#and again the coding part is only like half the assignment | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jezebelblues · 7 months ago

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𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍 | 𝐇.𝐒 | 𝟏 *ੈ𑁍༘⋆

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭, 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥.

pt 1, pt 2 (completed)

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐂𝐖: drug usage/selling, angst, college!harry, fem!reader, smut in pt2 if that’s what ur here for, allusions to violence, friends to lovers if u squint

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 13.8k

❏ i was trying to compress this into only being one part but i felt like each piece of them growing closer was too important to the plot to be deleted </3 but i’m posting pt 2 like right after this so !! btw this is so fratrry coded but bro is not in a frat. he’s just a broke college student that sells drugs fr

masterlist

off campus housing was a curse sometimes.

but, if you had the option between dorming it out or paying for an apartment yourself, maybe it could be categorized as both a blessing and a curse.

but for YN and harry, it’s just a curse.

a dorm wasn’t in the cards for them in general—it was hard enough drowning in loans for tuition itself, and adding thousands more for shitty campus housing was just overboard.

but still, the illusion of choice would’ve been nice.

they lived in carson hall, off campus apartments that were filled to the brim with students. there might’ve been a few tenants in the building that weren’t a student, but they were probably there for the same reason as everyone else—affordability.

$850 per month felt like a rarity, and it was pretty much unheard of in new york. so, if you were a broke student that couldn’t dorm, this was your saving grace.

if the walls in the unit weren’t brick, it was cheap drywall that had the paint chipping off. there was a radiator that broke every month like clockwork, sat right underneath a window with glass so thin it shook with the breeze.

there was no carpet except for in the main lobby, everything else was either tiled linoleum and creaky wooden floors installed in the 90’s. there was a communal laundry unit in the basement that required four quarters exactly, nothing else. sometimes it’d swallow the coins, sometimes it wouldn’t, and sometimes it’d eat their coins and wouldn’t turn on at all.

there was a maintenance man that lived on the first floor—living there for half the rent since he was on call 24/7 on the weekdays to fix anything the apartment complex needed—but you’d have to be the luckiest person on earth for him to respond. if the washer ate your quarters, chances are, you won’t be getting them back. and if the sink continued to drip water in rhythm with your heartbeat, you’d be better off watching a youtube tutorial on plumbing basics than calling for the maintenance guy.

but, it was four walls and a roof—not to mention, it was only a five minute walk from the dining hall (the heart of campus, obviously).

YN and harry didn’t know each other, not exactly. they lived on the same floor, and harry was the guy that was known for dealing to make rent and loan payments.

and YN was the girl that always had sleepy eyes and smelt of vanilla and cinnamon—sugar and spice.

but that was it between them, fleeting glances of acknowledgment and the lingering scent of vanilla laced with weed in the hallway.

all until the first knock tapped against his door at one-thirty in the morning.

it was one of those nights where the due dates of assignments pressed down heavy, like it was daring you to breathe under the weight.

harry’s radiator was hissing again, spitting steam into his tiny apartment, a kind of mocking applause for everything breaking down. his desk was cluttered with blueprints—half-sketched, smudged, unfinished—and on the counter, the last edible he'd cut sat wrapped in foil, waiting for whoever was desperate enough to buy it.

the knock was soft. hesitant. not the kind of knock that screamed cops or where's the party? harry almost didn't get up. whatever it was, it could wait.

but something about it—how it lingered, quiet but insistent—dragged him to the door. barefoot, wearing nothing but a ratty tshirt and sweatpants, he swung it open without bothering to check who it was.

YN.

the girl who always smelled like a fucking christmas cookie. she stood in the hallway like she'd been arguing with herself for hours, her arms wrapped around her torso to keep warm. she didn't say anything right away, just looked at him with wide, tired eyes.

harry leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. "are y’lost?"

her voice came out softer than he expected. “i need…something.”

he raised an eyebrow, scanning her quickly—her pink sweatpants, the hoodie that was two sizes too big, the way she kept glancing at the floor like she hated being here. "that's specific. milk? a lightbulb? help moving a body?"

"for my roommate," she rushed, ignoring the bite in his tone. "she's—she's having a panic attack or something, some stupid argument with her boyfriend i think—and i don't have anything that can help."

harry stared at her.

her voice cracked, the desperation cutting through the cool front she was trying to hold. "it's late, and the pharmacies are closed, and i just—someone said you might have something."

"someone.” he repeated, pushing off the doorframe, his tone sharp enough to slice through her composure.

"please."

something about that word caught him off guard. not the word itself, but the way she said it—like she was embarrassed to use it, like it physically hurt to ask him for anything. harry sighed, stepping back. "wait there."

he crossed the room to the counter, digging through the shoebox that held the operation he kept as low-key as possible. the old baggie of edibles rustled faintly in his hands, and for a second, he thought about saying no. this wasn't his problem.

but he grabbed one anyway, turning back to find her still standing in the hallway, arms wrapped tighter around herself. he shoved the baggie into her hand. "take this and go."

she hesitated, looking down at it. "is it safe?"

harry's laugh came out sharp and humorless. "you knock on my door at one in the morning, asking for something t’fix a panic attack, and you're worried about FDA approval? yeah, it's safe. s’low-dose."

her fingers curled around the bag. "how much do i owe you?"

he shook his head, already tired of this conversation. "don't worry about it. just go."

YN started to turn, but her gaze caught on the cluttered desk in the corner—blueprints stacked in uneven piles, a half-empty coffee cup balancing on the edge. "what's all that?" she asked, her voice quiet but curious.

"none of your business."

he stepped forward and shut the door before she could ask anything else. the lock clicked, and for a long second, he stood there, staring at the closed door, wondering why the hell he'd helped her at all.

friday nights strained. not the kind that made you feel like you’d accomplished something. no, this was the other kind. the kind that made harry want to throw his phone into the east river and spend the rest of the weekend in bed, ignoring the world.

by eight pm, the texts started rolling in like they always did.

can u drop to sigma chi?

emergency. we need molly asap. paying extra if u can get here by 10.

it wasn’t glamorous. it wasn’t even fun. but it paid the rent.

harry sat at his desk, staring at the mess of blueprints he hadn’t touched all week, his phone lighting up next to him with another text. the math was simple: weed, molly, shrooms, lsd. nothing heavy, nothing messy, and no one under twenty-one.

he grabbed his backpack, already packed from the night before—a hollowed-out calculus textbook buried inside. it was beat to shit, but nobody looked twice at a guy carrying around a heavy book and a bookbag on campus.

the first stop was sigma chi. always sigma chi.

by the time he got there, the party was in full swing. the air reeked of spilled beer and too much cologne, bass pounding through the walls like a heartbeat that refused to die. harry slipped in through the side door, past a crowd of girls laughing too loudly and holding plastic cups like they were accessories.

the guy waiting for him was leaned against the fridge, his baseball cap turned backwards, a grin plastered on his face. “harry, my man!”

he didn’t answer. didn’t smile. instead, he reached into his bag and pulled out a small baggie, handing it over like he was exchanging a pack of gum. the guy shoved some crumpled twenties into harry’s hand, already too distracted by his phone to say anything else.

“you’re a lifesaver, bro.”

he left through the back door without another word.

weekends were always like this. frat houses, dorm rooms, random street corners. most fridays, he had ten stops, maybe more if people got desperate.

his phone buzzed constantly. texts rolling in every fifteen minutes:

can you meet by the bodega?

do u have anything stronger? asking for a friend.

the last one made him roll his eyes. he didn’t do stronger. stronger got people killed, got cops asking questions. harry wasn’t stupid. this wasn’t about partying or fun; it was money.

he started dealing during his first year at nyu. not because he wanted to, but because the scholarships didn’t cover everything, and student loans only went so far.

at first, it was just weed. his guy, jeff, lived in brooklyn—a family man with a college degree, a wife, and two kids. harry used to think guys like jeff had it figured out: the house in a decent neighborhood, the minivan parked out front, the soccer games on weekends. but his life was no more stable than harry’s.

jeff’s business wasn’t just selling weed—it was growing it, right in his basement. his wife knew, of course. they kept it far from the kids, locked up tight behind a door that might as well have been a vault.

he hadn’t started out as a dealer, either. he ran his own small business—some business marketing firm that couldn’t compete with the bigger guys. now, the basement was his fallback, extra income, and harry couldn’t help but see a version of himself in jeff. same fire, same hustle, same gnawing ache of more, more, more.

“this isn’t enough,” he had said one night, halfway through weighing a fresh batch. the house smelled faintly of citrus and pine, a scent jeff swore masked the weed smell. “you ever thought about branching out?”

harry frowned, leaning back against the workbench “branching out how?”

“psychedelics—shrooms, lsd. same crowd, bigger profit. no one’s getting hooked, no one’s overdosing. it’s clean.”

harry’s gut twisted. he didn’t like the sound of it—too messy, too big. “i dunno, mate. weed’s easy. i don’t want t’get in deeper.”

jeff leaned against the table, crossing his arms. “i get it. but you’re already in. and if you play it smart, you don’t have to worry about the cops, or junkies, or any of that shit. i know a guy in the bronx—mutual friend. you’d like him. solid guy, clean product.”

he hesitated, his fingers tapping against the edge of the table. “y’really think it’s worth it?”

jeff smiled faintly, shrugging. “depends on what you want. if it’s just enough to scrape by, keep doing what you’re doing. but if you want to breathe a little? yeah. it’s worth it.”

harry didn’t jump in right away.

it took a few weeks of thinking, weighing the risks against the reward. but eventually, he made the trip to the bronx. the guy jeff pointed him to was older, late thirties maybe, with a clean apartment and a habit of over-explaining. harry liked him immediately.

the product was good. better than he expected. shrooms, lsd tabs, packaged clean and easy to move. the kind of stuff that sold itself to the right crowd.

molly came later.

it started with frat guys asking for it at parties, offering triple what harry charged for weed. at first, he turned them down. molly was different—harder to control, riskier. but the money kept knocking at his door, and harry, tired of scraping by, finally let it in.

his guy in the bronx knew a supplier. harry kept it lowkey—low doses, clean product, no bullshit. but it still weighed on him, the way every step deeper into this life felt like standing on thin ice.

jeff always said this kind of hustle didn’t last forever. harry just hoped he’d find a way out before it swallowed him whole.

his voice stayed in his head more than he liked to admit—you can’t do this forever, kid. something’s gotta give.

but that was the problem, wasn’t it? harry didn’t know what would give first—his luck, his sanity, or the thin line he kept walking between survival and collapse.

the deeper he got into dealing, the more he saw how easy it was for people to lose themselves in it. not just the buyers—people like jeff, too.

there was this one night, months after harry started moving psychedelics. jeff had called him over, saying he had some fresh product he wanted harry to try. he drove out to brooklyn, expecting the usual.

but when he got there, he looked different. tired in a way that felt heavier.

“you good?” he had asked, leaning against the workbench.

he nodded, but his hands trembled slightly as he sealed a bag. “yeah, just a long week. car broke down, furnace is acting up… you know how it is.”

he did. too well.

when he left that night, the bag of weed tucked into his backpack, he couldn’t shake the thought—this doesn’t end well. jeff had everything harry thought he wanted—a family, a house, a life that looked solid from the outside. and still, it wasn’t enough.

he lit a cigarette as he drove back to the city, the smoke curling around him in the dark car. he couldn’t let this life be all there was. couldn’t let it pull him down the same way it was pulling jeff.

but even as he told himself he’d find a way out, harry’s phone buzzed with another text, another buyer, another deal.

just enough was never enough.

he sighed, running a hand through his hair. he was tired. bone-tired. the kind of tired that lived in his spine and refused to leave, no matter how much sleep he got.

but he typed back anyway.

because this was life. grinding himself into the ground so someone else could forget their bullshit for a night.

and as much as he hated it, he couldn’t afford to.

the rain wasn’t letting up. the kind that soaked you through in seconds, cold and sharp like a thousand tiny needles stabbing your skin. the stairwell in the building was already a deathtrap on the best days—cheap tiles, no traction, old wood.

he was on the couch when he heard it. a thud, heavy and hollow, like someone had dropped a bag of bricks—or fallen. then the curses followed, muffled but furious, the kind of sound that pulled him out of the half-sleep he’d been drifting into.

he sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. for a second, he thought about ignoring it. again, wasn’t his problem. but something about the sound got under his skin.

grabbing the sweatshirt hanging off the back of the couch, he pulled it on and opened the door, peering out into the dimly lit hallway.

that’s when he saw her.

sprawled on the stairs, her sweater soaked through, hair sticking to her face, and an armful of books scattered around her like shrapnel.

fucking christ, harry thought, leaning against the doorframe. he crossed his arms, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “you always this graceful, or is it a wednesday night special?”

she looked up, and if looks could kill, he’d have been dead on the spot. her cheeks were flushed, probably from a mix of frustration and exertion, and her jaw was clenched tight enough to crack. “are you always this much of an asshole, or do i just bring it out in you?”

harry let the smirk grow into something closer to a grin. “you okay?” he asked, his tone half-mocking, half-genuine.

YN didn’t answer right away. she was too busy untangling herself, her knee hitting the step as she tried to gather the mess of books and papers that had spilled everywhere.

harry sighed, pushing off the doorframe. “hold on.”

he jogged down the stairs, crouching to pick up a book near her feet. the cover was soaked, the pages already curling at the edges. he flipped it over in his hand, inspecting the damage. “you’re gonna fail with this,” he said, holding it up. “this thing’s toast.”

she snatched the book from him, glaring. “you’re toast.”

he chuckled under his breath, bending to pick up another one. this time, it was a notebook—thick, overstuffed, with half the pages threatening to fall out. “what are you even carrying all this for?”

“this is college, is it not?”

harry straightened, stacking the notebook on top of the book in her arms. “you’re gonna wreck your back lugging all this around.”

“not everyone has money for a decent bag.” she muttered, not looking at him as she grabbed the papers from his hand.

that made him pause. his jaw tightened, his usual sarcasm flickering into something harder, heavier. he opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then closed it just as fast.

he shifted, handing her the last book. “here. try not to break your neck next time.”

she snorted, a bitter laugh slipping out before she could stop it. she pushed herself up, wincing as she shifted her weight onto her right leg.

“you sure you’re okay?” harry asked again, watching the way she was favoring her left leg.

“i’m fine.”

“right.” harry muttered, crossing his arms as she started up the stairs. he followed her halfway up, more out of habit than concern, and watched as she struggled to balance her books against the wet fabric of her sweater.

when they reached the landing, she stopped, glancing back at him. “thanks,” she said, the word sounding like it physically hurt her to say.

harry shrugged. “don’t mention it.”

as she turned to head toward her apartment, she added over her shoulder, “no, seriously. don’t.”

he smirked again, shaking his head as he watched her limp away. he didn’t respond, just leaned against the wall, waiting until she disappeared into her unit before heading back to his own.

he dropped onto the couch, dragging a worn notebook off the coffee table and flipping it open. but his focus was shot. all he could picture was her on the stairs—soaked, pissed, and too stubborn to admit she wasn’t fine.

her comment stuck with him, too. not everyone has money for a decent bag. harry hated how much that hit home.

the world didn’t give a shit if you couldn’t afford what you needed. if you didn’t have it, you improvised. it was why he was out here selling weed and molly to spoiled frat boys and girls with trust funds so deep they could drown in them.

he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. his phone buzzed on the armrest beside him, breaking the silence.

it was one of his regulars, some sophomore who thought a couple grams of shrooms would make her weekend transformative.

yeah. same spot. 9pm.

he tossed the phone onto the table, leaning back against the couch, the springs groaning under his weight. this was the life: fixing busted radiators, chasing down half-earned engineering credits, and grinding himself into the ground so some kid could take a trip they’d forget by monday morning.

later that night, he was back out, a ballcap sat over his curls, backpack slung over his shoulder, heading to the usual corner just off washington square park. it wasn’t raining anymore, but the streets were still slick, reflecting the city lights like oil spills.

he spotted the girl waiting for him, leaning against a lamppost with her arms crossed. she waved when she saw him, a little too eager.

the exchange was quick, the shrooms passing from his hand to hers, the cash tucked into his pocket in one smooth motion. no small talk, no lingering.

when he got home, the hallway was quiet, except for the faint hum of the fluorescent light overhead. YN’s door was closed, no sounds coming from the other side.

he paused for a second, staring at it. he shook his head, unlocking his door and stepping inside. the idea that popped into his brain was stupid, irrational. he didn’t owe her anything. she was just the girl down the hall, who gave as much shit as she took.

but still, he dug into his closet, pulling out the old army surplus bag he’d stopped using after high school. it wasn’t much, but it was better than what she had now.

the next morning, harry slipped out of his apartment early, the bag in hand. he dropped it just outside her door, no note, no explanation, before heading out to his first lecture of the day.

when YN found it later, she stared at it for a long moment, her brows knitting together. she didn’t have to ask who left it. and even though she muttered asshole under her breath, she brought it inside with a faint smile.

because she needed it. and harry—whether he’d admit it or not—knew that.

the next time they saw each other, he was coming up the stairs, his backpack slung low, the smell of rain clinging to his sweatshirt. it was late—nearly eleven—and he was tired, the kind of exhaustion that sank into his chest and refused to let go.

YN was coming down, her new bag bouncing lightly against her hip. she was in scrubs and a college hoodie, hair tied back, but there was a tension in her face that hadn’t been there before. maybe it was the late hour, or maybe it was the unmistakable look of someone dragging themselves through another brutal shift.

they almost passed each other without a word. almost.

but as they crossed paths, she stopped, her hand gripping the railing. “hey.”

harry stopped mid-step, turning to look at her. “hey,” he echoed, noncommittal.

she tilted her head toward the bag. “this you?”

he leaned against the railing, shrugging like it was no big deal. “needed something better, right?”

her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing like she was trying to figure out if he was messing with her. finally, she shook her head, letting out a dry laugh. “why, though? why do you care?”

he blinked, caught off guard. he didn’t have an answer for that—at least not one he could say out loud. instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets, shrugging again. “call it charity,” he said. “or don’t. i don’t really care.”

YN stared at him for a moment longer, her expression unreadable. then she nodded, her grip on the railing loosening. “thanks,” she muttered, her tone softer this time.

“don’t mention it.”

but before he could take another step, she smiled—the tiniest twitch upward. “no, seriously. don’t.”

he smirked at that, glancing back over his shoulder. “you’re welcome, cinnamon.”

her brows shot up at the nickname, her mouth opening to protest, but harry didn’t stick around to hear it. he was already heading back to his apartment, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

that should’ve been the end of it.

but the next day, when harry opened his door to grab the mail, there was a coffee cup sitting just outside, still warm, with no note or explanation.

he frowned, picking it up and staring at it like it might explode.

then, from down the hall, YN’s door opened, and she leaned out, raising an eyebrow at him. “drink it or don’t—i don’t care.”

he held up the cup, smirking. “what’s this? donations?”

“no,” she grinned, already retreating back inside. “just paying it forward, asshole.”

the door clicked shut, and he stood there, shaking his head, the faintest chuckle escaping him as he sipped the coffee.

their classes in south hall were evening ones, usually letting out at nine pm sharp.

YN stepped out of the biology lab first, tugging her sleeves down against the chill that crept into the building after dark. her bag was slung over her shoulders, the college crewneck rumpled from hours of sitting in the same chair. her jeans were stiff from the cold, her shoes scuffed with wear, and her hair fell loose around her face, sticking slightly to her cheek. she brushed it back absently, her eyes on the door ahead.

harry caught sight of her from the second-floor stairwell as he left his chemistry lecture—a rolling stones hoodie hung loose on his frame, sweatpants sitting low on his hips, his green sambas (that he bought second hand, his proudest find) practically falling apart at the seams.

he hadn’t planned on saying anything. hell, he wasn’t even sure she’d noticed him. but as he watched her push through the doors, her breath fogging in the cold, he felt something tug at him.

he hesitated for half a second before jogging down the stairs, his curls bouncing slightly as he caught up to her “hey.”

she glanced over her shoulder, her steps slowing just enough to register him. her brows furrowed when she saw him. “you’re in chemistry,” she said, like it was an accusation.

harry blinked, a bit confused as to what she was hinting at—but going with it anyway. “m’yeah. good observation, sherlock.”

“no, i mean,” she gestured vaguely behind her. “your class is upstairs. what’re you doing down here?”

harry shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching. “walking home. duh. our lectures must end at the same time.”

YN gave him a skeptical look, her pace picking up again as they stepped into the night. “you don’t have to do that,” she said quickly, her tone dismissive. “i’m fine.”

he fell into step beside her anyway, the straps of his backpack swinging slightly as he walked. “cool. didn’t ask.”

her jaw tightened, and she shot him a look. “seriously, i don’t need a babysitter.”

“good,” harry muttered, unbothered. “’cause I’m not volunteering.”

she sighed, tugging her bag closer to her body as they trudged through campus. the sound of their shoes against the pavement filled the space between them.

as they turned the corner, the streetlight flickered above, casting long, uneven shadows across the sidewalk. harry noticed the guy first.

it wasn’t unusual to be sketched out by randoms over here, their apartment was on the edge of campus—lots of stragglers where university police didn’t quite patrol.

he was leaning against a stop sign, his cigarette glowing faintly in the dark. his gaze was lazy, his posture too casual, the way people got when they wanted you to feel like they were watching you without actually looking.

harry stepped closer to YN without thinking, his shoulder brushing hers as he moved between her and the road.

“seriously?” she muttered, stopping mid-step to glare at him.

harry didn’t look at her, his eyes locked forward as they passed. “what?” he asked, voice calm. “said i’d walk with you. didn’t say i wouldn’t get in the way.”

she scoffed, but she didn’t pull away. he brushed it off, and in a way, she appreciated that—the way he acknowledged her nerves but didn’t say anything. the way he acted like it was just a miss-step rather than a reassurance.

when they reached the entrance of their apartment building, YN stopped, finally turning to face him. her arms were crossed now, her expression sharp. “you didn’t have to do that.”

“you’re welcome.” his eyebrows knit together in stifled laughter, looking straight past her as he opened the heavy door to their building, holding it open for her to walk through.

they went up the narrow stairwell quietly, each step creaking under their weight.

she pursed her lips, stepping past him to unlock her door. but just before she disappeared inside, she glanced back at him, her tone softer this time. “thanks, i guess.”

harry tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “don’t mention it.”

the door clicked shut behind her, and harry lingered for a second, staring at the empty hallway beyond. then he shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, turned, and headed to his own door. his rings clicked against his keys as he unlocked it, the faintest smirk still on his lips.

the walk back from the hospital felt longer tonight.

the clock had just ticked past ten, but the streets were alive with people heading to bars, parties, anywhere but where she’d been. YN tugged on the sleeves of her hoodie, pulling them down farther, the fabric worn soft from too many washes. her scrub pants swished faintly as she walked, her badge clipped to her pocket, catching the glow of passing headlights.

her shift had been hell. the kind of night where you didn’t have time to think, let alone breathe. a kid came in after a bad bike crash, his face pale, his leg bent in a way it shouldn’t have been. then there was guy that coughed up blood over her sneakers—not to mention running around the er the entire rest of shift to do the work the nurses couldn’t get to.

her feet dragged as she pushed through the door to her building, climbing the stairs to the second floor one step at a time.

the music hit her first.

it wasn’t loud, just a faint rhythm seeping through the crack of harry’s door. something easy, mellow.

as she walked past his door, her steps slowed, her gaze flicking toward it. for a second, she lingered, her pulse ticking faster than it should’ve. but then she kept walking.

she tried to focus on her own door, just a few steps away, but her mind wouldn’t settle. work had been brutal. her roommate would be on a two hour facetime with her boyfriend, giggling about nothing. her friends were either pulling late shifts or at some frat house, three beers deep by now. and the quiet—god, the quiet—was going to eat her alive.

before she even realized what she was doing, she spun on her heel, walking back the way she came. her hand hesitated over harry’s door, her fingers curling into a loose fist before she knocked.

the door swung open after a moment, and there he was.

he stood there in loose jeans and an old band tee, his curls falling into his face like he hadn’t bothered to push them back. the rings on his fingers glinted faintly in the dim light behind him, chipped black polish catching her eye.

“cinnamon,” he grinned, leaning one arm against the doorframe. his voice was low, amused. “what’s up?”

behind him, she saw the room wasn’t empty.

lounging on harry’s couch was louis, a guy she vaguely recognized from her english lecture—he was always late, always cracking jokes that somehow landed. and in the kitchen, leaning lazily against the counter, was a tall guy she didn’t quite recognize.

she took the smallest step back, shaking her head. “sorry,” she mumbled quickly. “didn’t realize you had people over. never-mind.”

he raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking from her to the empty hallway behind her. “y’sure? you look…” he trailed off, his lips quirking slightly. “rough.”

she glared at him. “thanks. really needed that.”

he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “you’re knocking on my door at ten o’clock, cinnamon. that’s gotta be for a reason, yeah?”

she hesitated, her fingers twitching at her side. the guy in the kitchen glanced over briefly, then went back to whatever he was doing, and louis didn’t seem to notice her at all. “forget it,” she muttered, stepping back again. “i’m fine.”

he didn’t move, his eyes narrowed as they locked onto hers. “bullshit.”

her jaw tightened, her shoulders straightening. “i was just gonna ask if you had anything. you know, to…” she gestured vaguely, avoiding his eyes. “take the edge off.”

his smile returned, slow and knowing. “didn’t peg you as the type.”

YN glared again, her cheeks flushing slightly. “for a dealer, you’re really bad at pushing sales.” she said flatly, spinning on her heel.

he chuckled lightly, stepping out into the hallway a bit. “hold on a sec.”

she paused, turning halfway back to face him.

he glanced over his shoulder, toward the couch and the kitchen, before meeting her eyes again. “come back in ten,” he nodded. “i’ll get rid of ‘em.”

she blinked, caught off guard. “you don’t have to—”

“i said ten.” he cut her off, his tone leaving no room for argument.

before she could say anything else, he stepped back into his apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. YN stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door like it might open again. she bit the inside of her lip, fidgeting with her key and going inside.

and at exactly 10 minutes, she was back in front of harry’s door.

this time, she didn’t hesitate. she knocked twice, easier than before.

the door opened almost immediately.

harry stood there again, his curls pushed back out of his face this time. his expression was unreadable, somewhere between curiosity and amusement. “told you ten minutes.” he stepped back, leaving the door open for her. “c’mon.”

his apartment wasn’t what she expected, though she wasn’t sure what she’d pictured. it was small, dimly lit by a single desk lamp in the corner. the faint scent of weed hung in the air, but the room was surprisingly neat, except for a pile of papers and notebooks on the table.

lounging on the couch, louis was pulling on his jacket, his face lighting up in surprise when he saw her. “oh, hey. you’re…” he snapped his fingers, squinting. “chem lab, right? morning lecture?”

YN nodded stiffly, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her hoodie. “english,” she corrected. “i see you there sometimes.”

“right, right,” louis said, grinning. he turned to harry. “new buyer? good taste, man.”

harry rolled his eyes, stifling his own smile. “out.” he muttered, shoving a hand toward the door.

louis smirked but didn’t argue. he grabbed his bag, tossing a wink at YN before stepping into the hallway. the guy in the kitchen followed, slipping past her without so much as a glance, the scent of cheap cologne trailing behind him.

he shut the door with a sharp click, locking it before turning to face her. “there. happy?”

she crossed her arms, leaning against the wall near the door. “i didn’t ask you to kick them out.”

“you didn’t have to.”

she sighed, her gaze shifting to the desk in the corner. the blueprints stacked there caught her attention—clean lines, precise calculations, a world that felt miles away from hers.

“you gonna tell me what you want, or are we just standing here all night?”

her eyes snapped back to his, the sharpness in his tone cutting through the haze of her thoughts. “got anything that’ll knock me out for a few hours?”

he raised an eyebrow, walking past her to the desk. he opened a drawer, rummaging around before pulling out a small baggie with a single edible inside. “low-dose,” he said, holding it up. “won’t knock you out, but it’ll take the edge off.”

YN hesitated, glancing between him and the baggie. “how much?”

harry shook his head, tossing it onto the counter. “on the house.”

“i’m not—”

“just take it,” he interrupted, his tone firm. “call it a favor. or a bribe. whatever makes you feel better.”

she stepped closer, picking up the baggie with careful fingers. her eyes flicked to his, searching for something she wasn’t sure she’d find. “thanks.” she muttered, her voice quieter now.

harry leaned against the edge of the counter, his arms crossed. “you look like shit, by the way.”

she huffed, shoving the baggie into her hoodie pocket. “and you’re still a dick.” she shot back, heading for the door.

“fair enough.” he muttered. but just as she reached for the handle, his voice stopped her. “hey, cinnamon.”

she turned, her brow furrowed. “what?”

harry’s smirk softened slightly, the easy confidence in his tone faltering just enough to feel real. “you ever wanna talk, you know where i live.”

YN didn’t respond, didn’t trust herself to. she just nodded once and slipped out the door, her footsteps fading down the hall.

the next day, it was closer to four pm when YN got home from work.

she barely noticed the faint buzz of her roommate’s call as she slipped into the bathroom, peeling off her scrubs and stepping under the hot spray of the shower. the water hit her like a reset button, the ache in her shoulders easing as the steam curled around her.

when she finally emerged, her hair damp and loose, she threw on a pair of soft sweatpants and an oversized sweater—something warm, something safe. the apartment was quiet now, her roommate having left a while ago, probably off to see her boyfriend.

it was around six when the knock came.

YN glanced up from her laptop, her brows furrowing. she wasn’t expecting anyone. she hesitated for a second, debating if she even wanted to answer, but curiosity won out.

when she opened the door, harry was leaning against the frame, his usual smirk softened into something more uncertain. he looked like he’d been pacing before this, his curls slightly disheveled, his hoodie hanging loose over a pair of black sweatpants.

“hey.”

YN raised an eyebrow. “hey.”

“you any good at chem?”

she blinked, “chemistry?”

he nodded, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. “yeah. like, the basics. stoichiometry, balancing equations, all that shit.”

she tilted her head, leaning against the doorframe to mirror him. “i passed it with like an 85% so, i guess?”

he smiled, “fantastic. y’busy right now?”

“why?”

“thought maybe you could help me out. i’ve got a test coming up, and i’m…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely. “not great at it.”

“you want me to tutor you?”

he beamed, sarcastic, knowing. “sweet of you t’offer. let’s go.”

she rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. she sighed, pushing off the doorframe. “fine. but if i’m doing this, we’re going to the library. your apartment smells like weed, and i can’t think in there.”

he chuckled, stepping back as she grabbed her bag from the couch. “fair enough, cinnamon.”

the campus library wasn’t crowded, the usual sunday night stragglers scattered across the tables in hushed clusters. harry led her to a table in the back, far from the main entrance, where the buzz of conversation faded into the quiet hum of fluorescent lights.

he dropped his backpack onto the table, pulling out a battered notebook and a copy of the textbook that looked like it had been through hell. “alright, professor,” he said, smirking as he slid into the chair across from her. “teach me.”

“this is gonna be painful, isn’t it?”

harry grinned, flipping open the textbook. “probably.”

she sighed, leaning forward. “okay, first question—how the hell did you even make it to college if you don’t know the basics?”

harry shrugged, unbothered. “charm and good looks.”

she groaned, dropping her pen onto the table. “you’re gonna fail.”

“no,” he drawled with a smile, “that’s why you’re here.”

despite herself, YN smiled, shaking her head as she reached for the textbook. “alright, let’s see what we can do.”

the first twenty minutes were pure pain.

she flipped through harry’s beat-up textbook, squinting at the faint pencil notes scrawled in the margins. “alright,” she muttered, tapping her pen against the page. “let’s start with balancing equations. that’s pretty straightforward.”

harry slouched in his chair, spinning his pen between his fingers like he was bored out of his mind already. (and he was. if he was honest, he didn’t need help with chem at all). “straightforward for you, maybe. i’m just here trying not to flunk out.”

she furrowed her eyebrows, shooting him a look. “you’re not gonna flunk out. you just need to—” she hesitated, searching for the right word. “try.”

“i’m trying right now. see? look at all this effort.” he gestured toward the open book in front of him.

she sighed, leaning across the table and grabbing the pen out of his hand. “no. this is you sitting there, being useless. pay attention, harry.”

“yes, ma’am.” he mumbled, sitting up slightly straighter. his voice carried the faintest edge of mockery, but he kept his eyes on her, watching as she wrote out a problem on a fresh sheet of paper.

after another ten minutes of stumbling through coefficients, YN thought she saw a flicker of understanding cross harry’s face. he pointed at the page. “so you just make the numbers match? like, both sides need the same amount of atoms?”

YN stared at him, deadpan. “yes. that’s literally it.”

he leaned back, running a hand through his curls. “jesus. why the hell does it sound so much harder in class?”

“because you don’t listen in class,” she laughed, “and i’m guessing you don’t read the textbook either.”

he grinned, leaning forward again. “why would i, when you’re clearly better at explaining it?”

she rolled her eyes, turning the page in the book. “charm and good looks only get you so far, harry. you’re gonna have to put some actual work into this.”

“oh, so you do think i’m charming.”

YN didn’t dignify that with a response. instead, she handed him the pen and pointed to the next problem. “solve it. no shortcuts, no guesses. i wanna see the work.”

he groaned but did as he was told, his brow furrowed as he scribbled on the page.

by the time the clock struck eight thirty, they’d managed to get through most of the chapter. YN had to admit—he wasn’t completely hopeless.

and all he could do was smile—she bought it. if engineering didn’t work out, he thought, maybe he could be an actor. or a pathological liar.

“see?” she said, leaning back in her chair. “you’re not terrible at this. just lazy.”

harry huffed a laugh, closing the textbook with a loud thud. “lazy? you wound me, cinnamon.”

“you’ll live. anyway, i think we’re done for tonight. unless you wanna keep going?”

they walked out of the library together, the crisp night air hitting them like a wall. the campus was quiet now, most of the students holed up in their dorms or off at whatever weekend plans they’d made.

as they reached the edge of the quad, he glanced at her. “thanks for helping me out.”

she shrugged, her hands tucked into her hoodie pocket. “no big deal. just don’t make it a habit.”

“what if i do?”

YN shot him a look, her brow furrowing slightly. “then you’re buying the coffee next time.”

harry chuckled, the sound low and warm in the cold air. “deal.”

they reached the entrance, and YN hesitated for a moment before heading inside. “night, harry.”

“night, cinnamon.”

as the door clicked shut behind her, harry lingered on the steps for a moment, lighting a cigarette.

he smiled to himself again, he couldn’t help it. he was proficient in math, one of his best subjects—bordering the edge of genius, basically. but she didn’t need to know that, not when he just stole a couple hours from her, not when it was the perfect excuse just to hang out with her.

it was wednesday when she next saw him.

the clock on YN’s laptop read 11:03 pm, the harsh blue light illuminating her tired eyes as she highlighted yet another passage in the dense textbook sprawled across her lap. the apartment was quiet, save for the occasional shuffle from her roommate’s room and the faint hum of traffic filtering in through the drafty window.

she hadn’t moved from her spot on the couch in over an hour, legs curled under her, a growing pile of sticky notes cluttering the coffee table. her focus was razor-sharp, though her back ached from the awkward position she’d settled into.

when the knock came, she didn’t flinch. didn’t even glance toward the door. she knew exactly who it was.

with a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips, she set her laptop down carefully, nudging it closer to the stack of notes as she rose from the couch. her socked feet padded softly across the floor, her hand instinctively reaching for the lock. she swung the door open and leaned against the frame, her shoulder pressed into the wood as she tilted her head to the side.

“cinnamonnnn,” harry drawled, his voice almost melodic, the nickname rolling off his tongue like it had been hers all her life.

he stood there in a slightly oversized sweater, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, a pair of gray sweatpants that were smaller than the ones from the other day—joggers maybe. a green packers beanie was snug over his curls, though a few stray strands peeked out, curling against his forehead. his hands were stuffed deep in his pockets, and he rocked back on his heels like he had all the time in the world.

YN narrowed her eyes slightly, the faintest smile ghosting her lips. “harryyyy,” she mimicked, dragging out his name in the same exaggerated tone.

“you busy?”

yes. “no.”

his dimples deepened as his grin grew wider, like he knew she’d lie. “hang out with me for a bit then.”

she let out a quiet laugh, crossing her arms over her chest. “to do what? it’s almost midnight.”

“come walk with me.”

her lips parted slightly, a soft exhale escaping as she gave him a hesitant look. he didn’t push, just waited, the silence between them comfortable, expectant. “you’re such a bad influence,” she muttered, shaking her head as she turned back into the apartment.

“oh, yeah,” harry said, stepping forward to catch the door before it closed. “terrible.”

she tugged a sweater over her head, the fabric swallowing her as she slipped her feet into an old pair of sneakers. they were loose, the kind she could slip on without bothering with laces.

when she stepped past him, harry held the door open before letting it fall shut behind them as they ambled into the narrow hallway.

“where are we going?” YN asked as they descended the stairs, the cool air of the building’s lobby settling around them.

“you’ll see.”

she huffed, though the corners of her mouth tugged upward as she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. he moved like the world waited for him, unhurried but purposeful, his long legs carrying him down the steps in easy strides.

when they pushed through the front door and into the night, the cold air hit her immediately, making her shiver as she stuffed her hands into her pockets.

their path wound deeper into campus—the air quiet, save for the rustling of dead leaves underfoot and the occasional distant honk of a car. the faint glow of streetlights filtered through the thinning trees, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement.

harry walked slightly ahead, shoulders hunched against the cool air. she walked beside him, somewhat, perhaps a step behind, though the edge of her elbow would brush against his arm every so often. it wasn’t an accident, not really.

their breaths puffed out in white clouds, swirling in the breeze before disappearing. the last of the dead leaves fell from the trees with a soft crackle, catching in the wind before tumbling to the ground.

his pace slowed slightly, letting her match him, and he nudged her with his shoulder—just enough to jostle her. she looked up, her brow furrowing as she glanced at him.

“what was that for?”

he smirked, his gaze flicking ahead. “thought you were fallin’ asleep over there.”

she rolled her eyes but let her shoulder bump into his lightly as they walked. “sure. ‘cause nothing screams excitement like following you into the middle of nowhere.”

he let out a low chuckle, his breath visible in the cold air. “you’re dramatic, you know that?”

“you didn’t answer the question earlier.”

“what question?”

“about where we’re going,” she said, her voice teasing. “you could be leading me astray so you can murder me without any witnesses.”

he turned his head to look at her, his brows lifting, “i did answer, you just didn’t accept it.” he paused, pursing his lips as if he was in thought. “it would be a good plan, though. quiet enough out here. no one’d hear a thing.”

she snorted, her steps faltering slightly as she tried not to laugh. “you’re a terrible murderer. you’d leave a trail of evidence a mile wide.”

“would not.”

“would too.”

he turned to her fully now, his eyes narrowing as he stepped backward in front of her. his hands were still stuffed in his pockets, his pace matching hers even as he walked in reverse.

“alright, then,” he said, his voice laced with mock seriousness. “if i were to murder you—and that’s a big if, by the way—how exactly would i screw it up?”

she bit back a smile, “well, for starters, you’d forget to hide the body properly. probably just leave me in the middle of the path, thinking no one would notice.”

he let out a soft laugh, his shoulders shaking as he shook his head. “that’s ridiculous.”

“is it?” YN countered, raising a brow. “you’re the one who thinks this is a good place to kill someone.”

his grin widened, the faintest dimple appearing in his cheek. “you’re paranoid, cinnamon. that’s your problem.”

“and you’re too cocky. that’s yours.”

they fell into a rhythm again, walking side by side as the breeze picked up, carrying with it the faint scent of city streets and damp leaves. their arms brushed again, neither of them pulling away, the warmth of the contact lingering longer than it should.

harry glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, the smirk on his lips softening slightly. “for the record,” he said, his voice quieter now, “i know exactly where i’m going.”

she smiled, her gaze fixed on the path ahead. “good,” she said lightly. “cause i’d hate to have to come back and haunt you if you got me lost.”

their steps grew softer as the buildings behind them thinned out, replaced by clusters of trees swaying in the light breeze. the path curved slightly, the faint hum of traffic fading into the distance.

he walked slightly ahead, his head turning now and then to glance at the towering oaks that lined their path. the trees began to part, revealing the outline of icahn stadium in the near distance. the track and field stretched wide beneath the faint glow of a single overhead light, casting long shadows across the ground. the bleachers stood tall and imposing, their sea of blue seats reaching into the sky like a wave frozen in time.

harry slowed to a stop as they approached, the chain-link fence surrounding the stadium standing between them and the field. he didn’t guide her toward the gate, knowing it would be locked after hours. instead, he stepped closer to the fence, pulling his hand out of his pocket and giving one of the links an experimental tug.

she watched him, her brow furrowing slightly. “if you think we’re going on a run,” she said, her voice flat, “you’ve completely lost it.”

he let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head as his fingers curled around the chain link. he glanced at her over his shoulder, “shut up and c’mere, cinnamon.”

YN hesitated for half a second, then stepped forward, the grass folding beneath her sneakers. the light breeze brushed against her skin, carrying the faint scent of earth and damp metal. he stepped back slightly, giving her room as she reached for the fence. without waiting for further instruction, she started to climb, her hands gripping the cold metal tightly as she hauled herself upward.

he watched her movements closely, his hands hovering near her hips in case she wobbled. “i got you,” he muttered, his voice soft enough to blend with the wind.

she didn’t respond, focusing instead on the rhythmic pull of her arms as she reached the top of the fence. for a moment, she perched there, the view of the stadium stretching out before her, before swinging one leg over and carefully lowering herself to the other side.

harry gave the fence one last tug, then started climbing after her. his movements were quick and efficient, as though he’d done this a hundred times before. his sleeve bunched at his elbows as he reached the top, pausing briefly to glance down at her. “how’s the weather down there?”

she glanced up, brushing her hands off on her pants. “you’d better not fall. i’m not catching you.”

he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he swung over the top and landed easily on the grass beside her. “wasn’t planning on it,” he breathed, brushing his hands off before shoving them back into his pockets.

they stood there for a moment, the quiet of the field settling around them like a blanket. the overhead light flickered slightly, casting their shadows long and thin against the ground.

she stared at him for a moment, then sighed, shaking her head as she followed him. “you’ve got way too much energy for this late at night.”

“and you were too stubborn t’say no.” harry shot back as he walked ahead, his steps light against the rubber surface. “used to hate running, y’know,” he breathed, glancing at YN as he spun around. he walked backward with an ease that made her slightly nervous, like he’d trip over himself any second but never actually would. “hated everything about it—your legs aching, your chest burnin’, that horrible feeling in your throat after.”

she caught up, her pace steady as she smiled faintly, her breath visible in the cool air. “now it’s your thing.”

he paused for a split second, his eyes catching hers in that unreadable way of his. then, to her surprise, he smiled. “yeah,” he nodded slightly. “now it’s my thing.”

the bleachers loomed ahead, their steel frame groaning faintly in the wind. harry reached them first, stepping aside to let her go up. “go on,” he muttered, gesturing upward with a nod. “all the way to the top.”

“what, you’re not going to race me?”

he smiled, his hand brushing against the cold metal railing. “wouldn’t be fair. your legs are shorter than mine.”

she narrowed her eyes but couldn’t help the faint laugh that slipped out. “wow. okay. guess i’ll just take my time then.”

she started up the concrete steps, her hands gripping the railings on either side. the cold bit at her palms, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of her feet against the uneven surface.

harry followed a few steps behind, his stride naturally longer than hers. “this is painful t’watch,” he drawled, his voice laced with mockery. “are you always this slow, or is it just for me?”

YN stopped abruptly, her hands tightening around the railings as she shifted her weight. her hips jutted out slightly, throwing him off balance as he climbed.

he cursed under his breath, his hands instinctively reaching out to steady himself. his fingers found her hips, his grip firm but fleeting, as though he realized too late what he’d done. “jesus,” he muttered, pulling back as quickly as he’d touched her. “bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

she turned her head just enough to catch the faint flush creeping up his neck. she smirked, leaning her weight into the railing. “sorry—shorter legs and all.”

harry just blinked before the corner of his mouth twitched. he stepped back, his expression a mix of annoyance and reluctant amusement. “you’re a child.”

she laughed softly, turning back to the stairs and continuing her climb. “yeah,” she called over her shoulder, her voice teasing. “but you’re still following me.”

they climbed higher, the steps echoing faintly beneath their feet, but harry's pace started to falter again—restlessness bleeding into his movements. "oh, for god's sake," he laughed, his patience snapping like a brittle thread. his fingers drummed against the railing briefly before he stopped altogether, grasping onto her wrist.

his grin was lopsided, dimples flashing as he let go of her hand and flung himself past her, his long legs taking the steps two at a time as he rushed toward the top. only a second and a half later, she met him up there, finding him standing there with a proud grin, his hands resting on his hips like he'd just conquered something monumental.

“impatience isn’t a virtue, by the way.”

he kept his smile, his dimples cutting deep as he lifted his hand in front of her face, palm out. his fingers wiggled dramatically, “talk to the hand, sista."

she paused, staring at him like she wasn't sure whether to laugh or push him off the railing. her expression cracked first, laughter spilling out before she could stop it. she swatted his hand away from her face as they leaned into each other, his own giggles breaking free in a low, rumbling sound that shook through him.

their laughter folded into each other, her shoulder pressing lightly into his chest as she tried to steady herself, his larger frame giving way slightly under the weight of their shared amusement.

harry’s laughter softened as he reached up, his fingers tugging at the edge of his packers beanie. his curls bounced free as he pulled it off, the cold air nipping at his now-exposed hair. without a word, he stretched his arm around her, carefully plopping the hat onto her head.

“what are you doing?” she asked, her voice laced with with something delicate as she adjusted it, the oversized beanie swallowing her hair and tilting slightly to one side.

“you looked cold,” he said, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal. his fingers lingered at the edge of the beanie for just a second before he gave her forehead a gentle push with the flat of his palm.

it wasn’t hard—just enough to tip her head backward a little, like an afterthought, his grin barely contained as she blinked up at him.

“seriously?” YN smiled, tilting her head forward again, a faint laugh escaping as she fixed the hat and gave him a mock glare.

he didn’t reply, already stepping to his left with an exaggerated flourish, gesturing toward the narrow row of faded blue seats that stretched across the top of the bleachers. “c’mon.”

he slid into one of the seats first, his long legs folding awkwardly into the tight space as he leaned back and let out a contented sigh. he patted the seat beside him without looking at her.

she hesitated for a beat, brushing her hair out of her face before following him into the row. the cold metal of the seat pressed through her sweats as she sat down beside him, her knees brushing against his for just a second as she settled.

she pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. harry’s beanie slipped forward slightly, brushing against her eyebrows, but she didn’t bother adjusting it. instead, she rested her chin on her knees, her gaze drifting across the empty field below as the wind whistled faintly through the bleachers.

he shifted beside her, digging into the pocket of his sweats. his movements were easy as he pulled out a slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lime green lighter. sliding a cigarette between his lips, he leaned back, flicking the lighter once, twice

nothing.

his fingers were stiff from the cold, the wind catching the flame before it had a chance to hold. he tried again, his brows furrowing slightly as he muttered something under his breath.

YN turned her head, watching him with quiet curiosity. “you good over there?”

harry’s lips quirked around the cigarette. “just peachy,” he mumbled, his voice muffled as he tried one more time.

without a word, she reached over, her fingers brushing against his as she took the lighter from him. “hold still,” she murmured, leaning sideways as she cupped her hand over the cigarette perched between his lips, shielding it from the breeze.

her movements were practiced, easy, like she’d done this a hundred times before. she flicked the lighter once, and the small flame sprang to life, steady this time. she lit the end of the cigarette, her hand still shielding it from the wind as she glanced up at him. “there.”

harry took a drag, the ember glowing softly in the dim light, and exhaled a thin stream of smoke. his gaze flicked to her, an unreadable expression crossing his face before his lips tilted into a small, lopsided grin.

she shifted back into her seat and pulled the beanie lower over her ears, her chin finding its place against her knees again. they sat in the quiet for a while, the whispers of the wind weaving around them, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or harry’s exhales.

she looked him over, the way his curls danced around his face, the way his lips wrapped around the cigarette, how the ember’s reflection flickered in his eyes. she bit the inside of her cheek before she muttered softly, almost to herself, “you’re british.”

he let out a breathy chuckle, the sound slipping through his nose as he took another pull from the cigarette. he sighed slowly, the smoke curling up into the cold night air before he turned his head toward her, his smirk faint but amused. “good eye, sherlock.”

she kissed her teeth, rolling her eyes as she prepared to retort, her lips parting—

but harry cut her off before she could. “—cheshire,” he breathed, the word rolling off his tongue in a way that caught her off guard, soft and lilting. “born there, anyway. mum moved me and my sister here when i was thirteen.”

“for a job or..?”

he nodded, the glow of the cigarette tip briefly lighting his features as he took another drag. “she got an offer she couldn’t turn down. packed us up, left everything behind. started over.”

YN tilted her head slightly, watching the way his gaze lingered on the field below, distant but steady. “must’ve been hard.”

he shrugged, “it was… weird. missing home, trying t’fit in here. but she did what she had to do. mum’s always been good at that—doing what has to be done.”

there was a warmth in his voice, a quiet admiration that made her chest tighten. she didn’t push for more, sensing that he’d already said more than he usually would. “your accent is starting to fade,” she said instead, her lips curving into a small smile.

he smiled faintly, flicking the ash from his cigarette. “guess so. comes back strong when i’m drunk, though.”

she laughed softly, shaking her head as she turned her eyes back to the field.

he shifted slightly in his seat, his arm brushing hers as he glanced over, his cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers. “what about you?”

she blinked, turning her head toward him. “me?”

“yes, you. where’s home?”

she hesitated for a moment, “about an hour north,” she mumbled, her voice carrying the faintest edge of something wistful. “right on the border between here and connecticut.”

he nodded, leaning back slightly as he tilted his head toward her. “family?”

YN huffed a quiet breath, her lips curving into a small, tired smile. “brother’s in the army. mom and dad work all the time. and i’m just here.”

his brow furrowed slightly, his eyes studying her for a moment, thoughtful and quiet. “just here?”

she shrugged, hugging her knees closer to her chest as she rested her chin on them again. “yeah. they’re busy, you know? always have been. it’s not bad or anything, it’s just… how it is.”

harry didn’t respond right away, the glow of his cigarette catching the faint flicker of emotion in his gaze. “you don’t go home much, then.”

“no. they’re fine without me. and i’ve got everything i need here. school, this place… the occasional packers beanie to keep me warm.”

he chuckled gently at that, the sound low and warm as he reached out to tug the edge of the beanie further down over her ears.

YN tilted her head slightly, her gaze fixed on the horizon as she broke the silence with a question that felt heavier than the moment. “ever fall in love?”

he turned to her, his brows furrowing slightly at the unexpectedness of it. he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, cigarette still lit between his fingers. “once or twice.”

she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her lips twitching into a faint, almost knowing smile. “yeah,” she said softly. “me too. once or twice.”

his eyes lingered on her, studying the curve of her profile in the dim light. “what happened?”

“life, i guess. we grew apart, wanted different things.” she paused, her fingers idly tugging at her sleeves. “it wasn’t awful. just… wasn’t meant to be.”

he nodded slowly, his eyes drifting to the field below as he leaned back again, stretching his legs out in front of him.“same here.” he sighed. “things got complicated. fell apart before it could really go anywhere.”

YN turned to face him fully now, her cheek resting on her knees as she studied him. “do you think it’s worth it?”

“what, love?”

she nodded.

he was quiet for a beat, his features softening as he mulled over her question. “yeah,” he said finally, his voice low but certain. “for the right person.”

silence.

“—he treat you right?”

“what?”

he flicked the ash off the tip of his cigarette. “the guy you loved. did he treat you right?”

she hesitated before she nodded, check still flush against her knees. “most of the time.”

his jaw twitched at her answer, “most of the time isn’t enough, y’know?”

“think you could do better?” she teased lightly, though there was an edge of genuine curiosity in her tone.

harry turned to her then, his eyes meeting hers, the corner of his mouth twitching into the faintest smirk. “yeah,” he said simply, taking another drag. “i know i could.”

her cheeks flushed slightly, but she didn’t look away. instead, she lifted her chin off her knees, her lips curving into a small, sly smile. “yeah right, harry.”

“i don’t say shit i don’t mean, cinnamon. not like that.”

YN didn’t respond, just shook her head faintly as she turned her head back to the field, her chest tightening in a way she didn’t quite know how to name.

he stayed quiet too, the silence settling over them again, but this time it felt heavier, charged with something unspoken that neither of them was ready to unpack.

he let the cigarette drop to the concrete, the faint glow of its ember dying as he ground it under his sneaker. the scrape of rubber against stone was sharp in the quiet, and then he straightened, towering over YN as her gaze followed him.

“let’s go,” he mumbled, his voice even but lacking the warmth it held earlier.

something had shifted.

it was subtle—barely a flicker—but she felt it. the easy banter from earlier seemed to pull back, replaced by something quieter, something more guarded.

she didn’t question it, though. not yet.

harry gestured toward the steps, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he waited for her to stand.

she sighed softly, pulling his packers beanie tighter over her ears as she rose, the cold biting at her cheeks while she fell into step beside him as they made their way back down the bleachers.

when they reached the chain-link fence again, harry stepped forward first, gripping the metal links as he tested its sturdiness like he had before. he didn’t say anything, only nodded toward the fence as he stepped aside to let her climb.

YN rolled her eyes but moved toward it anyway, her hands curling around the cold metal as she pulled herself up. harry’s hands hovered near her hips just as they had earlier.

she glanced down briefly to meet his eyes before she swung her leg over the top and climbed down the other side.

he followed quickly, his movements smooth and quick, landing on the grass beside her with barely a sound. they fell into step together on the walk back, the cool night air nipping at exposed skin as the distant hum of traffic filled the silence.

harry’s hands stayed buried in his pockets, his head slightly lowered as his long strides matched her shorter ones.

she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, sensing the subtle shift in his demeanor. he wasn’t closed off, not entirely, but there was a distance now, like he was holding something back. "you okay?" she asked softly, her voice cutting through the silence.

"mm-hm,” he hummed, his tone even, but distant. "you?"

she nodded, even though something about his shift made her chest feel heavier. "yeah."

she didn’t press, didn’t push. instead, she let the silence stretch between them as their footsteps echoed softly against the pavement.

by the time they reached their building, the city felt quieter, the world around them settling into the stillness of the late night.

and though neither of them said a word as they split, the weight of the unspoken things between them lingered, threading itself into the space they shared.

another few days passed, and the walk back to the apartment felt lighter than usual.

YN had just said goodbye to a friend before rounding the corner to the building, her smile lingering as she adjusted the strap of her bag. it wasn’t often she felt this at ease.

but that lightness disappeared the moment she reached the stairwell.

as she climbed to their floor, her eyes landed on harry. he was standing at his door, his shoulders tense, his head down. his key trembled in his hand, the metal scraping against the lock as he missed the slot for what had to be the third time.

it was wrong. harry was steady. always steady. whether he was handing off a bag of weed or walking down the street like the world revolved around him, he had this uncanny knack for keeping his cool.

but not tonight.

she slowed her steps, her brow furrowing as she got closer. “harry?” her voice cut through the stillness, sharper than she intended.

his head snapped up. for a brief moment, she saw something raw in his eyes—panic, maybe—but it was gone as quickly as it came. his mouth twisted into a faint smile, the one he always wore like armor. “you’re back early.” his voice was rough, low, like he’d been grinding it against a wall.

she took a step closer, her eyes scanning him. “was about to say the same thing.” her gaze flicked to his hand, the one holding the key, the knuckles split and bruised.

“what happened to your hand?”

he stiffened, tucking the injured hand into his hoodie pocket. “nothing’.”

“bullshit,” she muttered, shoving her keys and phone into her pockets to free her hands. “let me see.”

he let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “don’t worry about it, cinnamon.”

the nickname barely registered; her focus stayed on him, on the tension in his shoulders, the blood crusting his knuckles. “harry,” she said, her tone firmer now. “you’re bleeding. just let me—”

“it’s fine!” he shouted, his voice cutting.

YN snapped her head back up, averting her gaze from his hidden hands, right to his eyes. his chest rose and fell, his breathing shallow and uneven. she didn’t speak, just stood there, watching the way his jaw tightened like he was trying to swallow something bitter.

he finally sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “fuck.”he mumbled, almost to himself.

she moved closer again, slower this time, her voice softer. “let me help.”

his eyes flicked to hers, guarded but not as sharp. his lips parted, like he wanted to argue, but no words came out.

inside her apartment, the air felt too still, too quiet.

harry sat stiffly at her small kitchen table, his hoodie now pushed back to reveal the messy curls tumbling over his forehead. he cradled his injured hand in his lap, his jaw set as YN dug through her cabinet for the first aid kit.

“you really don’t have to do this,” he muttered, his voice low.

“yeah, well,” she sighed, pulling the kit down with a thud. “i’m doing it anyway.”

when she sat across from him, the silence between them grew heavy. she reached for his hand, but he hesitated, his fingers curling slightly.

“harry.”

he huffed but relented, letting her take his hand in hers.

the damage was worse up close. his knuckles were split and swollen, streaks of blood staining the spaces between his fingers. she inhaled sharply, her brows knitting as she reached for the antiseptic.

“jesus,” she muttered, shaking her head. “what the hell did you do?”

he didn’t answer right away, his eyes fixed on the floor. when he finally spoke, his voice was flat. “ran into someone.”

she paused, the antiseptic-soaked cotton ball hovering over his knuckles. “like?”

“someone who didn’t want to pay up front.”

her stomach twisted. she pressed the cotton to his knuckles, and he hissed through his teeth, his fingers twitching under hers.

“hold still.” she murmured, her voice softer, airy.

he didn’t respond, just watched her work. her touch was careful but firm, her hands steady as she cleaned the cuts.

“you can’t keep doing this.” she said quietly, not looking up.

harry’s lips twitched, a dry laugh escaping him. “you worried about me?”

YN shot him a look, her expression somewhere between annoyance and concern. “maybe, harry. you ever think about that?”

his smile faded, and for a moment, his eyes softened—just a fraction, but enough for her to notice. “it’s nothing.”

“it’s not nothing.’” she countered, wrapping a clean bandage around his hand. “you’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“maybe.” he whispered, watching her tie off the bandage.

“and you’re okay with that?”

his gaze flicked up to hers, and for a moment, something vulnerable passed between them—something unspoken but heavy. “depends on the day.”

she swallowed hard, her fingers lingering on the edge of the bandage before she leaned back.

“you’re an idiot.” she grumbled, standing to put the kit back in its place.

he grinned faintly, flexing his fingers against the bandage. “yeah, but you’re still patchin’ me up, aren’t you?”

she glanced over her shoulder, her lips pressing into a thin line. “someone has to.”

he stood, his frame filling the small kitchen as he neared the door.

“harry?”

he glanced back, his eyes soft as he looked at her expectantly.

“please be careful.”

his jaw clenched before he managed a tight nod, and then the door clicked shut behind him, leaving YN alone in the silence, the weight of his words—and his presence—lingering in the air.

it was thursday again, and the walk back from their evening lecture became an unspoken agreement.

it wasn’t something they talked about—there were no texts exchanged or plans made. but every tuesday and thursday, as the evening classes let out, they’d meet by the lecture hall’s exit. sometimes harry would already be there, leaning against the wall, pretending he wasn’t waiting. other times, YN would hang back near the doors, scrolling through her phone until she saw him.

tonight was no different.

harry was already outside when she came out of her bio lab, her bag slung over her shoulder and her hair a little messy from tying and retying it during the experiment. he fell into step beside her as they turned toward home, his bandaged hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, his backpack slung low over one shoulder.

“that bad?” he asked, glancing at her as she adjusted her strap.

she sighed, shaking her head. “some idiot forgot to label their samples, so the whole lab got an extra hour of let’s go over the basics again.”

harry chuckled, the sound low and warm. “you lot are a buncha losers, huh?”

“says the guy who’s probably failing chem,” she shot back, grinning.

he shrugged, unbothered—simply because it wasn’t true. “aggressively coasting.” he corrected.

what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

she rolled her eyes, giggling despite herself. the conversation drifted, easy and familiar, as they made their way through campus.

it was when they turned onto the last block before their building that harry stopped.

she noticed it immediately—the way his body went still, his eyes narrowing as they flicked to the other side of the street.

a man stood there, leaning against a lamppost, his hands shoved into the pockets of a heavy coat. he wasn’t doing anything—not technically—but there was something about the way he stared at the building’s exit that set harry on edge.

“go inside.”

she frowned, looking at him. “what?”

harry’s jaw clenched, his eyes never leaving the man across the street. “just go inside, YN.”

her confusion deepened as she followed his gaze. “harry, what’s going on?”

he turned to her then, his expression sharper than she’d ever seen it. “i said go the fuck inside.” he snapped, his voice low, biting—the words cutting through the cool evening air like glass.

she flinched, her eyes widening slightly. but before she could say anything, harry was already crossing the street, his shoulders squared and his hands shoved into his pockets.

she stayed where she was, her heart racing as she watched the scene unfold.

harry approached the man with a deliberate calm, his posture loose but his movements sharp. she couldn’t hear the first thing he said, but the man straightened immediately, his eyes narrowing as he looked harry up and down.

the conversation wasn’t loud, but it was tense—harry’s voice low, steady, while the man’s tone was sharper, more aggressive.

she could only catch snippets.

the man stepped closer, his hands twitching at his sides, and for a moment, YN thought it was going to escalate. but harry didn’t flinch. he held his ground, his voice even as he spoke again.

finally, the man pulled something from his pocket—a small bag, crumpled and poorly sealed—and shoved it into harry’s hand. he gave him a look, muttering something under his breath before turning on his heel.

he crossed the street, his shoulders tense, his face hard as stone. when he reached YN, he brushed past her—his shoulder catching hers, a silent signal that screamed follow me.

she hesitated, but only for a second before trailing after him. he didn’t look back as he pushed through the front door of their building, letting it slam shut behind them.

the silence between them stretched thin as they climbed the stairs, harry taking them two at a time, YN struggling to keep up with his longer stride.

“harry,” she started, her breath slightly uneven, “what the hell just happened?”

he didn’t answer, his hand gripping the stairwell railing tightly enough that his knuckles whitened.

“don’t ignore me,” she pressed, her voice sharper now. “who was that guy? why were you acting like—”

“drop it, YN.” he muttered, his voice sharp and clipped, but she wasn’t having it.

“no, i’m not dropping it!” she snapped, her tone cutting through the empty stairwell. “you don’t get to just walk away from this without explaining. i saw the way you looked at him. you knew him, didn’t you?”

he reached their floor and stopped abruptly in the middle of the hall, his back still to her.

“you knew he was trouble the second you saw him,” she continued, stepping closer. “so tell me why, harry. what’s going on—are you okay?”

he turned then, spinning on his heel so fast that she nearly bumped into him. his eyes were clouded, sharp, and for a moment, the force of his glare made her breath catch. “s’not your fucking concern, YN.” he spat, his voice cold and low, each word biting like frost. “it’s not like we’re friends. so just fucking stop.”

she froze mid-sentence, her jaw slack as the words sank in.

harry’s breathing was uneven, his hands balled into fists at his sides, but he didn’t look away.

she closed her mouth, her lips pressing into a thin line as her eyes stayed locked on his. after a long pause, she gave a single, curt nod. “got it.”

her voice was quiet but sharp, like the edge of a knife.

she stepped around him, her gaze never wavering as she turned toward her unit. the weight of her presence lingered, heavy and unforgiving, even as she unlocked her door and disappeared inside.

he stood there for a moment, staring at the empty hallway. his chest felt tight, his fists still clenched, but he didn’t move. he didn’t look for her.

because if he had, he would’ve followed her. and he wasn’t sure what he’d say—or if it would even make a difference.

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jikookncity · 16 days ago

Text

Fratboy!Jaemin x Reader

WC: 4.1k, mainly fluff, smut in part 2 (go to the end of this post for info)

Jaemin is paired with one of the smartest girls in class for a semester long project...it changes him.

Jaemin showed up to class like he always did — late and freshly showered in the way that screamed he hadn’t bothered to dry his hair. His hoodie was half-zipped, revealing the edge of a sculpted collarbone and a hint of the gold chain he never took off. Girls and guys turned as he entered, subtle whispers floating in the stale lecture hall air.

He smirked, offered a sleepy wink to a blonde two rows ahead, and slid into the nearest seat with a dramatic yawn. Even Professor Lee didn’t seem that mad anymore — he was used to Jaemin's brand of lazy brilliance.

“All right,” the professor said, scanning his clipboard. “Capstone research pairs. This will be your semester-long project.”

Groans followed. Everyone knew once partners were assigned, they were locked in.

“Na Jaemin and Y/N.”

Jaemin barely looked up. He didn’t recognize the name — until you raised your hand silently from the back, already tucking a pen into your hair and closing your laptop. No dramatic reaction. No gasps. You didn’t look excited, or even remotely interested.

Just... efficient.

His brows lifted a little. Huh. You were cute. Like really cute, actually. Ponytail, bit of makeup, glasses perched on your nose. But it wasn’t your looks that caught him — it was the way you didn’t even look at him when you stood up and walked out of the room.

No one ever ignored him. Not like that.

He caught up to you outside, backpack slung over one shoulder, all charm and heat in his step.

“Hey, partner,” he said smoothly, flashing you the million dollar smile that usually had girls forgetting their majors. “We should celebrate. You just scored the best project buddy in the class.”

You didn’t even glance at him. “Celebrating a group assignment sounds like a waste of time.”

He laughed, undeterred. “Wow. Ice cold. I like it.”

You sighed and turned to him, not amused. “Look, we just need to do the work, right? I have a full course load and I don’t mess around with grades.”

He grinned and leaned in, voice low and teasing. “Oh, so you're the overachiever type. Bet you color-code your planner and schedule bathroom breaks.”

You blinked. “Yes. And?”

Jaemin's grin faltered slightly. For the first time in a while, his flirting wasn't just ignored — it was disarmed with surgical precision.

He tried again.

“Maybe we can... start brainstorming tonight?” he offered, voice dropping into that warm register he used when cornering girls at parties. “Your place or mine?”

You stopped walking.

“Library. Six o’clock. Bring your laptop. And maybe try reading the project brief before then.”

Then you walked off, earbuds in, completely immune to the charm that made half the campus swoon.

Jaemin stood there for a moment, watching you disappear into the crowd.

He ran a hand through his hair and laughed under his breath.

“Well, shit,” he muttered. “I think I just got friendzoned before I even had a chance.”

---------------------

Jaemin pushed open the heavy doors of the campus library and let out a soft whistle. It was quieter than usual, the late hour chasing off most of the casual studiers. Only a few scattered students hunched over textbooks, and somewhere deep in the back, he spotted you already seated.

No surprise there.

You were tucked into a corner booth like you owned the place, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, laptop open, highlighter capped between your teeth. A tall iced americano sat untouched next to a thick binder of notes — color-coded, of course. Your glasses were slightly crooked.

Jaemin stopped for a second.

You weren’t trying to be cute. You weren’t trying to impress anyone. But fuck, you looked good. Real good. And somehow, that hit harder than any short dress or party invite.

He smoothed his hair and sauntered over with his usual swagger, dropping into the seat across from you.

“Damn, didn’t realize I had to book a reservation,” he teased, gesturing at your neat little command center.

You glanced up, a smile tugging briefly at your lips. “You’re only two minutes late. That’s basically early for you, right?”

Jaemin chuckled, a bit thrown by your dry wit. “You remembered that?”

You shrugged, eyes flicking back to the screen. “It’s hard to forget when you stroll in halfway through class like you just rolled out of bed.”

His grin widened. “Hey, looking like this takes effort.”

Now you looked at him — really looked — and Jaemin swore something tightened in his chest.

You smiled, soft and a little tired. “You’re actually on time. That’s a good start.”

It wasn’t flirty. It wasn’t sarcastic.

It was… nice. Encouraging. Genuine.

And somehow, it landed deeper than any compliment he'd ever gotten.

You pushed your laptop around to face him, already halfway through an outline. “So, I was thinking we could split the research. I’ll handle the case studies and theoretical framework. You could cover the methodology section?”

Jaemin blinked. “Wait—you trust me with that?”

You shrugged. “Why not?”

“I mean, most people assume I’m just here to coast on someone else’s GPA.”

You tilted your head. “Well, you showed up. And I’ve seen you in class. You’re not dumb, Jaemin.”

That hit him square in the chest.

He stared at you, the joking smile dropping for just a second. You didn’t say it with judgment — just quiet honesty, like you saw right through the surface and didn’t mind what you found underneath.

Jaemin cleared his throat. “Okay. Methodology. Got it.”

He leaned in, suddenly more serious. “I’ll pull my weight. Promise.”

You gave a small nod, eyes back on the screen. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And just like that, the mood shifted. The air between you wasn’t heavy or charged — it was warm, like something slowly unfolding. You weren’t charmed by him. You weren’t impressed by the smile he used on everyone else.

But you saw him. Talked to him like he mattered.

And for the first time in a long, long while… Jaemin wanted to be more than just charming.

He wanted to be good enough for you.

It was nearing midnight, and the library was nearly empty. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and Jaemin had long since stopped pretending he wasn’t into the project. He was focused, typing notes and glancing at you every so often, not because he was bored — but because he liked the way your brow furrowed when you were concentrating, liked the way you softly hummed when you were reading something complicated.

You were the kind of pretty that didn’t try. It just... was.

“You ever take a break?” he asked suddenly, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms over his head, hoodie riding up to reveal a flash of toned skin.

You didn’t even glance. “Not when there’s work to do.”

He grinned. “That sounds exhausting.”

You finally looked at him, eyes soft but firm. “My family’s full of overachievers. Doctors, lawyers, professors. I’m the youngest, so... yeah. I care about grades. A lot.”

Jaemin tilted his head, watching you closely. “That pressure doesn’t get to you?”

You shook your head. “No, it motivates me. They’re not breathing down my neck or anything, but... I want to make them proud. I like being the smart one. My family gave me everything, I want to show them their love and care in me resulted in something great.”

You paused, looking a little embarrassed. “Besides, I actually enjoy the work.”

He smiled, slow and genuine. “That’s kinda hot.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no venom in it. “You flirt like it’s your default setting.”

“Not with everyone.”

That made you look at him again — not with curiosity or interest, but confusion. Because he hadn’t been flirting, not really, not for a while. He’d been listening. Helping. Laughing with you.

And that meant more than any cheesy pickup line.

“Come to my frat party this weekend,” he said, changing the subject.

You blinked. “Why?”

“Because you need to unwind. And because I’ll be there. And you trust me now, right?”

You hesitated.

He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor. I’ll keep you safe, no weirdos, no pressure, no drunk frat boys grinding on you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re literally a drunk frat boy.”

He grinned. “Exactly. You’ll be protected by the king of them.”

---------------------

The music was already shaking the walls by the time Jaemin met you at the front door of the Sigma Tau house. You were nervous, shifting on your feet in your jeans, white tank top and pink unbuttoned cardigan .

But Jaemin's eyes lit up when he saw you.

“Hey,” he said, voice warm. “You look good.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m literally dressed like a volunteer librarian.”

“Exactly,” he said, leading you inside. “And somehow, still the prettiest girl here.”

His hand lingered on your lower back, just for a second, guiding you through the crowd. You noticed how his touch was gentle — not possessive, not pushy. It made you feel safer than you expected.

Inside, everything smelled like beer and sweat and cologne, but you stuck close to Jaemin’s side. He introduced you to a few of his friends, tossing a casual “This is Y/N, my friend” that made you glance at him in surprise.

Friend. Not “project partner.” Not “cute girl from class.” Just... friend. And yet it sounded like he meant more than that.

For once, Jaemin wasn’t flirting with anyone. Not even a little. His usual teasing was gone, replaced with a protective energy that wrapped around you like a jacket.

And then—trouble.

A guy you didn’t recognize stumbled toward you, already reeking of vodka. “Hey,” he slurred, leaning far too close. “Haven’t seen you before. You’re cute. Wanna dance?”

You stepped back immediately. “No, thank you.”

He ignored it. “Come on, just one dance—”

“She said no.”

Jaemin’s voice cut through the music like a blade. He was at your side in a flash, hand sliding protectively to your waist.

The guy squinted. “What, she your girl or something?”

Jaemin didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the guy, sharp and cool. “She’s my friend. And I don’t like it when my friends are uncomfortable. You understand?”

His frat bros — the ones who’d never seen Jaemin act like this — quieted a little. Even the music seemed to fade. The guy held up his hands and backed off, muttering an apology.

Jaemin turned to you, voice soft now. “You okay?”

You nodded, chest a little tight. “Thanks.”

He didn’t let go of your waist, not right away. Just kept you close like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And for the first time that night, you looked up at him — really looked — and something in your chest fluttered.

Because he hadn’t been trying to charm you.

He’d just been himself.

And maybe that was even more dangerous.

“Let me walk you home,” Jaemin said, already pulling his hoodie over his head as the cool night air swept through the porch of the frat house.

You hesitated, but he was already holding the door open for you.

“I’m not drunk,” you said.

“I know.”

“I could’ve taken the bus.”

“I know that too.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Then why?”

He shrugged, smile lazy but eyes sincere. “Because I wanted to.”

You didn’t argue after that.

The two of you walked side by side under the streetlamps, your shoulder occasionally brushing his. It was quiet — not awkward, just... calm. And even though you'd been surrounded by music and people all night, this somehow felt more intimate.

“Thanks for inviting me,” you said eventually, breaking the silence. “And for... stepping in earlier.”

Jaemin glanced over at you, jaw tightening just slightly. “Yeah. That guy was an asshole.”

You offered a small smile. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

“I did,” he said simply.

You paused at the corner near your apartment, turning to face him under the glow of a flickering lamppost. He looked good in the dark — hoodie pushed back, eyes warm, mouth soft.

You opened your arms, tentative. “Hug goodbye?”

Jaemin didn’t hesitate. He stepped in and wrapped his arms around you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he'd been waiting for it all night.

You felt how careful he was — how tightly he wanted to hold you, but didn’t. How he let you set the rhythm. His hand pressed lightly to your back, and you breathed in the scent of his cologne and fabric softener.

When you pulled away, your voice was quieter. “Goodnight, Jaemin.”

He gave you a lopsided smile, a little dazed. “Night, Y/N.”

You didn’t see the way he watched you until you disappeared into your building.

---------------------

By the following week, something had changed.

You weren’t sure when it happened — but Jaemin started showing up to the library early. Not late. Not casually on time. Early.

And with coffee.

“Americano, no sugar,” he said, placing it beside your laptop like it was nothing.

You blinked. “How’d you know?”

He smiled and tapped his temple. “I remember things.”

That became routine. He’d bring your coffee. Sometimes a muffin. Sometimes a note scribbled on a napkin: “Reminder: You’re killing it. Let’s ace this thing.”

And when you looked over at his screen, he wasn’t just pretending to work — he was actually working. Focused. Quiet. Highlighting things. Organizing sources. Color-coding notes.

You leaned in once and asked, “Did you seriously highlight this entire chapter?”

“Yep,” he said, popping a piece of gum in his mouth. “In your system. Blue for theory, pink for data, yellow for examples, right?”

Your jaw dropped. “You remembered my color code?”

He grinned, winking. “Told you I pay attention.”

Back at the frat house, it didn’t go unnoticed.

Jaemin sat on the couch, hoodie pulled tight over his head, textbooks open on his lap — while the rest of his frat brothers tossed chips at each other and shouted at a FIFA game.

“Bro,” Chenle said, laughing, “you’ve been home studying like every night this week. Who is she?”

Mark leaned in with a mock gasp. “Oh my god. You’re whipped.”

Jaemin didn’t even blink. “And?”

Jeno tossed a Dorito at him. “You’re wearing blue highlighter on your sleeve right now.”

Jaemin looked down. Smirked.

“I like her,” he said simply. “She makes me want to try harder.”

The room fell silent for half a second. Then someone shouted, “You’re in love!” and the teasing exploded all over again.

But Jaemin didn’t flinch. He leaned back against the couch, one arm draped lazily behind his head, eyes still scanning the textbook.

Because yeah.

He was in it.

And for once in his life, he wasn’t looking for a quick win.

He was playing the long game — and for her?

He’d wait as long as it took.

---------------------

The library was mostly empty again — just you, Jaemin, and the faint hum of the heating vents kicking in every now and then.

It was past midnight.

You had your laptop open, one foot tucked under you, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands. Jaemin sat across from you, elbow on the table, spinning a pen between his fingers while you spoke softly about your outline.

“…so if we lead with the theory, then follow with the data sets from the 2020 case study—what?”

He was staring at you.

Not in a mocking way. Not in a distracted way.

In that way that made your words falter and your chest feel uncomfortably warm.

“You get like this,” he said quietly.

You blinked. “Like what?”

“Focused. Intense. You kinda zone out when you’re passionate about something. It’s cute.”

You frowned, half-suspicious. “You’re teasing me again.”

“No,” he said, voice even softer now. “I’m not.”

You didn’t say anything.

Jaemin shifted in his seat, expression a little tighter now — like he was debating something in his head.

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, and rested his chin in his hand. “Can I ask you something?”

You glanced up warily. “Sure.”

“Would you ever date someone like me?”

The air went still.

You blinked once. Then again. Slowly.

“…what do you mean ‘someone like you’?”

He gave a small, self-conscious smile. “I mean… a frat guy. Who didn’t care much about school until recently. Who flirts too much. Who maybe talks a little too loud and parties a little too hard.”

Your brows lifted.

“Jaemin,” you said gently, “why are you asking that?”

He shrugged, but it was a nervous kind of shrug. “Because I like you. And I don’t know how to say it without scaring you off.”

Your heart thumped painfully hard. You stared at him, brain short-circuiting.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know. You weren’t stupid. You just… hadn’t let yourself think about it.

Because Jaemin had been your project partner. Your friend. Your surprisingly thoughtful coffee delivery guy. You didn’t want to ruin anything.

And now here he was, sitting across from you, looking unfairly pretty under cheap library lights, finally saying what he hadn’t for weeks.

“I don’t…” you started, then stopped.

His eyes flicked up. “It’s okay.”

“No, I’m not saying no,” you rushed. “I just… I don’t know, Jaemin. I like hanging out with you. I trust you. I think you're—” You stopped again. “I just need time.”

Something in his face softened — the tension easing from his shoulders as he leaned back in his seat, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“You can have all the time you want,” he said.

And then, teasing again — but gentler this time:

“As long as I still get to bring you coffee and highlight your notes.”

You exhaled a shaky laugh, eyes crinkling. “Deal.”

And even though you didn’t say it, the thought crept in anyway, quiet and dangerous:

Maybe I like him too.

---------------------

Jaemin was in his living room when you found him — hoodie on, hair pushed back, knees pulled up on the couch with a textbook balanced in his lap. Chenle let you into the frat house after you showed up my surprise. Mark and Jeno were yelling at the TV, controllers in hand, but Jaemin looked up the second the door opened.

You looked nervous. His heart skipped.

“Hey,” you said, voice barely audible over the sound of button-mashing chaos.

Jaemin blinked, then stood up quickly. “Hey—yeah. You okay?”

“Can we talk?”

He nodded, gesturing toward the hallway. “Yeah. Come on.”

You followed him into the kitchen, where it was quieter. The fridge hummed. One of the overhead lights flickered. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, waiting for you to speak — not pushy, just watching.

You shifted awkwardly, eyes fixed on the linoleum floor.

“I’ve been thinking about something you said,” you started slowly. “Back at the library.”

He tilted his head. “About the outline?”

You shot him a flat look.

He grinned. “Okay, sorry.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. Then it dropped. “No, seriously. When you asked if I’d ever date someone like you.”

Jaemin’s expression changed. A little more cautious now. A little more still.

You took a breath.

“I didn’t like how you said it. ‘Someone like me,’ like that means something bad. Like you’re just a frat guy who flirts too much and doesn’t care.”

He didn’t say anything.

You stepped closer.

“You’re not just a frat guy, Jaemin. You’ve been… so kind to me. You listen. You show up. You remember things. You study with me. You make me feel safe.”

You swallowed.

“You’re smart. And funny. And—actually a really good friend. I think anyone would be lucky to have you around. And you deserve people who treat you like that.”

His jaw was clenched lightly now, like he was trying not to smile too soon, but it was already blooming behind his eyes.

You exhaled shakily. “So. Yeah. I guess I just wanted to say that.”

Jaemin stared at you for a moment, taking you in. And then, softly:

“I really like you, Y/N.”

You looked down, shy all over again.

“I kind of figured that out,” you muttered, smiling into your sleeve.

He stepped closer. Not touching you yet — just near enough to make the air feel thicker.

“If you’d grant me the honor,” he said, voice gentle, “I’d really like to take you on a date. A real one. Just us. No textbooks. No highlighters.”

You laughed — quiet and full, like it had been waiting to escape.

“Okay,” you said. “I’d like that.”

Jaemin’s smile turned brighter, almost boyish in its joy. He didn’t reach for you, didn’t crowd you. He just stood there beaming, like you’d handed him the world.

And for the first time since you'd started this project… maybe you had.

---------------------

Jaemin was already bouncing on his feet when you showed up outside the arcade, hoodie strings swaying and a grin tugging at his lips like he couldn’t contain it.

“You’re seriously taking me to an arcade on our first date?” you teased.

He mock-gasped. “Excuse me, this is a carefully curated experience of childhood nostalgia, light competition, and sugar-fueled bonding.”

You snorted. “So… an arcade.”

“Exactly,” he said, and held the door open for you with a dramatic bow.

Inside, everything buzzed with light and energy — flashing machines, digital sounds, coins clinking, the sweet scent of slushies and popcorn in the air. Jaemin handed you a loaded-up card and shot you a wink. “Hope you’re ready to lose.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

Ten minutes later, he was sure of exactly one thing: he was getting destroyed.

You beat him at skee ball. You beat him at basketball. You beat him at air hockey so badly he pretended to dramatically cry in a corner while you laughed so hard your stomach hurt.

“WHO ARE YOU?” he yelled over the sounds of electronic guns and kids screaming. “Have you been lying to me this whole time?! Are you secretly training for the Olympics of Fun?”

You leaned on the air hockey table, breathless with laughter. “I told you I have older brothers. I grew up playing all this. You just didn’t listen.”

He was speechless. For once.

Which was why you grinned and leaned in, brushing his shoulder lightly. “Still think I’m just a study nerd?”

Jaemin laughed, eyes sparkling. “I think you’re dangerous. And I’m obsessed.”

He walked you home again, hands stuffed in his pockets, that cocky grin finally softened into something quiet and glowy.

The city had calmed down for the night. Streetlights buzzed softly overhead, and your arms brushed once, then twice — and then you stopped pretending it was an accident and let them swing together.

When you reached your door, you turned to face him, heart thudding.

Jaemin scratched the back of his neck, suddenly shy in a way that melted you.

“So…” he said slowly. “Would it be okay if I kissed you?”

You blinked, surprised — not that he wanted to, but that he asked.

You nodded once. “Yeah.”

He leaned in slowly. Gently. His hand hovered near your jaw but didn’t touch — just in case. Then his lips pressed to yours, warm and soft and careful, and the moment was still and sweet and—

He pulled back, eyes flicking to yours, checking. Waiting.

You didn’t speak.

You just grabbed the collar of his shirt, yanked him in, and kissed him again — deeper this time. Your mouths moved in sync, all heat and want and finally. His hands found your waist, tentative at first, but then grounding you to him as your back hit the door.

You kissed until you were breathless, until your fingers curled in his hoodie and your mind spun. When you finally broke away, cheeks flushed and lips tingling, you just stared at him for a second.

“…That was fun,” you said softly.

Jaemin laughed, breath hot against your skin. “Yeah. Really fun.”

You pressed a hand to his chest and pushed him back gently. “Goodnight, Jaemin.”

He looked dazed. “Night.”

You slipped inside and closed the door, pulse racing.

Jaemin walked into the house with his hoodie crooked, hair mussed, lips still pink and so obviously kissed. He didn’t even try to hide the stupid grin on his face.

Mark looked up from the couch and burst out laughing. “Ohhh shit, someone got lucky!”

“Bro didn’t even try to play it cool,” Jeno added. “You’re glowing. Like a Disney princess.”

Jaemin just flopped onto the couch and covered his face with both hands, still smiling so hard it hurt.

“She kissed me first,” he said dreamily.

Jisung cackled. “He’s gone.”

And yeah, maybe he was.

Because Y/N kissed like she meant it. Like she was finally seeing him for exactly who he was.

And Jaemin?

He was never going to get enough.

------------------

Wanna read part 2 (fluff + smut)? Subscribe to my patreon here or access the rest of the story here. Or if you'd like to give a lil tip, do so here!

Sneak peak of part 2:

He turned to face you, hands on your hips again, slower this time. More lingering. He kissed you at the door — soft at first, then deeper, like he couldn’t help himself. Your fingers curled into his hoodie, tugging him close.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, your voice was small.

“…You don’t have to leave yet.”

Jaemin just smiled, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

“I wanna stay,” he whispered. “But if I stay… I won’t stop.”

You blinked at him, heart pounding.

He kissed your forehead this time, gentle and affectionate.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

#nct imagines #nct x reader #nct dream #jaemin x reader #jaemin smut #jaemin #na jaemin #nct jaemin #jaemin x you #jaemin x y/n

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therobotsarestuckinmyhead · 10 days ago

Text

♡ "ENTERTAINMENT" — Megatron [TFA]

scenario: maybe law-enforcement officers and Megatron can get along, only if he’s in a cell though.

setting: takes place post season three. Megatron is locked up in Trypticon for a year or so. after team Strika fails to bust him out.

cross posted on ao3!

Trypticon Prison, Kaon. What a wonderful place to work at. You mentally prepare yourself for him as you type in the codes into the door-panel of the maximum security wing. You let out a long vent before you enter the wing, the large metallic door whirrs open with a hydraulic hiss.

“If it isn't my favorite Autobot.”

You have to physically hold back a resigned sigh at the sound of the smooth velvety voice you had yet to grow accustomed to despite him being locked up here for nearly a year now. Autobot has become his name for you, you sincerely hoped that he didn’t know your name even if it had been quite a while since he's been under your custody. You trudged along a trolley containing the trays of low-grade fuel for all the Decepticon prisoners of the wing which was basically just him.

Megatron sat in his rather-cramped-for-his-size cell with one leg on top of the other as he leaned onto a wall, his helm resting on the barrier that you were so grateful for. Other than the occasional sounds from the two of you, it was only the static from the energy barrier that could be heard. This sector was eerily quiet, just Megatron and his silence. His loyal soldiers were in the other corridor of the same wing right next to Megatron’s isolated holding, it made sense why the cunning spawn of a glitch had an entire cell block for him. You couldn’t trust the mecha with even an energon scrap...

Trypticon was once one of the mightest Decepticons that had ever been a Decepticon. But after Trypticon’s defeat thanks to the introduction of Omega Sentinels, the stasis locked Trypticon was repurposed into an Autobot POW camp– empty halls with cells specifically built to accommodate Decepticons for millennia. But as the years went on, Trypticon was yet again repurposed but this time as a civilian prison. The old warden, Codexa, had given you a long lecture on the history of Trypticon years ago when you first joined. The place was a fortress, virtually inescapable. Only the worst of the worst were locked up in here.

But after the whole Allspark incident a year ago, Decepticons were back in the cells of Trypticon. The leader of the ruthless Decepticons, the infamous warlord, Megatron himself along with most of the remaining lackeys of the already crippled Decepticon ranks had been captured and as the days go by, they just seem to find more and more. The sector was almost half-filled.

The possibility that there were still more out there remains to be the current speculation. Every bot had their optics zoomed in for any suspicious activity nowadays. Especially in Kaon, where you lived. Given it was the former capital of the Decepticon empire, it made sense.

You were initially relieved, like any other Autobot would’ve been knowing that the fearsome Decepticons were finally put down.

But when you heard the news from Highbrow that The Megatron would be imprisoned in the wing you were in charge of? Primus, you felt your spark drop. The fact that High-Command seriously believed you were tough enough to handle the Megaton was comical. You were a senior guard so it sort of made sense why they assigned him to you but this was no murderer, criminal mastermind or Cryotek that you had gotten used to… this was a seasoned war-criminal that had quite literally killed more bots than has ever lived.

The worst part? The mech had landed himself a life imprisonment so he was here to stay. He was not going anywhere any time soon. Miraculously, he avoided a death-sentence… and you’ll never know how. No bot knew how actually. Tyrest must've had a few screws loose. Some think it was an inside job. Nobody really trusted Autobot High Command after the literal head of Cybertron Intelligence was a damn Decepticon Spy. Even if the historic millennias long war had an official and actual conclusion, there was a newfound mistrust… and Sentinel Prime didn’t really help out with that when he was Acting Magnus.

Either way, whether you liked it or not. Megatron was in your care for almost over a year now and it was… unpleasant.

Even despite your years of experience as a Prison Guard, Megaton was just too much. He was unpredictable and easily bored. In fact, Megaton was, from what you could understand, incredibly bored. To a point where around two months into his imprisonment, he tried to actually converse with you. You honestly didn’t know what to feel about that.

“Bored as usual, I assume?” You shot back at the grey mech trapped behind an energy barrier, tone refusing to hide your disapproval of his antics. He chuckled and then let out a sigh, expression momentarily softening and then returning to its usual sharp stare and slight smirk.

“Incredibly.” He practically purred that out, his piercing crimson optics narrowed at you in interest. It sent a shudder up your spine but you were an experienced guard, your frame did not betray you.

It started off small at first. He’d try casual small talk with you. You never replied… at first but somehow Megatron just knew how to rile you up enough to get the reaction and response he wanted. Of course you wouldn’t just let him get away with it. You’d stand up to yourself with your own sharp glossa. You had a pride! You might’ve not been a big military big-shot but you were a senior guard nonetheless and Megatron was exploiting that little shred of ego for his own amusement.

But that escalated, fast. Now he was full blown hitting on you sometimes. Might’ve found it amusing if it were literally any other prisoner. But him? That just didn’t even make sense nor did it sit right with you. He was clearly the proud, elegant, quiet and calculating type… to see him act like the total opposite for that was unnerving to say the least. More importantly, it brought up a bigger question:

Just how bored was he?

“You're lucky then. I have guard duty tonight.” You frowned, clearly not happy with the predicament of having to spend the night in Trypticon of all places with Megatron of all bots. You always ended up with the night shift, following orders you didn’t want to follow. Megatron knew that, he relished it.

“Don't make this any more unbearable than it has to be.” You sighed, resigned. He won't listen, he's Megatron after all but maybe for once, out some sense of.. non-existent pity, he might.

Megatron was quite happy with your predicament and it was evident in the small laugh he let out at your words and the way his derma slightly curved upwards.

“You can’t expect me to not make it unbearable,” He said with the usual sly grin, “Especially not when you give me such… entertaining reactions dear. After all, its unbearable for just you.”

“Do you do this with Fort Max too?” You raised an optical ridge as you opened the fuel chute, putting in some low-grade energon cubes.

Megatron clearly didn't like the mention of your fellow guard, his signature smirk slightly faltering at the mention of the mech. Made sense, the younger guard was silent with a hatred for Cons that rivalled Magnus’ own. Megatron hummed.

“Mmm. He’s not half as entertaining as you.” He sighed, Megatron wouldn’t show it to anyone but he did not like Fort Max.

“So I’m the only guard you annoy like this?” You huffed, shutting the fuel dispensing chute and making sure to lock it. Prison guards were supposed to maintain a menacing aura but clearly, the warlord was never intimidated and Megatron had a talent of making your exterior stoicism crack.

“Perhaps.” From all of your time stuck guarding him, you were aware that this was his fancy way little way of saying yes. The mech was quite dramatic for a bot in a cell.

“Am I supposed to feel flattered or concerned?” You scoff at his words, he spoke as if you were some sort of exception to a rule you weren't aware of.

“You tell me Autobot.” He leaned in closer, the static of the energy barrier cackling as he did so. Megatron looked as amused as ever.

“Concerned then.” Your optics narrowed at him, maintaining your usual nonchalant demeanour. If it weren’t for the tone of your voice, Megatron would’ve had a hard time reading you.

“Of course.” Megatron gave a slight smile, amused at the predictability of your answer. Even if you kept up your stoic façade, Megatron has been alive for long enough to see right through it. He was determined to shake that mask off of you, the slight flustered reactions you’d often give as a response were so entertaining and your annoyed ones even more so.

And that was just from his words.

“You don't find even a slight thrill in our little… thing?” He cooed, mockingly.

“There is no thing. There never has been a thing between us.” You retort, clearly unamused and annoyed by his implied words. Megatron feigned a mock offence, a servo on his chassis. How he loved playing his little game, even if it was one-sided.

“You're quite cold sparked.”

“And you don't know how to shut up.” You hissed, annoyance increasing as the moments went by. There was that snark he had grown to be so fond of. His smile grew slightly.

“You forget who you talk to, Autobot.” Megatron replied amused but the slight warning in his tone didn’t go unnoticed. You let out an amused laugh.

“Says the one in a cell.”

Now that, that got to him a bit. He absolutely despised being made ever so blissfully aware of his own predicament. Megatron kept his composure but his optics momentarily shone with pure rage at your gentle reminder. You were quite brave, he admitted that. Not a lot of ‘Bots or ‘Cons spoke to him in such a manner, not even that meddling nuisance Starscream. It was slightly amusing, refreshing even but Megatron will never tolerate two things– disrespect and insubordination.

That mouth of yours would cost you someday. He’d make sure of that.

However, the grey mech was a master of control. The both of you were aware of the fact that you mouthed off as much as you wanted only because of the purple energy barrier that kept the two of you separated and you thanked Primus with every glow of your spark everyday that Trypticon never faced power outages, unlike the rest of Kaon.

“Such a bold little Autobot but that mouth of yours will bite you back someday.” His voice was low but Megatron had his signature smile.

“Some day in the next… what? Five million years? I have time until then.” You shot him back with your own cocky grin. Megatron let out an amused chuckle. Even if you were able to get under his plating (funnily enough, a feat only his own soldiers managed to do), he’d be lying if he said he didn't find the exchanges between you two amusing and entertaining.

You were leaning against the wall opposite to the energy barrier now, a gun in servo. It was more like a standard prison guard uniform given how you rarely had to ever really use it but a necessary precaution given how they had to deal with Decepticons now.

“So cocky.” He huffed as he shifted on his seat a little, playfulness never leaving his demeanor. Megatron was still leaning against the energy barrier, he shifted a little to catch a better glimpse of you. You didn't really respond to that and let the silence take over for once which allowed Megatron’s deep red optics to actually study you carefully for once.

You were much taller than the average Autobot. It probably was a mandatory upgrade given your rather unsavory profession and clearly, you had some experience on you but you weren’t as old as to be alive during The Great War. Maybe the first generation of post-War Cybertronians, he assumed. But clearly nowhere near as experienced as he was. You had some combat training, he could tell from the way you held your gun. Your servos weren’t gripping the blaster like most amateurs end up doing. You had some skill. A useful, tidbit of information.

While Megatron wouldn’t say it outright, he had grown seemingly interested in your life. What was your name? Why did you work here? What made you pick this as a profession? Did you live in Kaon? He only ever heard bits and pieces of your life from the conversations he overheard across the empty halls. It's not like he wanted to listen but he was bored and quite literally had nothing better to do. His audials were more sensitive than most, especially given how he was a seasoned fighter. He needed to rely on every sense he had on the battlefield.

“What?” You raise an optical ridge with a quizzical look, questioning his lingering stare.

“Hm. I'm curious. You know, we've spoken for so so long, dear yet… I don't even know your name.” Megatron spoke, a slight mock gentleness to his tone.

“Not happening.” You deadpan, the one thing that kept you comfortable was knowing that Megatron was behind this cell and he’d never see the stars again with absolutely no knowledge on anything about you, other than some basic information. The last thing you want to hear is him calling out your designation with his velvet, silky voice… even if it did sound strangely hot. Wait what? You quickly threw away that thought as soon as it came, mentally scolding yourself for even thinking such a thing. why would you even think that?

“They don’t teach you manners at Autobot boot camp, do they?” A hint of annoyance laced his tone. But he knew it was not a matter. He’d find out your name, eventually.

“Nah. Not really.” You couldn’t help but chuckle slightly at his annoyance. Megatron didn’t like the taste of his own medicine, it would seem. Who would’ve guessed?

“Besides, professionalism. You’re the only prisoner that I’ve met who wants to know a guard personally”

Megatron holds back a snort. “Professionalism? You? Don’t mock my intellect.” He retorts, Megatron thought you were quite hilariously casual with your duties. When he found out he’d be under the supervision of a senior guard, he was expecting some rough and tough old mecha that was absolutely no-nonsense. Not a slightly stern and strangely amusing bot.

“Very funny.” You mutter, optics narrowing at him in disapproval. Oh, how he cherished your look of reproval. “I’m not even permitted to speak to you. Its against the code of conduct.”

There it was. That stick up your pipes. “So prim and proper…” The ex-warlord rolled his red optics as he remarked. Such a prude but it was a part of your charm. It oddly suited you. Ultra Magnus definitely would’ve liked the way you do things but he was glad you weren't working under the Magnus, oddly.

“But even then, why do you want to know that?” You are curious, what’s with the sudden interest? Wasn’t he the one that thought of you as just ‘entertainment’? He just grinned at your little question.

“Hm. Like you said, pet: ‘Not happening’.”

“Touché.”

The boredom must’ve been chewing him out if he was interested in your life, that was what you could conclude and honestly, you could care less if he died from his own boredom. But oddly enough, despite how weary you are around him (and how you fear him on the inside), a part deep within your spark would slightly miss this strange back-and-forth banter between the two of you.

“Wait. Pet?” You’re taken off-guard by his new nickname. Megatron always had one for you. This had to be by far the worst. A sly grin formed across his faceplates, you were so reactive to his words at times. Made his little game all the more fun.

“Mhm. You heard me, pet.” He cooed with a teasing softness, his velvety voice and it’s lilt provides emphasis on his playful mocking. He had that usual cocky look to his faceplates that you wish you could just slap off of him. Scratch that, you would not miss this banter.

“Again. You’re the one in a cage.” You retort in an effort to get back at him, slightly gritting your denta as your faceplates begin to form a sour expression. He was trying to get under your plating again and it was working, Megatron had your personality pinned down and discredit at this point, he was always an observant mech— He knew how to make you take the bait, hook, line and sinker.

“Maybe so but you’re the little guard dog following orders like some organic puppy.” Megatron’s tone was as mocking as ever. The anger continuing to bubble up. “So devoted to protecting your master, aren’t you?” He swore he saw your vents puff out steam at that one. It was all so amusing.

“Never compare me to an organic ever again,” You felt a slight disgust at the prospect of being compared to an organic which Megatron took notice of and chuckled, he shared your disdain. “And even then, I’m quite sure that pets don’t paid.” Working in the most hardcore penal facility on Cybertron did come with a massive paycheck.

“A monetary minded Autobot I see?” Megatron remarks, a smug snarkiness dripping from his tone. He was smart enough to know that wasn’t the reason why any bot would pick a job in a maximum security prison. “You must get along well with Swindle in the other wing then hm?”

You scoff, taking offence in being compared to Swindle. Unsavory memories of having to stop the cheapskate fraud from selling energon cubes, literally just the coverings guised as ‘special grade prison food’ to Blitzwing creeped onto your processor. A frown took over your features. “Please. He’d sell his own protoform if he could.”

That made Megatron laugh, it startled you. A deep, rumbling laugh. A genuine laugh— not him being amused or snarky or smug or teasing. Actual humor. You had never heard him laugh. The thought of Swindle selling his literal life was funny to him, strangely. Your priceless ‘caught off guard’ face made it all the more hilarious to him. You really were his only source of entertainment. Megatron hated law-enforcement. It was a well known fact. But to your dismay and his surprise, you might’ve wiggled your way up to be an exception but the proud mech would never admit that.

“Oh, you’re adorable...” Its slightly out of character, but he says this between held back laughs.

“...excuse me?”

second one this might take longer than i thought... also, this one is kinda old so im not very proud of it. im gonna go back to the few requests i have left now

#transformers #transformers x reader #cybertronian reader #reader insert #tfa x reader #tfa megatron x reader #megatron x reader #megatron #tfa megatron #transformers animated #tf animated #tfa #my favorite Megatron #he lives in my head rent free #i've never wanted a megatron so badly in my life until i watched TFA #i think it's the voice dunno #HES SO FINE 🤩🤩🤩

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lixies-favorite-cookie · 15 days ago

Note

congrats on 1k love, so deserved !! can i request han w the prompts 🧷, 🌕, 💋, 🌸, and 🧋 for the time capsule event pls ?? :3 tysmmm <33

📚 — paring・hannie x reader // genres・fluff, cookies time capsule event!! // words・1.6k // the event・wanna open your relationship time capsule? click here to request!

a/n・tee hee thank you sooo much, so crazy coming from you figuring i'm down bad for your nerd!ji series (was this lowkey based off that? yes. am i ashamed? absolutely not.) hanji being a hot nerd is so coded. to anyone reading this go check out her page her stuff is awesome!! (sorry this is kinda shit, i'm going through it right now lolol p.s there is an ungodly amount of ramen mentions in this)

🧷 — the first time you met ➵ ꒰ 0 days into your relationship ꒱

jisung is a certified loser, so naturally, he was head over heels in love with you before you two ever actually had a conversation. the first time you formally met—not him daydreaming about you in chemistry or stalking your social media—he had already been caught staring at you at least 20 times within the last hour. you've never seen a man pale and then blush so fast in your life; it was almost impressive. "do i have something on my face?" you muse, leaning forward on his desk. he's rehearsed his first real conversation with you for literal years, but alas, the moment you actually look at him, all those cool-calm-collected skills he religiously googled go poof in his brain. "w-what? n-no?? you d-don't have anything on y-your face?" his ears are so red that he can feel them, which means you can see them, and that only makes him more embarrassed. yeah, that is not a fun combo. you send him an amused smirk, running your finger along his desk. "you sure? you seem to really like my face." oh. my. god. he wants the earth to crack open and swallow him whole, shifting in his seat and clearing his throat as if this wasn't one of the most embarrassing moments in his life. "no! i-i haven't been, um..." you give him an unconvinced look. he sighs, sinking deeper into his seat, face practically on fire. "sorry..." at first, this was all a silly joke. but the way he seems so embarrassed before you, fiddling with his fingers underneath the desk and bouncing his leg as if he's going to run away, makes you think this isn't actually a joke to him. you smile, soft and disarming in its sweetness. "don't sweat it, just maybe... next time watch where you're looking." half of him expected you to laugh at him for having this silly crush, but the way you acted, how kind you were, made the delulu part of him flare up like no other. he couldn't stop thinking about you for the rest of the week, but he knew deep down, there was no possible way he could talk to you again. god had different plans because—of course this would happen to him—a week later, you get assigned to him for peer tutoring. yeah, he was so done.

💋 — the first kiss. ➵ ꒰ 1 month into your friendship ꒱

you were 'just friends' when you first kissed han jisung. he had just made a large bowl of spicy ramen, as one does, while you were finishing up some problem questions he wrote for you. you were almost finished with them when you looked over, a large splotch of sauce slathered over his bottom lip. you let out a little chuckle, motioning to his lips. "you've got something right there." he perks up, ears turning bright red. "r-right here?" he scrambles to wipe it off, but fails miserably. "no," you laugh, pointing back to where it is. "it's right there." perhaps it was because he was so flustered, but no matter how many times you showed him where it is, he just couldn't find it. he huffed in frustration, cheeks all cute and red. "i'm gonna go check the mirror." "don't worry about it," you say, pulling him back down by the sleeve, crawling to him and pressing your lips together. time stills, and when your tongue pokes out to lap against his bottom lip, he's truly convinced this was some sick, wet dream. when you finally pull away, jisung almost melts into a puddle on the floor. he should say something smooth, win you over with his totally-not-just-in-his-head flirtatious skills, but no. in classic jisung fashion, he stammers out—"d-did you, um, did you get it?" you can't help the laughter that spills from your now red and puffy lips. he can't stop thinking: shut up! shut up! shut up! you're making a total fool of yourself! "yes, jisung, i got it." "o-oh yeah, t-that's really good, w-we wouldn't want..." yeah, he doesn't say anything after that. don't worry, you didn't leave the poor boy to wallow in humiliation for long. the classic "what are we?" conversation happens the next day.

🌕 — the first night. ➵ ꒰ 1 month into your friendship ꒱

the first time you spent the night at his apartment, it was a mix of food, anime, and laughter. han has been plotting this night ever since you brought it up. he literally made an entire note on his notes app labeled super-awesome-first-night-with-my-gf. the first bullet on the list—woo my girlfriend into thinking i'm actually really cool and not just a simp. the second bullet—make tons and tons of ramen. only one of those bullets got checked off that night. anyways, the ramen was pretty smack. all jokes aside (guys tell me im so funny), you had a blast. you both huddled under the covers and didn't stop laughing until you were doubled over, stomachs cramping. he shared his favorite anime show and his super-secret-spicy-ramen recipe, which he swore up and down wasn't just ramen and cheese (it totally was). and maybe, secretly, he did woo you—just a little bit.

🌸 — the first time he got jealous. ➵ ꒰ 4 days into your relationship ꒱

it's pathetic really, how quickly han can get jealous. you weren't doing anything to evoke jealousy, you were just... talking. that's what bothered him so much — you were talking — to a tall, hot, white guy that looked nothing like him. he doesn't wanna admit it, but bagging the most beautiful girl in school came with a rap sheet of insecurities. you had only been dating for four days, but he was already worried about you also seeing how far out of his league you are. i mean, come on, you two weren't even in the same sport. (he just needs to be kissed bc what is this gorgeous baby talking about??). he'd be so pouty when you come back and sit down beside him. jisung isn't the "imma fight this hoe" kinda guy. he is the "imma cry in the corner and imagine fighting this hoe" kind guy, so when you see him avoiding your eye and pawing at his thighs, you know almost immediately. "hey ji, you good?" he scoffs, looking at you like you were crazy. "me? good? pshh, i'm so good. i'm cool, man. i'm so cool. cool like... ice..." you both cringe at that. it's silly, he knows that, and it isn't like he thought you were cheating or something — he was just... insecure. and you, being literally perfect in every way, noticed, cupping his cheeks and gingerly pointing his face toward you. "baby, talk to me, what's wrong?" he doesn't look at you when he mutters, shy and embarrassed, "who was that guy... you were talking to?" you really, really liked jisung, so you don't let out the laugh that threatened to leave your lips as you say, "who? my cousin?" han jisung has never been more horrified in his life. "your cousin?!" "yes, my love. he's my cousin." he takes another look at the fine-ass specimen of a man, then back to you. yeah, it checks out. though, meeting said cousin after that was really weird, but that's a different story for a different time.

🧋 — the first time he realized he wanted to marry you ➵ ꒰ 2 years into your relationship ꒱

han jisung realized he was going to marry you when you were looking like a total mess. work had made him feel like the entire world was sitting on his shoulders, back aching and heavy as he slipped off his shoes, stepping into the kitchen to find you—bent over the stove, stirring a heaping bowl of ramen. it was 3 in the morning, and he had taken extra shifts to help pay for bills, and quite frankly, he doesn't remember the last time he ate. you were in your hello kitty pjs, hair tangled and rustled from the power nap you took before making his meal, and the sight alone is enough to make tears spring into his eyes. "baby," he whimpers, strolling up behind you to wrap his arms tightly around your waist. you jump, but when you catch a whiff of his scent, your body relaxes into his touch, so familiar it feels like coming back home. you smile, giving the noodles one final stir before pouring them into a bowl and handing them to him, garnering it as if you were a 5-star michele."i hope you like it!" he was so tired, so tired he could collapse onto the kitchen table and never wake up again, but with you, around you—it didn't matter—he was going to eat your food gosh darn it. he took a bite and suddenly, he wasn't tired anymore, he was starved. your eyes sparkle like he just handed you the moon when his wobbly lips turn into a firm, convincing grin. "this is so good, baby. thank you." you give him this look, like you were staring straight into time, like you were imagining a life with him, and you liked it. that was where it started. it was the strangest phenomenon—it bloomed inside his chest, this feeling, and then, with disorienting intensity, it all—clicks. that's when he realized he was going to marry you, sitting there on kitchen stools, sipping on the best ramen he's ever tasted in his life.

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hannie-dul-set · 11 months ago

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나비 / NABI — ONE.

SYNOPSIS. in which you’re trying your damned best to willfully ignore your feelings for your friend of over twenty years, but— as always— life seems to have a different plan paved out for you.

PAIRING. choi beomgyu x female! reader. GENRE. childhood friends to not quite friends (derogatory) to not quite friends (endearment) to lovers, romance, humor, hurt/comfort but more on comfort, coming of age, slowburn, college! au, “it’s always been you” trope, pining, tons of denial, beomgyu is the only man ever, featuring a large ensemble of idols from various groups. WARNINGS. swearing, explicit language, alcohol consumption, rumors as a plot device, mentions of sex, a few minor injuries. WORD COUNT. 9k (out of 40k).

NOTE. hehe...it’s here. this first part is a little short and slow, but things are gonna start picking up from here! please let me know what you think so far 😭😭 half my soul was injected into writing the entirety of this i will never be the same again 💔 also, i recommend listening to beomgyu’s covers while reading this and the upcoming chapters HAHA anyhow, please enjoy!

모기 / MOGI — ONE — TWO — THREE

YOU STILL DON’T LIKE CHOI BEOMGYU. Ever since you and he reconciled and publicly became friends again, your life has never known quiet— all thanks to the countless insects constantly buzzing around him, and by consequence around you, every damn day. And it’s not like you can keep avoiding him. Choi Beomgyu has made the executive decision to take advantage of the guilt you’ve been feeling, so for the past month, you’ve been a slave to his whims.

Responding to 3AM ice cream runs even though you’re swamped with assignments. Going to parties hosted by people you don’t know the fucking names of because he keeps calling you a boring loser. And, the cherry on top, having to deal with Lee Heeseung’s even more annoying presence, just like how you’d predicted he’d behave if he ever finds out you and Beomgyu are friends.

Which he did. Much to your despair and agony.

“Beomgyu, your girlfriend’s here to see you.”

Case in point. You spare him nothing but an eye roll when he lets you in the clubroom of the, ahem, coding club. You’re here because Beomgyu texted you to fetch him a matcha latte and since you’re playing as his slave at the moment (and until your patience runs out), you obliged out of the kindness of your heart, only to get a truckload of teasing in return.

“Oh, hey, what’s up,” Yeonjun throws you a peace sign from their worn out sofa by the door the moment you enter. He’s accompanied by a good number of chip bags on the cushions.

“Hey,” Hanbin greets you as well when you pass by their alleged meeting table. Which, by the way, has stacks of leftover takeout containers and some empty, some half-empty plastic jugs of water. “Beomgyu is on the computer.”

“Thanks,” you tell him. This clubroom is a fucking gremlin hole.

“You know what.” Your path towards Choi Beomgyu is interrupted by Hyunjin, suddenly popping out of the half-wall separating the lounge area from the computers at the back. You jump, because what the fuck? “My heart races everytime you come here. I still get flashbacks from the day you threatened to wreck our safe haven. I think you gave me PTSD.”

Ah, yes. That day. That was eventful. It was the first time you’ve seen Choi Beomgyu cry.

“Serves you right, gossip snorter,” you say. “Out of the way, I have business to deal with.”

Hyunjin indeed gets out of your way, and there he reveals a row of four computers lined up against the wall with their assigned nerds mashing on the keyboards and yelling profanities at matching game screens. You zero in on the one on the far left corner. Surprisingly, Beomgyu is relatively calm compared to the others. You tap on his shoulder. He turns his head around.

“Oh,” he says, pulling his office chair back from out of the desk with a swivel while removing the headphones from his ears and letting them rest around his neck. You notice Jeongin seated beside him, who looks up at you only for a moment only to flinch back to the screen. “You’re here?”

No, shit. You jangle the latte in front of his face, head cocked, and he reaches out for it. But then you quickly jerk back your hand before he can snatch it from you. “Nuh-uh. Pay up.”

“Tch,” Beomgyu clicks his tongue and shoots you a bitter look. “Hyung, can you toss me my jacket?”

Someone from behind does indeed toss him his jacket, and at that very moment as well, Heeseung decides that it’s a great time to indulge in his newly founded hobby. “Hey, how about me? Why didn’t you get me a drink?” He joins the already crowded crevice in the back and swings an arm around your shoulder. “You get a boyfriend and forget all your friends. Have you forgotten that you two got together because of me? I’m hurt, I’m so hurt.”

Your face scrunches up. “Literally, how many times do I have to tell you he’s not my boyfriend.” You elbow Heeseung off, eliciting another whine from him. When your eyes snap back at Beomgyu, you see that he’s preoccupied with going through wallet. You kick his chair. “Say something, dipshit.”

Beomgyu hands you a bill and exchanges it with the matcha latte. You wait for him to speak. He takes a long sip, pulls his face away from the straw with a grimace, hands back the drink to you, then says, “What she said.”

You look at him, drink now back in your hands.

“What the fuck?”

“Keep it,” he says, putting his headphones back on. “Don’t you have class?”

Your jaw clenches. Fucker made you run an errand for nothing. He gives you an asshat smile of goodbye then spins his chair back to his computer. You scoff and smack the back of his head, causing his headphones to slip off. “Bye.”

“Hey!”

“Later,” Heeseung bids you off, and it’s followed by a chorus of goodbyes from the inhabitants of the testosterone infested, stinky gamer cave. Seriously, every time you drop by here, you feel an ounce of your soul shriveling up and rotting away. Yeonjun very politely opens the door for you. You hear one of them yell out before you leave.

“Come over tomorrow. Hanbin hyung’s treating us to pizza!”

And with that, you’re finally free, matcha latte in hand and a desire to breathe in some fresh air because you’re pretty sure the air is polluted in there. But still. It’s been a lot easier to breathe recently than when you two weren’t on good terms.

“Saved you a seat.”

You make it to class two minutes before the schedule. Minjeong proudly taps on the seat next to her, and you take the invitation. “As you should,” you hum, taking out your notes from your bag, and not long after Sungchan arrives and lands on the spot next to you.

It’s the week before finals. Prof Shin starts the class and decides to fuck all of your study schedules by giving a last minute assignment due next week as well.

“Does this guy want to give us depression before the summer or some shit?” Minjeong complains the moment your professor leaves the lecture hall.“I swear to god, if another prof gives us an assignment due over the break, I’m killing myself.”

“You two have plans over the break?” asks Sungchan, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and the three of you head out for lunch, funneling out into the hallway along with the rest of your blockmates.

“I’m going home,” says Minjeong.

“I have summer classes,” you answer.

Sungchan stops in his tracks. “You serious?”

“Yup.”

“You bet on it.”

He looks at the both of you like you’re a bunch of withering old ladies and he’s very much unimpressed. “Make some time for the last week. I’m throwing the wildest summer rager and you two can’t miss it.”

You’re pretty sure you replied with something along the lines of an agreement, but you’re not quite sure. The thought completely slips out of your head throughout the next week because, well, finals. And before you know it, your first semester of uni comes to a close, and summer comes crashing in at full swing.

#1: YOU STILL DON’T LIKE HIM FOR WASTING SO MUCH OF YOUR TIME. It’s eight in the morning. Monday. You’re standing in front of Choi Beomgyu’s door.

Knock, knock, knock.

It’s the start of your summer semester so you thought you ought to make something healthy just to kick things off on a good note, but as you were scavenging ingredients for fried rice, you realized you were out of salt so that’s why you’re here. You knock on his door again, three times, and you manage to finish watching five more Instagram reel clips before Beomgyu finally answers the door.

Creak.

“Took you long eno—”

You’re caught off guard by the mop of shaggy hair greeting you, clearly having just woken up. His eyebrows are knitted together while he lets out a yawn. He’s in a tank top. It rides up a little when he stretches his arm to reach for an itch on his back.

“What?” he rasps with a grunt, squinting at you after he’s finally settled himself into reality. “Why the hell are you up so early?”

You clear your throat. “Got any salt?”

Beomgyu blinks at you, processing your words. Then he steps back, points a thumb towards his kitchen, and nudges his head in the same direction. “Go crazy.”

With that, Beomgyu lets you monopolize his kitchen cupboards while he flops onto the sofa. You laugh seeing him practically melt into the cushions. He’s never been a morning person. You’re pretty sure he fell asleep like three hours ago.

“I’m gonna steal some of your chives too,” you inform. Beomgyu makes a muffled noise that you assume is a yes, so you go ahead and take the liberty. When you pop out of his kitchen area, you see him in a not very spine-healthy posture on the same sofa while scrolling through his phone. “I’ll drop off some bokkeumbap later.”

Beomgyu’s eyes flit up from his phone and he wiggles into a more normal position. “Do you have plans today?”

“Class,” you answer on your way back out.

“It’s summer?” he says. “Did your dumb ass get your calendars mixed up?”

You roll your eyes, stopping right before the door with your hand on the knob and turn your head to face him. “I thought I could use the early credits so I won’t have to take too many classes in my fourth year. So I could focus on my internship and all.”

There’s a pause. You can see the three dots slowly appearing in succession above Beomgyu’s bedhead. “Oh,” he says. There’s a drop in his voice. Only for a second. “Well, have fun, nerd.”

You stick your tongue out and leave his apartment with your borrowed goods, returning once more after you’ve finished cooking to give him a portion. Honestly, without the food your moms send over, you’re pretty sure he’d be living exclusively off of takeout.

Anyhow, you head to campus for your first summer lecture, and— for the first time god knows how long— your entire day is spent with a lingering, and almost unusual echo of quiet.

“That’s it for our syllabus. We’ll be starting our full swing of classes next week. See you.”

When you exit the lecture hall, the hallway is near empty. The courtyard too, with only a few students littered about underneath the midday sun. It’s so quiet, it’s weird. Around this time, you’d usually be having lunch with Sungchan and Minjeong, sometimes Beomgyu, sometimes Heeseung, but that brat’s not around right now either because he’s on vacation.

Not having anything to do, you decide to stop by the campus cafe— Horangnabi. You don’t go here often, committed to the shop near your apartment because, well, it’s more convenient for your morning coffees, but you weren’t able to grab one earlier since you cooked breakfast. Might as well get a latte before you leave campus.

“Hi, welcome!”

You’re greeted by the barista, and like most of campus, it’s pretty empty inside as well. "A spanish latte, please. Iced.” While making your order, a sign on the counter catches your eye.

Part-timers, now hiring. You blink, letting it settle for a moment. Maybe for too long of a moment, because the whir of the milk frother snaps back your attention.

“Are you interested?”

The barista slides you your drink over the counter with a smile. You take it and press your lips together in a moment of thought.

You only have classes on Mondays and Wednesdays, and it’s too inconvenient, not to mention expensive to go home, back and forth from Seoul to Daegu and vice versa, on the days in between. Most of your friends are on vacation or went back to their hometowns over the break so you have no one to hang out with over the summer. And you could use the extra money.

“I don’t have any experience, though,” you tell her.

“That’s fine. You’ll get a few days of training,” she answers.

Tempting. You’re almost convinced. “What if I just want to work for the summer? Can I quit when the next semester starts?”

“A lot of students do that,” she hums. You see her take a square of tissue paper from the display, jotting down a series of numbers before sliding it over to you as well. “Julie. Call me if you wanna take the bait.”

You spare one more second to ponder. Then you take the number from under her fingers and carefully stuff it into your pocket. “Thanks.”

The heat has finally settled the moment you exit the cafe, a little bell jingle trailing you from behind, and you take a mental note to bring an umbrella with you from this day forward. Their coffee is good, you have to admit. If you work there for a good month or two, maybe you’d even end up saving cash by making your own drinks instead of having to buy them.

You decide to take the path through the parking lot to make your exit. There’s more trees around, meaning more shade because it’s really freaking hot. It’s very bare in the lot. You pass by a few cars, of which you assume belong to faculty and staff, until one of them honks at you, and you flinch to a halt.

Another honk. Your brows furrow. Looking around, you try to find the culprit, but you end up moving your head in just the right direction for the sun to beam its light directly into your eyes, blinding you temporarily, and you wince. God damn it. You hear another honk again, and you feel yourself start to get irritated. It’s coming from behind you. You spin your heels, vision still muddy from the direct sun attack, but nevertheless you start walking.

“Seriously, who the hell keeps fucking— oh!”

You bump into someone. You feel them balance you by your shoulders.

“You should’ve seen how dumb you looked.” You hear a snicker. Of fucking course, it’s Choi Beomgyu. Who else would it be? “But hey, you make a pretty good pigeon jerking your head around like that.”

“Fuck you,” you jab his arms off. “What are you even doing here?”

Beomgyu notices your coffee and takes a shameless sip from it before answering, “Get in the car. It’s so freaking hot out, jesus.”

You don’t really have a choice because he practically shoves you into the passenger’s seat. So gentle. You nearly spill your drink all over when your ass lands on the leather cushion.

“I was just about to sleep again after you dropped off the food earlier,” he explains while starting the car, and you watch him intently. Whenever your schedules matched, you’d sometimes go to and from uni together. But you can’t seem to get used to the image of your friend acting like a responsible adult. It’s fucking with you a bit. “But then I got a message from Prof Kim, asking if I could come by the office today.”

He pulls out of the parking lot, and the cool air finally settles into your skin. “For what?” Beomgyu lets out a groan. Must’ve been for a not great reason.

“The EMC department is hosting a conference of some sorts this year and he asked if I could be a volunteer facilitator, ask a few others from the department to help and join along too.”

“Oh? You gonna do it?”

“Ugh. I don’t know.” You pass through security out the main gate and start heading back to your apartment. “I wanted to come home over the break but the working days for this thing will apparently last throughout the summer. Prof Kim did say this will be minused from my volunteer hours, but I don’t know.” Beomgyu then gives you a side eye all of a sudden. “Speaking of. You undutiful daughter.”

“What?” you leer.

“Your mom hoped that you’d be home for the summer, too. Why didn’t you ask her first before enrolling for summer classes?”

“Why the hell do you two keep talking about me behind my back?” You’re shriveling up. Seriously, why does your mom contact him before you? This is getting ridiculous. “And I’m doing all this so I can graduate early and find a job early, by the way. I don’t even have a full week of classes so I can still come home the first week of July.”

Apparently, you two argued for long enough to finally reach your building.

“Tell me when you plan on going home,” he says, leaning against the wall beside your door watching as you key in your passcode to your unit.

“Obviously,” you roll your eyes, smiling. The door unlocks. You push it open. “You’re my free ride after all.”

Now, your expected response from that is another retort from him, how you’ve been exploiting his kindness and whatnot and you’d have to snark back as well. But for some reason Beomgyu just stays quiet. He says nothing, an unreadable look on his face as he looks at yours. You raise a brow.

“What is it this time?”

Choi Beomgyu says nothing. He lifts up an arm, points his index finger near your face, and jabs his finger straight into your forehead.

“I’ll send you a review of your bokkeumbap later.” He laughs at your appalled expression.

“You’d be shocked to find out it’s better than my mom’s,” you say back, a hand tending to the spot he just attacked unprompted.

“You wish.”

“Eat shit.”

“Oh, I definitely will.”

You send him a kick, which he dodges before fleeing into the safety of his apartment. Slippery bastard. Anyhow, you call it a day and settle into your own place. Few hours later, Beomgyu indeed sends you a review of your cooking with a photo of an empty dish attached. Three out of five, he says. Slippery bastard turned ungrateful bastard.

The next day, you’re at Horangnabi again. The night prior, you called Julie’s number and gave her the news that you’re in, and she told you to come an hour before opening so they can get you settled.

You come in with a greeting, and you see Julie look up from behind the counter to wave you in with a smile. “You’re here! Hanbin, come meet our new part-timer.”

At the mention of Hanbin’s name, you immediately double take, and emerging from the door to what you assume is the storage area is indeed the Hanbin you know from the coding club.

“You!” you immediately shriek, almost feeling a hint of betrayal because this is the first time you’ve seen him in daylight, because their clubroom is always so fucking dark. And in something other than the god damned flannels everyone in their club is always so fond of wearing like it’s an unspoken uniform. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, so it is you!” Hanbin happily exclaims. “I thought it was just someone with the same name.”

Julie was delighted to find out you two already knew each other. You skip all the necessary introductions and jump in head first into getting acquainted with the equipment instead.

“We’ll go through all of the drinks first. I also have the recipes printed out over here in case you need reference.”

Having a familiar face in an unfamiliar workplace is indeed a pleasant surprise, but there’s also a familiar sense of dread to have one of Beomgyu’s coding club buddies in here. Granted, he doesn’t annoy or tease you as much as the others, but those guys have already given themselves a label in your head, and Sung Hanbin is no exception to your collective bad impression.

“And then you twist the handle— just like that.”

You’re in the middle of your first latte, the espresso machine up and running. After which, Hanbin teaches you how to use the milk steamer without any difficulty, and you pour the milk into the same cup as the espresso you made earlier. “Wow,” Hanbin remarks. “You’re pretty good at this.”

“I think it’s all thanks to the caffeine I’ve ingested,” you say. “Skill buff. Or whatever you guys say.”

Hanbin laughs and compliments your latte once more. Needless to say, it doesn’t take long for your discomfort to completely disappear because at this point in time, Beomgyu’s friends would already start asking you about him— where he is, why isn’t he with you, etcetera etcetera. But his name has not left Hanbin’s mouth even once, and it’s already the end of your first day.

“It’s always slow here, except on rare occasions, so you’ll be able to handle it with no problems,” Julie says before sending you off. “Anyway, Hanbin and I will be around during your shifts, so you can run to us in case a particularly grumpy student comes to order.”

Hanbin gives you a thumbs up and a bright grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

And that’s how you established your new routine for the rest of the summer. It’s just like Julie said. Things are pretty slow. The only notable thing that happened on your second day at work is Beomgyu sending you a very unflattering, low-angle selfie under the blinding lights of the faculty office glaring behind his head with the text message that he said yes to volunteering for the conference. Sad face emoji included.

On Thursday, Julie taught you how to make a damn good waffle. On Monday next week, you got your first shitty customer. Finally on Friday, you decided to open your skeleton closet to Hanbin, because not once since your a little over a week of working here has he asked you about the whereabouts of Choi Beomgyu.

“You and Beomgyu are friends right?”

There aren’t any customers except for the regulars from Bio that are almost always found in the corner of the cafe until closing. Hanbin is wiping the already squeaky clean counter because there is nothing to do. “Yes?” he answers, a smile on his face, but with a tone that’s evidently confused. “So are you?”

Christ. Now you’re the one bringing that bastard up. “Right. It’s just a little odd.” There, you bring up what you’ve observed so far since working here, and the fact that you and him have shared actual conversations not involving your old friend, and how it’s pretty surprising to you. “One time, I thought someone was going to confess to me. Turns out he just wanted me to convince Beomgyu to help him rank up in League.”

“Well, I don’t really need any help in that area.” Hanbin laughs, shaking his head. “Sounds like you and him have been friends for a long time.”

Neither of you have told anyone about your history. No reason in particular. Beomgyu just never found the need to tell his friends that you’ve known each other from birth, and neither have you. But Hanbin’s presence, when separated from the rest of his friends, just feels like a blanket of comfort, and you find yourself spilling your guts to him— including the previous three to four month cold war you caused and the reasons.

Hanbin is patient. He listens the entire time with an attentiveness you can only compare to a saint. “I guess being a social butterfly has its unintentional consequences. I’m just happy to hear you two made up.”

“I probably would never regularly step foot in your dungeon hole otherwise.”

He laughs. “The guys in the club also tease you a lot, don’t they? Doesn’t it bother you?”

You press your lips together. “Yeah, but at this point it’s just white noise to me now.”

Hanbin looks at you. “That doesn’t mean you enjoy it either.”

Well. He’s not wrong.

Your conversation gets cut short with the cafe bell signaling the entrance of customers. You look at the door. It’s a whole stampede of people. It’s Choi Beomgyu and his friends and you can’t even go on a day of talking about them without them showing up.

“Whoa, I’ve never been here before.”

“Dude, you’re in your third year. Where the hell have you been?”

“Doesn’t Hanbin hyung work here—”

“Yeah, let’s ask him to give us free cookies.”

“Hyunjin, buy me a drink.”

“Buy your own drink, nerd.”

“Hi, I’ll have an iced americano, and a— o-oh, my god.”

You’re face to face with Yang Jeongin who nearly pisses himself upon the recognition that it’s you behind the corner. It dominoes to the rest of the group. You don’t know why they’re being so dramatic. You let out a huff and a sigh. “An iced americano and…?”

Jeongin doesn’t get to answer. Beomgyu unwedges himself from the group and squeezes his way to the counter. “You work here now?”

You cock a brow. “Uh. Yeah.”

“Since when?” he immediately follows up. You’re a little taken aback.

“Since last Tuesday,” you answer after recounting. Beomgyu makes a face that burrows a pit in your stomach.

“You didn’t tell me.”

Okay. Now you’re very taken aback. There’s a cough from the crowd. And then a very intuitive, not-so-hushed remark from one of the boys. “Holy shit. They’re having a lovers’ quarrel.”

It hits a nerve. Hanbin quickly dissuades anything before you could open your mouth. “So, what are you guys ordering?”

The amount of drinks to make and pastries to bring out gets you busy for a while, but you still keep an eye on Beomgyu, watching as he settles back to normal joking mode with his friends while you try to find an opening to talk to him. You and Hanbin finish making all their orders, so you ask him if you can be excused for a moment. He tells you to go ahead and you make your way to Beomgyu, who’s sitting on one of the ends of the three conjoined tables in the more spacious corner of the store.

He’s talking to Yeonjun. When Yeonjun notices you approaching, he immediately quiets down, so you take this as permission to interrupt. You tap on Beomgyu’s shoulder. “Hey.” He turns around and looks up. “You good?”

Beomgyu opens his mouth, about to say something— “Ahem,” — but then Yeonjun clears his throat, accidentally catching the attention of the rest of the boys, and they’re suddenly popping out their heads like meerkats in your direction. “Should I give you two some space?”

“What’s going on?”

“They’re having a moment.”

“Oh my god.”

“Do you guys sell popcorn?”

You’re used to their teasing. You’re used to their bullshit, really. You’re fine if they pull on your hair strands inside their clubroom, but for fuck’s sake this is a public space. Heeseung isn’t even around, but it seems like all his clubmates caught his disease. Your bio regulars are sneaking a few glances at the commotion. There are other customers too. You’re visibly annoyed and embarrassed— which doesn’t go over Beomgyu’s head, because he notices. And he also looked like he’s getting irritated.

“Hey, you two should just apologize and make up!”

Beomgyu gets up. You see his jaw clench. Oh no. You quickly grab his arm with a tug before he can do anything— only for Hanbin to show up with a tray, setting it down on their table in a less than gentle manner. They flinch. They shut up. Hanbin sets down a few plates with a chilling smile.

“We don’t have popcorn, but here are your fries,” he says. Wow. “Do you guys want to add anything else?”

There’s a single squeak from the group. “No, we’re good.”

Hanbin hums in acknowledgement and retrieves the tray from the table— not without sending you a thumbs up, to which you mouth a thank you in return. He smiles and nods before going back to the counter, and there you feel Beomgyu removing your hold on his arm from a while ago, and you quickly flit your attention back to him, fearing that you might’ve upset him. Again. Like last time.

“Wait—”

“Are you trying to slack off?” he jeers. You look at him, a little surprised. Beomgyu nudges his head to the counter and you see a few customers filtering in. He did remove your hand from his arm, but he’s still holding it. “I’m not upset because you didn’t tell me you started working here. Well. I was. A bit. But not anymore.”

You feel his thumb run through your knuckles, going over the bumps of each joint, followed by a gentle squeeze.

“It must’ve been heaven for you to get some peace and quiet for once. But then I had to bring these losers around,” he wrinkles his nose. You feel a load get off of your chest. Beomgyu lets go of your hand. “If you told me beforehand, I would’ve steered them away from here.”

“Well it’s fine as long as they don’t cause a scene.” You say the last part a little bit louder than conversational-volume. From the corner of your eye, you see Hyunjin cough on his fry. “Anyway, I gotta get back to work.”

“No shit. Go do what you’re paid for, slacker.”

He lands a smack on your back and you’re pushed off to do your job. Gosh. Hanbin welcomes you back to the station and the both of you are kept busy for the time being, up until late afternoon strikes, and Beomgyu says he can’t drive you home today since they’re still needed back at the faculty office.

“Your girlfriend can get home just fine! Prof Kim’s looking for us, hurry—”

And just like that, he gets lugged out of the cafe. Jeongin laments about returning to “printing hell,” whatever he means by that, and the walls of Horangnabi are once again returned to their original state— peace and quiet.

The bell jingles. You hear nothing but the metronomic melody from the speakers. “Your friends are so draining,” you tell Hanbin.

He just laughs. “They’re quite energetic.”

You should’ve appreciated the serenity and calmness of your first couple of days working here because for the next few weeks, the coding club has decided that the campus cafe is going to be their regular hangout spot from now on. Or until their summer volunteer work finally ends.

“You know, you’re so pretty.”

It’s the end of June now. You’re wiping off some spilled milk from the counter when Julie suddenly decides to dote on you. She’s on the other side of the counter, face between her palms, and your wiping stops, face flushed.

“I—I’m sorry?”

“You’re like the prettiest flower in a garden and I’d fend off all the other bees and butterflies just to have you for myself,” she doubles down. You release a laugh, mildly forced because holy shit, this is a new kind of attention. “No wonder you have all these guys buzzing around you all the time.”

Julie thumb-points at the corner the coding club guys usually occupy. You hear Hyunjin losing his shit over something—

“I think he’s the one they keep buzzing around, seonbae.”

—something Choi Beomgyu very likely said considering the grin he has on his face, and how Yeonjun is also collapsing on his shoulders. You watch as his grin disappears into a cup, taking a sip from the lime soda he ordered. Then he notices you staring. He settles down the drink and gets up.

“Oh no, he’s coming over.”

“What?” he says after reaching the counter, taking the spot next to Julie. “Are you talking shit about me again?”

“Hey, not everything is about you, insect,” answers Julie. Those two have gotten pretty close too. “I was talking about how pretty our new barista is. She’s a breath of fresh air. A rose among the truckload of weeds sullying the pretty interiors of our dear cafe.”

Beomgyu snorts at the comparison. You give him the stink eye.

“I get what she means,” Hanbin slides into conversation. He hums and passes you the milkshake Jeongin ordered. It’s still missing the whipped cream on top. You fetch a container from the fridge and walk back to your station, only to be met by a sudden debate on what kind of flower you are now.

“No, no. She’s not a rose,” you hear Yeonjun interject. “Appearance wise, she’s like a daffodil. Personality wise, she’s a venus flytrap.” A few of them chortle and laugh. You roll your eyes and start shaking the container.

“You’re wrong, she’s a hydrangea!”

“Aren’t they poisonous?”

“Exactly.”

A few more give their pitches. Honestly, you’re pretty impressed by the amount of knowledge these gamer gremlin boys have. You finish Jeongin’s milkshake and give it back to Hanbin for delivery. Beomgyu is quiet throughout the whole debacle, until Hyunjin eggs him on to give his pitch. They need to hear the expert’s verdict, he says. Beomgyu just brushes them off until he notices you looking at him expectantly. He pauses. He’s actually thinking about it. You’re pleasantly surprised at his sudden thoughtfulness— that is, of course, until he actually opens his freaking mouth.

“You’re a milkweed.”

It’s like a ball gets punted into your head. It bounces off and lands on the ground. You hear a wheeze from the boys. You give Beomgyu the middle finger.

“A weed! Not even a flower!”

“Hey, they are flowers! Go look it up!”

Beomgyu can’t redeem himself anymore. You’re already looking at him with bitter disgust and Julie proceeds to call him a piece of shit.

“It really is a flower!”

He still defends, pleading his case to you even after the topic has shifted. Julie has left to clean up some tables. Beomgyu remains in his spot on the other side of the counter until you decide to believe him and his alleged substantial botanical knowledge.

“Sure, whatever,” you deride. Beomgyu is still pouty. “Anyway, your conference thingy is this weekend, right? We’re going home right after?”

“Yeah,” he says, still sounding a little bitter and you bite down a laugh. His eyes flutter down, noticing something on your chin, and offhandedly wipes off what you assume is some stray whipped cream from earlier with his thumb. “Do you wanna leave in the morning or afternoon?”

“Oooooh.”

Lee Heeseung suddenly rears his head near the counter to return their empty plates. He’s back from vacation and now he’s here to reclaim his rightful spot as your number one annoyance. “Get a room,” he says with a shit eating grin that you want to wipe the floor with.

“Why’d you even come back early?” you leer at him. “Weren’t you supposed to be island hopping until the end of July?”

He sticks his tongue out. Beomgyu just laughs. “I can’t miss Sungchan’s party. You’re going, right?”

Right. The alleged wildest, most epic summer rager Jung Sungchan mentioned before parting ways with you and Minjeong over vacation. He texted you about it again last night. You couldn’t leave him on read because he called you immediately after.

“Unfortunately,” you lament. “Sungchan’s gonna throw a tantrum if I don’t show up.”

“You know Sungchan?” Beomgyu suddenly asks.

You give him a pointed look. “Duh, obviously. We’re in the same major.”

It’s like a lightbulb materializes on the top of his head. “Ah,” he says. “I forgot you had other friends.”

You quickly retaliate by attacking him with the nearest thing you can get your hands on: a dish towel. He lets out a very fake, very dramatic yelp of pain and tells on you to Julie noona for abusing your customers and that you should be fired.

“You’re no customer, you termite.”

“Ack! Noona! She’s hitting me again!”

“Is this how the youngins flirt nowadays?”

Both of you freeze in frame— him trying to yank your weapon from your hands and you with an arm up ready to throw a punch— and turn your heads towards Heeseung, who has a very smug smile playing on his face. You shoot Beomgyu a glare before roughly tugging the dish towel from his grasp. “Shut your mouth, Hee. How’s it going with your compsci girlie, anyway. You’ve stopped bragging since last month.”

Heeseung’s smile stiffens. He breathes out a ‘haha,’ before starting to turn away. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Serves him right. After a while you routinely bid them good riddance since they have to leave for volunteer work again. The weekend comes rolling, they finish the conference, and, with summer vacation coming to a close, you also bid your part-time job here at Horangnabi farewell as well after two-months of service.

“It’s not like she’s never coming back here,” Beomgyu huffs. You two decided to stop by before leaving off to your hometown, Monday after their conference. Julie refuses to stop squeezing you. Beomgyu tugs on your shirt sleeve, but you don’t budge. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Coming from the guy who’s spending the entire week with her,” Julie spits back. “You better bring her back here in one piece, you bug.”

Choi Beomgyu succeeds in retrieving you this time. The container carrying two cups of coffee swings in your hand as an arm hooks around your neck, tipping you back, and the top of your skull hits Beomgyu’s chin.

“Hanbin, we’re heading out.”

“Drive safe!”

You’re only spending a little over a week in Daegu. You two still need to come back to Seoul in time for Jung Sungchan’s, cough, epic summer rager. He hasn’t missed a day in reminding you about it. You’re out for a joint-family dinner with Choi Beomgyu and his family and your phone buzzes only to see Sungchan’s text saying [three days. i better see you there 🫵🫵🫵].

“Your classes don’t even start until September.”

It’s the third week of August. Your mom decides to walk you to Beomgy’s car. “I still need to enroll and register for my classes,” you tell her. “I’ll call you when I arrive.” You pause. “And if you want to know what I’m up to, just ask me directly for god’s sake. Quit asking that guy.”

That guy wrinkles his nose at you. “Auntie, don’t listen to her. She’s just being jealous.”

“Wait until I tell your mom about how you nearly set fire to your kitchen.”

“Say a single word and I’m never letting you in my car anymore.”

Jung Sungchan’s party is at their vacation home in Eunpyeong District because his parents aren’t in the country. There’s a pool (gross). He promised you and Minjeong exclusive room access to escape to in case of emergencies (nice). It’s late afternoon. Beomgyu is already there because, well, he’s Choi Beomgyu and everyone’s obsessed with him. You’re still at Minjeong’s apartment, getting ready and borrowing some of her accessories.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you guys here?” he asks over the phone. You can barely hear him with the noise in the background. “Taxi fare’s expensive.”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Minjeong makes a face from the foot of the bed while she irons her hair. “I’ve saved up a lot of pocket money thanks to you being my personal chauffeur anyway. And Minjeong doesn’t like you. She thinks you’re a douchebag.”

“I don’t even know her!”

“Bye.” You hang up. Minjeong still has a look on her face. “What?”

“I think he’s stringing you along,” she says bitingly.

You let out a huff. “How can he string me along when I don’t even like him?” Minjeong simply says that Choi Beomgyu gives her bad vibes, whatever the fuck she means because the only vibe Beomgyu exudes is the vibe of extreme annoyance. You hop off Minjeong’s bed and change into the outfit you brought, opting to put on this very big, droopy sunhat you once bought at a flea market as extra protection. It’s stupid hot out. You steal some of Minjeong’s sunscreen as well before finally heading out.

“Did Sungchan invite everyone at uni or something?”

A foot into his gate, it’s already so crowded. Like really fucking crowded. There’s music blasting somewhere. You can’t find Sungchan anywhere in the yard so you and Minjeong squeeze your way into the house, and there you find him with Heeseung. Minjeong yells for his attention, and he spins around with a big smile. “Hey, you made it!” Sungchan hurls himself at you with a bone crushing hug. “It feels like it’s been ten years since I last saw you.”

“Quit being so dramat— ack! Tap out, tap out! I give!”

He finally releases you, and you grunt. “Here you go.” He tosses the keys to the room he promised.

“Have fun partying.” Minjeong snatches it into her hands immediately. You scan the area for a bit. You see Hyunjin and Jeongin in the corner of the living room.

“Boo, you’re so lame,” jeers Sungchan, to which Minjeong just ignores and tugs your arm.

“How about you?” she asks.

You shift your gaze back to her. “I’ll go look for Choi Beomgyu’s round head first then hermit up there with you.” Minjeong makes a gagging noise before going off for the staircase. You’re ready to take out your phone to shoot Beomgyu a text, but you feel a sudden weight on the top of your head, so you look up, brows knitted.

“Your boyfie’s out in the back, sunshine,” Sungchan says while attempting to snatch your hat.

“Not my fucking boyfriend.” You swat his hand away and readjust the hat on your head. “But thanks. Later.”

The thing about your longtime friend is that no matter how crowded the place, no matter how flooded an area is with people and people and people— he’s generally very easy to find. Just look for a crowd, look for bodies circling around each other and whoever is at the epicenter, at the eye of the storm, is more often than not Choi Beomgyu.

Your trick is proven to be effective this time around as well. When you leave the living room through the glass doors to the backyard, you spot him instantaneously sitting on the ledge of the other side of the pool, feet dipping into the water as he laughs along with the large group surrounding him. It’s bright out— the sun’s rays bouncing off from the water’s surface to glitter the underside of his face. Even the sun has his attention. It’s so comically ridiculous that you almost roll your eyes into a scoff. That is until you see him see you, and within a moment’s notice, he’s up on his feet and is departing from the crowd to walk up to you.

“You’re here.”

The first thing he does is swipe the sunhat from your head, adding it to his obnoxiously colored outfit: a bright pink buttoned top with neon orange flowers, the color matching the necklace he’s uncharacteristically wearing. He’s also got a pair of square framed sunglasses perched on his nose. “Is this your highlighter cosplay?” you ask, snickering.

He shoots you a glare. “Fuck off. What took you so long, anyway? Thought you got lost or something.”

“I wish I did,” you grunt. There’s a holler and a splash from somewhere. You feel a few droplets hitting the skin of your feet. Beomgyu tugs you by the arm a little farther away from the pool. “This is way too noisy for my liking. And I thought I’ve been desensitized by you and your friends.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Beomgyu!”

A third voice suddenly barges in from behind you. Beomgyu’s eyes leave your face for a second when you feel someone brush past your shoulders. “Hey!” Beomgyu greets back, giving who you assume is one of his friends a high five before the guy runs off again, then his gaze flits back to you. “Anyway—”

“Hey, kid, haven’t seen you in a while!”

A more familiar face shows up and greets Beomgyu with a slap on the back, once more fishing away his attention. You’ve seen him at Horangnabi before, you think. “Hyung, I’ll get to you in a sec!” he says. When Beomgyu looks at you again, his smile quickly drops into a pursed huff. “Ugh.”

You laugh. “You were saying?”

Beomgyu smacks his tongue in distaste, tugging you even further into a corner in the backyard, right next to a bush-lined fence under the shade. “I was trying to say— it’s good to get out of your comfort zone once in a while, you know. Your mother would cry tears of joy to hear that her hermit of a daughter is at a party.”

“Why do you always bring up my mother when you want to make a point?”

“Extra leverage,” he grins. “There’s drinks in the cooler. Want me to get you one?”

“Nah,” you say. “I’m gonna hole up in Sungchan’s room in about—” you check the time on your phone. “Ten minutes. Minjeong’s already in our sanctuary.”

You receive a pinch on the nose from Beomgyu for that. You try to elbow him off, and just as he’s about to say something again, you two hear his name being yelled out from somewhere in the area. “Choi Beomgyu! Pool volleyball, stat!” Beomgyu pauses, arms dropping to his sides and his shoulders slump in defeat. A single breath of wind, he’s gonna fall over.

“God fucking damn it.”

It’s very funny seeing him like this. “Off you go,” you push his limp body out of the shade, the sun hitting you both once more. Beomgyu makes a grunt of protest. “Go, butterfly, go. Your people are waiting for you.”

Beomgyu gives you a look of awful judgment, but starts unbuttoning his shirt anyway in preparation to take a dive. “You’re not gonna swim?” he asks.

“In that water?” you grimace. “Want me to catch a disease or some shit? You’re on your own, pal.”

“Drama queen,” he huffs, fully removing his shirt now and you’re like whoa there— eyes away, eyes away. A screeching voice calls from his attention. He looks behind to yell back, “Shut the fuck up, I’ll there in a minute!”

“Hand me your phone,” you tell him, holding out your hand. Beomgyu turns around, looking at you with his atrociously bright shirt hanging on his forearm. You clear your throat. “And clothes. Ask Sungchan for directions to his room to find me later.”

“You sure?” he asks, digging into his short pockets.

“Yeah. Go have your fun, loser.”

Beomgyu hums and takes your offer, handing you his phone, tossing his shirt to your face, putting your sun hat back on top of your head and making sure to ruin your hair in the process. He’s so fucking annoying. “I’ll be back after I kick their asses.”

The shirt drops from your face and falls, only to hang on your arm. “Hey. I don’t really care,” you say. Beomgyu doesn’t find that response satisfactory. He makes a face before running off, slow at first before breaking into a sprint once he’s near enough the pool, before jumping straight into the water with a loud splash!

His head emerges from the water, largely grinning with his hair sticking to his skull. It doesn’t take long for him to be swallowed by a group of people. You take this as your cue to leave.

“I know you hate it when people assume you’re dating. But seeing all that, I really can’t blame them.”

“Holy shit— Minjeong,” you jump, meeting face-to-face with your friend the moment you spin your heels. She’s got her arms crossed, looking at you like she’s massively unimpressed. “When did you get here?”

“I thought you died or something,” she shrugs. There’s a splash from the pool, you two getting hit as collateral damages and Minjeong makes a gagging noise. “I can’t believe I left home early for this mess.”

You make a noise of agreement. It’s around four right now, the number of people isn’t getting any smaller, and the music is yet to get louder. Choi Beomgyu’s shirt and phone are still on your person. Said phone buzzing incessantly in your hold. “I’ve been out here for a good ten minutes,” you say. “I think that’s enough.”

“Good call. Let’s go upstairs.”

On the way to the room, you bump into Heeseung, who ropes you in to taking two jello shots before setting you free. You also greet a few people that you know for uni here and there, but you can barely hear them over, well, everything. It’s so chaotic, you’re beginning to wonder how the hell Jung Sungchan is going to clean up the aftermath of this. Or maybe that’s why he was so desperate to have you and Minjeong over. So that you’d help him clean up.

Minjeong seems to agree with your theory. You two key in the door to the room he gave you while cussing him out. “That bastard. Of course, he’d have ulterior motives.” The door opens. Minjeong lets herself in and immediately throws herself face-first onto the bed. “I’m gonna nap.”

“You dressed up all cutely just to sleep at a party,” you say, scanning around the room for a place to put away Beomgyu’s things.

“Hey, my ten minutes of screentime needs to be worth it,” she replies, voice muffled by the mattress. “Night, night.”

With how pretty the interiors look, you’re pretty sure this isn’t a room Sungchan frequents. A guest bed, maybe. There’s a large window on the opposite wall revealing a vivid backyard view, sheer white curtains filtering the sun. It’s very bohemian. Tasseled rugs, rattan decor hung all around. You notice the round, wicker seat next to the bed with a patterned cushion. You toss Beomgyu’s belongings there and walk up to the window.

Peeling back the curtain, you look down to see a flood of people scattered all about the yard, muffled music and noises leaking into the cracks of the room. Choi Beomgyu is still splashing around the pool. You watch as he throws a beach ball overhead, eyes following it fly across the water, until it ultimately bounces off the pool ledge and hits someone from behind. He looks pretty happy with the stunt. You let out a huff, a tug on the corners of your mouth, and let yourself sink into the soft rug in between the bed and the windowsill, laying down.

You hear Minjeong squirming from above. Damn, she’s actually sleeping. You’d get up there and join her too, but the floor is already comfortable, and you’re already yawning, so you feel yourself starting to doze off, lulled by the distant sounds of people from the outside.

When you open your eyes again, it’s orange.

You open your phone. Almost six in the evening. The sunset leaks into the room through the sheer curtain, painting shadows on the floor as you blink and regain your consciousness.

Then you hear three sharp knocks from the other side of the door.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Coming.” It takes a while for you to reconnect the wires in your brain. You let out a yawn as you make your groggy steps towards the door, seeing Minjeong wedged into the upper corner of the bed in a way that’s definitely going to wrinkle her outfit. There’s a few more knocks on the door. You twist the knob open and lo and behold—

It’s Choi Beomgyu.

“Oh, thank god, I found the right room this time.”

Half-clothed. With a very evident, painful red mark on his left cheekbone.

“Holy shit. What the hell happened to you?”

You’re wide awake now. Beomgyu answers with a sheepish grin. “Well. You see. A little accident occurred.”

He flinches back and looks away guiltily with tightly pressed lips the moment you nudge your face closer. It’s swollen. You take a step back with a sigh. “Explain,” you say, grabbing him into the room. You tip the door close with your foot and bring him to the foot of the bed, careful not to wake Minjeong up in the process.

“Some of the guys got a little too tipsy,” he starts as you sit him down onto the mattress. You kneel onto the bed stool, sinking into the loose blanket draped on the cushion just next to his outstretched legs while he continues yapping. “There was a surfboard involved. Don’t ask. But with alcohol-induced lack of coordination, and then there’s me who was by the pool ledge at the wrong place at the wrong time— I think you can get an idea of what happened.

He leans back, sinking his hands into the cushion. You dip forward. “That’s nothing to brag about.” Yeah, he’s gonna need some ice.

“I think I bumped my head a little too.”

You feel a breath escape. He’s smiling. How many beer cans has he downed already? “Beomgyu. Seriously. What the fuck?” His face is irritating you, so you grab it and yank it down to get a good look of his big, round head. “Where?”

“Ack! Gently! Do it gently!” he complains, and you feel his right hand coil around your left wrist. “It’s father in the back, I think—”

“Quit grabbing—”

“Ow!”

You do manage to find the bump, but you accidentally press on it a little too hard, causing Choi Beomgyu to yank your wrist in surprise, jerking you forward out of balance. Now, that’s fine and all, but at the same moment, you hear two unfamiliar voices speaking in hushes approaching the door. Your eyes widen.

“Are you sure this room is empty?”

“Yeah, it’s empty, just—”

Swing!

You try to get up. But your knees slip on the blanket on the stool and you stumble forward upon hearing the door slam open.

It’s a domino effect. Your palms are pressing against the soft mattress. Choi Beomgyu’s bruised face is looking straight at you in alarm. From underneath. You’re on top of him. On the bed. You snap your head towards the door and it’s wide, wide open with two people, half inside, and a few more heads poking in and zeroing in on you as the realization that you forgot to fucking lock it dawns upon you and soaks into your bones.

This. This isn’t a favorable position.

God damn it all.

“Sorry!”

And the door is slammed shut once more. That doesn’t matter. The damage has been done. You feel your face starting to burn and your strength attempting to escape from your body.

“Uh.”

The voice from below you reels your attention back in. You blink. Shit. You’re practically pinning Choi Beomgyu against the bed right now and his face is just a few inches away from yours. The heat is rising to your head. You want to move, but your arms won’t budge— seemingly temporarily locked into place by the shock of the sight underneath you.

His eyes are wide open, reflecting the orange tinted light from the ceiling, flushing his skin with a light shade of auburn, the tint deeper on his cheeks and nose. You see his throat bob, muscles contracting.

The thing is, you’ve known him for a good twenty years or so, give or take. But you’ve never seen his face this close before, and you have to admit��

“C—can you move?”

Choi Beomgyu is kind of pretty.

Even with an ugly bruise forming underneath his eye.

“Hey. I don’t think this is gonna help kill any of the rumors.”

You look up to see Minjeong further up on the bed, very, very awake. You forgot she’s here. You toss yourself to the side with a squeak, practically hurling yourself off from the bed. “It—it was an accident!” you start. Minjeong simply shakes her head with sigh.

“I know. I saw everything. I was already awake the moment you sat this fucker’s ass on the bed.”

Hot. Your face is very hot. But Minjeong is also very right because god— you’re not sure how far things are gonna escalate. How many people saw that? Five? Maybe Six? Gosh, you don’t fucking know. The only thing you’re sure about is the fact that Lee Heeseung is gonna have a field day once he hears about this. You are royally screwed.

#beomgyu x reader #txt beomgyu x reader #choi beomgyu x reader #txt x reader #tomorrow x together x reader #beomgyu x you #choi beomgyu x you #txt imagines #txt x you #choi beomgyu scenarios #choi beomgyu fanfic #beomgyu fluff #txt scenarios #txt fanfic

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twst-drabbles · 9 months ago

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Riddle 18

Summary: Riddle comes over to your dorm with the intention of lecturing you on how to keep a handle on Grim after the trouble he caused a few days ago. It takes a while for him to realize that you're only wearing a towel the entire time he was talking.

(I would've gotten this out a while go, but then I descended the coding hole and redid the structure of the code in my neocities website, because I found a much easier way to upload my stuff onto it. Sooo, yeah here ya go!)

"As such, it do you well to at least memorize the first fifty pages of my notes. It will give you a solid enough foundation to begin with Grim's discipline." Riddle slammed yet another carefully noted and annotated journal onto your study stable, not once glancing away from it as he flipped through the pages to point out particular notes of interest, like you were actually right there over his shoulder.

You weren't. You were currently on your bed, skin still wet and shiny, clad in only a towel, casually leaning back. You were watching him, half-listening, half-wondering when in the world you gave the impression that Riddle could come into your dorm without so much a polite knock.

A few days ago, you were given warning via Ace and Deuce that Grim caused trouble yet again, and Riddle was nothing short of livid. Riddle, too, gave his warning, but it was more of a "I have freed up a slot of time for your future lecture," type of deal. As in, Riddle gave you no room to convince him otherwise. Literally thirty minutes later, and about two minutes after you've finished your shower, Riddle was through your door, small heels clicking on your floors, and barged his way into your room with journals and books piled in his arms, practically covering his vision.

And you? In a towel, on your bed, still steaming from your shower. You should probably put on some clothes, but honestly? You'll do that later. It's not that big of a deal anyways.

So yeah, Grim wasn't here at the moment. He took off as soon as he heard that knocking, and you've stopped bothering with trying to wrangle him in. You did, however, lock the windows and blocked the holes he uses to crawl in. You'll probably lock all the doors while you're at it so he has no choice but to beg his way back inside. Or if he's too arrogant to beg, sleep outside.

"Alright, so I need you to pay particular attention to this passage, since your current method of discipline is clearly not enough." Riddle was entirely absorbed in a world of his own, not having once looked back at you.

"Mm-hmm." What is with this assumption that you're Grim's guardian/caretaker/whatever? And why lecture you about this subject? You don't exactly care.

"And to truly understand this section, you'll have to study on chapter one-hundred and thirteen of the assigned bibliography I have for you. And–"

"Mm-hmm." You scrolled through your phone. Huh. Sam is having yet another surprise sale at his shop. Wonder what that's about.

Finally, Riddle stopped with a small, frustrated sigh. "It seems you're not truly listening to–"

Upon his pause, you leaned forward and turned off your phone. You propped your chin on your hand. "Sorry, sorry. You were saying?" Gotta pretend that you're listening to Riddle can get this lecture over with faster.

Though, you get the feeling this will take longer than usual.

"I-I," Riddle took a careful step back, tumbled on the carpet, and grabbed the table before he could land on the floor. "I-what-I–"

His eyes were flitting over every part of you, clearly unable to look away as the color of his pale face rapidly turned red. It would've looked cute, if it weren't for how fast the color turned purple. His mouth kept moving, trying to make noise, or some semblance of a sentence, but all he could get out was fragments instead.

You raised an eyebrow. "Well? You're not gonna continue?" He did come in as soon as you finished your shower. You figured he'd be at this until you've gotten the energy to finally get into some comfy clothes.

Riddle began to look less like a college student and more a creature you've squeezed into almost popping. He spun around and slammed his hands on the table. His shoulders shook, trying with all his might to keep his composure before he crouched and cradled his head in his arms.

"Riddle?"

Huh. You didn't think you being naked was that big of a deal. Your body is just that, a body.

Riddle twitched and stood ramrod straight. Awkwardly, he marched right to your door, walking sideways so as to not accidentally glimpse at you. He turned the knob, and slammed the door shut behind him.

You can hear him break out into a sprint, carpet doing nothing to muffle the sounds, and dorm insulation being close to nonexistent. Another door opened and slammed shut, probably the bathroom. A few seconds later, you heard a distant, muffled screaming.

Yup. Big deal alright.

You couldn't help but laugh.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst-drabbles #twst-drabbles exclusive #drabble #heartslabyul #riddle #riddle rosehearts #reader insert

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miyadollie · 3 months ago

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𐙚 DRAWN INTO YOU part one ♡ . part two ★ starring fine arts student sunghoon x fem cs student reader ☆ wc 1k ☆ has fluff , slow burn(ish) , comfort fic material <3 , slightly ooc hoonie ☆ miya says !! PLEASE NOTE that even if ur not a cs student u can still enjoy this fic TT i just couldnt write vaguely for a subject so i mentioned cs , its only mentioned like twice so u can ignore it :3

part one — the first sketch you don’t see him at first.

the campus lawn is uneven in places, but you’ve found a spot where the grass is soft and doesn’t stain. it’s early in the semester, the sun mild and slanting, and there’s enough wind to keep the heat from clinging to your skin. you have your laptop open, knees drawn close, and fingers paused mid-code. there’s a bug in your program you can’t quite trace, and every time you run it, something new goes wrong.

you sigh and sit back. a straw wrapper flutters beside your shoe.

a few metres away, someone else is sketching. you don’t know that.

he’s sitting beneath one of the older trees, branches stitched like quiet lace above his head. he wasn’t planning to draw today—his studio assignment’s due in two weeks and he’s behind on his sculpture work—but he saw you hunched over your screen and couldn’t look away.

you look like a still from a film, unposed. real. a little frown between your brows, your thumb absently brushing the corner of your keyboard as you think.

he sketches quietly. not all at once, not with grand movements, but in pieces. the curve of your wrist. the way your hair catches the sun. the subtle shift in your posture when something clicks in your mind.

you don’t see him.

but he’s already seen you.

—

you meet three weeks later.

it’s at a mixer organized by your department—not the kind of event you usually attend. but your roommate dragged you along with promises of free food and the chance to meet upperclassmen who could share notes.

the room is too warm, crowded with students standing in half-circles, laughing a little too loud. you linger by the table with the juice boxes, scanning for a quiet exit.

then someone says your name.

you turn and find him there. tall. calm. familiar in a way you can’t place.

“you’re in cs, right?” he asks. his voice is even, low. “i’ve seen you around.”

you nod slowly. “yeah.”

“i’m sunghoon. fine arts.”

“oh,” you say, unsure what to follow it with.

he offers a small smile. it doesn’t feel forced. “i like this room. the light’s soft.”

you blink. “sure. if you say so.”

“do you mind if i sit?”

you hesitate, then step aside. “it’s not my table.”

he smiles again. “thanks.”

—

it becomes easier after that.

you see him again in the library, head bowed over a sketchbook instead of a textbook. you wave, unsure if he’ll remember you. he does.

you’re not used to people like him. he’s quiet, but not shy. his silences are deliberate, never awkward. and when he talks, he listens more than he speaks.

you find out he’s in his third year. that he’s focusing on portraits and figurative sculpture. that he doesn’t like drawing digitally—it feels too clean, he says.

you tell him you’re trying to survive data structures. that you hate recursion with a passion. that you like rainy days because they sound like static.

he tells you he understands that. he doesn’t say much more.

but you catch him doodling in the corner of your notebook one day when you’re explaining something on your screen.

he draws a tiny umbrella.

—

the first time you see his art is by accident.

you’re walking past the art building on your way to your afternoon class when you glance through one of the open windows. there’s a display board near the entrance. it’s a student showcase—drawings pinned up with small cards bearing names.

you stop when you see your face.

not exactly, but close. not photographic, but observant. the curve of your chin, the slight slouch in your posture, the way your hair frays at the ends.

you look at the name beneath it.

park sunghoon.

your heart skips.

you don’t bring it up the next time you see him.

but when he catches you looking at his pencil case, crowded with loose graphite sticks and smudged kneaded erasers, he just says,

“you’re easy to draw.”

you don’t know what to say to that.

so you say nothing.

he doesn’t seem to mind.

—

it’s not sudden, the way he becomes a part of your days. it’s not loud. there’s no click, no big moment. he’s just there. steady.

you sit together sometimes. share snacks. talk about nothing in particular—classes, professors, how the vending machine always eats your coins.

one evening, when the air turns cool and you’re both sitting on the steps outside the library, you ask him why he draws people.

he thinks for a moment.

“because they move,” he says finally. “even when they’re still.”

you think about that for a long time.

you don’t realise you’ve started watching him the same way he watches the world.

you notice the way he tugs his sleeve over his hand when he’s thinking. how he tilts his head when he’s reading. how he glances at you sometimes—not with expectation, but like he’s taking a mental photograph.

you wonder if he notices how you’ve stopped sitting on the lawn with your laptop alone. if he knows you check the art building window every time you pass it.

you think he does.

but he doesn’t say it.

and neither do you.

—

it’s weeks before he brings it up.

you’re in the campus café, laptop open between you, your drink long forgotten. you’re trying to debug something, muttering under your breath, when he sets his pencil down.

“you’d make a good subject,” he says, not looking at you.

you glance over. “subject?”

he nods. “for a piece. a project i’ve been thinking about.”

you blink. “you want to draw me?”

he shrugs slightly. “maybe.”

you close your laptop. “is this how you ask?”

he looks up then. there’s no teasing in his expression. just quiet honesty.

“i’d like to try. only if you’re okay with it.”

you stare at him for a beat.

then you nod.

“okay.”

that’s how it begins.

you don’t know what it means yet. what it’ll become.

but in that moment, it feels like something’s begun.

and for once, you don’t overthink it.

tbc in part 2 please please please leave a heart emoji in the comments or rb w a heart emoji if u enjoyed reading till here ! it helps me understand how many ppl enjoy my work and motivate me to keep writing <3

#miya.writes #enhypen x reader #sunghoon #park sunghoon #sunghoon x reader #enha #enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff #enhypen scenarios #enhypen comfort #sunghoon x you #kpop fic #enha x reader

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paracosm-draw · 22 days ago

Note

I’ve never before sent in an ask to anyone but I just wanted you to know you have been feeding me so good with your art and writing and UGH. I love it all,

if you still want kissing prompts - the one like “if I kiss you , I won’t be able to stop” is one of my favsss depending on how people write it , it can be from angsty all the way to sexy and i’m a sucker for it.

hope you are having a good day/night byeeeeee ✨❤️

Eeeeh I sure took my time but here I am with the last of the kiss prompts ! 😌🤲🏻

I'm truly honored that you chose me for your first ask, and I really hope you'll like what I wrote for you ! 🥹🫶🏻

This is a little different from what I've done for the other prompts and I must admit I might have lost control a little bit at some point (this is around 3,6K words, so much for short drabbles)

Also I started writing this in a very emotional state because close friends graduated last week and I have one more year to go without them (there's a connection with the fic, you'll see) so I hope it all makes sense ehe

Good read ! ☀️❤️

The sound of laughter and light chatter is filling the room. There’s music in the background, something bright and loud and modern - noise as Master Obi-Wan Kenobi would describe it with a slightly raised and critical eyebrow. The sweet smell of shuura pie is hanging in the air, freshly pulled out of the oven by Olana Chion. She’s part of the batch of freshly Knighted padawans, along with Keer Stenwyt, Cyruss Okent, D’urban Wen-Hurd, Iskat Akaris, Onielle, Zeeth, Charlin Plaka, Tualon Yaluna and Anakin Skywalker.

The conditions are far from ideal. Tomorrow, they will all be dispatched to their first mission as Jedi Knights, the weight of responsibilities and other’s lives hanging on their shoulders and their shoulders only. The war is raging in the Galaxy, Jedi scarcely dispersed to its every corner in order to help and protect, fight and negotiate. Olana, like all of them, knows they’ve been Knighted by necessity more than because they were actually ready for it, even if half of the group would gladly argue about that. They will be given no time to adjust. Tomorrow, they will be given ships to fly and men to command. Tomorrow they will be given orders and they’ll have to give some in return, with the knowledge that their choices will more than once make the difference between life and death. Tomorrow, they’ll be on their own, with the Code and their trust in the Force for only guidance. Tomorrow.

But tonight, they’re still teetering on the edge. Still unsure about their status, still looking out for their Masters but flirting with the irresistible pull of emancipation, of freedom at the same time. It’s as scary as it is exhilarating.

Anakin’s the first one to share the strange mixture of pride and confusion coming with their precipitated Knighting.

He feels a bit lost, a bit out of it. For reasons. Anakin… is inebriated. Intoxicated, even. It’s his fourth - fifth ? - glass of wine ; a sweet nectar his Master brought back from one of his missions especially for the occasion. The taste of it is thick on his tongue, almost syrupy, the smell strong and flowery and heady and one of the most fabulous things he has ever tasted. Something Obi-Wan took his time choosing because he knew Anakin would like it, because he knows him that well. The thought makes him giddy, unless it’s the alcohol.

Speaking of which, his glass is empty again. As is the bottle, now. Glancing around, he tries to spot his Master among the crowd massed in the relatively cramped quarters Olana still shares with her Master, Avan Post. Until tomorrow. They will be assigned new quarters soon, in the Knight’s wings, and as his gaze travels over the room, Anakin realizes he doesn’t really know how to feel about it.

He has shared quarters with Obi-Wan for more than ten years now. Obi-Wan’s quarters - their quarters - is what Anakin has come to consider home over the years. Those four walls hold more memories than he’s capable of remembering. They’ve seen them get to know each other, change and grow old together. They’ve witnessed the storms and the peace offerings, the many misunderstandings and the moments of complicity, the endless lessons, repeated over and over again, the words thrown in anger against closed doors and the ones stuck on the tip of tongues, the silent apologies, the laughter bringing tears to their eyes, the nights spent tinkering over Anakin’s projects and cups of tea left on the cupboard, always by pairs, just as the warm plates of food after a long day of training. They’ve seen them grow from strangers to Master and Padawan to equals.

He will miss it.

He will miss Obi-Wan.

Something twists painfully inside of his belly, making his throat constrict and his vision blurry. The light cloud of joy and delight floating above his head since the beginning of the evening suddenly grows darker and heavier, nostalgia making itself a nest deep inside his chest. He doesn’t want his own quarters, he realizes. He doesn’t want to leave his tiny bedroom, he doesn’t want a whole space for himself, free from memories, too large and too empty and above all, away from Obi-Wan’s side. He doesn’t want-

“Padawan.”

A gentle hand lands on Anakin’s shoulder, pulling him out of the haze slowly obscuring his mind and souring his mood. A presence, bright and familiar, softly prods against his own in the Force and Anakin instinctively lowers his shields, pulling it closer until he’s surrounded by it. Only then, curled up in the comforting Light like a youngling on his first day at the Temple, he finds the strength to release his feelings into the Force.

“Master.”

Tilting his head back against the back of the couch, he looks up at Obi-Wan hovering above him upside down with a concerned frown. It accentuates the furrow between his brows. The one that appeared one day, soon after the war began and hasn't left since. Anakin wants to smooth it with his thumb. He doesn’t like it when Obi-Wan is worried, especially about him.

“Are you feeling okay, dearest ? You look… distressed.” Obi-Wan says quietly, the fingers on his shoulder burying slightly in the folds of his tunic as he squeezes gently.

Anakin wants to reply that he’s feeling good, great even. He’s finally a Knight, he can finally cradle into his hands a dream he’s been nurturing since Master Qui-Gon Jinn took him from his home planet and offered him a future, since he promised his mother she would be proud of him one day, for he would fly among the stars and dedicate his life to helping others. He made it, despite all odds. He should be proud, he should be thrilled, he should be chatting and dancing with the others for his last night of freedom. But there, with the last drops of wine lingering on the back of his throat and the weight of emotions settling in the pit of his stomach, all he can think about is Obi-Wan. Or the absence of him. How he will miss him. All of the things he didn’t tell him. How he would like more time. How afraid he is.

Instead, he summons a smile he hopes convincing and jumps from the couch, turning around to hold out his hand to his Master. The world spins around him.

“Dance with me ?”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow but takes his hand without hesitation. Anakin pulls him closer in the small space between the couch and the coffee table and Obi-Wan lets him, maybe because he looks like he’s about to fall on his face if he doesn't get immediate support. Anyway, Anakin is not going to waste the opportunity to wrap his arms around his Master’s waist so he does just that, and if he holds him a little too tight, Obi-Wan doesn’t complain. His Master rests his forearms on Anakin’s shoulders and his fingers find the place where his Padawan’s braid had been a few hours before. Anakin observes him as he brushes the tip of his fingers behind the shell of his ear, looking contemplative. It makes him shiver, the look and the touch. It makes him feel hot all over under his clothes. He’d like Obi-Wan to do that again, but before he can think about the right way to voice his thoughts, his Master steals the words out of his mouth.

“I know I told you countless times, and especially today, but I’m very proud of you, Anakin.” He says in the soft, familiar voice of him, a wave of pure pride and fondness swelling up into their bond. They didn’t sever it yet, by mutual agreement. Not yet. They didn’t talk about when.

It’s not the first time over the years that Obi-Wan speaks those words, and certainly not the first time today as well, but Anakin feels his face grow a shade darker just the same. He bows his head slightly, to hide his burning cheeks as much as to express his respect to Obi-Wan.

“Thank you, Master.”

“I truly believe you are and will be one of the best among us.” Obi-Wan continues, then more sternly. “Don’t let it get to your head too much, though.” And Anakin lets out a chuckle.

“You know me, Master. I’m a paragon of humility.”

A smile lifts the corners of Obi-Wan’s mouth, his eyes twinkle mischievously.

“And a better dancer than you claim to be. That’s a shame you never shared your talents before.”

Anakin looks down at where they're awkwardly swaying in a limited corner of the living room. His brain, slowed down by the sweet wine, doesn't immediately take on the grin slowly spreading under Obi-Wan's mustache.

“You’re making fun of me !” He accuses, though it comes out more like an offended whine.

Obi-Wan has the audacity to look smug about it and even to laugh to his face when he scowls.

“I would never, Padawan mine.” He finally says, eyes full of mirth. “You haven’t even stepped on my toes once.”

And Anakin can’t even be angry at him, not when Obi-Wan calls him like that. Not when there’s a horde of butterflies fighting for their life inside of his belly. Without a warning, a wave of emotions builds up inside of his chest, too massive for the confined space of his body and for a moment he’s sure he’s about to explode if he does nothing about it. He wants- He doesn’t know what he wants. He wants Obi-Wan to call him like that again. He never wants to stop being Obi-Wan’s Padawan. He never wants to stop being his. He wants- He wants…

Tightening his hold on his Master's waist, he presses closer and buries his face against the side of his neck, wishing he could disappear into him and be cradled against his heart for eternity.

Obi-Wan lets out a huff as Anakin wraps himself around him in a suffocating embrace. One of his hands leaves a shoulder to slip in the short hair at the back of his head, nails gently scratching the base of his scalp.

“Anakin, dear one.” He breathes out against his temple. “I can’t breathe.”

Anakin can't breathe either, but not for the same reasons. Tomorrow he'll have to leave everything behind. Everything he knows, all of his marks, the pillars on which he built his life. The person he loves the most in the universe. It’s all too soon. He’s not ready. He’s not-

He realizes that panic is setting in when Obi-Wan squirms against him with a pained noise.

“Ah- Anakin. You must calm down. Everything's alright, love.”

Everything’s not alright but he clings to Obi-Wan’s voice to push past the haze of panic, focuses on the fingers carding through his hair, on the steady weight against his chest and slowly loosens his hold.

Obi-Wan lets out a little sigh and cups one of Anakin’s cheeks in the palm of his hand. It’s warm and strong and calloused from hours of wielding a lightsaber and it’s another small part of Anakin’s home.

“Good.” Obi-Wan whispers, softly stroking Anakin’s cheekbone. “Focus on me, darling. What’s wrong ?”

Everything. Everything's wrong. Everything's out of place because tomorrow Obi-Wan will not be by his side anymore.

Anakin tries to speak but it’s a pitiful whimper that comes out instead.

“I'm not ready, Master.”

Obi-Wan’s features soften impossibly at that. He takes Anakin’s face in both of his hands and plunges his eyes into his. He doesn’t say that he believes Anakin’s ready. He doesn't say that it’s the way things work, that there’s a time when Master and Padawan have to trace their own paths, he doesn’t say he cannot wait to see Anakin spread his wings or how proud he is of the Jedi he’s become. He doesn’t say that everything comes to an end. Instead he says :

“Well, let me tell you a secret. I don't think I’ll ever be ready to let you go either.”

Anakin’s eyes widen. He’s so taken aback that he forgets about the ache in his chest for a second. Obi-Wan… doesn't want to let him go ?

“But…”

“I know.” Obi-Wan chuckles, almost sheepishly, and looks away. “I’m not supposed to tell you this. This is not what the Code teaches us about attachment. But I can assure you… every Master feels the same way, at least a little bit when the time comes. It’s only natural, when you've taken a child under your care and watched him grow for-”

“I’m not a child anymore.”

Anakin doesn't know why he said that. Obi-Wan does know he’s not a child anymore. But a part of him wonders if he really sees it. If he understands it. What it means. For Anakin. For them.

“I know you’re not, Anakin.” Obi-Wan smiles fondly. “In fact you’re a dashing young man, now. And an excellent Jedi.”

Anakin cuts him before Obi-Wan tells him how proud of him he is once again. That’s not what he wants to hear right now. What he wants- He doesn't really know what he wants. A proof, perhaps. A proof that everything's not going to end up tomorrow. That he will not be cut out of Obi-Wan’s life like he never existed in it in the first place. That he's not disposable. That Obi-Wan will miss him as much as Anakin does already.

“You asked me what I wanted as a gift for my Knighting ceremony.” He says without thinking. “I know what I want.”

“Oh ?”

Obi-Wan’s hands have left his face, quietly folded around his neck instead as he continues to guide them in a slow dance. He’s looking at him with genuine curiosity and Anakin wonders if he would give him anything he asked for. But there’s only one way to find out.

“I want a kiss.” He blurts out before all courage abandons him.

He expects a lot of reactions following his demand, from anger to disappointment, from horror to disgust. Probably a lecture about the Code, or about their status as Master and Padawan, even about age gap and power dynamics and how Obi-Wan will never see him as something else but the little Ani he found on Tatooine. What he’s not expecting is the way Obi-Wan turns his head away with a pained look.

“You know that’s not something I can give you, dear one.” He says softly, even though the lines at the corner of his eyes are strained.

“I- “ Anakin opens and closes his mouth several times, not knowing what to do with Obi-Wan’s answer. It doesn’t feel like a rejection, not really. Obi-Wan said he couldn't, not that he didn’t want to.

“I want it to be you.” He says just as softly. “I want my first kiss to be you.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes snap back to him at the words, mouth opening slightly with disbelief. He looks disarmed, maybe for the first time since Anakin knows him.

“You’ve never been kissed ?”

“I- No.” Anakin blushes and lowers his gaze, flustered and a little bit ashamed.

He’s nineteen. Most of his classmates had had their share of adventures already. He knows several of them had gone a lot further than kisses as well. He knows he could have had the opportunity if he had wanted to. But he hadn’t. Because- Because-

“I didn't want anyone else. I- I've always wanted it to be you.” He whispers simply, because it's as simple as that.

“Oh, Anakin…”

Obi-Wan looks even more pained when Anakin dares to look up at him again. He wonders why. He wonders if Obi-Wan pities him, or if he thinks he’s stupid. But he doesn’t care to be stupid, or pathetic. He’s the only one who can choose whose lips will grant him his first kiss and he has chosen and nobody would be able to make him change his mind, should he wait ten more years.

“I can’t do that, Anakin.” Obi-Wan repeats, fingers running along the back of his neck. It doesn’t sound convincing. It sounds like Obi-Wan is trying to convince himself more than Anakin.

“Why not ?” Anakin asks, trying to swallow the disappointment building in his throat. “One kiss. This is the only gift I ask for.”

He could wait. He knows he could. He has waited for years already, from the day he had learned what being in love meant. He could wait a little bit more. Except he can't. Because he’s leaving tomorrow and he doesn't know when he’s going to see Obi-Wan again, and he doesn't know if the next time they meet Obi-Wan will remember him.

“I can’t.” Obi-Wan refuses to look at him once again. He has gone tense between his arms. Anakin tightens his hold around his waist.

“Why ?”

He has to know. He has to know before leaving. He has to know what’s holding Obi-Wan’s back. He has to know if it’s duty, if it’s the Code or if it’s something else entirely.

“Why, Obi-Wan ?” He insists, gently tugging at the back of his belt to at least get his attention again.

Obi-Wan swallows. For a few seconds, Anakin thinks he’s going to walk away and close the subject but then he turns his head back to him and the look he gives him is devastating in his vulnerability.

“Because, my darling-” He whispers. “If I kiss you, I won’t be able to stop.”

There’s still music floating in the air, still people laughing and chatting and dancing and celebrating. There's shuura pie being shared on plates and they're still in the middle of the living room, surrounded by pairs of Masters and their former Padawans. But all Anakin is able to see and hear and feel is Obi-Wan, the rest of it being reduced into white noise in the background.

He's not sure he’s heard well. He’s sure he’s heard every word, but they don’t make sense.

“What…?”

Obi-Wan looks just as lost as Anakin feels. His eyes travel on his face, uncertain but oh so clear. There’s insecurity in them, a good fair of shame as well but also determination. He doesn't close his mind when Anakin probes at it to weigh the sincerity of his words. He lets him in and he lets him see. He lets him see all of it. The years of guilt and adoration, the underlying fear building up with the menace of the war and the regrets of having to free him in this uncertain world, the constant terror of losing him hidden in the back of his mind.

“Master…” Anakin gives him a look of utter disbelief, heart beating loudly in his chest. There's so much Obi-Wan had kept concealed from him, for all this time. He doesn't even know where to start.

Obi-Wan clears his throat, the top of his cheeks a little bit darker than usual, but he doesn’t look away this time.

“If you agree, I would like us to talk about all this when you come back.”

When he comes back ?! He doesn’t even know when he’s supposed to come back. It could be weeks, it could be months. He could get injured, or worse. And how is he supposed to wait for so much time when Obi-Wan just confessed feeling the same way about him ? He had waited for this moment for what seems to be his entire life. He wants to talk about it now. He wants to take Obi-Wan’s hand and drag him back to their quarter so they can spend the rest of the night marvelling about this miracle of the Force. He wants to have his first kiss before leaving so he can take the memory with him and cling to it when things turn dark.

But Obi-Wan… Obi-Wan doesn’t share Anakin’s excitation. His part of the bond is hesitant, holding back, almost afraid. Even when Anakin leans forward and presses his nose against his temple.

“Can I have my kiss, at least ?”

Obi-Wan’s nails scratch him gently at the base of his neck, his beard tickling the side of his jaw when he turns his head slightly. Heart missing a beat, Anakin closes his eyes when he feels the warmth of his breath traveling a little bit higher.

This is it.

He’s finally, finally going to be kissed for the first time, and by the man he's been in love with since the age of nine.

His heart starts racing in his chest as he tries to brace himself, but realizes he has absolutely no idea of what he’s supposed to do. Should he keep his eyes closed ? Should he open his mouth ? Is it going to involve tongues ? What does he do with his hands ? He suddenly feels hyper aware of where they’re resting on his Master’s hips.

And then.

Then, soft lips press gently against his cheek, staying there the flutter of a butterfly’s wings and then they’re gone, brushing now against the shell of his ear.

“Patience, dear one.”

Anakin feels like he’s going to explode. His whole body trembles when Obi-Wan whispers in his ear. This is terribly unfair. He hasn’t got a single bone of patience in his body and Obi-Wan knows it.

“Master !” He complains - whimpers-, opening his eyes to glare at him.

Obi-Wan’s eyes crinkle in the corners the same way they do when Anakin is being unreasonable and endearing at the same time. His smile is soft when he strokes the cheek he just kissed.

“Patience, Anakin. I promise you we’ll have more time after your mission.”

“What if I die ?” He blurts out.

This is stupid and cruel and he regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth. But Obi-Wan doesn’t seem offended. His smile widens in a grin as he pats his cheek.

“I guess you’ll just have to not die, then.”

#thanks for the ask!#kiss prompts #obikin fic #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #obikin #anakin x obi wan #obi wan x anakin #star wars fanfiction #star wars #my writing

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likeumeanit9497 · 27 days ago

Text

ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ | ᴄ.ꜱ. |

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰɪᴠᴇ

series masterlist here

summary: Eleanor moves through the world like a shadow searching for light, and Chris burns too brightly, as if trying to outshine a buried grief. When they collide on a night filled with a mutual self-loathing, something quiet but insistent begins to grow between them — a pull that they never dare speak of, yet orbit in harmony nonetheless. Their bond deepens quickly, shaped by vulnerability, near-misses, and the ache of things left unsaid. As their lives pull and blur at the edges, they learn that what they are for one another in the moment may matter more than how it ends.

warnings (throughout the series): smut; angst; addiction; family trauma; depression; heavy drinking; mentions of death; mentions of abuse; 18+

It was strange, how someone could so quickly become part of the fabric of your life.

A few weeks had passed since that first dinner — since he had stood in her kitchen, zesting the lemon with careful precision and pretending not to notice that she had over salted the pasta. They hadn’t talked about the substance of that night again. About how she’d leaned into him half-asleep or how he had helped her to bed and quietly let himself out with a note on her kitchen counter the next morning. She hadn’t brought it up, couldn’t bring it up, and he hadn’t either — but nothing had grown awkward. If anything, things between them had exploded into excellence.

Somehow, through weeks of seeing him nearly every day, Chris had settled into her life like a forgotten puzzle piece clicking into place. And unlike everything in her life lately, she didn’t have to mull over him. They spent practically all of their free time together now. That first grocery store trip turning into book store visits, talks about her writing turned into binge watching his YouTube videos to make him cringe, study breaks that ended in one-sided philosophical rants about everything and nothing while he just smiled and let her.

She couldn’t believe how alive he made her feel — it was the type of alive that she tried desperately to achieve every weekend through drinks and sex, yet somehow it came so easily from just one person who was a stranger not long ago.

It was only the other parts of her life — the heavier ones — that made her feel like she was slowly being pulled under.

Her undergraduate thesis was due in just a few months. Every time she opened the draft, her chest tightened. It wasn’t that she had writer’s block, it was just the creeping suspicion that maybe she wasn’t talented enough to finish something meaningful. Her advisor was incredibly vague with his feedback, her fellows seemed ten steps ahead of her, and each time she stared at the blank pages in her document, she would give up and return to writing her melodramatic poetry that seemed to now spill from her like blood.

And then there were the calls from home.

Short, tense, and always ending with her pacing the apartment and scrubbing the kitchen counters like she could erase the displaced guilt from them. Her younger brother Reid had been the one to call her last night. Their mother wasn’t doing well — “emotional” was the term her brother had used to describe it, but Eleanor knew what that was code for.

Eleanor hadn’t asked for details. She never did anymore. Not because she didn’t care, but because caring had never once proven to benefit anyone. She had put her foot down about going back weeks ago, and she was proud of that boundary. Proud that she hadn’t fallen for her mother’s manipulation. Mostly. Still, sometimes the silence that came from staying on the other side of the country felt worse than the chaos of being in Vermont ever did.

And yet, in the middle of it all — in the quiet, fierce swirl of her angst — Chris was there. Dropping by with a coffee when he knew she had been up all night working on an assignment, or texting her pictures of dogs he sees on the sidewalk. It wasn’t romantic, but it pulsed beneath her skin all the same — as steady and consistent as her heartbeat. He hadn’t kissed her. Hadn’t touched her in any way that could be interpreted as desire. But he had seen her. Seen her in a way that felt more intimate than even her deepest sexual fantasies.

And when she remembered the moments that she had made a move — the way she’d reached for him, afraid and hungry to not be alone — and the way he had turned her down both times so gently, so kindly, it didn’t sting like she thought it would. In fact, she feels as though it had healed something.

It was the first time in her life that someone had said no to her in a way that didn’t feel like rejection — only reverence. Like he wasn’t pulling away because he didn’t want her — she could see the pained look in his eye, she knew that he did — but because he cared about her too much to risk hurting her. And somehow, that had made her feel more solid in herself. Like she was someone worth being careful with.

She was thinking about all of this at once as the sky outside her apartment began its descent into lavender while she shifted at her desk and sighed — the dull ache in her lower back pulsing in quiet protest. The poem she was working on was still just a tangle of honest lines she wasn’t sure yet how to soften, or even if she should.

She had been working on it for hours, nibbling on her lower lip and rereading the lines again and again. She felt it in her stomach, mostly — the familiar tension of trying to thread the needle. The poem was somehow written about no one in particular yet everyone all together: her mother’s slurred words through clenched teeth, the urgent deadline reminders sitting unanswered in her email, the gentle refusal from a man who looked at her like she mattered.

The knock at the door startled her. Claire, who had been curled on the couch scrolling on her phone, sat up lightly. “Want me to get it?”

“It’s probably Chris,” Eleanor muttered, dragging herself to her feet and shuffling into her slippers. Her sweatshirt sleeves dangled past her fingers as she padded to the door and opened it. He was there, hoodie unzipped over a worn black t-shirt, wavy hair tousled like he had been caught in a wind tunnel. He looked at her like she was sunrise. “Hey,” He smiled.

“Hey,” She echoed, stepping aside to let him into the small foyer.

As he entered, his eyes immediately flicked to Claire, who had propped herself up on one elbow. “Oh—hi. Claire right? Sorry I didn’t know you were gonna be here.” Claire raised an eyebrow, not unfriendly, “And you’re Chris.”

He shot Eleanor an amused look. “Word’s getting around, huh?”

“She talks about you all the time,” Claire said with a friendly yet taunting tone, stretching lazily like a cat. Eleanor shot a look at her roommate, rolling her eyes. “Okay okay. Yes, Chris, this is my evil roommate-slash-personal chef-slash-mortal enemy at the moment.”

“If I didn’t cook for you, I think you’d poison yourself,” Claire remarked pointedly. Eleanor sighed, rolling her eyes with a soft smile tugging at her lips. Chris chuckled, placing his keys on the countertop as though it were instinct. “It’s nice to meet you Claire. I’ve heard great things.”

“I’m sure you have,” Claire gave him a once-over, subtle but unmistakably curious, “I bet some of your friends have plenty of things to say about me.” Eleanor groaned, knowing from past conversations with Claire that she had made her rounds with some of the guys that Chris knew. Chris seemed to know that, too, because she watched as his cheeks grew flush and his eyes dropped shyly to the floor.

“Okay okay, leave him be Claire.” Eleanor laughed as she began leading Chris over to the living room. Her roommate raised her hands in mock-surrender. “I’m just being transparent here.” Chris laughed, but something flickered in his eyes. Some sort of awareness and curiosity that Eleanor could pick up on.

Just then, Claire stood up and grabbed her water bottle. “I’m gonna head out. I have a library date with a paper that’s due in like eighteen hours. You two behave.” Eleanor rolled her eyes one last time as she watched her bubbly friend stroll to the front door, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized that she was holding once the door clicked shut behind her.

Chris had already flopped onto the couch, seemingly unbothered by the conversation that she still felt in her cheeks, limbs spread with the ease of someone who was at home. He gestured toward her messy desk, where the document containing her poem was still open. “You writing something?” He asked.

She nodded, settling back into her desk chair to continue working; hoping that Chris’s presence would benefit her productivity. He was silent for a beat, and just as she began to read through the lines for the millionth time, he spoke up again. “Let me see?” He asked, a little too casually.

“You know I don’t—”

“I know,” He cut in gently, lifting himself from the couch and taking a step closer to her, “I just…want to see something that you wrote.”

The room felt smaller suddenly, or maybe quieter. Her stomach curled like a page held over the heat, ready to burn.

“It’s not even finished,” She muttered, releasing a strained laugh, “It’s nowhere near good yet.”

“I don’t care.”

For a long moment, she stayed silent — hand on her mouse, ready to exit the document and forget the screaming part of her that wanted him to see. Her breath was shallow. It wasn’t about the quality. It was about the vulnerability. She could sleep with someone and still feel miles away. But showing someone her words? That felt like stripping out of her clothes in the freezing cold.

But something about the way he was looking at her — patient, adoring — made her hand move from the mouse.

She ushered him towards her.

He closed the gap between them and leaned towards the screen. The poem wasn’t long — no more than fifteen lines — but it felt like he spent hours reading it. She didn’t watch him. Couldn’t watch him. Instead she watched her hands, fiddling in her lap, fingers folding and unfolding as she waited for him to speak.

I was born with a house in my chest

all the doors locked from the inside,

the wallpaper peels in the shape of apologies

for mistakes I haven’t made but have somehow inherited

the kitchen is always too loud

voices clattering like dropped silverware

mother’s love boiling over again

scalding and sweet in the same breath

I keep trying to write exit signs

above the windows but the ink runs

every time I get close to the attic

that’s where I store the parts of me

I don’t know how to set free

Sometimes I dream that someone knocks

at the front door and I almost answer

He finally finished, she could feel his eyes looking down at her. “Eleanor…”

She lifted her gaze tentatively, a question on her tongue. She wanted his approval, more than she had ever wanted something before. She needed him to tell her that it was amazing, but at the same time prayed that he wouldn’t — for the desire to hear that from someone who she cared about had grown so strong over the years that she was unsure how she could survive the relief.

“You’re allowed to be brilliant, you know,” He finally said, and somehow the compliment was exactly what she needed to hear. So she laughed, but it caught in her throat. She loved that he didn’t ask what it was about. Loved that he didn’t force her to dissect the words that she barely understood herself.

And most of all, she loved that once he recognized that she couldn’t find the words to reply, he simply let her be. He took the few short steps back to the couch and laid back down as though nothing had happened. Pulled out his phone and began scrolling in silence as if to wordlessly encourage her to keep going; keep working at the thing he knew she loved so much — more than anything.

And so she did. She worked long past the time that the sun fully set, past Claire’s flustered return from the library, past Chris’s failed attempt at making her something to eat, and past his smooth recovery of ordering a pizza. It wasn’t until her eyes began burning from staring, unblinking at her screen, until her fingers began to ache from furiously typing out her pain, that she called it a night.

And when she did, Chris offered her a pleased smile as she lifted herself from her chair and joined him on the couch; grabbing a slice of pizza and devouring it as if it was her last meal. He let her settle in, and grabbed the remote to begin finding a movie for them to watch. Only once she finished her first slice and reached for a second did he finally speak.

“You’re gonna do amazing things, El.”

His words, and the sincerity within them, filled her with a sense of pride so strong, so foreign, that she felt like she could cry. He didn’t say them the way that most people did — with detachment or pity or some vague encouragement meant to help her. He said it like he meant it with every fibre of his being.

Swallowing hard, she grabbed his soda can and brought it to her lips to keep her emotions at bay before finally turning to face him. When she did, she saw it in his eyes. They were soft, but there was something burning just beneath them. Not desire, not want, but need for something. For her. Her heart fluttered, terrified. Terrified because they weren’t meant to be looking at each other like that. Not since that night. And yet, she was sure she was looking at him in the exact same way.

He didn’t lean in, but he didn’t move away either. And for one strange, still moment, his eyes dropped to her lips and she was sure he was going to kiss them. She didn’t do anything — didn’t reach for him, didn’t even blink — but her breath caught in her throat like it knew something she didn’t yet.

Then, just as quickly as they had glazed over, his eyes sharpened and the sound of him clearing his throat broke the trance he had just put her in. His hand moved gently toward her face, and as her eyes fluttered shut in confusion, he used his thumb to wipe a smudge of pizza grease from her chin.

“Sorry,” He murmured softly, though she was unsure what exactly he was apologizing for. Still, her smile was a seam barely stitched. “It’s okay.”

They sat quietly after that, the television murmuring some mindless show that Chris had selected. He leaned back against the cushions, though she didn’t move. Her body vibrated from that close call, and the vision of the way he looked at her just moments before, as though she was the only thing he wanted, stayed clear in her mind. The absence of his gaze was tangible, though she couldn’t quite tell if she was relieved or disappointed.

She looked down at the half-empty pizza box in front of them, then back up at him — this strange, gentle man who somehow saw more of her than he was supposed to. Who didn’t flinch when she was complicated. Who left her feeling more like a person and less like a performance.

That was all it was. The way he looked at her, that was just him being impressed by seeing her poem. He wasn’t infatuated with her, he was simply proud of her talent. She just wasn’t used to seeing a person so unapologetically moved by something she created, that’s why she froze when he looked at her like that.

That’s what she told herself, at least, as she settled into the couch. She let her head fall against the cushion, let her feet rest on his lap. Her eyes grew heavy with exhaustion, but it was a satisfying exhaustion directly linked to her commitment to her studies. She let out a long breath, feeling the beginning of sleep as it overtook her.

“Stay as long as you want,” She muttered, her voice quiet. And through her drooping eyelids she watched as he nodded his head, as if he had already planned to.

͏𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 ❤︎ ͏

tags: @slvtf0rchr1s

a/n: love u guys 4 eva <33

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo fanfic #the sturniolos #chris sturniolo smut #chris x el #christopher sturniolo oc #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic

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