on his chem notes—Peter was half-asleep, sprawled out on his bed, still in his suit pants from patrol. His hoodie was tossed somewhere on the floor, hair a sweaty, tousled mess. His limbs were heavy, mind drifting in and out of consciousness when his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

He groaned, cracking one eye open. Probably Ned sending him another blurry screenshot of a TikTok he didn't understand or MJ forwarding some dry meme with a caption like “ur humor.” He dragged his arm over, fumbling until his fingers curled around his phone. The screen lit up.

Not Ned. Not MJ.

Y/N.

His brain clicked on like a light switch.

He sat up slightly, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he opened the message. It was a picture. Her chemistry test. And there it was—an A+ circled at the top in red pen, like a glowing beacon of success. Like she’d actually listened to him.

Beneath it, her message:

I passed my test, can I get my reward :)🩷

Peter let out a short laugh, low and warm, as he ran a hand down his face. His cheeks flushed, and not from exertion this time.

Of course she passed. She might’ve giggled through half the session and made zero eye contact during anything remotely science-related, but when it counted, she’d nailed it.

God, she was something else.

#emmy writes!#peter parker #marvel #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #marvel fanfic #peter parker smut

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creampuffqueen · 6 months ago

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Mal's Modern Avatars AU

Welcome one and all to my Avatar College AU, the premise of which is that the three female Avatars share an apartment during college and are all best friends. This is the official character intro post!

Yangchen Ngodup - she/her

Major: International Relations, minoring in Philosophy, Psychology, and Political Science (yes she is insane for this)

Sport: Volleyball setter (fall) & track sprinter (spring)

Clubs: Debate team, Model UN, Volunteer Chair for Eco-Representatives Club, Choir (soprano) & Class President her senior year

Family: Raised by her older sister, Jetsun, who disappeared without a trace when Yangchen was 7. After her sister's disappearance she lived with her elderly relatives Tsering and Dagmola. Her senior year of high school she went to live with her Uncle Boma in order to get in-state tuition for her top choice college

Other: Owns two siamese cats named Pik and Pak. Routinely exceeds the daily recommended caffeine limit. Leader of a bar trivia team that kicks ass

Kavik Aliyak - he/him

Major: Pre-med, hoping to specialize in emergency medicine

Sport: Intramural wrestling for one semester, drops it for intramural ice hockey

Clubs: Math Club, Chess Club, Pre-med Society

Family: Parents Tapeesa and Ujurak, brother Kalyaan who is 3 years older than him

Other: Complex relationship with his older brother. Attempted to rush a frat but decided it wasn't for him. Was a Resident Advisor for two years. Receives a yearly National Merit scholarship for his proficiency in math. Works part-time as a cashier at a local boba shop

Kyoshi Jampa - she/her

Major: Literature

Sport: Basketball, attends on a scholarship for the sport

Clubs: Poetry Club, Ceramics Club, Forestry Club, a small stint with the campus newspaper

Family: Abandoned at 5, bounced around the foster system until ending up with Kelsang at 10. Her parents passed away in prison when she was 13, and Kelsang officially adopted her when she was 14

Other: Sings backup vocals for The Flying Opera Company, a small band started by some of her friends. Works as a barista at a local boba shop. Very shy due to bullying during middle and high school. Her and Rangi's families are extremely close

Rangi Sei'naka - she/her

Major: Pre-law, wants to specialize in criminal justice

Sport: Intramural soccer and taekwando

Clubs: Debate Team, History Tutoring, LGBTQ Club

Family: Parents Hei-Ran and Junsik. Her father passed away from leukemia when she was 12

Other: Part of the school's ROTC program in the army branch. Attends this school specifically to be with Kyoshi

Korra Egoak - she/they

Major: Kinesiology

Sport: Intramural soccer, wrestling, and rugby

Clubs: President of the LGBTQ Club

Family: Parents Senna and Tonraq, plenty of close extended family on both sides

Other: Was homeschooled her entire life. Originally scouted to swim for a different college, but suffered an accident in high school that left her both traumatized and paralyzed. She is mostly recovered, but still deals with PTSD and occasional depression. Has a service dog, Naga

Asami Sato - she/her

Major: Mechanical Engineering

Sport: Intramural Jiu Jitsu

Clubs: President of the Robotics Club, LGBTQ Club, Chess Club

Family: Parents Yasuko and Hiroshi. Mother was killed in a home break-in when she was 8. Her senior year of high school her father was arrested for insider trading, and his million-dollar company reverted to her. It is currently being run by others, but she plans to take over after she gets her degree

Other: Part of a sorority

Relationships:

Yangchen & Kavik began dating the summer after their freshman year. Influenced by his older brother, Kavik broke up with her over winter break their sophomore year. He quickly regretted this and spent the next semester making it up to her until they felt ready to date again

Kyoshi & Rangi began dating their senior year in high school after being friends for several years. When Kyoshi got into this college, Rangi instantly decided to follow her

Korra & Asami met while Asami was dating Mako. She, Korra, and Mako all bounced between each other for a few months before the two girls realized they liked each other far more than they liked him. They began dating the spring semester of their freshman year

Yangchen, Kyoshi, and Korra became friends their freshman year and decided to rent an apartment together for their sophomore year. They enjoyed it so much they kept the apartment together until they all graduated

If you want to read more about this AU, check out this post or this post. Or this silly incorrect quotes post. Also feel free to send asks about it if you're interested!

#mal's modern avatars au #atla #tlok #chronicles of the avatar #avatar yangchen #avatar kyoshi #avatar korra #yangvik #rangshi #korrasami #kavik #rangi sei'naka #asami sato #yangchen x kavik #kyoshi x rangi #korra x asami

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parkaplayboy · 5 months ago

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75% || Chapter 2

stylenny x gender neutral reader

You're a senior in college during your final semester, but you find out that you're dangerously close to failing a class that you need to graduate. Lucky for you (or unlucky, depending on how you look at it) you get paired up with a tutor.

words: 2.1k

PREVIOUS || NEXT

Wednesday 9:54 pm

You readjusted yourself under your blankets, doom scrolling through your social media. Science be damned, pre-bedtime social scrolling is necessary for a good night's rest. Unfortunately for you, a notification from your school email pops up on your screen, ripping your attention away from an exposé piece of an internet micro-celebrity you’ve never heard of.

‘ATTENTION! CAMPUS LIBRARY CLOSED TOMORROW..’

“What the hell, again?” Echoed from across the hall, tone indicating that you had about 15 seconds before your roommate was going to majestically barrel into your room. On cue, your roommate bursts into your room.

“You do know what knocking is, don’t you?” Evan rolls his eyes, fidgeting with the one of the trinkets you had on display. “Dude, we’ve been friends since diapers. Get over yourself.”

You scoffed. “What does that have- nevermind. What’s up?” Evan looks up at you, mindlessly tossing an eraser between his hands. “Library’s closed again.”

“We got the same notification, Ev. Why’s that so important all of a sudden? I wasn’t sure you knew where the library was located.” An eraser not-so-gently thrown hits your shoulder. “Well smartass, I planned on bringing Ciara over while you’re gone.” Evan states matter-of-factly.

You wrinkle your nose. “First off, TMI, Ev. I don’t need to know about you and your girlfriend’s sex-lives.” Evan interjects, in mock-defense. “Hey, I never said sex! It’s not my fault that you have an impure mind.”

“It was implied and you know it!“ Your phone buzzes on your bed. You grab it, not bothering to continue the mock argument.

1 New Email From: Kyle Broflovski

“Kyle just emailed me, probably to cancel the session.” You hesitate before clicking the notification, oddly anxious.

Hey, Y/N. Since the library is closed, do you mind moving the session to my apartment? You live in Dorm C don’t you? I can give you a ride, my house isn’t too far.

Oh! So you’re fucked. Cool, thanks Outlook.

“Holy shit.” Evan perks up from his leaned position on the wall. “What’s it say?” Your eyes scan over the sixteen words on your screen, reading and re-reading to make sure you read it correctly. “We’re studying at his house tomorrow.” For a split second, there’s silence. Then, Evan begins to laugh. “What could possibly be funny right now?” Evan holds up a finger towards you, the other hand held over his mouth as he tries to stifle his laughter. “You’re totally fucked, dude.”

Why are you friends with this guy, again? “Why am I friends with you again?” Evan grins. “I was the only one who supported your 8th grade emo phase.” Oh, right. You’re unfortunately stuck with him. “Yeah, you’re too much of a liability if I ghost you. Too much of my business would be at stake.” Evan laughs harder, shoulders shaking. “Same goes for you! I think I’d just have to like, kill you or some shit. You could take any average day in 10th grade and make a 10 part TikTok story time. I’d be fucked within the hour..”

“Okay, okay. Suicide pact if we ever decide to stop being friends. Now, what makes you say I’m fucked? Is it that bad?” You not so subtly ask. It’s one thing for you to say you’re fucked, but when other people can see it too is when it becomes a problem. “Okay well..” Evan trails off, taking a moment to think. “You remember Oliver from 11th grade?” Remember him? If only you could forget. You had the most sickening crush on him for the entirety of 11th grade. “Of fucking course I do. What’s your point?”

Evan, rolled his eyes, mouth twitching in vague annoyance. “Well, what you might not remember, is that every time you saw him you’d get all tongue twisted and trip over your own feet. It made it obvious to anyone with eyes that you had a crush on him.” Your face burned in embarrassment. “Exhibit A on why I can’t ghost you.” Evan ignores your comment, gearing up to speak again.

“You can not be casual to save your life, Y/N. There’s no way you’re gonna make it through tomorrow.” Evan pushing off your wall with his foot, walking towards your door. You throw a pillow at him as he exits. “I’m gonna call your mom and tell her you’re being mean to me! You know I have Lisa’s number!” The door shuts and footsteps retreat down the hall. “Tell her I said hi.”

You unlock your phone, only to be met with the daunting blank response email window. You chew on your lip as you scan your brain for a normal sounding response.

Hey Kyle! Y|

“No exclamation mark. It makes me sound desperate.”

Hey, Kyle. Yeah, sounds good to me. See ya th|

“See ya? What am I, a southern 5 year old?”

Hey, Kyle. Yeah, sounds good to me. See you tomorrow.

Good enough. Send.

Thursday at 4:47 pm

His car was just both exactly how you imagined it and somehow completely different at the same time. You assumed it to be barren, to which you were partly correct. The rest of the car was empty save for a half empty water bottle in the cupholder and two charms hanging off of his mirror. One being a tiara & the other being a sword. You toyed with the notion of asking him what they stood for but you decided against it. He also had one of those plug-in car fresheners that smelled like eucalyptus and mint.

“So, what’s your major?” Kyle turns his head slightly, to signify that he was listening to you but not fully taking his eyes off of the road. “I’m a Vet Medicine Major. I had a lot of pets growing up so I got really interested in their health from a young age..” You awkwardly trail off, choosing to stare at the road in front of you. “Dude, seriously? My boyfriend would freak out if he heard that,” Boyfriend? Of course he’s taken, he looks as good as an ethereal being on a bad day. “He’s a big animal lover. Y’know, when we were ten he protested a veal farm to the point that he didn’t eat for days.” Before you could respond, the car pulled into the driveway of his apartment. ‘Saved by the bell.’

You exit, wrapping around the car and trailing behind him towards the front door. Kyle stopped briefly to look at the sky. “Oh shit, I think it’s going to rain later.” Kyle reached into his pocket and inserted his key into the lock. “Kenny is at work and Stan is visiting his sister for the afternoon so we should be good to go.” You hum in response as he opens the door, padding inside. ‘Is Kenny the boyfriend or is Stan the boyfriend? Or both? Or neither?’ You try not to make it obvious as you damn near break your neck to look around the place. It’s messier than expected, especially compared to his car, but after finding out two other people live here the clutter makes sense.

Thursday at 7:09 pm

“All in all, you seem to have a good understanding of the material. Today was productive.” Kyle shut his laptop and slid it further onto the table as he spoke. “Yeah, it’s easier when I can directly ask questions, I think.” You responded, a small smile forming on your lips. The front door opened behind you, the sound of intense rain being amplified as a pair of footsteps entered the room. “And then, that stupid fucker had the audacity to ask me to comp his meal! Can you fuckin’ believe that, stan? I had half a mind to break the plate over his head- Oh, hey.”

You turn around, eyes landing on two men, just as drop dead gorgeous as their roomate. One of the men was a chubby man with blonde hair and black roots, the other being a shorter, thin, boy-ish looking guy. “Hey, Ky. Who’s this?” The one you assumed to be Stan, asked. “Oh, right! Stan, Kenny, this is Y/N the person I’m tutoring. Y/N, this is Stan and Kenny, my boyfriends.” You have to manually remember to breathe. ‘Boyfriends? Three of the world’s hottest men are dating? Am I fucking dreaming?’ If you were dreaming, it’d be more akin to a nightmare. You give a small polite wave, eyes switching between the two men. “You’re not about to drive are you? It’s coming down pretty hard out there.” Kyle groans. “Damn, really?”

“Hey,” Kenny called out from the kitchen that he at some point wandered into. “The Weather App says it’ll be over in an hour.” Kyle turns back to face where you’re sitting on the couch. “Do you mind sticking around for an hour?” What did you do to deserve this? Your plan was to study, make awkward small talk in the car, and bitch about your sad excuse of a love life to Evan. At this point, you wanted to fist fight whichever higher power allowed this to happen. Get some sort of retribution, but instead of challenging a deity to a duel, you just smiled and nodded.

You stayed where you were sitting previously, Kyle moving next to you, Stan sitting in the arm chair to your left with Kenny sitting on the floor in front of the chair allowing Stan to play with his hair. Idle conversation was had between the three, occasionally discussing something that you know, allowing you to chime in. After the previous topic died down, comfortable silence filled the room. Until Kyle spoke up. “Stan, Y/N’s a Vet Science.” Goddamnit. Stan perked up, briefly letting go of the strands of hair between his fingers. “Dude, no way! That’s so sick! Are you planning on opening a practice? Or do you plan on going the more scientific route?” You flush slightly, not expecting to be put on the spot. “Uh, yeah definitely the more scientific route. I’ve interned at the local humane society’s med lab a few times and plan on applying there after graduation.” Stan nodded his head as he listened, the single black cross earring dangling as nodded. “Seriously? I volunteered there recently! Did you meet Mark? Oh my god, he’s so annoying,” You watched Stan as he spoke, and as much as you’d have liked to take in any of the information he was saying, he was just so goddamn pretty. How’s that meme go? “Whatever you say handsome”? You nod, occasionally throwing in a ‘mhm’ or a ‘yeah’ to show that you’re listening.

The rest of the conversation went smoothly, learning more about the three of them. You could tell that they’d been friends before partners with the way their chemistry flowed so well. It almost made you jealous. Okay, it definitely made you jealous. You went into this house with one unattainable crush, and you came out with an additional two. Just the kind of shit luck you have.

Thursday at 8:21 pm

The car pulls to a halt in front of your Dorm, bringing a wave of relief over you. Before you move to get out, Kyle turns to you with his phone in his extended hand. “Can you put your number in before you go? It’s easier than the stupid campus email. The damn thing asks me to verify like 16 different ways before it lets me in.” Kyle scowls and you have to fight back a laugh. “No, for real! It’s like, I promise you no one is trying to hack into a Denver State student’s email.” You grabbed his phone from his hand, typed your numbers into the contact box and clicked save. “There you go.” You smiled and grabbed your bag from between your legs, exiting the car and closing the door quickly, walking to the other side of the car and toward your Dorm. “Thanks

for the ride, Kyle. See you next week.” You wave before turning towards the building and walking off. You all but jogged up the stairs to your floor, basically throwing yourself into your shared dorm. “Evan!” You called out as you shed your coat and shoes. “Shit. I gotta hop off for the night guys, GG.” You flopped yourself dramatically onto the couch next to him as he pulled off his headset. “I’m fucked.” Evan rolls his eyes. “Didn’t we establish this yesterday? What’s new?” You groan and sit up to look him in the eye. “What's new is that he has not one, but two boyfriends! And they’re both just as beautiful as Kyle!” “Damn, you have a crush on the whole polycule? Could you have chosen anyone worse?” Evan chuckled softly after the comment, but it came out more pitiful than happy. “Not funny, Ev.” Evan sighed, hand coming up to rub your shoulder. “Chin up, dude. Odds are, this whole crush thing blows over in a couple of weeks!” Well, maybe he’s right. Knowing they’re all off the market might make the feelings dissolve. You could only hope.

#south park #south park x reader #south park x y/n #south park x you #kenny mccormick #south park kenny #sp kenny #sp kyle #stan marsh #kenny mccormick x reader #south park kyle #kyle broflovski #south park stan #kyle broflovski x reader #kyle brovlofski #sp stan x reader #stan marsh x reader

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hivemuthur · 5 months ago

Text

What was that? - Ch. 3.

viktorxfemale!OFC mature! (for now, I will mark later chapters as explicit when the time comes

friends to lovers, co-workers, sexual tension up to the wazoo, pinning and banter that got me frustrated when I was writing it, attempt at humour, some angst and a slow burn with a happy ending and a classic Viktor for once

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12. | Ch.13. | Ch.14. | Ch.15.

word count: 4,2K

tag: #what was that

summary: Renly returns to work only to throw herself into her project. Viktor is happy to have her back, but will keep it to himself at all cost! Also - bullshit science and some backstory.

author’s note: Beta reader: @rennethen

Cross-posted on AO3

—

Renly quickly forgot about that cat idea when it dawned on her how right Jayce had been. Indeed she began spending more and more time at the lab, only visiting her campus apartment when she needed to do laundry. They all worked relentlessly, whether on their own projects or collaborating on shared ones. Additionally, Renly assisted Heimerdinger’s classes and periodically tutored the younger students. She and Jayce looked a bit scruffier than usual with the beautiful Mel Medarda out of town for a few weeks and for Renly, well… there was no reason to look better than bare minimum.

Viktor was the only one to maintain his routine, always presentable, even when the dark circles under his eyes betrayed how many hours he had spent adjusting hextech blueprints. He was also the only one getting annoyed by the perpetual mess left around by the other two—scrap paper, spare clothes, dirty dishes, and his beloved coffee pot, always empty, never cleaned. They had a few disagreements about it—Renly had tried to explain the concept of hyperfocus, which couldn’t be interrupted under any circumstances, while Jayce always apologized and made fresh coffee instead.

She was desperate for a breakthrough, which felt as though it was slipping through her fingers. And even though her work wasn’t as glamorous and grand as hextech, it was so vitally important to her. She remembered herself as a child, her brother’s death from Grey, toxic waste exposure, and how she hadn’t understood then that it was irreversible. To this day, she refused to accept that nothing could have been done. In his memory, she had already decided to call the medicine ‘Angus.’

She stared at the flickering light above her workstation, the bubbling of chemicals the only sound breaking the silence. The logical thing would be to go home, sleep, get a fresh perspective. And maybe try a little bit harder to forget about John. But the desperation, the ache of disappointment—and the sting of humiliation—made her restless.

Renly rubbed her temple, her fingers trailing over the faint tension lines that had deepened over the past week. Every formula she scribbled felt like a dead end, every hypothesis mocked her with its glaring flaws. She glanced at the collection of vials on her workstation—half of them untested, the other half failures. Somewhere in the cacophony of bubbles and scattered papers, a small voice whispered that maybe this wasn’t her fight to win. But that voice only made her clench her jaw harder.

Her gaze flicked to a photo tucked into the corner of her workstation. A boy with bright eyes and a mischievous grin. “I’m trying, Angus,” she murmured, the name catching in her throat. The ache of guilt and frustration mixed into a cocktail that burned her chest. She shut her notebook and went back to staring at the flickering light above. The lab felt suffocating and empty all at once.

The silence pressed in on her like a lead weight. She wanted to scream, to shatter the stillness, but all that came out was a shallow sigh. She leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. Maybe she should go home, sleep, and come back with a fresh perspective. But what if tomorrow was no different than today?

Viktor appeared in the doorway, his cane tapping softly against the floor. He hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. “You do realize that exhaustion is not a substitute for productivity, yes?”

Renly snorted, not bothering to look up. “You sound like Heimerdinger.”

“That is not a compliment,” Viktor muttered, though his lips twitched into a faint smile. He leaned against the nearest counter, watching her work. “You should go home.”

“And you… should mind your own business,” she shot back, but her tone lacked venom.

“Fair enough,” Viktor said, but he didn’t leave. Instead, he stayed, quietly observing, until Renly finally put down her tools with a sigh. “Why are you still here?” she asked.

Viktor tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Perhaps I am... curious.”

Viktor’s fingers brushed over the edge of the counter, tracing absent patterns against the cold metal. He hesitated, his cane shifting slightly in his hand, as though debating whether to leave or stay. The flicker of the workstation light caught in his gaze, casting shadows that softened his usual sharpness. He looked at her with an intensity that made the silence feel heavy—not the silence of a quiet lab, but something deeper, laden with unspoken words.

“I’ve noticed,” he began, his voice quieter now, “that the lab feels... different when you are not here.” He straightened slightly, as if realizing how much he’d said. “It is likely just the absence of your noise. You are rather loud for someone so small.”

The corner of his mouth lifted into a faint smirk, but his eyes stayed locked on her, waiting for her response.

Renly blinked, caught off guard by his admission. The way he said it—measured, deliberate—made her chest tighten with something uncomfortably close to hope. She tried to deflect. “And what is it that you are so curious about, exactly? My tendency to break things under pressure or my... unique approach to teamwork?”

Viktor’s lips curved upward slightly. “Teamwork, you say? Is this your way of bringing up your impeccable massage skills again?”

Renly flushed, pointing a pen at him like a weapon. “If you don’t want me reminding you, stop bringing it up first.”

“You were the one who dragged it back into the light of the Bunsen burner,” Viktor countered smoothly. His voice was calm, but there was an edge of amusement that made her want to sink into her chair.

“Well, I—” she stammered, but the words refused to come out. Her face burned as Viktor tilted his head, his smirk widening ever so slightly. “Forget I said anything,” she muttered, turning her attention back to the workstation.

“As you wish,” Viktor said softly, his tone maddeningly neutral. But the glint in his eye betrayed him, and Renly could practically hear the laugh he held back.

“I might, perhaps, be curious about both.” Viktor shifted his weight onto his cane and regarded her for a moment longer than necessary, his sharp eyes assessing, as though dissecting her every feature and reaction. He was endlessly relieved that she came back. Though slightly concerned about her current state not improving.

“Well, lucky for you, I’m an open book,” she said lightly, bringing him back to the conversation. But there was a tension to her voice, a nervous energy she couldn’t quite mask.

“I have always been more interested in�� difficult books,” he murmured, his tone softer now. “The ones that require careful study.”

Renly’s breath caught. It was subtle, easily missed, but there was something in his voice—a challenge, or maybe an invitation. She tried to steady herself. “Careful, Viktor. You’re starting to sound like Jayce when he’s trying to charm his way out of trouble.”

“That is a dangerous comparison,” Viktor replied, his tone drier now, though his gaze hadn’t wavered. “I would like to believe I am more… subtle.”

Renly laughed; the sound lighter than she expected. “Subtle, huh? I’ll give you that. But you should know—” she stepped closer, lowering her voice to match his, “—I’m not the kind of book you can study in one sitting.”

Viktor’s brow arched ever so slightly, a flicker of intrigue passing through his features. “I would not expect otherwise.”

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the air between them shifted—something unspoken, tentative, and charged with the weight of possibility.

Renly felt her heart skip a beat, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and broke the eye contact, her gaze drifting to the nearby workbench littered with diagrams and half-finished experiments. “Well, if you’re looking for something more straightforward, Viktor, I think Jayce keeps plenty of picture books in his little office,” she quipped, trying to recapture her footing.

Viktor made a low sound, something between a laugh and a hum of amusement. “Jayce prefers works with… fewer complexities. I find myself drawn to challenges.” She realized that Viktor’s thick accent made a certain spot in her brain tingle.

Renly looked back at him then, catching the faintest flicker of something warm in his expression—interest, maybe, or amusement, or something she didn’t dare name. “Well, I hope you’re ready for disappointment,” she said, half-joking but wary of what his words might mean. “I’ve been told I’m more confusing than challenging.”

“That remains to be seen.” Viktor turned away, his focus drifting to one of the diagrams pinned to the wall. It was a complex sketch of a device she’d been working on for weeks, each line and symbol carefully detailed. It was supposed to make the delivery of her future cure possible on a larger scale and cleanse an entire district at once. As she was pointed out by Jayce – in the wrong hands that could be a deadly weapon. It was quite ironic, coming from his mouth.

Viktor reached out, his gloved fingers brushing the edge of the paper. “This… is yours?”

Renly nodded, thankful for the shift in focus. “Yeah. It’s still in the early stages, though. Just an idea, really.”

His eyes traced the lines, his expression unreadable. “It is… bold. Ambitious.”

“Ambitious is one word for it,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “Jayce called it reckless.”

“Jayce is often blind to subtlety,” Viktor replied, his tone mild but carrying the weight of experience. “This—” he gestured to the design, “—is not reckless. It is innovative. You see possibilities where others see only obstacles.”

Renly blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment. “Well, don’t tell Jayce that. I’d hate for him to think I’m smarter than him.”

Viktor’s lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile. “Your secret is safe with me.”

For a moment, they stood in silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. Viktor’s gaze lingered on the diagram, but Renly had the distinct feeling his thoughts were elsewhere. She wanted to say something—anything—to fill the silence, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Renly,” Viktor said suddenly, his voice softer now. He turned to face her fully, his expression more serious than she expected. “About… earlier. John. You should not allow someone to make you doubt your worth.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt the burn of tears threatening to return. “I… I know,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Good,” he said simply, his tone firm but not unkind. “Because there is no doubt, at least in my mind, that you are capable of far more than he could ever see.”

Renly didn’t know what to say. Instead, she managed a small, trembling smile, her chest tightening with something that felt dangerously like gratitude—or something more.

***

“Penny for your thoughts?” Jayce’s voice pulled Renly out of the trance she had fallen into while staring at the blackboard covered in her notes.

“Um… are you kidding? My thoughts are priceless.” She grinned at him, and he laughed.

“Well, of course, I never meant to pry on your genius,” he added but saw her cheekiness was already gone, replaced with exasperation.

“I don’t think I’m going to make it without a sample.” She slumped down in her chair and added, “And I doubt that anyone from the docks would give me one willingly, even though I’m technically a local there.”

“And what do you need exactly?”

“Ah, bone marrow preferably,” she said with ease, but when she saw the horror on Jayce’s face, she immediately added, “But that’s obviously out of the question—it’s dangerous and painful." signalling him to calm down. "So, the blood sample, maybe saliva, and any… umm, excretion fluids from, like, blisters or boils,” she continued, no longer paying attention to Jayce, whose face grew more repulsed by the second. "Oh, and obviously,”—at this point, her friend was silently praying for her to finish—"it has to come from someone with Grey exposure symptoms."

Jayce, having shaken his distaste, gave her an obvious look. “Well, that shouldn’t be so hard then. I mean, the boils and… fluids might be impossible, but the blood and saliva?”

“Care to elaborate on what’s so easy about it?”

"The fact that you exist alongside someone like that every day, who also happens to be a scientist—and who would probably sacrifice far more than a blood sample in the name of progress?" And in the name of making you happy, he thought, though he kept the sentiment to himself.

She slapped her forehead with an open palm. She had been so caught up in her own frustrations and doubts that she hadn’t even considered Viktor an option—a glaring oversight she now felt foolish for.

“Gods, how am I so stupid? I take everything back; you are smarter than I.” Before Jayce could express his confusion about that last remark she added, her mind racing „But wait… do you really think Viktor will agree to this?”

“Definitely. Maybe just don’t say anything about the… fluids.”

***

She can do this. It’s fine, it’s science and all. It took her a few days to collect herself enough to actually ask Viktor for this favour. She made sure to tidy up her notes in case Viktor asked for any further explanation.

Renly lingered in the doorway of the lab, her heart racing slightly. Viktor sat at his workstation, engrossed in whatever mechanism he was fine-tuning. The rhythmic tap of his cane against the floor punctuated his movements as he adjusted screws with steady precision. She hesitated, unsure how to approach the topic.

“Viktor,” she began, her voice cutting through the low hum of machinery.

“Renly,” he replied without looking up, the corner of his mouth twitching into the faintest of smiles. “To what do I owe the honour? Or are you here to borrow more coffee filters?”

She stepped further in, shifting her weight nervously. “Actually, I was hoping to borrow something a bit more... personal.”

That got his attention. He looked up, raising an eyebrow as his hands stilled. “Personal?”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath, mentally rehearsing the phrasing she’d agonized over. “I need a blood sample.”

His expression didn’t change immediately. He tilted his head slightly, studying her. “Are you planning to sell it at The Lanes, or is there a scientific reason for this peculiar request?”

She laughed nervously, rubbing the back of her neck. “Scientific. Definitely scientific.”

He set down his tools and leaned back in his chair, gesturing for her to elaborate.

“Okay, so… I’ve been working on this formula to counteract the effects of long-term exposure to the Grey. But I’ve hit a wall because I need a sample from someone with exposure symptoms. And, well...” She trailed off, motioning vaguely toward him.

“Ah,” he said simply, his gaze narrowing slightly in thought.

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” she continued quickly, her words tumbling out. “And I totally understand if you’re not comfortable with it. I just—”

“Renly,” he interrupted, his voice calm. “It is fine.”

She blinked. “It is?”

“Yes,” he said, rising slowly to his feet and reaching for his cane. “You are not asking me to donate a kidney. A blood sample is... manageable.” His lips curved into a faint smile as he added, “I only hope you have the proper equipment. I doubt either of us wants Jayce involved in this.”

“Right, of course,” she said, fumbling with the small kit she’d prepared in advance. “I can handle it. Promise.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow as he sat on a nearby stool, rolling up his sleeve. “That remains to be seen.”

Renly approached cautiously, trying to suppress the sudden wave of nerves washing over her. “Okay, uh, just relax your arm.”

He gave her a pointed look. “I am relaxed. Are you?”

“Totally,” she lied, though her hands betrayed her as they fumbled with the stasis band. She moved closer to him, taking his arm gently and rolling up his sleeve.

“You are trembling,” he remarked lightly.

“I’m not trembling,” she shot back, but the slight shake of her hand betrayed her again.

“Perhaps I should do it myself,” he offered, half-teasing.

“Don’t you dare,” she muttered, steeling herself.

Viktor’s forearm was lean but surprisingly solid beneath her touch, his skin pale against the dark fabric of his shirt. Her fingers brushed against his wrist as she adjusted the band, and she felt the slightest hitch in his breath—so slight she wondered if she imagined it.

She avoided his gaze, focusing instead on securing the stasis snugly just above his elbow. “Tell me if it’s too tight,” she murmured.

“It is fine,” he replied, his voice quieter now, almost curious.

Renly pressed her thumb into the crease of his elbow, coaxing the vein to rise. She could feel his eyes on her, and the proximity made the air between them feel heavier. Viktor was always so composed, but now his stillness seemed heightened, as if he were studying her in the same way he might study an equation.

“Do you always take this much care?” he asked, his tone light but carrying an edge of something unreadable.

She glanced up, catching his gaze for just a moment before looking away. “I like to make sure I get it right,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“You are very thorough,” he said, and though his words were neutral, there was a warmth in them that made her cheeks flush.

Her thumb brushed over his skin one last time before she picked up the needle. “All set,” she said briskly, trying to steady herself. “This won’t take long.”

“There,” she said triumphantly, as the blood began to flow into the vial. “See? Professional.”

“Impressive,” Viktor said, though his tone carried a trace of mockery. “If you ever tire of chemistry, you may have a future in phlebotomy.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Once she’d sealed the vial and carefully labelled it, she turned back to him. “All done. You survived.”

“Barely,” he said dryly, rolling his sleeve back down.

Renly hesitated for a moment, holding the vial. “Thank you, Viktor. This really means a lot.”

He nodded, brushing down his sleeve as she carefully packed the sample into a sterile container. “I hope it proves useful,” he said simply, his tone neutral but distant, as though he was already retreating back into his usual reserve.

Renly stilled, the words forming on her lips before she could stop them. She pressed them back, fiddling with the clasp of her sample kit. But the thought wouldn’t leave her, and she knew this might be her only opportunity to ask.

“Viktor,” she began cautiously, her voice quieter now, unsure. “I, uh—this might sound awful, but… if you—” She faltered, her nerves getting the better of her.

He turned to her fully, his brow creasing in concern. “If I…?”

She let out a shaky breath, her eyes darting anywhere but at him. “If you ever… you know, cough up anything… I mean, if it happens, not that I hope it happens, but…” She groaned, clapping a hand to her forehead. “Gods, I’m making this sound terrible.” She just remembered what Jayce had said about her mentioning additional fluids.

His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture stiffened. “You mean to ask,” he said slowly, carefully, “if I would be willing to provide a sample of my… condition.”

Renly winced, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter behind her. “I’m sorry, I just— I know it’s not my place to even ask. It’s just, if it does happen, it could be invaluable for the research.” She looked up at him finally, guilt written across her face. “But I really, really hope it doesn’t come to that.”

For a moment, Viktor said nothing. His eyes studied her, not with anger but with a weight that made her chest tighten. “You have been aware of it,” he said softly, his voice devoid of accusation.

She swallowed hard, unsure how to answer. “I notice things,” she admitted, almost in a whisper. “But it’s not my business, and I’ve never—”

“You do not need to explain,” he interrupted gently, sparing her the rest. He turned, leaning his weight onto his cane. “If it comes to that, Renly, you may have what you need. But I will hope, as you do, that it will not.”

There was no bitterness in his tone, only quiet acceptance. It made her heart ache in a way she hadn’t expected, and she opened her mouth to say something but the only thought that came to her mind was another blunt and awkward comment.

“Look, I can only imagine how hard it is… I want you to know that this is not what I think of when I think, well… of you.” She desperately tried to convince him that she herself not a long time ago had completely overlooked his condition.

Viktor, as he would be, was not convinced. “For what it is worth, I appreciate your honesty. You do not have to back out of it now.”

She blinked, taken off guard. “What do you mean?” Renly asked, her brow furrowed, unsure of where his comment had come from.

Viktor gave a soft, humourless chuckle, leaning slightly on his cane as if drawing strength from it. “The first time we met,” he began, his tone measured, “you stared. Not at me—at this.” He gestured briefly to his cane. “I am no stranger to it. People have a tendency to look at this first, and then decide what sort of man I am. I had assumed you were no different.”

Renly’s lips parted, silent realisation of his initial coldness washing over her. “Wait—first time we met? You mean the day this horrible goo blew up into my face?”

He tilted his head slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing as if to remind her not to play coy. “You paused when I approached. You stared. Perhaps you thought I didn’t notice.”

Renly blinked again, completely thrown off course. Of all the things she thought he might say, this wasn’t it. She let out a short laugh, her voice incredulous. “That’s what you think I was staring at?”

Viktor raised a brow, his expression a mix of curiosity and scepticism. “Were you not?”

“No!” Renly shook her head vehemently, her cheeks flushing. “Gods, no. I was staring because I thought I recognized you.”

He frowned slightly, confusion flickering across his face. “Recognized me?”

“Yes!” She stepped closer, her hands moving animatedly now as the words began tumbling out. “I wasn’t sure at first, but the way you walked, the shape of your face—it all clicked. I was trying to figure out if you were… well, you.”

Viktor still looked puzzled, though his expression softened. “You’ll forgive me, but I am not sure I follow.”

Renly hesitated, suddenly feeling ridiculous, but there was no turning back now. “When we were kids, I used to play by The Undercity docks every summer. One year, there was this boy—I think it was you—who wandered off into this dark, abandoned cave. Everyone thought he’d gone for good. But hours later, you came back, like it was nothing.”

Viktor’s brows knit together as she spoke, his grip tightening slightly on his cane. “You remember that?”

She nodded fervently. “Of course, I do! It scared the life out of me. I thought you were some kind of magician when you walked out.”

He was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he let out a low, disbelieving laugh. “You mean to tell me you remembered something so… trivial, and that is why you stared?”

“It wasn’t trivial!” Renly protested; her face still flushed. “You disappeared into a death trap! Which was rumoured to have an evil wizard within it as well! I was terrified for you. And then you just climbed out like you’d been on a stroll through a garden. Who does that?”

Viktor’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, though his eyes were distant, as if piecing together fragments of a memory long buried. “I suppose I never thought anyone would remember such a thing. Least of all you.”

Renly smiled sheepishly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, now you know. And for the record, I wasn’t staring at your cane that day. I was trying to figure out if the brave, reckless boy from The Undercity had somehow made it all the way here.”

Viktor tilted his head, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “And have you decided?”

Her grin softened, her gaze meeting his. “Oh, I decided the moment you opened your mouth to tell me I’d miscalculated the viscosity of my formula. Only the boy who walked out of that cave would have the gall.”

His quiet laugh filled the space between them, and for a moment, the weight of their earlier conversation seemed to lift. But the memory lingered in both of their minds—one that now felt like a thread tying them together, fragile yet strong.

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #what was that

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the-banana-0verlord · 2 years ago

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how are you ? hii ^^, I would like to request for the third year boys I think they are rook, leona, vile, malleus, lilia and trey well with a fem mc who is very bad at studies because she had never attended a school before so this is her Taking classes for the first time and taking exams, that's why she works hard even though she failed several times, she never gives up~ one of her favorite phrases is "if I fail 99 times, I'll continue once more, maybe the 100th will be the winner" hehe <33

again, i apologize for the request taking so long 😅

How the third years would react to a Reader who is bad at studies

Notes: Gn reader, i totally forgot idia existed 💀 Either that or it was a conscious decision.

🦁🦁🦁

🦁Leona Kingscholar 🦁

🦁Studies were never a problem for him. He always passed his exams with flying scores without even trying. 🦁So since everything came to him so naturally, it was hard for him to imagine someone not having the same easyness as he did. 🦁You were at the opposite ends of the spectrum: He didn't care about school yet excelled at it, while you were still optimistic when your scores barely passed the passing note. 🦁You made him care again. He helped you with your studies and you got progressively better. 🦁And it's not just your studies who got better, his also. Because of you, he put effort in what he had to do. Under all his grumpiness, he thanks you for it.

👑👑👑

👑Vil Schoenheit👑

👑Sure, you weren't all that good, but you tried, and in Vil's book, that's more than anyone could do. 👑Also, he's not one to pass the opportunity to help someone become their best selves. 👑So he helps you. The time passed with you is enjoyable thanks to your cheerful personnality. 👑He also enjoys teaching you. Why don't you come around to Pomefiore so he can teach you makeup?

♦♦♦

♦Cater Diamond ♦

♦Of course he'll help you, that's what an upperclassman does! ♦But to be truly honest, most of the "study times" are just you hanging out. ♦But when you actually study, he's not half-bad as a tutor. ♦He's not the best, but at least you can see your grades get a little better.

🏹🏹🏹

🏹Rook Hunt 🏹

🏹What wonderful ardor and persistance you have! Oh, how it makes his heart flutter! 🏹A hunt for a good grade is a hunt all the same, and you have the qualities of the best huntsman. 🏹You never seem to catch your prey, though, so he'll just ahve to give you un coup de pouce. 🏹Not all minds work the same, so maybe yours just works differently than the norm of teachings. 🏹You'll be studying school and he'll be studying you.

♣♣♣

♣Trey Clover ♣

♣He's pretty used to tutoring since the underclassmen in his dorm usually go to him for help or advice. ♣He was willing to help from the start, but your positive attitude motivated him more than the complains of the others he tutored spouted every second. ♣He's in the science club, so that's covered, and cooking always help with mathematics. ♣Yeah perfect teacher 10/10.

🐲🐲🐲

🐲Malleus Draconia 🐲

🐲You're asking him, Malleus Draconia, to help you study? 🐲He should be offended, but he finds it so intriguing and amusing he'll indulge you accept your request. 🐲I mean, there is no one better to learn from than from the best.(He's a very terrible teacher though) 🐲Your positive attitude is also refreshing from the gloomy and terrified faces of his daily life.

🦇🦇🦇

🦇Lilia Vanrouge 🦇

🦇Don't ask him for potion making, but he'll be perfect for teaching history. After all, he was there when it happened. 🦇...Except he wasn't. When XXX thing went down, he was hammered with his friend Jerry on the other side of the continent. 🦇He's still kinda helpful with the big lines, but don't really expect much. 🦇That or he'll put you through Silver and Sebek's training regiment. Don't know which is worse.

***

Hope you enjoyed!

Have a good day/night!

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit #cater diamond #cater diamond x reader #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader #trey clover #trey clover x reader #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #bananawrites

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campiona1 · 1 year ago

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haravath0t · 2 years ago

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Beautiful Stranger

(college au!alhaitham x f!reader - inspired by laufey’s “beautiful stranger”)

Alhaitham would be the type of man to double major. As a man that loves to see connectivity from the very root of things, he’d definitely be a History/Linguistics Major.

He’s definitely the type of man to just show up to classes and leave the minute the system says it should end. A lecture ends at 10:50 AM? He’ll be out the door the minute he sees his watch change numbers. If he finds his professor to be terrible on “rate my professor”? He’ll simply come on syllabus day and test days.

The man is busy! He surely would find a way to sustain himself. He’ll probably start off as a tutor in the student center to teach students within his majors. If there’s empty days, he’d surely be the type to simply catch up on his work.

His phone would be on “Do Not Disturb '' 90% of the time. The remaining 10% is due to an argument his roommate Kaveh strikes about not seeing emergency notifications. Not that taking off the mode would make a difference anyways. The only people actively contacting him are Kaveh or other classmates from pre-requisite classes like Tighnari or Cyno.

He practically graduates with perfect grades and a stellar GPA from undergrad. It’s almost astonishing how a man that’s rarely around manages to be graduating with Summa Cum Laude honors.

By the time he joins a master’s program, he’s seeming to be set on what he wants to do now. He doesn’t seem to enjoy tutoring all too much, so professor is out of the question. However, the idea of conservation and working on archives catches his interest. Preferably, a library preservation technician. Yes, a job with minimal communication, yet a close up look at documents that he has either studied or not? It seems almost ideal!

He has already found a path to graduating with a masters degree too, already having planned out how to tackle writing his thesis with ease unlike his peers. However, there’s been a string of inconveniences he’s been experiencing lately in his own place: Kaveh. Kaveh has been hammering away at making his own architectural models. While Alhaitham didn’t really see this as a dealbreaker of living conditions, he won’t deny how his precious sleep gets lost, even if his soundproof earpieces are on his ears.

Two weeks and no improvement, he decides to go against his usual decision making and decides to make a late night stop to the library of the university. He finds it to be easy enough; he lives quite near it, and certainly no one would be there. It’s almost perfect. He finds the floor with the study rooms, finding a desk with the outlets and sitting on it with what he considers a content look on his face. However, it’s when he takes a quick look around that he realizes that he’s not the only one. There’s you.

Now, you were definitely quite the sight. You were in the study room across his, the clear plexiglass separating you both. You two were technically facing each other, yet the laptops you two were typing away at were enough to cover most of what you two were doing. He saw you with a comfortable appearance of a sweatshirt and some sweats, your position on your chair quite comfortable as you hacked away at your own work. The only time he managed to fixate on your workspace was when he was deciding to stretch his arms. He took in all the formulas on your papers, all the charts and plots you’ve made, and the handwritten notes with long words and arrows between them. He saw the word “metabolic pathways” and deduced that you were a science major at the very least.

“Alright. Cool. Back to work.” He told himself. And he was working quite well. However, he wouldn’t lie, he found the way you studied to be quite amusing. He’s passed by a good amount of students in the library when he was tutoring. Some people were quiet and worked away, some people probably brought in food, some people even cried and slammed their laptops shut. However, you seemed to be in your own little world. You had your tablet being your own main source of brainstorming, you had your papers scattered by chapters, and you had brought some food for yourself and…coffee?

The sight of the huge cup slowly being drained by your constant sipping almost made him want to chuckle. Almost. His long fingers stayed idle as he watched you quietly mouthing the words to whatever song you had in your headphones, your head bopping along with the tune.

“Hmph.” He’d grunt, going back to his work. The next time he’d look up at you is when you went to tap him on the shoulder. “Excuse me?” A voice asks, making him take off an earpiece and look back. Sure enough, it’s “science lady”, as he has dubbed you. “Yes?” He asked. He wanted to look amiable enough for you to talk to him, but you saw his plain look on his face. He almost looked…unamused. You suddenly felt so embarrassed to disturb him at this ungodly hour. “Do you mind watching my stuff? I’m going to be using the bathroom.”

The question made him scoff before he realized: Why would he need to watch over it? Everyone looked like they’d be doing nothing of the sort, but still, seeing the look on your face made him realize it was an earnest question. And so, he decides to agree. Seeing your face brighten accompanied with an earnest thanks almost made him want to smile. Almost. He saw the way you briskly walked to the bathroom, which only amused him more.

The coffee only gets to you after how much you’ve been drinking it. Though, you couldn’t get over how cute this guy looked! Did he look kinda scary? Yeah, but you couldn’t deny that he looked quite cute. Though, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was because you were cooped in your research lab so much that you found anything amusing nowadays, including this mystery guy. Still, he had interesting eyes, you had to admit it. You liked his shaggy silver hair, the way he casually came in and seemed so fixated on his work. What a shame it might be a one time thing. Oh, how did this library crush become part of your thoughts so quickly while you washed your hands.

You thank him as you return to your seat with a little thumbs up, and he only sends you a little smile back. You would be lying if you said that the little curve at the edge of his lip made you wanna squeal. What you didn’t see was that his green eyes were staring at you as you sat down, waiting for you to see a particular item. And you saw it, alright. He can tell just by the raise of your brows and your wide eyes. It was right on your keyboard of the laptop, a paper torn out of the corner of his notebook. His penmanship was quite remarkable, and the contents of it amused you: “Maybe a little water would be more efficient than that coffee you’re chugging, no?”

Alhaitham practically was curious to see how you’d react. He could only gauge your reaction from your eyes, seeing your hand reach for a piece of paper before your head disappears behind the screen. He didn’t know what you were thinking either when you passed back a paper to him. It was a blank page which only contained your handwriting: “My water bottle actually spilled on my way here.” Next to it was a little sad face next to it.

Now, Alhaitham wasn’t prepared for that type of wholesome response. In fact, he’s surprised that it went as well as it did. He saw you practically scurry back to your studying table with a tiny smile on your face, your eyes back to focusing on work. However, it did not go without you making a little scene of taking yet another sip of your coffee from your large cup. It didn’t occur to him till you gave him a tiny smile that he was stealing glances your way a little too much. He was long done with his workload for the night, yet something bolted him to his seat. There was something that kept him in this crowd of procrastinating students.

Though, it’s clear that you were trying to be diligent despite your antics. He couldn’t deny that he found the way your lips pout as you concentrated on an endearing sight, or that you were the one he’s been oddly eyeing in this busy space. He was a bit let down seeing that you wouldn’t be looking his way for a while. You didn’t look at anything but your work until a push of a chair is heard, the tall man is seen making his way out. Your eyes carefully watch him with some sort of melancholy stirring in your heart, wishing he stayed longer, or that he wrote even just one more note to you.

Little did you know that as Alhaitham kicks off his shoes at his house’s foyer, he’s left thinking of a particular science girl chugging on coffee, clinging onto the post-it with a particular someone’s scribbles and sad face. Little did you know that the man was thinking of an excuse to visit the library tomorrow night, wondering if you’d be there.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x f!reader #Alhaitham fluff #alhaitham 🌱#alhaitham #Alhaitham fanfic

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corpseri · 2 years ago

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𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 | 𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍ ʀᴇx, ʜᴀʀʀɪꜱᴏɴ ɢʀᴀʏ, ʟɪᴀᴍ ᴇᴠᴀɴꜱ, ᴇʟʙᴇʀᴛ ɢʀᴇᴇᴛɪᴀ, ᴀʟꜰᴏɴꜱᴇ ꜱʏʟᴠᴀᴛɪᴄᴀ, ʀᴏɢᴇʀ ʙᴀʀᴇʟ, ᴊᴜᴅᴇ ᴊᴀᴢᴢᴀ, ᴇʟʟɪꜱ ᴛᴡɪʟɪɢʜᴛ, ᴠɪᴄᴛᴏʀ

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I've always wanted to do this and they're English so yippee 😍. Some of these (most of these) are based on experience I had in my secondary school so yeah

𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐊

#𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌 𝐑𝐄𝐗

Year 11

That kid that did the absolute bare minimum but somehow got decent grades

The Year 7s and 8s all had a crush on him, and it genuinely made him feel uncomfortable 💀

The teachers fucking love him idk what to say he's a good boy ig

The typa guy to adopt future roadmen Year 7s and hang with them during lunch to make them seem cool

#𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘

Year 11

The annoying-ass kid that would cheat off you in every test yet somehow got better grades than you

Flopped Year 9 and decided he needed to get his shit together (he did the same thing in Year 10 and 11 but git better grades)

Snaps random girls in different schools, especially ones that went to his friend's primary schools to piss them off

Would ask you if he can borrow a pen but never give it back

#𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐒

Year 10

Got adopted by William in Year 7 but never became a roadman

He did all the non-exam based options for GCSE's (Music, Drama, PE, Art, Photography)

He was obnoxiously loud during class until one time he was alone, so he had no one to talk to, and a group of girls were being loud as fuck and he realised how annoying he was so he stopped

Joined Year 7 thinking Food Tech was gonna be sick, then ended up finding out that it's shit and anyone who did that for an option deserved to jump off a cliff

#𝐄𝐋𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐓 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐀

Year 10

Literally only hangs out with Alfonse in the library because he hates the outdoors (same)

Got all 9s in Year 9 and somehow is hoping for a 10 in Year 10 (no one told him a Grade 9 was the maximum)

Genuinely pissed during Covid so many people got high because the grade boundaries were low even though they bat shit dumb (his words not mine)

Stares daggers into the loud girls because they cannot shut up

#𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐄 𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐀

Year 11

Got 4s and 5s in Year 9 but somehow got 9s in Year 10

Hangs out with Elbert because he thinks he makes him cool, hanging out with an older person

School senior, doesn't contribute at all unless it's an opportunity to skip lesson (me)

Always got picked on to read in class because he reads well and fast so that the slow-ass people don't read

#𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐋

Year 10

Got good grades in the mock exams and flopped the real exams (blamed it on the grade boundaries) (same)

Always raises his hand to answer and gets pissed if he isn't picked on

Only good at Chemistry and Biology so he wants to do Triple Science in Year 11

Helps out in school holing for extra credit (he didn't realise this ain't the US so there's no such thing here)

#𝐉𝐔𝐃𝐄 𝐉𝐀𝐙𝐙𝐀

(GOD I HAVE A LOT SO SAY ABOUT THIS MAN I CAN LITERALLY MAKE A WHOLE POST ABOUT HIM IF ALL WANT IT LEMMIE KNOW) (OMG I WANT TO MAKE A JUDE X READER SECONDARY SCHOOL POST AAAAAHHHH I LOVE THIS)

Year 11

Roadman

Sells vapes to Year 7s at a stupidly expensive price but since they're Year 7 they think this is the normal price

Only one in the group that got good grades and not ending up working in their dad's haircut shop

Talkes in class then when the teacher moves him he's like "Miss I wasn't even talking" 💀

#𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

Year 11

Everyone had a crush on him. Jude often tutors him in private and threatens to spread rumours about him if he ever told anyone

Did Art in Year 10 for funsies and Economics because he wanted that one teacher who is physically impossible to help you get a 9 (no one got a Grade 9 in his class) just to prove everyone wrong (he did)

Buys food for his friends if he finds out they don't eat during lunch because the lines are so fucking long

Probably in a long—term relationship with a girl (me) and everyone is jealous of them

#𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑

Year 11

Like William adopted the Year 7s but a significantly more amount (like half the damn school)

Everyone knows who he is. Every lunch time he goes to this one Year 9 girl who sits on the bench lonely and lets her do his hair

She's like his favourite child he buys her food so she doesn't feel lonely and stands up for her when the annoying popular kids talk to her (she gets uncomfortable)

He tutors her as well, even if she's good in class he does this because he wants her to be successful and have a good future (I love this sm)

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | @nightghoul381 , @serynhe , @kookie-my-little-sunshine , @cy-inky, @aquagirl1978 , @abundance-pathchooser, @lapis-da-lazuli , @ellisgivesmelife013 @surviving-off-ellis-crumbs, @yuan134

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wooyoungiewritings · 2 months ago

Text

“A Familiar Kind of New” - Mingi x Reader (SNEAK PEAK)

Genre: Fluff, nerdy boy x popular girl, slow burn, smut (in the ending... WOOOH you’re not ready for that)

warnings: Nerdy Mingi with fem reader (fem pronouns). Mingi gets bullied and it gets really personal, fingering, oral (fem receiving), dirty talk (Mingi goes all in.. eheheheh) unprotected sex, lmk if I missed anything!