#every time I take a lecture/read a book about the craft of writing I want to hide in a corner and cry

[miabrown007]

happy write badly monday everyone! 🥰🧃🎉🍩✨

[emo-batboy]

Things Battinson Totally Did During His First Year of University

Using Unhinged or Odd Things I Also Did as a College Freshman :D

Note: for this list, let’s believe Bruce was living in an (admittedly expensive and swanky) dorm because it is required for first-years, especially those entering at a young age, and Alfred told him he needed to make friends. Also yes I did every single thing on this list. I never claimed to be a role model

Bruce, to his TA: I’m so sorry I’m late to class. I gave blood a few hours ago and almost fainted on the way here, but it won’t happen again.

Signs up for a class called “Age of Dinosaurs” despite it not being required whatsoever and proceeds to work his entire schedule around it

Bruce: Your mental health is super important. If you think you should see the on-campus therapist, go see them. Friend: Fine. I’ll sign up for therapy if you sign up for therapy too. Bruce: Hold on-

Finds a loophole in his housing contract that allows him to get a pet frog, calls him kermit :)

Gets a second frog because Kermit was lonely, names it Constantine after Muppets Most Wanted, then realizes that they’re gay for each other. Wonders if the rainbow-colored rocks he got them triggered anything

Swings dramatically between calling Alfred every single day and ghosting him for weeks, cries when he realizes what he did

“Accidentally” joins the student body council, doesn’t know what he’s doing, gets re-elected anyway

Molds a dragon out of Laffy Taffy instead of doing his work

Bruce: *joins Honors, gets all A’s, takes the max amount of classes, has several minors, overachieves* Also Bruce: I’m a failure.

Breaks into a building after hours to study because NO ONE KNOWS HOW TO SHUT THE FUCK UP AT THE LIBRARY

Bruce: I will not get seasonal depression this year. Bruce: *gets real and seasonal depression that year*

Meticulously schedules his day with a color-coded planner because if he sits down for too long, the thoughts will consume him

Gives a presentation to his rhetoric class on how much he likes Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse (it is 20 minutes long)

Successfully allocates funding from the student body council to pay for free feminine products in the dorms OUT OF SPITE because someone said it couldn't be done. fuck you, Andrew

Bruce: It is not an all-nighter if I go to sleep before my first class. Friend: It is 7:30am, the sun is in the sky, and your first class is at 12:30. Bruce: But I am getting sleep.

Refuses to go anywhere without his backpack because what if he needs three notebooks at once

Loses over 20 pounds because ✨stress✨ and scares the shit out of Alfred when he comes home for Thanksgiving

Argues with his TA over the one (1) question he got wrong on his Dinosaur exam

Bruce, calling Alfred: Hello father figure. How do I do taxes? Do I have to do them myself? Also, I think I’m having a panic attack.

Joins in on a charity arts-and-crafts project that gives kids books with matching activities made by volunteers, proceeds to commandeer the project because “it’s not color-blind friendly” and rewrites the instructions for everyone

Makes a murder wall

Goes to one (1) sports game and proceeds to leave in the first ten minutes because it’s way too loud wtf is wrong with people

Professor, addressing the lecture hall: I dare you to write an essay about these two sentences. Bruce: *writes an essay about six words, gets a 100, never even read the book*

Crawls into the ceiling for some alone time

Ghosts someone after a date because he’s too scared to tell them he didn’t know it was a date in the first place and now he feels bad

Classmate: How tf does he walk across campus that fast? I go in the same direction he does on my bike, and he’s always ahead of me. Bruce: *is gay sprinting to Dinosaur class*

Refuses to let others use his Favorite Pen TM

Constantly gets mistaken for a Grad Student because he is “so wise and mature” (bestie, that’s the autism)

Alfred: *casually mentions he got into a car accident through text* Bruce: *replies with a meme while hyperventilating because he doesn’t know what to do with that information??!*

Wears a suit to one of his finals

Regularly eats non-organic food for the first time in his life, proceeds to learn about several allergies Alfred forgot to mention he has

Writes “What is a Hot Pocket?” in calligraphy and proceeds to laugh his ass off alone in his dorm because he is so exhausted he’s reached the point of delusion

Locks himself out of his dorm right before class, frantically asks the floor group chat if someone can help, proceeds to tell the nice gay man on the floor who saved him “I love you” because his social skills have hit rock bottom

Makes a little music album display next to his desk for his favorite band (Nirvana) His friends call it a shrine, and they are technically correct

Has a blacklist of people he refuses to interact with because Reasons

Counselor: What do you want to do when you graduate? Bruce: *gestures vaguely*

Refuses to take the bus because there are people in there and he doesn’t like those

Loses one of his frogs, how tf did he do that, they’re fully aquatic, oh fuck, this is probably why they got rid of that loophole a year later because unbeknownst to Bruce, he accidentally started a frog revolution in the dorms, btw he SWEARS he did not mean to do that

Has two trash cans in his room: one for the Good Garbage, and one for the Bad Garbage. Only Bruce knows which is which

Bruce: *writes a creative piece about a ship’s final thoughts as it sinks, bringing its passengers down with it* TA: Absolutely lovely, Bruce, but are you okay?

Goes on Night Walks, keeps himself safe by maintaining a level 12 resting bitch face at all times

Earns the nickname “8th floor cryptid” after pacing the halls at 3am when it’s too cold for Night Walks (honestly tho how tf didn’t he get the nickname earlier?)

Bruce: Do you think a depressed person could do this? Bruce: *has a manic episode*

Okay that's all love you BYE

[hms-no-fun]

do you have any advice for getting better at writing? More specifically, any books, lectures, or talks about writing that you would recommend?

i know i'm not gonna be able to give a super satisfying answer here because i don't really read/watch much on the topic of getting better at writing. the most important book in my early development as a writer was Stephen King's On Writing, which does a very good job distilling the essence of the job to certain tools in a toolkit and helped me come to terms with how disposable a lot of my writing is. i recently picked up Steering the Craft by Ursula K Leguin, because i read Left Hand of Darkness for the first time and it rewired my brain. i haven't spent much time with it because it's meant to be an exercise book that you write along with, but i feel it will be useful.

otherwise, i know from experience and from the mouths of many other writers that the only way to get better at writing is to write more. a big part of my early development came from a desire to always push myself with each project. if i detected a weakness in one story, i wanted my next thing to be about that weakness in some way. i pushed myself to write more dialect, to switch tenses and persons, to go out of my comfort zone and write from the perspective of (GASP) a woman. things of this nature. much of what resulted from those exercises was not particularly good, but that's not really the point. you do the best you can in the moment, but never let yourself feel wholly satisfied. there are always improvements to be made, new ideas to explore, more diverse modes of expression to play with.

i'd say the best thing you can do when looking for writing advice is to look to the writers whose stuff you like. i guarantee anyone who's been published will have a talk available on youtube somewhere. in the past i've gone ga-ga for the lectures of Neil Gaiman and China Mieville, because i like their books and wanted to know how that sausage got made. understanding other people's process is a good way to understand your own. pay attention to things you identify with, but pay especial attention to the things you feel a natural disagreement with. a procedural thing, say, that just doesn't make sense to you. a BIG part of becoming a better writer, in the "maintaining a self-confidence equilibrium" sense, is recognizing what parts of the process are yours. whatever it is the comes naturally to you, that draws you in, you'll invariably have strong opinions about that someone in some writing institution or other would tut-tut at. i find it's very difficult to really take something worthwhile from criticism unless you know what you're about on some level. i have a pretty good sense at this point of my strengths and weaknesses as a writer; i know the difference between a qualitative misstep and a choice that won't resonate with every reader.

it helps if you can find some like-minded people to write with in a low-stakes environment. or maybe not low-stakes! the only read i ever finished my first novel was because i was writing towards a contest deadline. deadlines can be good! but sharing stories around with some friends and giving each other feedback is a great way to build up some confidence. collaborating on a shared world or story can be immensely rewarding, as long as you don't go into it expecting to make money or get famous. don't put pressure on yourself to Make A Real Thing On A Schedule unless you really trust the people you're working with and have had a lot of conversations about professional conduct.

but otherwise, it all comes back to write more. don't be afraid to leave a graveyard behind you of countless unfinished works. the vast majority of things i started writing from when i was 14 to like 25 i never finished, then i finished a book and almost never wrote again. it's all part of the process, and it's not linear or obvious in any meaningful way. the trickiest part, for me, is learning how to write for your current project even when you don't feel the ~passion~ and ~inspiration~. and that's just a matter of time and honesty and elbow grease.

all any writer can ever tell you is how *they* write. they can give you signposts and guides and best practices, but ultimately no one will ever be able to teach *you* how to write for *yourself*. that only comes with practice. but it's doable and very worth the doing, in my opinion

[aartigautam722blog]

10 Types of UPSC Aspirants 

Have you binge-watched 'Aspirants' or immediately searched for Manoj Kumar Sharma after watching '12th Fail'. These art pieces portray the popularity of the UPSC examination. Approximately 10 lakh people apply for this examination every year. This implies, that tons of people choose to go through the rough and tough journey of being a UPSC aspirant, sometimes twice or thrice thinking: 

 But, not every aspirant is sincere. There could be different types of aspirants. 

So, let us talk about the different types of UPSC aspirants:

1. The architects: these are the type of aspirants who devise a strategy for everything from solving previous year papers to newspaper reading. These are the aspirants who are most likely to get the results as planning is the core moral value of a civil servant's life. 

2. The dreamers: These are the aspirants who daydream all the time. They aim for nothing less than IAS. DM is the only post they know about. The royal entry motivates them, the charm is all they want. 

 Every other aspirant: I will be making policies for the education sector, and health sector; will reprimand for violating traffic rules..blah blah blah

3. The manifesters: these are the aspirants who use affirmations, visualization, gratitude, and goal-setting to align their thoughts and actions with the desired outcome of becoming a civil servant.

4. The jugglers : These are the aspirants who prepare for UPSC along with their job or studies.

They are always struggling to strike a balance. They tend to be in FOMO. 

College-going students sometimes miss classes. Other times, they have to pull full-nighters to pass the semester. They have to choose Laxmikant over Jubin Nautiyal or Arijit Singh (artists of Star Night). 

Office-going aspirants have to sacrifice their Fridays, club nights and office parties.

5. The parrots: These are the aspirants who are always lost in the ocean of topper's talk/ interviews/ Bhaiya's advice. They inhale topper's talk and exhale editorials. They listen to every topper's talk and apply everything that everyone is saying. They could go so far that they use the same pen that was used by their favorite topper. 

6. The collectors (pun intended): these are the aspirants who become collectors before joining the service in real life. The only difference is they collect books, magazines, coaching notes, etc instead of revenue. This can even go to the extreme of collecting refills of pens they used in practicing answer writing.

7. The Lukewarms: These are the aspirants who get excited by watching Ankur Warikoo or Deepak Rawat or shorts of IAS Srushti Jayant Deshmukh on duty and then they study for 8-10 hours a day(sometimes 12-16 hours). 

But this motivation is as frail as the touch-me-not plant. Which droops when touched and re-open a few minutes later(just like a UPSC aspirant getting back to schedule after watching another motivational video/speech)

8. The underminers: These are the ones who undermine themselves. They are worried and are always in self-doubt. While sitting on the study table with a stack of books, instead of studying, they get immersed in questions like Do I have what it takes? Will I ever be able to accomplish that? and so on.

9. The perfectionist: These are the aspirants who wait to craft a perfect booklist, for the perfect time, for the perfect study schedule, etc

10. The procrastinators:

These are the aspirants who procrastinate till the notification comes out, then they procrastinate till the books are delivered at home, the lectures are posted, the notes are provided and the list of rationalizing excuses goes long.

With this, we come to an end. We hope you enjoyed it. If you are a UPSC aspirant, we hope it has given you a chance to introspect and reflect. We salute your courage and wish you luck. 

If you are not a UPSC aspirant, you must check our future blogs to get assistance with your career.

[theviruseye]

Selfish Stories Rock- A Selfish Reading of “Kids at War”

Depending on who’s asked, an author who writes themselves into their stories is either egotistical and self important, or a mega genius with high emotional intelligence. To be honest, I think it’s a little bit of both. I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing, not at all. And one might be thinking, “dude, is that really what you took from that entire lecture?” And maybe they might have a point. Charles Hatfield, author of “Hand of Fire: The Comics Art of Jack Kirby” and various other works does an amazing job of explaining the connections of Jack Kirby’s comics with the various things surrounding his life. Overall, the main thing that could be taken away from the lecture is that comics, at least the state that they are in today, would not exist without war. Propaganda, pain, escapism, boyhood; it's not even a debate that Kirby, maybe the most influential person in comic history, made his comics to reflect on his feelings of nostalgia for his discomforting childhood. As Hatfield puts it, “We share our books to our children, continuing to be children, even when they're adults. An unorthodox way of teaching kids to grow up” (Hatfeild). Kirby made stories such as The Newsboy Legion, Boy Commandos, Boy Explorers, Boy’s Ranch just to name a few. While they can be seen as stories written for little boys, and they most certainly are, I feel like there’s more to it. These stories are clearly love letters from

Jack Kirby to his boy self. They are a romanticization of his rough street kid childhood. He’s crafted an aesthetic around his memories of being a rambunctious and ratty boy. These types of comics are what he probably would've wanted to read as a child, but there was nothing like that around at the time for his childhood self to open up and get lost in its pages. They are completely self indulgent, and I love every aspect of that unrestrained story telling. Their wacky and often violent elements are so incredibly boyish and obscene at times. I personally can relate to this type of self indulgence that he put out in his art. At age eleven, I decided that I would become a comic artist. I didn’t care how long it would take, or how much work I would need to put in. All I knew was that I wanted to... no had to be a storyteller. Now that I’m older and my art skills are more developed, I think I can say that eleven year old kid me would be incredibly proud of my current art skills and comic planning drafts. Similarly to Kirby, the type of art and stories that I want to make aren’t really for anyone else but my adolescent self. Like I said before, Kirby was likely making those comics somewhat to be marketed to children, but he also put most of himself into his stories for his own happiness. There’s something so fulfilling about reading a story where the ragtag team of punk kids beat the big bad with the power of friendship and pummeling them into the ground. Because deep down, everyone has that little boy in them who wants to leave the real world for a bit an fantasize about a place where they’re the big dogs.

- Isabella Valenzuela, The Unveiled Egos

[notnctu]

through the lens ❀ l.jn

❀ lee jeno x fem!reader ❀ genre - slow burn, smut/mature content, fluff (romance?), slight angst ❀ details - photographer!jeno, model!reader, college!au, shy!jeno but he aint shy in bed, strangers to fuckers!au ❀ word count - 8k (this is the longest thing ive ever written) ❀ warnings - nude modeling, swearing, oral (f/receiving), some sweet love makin’ ❀ brief synopsis - jeno asks you to model for his internship project, but little did you know, it was going to be a nude photo shoot.  

❝ jeno was too shy to hold eye contact, but he stared at you endlessly through the lens. ❞

❀ a/n - hihihi this is author doie❀ ! im bad at writing smut so pls dont hate me ah ha lol i tried my best i also dont model/do professional photography so really apologize if i butcher any terms lmaoo the only thing i am is that im in college and im shy

Jeno had applied to almost a hundred internships and almost close to none returned with an offer, even after a whole month of waiting. He absolutely needed to start building his portfolio before the beginning of his senior year of college. The embarrassment of possibly graduating without any experience loomed over the desperate boy. 

Photography had been more than a hobby to him, to the point where he wanted to take it seriously. His parents weren’t the most supportive of an Arts major, but that couldn’t stop him. Jeno saw the best through a camera lens. He had a special eye for beautiful moments and the impressing urge to capture it forever. 

It was too late to change his major, if he wanted to graduate with all of his friends. If he wanted to be successful, he had to act on it now. 

The swoosh! of a new email startled the sleeping boy. He stared at the brightly lit screen, reading the words over and over again to make sure it was real. Jeno was so enthralled with excitement that he scrambled out of bed to wake up his roommate, Jaemin.

He shook him so violently that the sheets fell from Jaemin’s warm body. “Dude! I got an internship!” He spoke with incredible glee, a wide smile couldn’t leave his face.

Jaemin groaned and had to hold Jeno by the shoulders to halt the boy from causing the room to spin. “Why--What is going on?” He dazely rubbed his tired eyes to blink at his giddy roommate.

The screen blinded Jaemin as it was shoved too closely to adjust. “Whoa--,” he pushed it away and shut his eyes, “--repeat what you just said one more time.” Jaemin held a finger up and Jeno grabbed it, jumping onto his best friend’s bed.

“I got an internship. Someone got back to me.” Jaemin returned the same excitement the moment he processed his words. He shot up in bed and hugged his friend tightly. 

“Wo-w, dude! Congratulations!” The two boys hurried on their feet to cheer together. There was no concern for the rest of their housemates, only celebration that roared throughout the entire night.

+

Truthfully, Jeno had no recollection of applying to this studio. It could have been a random link on a job scouting website, but he couldn’t be more grateful. An internship was long overdue and Jeno had been itching to get some recognition for his craft. 

“Hello, I’m Lee Jeno.” He bowed slightly at the receptionist, who had a stern stare that made him feel vulnerable. The first thing he noted about the office: white and minimalistic. 

Jeno’s specialty was landscape photography. His aesthetics consisted of black and white filters, city lights, dark mood lighting, and background commotion. He enjoyed capturing chaos the most, a scene where more than one thing was happening. The only reason being that there was more to look at. 

“Nice to meet you. The name is Lee Taemin, but you can call me what you please.” A young, lean man strolled his way towards Jeno with a wide grin and his hand for him to shake. Taemin was slightly shorter than him, but his stylish, expensive boots made up for his height. He had to be only a maximum of five years older than Jeno as Taemin appeared relatively youthful. 

Taemin’s firm grip pulled Jeno along inside the studio. A small gasp escaped from Jeno which earned robust laughter from the older man. “I hope you can break out of your shell soon. There is no room for timidness around here, Mister Lee.”

“Please, you can call me Jeno.” He smiled, quite awkwardly at the beautiful man. 

The tall glass windows, the concrete, gray floor, the white doors that lined the hallway, had to be all too predictable. Jeno envisioned this is what high class must look like. It was the pristine, bright feeling and the smell of vanilla that lingered distastefully. There was chatter behind the closed doors --- mainly directing, and high praises. 

The only off-put was that photographers worked behind closed doors. From the few studios he has visited previously, photographers often worked in open spaces due to lighting fractures or the ability to roam more freely. 

“I’m actually very ecstatic you signed up for the internship, since you do seem a bit on the younger side.” Taemin gestured toward the sofa in the middle of his massive office. Jeno sat across from him. Water was already placed on the glass coffee table that separated the two. A laptop was opened to face Taemin.

Jeno slyly rubbed the condensation from his palms on his jeans. Taemin’s stare bore deep into the shy boy, who had to break eye contact from time to time. “I know.” Jeno chuckled nervously, “thank you for getting back to me. I was really hoping to gain work experience through mentorship.” 

Taemin nodded at everything Jeno was saying. His face being completely expressionless. Jeno sipped his water to regain moisture in his dry throat. Taemin was more intimidating than he was anticipating. “Sounds great. Happy to have you here. It might be a small business, but the experience is worth investing in. Every photographer who has come in and out of my building has found their forte. Let’s say, it’s eye opening.” 

“That’s exactly what I was looking for actually.” As scared as he was of this mysterious man, he really enjoyed the comfort the environment radiated. 

Taemin leaned forward and squinted at the screen. “I noticed in the portfolio you sent that you don’t have any portraits or any people, in general, in your photos. Do you have any works with people? Since this is a studio of fine art nude photography.”

Nude. Jeno practically choked on the last remaining spit he gathered. Taemin acknowledged the boy’s shocked reaction and tilted his head curiously, “you did know that I specialize in contemporary fine art nude photography, right?” Unfortunately, Jeno did not. 

Jeno cleared his throat, “yes, of course. I wanted to challenge myself.” He had to lie, there was no other way to cover up his disbelief. This internship was the only hope left for him to gain something. Though, even the thought of shooting a naked body made him anxious.

He hated how timid he was. His friends and family say otherwise, mainly for the reason that Jeno automatically lit up behind a camera. In all honesty, he hid behind it. It was the only safe place that Jeno knew what he was doing. However when it came to real life situations without it, he lacked the confidence to be himself.

As ironic as it was, he hated being seen. He liked to be the background character in his own life, because the main character took too much of a toll. It could also be his deafening insecurities and lack of self esteem, but Jeno didn’t mind not being the center of attention.

“You like a challenge?” It was more of a statement rather than a question. Jeno caught a glimpse of the twinkle in Taemin’s dark eyes. “Then for your first task, I want you to show me that you can take on this role.”

Jeno scrambled for his phone to jot down notes. “Send me an emotional portfolio, model of your choice. They could be a friend of yours that you feel comfortable seeing naked. It must include a variation of headshots, full body, and body details. It must also be raw and unedited photos. I want to see if you have the eye for the art to capture these types of images.”

“When would you like it by?” He stammered, completely winded at the sudden project that unloaded on top of him. 

“Next Friday, and you’ll present it to me here in person. Feel free to use this studio if you don’t have a place of your own with equipment. All you need to do is book a room with the front desk. Any other questions?” The sound of the laptop shutting caused Jeno to look up at the brilliance in front of him. He needed Taemin to help him succeed. 

“Why do you take nude photography?” 

Taemin was unable to stop the laughter that erupted into the room. “I don’t run a pimp business or sell soft core porn, if that’s why you’re staring at me so funnily. What I make is an art masterpiece, it has nothing to do with physical features or desires. It’s the pure emotion that clothing distracts from. Clothing conforms the model into an aesthetic, and while that works for editorials, it won’t be a consistent thing here.” 

Jeno nodded understandingly. Overwhelmed and lost at words. He was unsure what he had gotten himself into. Where was he going to find a model on such short notice on such lewd conditions? He was really going to need to step out of his comfortable zone, in his photography and social skills. 

Taemin stood up and extended his hand once more. “I take pride in my art, so I hope you, too, start finding that in your own.” 

+

Jaemin held his stomach from the endless laughter, tears welling up in his eyes. “Nud-Nude photography? And you didn’t know?”

“Jaemin, keep it down.” Jeno whispered and cautiously peered around at the few people flooding into the small lecture hall. “I don’t want everyone in our club to misunderstand and think I’m some creep.”

His best friend straightened up in his seat and placed his hand on Jeno's slumped shoulder, “first of all, you’re a complete idiot for not researching. Secondly, it’s an art form. If you really got yourself a shady, rated R internship, I would’ve told you to drop it instantly.” 

His spirits were slightly lifted, but he was still struggling with who he should ask to model for him. As much as he’s already seen of Jaemin, being his roommate, he honestly would rather leave the rest to imagination. Jeno wasn’t purposefully searching the room for a candidate, but he could not stop his eyes from drifting.

He spotted the most attractive side profile that sat two rows below him. He shook his head to make sure he was seeing her correctly. Peering around, he looked for another possible face to shoot. But oh god, how she caught his eye every time she even slightly moved.

You smiled happily with your friends by your side as your club’s executive board members introduced this year’s goals and events to attend. It had to be the smallest amount of alcohol still running in your system that caused you to giggle every time guys tried to turn around and hit on you.

“Why don’t you focus on our club members instead?” You smirked at the smug older boy, who had poorly attempted to grab your attention. “I think this information is important to you. These events could help you develop your social skills to be much better.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but your girl friends scoffed by your side.

He got up in disbelief and quickly walked out of the room. There was a brief pause at the sudden movement, but the announcement carried on per usual.

Jeno impatiently waited for the club meeting to finally be over, so he could talk to you. The longer it dragged, the more his confidence was subsiding. “I’m heading to study, wanna come with?” Jaemin poked at Jeno’s knee.

“Yeah, but you can go ahead first. I need to talk to someone.” His voice was shaky and his throat went so dry. Jeno’s shifty eyes scanned the room, hoping no one saw how nervous he was acting.

Jaemin’s eyebrows lifted suspiciously, “who? I didn’t even know you talked to anyone who came today. Donghyuck and Renjun aren’t here---”

“--her, Jaemin... her. I’m going to ask her to model for me.” Jeno motioned his head. His heart beating faster at seeing a small grin appear on your face from a comment someone made.

Jaemin hummed, “good luck with that, bud. I’ve got two shoulders for you to cry on after.” The extra hint of sarcasm only made Jeno sweat nervously. He was seriously doubting his decision, but it wouldn’t be a challenge if he didn’t do it. He knew he’d regret it more if he didn’t just ask you. 

Once the meeting was dismissed, you wanted to get out of the room before the heavy rush into the hallways. Unfortunately, a few frat guys pulled you into their conversation and chatted up a storm. Your friends played into their foolery, but you stopped paying attention when they asked for your numbers.

There was a faint tap on your shoulder and you turned to see who the culprit was. You didn’t seem to know him, because you would’ve remembered such a demeanor. His eyes were glued to the floor behind you and his shaky hands ran through his brown locks. His shyness was quite endearing, yet alarming since you weren’t sure why exactly he had approached you.

“Yes?” You asked curiously.

The moment Jeno heard your delicate cadence, he melted like a popsicle left out in the sun. He peered up, but quickly reverted his eyes to the white tiles when he noticed how beautifully you stared at him.

He counted his breathing to calm his rapid heart beat. He cleared his throat to introduce himself, “I’m Jeno. I’m a third year Arts major, um-- I was just--- I know we don’t know each other. I wanted to ask, uh-” Jeno was horrified at how he stammered over his own words. His cheeks burned with a red glow, and if he couldn’t look you in the eye before, he definitely couldn’t now.

“Hey, see you later.” One of the bulky frat guys called and you waved back weakly. 

A guy who had been chasing you endlessly scoffed at the pitiful sight and smirked at you, “see you at my house tonight? Been missing you in my bed lately.”

“Thought you would’ve guessed the reason why I stopped coming around.” Jeno heard the sting in your remarks and the disbelief in the male. 

You honestly could have left, Jeno knew that. But you stayed and waited patiently for him to finish. Jeno could tell how strong you were just by your intimidating aura that practically suffocated him by standing in close proximity to you.

You sighed and reached to grab your jacket on the folded seat, “look, Jeno. It’s nice to meet you and all, but I gotta get going.” 

Shockingly, the shy boy reached out to stop you by your fingertips. His touch lingered before he dropped your hand quickly. “I’m sorry. Are you free this Monday?”

“Uh, that depends. If you’re asking me on a date, then I’m busy.” Rolling your eyes, you weren’t sure why you still stayed to listen to what this random stranger had to say. If it were anyone else, you would’ve walked away the moment he asked if you were free. However, you acknowledged his timidness and the courage he must have mustered up to approach you.

Jeno shook his head violently, completely in shambles from that type of misunderstanding. “Not a date. I need someone to model for my portfolio photos that my internship assigned. It’s actually very important to me because it’s the first internship that responded back to me when I had applied to so many a whole month ago. Basically, I really need this and you because I think you’d be perfect to take pictures of. Oh-- wow! That sounded very bad --- uh --- what I meant is that your facial proportions are perfect and---”

“I’m free Monday.” You cut off his endless ramble and gestured toward his phone. He handed it to you without any hesitation and you typed in your number. “Text me the time, place and what I should wear.” 

“Oh actually, it’s a nude photoshoot.” Your eyes doubled in size, completely offended by that statement.

Jeno felt the sudden shift in the air and brought his hands up to block himself, “to be more clear, it’s a contemporary fine art nude photography studio. The pictures are pieces of art and to be seen as that only. I have no intentions or ulterior motive to sleep with you, see you naked or sell, leak your nudes for the profit of your body. But, I understand if you no longer want to do it because it sounds super strange now that I am explaining it.” 

Your shoulders relaxed and the fist that formed unraveled. You exhaled deeply, “I’ll do it. We can talk more about it on Monday and I get to leave on my own accord if I don’t feel comfortable. We work on my conditions.” Picking up Jeno’s chin, he was absolutely petrified at the forced eye contact and your incredible, powerful gaze. He was mesmerized by the fire in your eyes, and if he stared any longer, he could’ve lost himself in them. 

“Of course.” With that, you dropped his face and left without another look back. Jeno looked down at his phone and the new contact name, (Y/N). It had slipped his mind to even ask what your name was and he slapped his face in utter stupidity. “Do better, Lee Jeno.” It was a remainder to himself to, hopefully, be better the next time you two speak.

+

Monday, 3:03 PM. 

Jeno paced back and forth in the brightly, lit white room. He was trying to find any blinds or curtains to cover the tall windows of the high rise building. It should not be too much of a problem, the extra lighting was a positive. Jeno was only worried for your comfort of the openness. 

There was a soft knock before Jeno practically tripped to open the door. His breath hitched at the sight of your bare face. This time, you were the vulnerable one. Jeno only saw purity, yet impressed at how your tired eyes still managed to bid him a soft smile. He admired your uneven complexion, and the sparse moles that dotted your skin. 

“Okay, so you want to see me naked now or later?” Filled with jokes, your voice was light and airy this afternoon. There was a bit of a contrast from the first time you two met. Softer, enchanting, almost ghostly. 

Everything in the room was white. The mattress on the floor had a white comforter and white sheets. The backdrop. The walls. The hardwood floor. The only color was the blue sky that the tall windows let in.

“Here’s a robe. You can change in the bathroom.” Jeno scratched the back of his neck and his eyes wandered everywhere, but your’s. 

“Would you be okay with me just taking off my clothes in here?” You saw the light tint of pink cover his face, and spread to his ears. You examined more of the shy boy’s embarrassed face, finally getting a really good look at him. Jeno was very attractive, and you could only imagine how beautiful he must look if he fully faced you.

Jeno fiddled with his camera strap, “only if you are okay with that.” Clearing his throat, he stood next to the window to give you some privacy. “I’ll go over what I plan on doing. I’m going to take photos of your face details, parts of your body, full body, and portraits. You can lay down on the bed and I’ll direct you in poses. Have you modeled before?”

He was scanning the bustling city below his feet. Cars zoomed quickly and crowds of tiny people flooded the streets. He brought his camera up to his face, not being able to resist the urge to capture such a thrilling sight. 

“If Instagram counts, then yeah. Professional model gig would be a no. Nude photography is a definite no, unless we are talking about being filmed during sex.” Jeno chuckled, while also holding the camera steady and stealing a few moments to keep for himself.

For a strange reason, being naked for a non-sensual reason felt even more vulnerable. Laying on the soft fabric, you felt oddly exposed and slightly more reserved. You’ve had countless strangers see you naked. Men were sexually desiring to see a sexy picture. You were always lusted after, but this feeling of nakedness was special.

“Are you ready?” Jeno gulped, finally setting the camera down. 

You hummed cheerfully. Your heart was leaping out of your chest as the boy shifted slowly to face you. As he turned, you noticed he had his eyes sealed shut, which caused a small laugh to erupt. “Jeno, you have my permission to open your eyes and to look at me.”

Holy shit, he was trembling with an inexplicable fear. The camera was slipping from his sweaty hands. His mouth was as dry as the desert. Jeno’s pounding heart was loud in his ears. 

Jeno has seen his past girlfriends laying naked in bed, but this situation was too different. When he saw you laying there in absolutely nothing, he was overwhelmed, yet astounded at how graceful you appeared.

There was no exchange of words and no exchange of eye contact. He towered over your lying figure and shakily brought the camera to his eyes. He selfishly wanted to capture your elegance. Through the lens, he saw all of you: the curve in your eyelid, your curled eyelashes, the small mole next to your soft lips, the sharp color of your eyes, the way your hair frames your face.

This was the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. You were comparable to the arts found in popular museums. Your body lines were enticing and an impressive shape. Your breasts pooled on your chest, the round nude nipple in the centers. Your details had to be sculpted by gods, who took their sweet time making you. You were a true masterpiece. 

Confused, Jeno felt a huge mixture of emotions. Was he aroused? Was he infatuated? Did he just fall in love with a complete stranger? He recognized the same thrilled feelings he felt taking landscape photos. With each click, he grew more excited with how beautiful the photos were turning out.

“Sit up and rest your chin on your left hand. Lean your weight on your right leg.” Jeno’s direction was clear and firm. There was no evidence of a smaller tone he usually spoke in. Sitting up, you placed your elbow on your upper thigh to steady your chin. Jeno had already gotten down to floor level to you. 

Without the camera that separated you two, it had to be the first time he faced you completely in such close proximity. There was so much to admire about Jeno. He remained concentrated on his craft, but it was actually very sexy to see his dedication. It was almost like he was a whole new person, like all the shyness drifted away. 

Jeno couldn’t take his eyes off of you. It wasn’t simply your beauty that amazed him. Your confidence made everything easy. There was something about your blank stares, when he asked for an emotion, you portrayed it perfectly.

“Can we talk while you shoot?” Your sudden voice startled the photographer. He lowered his camera and his gaze automatically wandered off behind you, which didn’t go unnoticed. He nodded after a short pause and the shutter noises continued.

“Why did you choose me as your model?” 

Jeno peeled away from the device, “because you’re you.” He didn’t even know what that statement meant. It wasn’t like he knew you before the first time he asked you to model for him.

The corners of your lips dipped down, drawing an evident frown. Click. Jeno loved that image especially. It was a simple way to get real, authentic facial expressions. He marveled at the photo, but registered the reason behind it. “I wanted to ask you the second I saw you. I just knew that I wanted you.” 

“But you don’t know me.” 

Jeno looked through the lens once again, welcoming a full view of your stunning attributes. He spoke in a low voice, “then, let me know you.” Click. 

It would be the biggest lie to say that you weren’t aroused by Jeno at the moment. He was cool, without trying to be. He really did shine when he had a camera to work with, like a star to a dark night. While he had a distinct demeanor off the bat, you enjoyed unraveling the rest of him. He was, also, the first man you met that didn’t seem sexually driven by a naked woman in his presence. 

You had to resist every urge to push the camera away and share the few seconds of his entire gaze before it wandered away. You wanted to rock his world, he was so innocent and beautiful. You wished to wreak havoc on him, have him show you how much he wanted you. 

+

You anticipated an awkward photoshoot, but Jeno made you feel safe and comfortable. He made sure to adjust the temperature when goosebumps rose on your arms and when your nipples became painfully hard. He never touched you or came too much into your personal space. He always asked for your permission. 

Nude modeling was a new experience for you, but you were surprised at how much you liked it. or how much you liked Jeno taking your photos. He sat next to you on the bed when you put on your articles of clothing and panned through several shots to satisfy your curiosity.

Leaning close, your head ducked to see the photos. A gasp escaped your lips when you saw just the first few. “Is that really me?” The pictures made you feel an abundance of emotions, you felt what they reflected. Sadness, melancholy, happiness, confidence. You didn’t know images had that much power to make you feel that, especially photos of you.

Jeno nodded, smiling so wide that his eyes turned to moon crescents. He was so in love with the results. He found respect for Taemin’s craft and he was right, he might’ve found a new forte to experiment with. “I can send you the photos digitally too, if you want them.”

“Maybe I’ll print them out, frame them, and gift it to every horrid man who has tried to flirt their way to my body since they want to see it so fucking bad.” 

Jeno peered over and saw the tiny glimpse of pain in your orbs, “why would you give horrible people what they want?”

“So they can finally shut up and leave me alone. Plus, this is art and if I tell them it’s actually me, maybe it’ll change their minds to start treating me like it.” 

He held his palm up and almost immediately, your fingers filled the spaces between his. “I’m going to need you to start treating yourself as fine art.”

“Keep taking more photos of me and I just might start thinking I’m Mona Lisa.” Your laughters blended nicely into each other. There was mutual mental acknowledgement of the happiness you were both feeling.

Jeno never let go of your hand, and there was a short moment of comforting silence where you two sat in each other’s existence. You were the one to break it, “are you doing anything after this?” 

He shook his head. “Well then, you’re mine for the rest of the night. We’re going to pretend we’ve been close friends since first year and eat take-out on my bed because that’s what I need at the moment.” 

+

“I know you respect my body and see this as an art form, but I’m genuinely surprised that you didn’t feel aroused at the slightest.”

Jeno didn’t even realize how much time had already passed being you. You two ate and chatted as if you’ve known each other forever, as if the friendship wasn’t established several hours ago. It felt safe and right, like you two belonged in each other’s existence and nowhere else mattered.

He felt warm inside from your hearty laughter and courage, like he was watching a painting come to life or a photo in movement. You were smitten over how endearing and complex he was. He was more than what meets the eye and that alone drew you towards him.

“Okay, I’ll admit,” Jeno paused to watch your reaction, “in the most respectable way, I was somewhat turned on. But! Before you trail blaze me for being just like every disgusting male in your life, I genuinely didn’t have any sexual thoughts during the photoshoot. That was all professional and it will continue to be like that.” 

Getting up from your bed, your mind was working at lightspeed to process his confession. Jeno was fast to pick up someone’s personality, what stood out and what was kept hidden. He knew quicker than anyone else that you were not someone to offend because you were a strong, straight forward woman.

His personality breakdown went like this: you knew what you like, you knew you were going to get what you want, you enjoyed flirty banter (with people of your choice), you weren’t afraid to be blunt, or kick someone’s ass. You carried yourself with confidence that graced your every step, which makes anyone attracted to you instantly. Bold, confident, sexy had to be what came to mind whenever he thought about you. 

Nonetheless, he really liked you as a person. He could pat himself on the back all day long for just approaching you, but he knew the real reason as to how this all happened. It was you saying yes to a stranger’s odd photoshoot. You made him the luckiest man in the world. 

“Continue? Are you looking for excuses to keep seeing me?” You smirked and Jeno’s voice grew small. 

“I--- uh, well,” there goes the nervous stammering, “I know the conditions were a one time thing, so I understand if you don’t want to do it again.” As the night had progressed, Jeno gradually began to hold eye contact and actually looked at you directly without the help of seeing you through a lens. This was the first time he broke it. 

“Hey now, I’m messing with you, Jeno.” He had been sitting on your floor, at the end of your bed. You crawled on your elbows to reach him, and to hold his chin to face you again. Deja vu. “I’d love to get naked for you again, and again, and.. as many times as you want me to.” 

He stared at you with his mouth hung open in disbelief. His eyes scanned your beautiful face to see your lips pull back into a mischievous smile. Gulping, he swallowed every ounce of courage he had left. “You don’t have to say it like that.” He tried to remove your grip, but it latched onto his hand. 

“You’re finally looking me in the eye, sweet thing. I don’t think you realize how much I had been wanting that from you.” You caressed his cheek, rubbing small circles on his texture. 

“What else do you want from me?” His implication sounded suggestive, even if his curiosity was innocent. 

Your hot breath brushed against Jeno’s lips. “I can show you.”

Jeno, the one and only college guy who has seen your naked body in a non-sexual context. Jeno, the shy, sweet boy who appreciated and recognized you as a form of art. Jeno, the talented and skillful photographer, who consistently made sure you felt comfortable. Jeno, the only person in the world who you’d model nude for. Jeno, the dazzling character behind the camera who you wanted more than anyone else you’ve ever met. Lee Jeno.

He seemed like he was inching closer, already tilting his head to fit your’s. You smiled to yourself, seeing that your words were received well. Diving in, your lips swam together fervently. 

The poor boy found himself lost in your enchanting, alluring gaze. He let the trance consume him, selfishly kissing the art he admired so dearly. A small part of him felt the guilt and confusion that began to rise. He wasn’t sure why he suddenly wished to feel your lips on his neck, or run his hands across your hot skin. He swore these thoughts were not present earlier. 

A small pop! and Jeno held your shoulder to pull away. “I’m sorry, did I do something?” You asked, honestly concerned that you were taking more than you deserved. The least you desired was to hurt Jeno, who had been nothing but nice and sweet.

“(Y/N),” you could listen to your name roll off his tongue all day, “I feel somewhat guilty. I don’t want things to be misunderstood.”

“Which would be?”

“I don’t want you to think I coerced you into being my model just because I had intentions to sleep with you.” Jeno was already gathering his things, but you hopped off your bed and placed a hand on his chest. “Because that’s what it’s starting to look like at the moment.”

“Was that something you did though? Did you have those intentions?” Your stare bore right through him. The warmth of your hand relaxed his racing heart.

“Never, (Y/N), I would never do that to someone.” Your hand traveled down to grab his belongings and tossed it back onto the ground. 

He silently watched as you took off your pants, and stood in front of him in your underwear. “Then, we’re fine. I know your intentions have always been pure. But truthfully, Jeno, seeing you focused while you worked sparked something in me. You don’t understand how aroused I got and how badly I wanted you to fuck me on that bed.” His hand trailed up your exposed thighs, finally touching your softness. “You’re the one guy I wanted first, and it’s been a long time since I’ve felt that.” 

“I-- I don’t know what to say.” His cheeks revealed how embarrassed he was, but his dark, lustful eyes were telling a different story.

A smirk fell upon your face, “then don’t say anything.” 

Jeno devoured you, inhaling the light hint of vanilla that still lingered. He hoisted you onto your mattress and kissed you like his life depended on it. His antsy hands roamed your free range, exploring, holding, gripping the parts he marveled over. Small moans from the back of your throat encouraged him to continue.

No one has ever kissed you with the amount of passion Jeno did. It was gentle, with enough vigor to cause your panties to dampen. It wasn’t sloppy, where previous guys had a problem of missing your mouth entirely and slobbered your chin. 

His lips worshiped you, highlighting your good sides. Flashes of the photoshoot popped into Jeno’s head as he left purple marks on the places he loved capturing the most. He pushed up your shirt, exposing your chest to him again. His tongue circled around your hard nipple as he made sure to give the same amount of attention to each one. 

Jeno knew he was too shy to hold your intense stare, but getting to know you during and after the photoshoot, he could see the softness in your gaze. He was, now, able to see all of you. The sight of you through the camera was addicting enough, so finally taking you all in was more than satisfying. 

Your hands ran through his hair as he kissed down your torso. His thumbs hooked the waistband of your underwear, and peeled it off your body. You gasped as the cold air from your apartment grazed against your exposed figure.

Jeno paused to admire your glistening pussy, “would it be okay if you let me make love to you?”

Your heart burned, not out of embarrassment, but at how he still managed to ask you for your permission in the sweetest way. You rested your weight on your elbows, “no one has done that before, would it actually make me want to fall in love with you?”

“It wouldn’t be too bad. I have a lot of love to give and you look like a person who deserves all of it anyways.” Jeno’s finger ran over your wet slit and rubbed your clit slowly.

Your moans filled the room as the electric jolted throughout your veins. The wetness grew, seeping out of you like a waterfall. Jeno dropped down to his knees, and lifted your legs on his broad shoulders.

“Are you usually this wet, baby?”

Chuckling, you smiled at his bold choice in using pet names, “Just for you.”

He hummed, chiming at how he liked your answer. Spreading you open, his tongue met with your swollen bud that begged for his licks.

His tongue darted side to side, up and down and in result, your back arched in pleasure and a darkness clouded your mind. His name and mindless profanities streamlined their way out of you as Jeno ate you out in such a precisely delicious way.

Grabbing a fist full of hair, you pulled him closer, even if there was no more space to fill. Looking down, you two exchanged glances before he thrusted a finger into you. Your hips bucked harder as he eased in another one.

Jeno curled his fingers in search of your sweet spot and found it when a deep moan escaped your throat. His fingertips rubbed and pressed into your plush flesh, causing you to practically scream and squirm in his mouth. 

He suckled your clit and fingered you simultaneously and quickly. The pleasure was overflowing and you released his hair to grip your sheets below you. Your legs shook and trembled as he had no caution to stop.

“Please, I’m going to--” you could barely talk due to your face contouring to the splurge of pleasure every single time Jeno rubbed your spot. “--to explode.” 

He had to take back what he thought earlier in the day. This was the most beautiful sight he’s ever laid eyes on. The whole scene played like from one of his favorite films. It felt like he was giving his photos life. Your body twisted and turned, accentuating the curves of your lines. 

Jeno had become painfully hard against the fabric of his jeans, but seeing you fall apart because of his minimal movements exhilarated him. “P-Please, don’t stop.” A breathy moan followed suit and your thighs tried to press themselves together. Jeno didn’t allow it, his free hand hooked underneath your left thigh to pull one side away from his cheeks.

Your high gradually grew so tall that it all eventually came cascading down. Your legs shook violently and sat up from the euphoria that took over you. Jeno prolonged your buzz and you screamed loudly, having to bite down on your fingers to stop yourself from angering your neighbors.

Jeno drank you up, letting your wetness cover his chin and drip down his knuckles. He pulled away, at last, and you took deep breaths to control your heavy breathing. It was like Jeno knocked the wind completely out of you. 

He stood up and you saw the outline of his hard bulge straining itself through his jeans. The next scene was quite animalistic. You, still embodying your high, sat on your knees and unzipped his pants with your needy hands.

“Now, it’s your turn to get nude for me.” You whispered, tauntingly. Jeno groaned when you reached down and gently pulled him out. He stepped out of his clothing, all of it. His shirt was lost in the corner and his bottoms were scattered over your floor. Mirroring his actions, you took off your last piece of cloth.

Jeno was built. Though his biceps did not go unnoticed during the photoshoot, you were surprised at the lines of muscle that sketched his body. It made your mouth water, seeing his extremely hard dick stand against his toned abs. His red tip fell just below his navel. Jeno only kept getting better as the night continued on.

Pulling him closer, his hand found their way to the back of your head as you aligned your mouth to the wetness that spilled from his tip. “I want to make you feel good.” Jeno’s hoarse voice made your knees weak.

Peering up, you batted your eyelashes at him fondly. “Just a little taste?” You begged, having to hold his shaft with both of your hands because of his thickness. Your tongue was already stuck out, your hot breath causing the tiniest bit of sensation for him.

He nodded and his eyes were trained on you. He didn’t want to miss any second of your kitty licks. You flattened your tongue against his warmth, dragging it up to the top. The saltiness hit your palette as you swirled around his redness. “Oh--” Jeno threw his head back and bit his lip, “--lay on the bed now.” 

You smiled sweetly and gave his member a quick kiss before reaching for a condom in your drawer. Jeno climbed onto your bed and situated the rubber comfortably. You laid on your back and he was fast to pull your legs around his waist. 

He lined himself at your entrance and eased his tip in slowly. Squirming, you craved him to fill you up to the brim. He leaned down to kiss you, letting your tongue lap with his. It’s your hands with the mind of their own when they flew automatically to hold his face whenever you wanted to deepen the kiss. Then, Jeno stretched himself all the way in and he caught your gasp with his lips. He groaned, feeling the mess he created merely minutes ago. 

His hips moved so easily with your wetness, but he went slow. Dragging out each pull and then, pushing himself back in roughly. “Jeno!” Your body jolted up the bed each time. His body fell over yours to hold you intimately, letting you bury your face into his neck. Your lips latched themselves onto his sensitive skin, painting a purple sunset. 

Jeno’s arms snaked underneath your thighs as he pressed them to your chest, folding you almost into a ball. Your mouth hung open as he fucked you harder, rougher, deeper yet keeping the tempo rhythmically slow. At this point, you could feel his hits in your gut. Your weak hands gripped loosely around his strong wrists that held your legs down. “You’re pussy is so tight and holy shit---, you keep getting more beautiful.”

A familiar burning sensation set in your chest as you saw how concentrated his face had become. You were so fucked out that you could barely speak, “you—” his hips mercilessly slammed into you powerfully, enacting a low moan every time he reached your sweet spot. “—keep surprising me.” His actions came to a halt and he stared deeply into your soul. 

You whined, wiggling your hips for any friction. He held them down into the mattress, knowing his grip was strong enough to leave a mark. “I told you, I was going to make love to you tonight.”

“I’ve already fallen for you.” You said breathlessly, tracing the side of his face and pecking his lips softly. 

“You don’t understand what you’re doing to me by saying those things.” He whispered and pushed his entire shaft to fill you to your brim. 

You yelped his name and gripped his shoulders, but he wasn’t done yet. “Show me how badly you wanted me the first time you saw me.” Jeno blinked at you in slight shock. 

As he continued to hold the deep gaze, he kept pushing his dick further and further into you. He was balls deep, almost impossible to keep going. He fucked you without the need to pull out, just burying his cock deeper into your wet pussy. You exclaimed, moaned, cussed at every push. Holding the stare was more than enough to lose yourself all over him again. 

Jeno was drunk with the image of your fucked out expression and every time the mixture of pleasure and pressure caused your eyebrows to crease and mouth to open release sensual sound. He had been trying his best not to come undone, to fixate another climax for you.

The feeling of you wrapping tighter and tighter around him drove him insane. “Give it to me, please.” Your muffled plead called for his release, but he could feel that you were close to your second.

Jeno sat up on his knees and pulled you into his arms where your thighs fell over his. You groaned at the empty feeling, though it was quickly replaced with a gratifying moan when he inserted himself again. Your arms dangled around his neck, foreheads touching intimately. 

The fucking eye contact again, how could you get enough of it? You giggled, amused at how different Jeno was when he eventually opened up. He wrapped his strong arms around your back and thrusted his hips up into you. The way this man made you squirm, scream, and shake were nothing you’ve experienced before. 

He smirked, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek when he went rampage on your pussy. “Not laughing now, are you?”

You whined in pleasure, brushing your fallen strands of hair out of his face. “Shut up before I make you.” 

“Then I’d rather keep going.” Kissing up his jawline, you lead your way to his pout. His kisses intoxicated you with his passion and madness, like the most intense part of a symphony, or when the bass drops after a long build up in a song. 

Jeno sped up, ramming up into your slick pussy over and over again. He even brought your hips down to match him, guiding you down as he went up. The headboard was knocked against the wall, your windows steamed up, cries of pleasure from the both of you created the ambiance, the smell of sex filled your lungs. Jeno reached between your bodies to furiously rub your clit to where it felt almost raw. It all sent you into the clouds, the familiar queasiness settled in your lower half.

Your eyes rolled back and your back arched, having to pull away from the desirous kiss with Jeno. “I’m cumming!” You announced before the tension unraveled, causing you to see absolute white. The second wave was much more uncontrollable, Jeno felt you squeezing radically around his dick as he tried to fuck you faster to prolong the feeling.

Your legs shook around his and your upper body went limp with pleasure. You reached the peak of the mountain and it came crumbling down underneath your toes. It was catastrophically enthralling, to the point where you physically felt something leave your body.

“Oh shit..” Jeno stopped his motions at the sight of you squirting over his lap. He pampered your torso with fluttering kisses, hoping to calm your spastic body. “...baby, are you okay?” He asked with a bit of concern of how lack of life you seemed. 

This man just gave you the best climax in your whole life and he asked if you were okay? Regaining your senses, you sighed a small yes to reassure him that he didn’t actually murder you. Hopping off, you pulled the condom that restricted him.

He hissed when you cupped his balls in your palm. “Cum, my sweet thing.” You purred and Jeno’s hand pumped his member aggressively. You leaned in to help, sucking the tip and flicking your tongue over his slit. 

His other hand gripped your neck, causing you to drip on your sheets. Jeno was panting and with every tug, it became louder. He seemed so desperate to release that it made you smile to be the reason behind it. “Can you lay down,” A grunt followed his question, “please.” He huffed.

“Because you asked nicely.” Smirking, your back hit the sheets and you opened your legs to give Jeno a view. He situated himself above your stomach, as he fucked his tight grip.

“I’m cumming---” He couldn’t look any more amazing. With a final moan, the white streaks streamed out in short sequences. It landed across your abdomen, over your nipple, and pooled around your belly button. 

Bringing himself back to reality, Jeno stepped back to marvel you, his masterpiece. The white streaks coated your purple skin and your chest rose fast to catch your reality. Gazing upon your naked body, he was utterly infatuated with all of you. He was so in love with the sight of you that not a single photo could capture the beauty that you were. 

Jeno pondered the thought of how merely a day changed a small part of him. You were life changing, addicting, an incomparable character that he felt like he’s known forever, and now, couldn’t live without. It was the taste of your juices on his lips, your sweet melodic music that was your voice, your daring smile that enticed him to never peel away from you. It was simply you. 

He leaned down to rub his knuckles against your cheek, planting a lovingly peck on your forehead. “I’ll go start the water for you.” 

+

Jeno anticipated the reaction of his mentor. He found himself at the same scene he was when he was first given the task. Taemin sat across from him, hunched forward to analyze his new set of photos on his laptop. Raw, unedited photos of you, your body, your details. 

The hum of the air conditioning droned on, driving him mad. Jeno needed one reaction, but Taemin had been silent and expressionless for the past ten minutes. Whenever he did move, it was to click through to the next picture. 

Suddenly, he shut it closed and stood right up. Jeno, panicked, did the same. Taemin stuck his hand out and Jeno hesitantly grabbed it, incredibly unsettled and unable to read the older man.

Taemin received it firmly, giving Jeno a good handshake. “Welcome abroad, Lee Jeno. I expect even more great things from you.” 

Jeno registered his delightful mood switch and he was fast to follow up, “my photos, --- you --- like them?” 

Taemin nodded generously, patting Jeno on his shoulder. Taemin reached up to tap his own eyelids. “What you can see, is very special, kid. You’re an artist and I’m here to recognize that for you. It seems to me, you can do more than take pictures of sidewalks.” 

Jeno smiled happily, his eyes disappearing from joy. He couldn’t wait to tell you about it. 

The rest of the week, leading up to Jeno’s appointment, had felt nothing short of blissful moments together. You and Jeno spent almost every waking minute together without the cost of your friends’ time. He walked you to your classes, some even being across the campus from his own. You accompanied him for meals, even sitting in his lectures to just be with him.

There were no words that established what you two had become to each other. Jeno wasn’t looking for that anyways, in fact, he somewhat liked the ambiguity. If only he could tell you how making love to you made him begin to actually fall for you.

You were never one to hold a serious relationship, but you found a small want for that festering in Jeno. It was hard to admit to yourself, but Jeno saw you for all that you were. He truly saw you, whether it had been through a lens or through his own eyes. He captured your rawness and you were able to find vulnerability around him. 

He ran to you, where you sat in the lobby waiting for him to finish his meeting. Peering up from your phone, you noticed the beaming smile on the boy’s face. You couldn’t hold back your own grin, seeing him apparent with so much joy. “I’m guessing good things?”

“I got it, (Y/N)!” He jumped into your arms and you laughed at the sudden affection. “He loved my photos.” 

“I didn’t doubt it for one second. You’re an artist, Jeno. You create masterpieces that make even someone like me, feel like art.” 

Jeno hugged you closer to his chest, giving you a tiny squeeze. Pulling away to face you, his eyes examined your outstanding grace. You knew what he was already going to say, but simply wanted to hear him say it. “That’s because you are art.”

[ellatholmes]

hi, hm can you help me?

So, I am a newbie writer and I am writing for my friends. Like, besides not being a fluent English speaker, I don't know how to write, develop paragraphs (besides some mistakes with commas, periods, etc), create titles and summaries. The plot is there, it's in my head, and I don't know how to get my hands on it.

Also, I want to write a mystery, the problem (besides the many cited above) is that it seems to be very obvious who the murderer is. In my story, the murderer is a girl obsessed by her beauty and kills other girls for "threatening" her throne, but, I don't know, it seems too obvious.

Any hints?

Hey there!

It's gonna be a little long, but I hope something in my answer helps you.

I don't know how to write, develop paragraphs (besides some mistakes with commas, periods, etc), create titles and summaries.

In my personal experience, the best way to learn these things is to try them (I know, I know, but hear me out.) It might be useful to you to interrogate why you feel you "don't know how" to do these things. When you say you don't know how to write, what do you feel is really in your way?

Is it that the thought of the process overwhelms you, or seems very complicated?

Is it that you can do it, but the real problem is that you lack confidence?

Is it that you don't know where to begin?

Is it that you know what you have to do, but aren't sure how best to do it?

If it's really that you lack the knowledge how to, then my best advice would be to seek out some of the many amazing and free resources available online.

When it comes to titles, I may actually be The Worst. I think titles are cool opportunities to incite excitement, intrigue, or even be used as a tool within the text (for example by adding meaning or reframing the text by the end of the story), but I often have a lot of trouble naming my work. My problem is that I'm always trying to be clever, and I don't know how to be! 😂 Most of my works end up being titled after imagery or themes within the story.

Summaries are my worst enemy. I hate them with a passion. If you don't want a four-hour lecture on the ins and outs and intricacies of my story, you don't deserve anything jokessssss but seriously. I'm sorry I can't offer much advice on this!

The plot is there, it's in my head, and I don't know how to get my hands on it.

Sometimes I feel like this too. For me, it usually means the idea isn't quite ready or tangible yet. Sometimes it needs more time to simmer and cook into something I can spoon out of my brain and onto a page.

Some things that help me with this (other than waiting) are:

Free-writing: I sit down and write non-stop, no thinking, no erasing, no editing, for five to ten minutes at a time. If I have an idea, I keep that in mind and begin the free-write by describing it like I would if I had an audience of people who really l loved me and were desperate to hear each and every detail.

Outline: Not to ignite the whole plotters vs pantsers debate, but sometimes there's merit in writing down all of your ideas just as they come. You don't even need to jot down the ideas in order. Just put pen to page and write them down and see if it sparks anything.

Interrogation: This is the part where I look at my ideas/points/free write and ask myself "why" to everything. "Why would character A do this?" "Why would the object be stolen?" "Why does character B care about character c?" and it helps me come up with the connective tissue to make a plot.

Inspiration: Sometimes when I have a goal but I'm not sure how to do it, I look to other writers and books for inspiration on how they did the same thing. For example, you say you want to write a mystery -- I'd either read some mystery books and take notes on how the writer crafted the mystery, and or watch some video essays and analyses online to see how other people interpreted the work.

Also, I want to write a mystery, the problem (besides the many cited above) is that it seems to be very obvious who the murderer is. In my story, the murderer is a girl obsessed by her beauty and kills other girls for "threatening" her throne, but, I don't know, it seems too obvious.

I've never written a mystery, though I think there's some element of mystery in most plots. When I think about ways I've introduced large plot questions to my stories/novels, I usually complicate the answers and make it more difficult for people to guess the right answers by:

Introducing an element that seems more likely to be the answer.

Making the guilty party look super guilty, so readers think it couldn't possibly be them (just make sure to set it up in a way that doesn't leave readers feeling disappointed that it was "super obvious!".) There's a quote somewhere by someone who said something about the first guess usually being the right one. You could research that?

Offer some information that makes it seem impossible that your killer could be the killer, but when it's revealed they're the killer, that information (in hindsight) never actually gave them an alibi.

Complicate the mystery by adding conflict. If people are fighting amongst themselves, it can introduce complexity to the "blame game".

My biggest piece of advice would be to read and watch mysteries, and really pay attention to how they set up the crime(s), how each part of the story directs you as the consumer to blame one person over another at any given time, how they reveal the real answer in the end, and how they explain it was possible.

I hope some of this is helpful to you! If you have any more questions, please don't hesitate to ask ♥

[pappydaddy]

tolerate it (p.w.)

A/N: I got tolerate it done! I have been wanting to write this one since I started this collection and I am so happy to have finished it this is one of my favourite songs from Evermore! I also somehow had this take another course while I was writing this and I accidentally connected it to another fic I am writing for this collection (evermore) so I have altered evermore's description to fit it. I just felt this chemistry as I was writing these characters and it just kinda happened. I also thew in a little easter egg relating to ivy in there - I just couldn't help myself because the opportunity was right there.

I want to let it be known that this is not Percy slander, it is just how this fic ended up. Percy is very career driven and he also cares about how he looks and his image and that is shown in this fic.

Anywho, I know there are a lot of people out there waiting on requests and they are coming, just very slowly. I have not had much time to work on writing because of school, but I will get your requests out eventually! However, I hope you lovelies can enjoy this in the meantime💛!

Paring: Percy Weasley x Fem!Reader, a bit of Charlie Weasley x fem!Reader (too much chemistry to deny honestly)

Show/Movie: Harry Potter

Not Requested

Taglist: @sarcasticallywitty15​

No Voldemort AU, no corrupt Ministry (other than everyday corruption. NOT PERCY SLANDER, JUST CHARACTERIZATION (EXPLAINED ABOVE)

Warnings: Loneliness, breaking up, sadness, angst.

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*I COULD NOT GET A GIF - I AM SORRY BUT THERE are ABSOLUTELY NO PERCY GIFS AVAILABLE TO ME😭*

The sound of silence swirled in the room with the dust that floated in the golden rays of sunlight. For something so present in her life these days, Y/N was still not used to the painful silence. She sat on the cushioned couch in Percy’s study, a book laid open on her lap, her hands folded, her back straight. She never used to sit like that, she always thought people who did look like they were always trying to hide something. But, then again, she never used to think she’d be sitting in the same room as her fiancé while feeling like she was millions of kilometres away from him. She lifted her eyes slowly, trailing over the beautifully crafted hardwood floor, over the red and gold rug (that matched the decor of the room), they danced along the dark wood of Percy’s desk. They finally stopped when they landed on his flaming red hair as it shined in the afternoon sunlight. Her head lifted as she studied him. Hunched over his papers, he scribbled furiously. “Percy, dear,” She cleared her throat when her voice came out more mousey than she expected. Percy hummed, not lifting his head from his work. “I was thinking we could go to town today, shop around for some more things for your brother’s visit?”

“Why? Charlie will be fine with everything we have in the guest room.” Percy grunted, dipping his quill in the ink-pot. Y/N pursed her lips, setting the book on the cushion beside her.

“Well, maybe we could get different soap for the ensuite? Maybe some relaxing candles, stuff so he can draw himself a bath,” She suggested, folding her hands back in her lap. “I’m sure he will be tired from coming all the way here from Romania. He’s not used to England time anymore.”

“Charlie doesn’t need all that, besides, it’s not like he’ll have time to relax. Once he’s here, we’ve got to get right to work,” He shook his head as he read over the new paper in his hands. “We’ve got lots of work to do,” He paused, his eyes finally looking at her, but only to flick over her seated form. “You would understand if you were still working.” He jabbed.

Y/N nodded, rolling her lips as she let the comment slide off her back, not thinking too much about his quip, just like she did with the others. “Well, we should still get him something nice, welcome him into our house.”

“I can’t go to town, Y/N, I have to get this done. You can go if you think it to be so important.”

“But I thought it would be nice to go together. It is a beautiful Saturday and those aren’t due for another week-“ She tried to explain, but the sound of Percy angrily throwing his quill against the table cut her off, startling her.

“I can’t just run off to town on a whim. Now if you can’t sit in here quietly then you can go read in another room or something, I don’t care what you do as long as I can get some peace and quiet.” He exploded, gesturing his hand aggressively towards the closed door to his study. She silently looked at the door.

“Sorry, I’ll leave you alone.” She whispered, grabbing the book and raising from the vision, remembering the lecture Percy had given her last time she didn’t put her book back before leaving a room. On her way to the door, she gently laid the book on one of the built-in bookshelves, not even looking at it. Instead, she kept her eyes forward, not wanting to look at Percy as he bowed his head back down to scribble on the paper. The door opened with a creak as Y/N slid out into the large and empty hall. Softly, she rested her weight on the door till it shut. Heaving out a sigh, she let her head fall back against the beautifully crafted white door, the identical one beside her jiggling when the other locked into it with a click.

Living with Percy was not what she thought it would be. When she was just a naive schoolgirl, they talked of having a decent house with a cozy feel, the rooms filled with laughter and the warmth of family, nights spent by the crackling fire with hushed voices and tender touches. The memories of the daydreams she had looked like a fairytale, conjured up from the mind of a foolish girl who thought happy endings were real. Now, she was alone in this grand house, the rooms and halls feeling cold with the only sound being the echoes of her footsteps. Heaving a sigh, she pushed herself off the door and made her way to get ready to go to town.

____

The melody of classical music filled the room as it was bathed in the orange and pink hues of the setting sun. Y/N sat in the armchair by the fire, watching the flames licking the stone, the black smoke swirling up into the chimney. Percy sat in the chair across from her, a book open in his hands, his head bowed low. Many nights in the Common Room were spent like these, Percy’s nose in a book as they sat by the warm fire. It looked almost the exact same as those nights to anyone else who had witnessed them, but Y/N could tell the difference. Now, the fire felt just as cold at the space between them, gone were the soft touches, the stroke of Percy’s thumb against Y/N’s hand, the feeling of his side pressed against her side, the comfortable silence. Y/N missed it all, but the thing she missed the most were the glances that left her smiling and blushing while a storm of butterflies raged in her stomach. Now, she just sat watching him read with his head low, noticing every little thing he does and doesn’t do.

“Percy,” Charlie’s gruff voice spoke, speaking over the cracks of the fire and breaking the verbal silence. Percy looked up from his book, his eyes not even glancing at Y/N in their path to look at Charlie entering the sitting room. Y/N softly turned her head to look at Charlie who took a seat on the empty couch. “I just thought of something that we should talk about in tomorrow's meeting.” He informed him.

“Just one second, Charlie,” Percy interrupted him before he could continue, his finger in the air as he turned his eyes to Y/N sitting across from him. She already knew what he was going to say before the words tumbled out of his mouth. “Y/N, would you excuse us, we have to discuss business and you have no need to be here while we do that.” He finally spoke to her for the first time since dinner. She nodded, standing from the chair and smoothing the back of her dress.

“She doesn’t need to go, the house is far too cold for her not to be near a fire and there isn’t one made anywhere else but my room.” Charlie insisted, catching Y/N’s forearm as she went to walk by the couch, heading for the grand archway leading to the dark hall.

“Nonsense, she can make one with her wand in the bedroom,” Percy waved him off. Y/N bit her bottom lip, looking back at Percy. “What are you looking at me for? You know how to start a fire, I know you’re two years younger than me, but they still taught you the same things as they taught me in Hogwarts.”

“I know how to do it, but I can’t. My wand broke when I slipped on ice in town a couple of days ago, I haven’t been able to run to Diagon Alley to get it fixed yet, remember?” She reminded him meekly, not wanting the same reprimanding she had received when she had told him the first time. Percy tutted, rolling his eyes as he remembered, gently closing the book still in his hands and setting it beside his leg, sticking into the gap between the cushion and the armrest of the chair.

“Ah, yes, I remember now. It’s laying on your dresser snapped practically in half. How many times do I have to tell you not to take your wand when it is icy out? How many wands do you need to break before you realize that,” He lectured as if she was a child. “Very well, wait outside the doorway and I’ll come to start a fire for you.” He heaved out a sigh, beckoning her away with a flick of his hand. Nodding, she went to walk away, but Charlie had not let go of her, instead, he tightened his hold, keeping her in place.

She looked down at him, her lips parted slightly in shock as he glared at his younger brother before looking up at her. “You can just go in my room while Percy and I talk then I will come get you and we can go and start a fire for you in your room.” Charlie informed her in such a way that told her she was not going to argue with him. Nodding silently, she pulled her arm free from his now loose grip and exited the room as it fell silent with tense air between the brothers, her heels clicking on the hardwood and the cracks of the fire being the only sound.

They must have waited until they couldn’t hear her heel clicks anymore before starting to talk since she didn’t hear a single sound coming from the room as she walked down the dark hall, the only light coming from the flicking flames of the candles lining the hallway. She sighed, pushing Charlie’s door open and slipping to the room. She didn’t even notice how cold she was until she stepped into the warm room, she relaxed into the warmth, closing the door behind her to trap the heat in. Making her way over to the armchair stationed in front of the roaring fire, she watched the flames just like she had done in the other room, thinking. All she did was sit in silence, try to live alongside Percy without messing up and making him lecture her. She didn’t understand it. She couldn’t understand how this Percy was the same Percy who stayed up late in the Common Room to talk to her about the scars of her past and soothed each and every one of them, laying soft blankets over the barbed wire of her heart so she could escape and finally love.

She jumped slightly when the door creaked open. Startled, she looked up to see Charlie walking into the room, closing the door behind him again. “Sorry to startle you, I didn’t know you were so deep in thought.” Charlie apologized, sitting in the other armchair across from her.

“It is okay, Charlie,” She told him, moving to stand but he held a hand out to signal her to stop. Obeying him immediately as if he was Percy, she settled back in her chair, sitting posed with her hands folded delicately in her lap, nervous as to why he seemed so stern, assuming she was going to have to listen to another lecture. “Are we not going to start a fire in the master bedroom?” She asked quietly when he didn’t answer, only dropping his hand back to his thigh with a slap, shaking his head.

“No, not yet. I want to talk to you first.” He told her.

“Oh-” She trailed off, her eyes casting down to the rug under their feet before back up at him, confused. “About what? If it is about getting Percy to mention something in the meeting for you, he doesn’t let me talk about work with him-”

“It’s not about Percy, not entirely,” He cut her off, leaning towards her with narrowed eyes as he studied her. She gulped, leaning away, unsure of what he was doing. “You’ve changed,” He mused, leaning back in the chair after concluding his study of her, his eyes still burning into her as she shifted. She knew she changed, it was not hard to tell that she has changed. “You used to stand up for yourself, make yourself known. You were never the doting housewife type of person, but yet here you are, being treated like a child by your fiancé. Why?”

She shrugged, dropping her eyes to the floor. “People change. Percy is so mature and wise, he must be right so that means I should listen to him, he knows best.” She whispered, not believing a word she said. Percy was mature and wise, much older than her, but she knew that he was not right about how he treated her.

“I don’t believe that, but it’s late and you should get some sleep,” He stood, prompting her to stand as well, hurriedly as if she would be scolded for not being prompt enough. “I excused myself from the meeting tomorrow and I am taking you to Diagon Alley. So you have to be up, we are spending the day there and eating supper there as well, which gives you a break from the house chores and Percy commenting on how dirty the plates are or how you set the table wrong, or your cooking. Might even swing by and visit Fred and George’s shop, must have lots to talk to you about, those two.” He told her as he walked to the door, her following behind him silently.

“What about Percy, is he still holding the meeting? He must be mad about you cancelling on him.” She asked nervously as he led her through the darkened halls, the candles having been extinguished, the only light coming from the winter moonlight streaming in through the grand windows.

“He got an urgent letter from the Ministry, he had to leave immediately for an emergency, probably be gone tonight and most of tomorrow.” Charlie told her, opening her bedroom that she shared with Percy.

“I hope everything is okay, it must be very important for him to be called away at a time like this.” She commented, shivering as she stepped into the room that seemed to be even colder than the frozen hall.

“Nothing to worry too much about, I am sure it is just a vermin issue and he has to try to contact someone to tend to it. I think he muttered something about Flesh-eating slugs actually,” He didn’t even look at her as he flicked his wand at the fireplace, igniting the wood that laid stacked in it. Something about how he spoke told her that he wasn’t telling the truth and Percy hadn’t been called away, instead, having stormed off to the office. He pocketed his wand, turning to look at her as she stood in the middle of the room, the glow of the fire lightning it. “I will leave you this to sleep on,” He paused, walking to the door while still looking at her. “The sanctuary is looking for a new magizoologist with an extensive knowledge in herbology.”

____

Y/N walked out of Ollivander’s with her new wand encased safely in the box which was in a bag dangling from the crook of her elbow. Charlie walked out behind her, letting the door fall shut after they said bye to Ollivander. “Okay, now that you’ve got your wand, let’s pop into the Twin’s shop.” Charlie suggested, pointing to the brightly pained shop with the giant, animated man. She looked up as she slipped her knotted coin bag back into her pocket, taking in the shop.

“Sure I haven’t seen the shop in a while. I just never have time to come here. Not with all the chores I have to do around the house.” She shrugged, stuffing her gloved hands into the pockets of her travelling cloak.

“What on earth does my brother have you doing that takes up all your time?” Charlie questioned as they started to slowly make their way down the crowded street, taking their time and enjoying the feeling of walking through the snowy alley. Y/N shrugged again, her eyes looking down at the snow-covered cobblestone, the white fluff packed into the cracks of the cobblestone.

“I mostly clean around the house, but I have to do it a certain way, if I do not, I end up having to listen to Percy’s comments about how much he tolerates.” She told him as they neared the front door of the joke shop, Charlie pulling the door open, letting her go in first as he scoffed at her comment, but he didn’t say anything. Y/N ignored Charlie, looking around the busy story, watching as fireworks whizzed around, ducking as one came right at her head.

“Let’s see what Fred and George think of how he’s treating you,” Charlie hummed, gently leading her farther into the shop so that he could close the door, cutting the cold winter wind off. “There’s one of them now.” He pointed to the tall ginger who was talking to a young customer, nabbing a product from the top of the tall shelf. Before she could protest, Charlie was walking around her and approaching the twin with long strides.

Scurrying after him, she caught up just in time for the twin to turn around, the child scampering off elsewhere to browse. “Ah, Charlie, my dear brother. To what do we owe the pleasure of you gracing our shop too,” The twin exclaimed, a feeling of joy and fun surrounding them as they spent more time in the store. “And Y/N, the future Mrs. Percy Weasley. Good to see you, Madam.” He bowed to her extravagantly, making Y/N looked around the shop with reddened cheeks, hoping nobody saw his little show.

“Hi, George,” Y/N greeted, recognizing the voice. Appearance-wise, she had a hard time telling them apart, but as soon as they talked, she was able to pinpoint just which twin was in front of her without fail. George nodded at the greeting, standing right as Fred wandered over to the group leisurely. “Fred.” Y/N greeted him first, his hands in his pockets, making his suit jacket flare out, being a picture of laid-back.

“Good morning, Y/N,” He nodded to her before nodding to his older brother. “Charlie. What can we do for you today?” He posed the same question his twin had, looking between the pair he never thought he would see grace his shop together. Charlie shrugged, looking at the shelf next to him, poking a box.

“Just popped in to take a peek and get your opinions on a topic we were just discussing,” Charlie told them, jamming his hands into his jacket pockets, looking back to his tall brothers. “Percy.”

“And what about our dear brother?” Fred asked, rolling onto the balls of his feet then rocking back onto his heels. Y/N shook her head at Charlie, fairly annoyed with his mission. She knew everything he was saying, they were all thoughts she already held in her head, but how could she leave Percy after all the love that they held for one another. That love had to still be there, it couldn’t just disappear suddenly.

“Has Y/N changed in the past two years?” Charlie blurted out, confusing the two pranksters in front of him, making them share puzzled looks before looking at Charlie again.

“Yeah, but what does that have to do with Percy?” George wondered.

“Look, yes, I have changed, but Percy has to still love me,” She directed the comment to Charlie, leaving Fred and George to look at each other, questioning what was going on. “All that love couldn’t have just disappeared. We love each other and while life is not how I pictured it, I do not see why I have to do anything to change it. If Percy thinks life should be like that, then he must be right.” She expressed.

“Tell us, Y/N, what life had you pictured?” Charlie asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he instantly knew this would win the argument for him. Y/N shrugged, thinking, her eyes drifting around the store as she thought back to the visions she fell asleep to. The stories she thought would be a reality, but now know that they were just fairytales of a naive girl.

“I guess I always pictured Percy and I sitting on a couch in front of a warm fire, him reading a book out loud. We would share soft touches as we both relaxed after a long day at work. The house would be warm and lively, heated by our love for each other as we did daily activities together like cooking,” She paused, her eyes dancing along the ceiling as fireworks fizzled out overhead. She watched the once bright colours flicker and sputter before going out, leaving a trail of grey smoke swirling into the air. “He would do great things in the Ministry, building up the Wizarding World and I would be making strides in the Magizoologist field,” She sighed, looking back at the three men. “But I guess, somewhere along the way, now he’s building his career and I am just sitting at home, trying to make sure everything is perfect for him all the time.” She trailed off, hanging her head as she thought it through.

“Personally, I don’t see how your life now can compare to the life you pictured.” George spoke up.

“Of course it is incomparable, but life never goes as planned. What I wanted and what I am supposed to have are two very different things,” She agreed. “Besides, it’s not how the world works, I am just naive and childish, Percy tells me that all the time.” Fred shook his head, pointing between himself and his twin.

“No, no. We are childish, you were never naive and childish. You had dreams and an idea of how you wanted your life.” Fred told her, oddly wise and serious for him. George nodded along, silently agreeing. Huffing, Y/N’s tongue flicked out, swiping along her drying lips. Glancing at Charlie, she saw him looking at her, a look in his eye telling her to believe them. She found herself trusting his eyes, staying locked in his gaze until she came to her senses and darted her eyes back to the ceiling.

“It isn’t too late to have your dream life, Y/N,” Charlie spoke softly. Y/N could feel his eyes on her still, but she ignored it and continued to look at the ceiling where fireworks once were zooming around, darting towards the shelves, fizzing and sparking with beautiful colours. “You just have to talk to Percy if you always pictured him in your life. You can have the life you pictured, what you want and what you are supposed to have are not two different things.” He told her.” She listened to his words. She could do it. She could remove the painful dagger he had jabbed into her dreams and pull it out if she had to.

“I’ll talk to him.” She nodded, looking back over at Charlie who smiled at her, proud that she had finally listened. She found the corners of her lips turning up into a smile as she gazed into his eyes, feeling a weight lifting off her shoulders and chest. Just then, pops and fizzes were heard overhead, making her look up, seeing the bright colours swirling around the ceiling before each of them whizzed off elsewhere in the shop.

“Well, that means it is a new hour-” Fred started, looking up at the new fireworks speeding through the store, dodging one that almost hit him.

“Lunchtime.” George finished, also gazing at the fireworks.

“Well, we best be heading to lunch, we’ve got lots to discuss and do today,” Charlie nodded to his brothers who started a game of rock, paper, scissors to see who would take their lunch first. “I’ll see you at Y/N’s and Percy’s tomorrow night for the family dinner before I leave?” He asked them, earning nods and a frustrated grunt from Fred when George beat him in the first game.

“See you guys.” Y/N waved as they started a new round. Charlie and her turning around to make their way out of the shop, walking back out into the bitter cold. Y/N couldn’t help but let her destined conversation with Percy weigh on her mind.

____

Y/N collected the dirty plates as Percy talked to Bill about Ministry business, the others having migrated to the living room after Y/N had denied help, the only one who insisted passed her stubbornness and actually forced her to let him help was Charlie who took it upon himself to clean and put the dishes back. “Here, dear, let me take those into the kitchen for you.” Molly marched back into the dining room, hands out ready to grab the stack of dishes from Y/N.

“You do not need to help, Molly, you are our guest, I am more than capable.” She insisted politely, adding another plate to the stack. It was one of their fancier sets, not that any of their sets weren’t fancy, but these ones were the more expensive set that they used for family gatherings.

“Nonsense dear, you can’t take all of these dishes without your wand. I’ll clear the table and you can go search for it.” Molly waved her hand at the young woman, forcefully grabbing the stacks of plates from her hands.

“Did you lose your brand new wand already?” Percy asked her, cutting off his conversation once his mother was in the kitchen. Y/N looked to him, shrinking back under his judgemental gaze, folding into herself as if she was a child being scolded.

“I had it in the bedroom while I was getting ready, I left it on the bed to go into the bathroom, but it was gone when I got back,” She explained, but he just huffed, rolling his eyes at her, muttering under his breath, clearly embarrassed she had been so foolish in front of his family. “I honestly think it got wrapped up in the sheets, I am sure I will find it when it is time to go to bed.” She spoke up.

“I am very sorry for her immaturity, Bill,” Percy apologized. “Y/N, could you go wait in the kitchen while I finish up with Bill then I’ll call you back in.” He told her. Nodding, she bowed her head, walking through the doorway leading to the kitchen. Molly and Charlie looked at her, but she simply waited outside of the doorway, trying not to listen to Percy and Bill talking.

“What are you doing,” She jumped when Charlie appeared beside her, his present startling her. “Sorry,” He apologized, drying his hands on one of the dishtowels as the dishes continued to watch themselves in the sink, Molly leaving the room to get more dishes from the table. “But what are you doing?”

“Waiting for Percy to be done, he wants to talk about me losing my wand,” She told him. Charlie groaned, tossing the towel to the counter messily, giving her a look. “I know, I know,” She muttered, knowing what he was thinking. “I need to talk to him, but I am not talking to him right before a huge family dinner nor am I talking to him while you’re here.” She told him, turning around as he walked farther into the kitchen, starting to put the dishes away as they placed themselves into the rack after drying themselves.

“That means you’re going to talk to him tomorrow after I leave, right?” He asked, not noticing Fred and George walking into the kitchen in search of more food, the pair stopping to listen to the conversation.

“Yes, at some point tomorrow I will talk to him. For now, I can survive this treatment for another night, besides, I want to put the conversation off because what if it’s the end of Percy and I? Am I really ready for that possibility? What if there is still love buried under this mess?” She worried, watching as he moved through the kitchen to place the dishes back, having already figured out the layout in the short time he was there. She was amazed at how quick he was to adapt to change.

“I guess then that is the difference between the life you picture and the life you are meant to have, there are things that just do not work out because they are holding you back from your dream. If this conversation is the end of you and Percy then it is the end.” Charlie shrugged, stopping what he was doing as the dishes started to lag behind. She hummed nervously, twisting her fingers as she shifted.

“Y/N, could you come in here for a moment?” Percy called to her. With one last look shared between her and Charlie, she turned, nearly bumping into George in the process, not realizing he was in the room. He smiled down at her, moving out of her way as Fred wandered up to Charlie, patting him on his back.

“You and I aren’t that different, are we Charlie-boy? Both trying to break up engagements.” He spoke, but something told Y/N she was not meant to hear that.

“I’m not trying to break up with engagement, Fred, that’s ridiculous-” She couldn’t hear what else Charlie was saying as she walked into the dining room again, spotting Percy sitting in the same spot, his hands folded on the clean table in front of him, Molly walking into the kitchen, smiling as she passed her, clearly unaware she was going to be lectured by her son.

“Really, Percy, I know where my wand is, I just didn’t have enough time to actually look for it in the sheets.” She told him, taking a seat at the table, a few spots down the head he sat at, his cold eyes on her. She gulped, shifting in her seat as she folded her hands in her lap, angling her body to look at him better.

“You couldn’t have told me you lost your wand? I could have found it and spared us being embarrassed in front of my family,” He questioned, exasperated. “You know, I know I saw this a lot, but I really do tolerate so much from you. Please, for the love of Merlin, next time think about how we appear to others before you tell people that you lost your brand new wand. I mean, how clumsy are you? First, you break one and now you lost one.” He shook his head, standing up, his chair scraping against the hardwood floor.

“I really am sorry, Molly was asking and I couldn’t lie to her,” She insisted, standing up herself. “Where are you going, is this the end of the conversation, I don’t even get to defend myself?” She asked as he walked towards the archway leading to the hall. He paused, looking over his shoulder at her.

“I have to go do damage control so that we are not the laughing stock of the family. Why don’t you go and work on the dishes with Charlie?” He suggested in a way that told her to just listen to him. Not wanting to put him into a worse mood than he already was, she obeyed, making her way back into the kitchen where Charlie worked at putting the dishes away again, the twins had left, obviously taking the hallway back to the sitting room.

“Hey, I know this might not be the time, but I just realized that I might not be able to return for Christmas again this year so I wanted to take this opportunity to say Happy Christmas to you.” Charlie said when he heard her walking in, looking over his shoulder as he placed a glass back into its spot.

“Happy Christmas, Charlie.” She returned the festive greeting solemnly, making Charlie give her a concerned look before deciding not to ask any questions, clearly seeing that she was too wrapped up in her head to listen to him pester her. Instead, he went back to putting the dishes back, glancing at her every few minutes.

____

The house had returned to its normal silence once again, leaving Y/N sitting alone in the sitting room, waiting for Percy to get home from the Ministry. She twisted her fingers together, staring at the flames in the fireplace, heating the room. Looking up as she heard the door to their house opening, she stood, rushing through the sitting room to look out into the hall, seeing Percy shrugging off his cloak and setting his briefcase down. “Percy,” She spoke softly, gaining his attention. He hummed, looking up at her as he untied his shoes. “Could you come in here a moment, I have to talk to you about something.” She asked him rather nervously.

“Of course, just a moment while I change my shoes, I don’t want to track snow into the house,” He told her, grabbing another pair of shoes to slip on. She nodded, ducking back into the sitting room and making her way back over to the sofa, taking her spot back. The thought of this conversation being the end of her relationship with him weighed in her mind, but after spending the day all by herself for the first time in a week, she realized how it already felt that it was over between them for the longest time. She wasn’t able to think too much about it anymore as Percy walked into the room, rubbing his hands together and blowing into them, trying to warm himself up. “What do you need to talk about?” He asked her, standing in front of the fireplace, holding his hands out to it.

“I want my dream life,” She blurted out, not giving herself a chance to chicken out. Gulping, she watched as he glanced over his shoulder at her in confusion. “I want to go back to work and I want to know if you still love me.” She continued, throwing the plan she had rehearsed for this conversation out the window.

“Of course I still love you-”

“Really? Because it seems to me that I am just a burden that you tolerate and I should not just be tolerated, I should be celebrated and shown love, but all you do is make comments and roll your eyes as if I am a child,” She ranted, the words just pouring out, easing the pressure she didn’t know she had weighing down on her chest. “I want to be loved and appreciated, not banished to doorways and shooed out of rooms. I want to be able to live, I want to be relevant in someone else's life, I want to make a name for myself, not just making it into the footnotes of your success story,” She paused, looking lifting her eyes from the floor, looking at him to see him fully turned towards her, his mouth hanging open as he blinked at her. “And I so desperately want to know that there is still love between us because you were who I imagined in my perfect life. Please,” She choked on unshed tears, feeling the tell-tale lump in her throat, blocking the words from leaving her mouth. “Please tell me that this is all in my head and that there is a flame still burning in the depths of this darkness.” She pleaded, a few tears slipping down her cold cheeks.

She was silent, the only noise coming from her were the sniffles as she tried to not let out the sobs and cries she was holding back. He stayed silent as well, his eyes stuck to the floor under his feet, not wanting to meet her eyes. A sob slipped past her lips as she realized what the silence meant, but part of her didn’t want to believe it. “If you don’t tell me it is possible for us to love each other still, then I will have no problem taking this dagger you jabbed through my heart out, leaving the idea of us bleeding out on this coffee table if that meant I could have my dream life,” She was fully prepared now to leave him, to dump the weight of him off her shoulders. “Believe me, Percy Weasley, I can do it if you do not tell me that I somehow got this all wrong,” She gave him another opportunity to speak up, to fight for her, but he remained silent, still not lifting his eyes to meet her. Just then, she knew that she could not deny it anymore and her heart shattered with the force compared to the killing curse, breaking into millions of little, tiny pieces as she realized that there was no more love and he was just tolerating her to save face. “Well, I guess this belongs to you again,” She whispered, pulling the engagement ring off her finger, gently laying it on the clean coffee table, standing up. “I already had my things ready in case this happened so this is goodbye, Percy.” She kept her eyes on him, hoping that he would lift his eyes from the floor finally and tell her to stay, that he did love her still, but he didn’t. He remained just as silent and cold as the house they were in. He gave her no other choice but to walk out of the room and walk out of this life, now free from the dagger in her heart and the weight of him crushing down on her, free from him only tolerating her.

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 19

Pairings: Sirius B, Remus L, [F]Reader    Content: Language, possible errors, 

【 Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter 】

Chapter 19: Mrs. Lupin

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The rest of Valentine’s Day was spent with Y/N compiling a list in her head:

1. Avoid drinking anything the Marauders — actually, avoiding drinking anything around James to dodge their concoction of face and body-altering potions. When students at lunch and dinner drank from the pumpkin juice supply, more than several people who were already in relationships morphed into those they weren’t dating. Let’s just say that this prank wasn’t as uplifting and fun as the Marauders originally had in mind. Even the Bloody Baron told Peeves to spare them.

2. Make sure Lily didn’t drink anything around the Marauders — or anything around Marlene and Mary (who caught word from Peter of her supposed feelings). They were dying to know who caught her attention and bets were being placed.

3. James just wouldn’t shut the fuck up about Emmeline. She could even hear his voice: Whiskers! Did you see how pretty she looks? Woah, I can’t believe she agreed to be my girlfriend? I’m so lucky! She’s beautiful! Ugh — did you see her smile? Emmeline this, Emmeline that — it was even worse than his obsession with Quidditch. But, it was too endearing in a sickening, annoyingly charming way and she was happy that he seemed happy, so Y/N kept her lips sealed.

Remus suggested drowning him in the bottles of love potions littering the castle but Y/N thought differently. James already acted like what a love potion was rumoured to be like; he’d become unstoppable if he even caught a whiff.

4. Shockingly by the end of the day, Y/N’s bag was stuffed with cards and gifts — all filled with confessions. She rarely socialized with anyone but the girls and Marauders, so it came as a surprise.

5. And now found herself stuck in a very uncomfortable situation.

Relaxing in the lounge area by the library, James and Mary were casting spells, Lily and Y/N chatted while Remus aided Marlene, going over course material, however, her face scrunched up as she flicked through his notes.

“What does this mean,” Marlene asked after desperately trying to decipher his writing. She slid it over to him, pointing to a highlighted section. But before Remus could translate, Y/N peeked over.

“Um — Owl to Opera Glasses. This spell emits fleeting wispy white vapour from wand — point at owl — no sound will be produced.”

She sat back in her seat, snapping off a piece of chocolate before handing the rest over to Remus beside her. Everyone looked shocked.

“Erm — what?”

Mary sputtered, “How did you read that? It’s fucking scribble!”

“He’s got doctor writing.”

They waited for her to elaborate.

“My mom’s —” “MUM!” “— writing is horrid. I swear all doctor’s have awful handwriting. I spent so much time reading her medical jornals, scans, charts — to keep me busy. So comparing Remus’ writing to hers, it’s legible.”

None of them seemed to understand besides Lily and Mary. Y/N just dismissed the matter entirely, sliding back the parchment to Marlene as they went back to their quiet conversations.

“So,” Remus leant in, his head craned down to talk to her. “Doctor handwriting — I should flaunt that?”

She chuckled, “Might make you sound smarter, but you don’t need that.”

“You flatter me too much.”

“Humble, aren’t you?”

“I have to bully myself daily. Can’t let it get to my head, not like egomania over there.”

Ah yes, the thrilling saga of bullying James Potter.

But before she could add on, a shadow caught Remus’s eye before he nudged her. His head tilted over to the direction of a wall, littered with portraits and awards with Quidditch trophies. “Looks like you’ve got an admirer.”

A blond boy, young — was staring at her, blushing madly as his chest puffed out, determination trickled through every step as he neared.

Remus’ smile became impossibly large, dripping in amusement before snapping, gaining the table’s attention.

“Hi,” there was a nervous waver in his voice, but confidence in his stance. He was pale, amplifying the scarlet blush on his cheeks.

Damn, she knew what was about to happen and so did shit-eating grin Lupin.

“Hello… What’s your name.” Right, that was a good place to start. Her eyes wandered to his tie: a Ravenclaw.

“Gilderoy Lockhart,” he announced, going up to flick a strand of hair from his face, flashing her a pearly white smile. “I’m in first year.” In his small hands, he outstretched his arms holding a box of chocolates — identical to the one Remus received a few days ago along with a meticulously crafted letter.

“You’reveryprettysowillyoubemyValentine?”

James, Mary and Marlene let out an involuntary snort which had all of them leaning into one another to support themselves from toppling over. Lily had to cast Silencio over them. They turned their heads away from Gilderoy before barking out silent merriment. Remus was the complete opposite, thankfully, as he remained poised, face void but his lips quivered upwards.

“Um… right... well,” she stalled. Maybe she should get up, take the boy elsewhere to softly let him down. “Thank you, I appreciate it a lot. But er… I can’t accept your feelings. Thank you for telling me, though. I appreciate it.”

“What?! Why!” He demanded. His face turned a deeper shade of pink, now causing a scene.

She made eye contact with Lily, however, James’ hand hammered down on the table, startling them all. His two hands formed pointed tips, mimicking two people kissing as he repeated the motion, pointing to her and Remus. Mary took the opportunity to grab Lily’s wrist, flicking a reversal charm on all of them.

“She’s dating Lupin!” She shouted which caught the attention of a few onlookers. James tossed his head back, knuckles in his mouth and Lily’s brow rose high in a startled grimace.

“For a month now!” Marlene continued, her hand slapping down on her thigh.

Y/N was going to murder them.

She went to open her mouth to say — well, okay, she didn’t know what to say but Remus budded in, lifting his arm, wrapping it around her shoulder and pulled her in awkwardly. She instantly got the hint, bringing a hand and patted his chest stiffly while the group tried not to bellow. Even Lily’s facade was beginning to break, her hand shooting up to cover a growing smile.

There was never a boring day at Hogwarts.

But she was taking too long to answer. This would've been quick, easy, had not everyone else been around and especially if they hadn’t lied about her dating.

“I’m sorry but yes, we’ve been together for a little while now, haven’t we, darling?” said Remus, saving her from the hesitation. Y/N nodded, at least she didn’t need to give a reason now.

Remus’ lying was exceptional. There wasn’t even a flicker in his expressions aside from the involuntary dark blush that ran down his cheeks to his neck. Y/N couldn’t blame him, her face felt like it was on fire.

Gilderoy tried to play it off coolly but his shoulders slumped, looking absolutely dispirited. He meekly nodded, placing the box and letter on the table and sped off.

“Cougar L/N!” Marlene roared once he was out of earshot.

“You lot are ruthless!” She barked at them.

“I did nothing!”

“Lied to a poor boy!” Lily lectured sharply.

“And she went along with it!” “Because you —”

While everyone was now bickering or on the verge of tears, Remus peeled himself off of her and Y/N patted him once more.

“You’re welcome.”

She looked up at him, “Darling? Really?”

His eyes rolled, “Did you want me to call you a troll?”

“Got me there, thank you.”

His face softened at this, shoving her in a teasing way before seizing the small box of chocolates, cracking it open and handed her a piece.

“What?” he smirked, moving to open a book, flipping to his worn-out bookmark. He side-eyed her uncomfortable expression as she looked at the box. He recited her words, “Expensive chocolate is still expensive chocolate.”

“You’re a dick.”

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February 17th, 1976

Y/N quickly learned that it was a mistake using the excuse that she and Lupin were dating because now the entire school believed it.

It spread like wildfire. Girls rejected by Remus shot her a hardened gaze, eyes scorned through her robes while other’s who confessed to Y/N avoided her completely. They would all gossip the moment they passed the hallways and she could feel their gaze.

“Lupin beat me to it!”

“— how long have they’ve been —”

“I’ve fancied him for two years! Two years and she suddenly just swoops in?!”

“Honestly, I thought she was with Potter.”

“She’s hot.” “He's fit!”

“— jealous of her —”

“Crikey — don’t they have anything else to talk about?” Remus said, turning away from the hall.

Remus disappeared for the past couple of days, only now hearing the commotion for the first time. He looked fairly pale, eyes red and tired — but not unusual. Y/N shrugged off the rumours and speculations before entering the hall, shouting to him to wait.

Many students stopped their gossiping for a moment to watch her pass before resuming. She marched up to her customary seat, her friends whistling at her.

“Where’s Remus L/N?”

“Mrs. Lupin!”

“Fuck off.”

She shoved snacks into her bag, hoarding enough food for the both of them and managed to grab a giant mug filled with coffee, making her way out of the hall with a few people loitering after her. James forcibly brought Sirius to his feet, Peter leaped over and Lily sprang up from Marlene, cutting her off while looping her arm with Y/N’s.

Mary elected to stay back, engrossed in a chat with Dorcas and Alice before quickly roping Marlene in. Nevertheless, she shouted once she saw the coffee mug, “That’s for Lupin, isn’t it?!”

“Don’t start… it’s just coffee.”

“Black coffee my arse!”

James ran up to her, tugging on her robes lightly, “Does this mean I should swap my Galleons to Lupin?”

Y/N shrugged him off, stomping over to Remus waiting by the door. She handed him the mug, glancing back in hopes of Celeste: no letter from her mother, again. She sighed before hauling the rest of the group to Kettleburn's classroom. This time, empty but always open for students to come and go. Even a sign was plastered on the entrance: Hold a Niffler if feeling down! (BEWARE of theft).

“Sneaking off like this is going to fuel more rumours,” said Lily, settling her things down on the desks beside her.

“Sorry Whiskers — Moony!”

Remus cracked his fingers, a long breathy sigh trickled from him slowly. “We should mitch lessons today — let it cool down for a bit.”

“Mitch?”

“Skip classes —”

“Moony is possibly the worst prefect in Hogwarts History — he deserves a gold star for it,” chuckled Peter.

Sirius grinned and the two made brief eye contact but neither looked away until James’ voice rang out again. It made Y/N's skin go warm.

“Mate’s going for a record.”

Sirius went to scratch the back of his neck, his head turning down to fiddle with his rings out of habit. “Maybe they’ll put him in the next printed copies of

Hogwarts: A History.” 

Remus rolled his eyes, fixing his posture to sit straighter. “Ungrateful gits. All I hear are three wannabe detention attendees. You ought to be thanking me. With what you pull, I could easily give you two years worth of ‘em.”

A collective sigh went around from the boys who seemed to bow their heads in mutual respect. They grouped and drawled, “Thank you, Moonyyy!”

Lily turned to her, “I’m sorry, but you’re not skipping.”

Her voice automatically switched at the mention of class; it went strict and firm and eerily sounded like Professor McGonagall which had Y/N double down.

Once the bell rang, Sirius quickly walked up to her, taking the place of Lily.

“Fine, we’ll keep the Puffskein in my dorm.”

She considered him for a moment. “I’ll visit daily.”

“Jolly.”

He sped up, hooking an arm around James’ shoulders as they headed to Potions. Y/N's eyes followed him, unable to look away and her heart dropped.

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“The Draught of Peace is a potion that often comes up on the Ordinary Wizarding Level. As you know from review, it calms anxiety and high levels of agitation. It’s been used to calm students who are too stressed with NEWT exams.

“And today,” Slughorn says, trying to look cheerful but failing — looking far too stiff and forced, “ We'll attempt to brew it.”

Lily sat up bolt-straight, eager to soak in new information. Instead of sitting with Lily today, she took a seat in between Remus and James, Lily with Snape.

“The instructions are up on the board, if you have any questions, ask away. Be warned though; be too heavy-handed — mix too fast and you’ll end up with a potion that would make the consumer fall into an irreversible sleep.

“You will be graded on your progress once finished.” He flicked his wand, opening all of the student’s textbooks to an ingredients page, unlocked the cupboard and turned back, “You have until the end of the class, begin my pupils!”

“Sluggys lookin’ pretty sluggishly today,” whispered Lily as they met briefly while collecting their ingredients.

Slughorn did look a little down. His face and voice were desolate, missing its happy chiper.

“Whiskers, I have everything already, don’t worry about it!” James beckoned.

The potion, in her opinion, wasn’t as hard as she predicted it to be. She was doing quite well, better than Lily and Remus which gave her a small sense of pride.

“So, Prongs, when are we going to get to meet Emmeline?”

James didn’t look up from his fiddly potion, too engaged but there was a small grin on his face. “We’re trying to take it slow —” “Pfft,” interjected Remus, “James Potter and slow — in a relationship? Doubt it. Did your Veela powers run out?”

“Hey! I like her and I don’t want her to run off or feel pressured.”

“Ah, what a gentleman, isn’t he Lupin?”

“Quite.”

James shook his head, “You shouldn’t be talking. Shouldn’t you lovebirds be on a date yoursel — Merlin! Moony don’t do that!”

Remus flicked his wand before a handful of leftover powdered moonstone fell on top of James’ head, giving him an iridescent appearance.

Y/N ignored them, stirring clockwise, then counterclockwise, simmering the heat down to the perfect level for seven minutes, then added in two drops of syrup of hellebore. A shimmery silver mist stemmed from her cauldron. A satisfied smirk settled it’s way on her face before scanning the class. Nobody else, besides Remus and Snape who’d been adding their finishing touches, was done.

Just as James was about to finish his perfectly brewed potion, a small beam was directed at his cauldron, ruining the entire potion as it sputtered multicoloured sparks. He tried to prod at the flames at the base of the cauldron, trying to cool it down but it was already too late. It soon became a thick, muddy concrete mixture.

“What the fuck? You guys saw that, right?!”

They had indeed seen a spell hit his cauldron. Their heads whipped around in search. With only ten minutes left and James’ grades about to drop, they all panicked slightly. If his marks were to drop below a certain level, James would be in jeopardy of losing his Quidditch title as captain and be forced to step down, focusing more on the OWLs.

Remus spotted them first: “It’s Snape.”

“How do you know?”

He didn’t respond, leaving them to follow his line of vision to look. Snape wore a horrible smirk, going as far as to wink at James. His perfectly brewed potion shimmered in the light before whirling around to talk to Lily.

“Fucking Snivellus,” James muttered tensley.

“Alright, in five minutes, I’ll be coming around to look at your potions! Be ready to present them.” Slughorn announced.

Remus sighed. “Prongs, just take mine — I’ll take yours. My grades are high enough but if yours drop —”

“No Moony,” he stated firmly. “I’m not going to let you go down with me.”

Distracted, Snape blushing like a fool to Lily and the boys fighting over Remus’ endeavour at being noble, Y/N swished her wand, levitating Jame’s cauldron and directed it over to Snape. She bewitched a temporary invisibility charm, switching them, before levitating Snape's back to James. Now, in front of James was a flawlessly brewed Draught of Peace.

“James, take my help —” “I said no you wanker!”

Slughorn was making rounds around the classroom, but Snape beckoned him over to his shared table with Lily, confident as he sent a nasty look to them.

“Evans, looking good! Perfectly brewed — I’ll add an extra point on your mark.” The praise did not go unnoticed as her chest puffed with pride, her head turning and locked eyes with Y/N, a large smile on her face.

Nice! Y/N mouthed, a thumb sticking upwards.

“Now lets — Severus!” exclaimed Slughorn, flashes of surprise shot through him, “What happened? This is so unlike you.”

The Slytherins in the class all looked up — scratch that — everyone in the class snapped their heads towards him; Snape had never once messed up a potion. They watched as Snape’s face fell from his smug smirk as a black stemming, multicoloured, cloud of smoke puffed in the air, making the surrounding students cough.

“Sir — I swear it was fine moments ago, I don’t know what happened! It must’ve —”

Their professor sighed, a very disappointed look crossed his face before shaking his head.

“It’s quite alright, Mr. Snape. Accidents happen. Evanesco.”

The contents, including the puff of smoke, vanished, leaving Snape to gape around. Lily touched his shoulder, rubbing her hand up and down and began murmuring into his ear.

But before Slughorn could go to another group, Y/N raised her hand, flagging him down while the rest of the class was still paying attention. “Professor! We would like for you to clear us, please!”

“Whiskers, what are you doing?”

“Trust me.”

“Look at what she did with your cauldron,” Remus mumbled, his eyes darting to her.

Complete surprise and utter awe replaced his face as Slughorn let out an excited squeal. His hands clapped together. “Everyone should take a page from Potter, L/N and Lupin. I’ve never seen such great work for this potion! Amazing you three! Ten points for Gryffindor.”

Their heads whipped towards her, Remus just smiled while James stared wide-eyed.

“You love to underestimate me.”

[whosemorales]

A Moment In Time Pt 1

The Room Of Requirement was, in Harry’s opinion, one of the most magical rooms in all of Hogwarts.

Harry had been in there since lunch and he still wasn’t bored he was more curious than anything. The Room Of Requirement never failed to amaze him, one minute you’d be looking at an old painting and the next you’d have a face full of Cornish pixies. It was unpleasant at the least, but the shock that came with it never failed to wake Harry up just that little bit more, and these days that feeling was more welcome than one would expect. With Umbridge’s unrelenting chokehold on the school, it was nice to disappear for a few hours, to have all the responsibility and weight of the world’s expectations lifted off his shoulders and to just feel like a normal kid. Of course, I’m anything but normal, Harry thought bitterly.

He was the boy who lived. The boy who cheated death, the boy who would save everyone from a war that he wished to have no part of, a war that in just one night had taken everything from him, one single night that had doomed the rest of his life to a miserable reminder of all the love ones he’d lost, all the love and joy he’d been deprived of. But now he felt selfish because he wasn’t the only one who had lost everything.

Sometimes Harry wished that he could be selfish, he wished that he could morn all the things he’d missed out on without having to think about all the other people that had also suffered during the war, and god how that sounded awful now that he thought about it, but another part of him told him that it was ok not care sometimes, that it was ok to just focus on his misery and not have to deal with everyone else’s, that for those few quiet hours at night it was ok to think bitterly about how Ron had a family, and more specifically a mother and fathers love that every now and then, Harry felt Ron took for granted. Harry knew that he had things that other people didn’t, fame, glory, but god how quickly he would give it all away to just be held in his parents’ arms. To feel their love for him radiating off them and enveloping him, the kind of love they spoke about in books, the kind of love that didn’t need to be spoken but the kind that could be transferred in something as simple as a hug, to feel all the warmth and happiness that Harry deeply wished he’d had to keep him safe from all the worlds problems and for them to just hold each other and nothing else.

But even with all the magic that surrounded Harry, bringing back his parents was something that it was not powerful enough to do.

Harry wandered around aimlessly, running his fingers along the dust-covered furniture, his eyes were roaming over all the piles upon piles of junk. Although, to whoever put their stuff here, it was probably something special, something they wanted to leave behind for future generations. Maybe there’s even something from my dad in here. That thought had Harry’s eyes scanning over everything at twice the speed, he looked under things, inside piles of junk and even climbed a few structures, but after a while, his shoulders slumped. He had no idea what he was even looking for, he didn’t know his Dad long enough to know what he liked or what he might have put in here, he didn’t even know if his Dad had found this place, it wasn’t on the Marauders Map. Then again he didn’t even know his Dad.

Harry let out a breath, this was not how he thought his day would go. Suddenly, The Room Of Requirement had turned into another painful reminder, he didn’t want to be here anymore, didn’t want to look at another forgotten object, another memory of happier times, a time for all Harry knew was the same time as his Mum and Dad. Now Harry was running, he felt sick and dizzy, but the more he ran the more apparent it became that he’d been in here longer than he thought and in that time had wandered deeper into the room than he’d ever been. Now the one place he wanted to leave was the one place he couldn’t. He stopped running, he needed to calm down, panicking wasn’t going to help him. Taking a deep breath he tried to focus on his breathing and heart rate, the last thing he needed was to have a panic attack in the one place that no one could find. Image the paper; The Boy Who Lived has died due to a panic attack because the stupid idiot couldn’t find his way out of a fucking room.

He never used to get panic attacks, but now he got them at least twice a week. Not that anyone knew, letting people know that he was that weak that he couldn’t even control his own breathing was not something that was going to help. Taking in one last deep breath, Harry opened his eyes and looked around, none of this looked familiar, but that was an easy fix, he just had to retrace his steps and he’d be out before he knew it. Right?

Going back the way he had come Harry’s eyes scanned over everything, looking for something familiar, the green couches that he had brushed the dust off, the weird-looking table that was covered in ropes, hell even the pixie’s nest would be a welcome sight. Instead, Harry’s eyes caught his reflection in an old-looking mirror that was leaning against a pile of chairs and other various objects. It kind of looked like the Mirror Of Erised as it was curved at the top and rectangular at the bottom, just smaller. The curve side of the mirror was an old rusted looking gold with letters carved into it, leaning forward Harry brushed his fingers over the dusted that coated them to get a better look, but once he’d brushed off the curved edges he realised that it was pointless. The words looked to be in some other language, one that Harry knew for certain that he didn’t know, not that he knew any other languages anyway.

Eerht fo tnuoc eht ni ereht uoy ekat llahs I dna eb ot ekil tsom uoy erehw tuoba kniht.

Deciding to ignore the writing, Harry moved back to get a better look at himself. His hair was a mess and he looked slightly sweaty, but the sight of himself made his heart hurt even more, he looked almost exactly like his Dad.

Earlier in the year, Sirius had given Harry some photos of his Dad, and even though there wasn’t many there was one particular photo that Harry kept coming back to time and time again. The photo in question was one of the Marauders on the quidditch pitch, according to Sirius it was their 5th year and they had just won the match against Slytherin. Both Sirius and his Dad were wearing their Quidditch uniforms whilst Remus was wearing a knitted sweater with his Gryffindor scarf around his neck and a book under his arm, Peter was clearly the one taking the picture as he wasn’t in it. Harry was never more thankful that magical pictures moved than when he would look at this one. His Dad was standing on the left, with Sirius in the middle and Remus on the right, Sirius had his arm around his Dads shoulders as they both gave the camera their biggest smiles, whilst Sirius’ other arm was wrapped around Remus’ waist, and even though he was clearly trying to look angry about being dragged into the photo, Remus’ face broke out into a wide smile and a laugh when Sirius turned and give him a kiss just under his ear. Harry’s favourite part however was when his Dad’s head turned to look at someone outside the frame, his face breaks into a warm smile and something in his eyes changes, the camera then pans to see what his Dad is looking at and it lands on his mum laughing and joking around with three other girls, the camera stays there for a second before quickly turning back to the three boys, Sirius is nudging his Dads side with a teasing smirk and after another second his Dads gaze turns away from his mum and back to Sirius, who he shoves playfully knocking him into Remus who just rolls his eyes and laughs at them.

Looking into the Mirror Harry wished more than anything in the world that he could have gotten to know them, wished that he could have gotten to see his Dads face light up whenever his Mum came into the room or had his Dad teach him how to ride his first real broom, wished he could have stood beside his Mum and helped decorate cookies for Christmas whilst he quicky dipped his finger into the icing to have a taste when she wasn’t looking, he wished he could have helped Sirius pull pranks on his Dad by turning his hair red or making his glasses float away as he tried to catch them, he wished that he could’ve sat next to Remus on the couch tucked into his side as he read one of his many stories to him or got Remus’ help in secretly crafting a prank to get them all back, he wished he could’ve had a family.

Leaning forward again, Harry went to brush the small flakes of dust that had fallen onto the Mirror, but just as his hand reached the mirror the glass seemed to vanish and Harry fell straight through. The whole world around Harry went dark for a few seconds before he fell back out of the mirror. Harry laid on the ground, his head spinning as his senses tried to get a grasp of what had happened. When he felt like he could stand without falling over, he slowly stood up and looked around. Everything looked the same, except for a few missing pictures and something else that he couldn’t quite place. Turning back to get a better look at the mirror Harry’s confusion deepened, it was gone, all that stood behind Harry was a pile of chairs and other bits of furniture. Harry shook his head, this place was messing with his mind, he really needed to leave now, looking around to see which way seemed best Harry followed his gut and went left. Sooner than Harry would have thought he was at the door he’d been looking for for a little over what must have been at least half an hour. Harry was hit with a wave of relief that time seemed to stop whilst he was in The Room Of Requirement, meaning that even though he had been gone for at least 3 hours, to the people outside the room it would be like no time had passed, meaning that he didn’t have to get a lecture from his friends each time he disappeared.

Pushing the doors open Harry walked out and waited for it to disappear again before he set off back to the Gryffindor Tower. Even though he had made his way out of the room, Harry still had a weird feeling in his gut that he couldn’t quite place, and the atmosphere around him seemed different, but that was probably just because he had been in The Room Of Requirement since lunch. Finally making his way to the portrait hole, Harry’s energy seemed to dissipate, maybe he’d have a quick nap before dinner.

Looking at the Fat Lady Harry sighed. “FlobberWorm.”

The Fat Lady’s face morphed into horror as the words left his lips, “I beg your pardon?!”

Harry frowned. “FlobberWorm,” he repeated the password.

The Fat Lady scowled at him. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re being extremely rude young man.”

I Don’t know who you are, the words rang through Harry’s head, was this some kind of joke?

“What do you mean you don’t know who I am, I’ve been-” Harry’s words were cut off as the portrait hole swung open, he quickly moved back so he didn’t get hit. Out came two young Gryffindors who looked to be in their third year, but that didn’t stop the alarm that rang through his head, he had no idea who these kids were, he’d certainly never seen them before, but it was probably nothing, Harry wasn’t the most perceptive person after all.

The third years gave Harry a strange look before moving off to wherever they were going. Harry quickly moved forward to try and get in but the Fat Lady quickly shut the portrait denying him the chance.

“Ah ah ah,” she tuttered, still glaring at him. “That’s enough of this foolishness, now off to dinner.”

Harry gave her an exasperated look before turning on his heel and making his way to the great hall. Walking down the corridors Harry felt a strange shiver go down his back, each corridor and staircase he came to was empty and something still didn’t feel right, but everyone was probably at dinner, and his weird feeling was probably just because he was hungry. Turing down the last corridor before the Great Hall, Harry was hit with a wave of chatter and the delicious smell of food. Ron better not have eaten all the chicken wings. Harry picked up the pace hoping to at least get two before they were all gone, rounding the corner into the Great Hall Harry’s stomach lurched and his feet became frozen on the spot.

His eyes scanned over every table and every visible face, he didn’t recognise anyone. His eyes quickly darted to the teacher’s table, Snape was missing along with a few others, but the ones that Harry knew looked younger. Something really wasn’t right. The sick and dizzy feeling that he’d had in The Room Of Requirement rushed over him once again, but this time it was a thousand times worse, his breathing quickened and his feet seemed to become unfrozen. A few heads had turned to look at him having noticed his presence, each one wearing the same identical frown. Harry walked backwards a few paces before turning around and running. But right as he turned around he smashed into someone, effectively knocking both of them to the ground.

Harry quickly picked up his glasses. “Oh god! I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to-” The words died on his tongue as the person he’d knocked over came into focus.

His breath caught in his throat and his heart stopped as they both locked eyes. They stared at each other for what seemed like hours. Harry couldn’t blink, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think straight. She had his eyes, or more accurately he had hers. The world seemed to stop spinning as realisation hit him. That was his mother.

“Evans!” A voice rang out just behind Harry and his mother hesitantly turned her head, allowing Harry to breathe for the first time in what felt like forever. But as the person came into view Harry felt like he had been submerged under ice-cold water.

The boy held out a hand for his mother to grab and tried to hide his clear shock when she grabbed it and got up but still didn’t let go, her other hand reached over and grabbed onto his upper arm as though she needed to steady herself, but her gaze wasn’t on him it was focused on Harry.

Frowning at her the boy turned to him and Harry felt like he was dying. The air in his lungs had been completely sucked out as he looked at the boy, as he looked at what anyone would have said was a clone, as he looked at his Dad.

[spideywhites]

Hey spidey

Totally waiting for an update from u

For the prompts thing please tell me about Toshiro or Kousei in regards to:

🌍, 🤝, 💍, 💀, ✨, 📚, 😍 , 😇

Any and all of them will do.

[ 🌎 ] are there any aus you have for your muse? what are they like, and how is your muse different in them?

oh, tons. i always end up making AUs for literally every OC that i make, but usually i keep that in my head. they come around because i get super attached to an OC and want to fit them in everywhere!! for Toshiro, i have the general Konoha High School AU, Mythos AU, soulmate AU, ABO AU, and alternate meeting AU.

Konoha High School AU: nurse Toshiro ! honestly... he's probably just less traumatized and more happy-go-lucky. Mythos AU I've done a little one-shot about, with dryad Toshiro. Soulmate AU is . . . interesting, because it doesn't go as you'd expect. But i'm not going to say more on that just yet, in case i actually go through with making a little mini-fic for it. ABO AU is about Alpha Kakashi and Omega Toshiro being absolutely not the norm for their dynamics, and Toshiro being a late-presenting omega who is already halfway through his reforms when it hits, causing a whole new slew of political upheaval for the initially presumed beta. (honestly, might write a little thing about this too, but i shouldn't get ahead of myself lol) as for the alternate meeting au, it's mostly where they meet early on during the third shinobi war, when they're both actively child soldiers. trauma bonding? hm.

[ 🤝 ] how does your muse approach intimacy? are they hesitant, or do they like it? what types of intimacy do they like and dislike? (ex. physical intimacy, sexual intimacy, emotional intimacy, etc.)

toshiro is . . . simultaneously direct and nervous, depending on the type. he is very warm-hearted, but lawful (in a sense) and takes great stock in morality. he's comfortable with physical intimacy with children (hugs, holding hands, general paternal care) and close friends, otherwise he's not . . . touchy? or rather just uncomfortable with prolonged touch from strangers or people he doesn't feel close to. he'll tell you directly that he's uncomfortable, and maybe even give you a lecture on good-touch bad-touch lol. sexual intimacy is exclusive to his partner. he's not one for flings, as he doesn't feel exceptionally sexual impulses towards those he's not close to. emotional intimacy has to be the most complex.... he's very open with children, showing care and love with relative ease. if he feels like he's grown close to someone, he's not afraid to open up to them. he can be nervous and procrastinate for a time, but he always ends up as the type to make the first moves. not exactly 'heart on the sleeve', but is willing to jump when he comes to the edge.

[ 💍 ] does your muse have a “type” of people that they prefer to enter relationships with? is their type generally compatible with them, or does the dynamic tend to be toxic?

toshiro will say he doesn't have a type, but he definitely does! it's not exceptionally particular, but he's certainly more attracted to people who are 1) tall, 2) the type he can sit in quiet with, 3) independent, 4) have nice arms.

in most cases, he's pretty compatible with his 'type', though the variety of personalities you can get who also possess those four qualities is pretty huge. luckily he's very straightforward and oddly centered, so he will call out toxic behavior when he sees it and is unlikely to enter a relationship with someone before analyzing every facet of them and how they would work with him.

[ 💀 ] has your muse gone through anything traumatic? if so, how has this trauma affected them?

as a child soldier, you could say he went through... a bit of trauma. he was forced through a rigorous training schedule that he barely passed, considered a statistic, and thrown onto the battlefield where at most he was expected to serve as fodder or a distraction for better nin to use to their advantage. he was the sole survivor more than once, moved around and placed on multiple teams to fill space, and made to carry the bodies of other child shinobi back. obviously this still affects him mentally, but he used a lot of the accompanying rage to put a plan in motion and twist the world into something better.

[ ✨ ] what aesthetics or symbols do you reference when writing your muse? are these backed up by canon, if your muse comes from a canon? is there any specific relevance to these choices?

pale gold / rose / peach / crimson / ink & parchment / plants / the scent of rubbing alcohol / white / the sun & stars / soft kimonos / red piercings / warmth / spring / autumn

i use constant reference to these as a way to describe him and make him feel more .. . in the moment? like his presence is actually taking up space in the scene.

[ 📚 ] what books does your muse have on their bookshelf? what books would they like to have? if your muse isn’t an avid reader, is there anything they collect or might like to collect?

a few fuuinjutsu for beginners scrolls, heaps and heaps of medical texts, some cheesy romance novels, guilty pleasure enemies to lovers books. he doesn't have a lot of time to read for fun, so most of his bookshelves are stocked to the brim with reading material concerning his craft.

[ 😍 ] does your muse believe in true love? why or why not?

n ot . . . exactly. he thinks love is something you have to both feel and think about. you have to work for it, with it, and around it. he's not sure there's a true definition of true love when there are so many types, kinds, and versions that work better for different individuals. if everything with kakashi works out and they grow old together, he'd consider kakashi his true love, the love that worked out best for him. in short, he really thinks too much to believe in the unanalyzed concept, and he doesn't believe in 'love at first sight'... because that's just attraction.

[ 😇 ] what would your muse do if they became a god?

probably keep moving the same as he always does, unless he god powers give him better healing abilities. then he'd go around the countries fixing people up and trying to stop wars. essentially goes back to his original goal of ending child death in shinobi ranks. he's not fond of being a solo leader tbh.

[a-dorin]

it takes two to tango

pairing: professor!obi-wan kenobi x female reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: professor/student relationship, unprofessionalism, flirting, cursing, age gap, love triangle(maybe?), allusions to sex, mentions of oral

a/n: hellooooo! this is a little blurb or oneshot based off my ardor au, featuring professor!maul as well as other characters in college! for some context, this idea stemmed from this post linked here! i hope you guys enjoy! :))

read the first chapter of ardor here! 

“welcome to writing foundations. i am professor kenobi, but i go by an array of names. you can refer to me as obi-wan, obi, or ben. if you’d like, you can just keep the professor kenobi. it makes things a little easier and maintains the professionalism.”

letting out a quiet sigh, you fidgeted in your seat, chin resting in one hand, the other absentmindedly brushing over the keys of your laptop. your phone rested on your lap, vibrating every few minutes or so with a variety of notifications.

however, one notification in particular caught your attention, pulling your focus away from the professor.

it was a text from your boyfriend, flashing across the face of your apple watch.

i miss seeing your gorgeous face in class. :’( maybe i should’ve failed you so you were forced to retake the course. just kidding! or am i? ;)

upon reading the message the corner of your lips tugged into a shy grin, hands flying to your phone to respond.

“am i really that boring? or, is that text too important for you to focus?”

the inquiry was laced with scorn, your cheeks flushing as your eyes traveled upwards, focusing on the front of the classroom. professor kenobi arched a brow, his arms folded across his chest, a frown etched across his features.

“well?”

giggles erupted from several of the freshmen, the sound bouncing off the walls. reluctantly, you set your phone face down on the desk, “sorry.”

“i expect your undivided attention for the rest of the period,” he retorted, “i do not tolerate any disrespect directed towards my time in lecture. that does include texting, snapping, and sleeping in class. i will not hesitate to take your phone either.”

“i said i was sorry,” you gritted your teeth, your jaw clenching as the laughter continued, “you can proceed, professor kenobi.”

“i’m glad we’re both on the same page,” he rolled his eyes, plucking a marker off the tray, “now i’m going to write down my contacts on the whiteboard here. feel free to utilize my email at your leisure. i am aware of how some professors feel about giving out their numbers, but i have the utmost confidence that you all won’t abuse your texting privileges. well, maybe not all of you.”

fiddling with your laptop, you pulled up a new document for some notes. although you sure that professor kenobi wasn’t going to dive straight into lecture, who knew what his next move entailed.

already, you understood why maul was not fond of the professor. his aura was cold yet witty, and a bit pretentious. well, he was warm and kind, spitting out a few jokes here and there. that was until he caught you typing out a text. maybe that was just one of his pet peeves.

or maybe he was just an asshole, like maul said.

to your right, there were a couple of twi’leks scribbling away on the syllabus, copying what was written on the board. although you were a seat away, you could make out a few breathy giggles and hushed murmurs.

“maker he is so hot.”

at the comment, your eyes shifted towards the english professor. for the first day of class, he was donned in a tweed jacket, the color a darker, more chocolate brown, with beige patches on the elbows. the jacket was paired with a pair of khaki slacks, the glitter of a chain dangling from his pocket. it was more than likely a pocket watch.

he was average in stature, with a pale complexion. from your guess, he was a younger professor, somewhere in his late thirties, early forties. sure, although he was older, he had a handsome face. and the auburn beard only enhanced his features, complementing the icy blue hue of his eyes.

that was one of the first noticeable aspects of professor kenobi. his eyes were a brilliant color, bursting with emotion and shining with warmth as he welcomed you into the classroom.

yet, his first impression was nowhere near maul’s.

“i wish he would yell at me in class like he did with that girl.”

“be quiet or she’ll hear you!”

“now,” professor kenobi cleared his throat, smoothing out his coat, “i want to take the last twenty-five minutes to discuss your first assignment. don’t worry, it’ll only take me a few minutes to explain it then you’ll have the rest of the time to work. for your assignment, i want you to write about someone important in your life. i would like to hear what you find admirable about them, along with a few of their quirks. it can be anyone: a relative, friend, or significant other. the paper should be three paragraphs: an introduction of your chosen person, a body with an explanation of why you admire them, and then a conclusion. how you craft the conclusion is up to you.”

a hand shot up in the air, prompting a question. professor kenobi’s brow furrowed, “yes?”

the twi’lek to your right cleared her throat, “can it be a member of the faculty on campus?”

“it can be anyone of your choice. it can be a celebrity for all i care,” he chuckled, “the assignment is an assessment of your writing capabilities. it’s so that i can see where everyone is at.”

another student raised their hand, professor kenobi’s voice drowning in your ears. clicking on the title tab, you began to formulate a title for your paper, biting your lip as your mind buzzed.

who would you write your paper about? well, your mind was gravitating towards one individual. a crimson zabrak.

but would that jeopardize everything? would kenobi be able to read in between the lines? surely not. they were professors in vastly different departments. surely they rarely crossed paths.

“are you going to write about professor maul?” the twi’lek’s friend teased her, “if you do, you better hope that his girlfriend never finds it!”

“he has a girlfriend?” her companion snorted, “i was in his class this morning and he never mentioned any girlfriend.”

“there’s rumors going on all over campus. he has a girlfriend, but he won’t give anyone her name or even a picture. the only picture anyone knows about is the wallpaper on his macbook. i guess it’s just really private to him.”

the blush in your cheeks only deepened by their comments, your heart fluttering. was the entire campus really creating rumors about maul? and why did everyone care so much?

yet, the sound of his voice ringing across the class ceased your eavesdropping.

“now, i am sure this is the statement you all have been waiting for: class is dismissed. i will be sticking around for a few minutes if any of you have any questions.”

with no hesitations, students sprang to their feet, a flurry of chatter swirling all around you as they filed out of the classroom. plucking your laptop off the table, you placed it into the its case, shoving it in your book-bag. the twi’leks next to you flashed you a meek smile, shouldering past your seat.

“you know, you’re quite distracting.”

your lips pursed as your head swiveled towards the front of the class, “excuse me?”

“i’m not going to repeat myself,” professor kenobi shuffled some papers together, filing them into his satchel, “by the way, you need to watch your tone. i don’t like brats in my classoom.”

your breath hitched in your throat, “w-what? i’m not a brat.”

“yes you are,” kenobi fired back, “blatantly disrespecting your professor like that? i’m afraid that’s bratty behavior, love, and i don’t like it.”

“well i’m afraid it’s not going to happen again.”

you nearly couldn’t process what was happening. although he was putting up a tough exterior, the words stern, his tone said otherwise. it was light, laced with a tease. 

was he flirting with you?

“good,” he nodded, “because i have a tendency to punish bratty students.”

“i--” your throat tightened, “oh my--”

“by the way,” he crossed over to the table where you were situated, a smirk plastered across his features, “you have gorgeous eyes, (y/n). i never noticed until now, but your sweater complements them. now, you should head out. you have other classes, don’t you? i look forward to seeing you in lecture tomorrow. oh, and you better watch that pretty little mouth of yours.”

within seconds, he was out the door, leaving you stunned in your chair. 

the confrontation had your cheeks burning, your mouth dry. 

not only did you happen to capture the attention of one professor on the first day of class, but you managed to do it twice. 

yet, what professor kenobi didn’t know was that there was a certain zabrak in his office, awaiting your arrival in a matter of minutes. 

and what professor kenobi didn’t seem to grasp was one singular aspect about a relationship. 

it always takes two to tango. 

at the moment, he was the only one expressing interest. 

tomorrow though, who knew what he would do or say. 

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

tagged: @shannon-odonovan @maulieber @snips-n-skyguy0501 @calamity-queen @anakinswhore @justalittlecloud @pascalz @hounding-around @sasurah @laorme34 @littlevodika

[currywaifu]

𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: escape room 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: minagi tsuzuru/reader 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: sfw 𝐰𝐜: 3.4k words, 3 images

𝐚𝐧: the combi of my love for this tsuzuru sr card + a certain enabler + my first time wearing handcuffs being in an escape room = the birth of this fic. it’s chaotic, but so is every escape room experience i’ve had. wtf is this fic.

One of the perks of having Tsuzuru as a boyfriend was that the two of you always found ways to have fun and go out on dates without spending a lot of money. Neither of you were big on splurging out a bunch of money anyway— not with you rather spending your allowance on necessities and Tsuzuru being the King of Part-timers™.

Watching community and college plays, having picnics, movie marathons, making dinner together, going grocery shopping, taking advantage of coupon sites, couples promos and happy hours to get great deals on things you wouldn’t normally be able to just for the ultimate discount...

It was domestic, it was homey, and it was Tsuzuru through and through; you loved every single second of it.

Which was why you were surprised when he suggested going to an escape room together.

“Those can be kind of pricey, right?” you replied, raising your voice slightly to make sure he could hear you despite the noise you were making in the kitchen. You turned the burner to high heat, scooching the veggies over to one side of the pan, melting the remaining butter in the other half.

“Oh, well, a friend gave me a 20% discount coupon. Apparently he didn’t need it anymore,” Tsuzuru’s voice was a little quiet coming from your phone’s speaker, and you quickly put down the soy sauce to adjust the volume before going back to the stove.

“I figured there was some kind of catch,” you replied with a soft chuckle as you continued stirring the veggies and sautéing the rice. “When do you wanna go? I know we’re both busy over the weekend, and that’s when we usually—“

Your hand halted its motions as soon as Tsuzuru uttered the word, “tomorrow.”

It wasn’t like you weren’t free, thankfully you only had one, albeit three hour, lecture during Tuesdays, but wasn’t he saying it a bit suddenly? It was a Monday evening, after all.

“Why tomorrow?”

Your boyfriend’s awkward laughter rang, but he remained undeterred as he explained to you his reasoning— going to an escape room would be a good way to get more writing experience, especially in terms of creating and feeling the ambience.

“Plus, not only is it cheaper if we go together, but the rates are also lower Monday to Thursday,” after a few seconds of silence on your part, he quickly added in, “and! And, we usually don’t have dates like this… so it’ll be fun, right?”

That thought process was so like Tsuzuru that you couldn’t help but smile.

Oh, the rice and veggies were already turning brown?

“You know what? I’m not even surprised,” you commented, adding and stirring in the rest of the ingredients. Ahhh, it was starting to smell heavenly, “by the way, have you had dinner yet?”

“About to. Excited to figure out what kind of curry we’re having,” a giggle escaped you upon hearing Tsuzuru’s deadpan voice, “are you almost done cooking?”

“Just about done!” after giving the rice a taste, you decided to season it with a pinch of salt and pepper, “thanks for giving me your fried rice recipe, by the way. Even though I’m the one cooking it, it feels like I’m about to eat something you made with love~”

As you were pretty much done with the kitchen, Tsuzuru’s exhale was a lot more audible to you. You could already envision the slight quiver in his tight-lipped grin and the way he would avert his eyes for a few seconds as he addressed you.

“Seriously, don’t be so cute,” he said, sounding a little exasperated, “sometimes I don’t know how to respond anymore.”

“A writer at a loss for words?” it was steadily getting difficult to keep the bubbling up amusement in check— you should probably be serving yourself dinner and accomplish your work for the night, but in the same manner it was always fun to flirt with the brunet. “When you put it that way, it makes me want to act even cuter for y—“

“Anyway!” you couldn’t hold back your laughter at his sudden interruption. Alright, that was enough for the both of you tonight.

“So are you free tomorrow?” he asked.

Well, who were you to be able to say no to that?

You completed signing the waiver the staff asked you to fill out, before turning to Tsuzuru.

“I forgot to ask, but which room are we playing? They have, like, 3 different ones here.”

Your eyes followed where Tsuzuru’s pointer finger landed— a simple but eerie poster in black and white, the three masks you could commonly see in craft stores plain and copies of one another, save for one thing. The first mask had gloved hands atop its eyeholes, the second had them covering where the ears would be, and the third had them placed over the lips.

Domain of Discernment.

“I don’t know much about it, but it’s one of the more popular ones. Apparently we’ll be held captive by some serial killer named Sire Maniac, and we’ll have one of our senses taken away,” he explained. Before he could potentially say anymore, one of the personnel went over to bring you right by the room entrance.

After giving a brief rundown of rules and some info about the room itself, she brought out an unused pair of foam earplugs and a blindfold. “Since there’s only two of you, we’ll be taking out the not being able to speak part. Both of you, choose who gets their sight or hearing removed for 50 minutes.”

You and Tsuzuru turned to look at each other, quietly discussing amongst yourselves which option would be more beneficial, coming to the conclusion that you would be the one to don the blindfold and he’d be the one with the earplugs.

“You might accidentally fall asleep if you had the blindfold,” you joked, “besides, I trust you to be able to guide me.”

Not one to be a killjoy or cheat, he plugged in the foam properly as you get your blindfold tied securely by the woman, making sure it definitely wouldn’t loosen up midway through the game.

When the both of you are within the room already, the both of you hear (well, Tsuzuru lip-reads) the woman say one more thing.

“After hand-cuffing you two and I leave the room, the timer will start. Good luck.”

… hand-cuffing?

With a sound of a click and seeing the door shutting from the distance, the both of you knew the timer would be counting down from 50 right about now.

You’re the first to speak up. You’re unsure where he’s facing right now, so you pulled your left hand knowing the pull of the metal chain would catch his attention, and you were right.

At the slight pressure on his right hand, he turned to face you with a hum leaving his mouth, and unexpectedly finding himself stupefied at the sight of you. You opened your mouth to say something, and he can excuse himself all he wanted that it was him not used to lip-reading yet, but he knew it wasn’t the truth.

He felt a little guilty, really. You both knew how flustered or embarrassed he could get around you, but how blissfully unaware you must be right now that his brain was literally mush because of your blindfolded self and how you were handcuffed to him. He, well, he never thought… no, he could never—

Time to kill that train of thought. Right now.

He should really be responding to you right now. What… what were you saying?

“You want me to describe our… surroundings?” he sighed in relief as you nodded. Okay, at least a part of him was still functioning properly. All he had to do was focus on that and not hyper focus on you.

The two of you were in a cell of sorts— barred, jail doors preventing your exit into a much larger room, which inevitably would lead to a door the both of you would escape to.

Though the jail room was significantly smaller, there were an assortment of items to sift and look through— boxes with and without locks, some papers scattered on a small desk, a lampshade that was left turned off, and a CD player were what stood out the most to him.

After relaying it to you, you pulled him again by your shared shackles as you asked him to read out what was in the papers—the first, a hint on how to figure out the number combination to unlock one of the boxes and a code decryption guide.

The second, a torn page from a “book” of either plants or poisons, based on the content and stylisation. Atropa belladonna, also known as deadly nightshade.

“Why are shade and floor highlighted though?”

Another pull on the cuffs. Another look at you— and trying not to be awkward about it as he combined his lip-reading with whatever the earplugs couldn’t block out of your voice.

“Shade? You said there was a lamp shade, right? Maybe a key or something is hidden under there?” you suggested, a pout set on your lips, “don’t know what the relevance of floor is, though.”

He didn’t have to look very far, the papers being situated on the desk beside the lampshade. It’s in his second time staring though that he realised something’s off with it. “You’re right, there’s something in the lampshade.”

When he lifted the bell-shaped cover, he’d come to find that there was no lightbulb in the first place, but a thin flashlight cleverly inserted within a vase. “If there’s a flashlight in the vase, then—“

“Shine a light on the floor!” you exclaimed, excited at the prospect of being able to move forward with the game, despite not being able to see.

Doing just that, he swished the flashlight left and right, verbally listing all the letters he could see.

“X, O, I, C, T…” you repeated, before trying to clap your hands (keyword: trying to, handcuffs say no), “the order is toxic! So the encrypt—“

“I’ll decode it ASAP,” Tsuzuru replied, immediately referring to the guide the “killer” oh so graciously left there.

“The passcode is… 420652,” he fumbled with the digits on the only 6 numbered padlocked box, before grinning, “alright, we got it!”

Another tug, and at this point he’s already aware that tug or pull on the cuff equals you having something to say.

“If they were gonna do a 420 joke, they should’ve inserted a 666 joke for the full eerie, creepy effect.”

Okay, just how was he able to lip read that perfectly? Was he just that used to the dumb jokes you made?

“I can just imagine your dream escape room— all the hints and puzzles are meme related,” the earplugs were unable to block your laugh, ringing through the room as he opened the box. A key, and a CD.

Knowing that between the two remaining boxes left, one of them needed a key so that was pretty much solved. The disc, on the other hand…

He called your name, you turning to face him based on the direction of his voice. “Since there’s a CD player and a CD, and unless I go really close I wouldn’t be able to hear anything—“

“I’ll listen carefully, no sweat!”

“I swear, if I hear the word wall another time, I will scream... and this isn’t even a horror room!”

The two of you came across your first real obstacle. Your audio just talked about poisonous vines growing on walls and other surfaces, while his box just contained another note that neither of you could decipher whatsoever. For five minutes, the two of you stood there, pondering.

Every once in a while, Tsuzuru would check the giant timer— currently displaying that 35 minutes were left.

“… honestly, just give it to me,” you suddenly spoke, Tsuzuru’s shoulders going up in shock.

“Give what?”

“The box! While we try to figure it out, I’ll use my nonexistent luck to just guess the passcode somehow,” you explained, feeling up the type of padlock it was “it’s just rolling everything around anyway until it magically opens.”

Within less than a minute, you had figured out the passcode.

“I’m—“ Tsuzuru trailed off, clearly just as shocked as you were. Your eyes probably would’ve been wide open right now.

“Eye… so this is where all my luck went,” you said, before shaking your head to refocus yourself, “okay! So inside the box is a… another key? It has buttons… car key?”

You hand the object to the brunet, who, upon taking it from you spared no second in his next actions.

“Wall,” he said out loud, pointing the car keys at the wall. With one press of a button, the wall, slowly but surely, opened to reveal another room. Though you couldn’t see it, the sound was loud enough to amaze you as well.

“Worm,” you breathed out, “pretty lit, not gonna lie.”

You wouldn’t know but the room was actually extremely dark, so not lit at all. Thank god he had a flashlight or else the handcuff + your blindfold + him not being able to lip read combo would be… particularly deadly.

The misunderstandings, he could already imagine it. Ah, well, for the writing experience.

“I don’t know what worm means, but yeah, lit.”

“Sorry,” Tsuzuru apologised as he bumped into you for the nth time.

Obstacle number two was unlike any other. It wasn’t another audio recording, neither a puzzle nor riddle.

“Ah, shit, sorry!” you shouted for the nth time, raising your voice as much as you could so Tsuzuru would be able to hear you properly.

This was getting ridiculous. You were able to figure out the meaning of an audio file after a few loops, while Tsuzuru got to work reading more clues and unlocking locks. The real problem, however, was since the room was dark and had limited space, the two of you tended to crash against one another even with what limited movement you could make.

You had to wonder— did the staff get some sort of amusement or feel any pity watching people stumble around in this room through the CCTV? It wasn’t so bad in the jail room, but this closet? storage? room gave you two a run for your money. How did other people get through this room, genuinely? Especially the bigger parties?

“… I have an idea,” Tsuzuru mentioned. You wait for him to tell you what it is, his hesitance confusing you. However, before you could have said anything, you felt his strong arms wrapped around you.

Was… was there an equivalent to a verbal keyboard smash? Even if you weren’t saying it out loud to save you the embarrassment, the fact still stood that your brain was legit going ztesxrdctijmoljhnge right now. Help—

“How does this… help?” you asked, still a little confused by his motive. He wasn’t really one for PDA, and despite the two of you being the only ones in the room the fact still stood that the escape room staff are probably required to glance at the CCTV monitors every once in a while to check up on you two.

“Since we’re… handcuffed, and there’s barely any space it’d be better to just stay together,” he explained as nonchalantly as possible, “sorry, it’s just for this room. We’ll go back to normal when we get to the last room.”

See, if your brain was working right now, you’d be able to think of a counter or a better solution— actually, if you could see right now maybe you could point out something about Tsuzuru’s face that screamed he was lying, but something about escape rooms just made your logic go brrr.

That, or you were just a simp for your own boyfriend.

… not gonna lie, the chances of it being both were pretty high.

“Makes sense. Can’t bump into each other when you’re already stuck together,” you said, already convincing yourself.

Sorry to whoever’s manning the CCTV monitor, it was their fault for handcuffing the two of you anyway.

Well, this set up wasn’t that bad. Other than, you know, getting to hug Tsuzuru, you were able to still keep doing your task while he did—

You heard the padlock unlock after your fingers pressed a certain combination of numbers. Pushing the device upwards, the cabinet doors opened as you removed the lock.

“It’s a digit push combination padlock! How are you doing this? Blindfolded?”

“I… I have guessing powers. For locks.”

“I’m considering robbing a bank or business with you now.”

“Awww, cute couple’s date idea!”

After two or three minutes of Tsuzuru doing some last minute riddle solving, the sound of jingling keys and him letting go of you let you know of one thing— you two were almost out.

With a writer compromising one half of the team, and an exceptional guesser and context clue figure-outer as the other half, you weren’t gonna lie— the last room was kind of anti-climatic to go through.

…

SIKE!

Every time the two of you ever accomplished anything, be it decrypting a message, unlocking something, or finding a hidden item the two of you still reacted to it— Tsuzuru being more on the shookt side and you being on the hype side.

With fifteen minutes to spare, only one thing was left to do— finding who Sire Maniac’s real name, and then decoding that name into number form so you could use it on the exit’s number pad lock. It was pretty obvious to you that you had to use the number equivalents of the name, but first… you needed to know the name.

“You sure you don’t want to try your luck?” Tsuzuru teased, procuring a huff out of you.

There were only two clues. The first was a letter to an A. R. Nicolas, detailing something about being thankful for a book.

Initially, the two of you thought that that A. R. Nicolas would be his real name, but clearly it was some sort of pen name based on the second clue— several torn pages from a book penned by the very same A. R. Nicolas the letter was addressed to.

It was clear— Sire Maniac and A. R. Nicolas were the same person, but what was his third identity? His real identity?

“What are the poisons on the torn pages again? Those usually have something to do with the answer,” you asked Tsuzuru. The sound of shuffling of paper entered your ears as he began listing them off.

“Ricin, amatoxin, tetradotoxin, chloropicrin, batrachotoxin… and arsenic.”

“Huh… arsenic is the only one that ends differently, lol,” you pointed out with a laugh, before it quickly died as the realisation dawned on you, “no fucking way.”

“Okay what the hell, I think you’re on to something,” Tsuzuru replied hastily, “because A. R. Nicolas, as in A. R. Nic. Arsenic.”

“Tsuzuru. Tsuzuru. Tsuzuru—“ you chanted, before laying out one last game-changer, “Sire Maniac. Is a fucking anagram. For I am Arsenic.”

With a speedy enter of the number 2773642, the two of you had achieved freedom.

“Not gonna lie, some parts of it were a little cliche, but… I had fun,” you told him, the two of you walking home together, “I felt simultaneously dumb and a genius at the same time.”

“Same to both, honestly,” Tsuzuru replied, before looking down at your hand linked with his. “Huh, haven’t you had enough of being stuck with me?”

You rolled your eyes. “I could say the same to you— didn’t you totally take advantage of us being handcuffed together? Or me being blindfolded?”

It was just a joke, but Tsuzuru’s sudden sputtering caught you off guard. Did… aha, no way, did he actually enjoy that gimmick?

“Tsu~ zu~ ru~”

“Whatever you’re thinking, that’s not it—“

“Are you sure? Because—“

“You’re misunderstanding something.”

“I’m just saying, it’s better to be honest~”

As the stoplight turned red, the two of you finally found the time to take a good look at each other. The laughter that erupted was instantaneous.

“Thanks for going out with me today,” Tsuzuru said softly, the blooming smile on his face impossible for you to not mirror.

“Thank you for inviting me,” you replied, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

After a few seconds, the stoplight turned green, and the two of you continue making your way back home.

want to order again?

𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐬: ⤷ curium fairway (the person who sent arsenic the letter) is an anagram for “i am currywaifu”.

⤷ the “reader is good at guessing part” is just based off of me. being really good at guessing padlock combinations.  ⤷ the hugging part was based on my two irl friends (who are dating) hugging in front of the cctv

⤷ the “one sense gets removed” and “being handcuffed to someone” part is based on two different escape rooms i played

⤷ i wasn’t supposed to make a whole concept for the escape room with media and riddles... but i decided to finally make use of all the research i did before on poison. am i on a watchlist?

[mothdalf]

DAY TWO: Findis and Írimë Lalwen

@finweanladiesweek​

So this mainly focuses on the relationship between Findis and Fëanor rather than Lalwen but I’ll get to her later in the week.

Pics in order are:

Fëanor and baby Findis, Findis finally snapping at Fëanor, Findis and Lalwendë, and Findis gathering herbs for Estë in the Gardens of Lorien. 

I’ve put todays rant under the cut but I’d recommend reading it because it really gives the pictures context.

As mentioned in my previous post Fëanáro is like the equivalent of a pre teen (like 10-12) when Finwë marries Indis, and he elects to travel for his studies rather than living with them full time.

He is a young teen when he gets a letter to tell him that he’s going to be a brother, and to say that he takes it badly is putting it mildly. He’s crushed. He’s been angry that his father is (at least in his mind) trying to replace his mother, but now he’s going to replace him? So he doesn’t send a letter back and throws himself into every distraction because he’s going to make damn sure that he’s better than anyone his father tries to replace him with.

Finwë turns up and half begs half drags him home in time to meet his sister the baby. He doesn’t want to and turns up to the nursery (not his old one) in his traveling clothes before being promptly turned around and told to put on something clean at least.

He plans to give a quick glance into the crib (also not his) and a curt “congratulations” before returning to his room to sulk. But it doesn’t pan out like that.

Because his new sister is perfect. Not that Fëanor has been around many children but he’s sure that she must be the most perfect one ever.

Later he will try and rationalise this to himself by pointing out that she’s so different to him that she could never be a replacement. For one, she’s a girl, he’s still his fathers only son, but even aside from that; she has green eyes and golden hair and long Vanyar ears. Nothing like him. Not a substitute. There can be enough room for them both. That’s why he likes her.

Whatever the reason, she’s beautiful, every tiny detail from her fluffy golden hair to her grasping, miniature fingers. So what he says is more of a strangled “wow” after a long pause.

Indis asks if he would like to hold her and sees a beaming smile on Fëanor’s face that she never thought would be directed at her.

He hesitates at first because he realises he’s faced (for the first time in a long time) with something he doesn’t know how to do. But Indis points him to a chair and places Findis in his arms, hands gentle as she positions them.

He coos to her instinctively and she squirms and wiggles and blinks up at him. That’s the moment Fëanor decides he’s going to have kids of his own someday, as many as possible.

Indis is surprised when he breaks the silence and addresses her “well done,” he says without looking up “she’s wonderful, perfect”

The phrasing is a little strange but Indis understands; he’s complimenting her on craftsmanship, for all their differences he’ll always acknowledge that.

It’s quiet again until someone comes to call him away for supper. Fëanor kisses Findis’ head before passing her back and, almost shyly, asks if he can come back to see her later.

So Findis spends the first few years of her life with an adoring big brother. He sends her gifts from his travels, or things he’s made, and dotes on her when he’s home.

Everything is great for a while, so no one is worried when Finwë and Indis announce they’re expecting their second child, not even Fëanor. But things don’t work out that way.

This post isn’t about Fëanor and Fingolfin though.

Fëanor gets distant. His vitriol for Fingolfin doesn’t extend to Lalwen and Finarfin but neither does his soft spot for Findis.

For her part Findis struggles with the tension. When she’s older her parents explain the situation, her heart aches for her big brother. She loves all of her siblings and she hates the atmosphere so she spends most of the time playing peacekeeper. She thinks it’s ridiculous for someone older than her to have such a problem with a child, especially one she herself loves so much. It’s much better when Fëanor is away, but she misses him.

So like her mother in looks and temper, Findis is composed and calm and shoulders the burden of trying to keep them all happy.

Fëanáro is now a young adult and an apprentice under Mahtan, so he’s not around that much, but when he is the fights are always the same. This time however something he says clicks for Findis.

“So that’s it, the reason you hate him and like me? Because he’s a threat and I’m not? You only like me because you’re glad I wasn’t a boy! I wasn’t important enough to be a problem for you!”

Fëanor being Fëanor it devolves into a screaming match. It ends with Findis swearing to show him how much of a threat she can be. She’s going to be better than him at something one day, just you wait and see.

She tries for a long time to find that something. It’s never going to be any craft with her hands and they’re pretty evenly matched musically, so she tries politics, that should really make her a threat.

Findis reads everything she can from the library, asks her father 100 questions a day, attends councils and meetings. She learns a lot, planning to catch Fëanor out one day, call him out for something in front of the council, actually oppose him. Only that day doesn’t come. Fëanor hasn’t quite gotten to the point that we know he’ll eventually reach, so Findis can’t find anything to actually oppose him on at the moment. Frustrated, and getting more bored by the day, she draws back from politics.

Around this time Indis is planning a trip to visit the Gardens of Lorien (read, Miriel), and asks her eldest to come with her, lightly hinting that it will be good for her to get away.

It’s during this trip that Findis finds exactly what she wants to do. She sees how happy her mother is to be able to be close to Vaire again (see my last post about how Indis is a devotee of Vaire) and starts to seriously consider doing the same. Fëanor would never do that.

But when she sees the Maiar and Elven devotees of Lorien and Este, the (admittedly very few) tired or injured people finding rest and care and peace there, she knows in her heart that this is for her. Findis will be a healer.

She goes to Este immediately to apply to join her followers.

Este denies her. She has no more knowledge or experience of healing than the basic studies of her youth. Yes, the work they do here is usually routine and calm, but before devoting her eternal life to it, Findis should really try to think whether healing is for her. Can she handle injuries? Blood? Has she ever seen someone in pain? Really in pain? Not a younger sibling tripping and grazing their knee, but a hunter thrown by a spooked horse? A smith burned in the forge? Did she watch her mother give birth to her younger siblings? Did she hear the screams?

She hasn’t, Findis acknowledges, but she’s more than willing to learn.

She journeys home to Tirion without her mother to begin her studies. She starts at the bottom, back to reading books she can barely understand, stubbornly pestering the healers guild with letters until she can find a teacher. She attends lectures and eventually demonstrations with other students, usually far younger, in plain clothes, and most politely pretend that they don’t know who she is. She dissects animals and identifies what she sees. Bundles all of her scrolls and papers and books on politics into a cupboard and starts refilling her study with labelled diagrams, notes from lectures, samples of herbs.

The books start to make a lot more sense.

For some time each year she visits Estë again, just as a volunteer. She also visits Valimar and Alqualondë to learn from healers outside of the Noldor.

She starts to practice, assisting more experienced healers, in between lectures.

She joins a healer on a trip to the forest of Oromë; and returns with no fear of blood or broken bones, unbothered by a piercing arrow wound or the black bruises of a kick from Nahar.

There’s a drive in Findis now that was never there for politics, she’s all but forgotten that this started as a way to stand out against her brother. There’s a burning passion and a satisfaction to what she does. Her mother smiles and says that it’s the Noldor blood coming through.

Findis starts to come into her own with herb-lore and medicines. She commandeers an area of the palace gardens for medicinal plants. Writes report after report, learns to administer what and when and how. She’s almost settled on this as her focus when she is asked to assist her current supervisor with the birth of a baby.

She knows the theory. She’s recommended certain herbs and supplements to expecting mothers. She has vague memories of her younger siblings just after they were born. But this is different. This is her focus. So she switches track, asking questions of her tutors and colleagues. Requesting to assist with births wherever she can. She seeks female healers, midwives, and the input of her mother and her friends with children of their own. She makes notes and studies of their experiences.

Findis excels. Eventually becoming a healer in her own right. Only then does she approach Estë again. For something special this time. Yes, she appeals to join Estë’s devotees, but she wants to keep her focus on women, and pregnancy, and birth. She learns even more now, the Noldor passion propping her up as she learns that Vanyar ways of healing song from the Ainur.

Often, she visits the body of (Auntie) Miriel. She asks for stories of her fading from those in Lorien, seeks the insight of Estë, Irmo, and Nienna, and finally questions her parents. Piecing things together, she reaches out to other mothers- those who she attended at birth, her friends, those whose children she’s treated. She asks them about their experiences, asking them to be honest, to fear no judgement and feel no shame. Did they ever feel as Míriel did?

Some did, some didn’t. Either way she assures them that they are not alone. Over years she builds notes and papers and case studies as she works and follows her path in the Gardens of Lorien.

Findis becomes revered and respected for her work.

One day she gets a letter from her brother, he’s heard about her work, inspired by his mother. He asks if he could read it, so she invites him and Nerdanel to Lorien, so that he can read her papers. When they arrive it’s clear why he wants to do this now. Fëanor is afraid that his wife will share his mother’s fate at the birth of their first son.

Before they go home they get a lot of assurance, a list of recommendations, and signs to watch out for, all courtesy of Findis and her research. She promises to be there if they have any questions, and to assist in the birth personally.

Her brother embraces her for a long time before he leaves. He tells her how grateful he is for her help, how much more peacefully he will sleep now. Fëanor has never been happier that his sister out did him at something, and Findis has never felt less competitive. Healing, she thinks, is about always learning and getting better. Smithing, she supposes, is much the same.

[bettsfic]

Hi Betts, hoping for your guidance if you have the time. No pressure really. But my course will be focusing quite a bit on Shakespeare for the rest of this year. Do you have any advice for someone who isn’t really a writer on how to understand Shakespeare better? Have you read much of it? How did you tackle understanding the language? Is it just reading a lot more of it and looking up words? I struggle getting through one play, but is it just pushing through it? Resources you found helpful?

i feel like i’ve been waiting my whole life for this question. 

i’m feral for shakespeare. i have a hamlet tattoo. i have an unfortunate number of monologues memorized on the off-chance someone at some point goes “hey does anyone know any good monologues?” and i can be all “TO BE OR FUCKING NOT TO BE, BITCHES” or “ONCE MORE UNTO THE BREACH DEAR FRIENDS, ONCE FUCKING MORE.” i have an actual literal lecture on how richard ii is a greedy glamazon bitch, and an outline for an article on how lady macbeth can teach us everything we need to know about sympathy in fiction.

like many people, high school made me despise shakespeare. i can’t tell if it was the simple coercion of being forced to read things, period, or that we were made to treat everything so seriously, and expected to understand the use of language as if it were like anything else we were reading. 

then when i was 23ish, i got obsessed with doctor who, which led me to david tennant’s filmography, and david tennant happens to have done really a lot of shakespeare. when i geared up to watch his hamlet, however, i thought, i want to read this first, so i can see how different it is from my perception of it.

cue me surreptitiously scrolling through the wikisource version of hamlet while pretending to listen to conference calls at work. i think that helped, making it something i wasn’t allowed to do. it made reading feel like an indulgence. 

free of the constraints of “i’m going to have to write a five-paragraph essay about this when i’m done,” i began to read very casually, only trying to understand what was going on and not trying to find any profound meaning in it. 

in doing that, i realized i was actually doing it correctly. these are plays, meant to be performed on a stage, to entertain, immerse, and evoke feeling. you’re supposed to be sad at the end of tragedies and happy at the end of comedies. however, reading the plays is a far different experience than watching them, and in many ways more of a challenge.

you can’t read a play, especially a shakespeare play, like a book. prose and poetry both lend themselves to crafting intentional images. the entire thing exists to be and only be read. but plays and scripts are just one piece of a much larger puzzle, involving directors and actors and costume designers and set designers. bringing a play to life is a team effort. when you’re reading, you’re only seeing the skeleton of the story. it’s like reading a guidebook for a vacation destination. you can get the gist of it but only truly know a place by going there.

you can’t read shakespeare as a reader. you have to read as a director. you have to envision each actor, and after every line, decide where they are standing on stage, how they deliver their line, and what happens between each line. shakespeare gives almost no stage direction, so you have a lot of creative license in interpretation.

another thing to remember is that shakespeare is first and foremost a rhetorician. he wanted his words to be memorable and beautiful, to persuade and delight. if he wanted to be understood simply, he would have written simply. but instead, he uses 17 lines where 1 would have sufficed. it’s helpful, after every line, to consciously ask yourself, “what has just been said?” and very often the answer is simple. a yes or a no, i agree or disagree, or even sometimes banal statements.

consider hamlet’s “to be or not to be.” he goes on and on and on, but he’s really just being the “guess i’ll just die” meme. in the comedies, shakespeare often uses this effect as a joke. one character will go on and on, and another character gives a simple and curt and blunt reply, and depending on the delivery, it’s hilarious. 

you’re not supposed to love hamlet, or richard ii, or macbeth, or any other character. the tragedies are train wrecks that make you go “i get why you’re doing this but you need to Stop.” the comedies are similar, in that the characters sometimes make you go “you are being so fucking stupid.” it’s the sense of irony, the “i know what’s right in this situation but you don’t” that creates a huge amount of engagement. we’re always bracing ourselves for what comes next.

so here’s how i recommend reading shakespeare:

pick a play, and pick a version or two to watch afterward. here’s a really great list of productions. personally, i’d stick to ones where you’re familiar with the actors, which heightens the engagement. 

before you start reading, consciously cast each character, using actors you really like. or, instead of actors, you can cast your favorite characters as if they were in an AU version of your current fandom. reading shakespeare as fanfic is a speedy way of ensuring your emotional investment.

pull up the wikipedia plot summary of the play to have on hand while you read. every few pages or so, line your reading up with the summary to make sure you’ve caught onto what’s been happening.

as you read, direct the actors you’ve chosen. how do they deliver the line? sometimes this takes a few tries. you can’t let your eyes move left to right across the page and just expect to miraculously understand it as if it were prose. you have to puzzle it out.

if you’re really stuck on something, pull up the spark notes version. there’s no shame in that. if you compare with spark notes enough, you begin to get a sense of the language and begin to need it less and less.

when you’re done, order a pizza, pour a glass of wine, and watch your chosen production version. delight in already understanding what’s happening, figure out where you might have been wrong or confused, and revel in the places you were right. 

watch another production and see how your version, the last version, and this version all differ. 

if you get all the way to this point and you’re not utterly in love, i don’t know what to tell you. i think i watched wyndham theater’s much ado over a hundred times. rsc’s hamlet probably just as much. i have yet to watch or read a single play i didn’t at least appreciate. i’m one of the few people who even enjoys titus andronicus. 

shakespeare takes a lot of energy, but it’s worth it. once you get a feel for the strings he pulls and how he pulls them, it’s like opening a door to a whole other world. you see clips of phrases from this play or that, understand subtle references, and see how his influence exists in nearly everything. you can use his characters and plots and dynamics in all your own work. you can reach backward to see his own influences in greek plays, and forward to see his influences throughout all of literature. it’s amazing, not just who he was, but how his plays are still both so beautiful and so human. 

i’ve skipped over rhetoric, craft, the sonnets, and a few other things that i really enjoy about shakespeare, but those are probably topics for another time. if you’re looking for somewhere to start, i highly recommend much ado about nothing, particularly the wyndham 2009 production with david tennant and catherine tate which is genuinely one of the funniest things i’ve ever watched. it’s fun to compare it to the 1994 kenneth branaugh film and then rage against whedon’s 2013 travesty. 

best of luck in your shakespearean pursuit!

[moonscriptsx]

The Pros and Cons of Falling in Love (M)

SUMMARY: World renowned bestselling author, Kim Namjoon, has always been praised on his philosophical outlook on the many trials and tribulations of life, but when he decides to tackle a certain topic, he finds himself in a rut full of writer’s block. As a last minute decision, he decides to take up his best friend’s, Kim Seokjin, offer and agreed to speak to his writing class about the ups and downs that come along with writing. While helping out his friend, he managed to find the resolution for his writer’s block; falling in love.

GENRE/WARNINGS: Author!Namjoon, College!AU; Fluff, angst, and smut all in one, with an inexperienced!Joon and a (somewhat) fem!dom.

WORD COUNT: 18.7k.

A/N: I’m baaaaaaack! *throws confetti* After a few months and whatever-the-fuck happened to my old blog, I’ve resurrected from the deleted blog grave and have come back. I will be slowly (but surely) re-uploading more of my works as time goes on! This is the first of many. Enjoy loves!

There was a moment in time when Kim Namjoon was on top of his game; he was able to sit in front of his computer and write like there was no tomorrow, marking down every idea and thought he had dwelling in his mind. He pumped out three novels, all bestsellers, and was adored by the general public for his genius visions and elaborate words that managed to capture the feelings of the person reading the book. He was labeled as a prodigy, considering he had only been nineteen years old when he had published his first novel, and though he’ll deny it, that had been the reason for his constant stress. Living up to the expectations that other authors and the public had put on him caused a strain, ultimately leading up to his lack of inspiration and writer’s block.

It’s been two years since he’s published something else and as the days pile up, the stress upon the man builds even more. Countless nights and days are filled with him staring blankly at the blank document occupying his screen, his brain completely empty of anything he could remotely use as an idea to run with. His methods of writing have seemed to fail him this time around, and now he’s stuck with nothing -- and he hates it. The more he stares at the blank screen the more he becomes frustrated, the now twenty-three year old feeling as if he’s never going to be able to write anything else. The constant pressure has him medicating in ways he probably shouldn’t, bottles of alcohol and packs of cigarettes littered next to his desk has his friends worrying for his health, though they have yet to say anything. When Namjoon is stressed, he doesn’t take lightly to those who try to help him. His words become blunt and striking, venom laced in his tone as he curses at them, thus leaving him to push away those who had reached out to help.

There was another downfall, however, one that Namjoon has acknowledged as his weakness; Namjoon had never been in love.

While many authors or writers have a muse by their side, encouraging them and supporting them consistently, Namjoon had no one. All of his life he had his nose buried in books, the man opting to study up on writing techniques and broadening his craft as opposed to going out with his friends and experiencing the things most kids his age would have. Sure, he’s kissed a few people, but that’s the extent of any form of intimate contact he’s come encountered with. In college he was too busy writing his novels to let any sort of romantic relationship happen, though he did have a few dates who had struck his interest -- but he couldn’t find a spark with any of them when the time had come to actually getting to know them. He was a man who sought out someone who could give him the mental stimulation, someone he could actually hold an intelligent conversation with, and while those he went out on dates with weren’t exactly not intelligent, they still lacked what he had been looking for.

The loneliness stacked upon the stress and frustration was making Namjoon start to regret choosing this field of work, and he was desperate to get out of the funk that plagued his life for far too long -- so he decided to change it. Starting from now he’s going to scan through any and every piece of literature, he’s going to look around him and turn to the world to find the inspiration he lacked -- but his plans seemed to take a different turn when he had reluctantly agreed to host a seminar at his Alma Mater for inspiring authors and writers like himself, and he found himself inching closer to the source of his inspiration.

Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you huff in annoyance as you weave in and out of the students who cluttered around the lecture hall, silently cursing at those who stood in the way of your seat. It had been a rough morning; your alarm decided to ring twenty minutes later than you had set it, causing you to clamber around clumsily while you tried to gather everything you needed. You left your dorm with sopping wet hair and - if it hadn’t been for your roommate who called you out on it - you would’ve left with mismatched shoes. A large cup of coffee and another twenty minutes later, you had managed to make it to class on time, but even that doesn’t diminish your visible annoyance and irritation for the unfolding day.

Plopping your bag onto your desk, you lean back into your seat and rub your temples, the oncoming headache making you dread the day even more. A small snicker from beside you doesn’t falter your attitude, not even when your friend leaned over to place a concerned hand on your back.

“You alright, (Y/N)?”

Hana’s soft voice filled your ears as she rubbed your back soothingly, aware of your - very - irritated stature. Your gaze landed on her soft features, a small smile painted across your lips as you shrugged your shoulders.

“I will be, hopefully,” you admitted. “It’s been a rough morning.”

Hana nodded, the girl silently understanding your annoyance.

“You’ll be fine,” she smiled. “We’ve got a guest speaker coming today so we won’t have to do much work, thank god.”

Her words set you at ease, your shoulders slumping back into relaxation when you realize that you were able to sit back and enjoy today’s class without having to scribble endless nothings onto paper like usual. Hana giggles as she watched you sink back, her head shaking as she turns back towards the front.

“I feel you on that one, (Y/N).”

Your gaze scans around the room, eyes falling on the different pairs and groups that littered around the class as they talked amongst themselves. It was always fascinating to you when it came to observing others; you took note of their different mannerisms and gestures towards others, making mental notes of the people who have confident body language and those who consider themselves superior to others.

You snap out of your daze when the professor strolls happily into class, his hands clapping as he gains the students’ attention. The idle conversations fizzle into the air as everyone piles into their respective seats, the patient professor looking more than excited as he leaned against the edge of his desk. A pleasant smile is painted across his lips as his gaze swept over his students before he’s opening up to speak.

“As you all know, we have a special guest coming today,” he said happily. “Not only is he a bestselling author, but he also happens to be a very good friend of mine, so I expect you all to give him a respectful and warm greeting when I bring him in, though you’re all adults so I wouldn’t expect anything less, honestly. I’m going to go fetch him from the hallway, so talk amongst yourselves.”

And with that, he exits.

Namjoon is nervous -- no, scratch that; he’s fucking terrified.

It’s not that he’s nervous speaking in front of crowds, he had always been comfortable talking to those who were genuinely interested in his craft, it’s that he feels like he’s lying to these students. His friend had whole-heartedly invited him to drop knowledge and tips for his aspiring students in hopes that they would follow the path Namjoon did, but the latter felt like he was putting up a front. How was he supposed to give pep talks to a bunch of people who are trying to get to where he’s at in his life when he can’t even bring himself to write another fucking novel? How was it fair that he pretends he’s been busy working on more books when that’s the furthest thing from the truth.

Namjoon could feel his hands shaking as he watches his friend emerge from the classroom, the bright eyed professor grinning happily at his friend as he claps him on the back.

“You ready, Joon?” He asked, making Namjoon suck in a harsh breath.

“Truthfully?” He sighed. “No.”

The man’s face falls at that, his head cocked to the side as he shot his friend a concerned look.

“What do you mean ‘no’, Joon?”

“I feel like I’m lying to them, Seokjin,” Namjoon huffed. “I’ve have writer’s block for the past year, I haven’t been able to write anything -- and you want me to give an inspiring speech to these kids who could probably teach me a thing or two.”

Seokjin rolled his eyes at his friend’s words, the man shaking his head as he gripped Namjoon’s shoulders.

“Listen to me, Joon,” he said, his gaze piercing. “I don’t want you to think that you have to preach that the world of writing and becoming an author is easy or that it’s a breeze. I invited you here because I know that you’re the one person who will inform them of, not only the good things, but the struggles as well. Writer’s block is something that everyone will come across at least once or twice in their lives, Joon, and I want them to realize that that’s okay. I want you to be honest with them, I want you to not hold back.”

Namjoon pursed his lips, still hesitant.

“Isn’t that kind of discouraging them?”

Seokjin shook his head.

“Absolutely not,” he denied. “It’s setting them up for the reality of the situation. You can’t expect to just pump out novels constantly - there’s a lot of work that goes into it, and sometimes it isn’t pretty. I don’t want them to go in with high expectations only to end up disappointed.”

You mean like I did... Namjoon thinks to himself.

Letting out another sigh, Namjoon’s shoulders slump in defeat, a moment of silence slipping past the pair before the author nodded his head, reluctantly agreeing to go through with the lecture. Seokjin beamed with delight before he gives his friend an encouraging pat on his back.

“You’re gonna be great, Namjoon,” Seokjin affirmed. “I’ll be by your side if you need me to fill in anything you can’t.”

Opening the door to the classroom, Seokjin gestured for Namjoon to walk in first before he followed his friend inside. The daunting number of students has Namjoon swallowing the lump that formed in his throat as he tries to hurriedly collect himself. Seokjin plops down comfortably onto his chair, his eyes motioning for the author to take his place at the front, before Namjoon slowly treaded to the front. The curious glances of the students doesn’t help his cause as he anxiously taps his fingers against the desk.

“Hello everyone,” he said, voice slightly unsteady. “Some of you may know me, others may not, but I go by the name of Kim Namjoon. I’m not sure what my friend, Seokjin, might have said about me beforehand but I’m a published author. I’ve written three novels, all bestsellers -- not that that matters or anything.”

A nervous chuckle escaped the author as his gaze shifted around the room, a sheepish hand rubbing the back of his neck as he cleared his throat.

“You know -- not too long ago, I was in the same position as you. I was nineteen when my first novel was published, and I can honestly say that it was the best time of my life. When you spend most days and nights working on something consistently, it’s always nice to have your efforts acknowledged, right? To say I was over the moon when my book got picked up would be an understatement -- but I’m not here to talk about my own personal accomplishments.”

Taking a step closer to the students, Namjoon’s gaze turns fierce, his posture straightening as he glanced around the room.

“As you all know, it’s not easy to come up with a firm idea or plot to run with all the way through. If any of you are like me, you’ll most likely trash any kind of idea that you think isn’t good enough or that won’t capture an audience -- and while that is what you have to take into consideration, I want to make it clear that, at the end of the day, it’s what you want when it comes to your writing. Sure, the public’s opinion matters and sure the critics can make your break you, but you will never get anywhere unless you fail at least once.”

The clearing of a throat echoed around the room and Namjoon’s gaze falls on a burly student with his hand half raised.

“Have you ever failed, sir?” He asked, making Namjoon’s eyebrows shoot upwards in surprise. “I mean -- no offense to you or anything --”

“None taken,” the author chuckled. “If I’m being honest… It took me quite some time to get my first novel published. Like I said, I was nineteen when someone finally decided to pick it up, but I finished it when I was eighteen, barely done my first year of college. Not many publishers want to take a chance on young kids who think they’re the next best thing.”

A hollow laugh escaped the man as he shook his head.

“I was lucky enough to have someone take the chance on me, but that’s only because I was headstrong, not willing to give up -- and that’s what I want to stress to all of you. Just because someone turns you down or tells you that you’re not good enough, I want all of you to keep pushing. Perseverance is something that is imminent in a field like this; if you really want it, prove it.”

The student nods in acknowledgement, silently appreciative of the man’s advice as he sunk back into his seat, intent on listening.

“I’m not here to preach, honestly, nor am I here to try and discourage you from evolving and moving up the ladder to becoming a published author. I’m just a firm believer in tough love, I don’t want any of you going in with these unrealistic expectations of the writing world, thinking that it’s easy breezy, when - in fact - it’s the hardest industry to crack.”

Seokjin nodded in silent agreement from behind the desk, his gaze locked on his friend as he ushered the author to go on.

“There are so many factors that go into writing something, let alone a novel. Not only do you have to be inspired to write something, you have to take into account how the flow of the message is, how the readers are going to relate to the characters, and how the whole plot is going to play out. You can have a beginning, middle, and end, but it’s how it’s delivered that really makes the story. Sometimes there are people who put too much in the middle and end up cramming nothing but nonsense in the end, or there are people who don’t exactly specify anything from the beginning to the climax of the book and it just gets so confusing and complicated that it makes readers lose interest. It’s really a tedious job, but I’m going to lie -- it’s stressful.”

As Namjoon drawled on about the pros and cons of the writing world, you can’t help but find yourself completely enthralled by him. The way he spoke, the way he worded his lecture, the intelligence that rolled off of him was inspiring in itself, and you were hooked from the first word he uttered. Your gaze scanned along his face, your eyes drinking in every detail and feature on it, silently memorizing it as he walked around the front of the room. From beside you, Hana gently nudged your side, your gaze curiously landing on hers as she smirked.

“He’s quite the looker, isn’t he?” She giggled quietly, making you nod.

“That’s for sure,” you murmured.

Almost as if he had heard your voice, his gaze landed on your face and you felt your breath hitch momentarily. A small silence falls over the classroom as the author holds your gaze, an eyebrow quirking in question, before he’s opening his arms and gesturing towards the whole class.

“Any questions?” He asked. “I’m willing to answer anything.”

As if someone had pressed a button to activate the students, dozens of hands rose up high into the air, Namjoon chuckling at the response before he starts calling on people.

You sit quietly in your chair, listening to the different questions being asked, and while you had some of your own, you opted to stay quiet.

Being an aspiring author, it certainly was a bit discouraging. While you had many ideas and plots brewing within the back of your mind, you never knew how to start them or even had a clue on how to bring them to life on paper. Professor Kim had always praised your papers in class, admiring your thought process and the way you had laid out your ideas and rebuttals for term papers, research papers, and essays. Those had all come naturally to you, it was when you had to come up with a plot or idea yourself that you didn’t know where to begin. There were so many things that you had wanted to say but trying to find the words was the hardest part.

You were constantly inspired -- but you didn’t know how to act on it.

As Namjoon spoke, Seokjin (who was perched behind his friend at the desk), leaned forward to gain the author’s attention.

“Joon,” he called out, making the other man turn around to look at him. “The other day one of my students, (Y/N), was asking about writer’s block…”

You felt your breath hitch at the sound of your name, all of your classmates eyes finding your face and you suddenly felt the urge to slide down and hide.

“Is there anything you could touch on about that?”

Namjoon stands still for a moment, his teeth gently tugging at the flesh of his lip as he tries to find the right words to say.

“Writer’s block…” He murmured, turning back to the class. “Like I said before, it’s inevitable to not come across it at least once in your lives. For me -- that period of time is right now. For the past year, I’ve been trying to find that spark of inspiration that can help me write another novel… And while it’s taking me quite a long time, I’m certain that my muse will come to me eventually. It’s nothing to fret over, though it is a pain in the ass, but it will all work out in the end.”

Seokjin nodded, content with his friend’s answer.

As the class drew to a close, the professor stood up to take stand next to his best friend. A gentle, friendly hand is placed on the author’s shoulder which makes Namjoon turn towards his friend.

“Thank you for coming in today, Namjoon,” Seokjin grinned. “Both my students and I appreciate it.”

Despite his anxious start, Namjoon was now at ease, a warm smile painted across his plump lips as he gazed around the room. The looks on the students’ faces made him feel more relaxed, especially knowing that they had feared the same things he had when he was in their position. It was endearing, really, especially when they had all personally thanked him after class.

As the group filed out one by one, Seokjin’s eyes followed each and every one before they landed on the one person he wanted to pull aside personally -- you.

“(Y/N),” he called out, making you freeze momentarily. “Can you come here please?”

Hana glances cautiously at the scene before she pats you reassuringly on your back and walks out. Despite the instant panic that flared up inside of you, you made your way towards where your professor stood with his friend. Adjusting the bag on your shoulder, you stand in front of the pair, a slight feeling of intimidation emitting off of them as Seokjin smiled warmly.

“Namjoon, this is (Y/N),” he introduced, making the authors gaze fall on you. “While I personally don’t like to single out students because I think they’re all brilliant, I will admit that (Y/N) has something special when it comes to her writing.”

Your face flushed at his words, Namjoon’s eyebrows shooting upwards as an impressed look crossed his features.

“Oh really?” He asked.

“Absolutely,” Seokjin affirmed. “I haven’t read anything that’s moved me in a while but her writing managed to do that. I have a few of her essays and papers if you would like to read some?”

Shock crossed your features at your professor's words, your jaw clenching as you fight to let it drop open.

“You really don’t have to, profess --”

“Oh, I insist, (Y/N),” Seokjin waved his hand dismissively before turning towards his friend. “You won’t be disappointed, Joon. I promise.”

Your face is flushed bright red as you watch your professor walk to his desk to scramble around to find your papers. The muted sound of rummaging around becomes static noise as your gaze falls on Namjoon, your heart speeding up when you met his eyes. His plump lips are parted as he scanned your face, a glint of intrigue hinting that he wanted to say something, and you held your breath as he spoke.

“This might come off pretentious,” he said, sheepishly. “But have you read my novels?”

Biting down on your lip, you guiltily look down at the ground as you shake your head.

“I actually haven’t gotten around to that yet,” you admitted. “I’ve been so preoccupied with getting my things done for school that I haven’t gotten to read anything new since I started college.”

Namjoon nodded, a quiet ‘ah’ escaping him.

“I understand,” he smiled. “It’s hard to be able to do anything remotely on your own will when you’re swarmed with work and papers.”

At that moment Seokjin pops up from the desk, a handful of papers in his hands as he smiled brightly.

“Found them!”

Both you and Namjoon turned to see your professor scrambling to his feet before he’s handing the stack of papers to his friend, which the author graciously takes from him.

“I’ll make sure to read through these tonight,” the author grinned, his gaze falling back onto you. “Hopefully we can talk again soon?”

You flush once again, your head nodding as you try to find your words.

“Y-yeah,” you agreed. “We’ll talk soon.”

Offering you a wide, dimpled grin, Namjoon nodded before he said goodbye, your eyes following his stature all the way out the door as your mind tries to comprehend what in the hell just happened.

“Wait, he gave him your papers?!”

Hana’s mouth is slacked in shock as she stared, completely flabbergasted, as you recall the events to her. A humble shrug of your shoulders makes her let out a squeal of excitement, her hand reaching over the table to grab yours as she grips it happily.

“(Y/N) that’s awesome!” She said, grinning widely. “That means a bestselling author is going to read your stuff! Do you understand how many doors this could open for you?!”

You scoffed at that, the cynical side of you coming to light as you deny any sort of recognition that you could gain from this.

“I highly doubt that, Han,” you retorted. “If anything, he’s going to put them aside and never read them. I mean, would you want to read someone’s papers who has yet to read your own novels?”

Hana rolled her eyes at your words.

“Not everyone is able to read every single novel that’s published, (Y/N), and you said yourself that he understood --”

“He could’ve just been saying that,” you said, cutting her off. “He probably didn’t want to be rude.”

Hana shook her head as she leaned back against the booth, her hand leaving yours as she gripped her coffee cup.

“I’m just saying,” she began. “Anyone who’s actually willing to take the papers and offers to read them instead of blatantly turning them down speaks volumes to me.”

Hana smirked then, her gaze turning smug as she glanced at you.

“Besides,” she chuckled. “He’s not exactly the most horrible looking guy, (Y/N). Maybe he thought you were cute.”

A loud laugh escaped you, your head tilting back as you registered her words. That definitely was not a possibility in your case. What successful author would want anything to do with a college student who is barely scraping by?

“You’re funny, Han,” you laughed. “That would never happen.”

Hana whined, a pout crossing her lips as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“It is possible!” She cried. “I mean -- look at you! You’re fucking beautiful!”

Shaking your head, you dismiss her words as you reach for your coffee cup to take a sip, the conversation between the two of you dropping completely.

The harsh burn of whiskey runs down the column of Namjoon’s throat as he downs the rest of his glass, his eyes burning holes into the screen in front of him. A blank document stares back at him, the blinking cursor taunting him each time it animates. It’s half past one in the morning and Namjoon can feel the frustration begin to overflow as he growled lowly before slamming the lid of the laptop down.

This was his nightly routine lately; staring angrily at the blank document that taunted and tortured him, cackling that he can’t write anything. Every time he thought he had something, the moment he would begin to type, the thought was gone and replaced with the block that has been invading his brain for the past year. It’s frustrating, it’s annoying, and Namjoon has had enough of it.

Reaching to the side of his desk, he grabs the bottle of whiskey and fills his glass back up, the buzz from the alcohol making the man’s body begin to heat up as he chugs down another glass. The silence in his apartment is heavy, a loneliness basking from it as he looks around the dimly lit study. Papers are scattered around him, some crumpled and balled up while others are torn, and Namjoon makes a mental note to find the will to clean up soon. His eyes cast towards the other papers littered next to his laptop, curiosity getting the best of him when he sees a name scribbled at the top of one of the papers; (Y/N).

Pushing his books to the side, he reaches for the papers given to him earlier, the man completely intrigued by the writing his best friend had recommended for him to read. The perfect marks at the top tells him that Seokjin really did appreciate this piece, that it was good enough to receive not only an A+ but also his friend’s approval -- which was hard to come by. Seokjin was tough on his students, he wanted them to be the best they could be, so he wasn’t going to give just anyone a remarkable grade.

Namjoon plucks through the different titles; a term paper, a research paper on the fundamentals of writing, another term paper, and a story -- but it piques the author’s interest.

The Pros and Cons of Falling In Love.

Tossing the other papers to the side, Namjoon’s gaze falls on the cover page of the story, his eyebrow quirking in question as he scanned the page. There were several paged attached - 250 to be exact - and he couldn’t deny the curiosity that swirled within him as he opened to the first page.

Pro #1: The electric shock of the first meeting.

It’s the feeling of one electric current surging through another. It’s the butterflies that erupt in the pit of your stomach the moment skin to skin contact is initiated, the fastening of one’s heartbeat the moment their eyes meet the other’s. It’s a mutual attraction, a sudden nervousness that you’re going to fuck up as soon as you open your mouth -- but then the calmness steps in. The easiness of talking to someone, of getting to know the stranger that you had only met moments before. The attraction is locked in and ready to move to the second step, or in this case…

Pro #2: The pure excitement and nervousness of the first date.

He swore that he was only going to read a little bit of it, but by the third paragraph, Namjoon was completely hooked. His eyes drink in the words, his heart feels the emotions poured into the characters, and by the time he reaches the climax of the story, there’s tears streaming down his face as the love story unfolds before his eyes. He can feel the love between them, the pain of heartbreak, the desperation of not wanting to lose the other person -- he’s moved, so incredibly moved, and he’s sobbing by the last page. The vulnerability that’s portrayed from both sides is almost too much for him, the raw emotion from the words scattered on the page has Namjoon applauding the efforts of your writing.

It’s half past three in the morning when he finally falls asleep, tears dried on his cheeks as his empty glass sits next to him, your story still embedded in his mind as he’s lulled off to sleep.

Wednesday mornings were always uneventful for Seokjin. His classes didn’t start until the late afternoon which left him some much relaxation time in the early morning hours. Although he didn’t have to be in his classroom until about eleven, he still made a point to show up between eight and nine, opting to use that time to grade papers that he had left until last minute. In the solstice of his classroom he lets himself get swept up with the soft hum of his stereo, the music calming him down as he marked paper after paper. But today seemed to be a different day compared to the others.

As Seokjin was wafting through the different essays, the door to his classroom burst open and he’s met with a disheveled Namjoon, the former’s eyes widening in alarm as he straightens up in his seat while his friend walks towards him. Seokjin opens his mouth to say something when Namjoon plops down a paper in front of him, his gaze falling on the large stack before he catches sight of the title. A small smirk formed on the man’s lips as he casted a knowing glance towards his friend, amusement clouding his features as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“So you read it, huh?”

There’s a fierce look in Namjoon’s eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line as he points at the stack.

“She needs to publish this,” he breathed. “I -- I honestly have no words as to how fucking incredible this is.”

Seokjin chuckled at his friend’s state, the man completely amused at his reaction.

“I’ve been telling her that for months, Joon. She won’t do it.”

“Why not?!” He asked incredulously. “This isn’t just writing, Seokjin, this is fucking art! I don’t think I’ve ever read a story that has made me feel this way in such a long time.”

Seokjin stayed quiet, instead opting to watch his friend frantically speak and drone on about your paper, his amusement never faltering.

“Honestly, I can’t believe that a college student wrote this. It’s beautifully written, you can feel the emotions from the characters, and it leaves you wanting more with every god damned chapter! How does she not want to publish this?!”

“She doesn’t think it’s good enough.”

Namjoon blanched at that, his mouth falling open as his eyes widened in disbelief.

“What?!” He shouted. “How in the hell does she not think it’s good enough?! I mean -- there are a few minor things that can be fixed but other than that it’s pure perfection!”

Seokjin’s smirk widened as he leaned back into his chair, another chuckle escaping him as he shook his head at his friend.

“Then tell her that, not me.”

Namjoon frowned, his pacing coming to a stop.

“I don’t know where she is or how I can reach her -- and besides, isn’t it a little weird if a complete stranger is looking for her?”

“You’re not a complete stranger,” Seokjin dismissed. “She already knows that you were supposed to read her stuff, so isn’t it fair to her that you tell her directly what you think of her writing? Don’t you think she deserves that?”

“I mean -- I guess --”

“She works in the school library every Wednesday, I’m sure she’s there now.”

Seokjin didn’t even time to blink before Namjoon was out the door, his head shaking with amusement at his friend, all-the-while hiding his secret knowing grin.

The quiet solstice of the library is something that always seemed to relax you, the aura sending an almost euphoric feeling aflame inside of you -- though that could just be because you’re surrounded by the plethora of books, which was another form of relaxation for you. It was the feeling of having a book in your hands, the smell of the pages, the mental stimulation sending you into a euphoric bliss. Each and every book that lined the shelves were different; though some had similar plotlines, the story contained within the pages were completely different -- and that is what set them apart from everything else in your life. You lived a predictable life, every move or thought that someone made or had was something that you could point out before they had even done it. With books, every page had you itching to know more. You clung to every tidbit of information, forming hypotheses and ideas that could possibly come next as you turn the page. It kept you on the edge of your seat -- and you loved it.

The tips of your fingertips run along the spine of the books littered along the bookshelves, your gaze falling on every title as you searched for a new book to read. As the second semester dwindled down and Christmas break approaches, you can feel the stress begin to simmer, your free time opening up right before your eyes. As you begin to lose yourself in your thoughts, your subconscious had seemingly taken you towards the ‘K’ section of the books -- low and behold, your fingers had landed on the author of the books you had never gotten around to read.

Kim Namjoon.

Curiosity mixed with genuine interest runs through you as you reached up to grab the first book that had his name on it; The Fundamentals of Life. Chuckling quietly to yourself, you turn the book over to read the synopsis on the back cover, your eyebrows raising in surprise at the topic of the book.

From the ages of five to twenty-five we’re taught to go to school, to find something that speaks out to us, to reach for the stars and achieve that goal we’ve kept hidden away for so long. Life is one big lottery game to some, a challenge for others, but it’s what keeps us going, and like everything else in this world, it’s got some rules and regulations that we’ve somehow adapted into our everyday lives -- and those rules are called ‘The Fundamentals of Life’.

You were so wrapped up reading the synopsis that you didn’t realize the presence that stood by until you saw a pair of black boots standing next to you, your head snapping up to catch sight of the smiling face of the author of the book himself. His wide dimpled smile made your face flush slightly, more-so because of the fact that you were reading about his book, and you bashfully slide the book back onto the shelf before you’re turning back towards the man.

“Sorry,” you apologized, grinning sheepishly. “Can I help you with something?”

Namjoon nodded, the smile never faltering from his face.

“Yes, actually,” he rubbed the back of his neck as his gaze fell everywhere but on you. “I was wondering if we could talk about ‘The Pros and Cons of Falling in Love’?”

Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach at his words, panic beginning to rush through you as you try to find the words to say.

He hated my story… Oh shit, am I ready for this criticism?

“I-- I, uh, yeah --” You stuttered out, deflecting around him as you went to find a table to sit down at. “We can sit here.”

Namjoon followed quietly, your story still clutched tightly in his hands as he watched you sit down at one of the tables in the back corner of the room. Much to your surprise, you took the seat next to you instead of across from you -- though that might have been because he didn’t want to talk too loud and disturb the others who were studying for their finals.

As he sets your paper down onto the table, you can’t help but let the apprehension grow, your hands nervously twisting in your lap as your gaze dropped to the floor, not daring to look at him.

“So, uh -- what did you thi --”

“I think you’re brilliant.”

Your head snapped up at that.

“W- what?!”

Namjoon’s smile transitioned into a wide grin when he catches sight of your shocked expression, a quiet chuckle escaping him as he nodded.

“You’re brilliant, (Y/N),” he reaffirmed. “I was just speaking to Seokjin about this but I honestly, genuinely, haven’t read anything that has had the affect on me like your story has in a long time. The way you depict the character’s emotions, the way you write -- it’s fucking beautiful, (Y/N).”

Your mouth had fallen open slightly by this point, your mind completely flabbergasted that a fucking bestselling author was praising your work.

“I -- wow,” you breathed out. “Thank you.”

“No -- thank you, (Y/N),” Namjoon said, gently placing a hand on your arm. “You opened my eyes to a completely new world, something that I - myself - have yet to, uh, experience.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at his words, confusion swirling across your features as your head cocks to the side.

“What do you mean?” You asked quietly.

“While I did come here to tell you how much I enjoyed your book, I also came here to ask you a -- um -- rather personal question…”

You stayed silent, nodding for him to go on.

“I’ve never been in love,” he confessed. “And from the sound of your story, it seems as if you have… And I was wondering if you could -- uh -- teach me or tell me what it’s like when you are in love?”

Another wave of shock crosses you as Namjoon looked down towards the floor, subtle shame and embarrassment running through the man as he avoided your eyes. Your eyes scanned over him as he looked away from you, your gaze drinking him in, before you’re letting out a quiet sigh.

“I’ll do it,” you murmured, making Namjoon instantly lift his head, a bright smile painted across his plump lips as he looked at you.

“Really?” He asked, making you nod.

“It’s a tricky subject,” you pursed your lips. “But everyone deserves to experience -- or at least get to know -- what real love is.”

Namjoon had never been more grateful.

Pro #1: The Electric Shock of the First Meeting

You could’ve never been prepared for the loud shriek that had escaped Hana the moment you told her what was going on, the bubbly blonde all but tackling you with a hug out of happiness.

“That’s amazing!” She squealed, making you groan.

“Han, you’re gonna pop my eardrum --”

“I can’t believe you and the hottie author are going to be seeing each other!”

“Don’t say it like that, it sounds like we’re dating --”

“But you practically are!” She squealed once again, making you wince with pain. “He asked you about love, (Y/N)! Of all things -- love!”

You inwardly groaned at her words, your hands coming up so you can rub your temples out of frustration.

“He’s never experienced it before, Han. He deserves to at least know about it.”

The wide grin on the blonde’s face doesn’t falter as she plops down onto the grass next to you.

“But still!” She beamed. “He asked you!”

You shook your head, denying any romantic affiliation she had conjured up in her brain as you laid down, your back against the crisp grass as you gazed up at the clear blue sky. Your mind was racing as Hana’s words finally registered in your head, the damage of the whole situation finally beginning to settle within you.

What if I fall for him during this whole thing? You thought to yourself. What if he falls for me? Is this considered a date? Why do Hana’s words keep getting the best of me, god dammit.

Closing your eyes, you cleared your mind of all the thoughts that added to your stress, all-the-while secretly hoping that at least one of them comes true…

Pro #2: The Pure Excitement and Nervousness of the First Date.

Your fingers tap against the cover of the coffee cup, nervousness filled your body as your gaze scanned the quaint shop. You were supposed to meet Namjoon here, the first telling of the story being today, but he was ten minutes late. You weren’t anxious about him not showing up, in fact you had secretly hoped that he would forget about it -- not that you didn’t want to help with… whatever this was, it was just… Namjoon is a published author. He’s received more awards for his works than you could ever dream of, he’s highly intelligent, and he just reeks of supremacy of this field. Not to mention he wasn’t bad looking -- and by that you meant you had to keep yourself from swooning over him every god damned time he walked through that door.

Before you had personally met him, you could recall a few times when Professor Kim had brought up the author in one of his lectures. He always talked about his friend with such respect and admiration, it was almost cute, honestly. There was a special brotherhood bond between the two of them that you couldn’t help but admire. You had always assumed that Seokjin had just hyped him up, that he really wasn’t as great as he was made out to be, but the moment he opened his mouth and spoke that day in class, you were proven to be wrong -- he was more.

While you hadn’t known him that long -- keep in mind, it’s only been a few days -- there are just certain people who come into your life and make a strong impact in such a small amount of time; and Namjoon is one of them.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t noticed the chair in front of you being pulled out from the table, the bleached blonde man smiling brightly at you from across the table. It wasn’t until he was snapping his fingers in front of your face did you finally snap out of it, a deep red blush flushing across your cheeks as your gaze settled on him.

“Sorry,” you apologized. “I was caught up in my thoughts…”

Namjoon hummed softly, his own coffee cup nestled between his hands as he sent you a curious glance.

“What were you thinking about?”

You.

“Just about the things I should tell you,” you lied, deflecting your gaze downwards towards the table before you’re lifting your coffee cup to your lips. The burn of the drink serves as punishment for your lie.

“We don’t have to get into that right away, you know,” he mused. “I’d like for us to get to know each other first -- just so we can get a fair judgment on each other’s character.”

You quirked an eyebrow at his words, somewhat surprised by his forwardness.

“We could definitely do that,” you agreed. “Would you like to go first?”

Namjoon grinned, his long slender fingers tapping against his cup in an unknown rhythm.

“Well, as you know, my name is Kim Namjoon,” he began. “I was born in Ilsan, I grew up with my mother. My father died when I was young so I don’t really have much recollection of him. For as long as I could remember, I’ve always wanted to be a writer. My mother would always read books to me when I was younger so I’ve constantly had different pieces of literature in my life, which is probably what sparked my love for reading in general. I was too preoccupied in school to actually pay attention to those around me, meaning I’ve pretty much lived a life of solitude -- apart from Seokjin, of course. I met him when I was a freshman in high school and haven’t been able to get rid of him since.”

A deep chuckle escaped the author as he shook his head at the thought of his friend.

“I wouldn’t have it any either way, though. Aside from my mother, he’s been an incredible support system for me. But, anyways -- my favorite color is black, my favorite food is meat - literally any and all kinds - and, this may be shocking to you, but I’m a fan of rap music.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, your eyebrows shooting upwards in surprise as you grinned widely.

“Rap music, huh?” You asked. “If you don’t mind me asking, why is that?”

Namjoon shrugged nonchalantly as he lifted his cup to his lips to take a sip.

“Much like books, rap - to me - tells a story. Granted, most mainstream rap isn’t exactly the most, uh, literary based, but there certainly are a handful of rappers who really know how to tell their own personal story through their lyrics. To me, there is nothing better than listening to someone who has passion within the field they work in, and most rappers definitely accentuate that with their words -- which I find quite commendable.”

An impressed look flashes on your features as he speaks, your head nodding in acknowledgement as you take a sip of your coffee.

“Wow,” you said quietly. “That’s actually quite impressive, if I’m being honest.”

The grin never leaves Namjoon’s face as he leans forward to rest his arms on the table, his gaze locked on yours as he nods towards you.

“Your turn.”

You blink as you stared at him, the proximity of him making your breath hitch in your throat and you’re positive that he’s well aware of the affect he has on you -- especially when you can feel your cheeks begin to heat up.

“I -- uh, well I’m (Y/N),” you stuttered. “There really isn’t much to me, if I’m being honest. I grew up just like everyone else -- though, like you, I’ve taken a liking to books much more than other people have. My parents were always busy so they didn’t really have the time to read me books but that didn’t stop me from reading them myself. My grandfather actually bought me my first book -- The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. He told me that that was his favorite book growing up and he passed it down to me in hopes that I would like it as much as he did, needless to say, I was pretty much obsessed with it.”

A quiet laugh escaped you at the recollection of the memory.

“I carried that book everywhere; at school, at the store, to family parties. It never left my sight,” you paused, your gaze dropping to look down at the table as you hooked a piece of your hair behind your ear. “He passed away about a year before I started college, but before he did, he told me to pursue the one thing that made me the happiest it could. When I was younger, I had a journal -- but I wouldn’t write diary entries or anything like that, the book was actually for me to be able to write down poems. My mother is actually a published author, she has had many of her poems published and has also won a few awards for it, as well. I guess it runs in my family but I believe that my love for writing stems from my own inspirations and genuine intrigue for the field. And - I guess - I would like to be a published author one day but as for right now, I enjoy writing for me.”

Namjoon let a smile grace his lips, a bright twinkle in his eye as he looked at you.

“That’s what makes you special,” he muttered. “When you’re able to write for yourself, you know that this field was made for you.”

“You think so?” You asked quietly, making Namjoon nod.

“Absolutely,” he affirmed. “It takes a whole lot to be able to write for someone else, but when it comes to writing for yourself, that’s true passion.”

Silence falls between the pair of you as you both divert your gazes towards something else, not having the courage to look into one another’s eyes. You can feel your heart beating rapidly in your chest, Namjoon’s words beginning to resonate in your brain, and the blush from earlier begins to cascade along your cheeks once again as you silently lift your cup to take a sip. The warmth of the coffee shop helps set you at ease, the faint smell of the coffee beans almost making you feel at home, and you can’t help but look around at the other customers.

Namjoon, on the other hand, was lost in his thoughts.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can spot the distant look on the author’s face. His plump lips are pressed into a thin line, gaze casted downwards towards the floor, and his fingers are fumbling with the cardboard surrounding his cup. He’s quiet, almost too quiet, and you’re certain that he’s going to say something -- and he does.

“You know,” he began quietly, eyes still focused on the ground. “I’ve been on a few dates before. I’ve been in the company of quite a few people, but none of them ever really stood out to me.”

You stay quiet, your silence urging him to go on.

“I think my main problem is that I crave too much mental stimulation,” he admitted. “I know everyone bases their ideal types on looks and such, but I honestly couldn’t care less about that. All I want is to have someone who can understand how I’m feeling and to be able to talk about the things I love most. Sure, it’s nice to just have someone by your side, but I’m the type of person who needs to be able to have an intelligent conversation with a partner.”

You nodded in agreement, a heavy sigh falling from your lips.

“I’m the same way,” you said quietly. “My last boyfriend, Jace -- the one who I wrote the story about, he was fun -- not that there’s anything wrong with that. But the more I spent time with him, the more I realized that we were two completely different people. He was more about living the adventures of life; not being one to deal with responsibilities, not having a care in the world, always making impulsive decisions. He was a free spirit. For the majority of the time, he brought me out of my shell and showed me so many things that I had missed out on, but at the end of the day, he wasn’t the one for me. We went our separate ways after high school but there was a moment in time when I was in love with him. I don’t regret any of it, to be honest, I just wish I had known that he wasn’t the one for me earlier on… That way it wouldn’t have hurt as much as it did when we parted ways.”

Namjoon hummed softly, his gaze finally lifting from the ground to shyly meet yours.

“Do you think I’ll ever be able to experience love?”

You don’t hesitate to answer.

“Absolutely.”

Whenever someone is called to see the professor after class, the worst is always assumed. While you knew that you were one of his favorite students, you still couldn’t help but worry when Professor Kim called your name before you could walk out of the door after class, a striking fear of being in trouble and losing your scholarship a prominent thought in your mind. But Seokjin didn’t harbor any sign of being mad; in fact, he wore a bright grin on his face as he sat comfortably in his chair.

“Miss (Y/N),” he greeted brightly. “How are you doing, is everything going well?”

Adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder, you nodded curtly.

“Yes, everything is fine,” you said meekly. Seokjin chuckled at the tone of your voice, his hand gesturing towards one of the seats.

“Don’t worry, dear, you’re not in trouble. Have a seat, I want to talk to you about something.”

Timidly you shuffle to the seat he pointed towards, your bag falling to the ground as you nervously twiddle your thumbs in your lap. Seokjin’s smile never faltered as he leaned forward in his desk, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Namjoon came to me yesterday looking for you,” you sucked in a breath, awaiting his next words. “Did you speak to him?”

You nodded. “Yes, he met me in the library.”

Seokjin beamed.

“Good, good!” He said happily. “He was genuinely moved by your story, (Y/N). I don’t think I’ve seen him that happy about a piece of literature in a long while, it was definitely a sight to see.”

A wave of heat rushes to your cheeks at his words as you bashfully looked down at the desk.

“Thank you, sir,” you murmured, causing Seokjin to laugh.

“Call me Seokjin, dear. After class is over, the formalities are over and done with,” a smug smirk formed on his lips then. “Besides, I think you’ve made my friend quite happy, and any friend of his is a friend of mine.”

You swallowed the lump that had formed in the back of your throat before giving him another curt nod. The mischievous glint doesn’t escape Seokjin’s eyes as he lets out a soft chuckle, his finger pointing towards you.

“You know,” he mused. “I think both you and Namjoon would make a great pair. There are certain traits that the two of you share, and though it might just be my wishful thinking, I think you could both benefit something from one another.”

His words stunned you to silence; you blink once, twice, a third time, before you’re sputtering nonsense.

“I -- Sir --”

“It’s alright, (Y/N),” he grinned. “Things like this take time so you can’t deny anything yet. But if the two of you keep hanging out at that coffee shop --” he paused, sending you a knowing smile. “Something great can come of it.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything, even as he dismissed you the words he had said still resonated deep within your brain. You didn’t believe him, hell -- you had just met the guy! -- but you also couldn’t dismiss the way your heart sped up at the thought of it.

Heaving a deep sigh, you make your way out of the building, Seokjin’s words still rumbling about in your mind.

“So do you have writer’s block too?”

Your gaze lands on Namjoon who’s sat across from you, his coffee cup between his hands as he takes a sip. You shook your head, brushing a piece of hair out of your face as you lean back.

“Actually, I don’t,” you laughed quietly. “I think I have reverse writer’s block, to be honest.”

The man’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion.

“Reverse writer’s block…?”

“I have ideas and a bunch of inspiration to write something but as soon as I got to type, I can’t figure out how to word it. I try and try again but nothing is ever good enough for me.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “So you know what you want to write about but you can’t find a way to bring it to life?”

“Exactly.”

Namjoon pursed his lips, his fingers idly drumming against the table as he wracked his brain for any advice he could give.

“Have you ever tried to actually think about the plot?”

Your head cocked to side, trying to decipher what he meant.

“Meaning…?”

“When I wrote my first novel, I played out the whole story in my head. It’s sort of like a movie; you imagine the characters coming to life and you watch them act out every scene you have plotted. That way you can figure out what you want to put in the beginning, the turning point, and the ending.”

You stared blankly at him, your hand idly clutching your cup as you begin to nod.

“That’s… brilliant actually.”

Namjoon grinned, a sheepish shrug of his shoulders turning the man bashful.

“It’s just something that helps me,” he admitted. “I don’t suppose you’d know any advice for writer’s block?”

“I probably know as much as you do,” you laughed. “But we’ll find something that’ll inspire you. I’m sure of it.”

You watch as he sighs, your eyes raking over his face as he lifts the coffee cup to his lips, Seokjin’s words suddenly floating back into your mind as you look at the author. Just the sight of him was enough to get your heart racing, the organ pumping loudly in your ears as it beats rapidly. The increase in speed has you shifting uncomfortably in your seat, your mind not ready to admit any sort of attraction you had towards this man. Instead you take a hasty sip of your coffee, silently hoping this damned feeling goes away.

Con #3: Denial of Feelings

“This is so exciting!”

Hana’s squeals make you instinctively cover your ears as you grimaced at the high pitched noise.

“Han please --”

“No, I will not quiet down, (Y/N)!” She shrieked. “He’s so smitten with you! How are you not freaking out right now?!”

You shrugged, even though you felt your heart leap at her words.

“It’s not like that,” you deadpanned. “It’s strictly professional between us.”

Hana scoffed at your words, her eyes rolling as she sends you a look of disbelief.

“Bullshit!” She laughed. “What the two of you talk about - dating and such - is certainly not professional. Especially when he’s opening up to about his ex flames or whatever they are. He likes you, (Y/N). Just face it.”

Running a hand over your face, you can’t help but let out a groan as you faceplant onto your bed. You could already feel a headache coming on - whether that was from thinking about the situation you were currently in or from the high volume of Hana’s shrieks, you weren’t quite sure, but you knew you needed to sleep.

“(Y/N), if his best friend is literally pushing you in his direction and openly voicing his opinion that you’d make a great pair, it’s meant to be.”

You can’t help but snort at that, your head lifting from the bed as you shoot her a dismissive look.

“That tells me nothing, Han. One person’s opinion doesn’t determine fate’s course.”

Hana shrugs, the bubbly blonde sending you a knowing look as she climbs into her own bed.

“I’m just saying,” she mused. “You’ll see it eventually.”

Rolling your eyes, you drop your head back down onto your pillow.

“Whatever, Han.”

Pro #4: Getting to Know the Person on a Deeper Level

As the months droned on, you found yourself growing closer and closer with the author. The more you hung out with Namjoon, the more Seokjin’s words stuck in your mind. Every single look or gentle brush of a hand ignited something inside of you; you suppressed it, however, not making it known or noticeable to the author in fear that the feelings were not reciprocated -- and that was something you had always feared when it came to expressing your feelings. The worst thing in the world is having someone you deeply care about not give two shits about you.

You tried to keep your distance. Even when he had decided to invite you over to his place (which was, despite the mess, fucking beautiful) you kept your distance from him. Instead you focused your attention on the empty bottles of whiskey and crumpled up pieces of paper scattered around the living area. While others might have depicted this type of lifestyle as toxic, dangerous almost, you understood where the man was coming from. When you spend your life doing something that you genuinely love and cherish, all the while spending every waking minute working on something just as precious to you and that inspiration stops -- it’s not a fun feeling.

Those on the outside wouldn’t understand what it’s like to sit and wait for something to spark that inspiration back up, to sit and wait for what seems like a useless cause. Writer’s block is something that could make or break someone; you either keep going and try to find something to pique your interest or you give up on it entirely. Namjoon had mentioned in his lecture that what you need the most in an industry like the writing field is perseverance -- and he’s not wrong.

He’s never wrong...

The crisp autumn air whips past you as you quickly follow Namjoon down the path he had led you, your body shivering underneath the light jacket you had stupidly chosen to wear, all-the-while mentally cursing the author out for leading you to a place that nowhere near being heated. Dead leaves crunch beneath your feet as he reaches behind to grab your hand, successfully pulling you up to get to the spot that he had wanted to show you.

‘It’s my secret spot,’ he had said. ‘I go there when I’m at a loss for inspiration.’

You felt honored that he had wanted to take you there, especially since you had a spot of your own back home -- but not even that could’ve prepared you for the beauty that was placed in front of you.

As you reach the spot, you couldn’t help but inhale the salty air, the melodic sounds of the waves crashing against the shore instantly putting your mind at ease. The sand crunches soundly beneath your feet as you walk across the beach, your gaze set on the rising sun across the horizon. It was breathtakingly beautiful; the way the dark blue early morning sky ignites into vibrant pink and orange hues, almost as if the sky was on fire. It was calming, a serene sight to witness, and you can’t help but plop down onto the sand as you stare at the beauty unfold.

Namjoon lets out a quiet chuckle as he watched you sit on the sand, the author not far behind you. He rests his elbows on his legs as he stares ahead, a comfortable silence drifting between the pair of you as you stare at the colorful horizon. The colors reflected off of the crisp blue ocean, the three hues intermixing and creating one big colorful hue. It certainly was a sight to see.

“I found this place when I was writing my first novel,” Namjoon began quietly, eyes still trained on the horizon. “It was this exact spot that inspired me to write it; the story about a young boy finding his way through this crazy thing we called life. He often took it for granted, thinking that he was so much bigger than world, that he was destined for things greater than everyone else. Well… he was certainly proved wrong when he was able to witness something as magnificent as this.”

You hummed softly, shifting your position in order to find a more comfortable spot.

“I need to read that book,” you murmur, distracted by the view. Namjoon chuckled.

“Actually, it wasn’t the book I was talking about. That boy was me.”

You turned towards him at that, an eyebrow quirked upwards in question.

“But you just said --”

“I said this view is what inspired me to write, but what I said about the boy… The one I wrote about -- that was me.”

You stayed silent, waiting for him to go on.

“In my twenty-three years of living, there were so many things I had taken for granted. When I was younger, I thought I was the next best thing when it came to writing. I was beyond my years, as my teachers put it, and I let all of the praise and admiration get to my head. I was fueled by everyone’s fascination with -- not just me -- but my writing as well. I constantly attempted to outdo myself and, nine times out of ten, I managed to… But the more I locked myself up in my room and typed away at my laptop, the more I realized how fucked up it was that I let people get to me like that. Writing isn’t supposed to be a chore or a job, you’re not supposed to write because people or waiting and anticipating your next piece of work. Writing is supposed to be for yourself -- it’s supposed to be because you love it.”

Namjoon continues to stare ahead, his fingers twisting together as he lets out a humorless laugh.

“When I discovered this place, I realized that I had been doing it all for the wrong reasons. Sitting here on this beach, getting lost in my thoughts, it’s therapeutic to me. The serene setting, the peace and quiet… I always feel so inspired here -- and nowadays, it’s starting to feel like I’ve used up all of the magic it’s offered to me.”

“What makes you think that?” You asked quietly. Namjoon shrugged.

“I’ve been coming back here since the beginning of the year, which was when the writer’s block first happened. Each time I come I think that maybe - just maybe - this time it’ll lift, that I’ll be able to find that spark again. But it doesn’t happen.”

“That doesn’t mean this place has lost its magic, Joon,” you murmured. “Maybe you’ve grown used to this kind of inspiration. Maybe you need to find a new place, something that can offer you an entirely different scenario.”

Namjoon hums softly.

“Maybe…”

Another silence drifts through the air and you can’t help but lean over to him, your chin resting on his shoulder as you look up at his face. Namjoon peered down at you, a small smile gracing his lips - dimples prominent in his cheeks - and he lifts his arm so he can wrap it around your shoulders, effectively bringing you in closer towards him.

“You’ll find inspiration soon, Joonie. I’m sure of it.”

“Whatever you say, (Y/N).”

Con #1: Waiting Around for the Person to Call or Text

The next week was full of nothing but stress; day after day you were swarmed in books, empty coffee cups, and crumpled up pieces of paper as you try to cram for your midterms. Six finals, one term paper, and the urge to pull each strand of your hair out was enough to make your roommate schedule an intervention -- though you had heavily protested the idea of the moment she had brought it up. But here you were, sitting cross-legged on your bed with a carton of ice cream while The First Wives Club plays on the television.

Hana sits on the other side of the room on her bed, her eyes every so often shifting from the TV to you, a playful smirk painted on her lips as she leaned back against the headboard of her bed.

“How’s Namjoon?” She asked, quirking an eyebrow. You shrugged in response while shoving another spoonful of ice cream into your mouth.

“I don’t know,” you muttered. “Haven’t talked to him in a while.”

Hana looked at you incredulously, all-the-while shaking her head.

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

It does...

You frowned and turned your head to look at her, feigning a confused look.

“No..?” Your voice was soft, the fake confusion never faltering. “Why should it bother me? He’s busy.”

“But you guys are pretty much dating…” Rolling your eyes, you scoffed at her words.

“We’re not dating, Han,” you countered. “We’re just friends -- and even that is putting it loosely.”

Hana’s expression is unreadable, though her eyes tell another story.

“You do realize that he pretty much asked you to show him how to fall in love,” she pointed out. “Which means that, along the way, he’s going to end up falling in love with you.”

Her words make you choke on your ice cream, your eyes widening in shock as you look at her like she’s gone crazy.

“Woah, woah,” you coughed out. “That’s definitely not what I’m doing!”

Hana shook her head at you, a quiet laugh escaping her.

“Sure it’s not,” she replied sarcastically. “All I’m saying is that when you’re in situations like this, it’s very much likely for one person to fall for another.”

Yeah, I fell for him...

“And I’m saying that he’s definitely not going to fall for me, Han,” you retorted. “If anything, he’s already got someone in mind that he wants to fall in love with.”

“Yeah,” she paused. “It’s you,” she chuckled.

Rolling your eyes at her remark, you opened your mouth to defend yourself once more when the buzzing of your phone pulled your attention, your gaze locking on the screen as Namjoon’s name flashed.

“Speak of the devil,” you muttered, making Hana’s eyes widen as she clambered off of her bed and onto yours.

“See!” She shrieked, playfully hitting your arm. “Answer it!”

There’s always a moment of hesitance when it comes to answering phone-calls. It’s the nervous feeling in the pit of your stomach that automatically ignites whenever your ringtone goes off, a moment of panic that triggers in your brain because what the fuck am I supposed to say? But then it’s as if something clears out all of that negative energy and substitutes the panic for impulse -- which is what makes you press the green answer button.

“Hello?”

There’s a brief silence on the other line, but then Namjoon’s voice is filling your ears and you can feel your body relax immensely.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he chimed. “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

You smiled at his polite demeanor, all-the-while pushing an overly excited Hana away from you as you push yourself up from the bed.

“Not at all,” you replied. “I’m actually taking a brief break from burning out my brain with all this studying.”

Namjoon chuckled, the sound making your heartbeat increase and you subconsciously yell at it to stop.

“Ah, I understand all about that,” you can already picture those damned dimples protruding from his cheeks. “Well, anyways, I was calling to see if you wanted to hang out or something? I’m not exactly in the writing mood tonight and I’ve been dying to go out for a drink or something…?”

You inhale sharply through your nose as you sneak a peek towards Hana -- who, by the way, was furiously nodding towards you in encouragement.

“Yeah,” you agreed quietly. “I’ll come out.”

You can practically see the grin on Namjoon’s face as his voice filled your ears once more, a harsh blush coating your cheeks as you run a hand over your face.

“Perfect!” He cheered. “I’ll meet you soon, yeah? At the pub?”

You nodded, regardless of whether or not he could see it.

“Sounds good.”

The moment you hang up the phone, Hana doesn’t waste any time in pouncing on you, her cheers filling the dorm room as you groaned loudly.

“Please let me do your makeup!” She begged. “I wanna pick out your outfit too, (Y/N)!”

“Han --”

“Please!” She begged again. “I just want you to go out looking nice!”

Sighing in defeat, you collapse into her grip and reluctantly let her take the reigns.

“Fine…”

And yet again, you were nearly deafened by the high pitched shriek emitting from your friend.

Con #2: Experiencing Jealousy Over Someone Who Isn’t Yours (Yet)

Pro #6: The Realization of the Intense Feelings

It had been a while since Namjoon had drank in a place that wasn’t his apartment. While he did enjoy the comforting four walls of his place, he had to admit that actually going out for a drink with others was far more fun than staring at a fucking blank screen. It gave him more opportunities to find the inspiration he was lacking, something that he was determined to finally put to rest. As he makes his way into the bar, he can’t help but feel at home within the company of the quiet bar. For a Thursday night it was fairly packed, but there’s definitely not as many people as there would be during the weekend -- which Namjoon is incredibly grateful for.

Taking a seat at the bar, he doesn’t hesitate to order himself a drink -- whiskey on the rocks -- while he waits for you. It had been a whirlwind of events since the day he met you and he has yet to entirely process the way he feels about you. Sure, he’s convinced there’s at least some kind of spark between the two of you, but Namjoon hasn’t ever experienced the true meaning of feelings; he’s confused as to what is going on inside of him, perplexed by the complexity of the emotions that he had always heard Seokjin drone on about.

When his friend would boast about the girls he was with, Namjoon was always half-heartedly listening. Most of the time it would go through one ear and out the other, but he always paid attention to the important details. Though you hadn’t exactly touched on the basis of what it was to be in love, he definitely heard enough about it from Seokjin to know that it’s supposed to feel like you’re the only two people on earth, that nothing else matters except the person who holds the true reign of your heart. Namjoon, though he would never admit it out loud, subconsciously seemed to yearn for that kind of love, a love that was so intense and fulfilling that it consumed him.

But at the same time, he was afraid.

He feared the vulnerability that came along with falling in love, let alone expressing his own feelings. Most of it is due to the fact that - once again - he has yet to experience such a thing, but he’s not really one to open up to others easily. But with you, it felt different for him. The common interests and similar mindsets between the two of you has seemed to put him at ease, the author finding a sense of comfort whenever he’s in your presence. He’s open minded and the feelings or fears that he would usually keep away would roll off of his tongue without a second thought, and even though that scared him - he would much rather express them to you than to anyone else. Even Seokjin.

As Namjoon sips on his drink, his gaze fell on the door to the bar, a wide dimpled grin forming on his lips when he catches sight of you walking through the entryway -- and fucking christ, have you always looked this beautiful? You were dressed in all black - something of which he did not mind one bit - the silk dress clinging to your upper body while the black tights clung to your legs, chunky heeled ankle booties adorning your feet and elongating your legs to the point where Namjoon had no idea where they began and where they ended. You looked stunning, and the author takes note that you - in fact - had always been this beautiful.

You catch his gaze the moment you walk through the door, the bleach blonde author looking more than handsome as he leisurely leaned against the bar. Adorned in a black and white checkered button down and black skinny jeans, his hair was pushed off of his forehead and styled back, and you swore that he had gotten more handsome since the last time you saw him. Offering the author a small smile, you take a seat next to him at the bar and rest your elbows on the counter. Namjoon’s gaze makes a small wave of heat appear on your cheeks and you have to break your gaze from his, not wanting him to catch sight of the blush coating your cheeks.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he greeted, grinning widely. You smiled towards the ground.

“Hey, Namjoon,” you said politely. “Did you order a drink?”

The author nodded, his slender finger pointing towards his glass.

“Sure did,” he chimed. “I was going to order yours but I wasn’t sure what you liked…”

You sent him a small smile, your head nodding towards him in acknowledgement.

“It’s alright,” you brushed off. “We hadn’t really discussed what kind of alcohol we preferred. Although… assuming from the amount of empty whiskey bottles in your apartment, I’m going to take a wild guess and say that that’s your drink of choice?”

Your teasing tone makes Namjoon chuckle, the man bashfully looking towards the ground before his gaze rests on you once more. You, on the other hand, turned towards the bartender to order yourself a drink.

“Cherry vodka and sprite, please.”

You can faintly hear the deep chuckle resonate from Namjoon, your curious gaze falling on his dimpled grin as he looks at you. Raising an eyebrow towards him, you can’t help but let a small smile grace your lips.

“What?” You asked, making Namjoon shake his head.

“Nothing, nothing,” he grinned. “I just didn’t peg you as a vodka girl.”

You mirrored his grin at that, a quiet laugh escaping you as you shrugged.

“It tastes good,” you admitted. “I’m not a fan of really hard liquor. I like the sweet and fruity stuff.”

“That makes sense,” he hummed softly. “Most people like drinks that resemble themselves.”

You give him a look mixed between surprise and confusion.

“Are you saying that I’m sweet, Mr. Kim?”

Namjoon smirked, his body leaning closer towards yours.

“Possibly,” he mused.

You can feel your heartbeat increase at the close proximity of him, the smell of his cologne hitting your nose, and you can feel yourself melting into his ways. For someone who had zero experience with girls, he was surely confident when it came to flirting. Then again, there was a mutual comfort between the two of you. It was natural, almost like you had known him for years, and you certainly weren’t complaining about it.

Gripping the cherry in your drink, you hold it out to him with a quirked eyebrow.

“Want it?” You asked, making Namjoon reach out and take it.

“Do you not like cherries?”

“Eh, not really a fan,” you admitted.

Namjoon feigned shock.

“Perposterous!”

The two of you laughed at his antics while you idly stirred your straw around to mix the drink, another blush coating your cheeks as you take a sip of the drink. The natural air between the two of you sets your mind at ease, a breath of relief coming from you when you realize that you don’t have to pretend with him. When you were with Jace, you felt like you had to act like a completely different person whenever you hung out with him. He was the outspoken type and you thought that you had to stoop to his level of immaturity and obnoxious nature in order for him to notice you -- and while it did end up catching his attention, you weren’t comfortable pretending to be someone you weren’t.

The more time you spent with the author, the more you began to realize the similarities between both yours and his personalities. He understood you in ways no one else ever could, the strong passion and admiration for the field that both of you work in sealed the deal.

Casting a glance towards the man, you can’t help but examine his features. Sure, you had noticed the obvious things like his dimples and his plump lips but you never took the time out to actually look at him. You can feel your brain internally memorizing every curvature and point marked on the man; his slightly puffed out cheeks, the subtle point at the tip of his nose, his sharp jawline. He really was handsome, that you will admit. But aside from his looks, it was his intellectual nature that drew you in. The pure intelligence that was buried within the author’s brain never failed to impress you; he was smarter than most (a fact he had revealed to you whilst talking at the coffee shop), and he always managed to pay attention to the small details within everyday things.

He was brilliant, he was kind, and he was yours.

...Wait -- what?!

The feeling of panic rushed through you within that moment and you tore your gaze away from Namjoon’s face, the sound of your heart pounding wildly in your ears as your brain goes into overdrive. Namjoon definitely was not yours -- nor did you want him to be. You were just helping him out, teaching him the ways of how love works and what it feels like when you’re with that person. Under no circumstances are you - or him, for that matter - supposed to feel any sort of romantic feeling towards one another. You were simply friends helping one another out.

You were so caught up in your inner turmoil that you hadn’t noticed Namjoon looking at you with a curious gaze, his head cocked to the side as he gently places a hand on your arm.

“Are you alright?”

His deep, velvety voice that filled your ears only fueled the chaos within your brain, your heart beating rapidly now as you turn back to face him. Plastering a fake smile on your lips you nodded your head furiously.

“Y-yeah!” You choked out. “Why wouldn’t I be?!”

Namjoon sends you an unsure look, the author - no doubt - knowing you’re lying. But before he could open his mouth, another voice beat him to speaking first.

“Hey there, handsome.”

Both yours and Namjoon’s eyes focused on an older woman standing next to him, a sickly feeling rushing through your stomach as she eyes the author up and down. Namjoon, who doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, smiled politely at the woman as he nods in acknowledgement.

“Hello,” he greeted.

You can practically feel her undressing him with her eyes and you bite back a scoff as you turn back to your drink, irritation filling you up as you gulp down the alcohol.

“I saw you from across the bar and I couldn’t help but come over here and tell you how incredibly handsome you are,” her voice is sickly sweet, the sound churning your stomach even more. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Namjoon chuckled.

“Shouldn’t I be the one buying you a drink?”

You gritted your teeth at their exchange, your gaze shooting deadly daggers towards the woman as she places a hand on his arm.

“You’re too sweet --”

“Too bad he’s here with me,” you shoot back, plastering a fake smile on your lips. The woman gives you a look of disdain, her nose turning up into the air.

“I see,” she replied curtly. “Are you his girlfriend?”

“She’s not my --”

“As a matter of fact, I am.” Namjoon’s eyes widened at your words, the man’s body turning towards you as he looked at you completely flabbergasted. “So I would appreciate it if you left my boyfriend alone, thanks.”

The woman sends you one last dirty look before she finally drops her hand from Namjoon’s shoulder and walks away, a string of curses being muttered under her breath while you smirk in satisfaction. An uncomfortable silence shifts between the two of you as you down the last of your drink, your blood pumping loudly in your ears as you feel the anger begin to dissipate, devastation in its wake as you reach to grab your jacket.

“I think I’m going to head out,” you muttered, making Namjoon look at you.

“What?” He asked, following you as soon as you stood up.

Sending him a small smile, you slip your jacket on and grab your purse.

“I’ll see you later, Joon.”

The man can’t utter one more word before you’re out the door, the chilly winter breeze serving as a punishment for the lack of control you had over your feelings. Your brain is screaming at you for the stunt you pulled in there, the devastation of the events beginning to unfold, and you can’t help but mutter under your breath. Your heart, on the other hand, is commending you for standing up for your feelings. Despite the willpower to conceal them, your heart overtook your brain in that particular moment and you were torn on how to feel about it -- either Namjoon could totally hate your guts right now for killing his flirting game or he could be thankful…

...It seemed to be the latter because not even a minute later, you could hear your name being called.

Namjoon was breathless by the time he made it by your side, his eyes wide and plump lips parted as he panted for air. Your heart seemed to awaken again at the sight of him and you cursed the organ for contradicting your feelings, not wanting them to show anymore.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, still slightly breathless. “Did I do something?”

You let out a humorless laugh, your head shaking as you shove your hands into the pockets of your jacket.

“Not at all, Joon,” you affirmed. “I’m just tired. All of the studying for finals has me completely wiped out.”

Namjoon frowned at that, his eyes searching for something -- anything.

“Then why did you agree to come out tonight?”

You fell silent at that -- though you did have your doubts about coming out with him tonight and it was heavily influenced by Hana, there was a part of you that was aching to be around him. It’s funny how fast feelings that you’ve suppressed can come into light, the subconscious thoughts of your mind ruling out any good judgment that you had possessed earlier. You wanted to be around him, you wanted to be with him -- but the cynic inside of you ruined any chance of you actually going for it.

Bottling up your emotions, you sucked in a deep breath before holding your head up high and offering him a small smile.

“Goodnight, Namjoon.”

You had barely managed to walk a step away from him before his footsteps could be heard, the harsh crunching of leaves beneath his feet echoing around the silent air.

“(Y/N)!”

His hand wrapped around your arm before he stands next to you, his steps gradually falling into place with yours.

“At least let me walk you home,” he begged, his deep brown eyes pleading. “It’s not safe for you to walk around at night by yourself.”

“I’ll be fine, Namjoon --”

“Please.”

His voice fell to a quiet tone and you could feel your heart clench as your gaze lifted to meet his, a heartbeat passing between the folds of silence before you’re slowly nodding your head.

“Okay…”

There’s a tension between the two of you as you walk side by side, Namjoon’s arm brushing yours with every step of the way. You can feel your heart racing at an uncomfortable speed just by having his presence near, the annoying butterflies fluttering wildly in the pit of your stomach as you try to calm yourself down. Namjoon is silent the whole way to your dorm, the man not daring to look in your direction. His hands are shoved within the pockets of his leather jacket, eyes straight forward ahead, and you can feel your heart crumble at the crestfallen expression on his face.

As you approach your dorm, you stop in front of Namjoon and turn towards him to send him a small smile.

“Thank you for walking me home,” you said quietly, making Namjoon nod.

“No problem,” he smiled back. “I just wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

“I appreciate that,” you murmured. “Goodnight, Joon.”

As you turn towards the door, you can still feel his presence from behind you, the light clearing of his throat making you turn back to look at him as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Are you sure there wasn’t any particular reason as to why you came out with me tonight?” He asked quietly. “Or as to why you jumped down that woman’s throat?”

You pressed your lips into a thin line at his questions, your heart screaming to tell him the truth -- but you couldn’t. The intense feelings you held for the man in front of you were something beyond anything you felt for anyone before - even Jace - and honestly… it scared you. It scared you that you had managed to fall hard and fast for a man you’ve only known for few months, that he had managed to wiggle his way into your sealed shut heart. So you pushed away your feelings and put on a fake smile.

“I came out because I like hanging out with you,” that wasn’t necessarily a lie… “And that woman was up to no good, Joon. She wasn’t looking to have an intellectual conversation with you, she was looking for more… intimate things.”

Namjoon blinks, but he doesn’t say anything. You give him one last pained smile before you’re waving at him.

“Goodnight, Joon. Get home safe.”

...Yet you still hadn’t managed to move inside.

“You feel it too, don’t you?”

The hand you had on the doorknob froze as he spoke, your heartbeat speeding up immensely as Namjoon steps closer to you. You don’t move and inch, not even when you feel his hand on top of yours, the warmth creating an electric shock that wracks your body. He’s quiet, lips not uttering one word, but you can feel his hot breath cascading along your neck, the sensation emitting goosebumps to flare up on your flesh. A shiver knocks through you and you can’t help but let your lips part when you feel the plump flesh of Namjoon’s lips brush against your skin.

“(Y/N),” he whispered, an arm loosely wrapping around your waist as he pulls you into him. “Please… Be honest with me…”

You can feel your self restraint beginning to break, the emotions that you had fought off for months were free now, the wall you had put up completely crumbling into pieces as you sink into his touch.

“I feel it,” you breathed out, eyes closing as you relish in him. “God, Joon, I’ve felt it for months.”

That was all he needed to hear.

Turning you around in his arms, Namjoon cups your face and pulls you up to him, his lips crashing onto yours without a second thought. The frustration and denial you had tried to convey towards your feelings were gone, completely diminished by the pure, raw emotions you felt towards this man. Your lips move against his in a slow, languid dance, and surprisingly - or at least for someone who lacks experience - he’s magnificent. His lips are softer than you imagined they would be, but there’s a hidden passion behind his kiss. He’s taking his time, almost like he’s mapping out every movement you make, trying to decide his own move.

You can feel your breath hitch when you feel your back press against your door, Namjoon’s hands moving from your face to rest on your waist. You’re lost in him, completely mesmerized by the man, and you can feel the oxygen leaving your lungs -- but you don’t care. He’s addictive, his pillow soft lips calling out to you in more ways than one. But you pull away, a ragged breath escaping you as you pant quietly, fighting to catch your breath. Namjoon, on the other hand, takes it as his cue to move his kisses elsewhere. While you rested against the door, his lips found purchase along your jaw, his tongue sweeping along your skin, the sensation making you shiver beneath him as you lace your fingers through his blonde locks. He’s mouthing at your flesh, sucking softly on your skin, and you’re crumbling even more - your body completely craving his touch, each and every part of you calling out for more.

Tugging softly at his tresses, you let out a quiet whimper when he reaches your neck, his mouth suckling on a spot that has you arching into him.

“Joon,” you murmured. “If you don’t stop now, I’m going to end up dragging you into my room.”

Your words have Namjoon smirking against your neck, his tongue swiping along your collarbone before he nips at it playfully, earning himself a quiet yelp from you.

“What if I don’t want to stop?” He asked, making you draw back from him.

“Joon seriously --”

“I am being serious, (Y/N).”

Lifting his head from your neck, Namjoon has a dangerous glint in his eyes as he gazed down at you, his hands moving up to cup your face once more.

“I like you,” he reiterates. “I want you, I want to be with you.”

You sigh softly as you relish in the touch of his hands.

“I don’t want you to think I’m trying to take advantage of you…”

“How are you taking advantage of me when I want it to happen?”

“We’ve had drinks, Joon --”

“So?” He chuckled. “I’m not obliterated, (Y/N).” Gripping your face, he pulls you closer towards him. “I want you to show me what it feels like to be loved, I want you to show me what it’s like to feel wanted…”

His mouth reattaches itself back to yours as soon as he finishes speaking, only this time it’s not closed. The tip of his tongue prods against your lips and you hesitate momentarily, wondering if what you were doing is right; but then he’s murmuring sweet nothings against your lips, his hand gently caressing your cheek, and you melted instantly.

Reaching out a blind hand, you fumble with the doorknob before the two of you are stumbling into the room. Pulling away from his lips you call out for Hana, only semi-aware of her absence as Namjoon mouths hotly at your neck, his hands unzipping your jacket until he’s sliding it down your arms. Reattaching your mouth back to his, you’re pulling him towards your bed whilst helping him shed off his jacket. The moment Namjoon is pressed against the bed, you’re breaking your mouth from his and attaching your lips to his neck, the man beneath you instantly pressing you closer to his body.

Your tongue runs along the skin connected to his neck and collarbone, the spot seeming to be a sensitive one for the author considering the moment your mouth latched onto it he lets out a deep growl. You smirked against his flesh, his sounds egging you on as you continue to nip at the skin. You can feel him begin to harden beneath you, a low whimper escaping the man when he feels your hands run underneath his shirt, his hips bucking up into your touch as you press a kiss to the column of his throat.

“(Y/N) please,” he murmured. “I want more.”

Peering up at him through your eyelashes, you begin to unbutton his shirt, your lips attaching to each newly revealed part of his chest until you’re moving down his body, your tongue dipping along the indents of his abdomen as you slip the shirt off of him. He may not be the most muscular man around but it was nothing less of beautiful, his tan skin glinting in the moonlight, the faint shadows of the small hint of muscle was just as impressive as one who held a more muscular build. Namjoon was truly beautiful -- inside and out.

As your mouth reaches the hem of his jeans, Namjoon lets out a small groan, the feeling of your fingers making the man crave so much more than what you’re giving him - but he knows that you’re showing him what it’s truly like to feel appreciated. So he stays rooted to the bed, his hooded gaze locked on your form as you unbutton his jeans and slide them down his long, lean legs. The feeling of your hands on his bare skin has him squirming, the anticipation bubbling up within his body. He’s already beginning to sweat, the man on edge as he anxiously awaits for you to continue.

A small hiss of pleasure escapes him when he feels your nails gently rake against his skin as you slide up between his legs, a teasing smirk playing on your lips as you place a kiss on his hipbone. If it was up to you, you would be leaving marks upon marks upon marks on the man’s skin -- but you decided to save that for another time. This time around, the first time (for him at least), you were determined to show him what it meant to be adored.

“Joonie,” you cooed softly, peering up at him. “You’re doing so well, baby.”

“Oh fuck,” he moaned, hips rising from the bed when he felt your fingers play with the hem of his briefs. “Keep talking to me, (Y/N).”

Your smirk grew wider at his pleading and you tug the briefs teasingly slow down his legs until they crumple into a ball on the floor, your hands ghosting along his honey thighs as you position yourself comfortably onto the bed. Your eyes are trained on him, gaze locked on his, and you send him a flirty smile as your hands reach his inner thighs.

“Tell me how you feel, baby,” you murmured, before leaning down to press your lips to the flesh of his thigh.

Namjoon whimpers, his hands reaching out to clench at the bedsheets as he digs his teeth into the flesh of his bottom lip.

“I feel fucking amazing, (Y/N),” he moaned. “You make me feel amazing.”

Half listening to him, you gently grab his cock in your hands before letting the tips of your fingers glide along his length, the action earning you the sweetest groan to emit from the man’s lips. Sinking down further onto the bed, you dip your head down and teasingly lick a stripe to the underside of his cock.

“Oh fuck --!”

The hiss of pleasure is all you needed to hear before you’re completely enveloping the head of his cock into your mouth, your tongue swirling around it as your hand wraps around whatever wasn’t being touched. Namjoon is writhing beneath your ministrations, the man’s hips bucking upwards off of the bed as cries of pleasure are falling from his lips, his breath falling in short pants as you take more of him into your mouth. He’s putty in your hands - and he knows it too - and god, he’s so glad he waited for this until he actually developed the feelings he has for you. His passion towards you only fuels the pleasure for himself, all he sees is you and he’s crashing down fast - almost embarrassingly fast - but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Inhaling sharply through your nose, you take as much of him as you can into your mouth, your hand gliding along the rest that doesn’t fit, before you take a deep breath and swallow around him. The action has Namjoon keening loudly, his hands moving from the sheets to rest in the locks of your hair, nimble fingers tugging harshly at your tresses as he bucks his hips into your mouth. You choke slightly, but you power through it as you drop your hand from his shaft. Swallowing once more around him, you glide your mouth down the rest of his length until the tip of your nose presses against his pelvis, a string of curses falling from Namjoon’s mouth when he realizes you’ve managed to take all of him.

He’s reaching his brink quickly, the man feeling his body beginning to coil and his balls tighten, his release building faster and faster with every flick of your tongue - and before you know it, he’s letting out a loud cry of your name as he comes undone. His thighs tremble with the aftershocks of his release, your tongue happily lapping up every last drop of him as a growl rips through his chest. Slowly you’re drawing back from his cock, your tongue running over your lips as you swallow what’s left of his release, a playful smirk on your face as you slither back up his body. Namjoon’s hands clutched you tightly to him, his lips surging up to find yours as he kisses you sloppily.

“Please let me touch you, baby,” he pleaded against your mouth, his fingers sneaking underneath the hem of your dress. “I want to make you feel good too.”

“Are you sure you can handle it?” You asked, teasingly. Another growl rips from Namjoon as he drops his hands to your thighs, the man rolling you over without hesitation.

“I’ve watched enough porn to know how to treat a woman,” he purred, making you scoff.

“Porn isn’t reality, Joonie --”

“But it still taught me how to find a woman’s spot.”

He wastes no time in ripping your dress off of you, the article of clothing being carelessly discarded as he reaches behind you to clumsily fumble with your bra, the pesky lingerie finally coming undone after the fourth attempt. It was endearing, honestly. Namjoon’s movements are precise yet clumsy, the man far too eager to even begin to slow down his pace -- not that you were complaining anyways.

When his mouth attaches to your now revealed breasts, you can’t help but mewl with pleasure, his warm tongue soothing your flesh in soft circles. His fingertips are dancing along your stomach, the pads gently tapping an unknown rhythm as his tongue strokes your pert nipple softly. The slow ministrations sends your body into overdrive, the craving for him growing to an excessive want as his mouth unlatches itself from your breast and trails down your body.

He’s carelessly pulling down your tights, your panties soon following, and you open your eyes fast enough to catch the glimpse of him licking his lips in anticipation. This time you’re molding to the bed as his warm hands part your thighs, his blunt nails softly digging into your flesh as he faces your dripping core. Reaching down, you give him an encouraging tug on his locks, a nod of your head soon following before Namjoon leans in and attaches his plump lips to your folds.

“Shit…”

The hiss falls brokenly from your lips as he mouths at your core, his tongue running along your folds every now and again. He’s definitely watched some sort of pussy eating porn because the moment he wraps his mouth around your clit and sucks, you’re shameless bucking your hips into his face, a cry of his name falling from your lips. You reaction makes the man smirk, a devious glint in his eyes as he peered up at you from his eyelashes, Namjoon gaining pleasure from just watching you relish in the touch of him.

He can feel his cock twitch as he laps at your core, every once in awhile sucking at the sensitive bud, but he’s never been more satisfied. From between watching you writhe with pleasure and all but grind down onto his tongue, he’s relishing in everything that’s you. He may not be as experienced as the guys you’ve had before, but he’s a damn fast learner and he’s determined to make you feel even half - if not more - of the pleasure you’ve felt when you were with others.

Experimentally he’s running the tip of his finger along your folds, the action only adding to your pleasure, and you reach down to grab his wrist to push him more against your core - a sign that it was okay to do what he had planned. Slowly he’s running the digit along your slick folds, coating it thoroughly before he’s pushing it inside of you. Instantly mewling at the contact, you swivel your hips to rock against the touch, silently guiding him to build up a rhythm with his fingers. He takes the reigns, however, curling the digit inside of you in a ‘come hither’ motion, the length of his finger brushing further inside of you as he begins to pump it in and out.

You’re feeling yourself begin to falter, your release building slowly in the pit of your stomach, and although you loved to relish in the feeling he’s giving you, you didn’t want to cum this way. So instead you’re gently pushing him off of you and sitting up, Namjoon’s eyes widening at your actions as he licks your juices off of his lips.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, slightly panicked. “Did I do something -- oof!”

Namjoon’s words were cut short when you gripped his forearms and pulled him onto the bed, sneakily grabbing a condom from your bedside drawer before your legs are placed on either side of his legs as you settle comfortably onto his thighs. A dirty smirk is painted on your lips as you run your nails along the skin of his back, your nose gently pressing against his cheek.

“You were perfect, baby,” you praised. “I just didn’t want to cum like that.”

Scrunching his eyebrows in confusion Namjoon opens his mouth to ask what you meant when a loud groan emits from him, a soft giggle falling from your lips as you slip the condom onto his length and align yourself up with him. With one arm looped around his neck and the other placed gently on his thigh, you slowly slide down onto his length, gasps of relief escaping from both yours and Namjoon’s mouths as he fills you up to the hilt.

Namjoon is gritting his teeth, the man not used to having his cock be completely enveloped in a tight warmth. You stay still for that reason, patiently waiting for him to control himself so he doesn’t blow right then and there. It’s only when Namjoon whimpers softly, his hips gently twisting against you, do you finally begin to swivel your hips. The slow rhythm is enough for you to hold onto him tightly, your nose pressing against his as the two of you rock gently into one another. Namjoon’s lips seek out to find yours, a messy kiss being exchanged as you begin to fasten the tempo of your hips.

You’ve been with your fair share of lovers, some worse than others, but you can confidently say that none of them were at all like the man in front of you. The intimacy shared between the two of you was like none other; it wasn’t hasty, it wasn’t rushed. It was raw, it was pure, and it was real. You could feel yourself become overwhelmed within the situation, your lips parting in pure pleasure as Namjoon rocked against you, your nails gently raking against the skin of his flesh as you angled your hips to make him surge deeper within you.

You clench around him, the sensation making Namjoon growl against your skin, his teeth biting into the skin on your shoulder as you reach to grab his wrist. Placing his hand between your interlinked bodies, you urge him to press his thumb against your clit, the man doing so without any sort of hesitation. You’re rocking roughly against him now, the feeling of him inside of you mixed with the rough circles being rubbed on your clit making your delayed release begin to build again. Namjoon isn’t far behind you, either, the man inching closer and closer to his own release as the rhythm begins to grow sloppy.

White hot pleasure is illuminating between your bodies as you clench once more around him, Namjoon coming with a low groan against your skin, his teeth softly nibbling at your flesh as he trembles beneath you, the rough circles on your clit and the soft brush of the tip of Namjoon’s cock brushing against your sensitive spot has you soon following, your hips grinding down onto him as you ride out your release.

Sweaty bodies are molded together, neither you or Namjoon wanting to break the contact as you unwind from your highs. The gentle nibbles of his teeth on your skin transition into soft pecks, his tongue running along the marks he had bitten into your skin until he’s making his way up your jaw and to your mouth. Lips tangle within a passionate kiss, soft flicks of his tongue against yours making you mewl quietly, the sound reverberating into his own.

Slowly he’s bringing you back towards the comforter, your sweaty skin sticking to the blankets as he throws them over your bodies. His fingers lace with yours as he finally draws back from your mouth, his nose gently grazing against yours as a blissful, dimpled grin forms on his lips.

“Thank you,” he murmured, nuzzling his nose against yours. “For finally showing me what it feels like to be in love.”

Mirroring his grin, you lean in to place a soft kiss against his lips.

“And thank you for showing me how to love again.”

A loud shriek of happiness echoes within the hallway, your hands instantly covering your ears as Hana bounces excitedly.

“I told you so!” She cheered, clapping her hands happily, making you roll your eyes as you bite back a grin.

“Shut up, Han,” you laughed.

She’s beaming with pride, the bubbly blonde wrapping her arms around you as she squeezes you tightly in a hug.

“I knew it from the beginning, (Y/N)! You two are most definitely meant for each other!”

Not even being able to bite back the grin this time, you let it consume your lips as you beam at her.

“I think we are,” you agreed. “Thank you for opening my eyes, Han. I appreciate you.”

She gives you another tight squeeze, the blonde bouncing on her heels as she pulls away from you. Nodding her head in the direction behind you, her grin slips into a wide smirk as she nudged you playfully.

“Your boyfriend is here,” she teased.

Quickling bidding you goodbye, you watch her bounce away before a pair of arms wrap around your waist, soft, plump lips gently pressing to the skin on your neck.

“Hello, beautiful,” Namjoon’s deep voice fills your ears as you turn around to lock your arms around his neck.

“Hi, handsome,” you grinned. “How was your morning?”

“It was uneventful,” he pouted. “I didn’t have my beautiful girl with me.”

Rolling your eyes at his cheesiness, you lean in to peck his lips softly.

“Well I’m here now,” you murmured against his mouth.

“And that’s all I need.”

“I thought that I would never be able to fall in love. I thought that my career would essentially leave me lonely; no one by my side, no one to help me get through this rough patch. I was swarmed with an empty mind, no creative outlet allowing me access from within. It was hard, I’ll admit. Endless nights of me drinking myself into oblivion, hoping that somehow my drunken stupor could bring me at least one idea or spark my inspiration once again. I was drowning in nothingness, falling into a black hole filled with nothing but regret -- and then it happened. An angel from above came down to save me from my stupidity and rash behavior. She taught me everything I needed to know; from learning how to get past the writer’s block that plagued me to learning what the true meaning of love meant. She is my savior, my angel, my muse -- and her name is (Y/N).”

-- Kim Namjoon, The Angel of Love (Release Date: Coming Soon)