#just a stupid doodle in classes though..

[ragepups]

grief and pain of being a hero 💧💧💧

[7-andahalf-rats]

slug ted call that bitch sled

[deebris]

From annoying to beloved

Homelander x fem!Reader

Synopsis: The new member of the Seven annoys Captain Patria with their habit of doodling in the corners all the time, but he didn't expect to end up liking it.

During the fourth season, it can be read as both romantic and platonic.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of murder, the reader has the power to control plasma, fluffy.

The reader is also kind of anxious.

Word count: 2.9k

"You gotta be fucking kidding with me." Homelander interrupted abruptly upon hearing snores in the room. "Is Noir sleeping?"

"Mmhmm," Firecracker murmured in agreement, but the masked superhero jolted awake when The Deep kicked his chair.

"Oh, shit! Sorry, guys." Black Noir straightened up, while the Captain shook his head in disbelief, unable to fathom what he had just witnessed.

"Ah, what the fuck." The blonde furrowed his brows, eyes darting around the room quickly, then fixing on a specific point when something else caught his attention. He had noticed you earlier with a notebook and pencil, but now you're not writing but drawing. The irritating sound of the graphite scraping against the paper had been bothering him for some time, but he had tried to ignore it, assuming as a newcomer you were taking notes.

He wouldn't lie. Though he found taking notes utterly stupid, he liked to think someone was that focused on what he said. Not that he needed it, just opening his lips and everyone would be watching him. But as if that weren't enough, he finally realized you were dressed in regular civilian clothes.

"Radiance, where's your suit?" He asked slowly, but angrily. "Can't anyone do anything right around here?"

You finally tore your attention from the paper, meeting Homelander gaze directly. It's not that you weren't paying attention—in fact, you were, maybe more than anyone else there. It was easier to absorb things while doodling, a way to calm your nerves. Well, that or rubbing your sweaty fingers together until they hurt.

No one ever understood. Even back in school, your parents used to receive complaints about you drawing during class, no matter how high your grades were or the fact that you were the top student.

This was your first meeting with the Seven, and the last thing you wanted was to give the impression of being careless or not caring about being there. It could be said that one of the best days of your life was yesterday when Vought sent you a notice, letting you know that the greatest superhero of all had personally chosen you to join the team. After so many "retarded" - in his words - he had been forced to accept into the Seven, Homelander saw in you, above all, the opportunity to make up for Firecracker's ridiculous weakness.

When Ashley began talking about your powers, he had no doubt the last spot was yours. It was simply brilliant. Who the hell would have imagined someone would have powers to control a state of matter? You could maneuver fire, generate electrical discharges, disrupt magnetic fields, and damn it, you could split atoms as if slicing butter.

Vought's scientists said they didn't know if it was possible, but you could destroy the damn out of a star one day. Homelander wasn't a science guy, but in one of his moments of boredom, he got curious and did some research. He didn't even know that plasma crap was all that, he thought it was a cell thing or whatever.

He always thought someone with a power as peculiar as yours, and at your age, would be arrogant or just plain dumb. But you were actually the complete opposite. You didn't speak unnecessarily, and while you seemed very aware of your own actions, you had no clue how powerful you were, or perhaps ignored that fact. The blonde thought you were an idiot for it, but he appreciated the inferiority you submitted to, especially in relation to himself.

"I don't have one, sir," you replied to his question, feeling small with everyone looking.

"What the hell?" He continued, focusing on you with incredulous voice, he couldn't believe it. How did someone end up here without even having a superhero suit?

The truth was, you had never been part of any team before, nor had you received any sponsorship during your life, or even attended Godolkin University. The only thing you had were your powers, which were indeed impressive. You never chased after any position, nor were you ever obsessed with being a famous superheroine, but lately you thought it would be a good adventure to radicalize your life. That's when you applied to join the Seven.

"How do you have a name and not have a fucking suit?" He asked, boiling with anger, fists clenching tightly behind his back.

"They gave me a name when I filled out the application," you answered honestly. That day, after they chose to call you Radiance, a random and easily commercial name, you couldn't complain much and didn't want to bother, so you left it at that.

"You'll be introduced as an official member of the Seven tomorrow, how do you not have a suit?" He took his hands off his back, moving them as he spoke to express his confusion, and for a few moments you followed it movement like a child who can't keep their attention on anything for long. "Who's handling your marketing?"

You couldn't answer, so you stayed silent and no one else dared to say a word either. You had no idea who was handling your marketing, not knowing you should even have that. You glanced quickly around the table, perhaps seeking some kind of help for the situation, but everyone looked down when they realized you were staring at them. They were enjoying themselves, and that made you exhale through your nose in embarrassment.

"You know what? Fuck it, doesn't matter." Homelander brought his fingers to his furrowed forehead, letting out a loud sigh as he calmed down. "Just... don't show up like this in public until someone gives you a suit."

"Yes, sir," you replied tensely, relieved that he had resolved the matter.

Sister Sage widened her eyes in relief when she finally saw the superhero sitting beside her. She opened her mouth to begin speaking, as she had intended from the beginning, but when some sound was about to come out of her mouth, Homelander spoke to you again, this time pointing an accusatory finger at you:

"And stop drawing, damn it," he ordered, causing you to slowly drop the pencil on the table, as if caught doing something wrong with the weapon of the crime in hand. You stared at your lap throughout the entire meeting, embarrassed for messing everything up on your first day.

When the meeting ended, you followed most people out of the room, but stopped nearby in one of the hallways. You slid down the wall, crouching in a hidden corner, and lightly tapped the sketchbook against your forehead in annoyance.

"Stupid," you murmured softly to yourself. It was so ridiculous, yet it embarrassed you so much. Maybe this first day wasn't so bad after all. You would have plenty of time to prove your worth to everyone, no need to dwell on this situation. Even though you had been corrected in front of some of the most iconic supers by Homelander himself, this situation could be overcome. It was thinking about it that kept you from letting the burning tears fall.

"I can hear you whining," Homelander voice made you jump to your feet, startled to be caught once again doing something you shouldn't. He didn't seem happy, and his expression was so intimidating that you felt like Mariah Carey performing for a crowd of Eminem fans.

He approached you in slow steps and you held the sketchtebook protectively to your chest, as if that could protect you from something. He glanced down to briefly see the object in your hands and looked at you with disgust.

"If you don't straighten up, I'll kick you out. Got it?" Everything about him exuded threat. Maybe if he weren't so imposing and powerful, that sentence would have sounded a bit like the janitor from your old school scolding you for spending too much time in the bathroom during class.

You were paralyzed standing there and all you could do was a nod. But your gesture made him more aggressive.

"Answer with your mouth. Are you mute or something?" And there he was, hands behind his back again. He seemed to enjoy that pose.

"I won't mess up, sir," you said, swallowing your saliva.

"And get rid of that. Or burn it, do whatever, just get rid of it. And I better not see you with that again," he said referring to your notebook, walking away faster than before. "These kids..." you heard him mutter distantly.

After that happened, you didn't destroy the sketchtebook, but you were afraid of being caught and kept it safely tucked away in the back of a drawer in your room. What the eyes don't see, the heart doesn't feel, right? You mentally made a promise to yourself not to use it anywhere else but here, to avoid causing more trouble.

It's been a week since you've been with the Seven, and several strange things have happened. You quickly realized that Homelander wasn't the pristine and merciful hero everyone believed him to be. But the truth was that deep down you already expected that. Everything about heroes always seemed too perfect and pure, there had to be a catch. Despite everything, you still remained yourself, never intentionally hurting anyone or getting involved in murders and conspiracies.

You were comfortable helping out with some minor crimes that Vought sent you to solve, but by now you suspected that sooner or later Homelander would ask you to do some of his atrocities. It was still hard to think about how to feel about it, but you weren't naive, you were already mentally preparing to submit to it or else be killed.

During that time, as you adjusted and interacted with the team, it didn't go unnoticed by Homelander that you were drawing on your own hand, or on napkins and on random sheets you found lying around, even though you hadn't shown up with your sketchtebook again. This was starting to wear on his last nerve, but he tried to ignore it. As long stayed as you were, without asking too many questions and obedient, he made an effort to continue overlooking your makeshift drawings.

"Meeting's over," the blond suddenly declared, interrupting another of the Seven's weekly gatherings while cutting off The Deep's rambling about his ideas.

"But I haven't even talked about the flying shark yet," he tried to defend himself.

"Shut up," Homelander's voice rang out sternly in the room, issuing a warning that the man promptly obeyed.

"Right. Meeting's over." Ashley nervously moved to gather the portfolios on the new soda advertisement she had come to present, but as soon as she touched the first folder, specifically the A-Train one, the superhero exploded in rage:

"Ashley! Get out!" She immediately dropped the folder in place and hurried out in her heels, unable to run in them. "All of you! Get out of here."

Everyone got up from their chairs, even you, and filed out through the front door, leaving the folders on the table. Sister Sage hesitated, thinking she might be an exception, but when his scowl deepened, she understood she should leave too.

With the room empty, Captain Patria took a few minutes to admire the view from the tower. He enjoyed staring at it sometimes, even when bored.

"Bunch of idiots," he muttered to himself, shaking his head in denial, indignant. If he had to spend one more minute with these morons, he would have a heart attack, even though that was technically impossible for him.

He threw his cape back as he turned to leave, looking down and not focusing on anything in particular. But his eyes caught something different from the other folders. It was obviously yours, with a huge drawing covering the text and images printed on it.

That was the first time he actually saw something you had scribbled. And damn, it was perfect. It was a drawing of everyone in the room, with him in the center looking angry. Just as he was. His ego flared up as he noticed that his figure was more detailed than the others'. You must have started drawing him first, hence had more time to detail him. The idea of you making him the main focus of this particular drawing made his pupils dilate. He used his super hearing to check if anyone else was around and secretly took that sheet for himself.

The next time he saw you drawing in the Seven's room, he couldn't help but wonder if you were drawing him again. As soon as he noticed you sneakily reaching for a pen that belonged to Ashley, he looked in your direction. The noise that used to annoy him now sparked curiosity. And after staring at you for so long, it didn't take long for you to look back at him too. The blond thought you would be embarrassed, like most people, but you just grinned as if you were used to being caught looking. And indeed, you were.

You began drawing Homelander more frequently when you realized he never caught you watching him. It was easier and avoided awkward situations with other people. After two whole weeks of drawing him continuously while taking advantage of this freedom, you felt capable of drawing his face without even needing to see a photo, having memorized most of his distinctive features.

Well, it seems he's finally noticed you.

Sometimes, when alone in your room, you took out your sketchbook and started practicing the memory of his facial features you had developed. Just like every other time, you became absorbed in the drawing, focusing only on the voices around you to understand what was being said. This was also a way to keep yourself engaged during conversations, so you wouldn't get restless from being still while being a mere spectator of everything. After all, you never participated much or gave opinions; Deep already did enough for two.

The meeting had already ended, but you stayed in your chair, even as everyone else left, to finish just a part of the hair. You thought no one would mind, and then you would leave as usual, but a voice caught you by surprise:

"Can I take a look?" Homelander asked, for the first time, using a gentle voice beside you. His expression was enigmatic, somewhat relaxed, and shy at the same time.

You turned the stack of post-it notes, also taken from Ashley, for him to see what you had drawn, fearing what he would say. You weren't ashamed of drawing people, much less of them catching you doing it. You feared because he found your habit annoying.

He observed the drawing, seeing his posture from the side, upright and imposing. He wondered if you drew him exactly as you saw him, or if it was just another caricature of reality, like those Photoshopped pictures spread around. He looked much better than he imagined, though he had that superiority complex that made him see himself as a god.

For a moment, he was offended to see his image stamped on such despicable things as scraps of paper and these damn post-it notes. Your fingerprints were also visible stains, and the paper was slightly wrinkled from his sweat. He had noticed that sometimes you drew calmly, as if you had all the time in the world, and other times it was like drawing on a boat in a storm. Today seemed to be the latter situation.

"Do you like drawing me?" He glanced at you.

"I do," you shrugged. That was the simplest and most truthful answer you could give. "Sorry, I won't do it anymore," you said, thinking he was bothered by it.

"Why?" He ignored your apology.

"You're drawable... I guess," you stared at the table, not understanding the flow of the conversation.

"And what the fuck does that mean?" He asked in a louder voice, turning to face you, obviously confused. "Is this some artistic shit?"

"It's just that you're easy to draw because you have unusual characteristics. It's a good thing," was your answer, and it inflated his chest with narcissistic pride. Unusual, that's what you said, but to him, it was like being called extraordinary.

"Next time you draw me, try using a sketchbook," he said sternly, pretending to reject your work, but deep down, he just didn't want to show that he really liked it. That statement was his way of encouraging you to continue, but at the same time, it was so ironic, considering he got mad at you just when you were drawing him in the sketchtebook that day.

"But you asked me to get rid of mine," you said simply, your voice dwindling with each word of the sentence, not wanting him to find out that you had never thrown it away.

"I'll get you a new one," he said dismissively, taking the entire stack of post-it notes with him, including the drawing, as if you wouldn't notice.

[lupinqs]

CRUSH CULTURE ━━ paige bueckers x reader

☆ ━ summary: paige has a hopeless crush on you, a cheerleader

☆ ━ word count: 5.4K

☆ ━ warnings: alcohol consumption, kissing, this one’s tame

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, inspired by this request (lol i know this was forever ago)

☆ ━ author’s note: hiii i hope y’all enjoy—lemme know if you guys want a part 2 and if so send in ideas for it!!! i have been hopelessly uncreative recently!!! also yes i have been writing tmtc and safe and sound i promise—new chapter of tmtc should be out sometime this weekend, no idea on safe and sound because goddamn that fic takes me forever to write

PAIGE HAS ALWAYS noticed you—though, funny enough, at first it wasn’t because you cheered. That part didn’t even register until her junior year, when she started paying attention to things off the court. But she’d first noticed you back in her sophomore year, in that one class she didn’t feel like she needed at all. She’d often zone out, either doodling in the margins of her notebook or letting her eyes drift around the room as she let her mind wander. Her gaze would skip over classmates until, one day, it stopped on you.

And, God, she remembers that moment. The way she’d blinked, like she needed to reset her brain for a second because… well, you. It wasn’t anything specific, nothing she could even name at the time. But there was this something about you that made her stomach flip. From then on, whenever she zoned out, her eyes would find you before she even realized it. You’d be focused on your notes or lost in thought, completely unaware, and Paige would catch herself staring just a little too long.

She’d think about talking to you, but for some reason, you made her nervous. And that wasn’t something Paige was used to feeling—not with girls. She’d been confident her whole life, even a little cocky when it came to flirting, and her reputation certainly proceeded her. But with you, all of that confidence vanished. Her brain would go blank, her hands would fidget, and her heart would pound just watching you, sitting across the room. The idea of walking up to you, striking up a conversation, felt almost laughable. You’d somehow managed to turn her, Paige Bueckers, into a stammering mess with just a look.

And then there was the other part—the part that kept her from making a move even when she managed to work up the nerve. You looked so…straight. She knows it’s a stupid assumption, but something about the way you carried yourself—she’d convinced herself that you had to be straight. Maybe it was the way you fit in with the other girls, how they flocked around you like they were all in some effortlessly straight, picture-perfect group. Whatever it was, Paige felt certain you’d never look at her the way she looked at you.

So she let it go, or at least, she tried to. But you kept slipping into her thoughts, distracting her in that class, making her mind wander back to you when she least expected it. Her silly little crush on you lingered all through sophomore year, and even when summer rolled around, she found herself thinking of you every now and then, imagining what it might have been like to know you outside of that class.

Then junior year rolled around, and her whole world changed with that ACL tear. Benched for the season, her focus shifted in ways she never anticipated. Instead of charging down the court, she found herself sitting on the sidelines, watching, observing things she normally wouldn’t have noticed. And it was during one of those games, one of those long, frustrating nights when she just wanted to play, that she saw you again—this time, on the court as one of the cheerleaders.

At first, she couldn’t believe it. She actually had to blink a few times, like her brain was trying to catch up with what her eyes were seeing. This was her third year at UConn, and she hadn’t noticed you were a cheerleader ever. Maybe she really was just unobservant, but it truly shocked her. You looked completely different from how you did in class—more animated, more alive, like you were in your element. And when you started that long, impressive tumbling pass down the court, her jaw dropped. She didn’t even know you could do that, and it left her staring, heart hammering in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. (And maybe the tiny little uniform helped speed it up, too.)

From then on, Paige couldn’t keep her eyes off you during games. She’d always find herself watching you, wondering if you’d somehow feel her gaze, hoping that maybe, just once, you’d look her way. She spent so many games like that—sneaking glances, letting her mind wander, imagining what it might be like to finally work up the nerve to talk to you. But game after game, you never seemed to notice her, too focused on your routines, your teammates, and the cheering crowd around you.

And Paige? She knew she was hopelessly stuck. She’d sit there on the sidelines, feeling ridiculous, pining after a girl she couldn’t even talk to, a girl she thought she’d never really have a chance with. It was her worst crush yet—the kind that left her feeling off-balance, stumbling over her own thoughts, trying to convince herself that it didn’t matter—and she’d never even spoken to you. But each time she saw you out there, smiling, moving with that same effortless grace, she’d feel that same pull, that same quiet, persistent ache.

It’s senior year now, and Paige has one thing on her mind: basketball. It’s been more than a year since she’s played, and she’s determined to make this season count. All summer, she told herself the same thing over and over: Stay focused. Don’t get distracted. No more drifting thoughts, no more daydreams, and absolutely no more pointless crushes on girls she can’t have. And especially no crushes on you.

You, the cheerleader she’d spent too many junior year games staring at from the sidelines. You, the girl she still thought about when her mind wandered late at night, even though she knew better. No, this year, she was locking in. She’d worked too hard, too long, to let her head get all twisted up over you again. She was here to play basketball, not to chase after some unattainable crush.

But as she jogs onto the court for warm-ups, trying to ignore the butterflies that come with her first game back, her eyes somehow find you anyway. Just like they always do. And it’s like no time has passed at all. You’re laughing with the other cheerleaders, your hair perfectly styled in a half-up-half-down, a bow nestled in it, your uniform hugging you just right. The lights catch on your skin, giving you this soft glow, and your smile—God, that smile, so open and sweet and painfully distracting—has her heart skipping a beat before she even realizes it. Paige quickly snaps her eyes away, reminding herself she’s here to play, not to get lost in some imaginary world where she has a chance with you. This is her first game back, and even if it’s just an exhibition against Dayton, she’s got to make it count.

With a deep breath, she manages to brush you off. The pregame excitement kicks in, and her focus sharpens as the game begins. And it’s everything she’s been waiting for—the sounds of the court, the rush of the crowd, the thrill of moving with the ball in her hands again. She’s finally back, and for the first quarter, she’s locked in, feeling the rhythm of the game, feeling unstoppable.

Then it happens. KK makes a bad pass, and Paige is already in motion, chasing down the ball to save it from going out of bounds. She dives, stretching to reach it, but it’s just out of reach. Before she can stop herself, she’s crashing full speed into the sidelines—right into the cheerleaders.

Right into you.

The impact is quick and jarring, and she scrambles to her feet as fast as she can, heart hammering in her chest. She’s prepared to rattle off an apology when she realizes who she’s just barreled into. You’re significantly smaller than her, and her stomach drops as she takes in your wide eyes and the faint wince that flickers across your face. But you handle it with the same grace she’d always admired from afar, waving her off with a laugh and saying, “It’s fine! You’re good!” Your smile is easy, casual, and she’s even more mortified by how sweet you’re being about it.

She tries to apologize again, but you’re already brushing it off with that smile, and she feels her face heating up as she mumbles something unintelligible before hurrying back onto the court. But now her head’s a mess, all her carefully built-up focus gone, replaced by the embarrassing replay of what just happened. She tells herself to get it together, but it’s no use. Her mind keeps drifting back to the look on your face, to the sound of your laugh, to the softness in your smile when you waved her off.

The rest of the game passes in a frustrating blur. She’s off her rhythm, missing open shots she’d normally sink with ease, getting caught in rotations she usually anticipates. By the end, she’s only scored eight points—a painfully low number, especially for her—and she feels the weight of it like a stone in her stomach. She should be thinking about the game, her missed shots, how to get her focus back. But as she sits on the bench, watching the last few minutes tick away, all she can think about is you standing there, laughing off her clumsy collision, looking up at her with that easy, unbothered smile.

So much for not getting distracted.

After the game, Paige is still kicking herself over how sloppy her performance was. She lingers in the locker room, hoping to avoid any unwanted run-ins. But finally, when she’s convinced she’s given it enough time for everyone to clear out, she heads out into the quiet halls of Gampel Pavilion.

Except, of course, her luck isn’t that great. Just as she’s walking out, she spots you—still in your cheer uniform but with a UConn sweatshirt thrown over it, heading down the hall, cheer bag on your back. Her first instinct is to turn around, bolt back into the locker room, and hope to avoid any more humiliation, but it’s already too late. You look up, and your eyes meet, and suddenly she’s frozen in place, panicking because she’s actually staring straight into your eyes.

And then you smile at her. That smile, the one that sends her brain into a meltdown every time. But it’s so much worse now because your smile is directed at her. And, suddenly, you’re walking up to her and saying, “Hey, good game tonight,” and Paige is pretty sure her heart has stopped.

She tries to seem casual, to play it cool, but all she can manage is a shrug and a half-hearted, “Eh, wasn’t my best.” She’s hoping you don’t notice her stutter, but her cheeks are burning, giving her away.

You just wave it off, your dimple showing as you grin up at her. “Nah, this was just your warm-up. You haven’t played in, like, over a year. Next game you’ll drop thirty.”

Paige blinks, and the fact that you know she’s good at basketball—even though everyone knows she’s good at basketball—is enough to send her into a coma, she thinks. “Oh, gosh,” she says, rubbing the back of her neck, struggling to find words. “Gonna have to now, just for you.” The second it’s out of her mouth, she mentally facepalms. That totally sounds like she’s trying to flirt with you.

But you just laugh, eyes crinkling as you look at her, completely unfazed. “I’ll hold you to it,” you say, and that smile doesn’t waver.

There’s a pause, and Paige knows this is where you’re about to say goodbye, and she panics because, after two years of thinking and practically obsessing over you, she’s finally talking to you, and it feels too short, too fleeting. Before she can second-guess herself, she blurts, “Oh—uh, hey, about earlier… when I ran into you. I’m… really sorry about that.”

You shake your head, smiling even wider, brushing it off with an easy laugh. “Don’t worry about it. Happens all the time; more than you’d think.”

There’s something so casual and warm about the way you say it, and she feels herself relax a little, caught up in the fact that you’re looking right at her, not at all bothered, almost… endeared? And for some reason, seeing your dimpled smile has her stammering like she’s never done before.

“So… uh…” Paige stumbles, her words failing, her confidence gone. “Are you, um, going to Ted’s tonight?” She bites her lip the moment it’s out, but she presses on. “You know, a lot of people go there after the first game—it’s kinda, like, a…thing. Which, y’know, I guess you probably already know about because… you’re, like, not a freshman…” She sounds so stupid. God.

You tilt your head slightly, considering, before you smile at her again. “I wasn’t really planning on going, but…” You pause, looking at her with a bit of a spark in your eyes, and for a second, she feels like she might actually combust. “Should I?”

Paige’s eyes widen, and she’s nodding before she can stop herself. “Y-yes! I—I think you’d have a good time.” She mentally scolds herself for the stutter, but you’re just nodding, still smiling, still looking so effortlessly at ease while she’s a nervous mess.

You laugh softly, a sound she’s sure she’ll replay in her head all night, and say, “Alright. I’ll think about it. And if I do decide to go, I’ll see you there, Bueckers.”

And with one last smile, you turn and walk away, leaving her standing there in shock, her heart racing and her mind replaying every word you just said. She’s tempted to pinch herself, convinced this has to be some elaborate daydream because there’s no way she actually just talked to you.

She doesn’t move for a long moment, replaying the way you said her name, the sound of your laugh, and the chance that she might actually see you tonight.

IT’S LATER in the night at Ted’s, and Paige is doing her best to stay composed, talking with one of the guys from the men’s team. Dirty Shirley in hand, she’s feeling just the faintest buzz, not enough to loosen her grip on reality but just enough to feel the edges of her confidence soften. She’s nodding along to something the guy’s saying when, over his shoulder, she spots you walking in.

Paige’s attention falters as she takes you in. You’re in baggy jeans that hang low on your hips, and a leather tube top that clings in all the right places, dipping enough to make her gaze lower slightly. She can barely tear her gaze away as you head over to the bar with a couple of friends, both of whom Paige recognizes from the cheer team. You’re laughing, leaning into one of them, completely at ease, and she can’t stop watching.

She realizes she’s staring a little too long, so she quickly excuses herself, not to talk to you—God, no, she can’t even think straight around you—but to hide by her teammates before she does something stupid. Her teammates notice her the moment she approaches, grinning as they watch her flustered expression.

“You see who just walked in, P?” Azzi teases, nudging her.

Paige groans, cheeks burning. “Don’t start.”

But they’re all laughing, and Ice is elbowing KK with a smirk. Nika, who’s been listening with a barely disguised grin, rolls her eyes. “Okay, this is ridiculous. You’ve had a crush on this girl since, like, forever. Go talk to her.”

“Are you kidding? I can’t. She’s—” Paige doesn’t even finish the sentence, glancing over her shoulder just in time to see you at the bar, waiting for your drink. She’d be lying if she said her confidence hadn’t evaporated the moment you walked in, looking like that.

“Girl boo,” KK sighs dramatically, before grabbing Paige’s wrist and dragging her toward the bar. Paige stumbles after her, mumbling weak protests, but KK is determined, practically hauling her across the crowded floor until they’re standing right next to you. KK orders a Sprite, leaning casually on the bar and glancing over at you with a grin. “Hey, girly pop! You cheer, right?”

You smile, looking more at Paige than at KK, and Paige’s heart thuds against her ribs. “Yeah, I do,” you say, introducing yourself and holding out a hand to KK, but your gaze flickers right back to Paige, who’s half-hiding behind her friend, cheeks pink and looking slightly caught. “Hi, Paige.”

Paige’s voice comes out a little sheepish. “Hey.”

KK smirks, clearly satisfied, and gives Paige a quick wink before excusing herself, leaving Paige standing there alone with you.

There’s a beat of awkward silence as Paige shifts on her feet, trying to keep herself from looking like an idiot, which is hard considering how aware she is of every single thing about you—your posture, your smile, the way you’re leaning in just close enough that she can catch a faint hint of your perfume.

“So,” Paige says, trying for casual. “You glad you came?”

You tilt your head, your lips quirking up. “Hmm, not sure yet. I’m not too impressed so far.”

She nods, stifling a wince, feeling more awkward than she can ever remember. And yet, her mind’s racing, urging her to just go for it, because this is her moment. She’s Paige Bueckers—she’s supposed to be confident. She always is. Besides, if you’re not interested, at least she’ll know. And if you are…

She hesitates, then swallows, trying to keep her voice steady as she says, “Um… can I buy you a drink?”

There’s a flicker of something in your eyes—maybe amusement, maybe surprise—and she’s mentally bracing herself for you to say no when you glance at the bar and say, “Actually, I just ordered one.” Her heart sinks a little, but she forces a smile, trying to play it off. Of course you’re not interested; she should have known better—

Then you’re leaning closer, nudging her elbow with yours, and you smirk, your voice soft and playful. “But you can buy my next one, if you want.”

Paige’s brain short-circuits as your words settle in, her mouth going dry as she realizes what you just said. “Uh, y-yeah, totally,” she manages, trying to keep from looking as giddy as she feels. “I…I’d love to.”

Your smirk turns into a grin, and you’re looking at her like she’s the only person in the room. She’s trying to come up with something smooth to say when, suddenly, one of your friends pops ups beside you and Paige, tugging on your arm, pulling you off the barstool and towards the crowd with a teasing, “Come on!”

Paige opens her mouth to protest, but before she knows it, you’re being swallowed up into the throng of people—not before you send her a quick, apologetic look over your shoulder, your friend still dragging you. Paige frowns, a little disappointed, but quickly catches herself. It’s fine, she thinks, though a twinge of regret lingers. She pushes it aside, grabbing her drink from the bar and returning back to her table, telling herself to focus on celebrating. She’s finally back on the court, and after such a long, difficult recovery, tonight is meant to be about unwinding. So she does, letting her team hype her up as they cheer and clink their drinks in her honor, pulling her deeper into the night.

As the time passes, Paige’s frustration eases, replaced by a warm buzz that dulls everything except the elation of being surrounded by her friends. But even as she sips her drink, she can’t help but think about where you’ve disappeared to, if you’re still here, still laughing with your friends somewhere across the bar. She finds herself scanning the crowd more than once, looking for a glimpse of you. She tries to push it down, laugh it off with another round, but every time she looks around, her gaze seems to search for you.

Eventually, the heat of the crowded bar gets to her. She feels flushed, dizzy from the alcohol and the mass of people, so she slips out the back door for some air. The cool breeze hits her face, and she closes her eyes for a second, sighing as the sounds of the bar fade behind her. She barely has a moment to herself before she notices a figure sitting just a few feet away.

It’s you, sitting on the curb, looking down at your hands as if lost in thought. Paige blinks, unsure if she’s seeing things. But then you look up at the sound of the door closing and smile, that familiar, gentle smile that makes her heart stutter. You seem just as surprised to see her, but your expression softens, like you’re genuinely happy she’s there. And that’s all the encouragement Paige needs.

“You care if I join?” she asks, trying to sound casual, even though her heart’s racing.

“Not at all,” you reply, and she takes a seat beside you, a bit closer than she planned. She feels your warmth even in the night air, and it makes her head spin in a way she can’t blame on the alcohol.

There’s a pause, a comfortable silence stretching between you. Paige watches as you draw patterns in the gravel with your fingers, the lights from the bar casting a soft glow over your face. She swallows, summoning up the nerve to say something—anything that might keep you sitting here with her.

“Why you out here?” she starts, genuinely curious.

You shrug, glancing back toward the bar. “Got a little claustrophobic in there,” you say, voice soft.

“Yeah… me too,” Paige nods, grateful for the fresh air and this quiet moment with you. The silence returns, but this time, it’s charged, heavy with something she can’t quite put into words.

Finally, Paige finds her voice again, her words slipping out before she can think them over. “You’re a good cheerleader, y’know. You do all those flips and shit—it’s impressive.”

You let out a small laugh, looking away for a second as if flattered. Paige is almost certain she sees a faint blush on your cheeks, and the sight makes her smile a little, lips curving upward. “Didn’t know you really paid attention to the cheerleaders,” you respond, teasing.

Paige scoffs, shrugging as if it isn’t a big deal, even though she feels like she’s been caught in some sort of confession—which, she kinda has. “Well, I did sit out for a year, so… I had to find something to watch.”

You tilt your head, smirking as you ask, “So you chose to watch me?”

Paige’s cheeks warm, and she silently thanks the alcohol for the courage that lets her meet your gaze. “Yeah,” she murmurs, watching as you look away, biting your lip as if trying to hide a smile. The sight makes her heart skip in a way that’s both exhilarating and terrifying.

After a moment, Paige adds, “I think we… had a class together, couple years ago?”

You nod, eyes lighting up at the memory. “Yeah, we did. Sociology, right?” you reaffirm, nodding in tandem with her. “’M surprised you remember that—you always seemed so disinterested.”

Paige nearly blanches, genuinely surprised you’d noticed her too. She didn’t think you’d have remembered her, much less noticed her back then. The notion gives her some of her usual confidence beck and she manages a chuckle, shaking her head and tilting it slightly toward you as she murmurs, “Ah, so you were watching me too, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you as you nudge her shoulder. “Shut up,” you mutter, but the blush on your face doesn’t go unnoticed.

There’s another pause, the two of you sitting side by side in the quiet, both of you lingering on the edge of something unsaid. Finally, you break the silence, voice soft and hesitant. “How come you never said anything before?”

Paige swallows, the question catching her off guard. She doesn’t know how to answer without giving herself away, without admitting the way her stomach twists every time she sees you around campus. So instead, she asks, turning the question back on you, “How come you never did?”

You don’t seem to mind that she didn’t really give you an answer. Instead, you just shrug, looking down at your hands. “I don’t know… you make me kinda nervous.”

The confession makes Paige’s heart alight, feeling like it’s on fire and might spread throughout her whole body. She’s used to people being in awe of her for basketball, for her skills on the court. But hearing you say that you feel that way too, like she’s someone more than just her reputation, shakes her. Besides, you’ve always seemed so incredibly at ease around her, never even bothering to look her way. So, almost incredulously, she asks, “Why?”

You scoff, looking at her like she’s missing something obvious. “Um, because you’re Paige Bueckers. Basketball prodigy, campus celebrity.” You raise your eyebrows at her. “I think most people would be.”

Paige feels a rush of warmth at your words, the way you say her name like it means something special. She searches your face, feeling the air grow thick around you, heavy with something she couldn’t quite name. And maybe it’s the alcohol in her system, maybe it’s the way you’re looking at her like she’s somehow both intimidating and endearing at the same time, but she’s feeling bold. Bold enough to keep this conversation going, to see where this moment might lead.

She clears her throat, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Well, if it helps… you make me nervous.”

You laugh, a little breathless, clearly surprised. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious,” Paige insists. “You ain’t see the way I stuttered around you earlier? Ion know, ma, you just kinda fuck with my head.”

She watches, grin widening, as you blush at her words, the color blooming across your cheeks. It’s addictive, seeing you react like that—because of her. She doesn’t even try to hide her amusement when you ask, gaze set out in front of you instead of on her, “Why would I fuck with your head?”

It’s a good question, one Paige asked herself for a long time. It never took her long to figure out the answer. Though, she’s a little nervous to explain herself.

And she gets even more nervous when your gaze slides back onto hers, your head turning towards her. Paige’s smile falters, just slightly, at the eye contact. It’s intense, the kind that feels like it’s holding the world still for a second. Paige’s heart is a drum in her chest, each beat vibrating through her veins. Her eyes slide across your face, your features, tracing the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, the faint shimmer glitter swiped along your eyelids. She catalogues every detail as if she’s never going to get this close again—a very real possibility if she doesn’t up her game.

Finally, she leans in—just slightly—her voice low and steady as she answers you. “You got this positive energy that makes you just… stand out in front of a crowd. Big smile. Bright eyes. Mm, I just… like seeing that in people.”

The words settle in the space between you, warm and lingering. Paige hesitates, letting them wrap around you both before adding, her voice dipping lower, her boldness shooting upward, “And it doesn’t help that you’re too beautiful for your own good.”

You blush deeper this time, cheeks tinted more red than pink, and it makes Paige’s heart skip. She can’t help the way her lips twitch into a grin. She’s waited so long to see this—see you flustered because of her. It’s everything she imagined and more.

“Stop,” you protest, fighting a smile as you push at her hands, your tone not carrying any weight behind the word. Paige just laughs, soft and easy, catching your hand in hers before you can pull away. She lifts it slightly, letting her thumb brush over your knuckles as she murmurs, “Nah, really.”

It’s then that the air changes—shifting into something heavier. The space between the two of you is practically nonexistent at this point, your sides tucked right into each other. You’re staring at one another, and Paige can’t help it when her gaze flickers down to your lips, just for a second. But it turns out to be enough. Because then she sees your eyes dart to her mouth in return, lingering there. And that’s when Paige knows.

Still holding your hand, she locks her gaze on yours, her voice firm but soft when she repeats, “Really.”

It’s like that word unlocks something between you because suddenly you’re leaning in, and Paige is doing the same, her breath catching the moment your lips touch hers. It’s soft, tentative at first, like neither of you are quite sure if this is real. But then you press into her just slightly, and Paige swears the whole world tilts on its axis.

The kiss deepens, slow but deliberate, and Paige feels her whole body light up. Your lips are warm, soft, and you taste faintly of tequila and strawberry chapstick. It’s intoxicating, the way you move against her, gentle but with enough purpose to make her head spin. Paige’s hand slides up to cradle your jaw, her thumb brushing against your cheekbone.

Your fingers grab at her bicep, holding on like you don’t want to let go, and it sends a thrill through her. Paige’s lips part slightly, and when you follow, letting her slip her tongue into your mouth, it’s like a fire ignites somewhere deep inside her. The kiss isn’t frantic or messy—it’s unhurried, like the two of you have all the time in the world to explore this. She can feel the heat of your skin where her hand cups your face, and she wants to memorize every second, every sensation.

The way you tilt your head just a little, giving her more access, nearly undoes her. Paige tilts her own in response, deepening the kiss further, her fingers slipping from your jaw to the back of your neck. The touch is light, almost reverent, but the closeness makes her heart race.

Your other hand moves, grazing against her side before resting lightly on her hip. Paige’s stomach flips at the contact, her body leaning instinctively closer to yours. She swears she can feel the warmth of your breath between kisses, the subtle hitch when she nips at your bottom lip.

It’s slow, it’s sweet, but it’s intoxicating. Paige swears she’s never kissed anyone like this before, never felt this much just from simple lip-locking. When you pull back slightly—not breaking the kiss entirely, just catching your breath—she can’t help herself. She follows you instinctively, her mouth chasing yours in a way that feels both vulnerable and utterly fearless. You allow her to, tongues half entwined between your swollen lips.

When you finally part, Paige keeps close, her forehead gently pressing against yours, her hand still cradling your neck. Neither of you moves far, the space between you so small your breaths still mingle, soft and warm against each other’s lips. Paige’s eyes flutter open, but she doesn’t look away from you, her gaze locked on yours like you’re the only thing in the world that matters—which, right now, you might as well be.

Her voice comes out lower than she intends, husky and laced with something she can’t quite hide as she murmurs, “You gonna let me buy you that drink now?”

Your lips curve into a slow, easy grin, and Paige feels her chest tighten, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of it. You’re so close she can see the faint glimmer of mischief in your eyes, the way they soften as you look at her.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice soft but sure, “I’d like that.”

The way you say it, the way your smile widens just slightly after, makes Paige’s heart race all over again. She can’t help the small, satisfied smile that spreads across her face. Paige leans back just enough to take in the sight of you—your flushed cheeks, the way your hair’s slightly mussed, and that lingering, breathtaking smile she knows will haunt her in the best way.

“Good,” she murmurs, her thumb brushing your jaw lightly one last time before she pulls away completely, standing up and offering you her hand. When you take it, she holds on a little longer than necessary, leading you back into the bar, already planning how she’s going to keep you smiling for the rest of the night—and, hopefully, much longer afterwards.

[catssluvr]

dating nerdy/loser natalie scatorccio <3

⭑.ᐟ Straight up just obsessed with your existence, Nat’s blindly in love with you and would do anything to make you happy - probably loves you tons more than playing video games and that’s a compliment.

⭑.ᐟ Makes you watch all of her favorite movies, not so subtly looking over to catch your reactions to her favorite parts and also yapping about little details that no one else notices.

⭑.ᐟ Takes the gameboy she bought on second hand everywhere with her, pulling out in public whenever she’s on a line or even at school when she’s bored. She plays the games you find most interesting so you’re also entertained.

⭑.ᐟ Drags you to the arcade and makes you play the duo games with her, then plays the other ones while you sit close to her eating some snacks she got from a vending machine.

⭑.ᐟ Tank tops and pajama checkered pants are her go to outfit - not that you could ever complain. Also likes graphic tees with a long sleeved under them and sometimes the infamous leather jacket she wears just for you.

⭑.ᐟ Absolutely tears up whenever you give her flowers or anything of the sort, mostly just overwhelmed with how nice she thinks you are to her.

“Baby, are you crying?”

“What- no! I just had hot cheetos and they were extra spicy.” Meanwhile pouting with trembling lips.

⭑.ᐟ Talking of pouting, it’s probably Nat’s top one reaction to you being mad at her. She’d never make you feel anger towards her on purpose so most of all it makes her panic right there. Tries to solve it as quickly as possible because all she wants is to see your frown dissolve into a sweet smile so she can finally hug your bones out.

⭑.ᐟ Loves to sleep in and will not let go of you until she’s fully ready to get up, nuzzling into your neck and practically whining when you make move to take off the covers.

⭑.ᐟ The biggest cuddle bug and particularly adores being the little spoon. Have her lay her head on your chest while playing with her hair and she’ll be purring like a cat in seconds.

⭑.ᐟ Is an absolute tease who wants your attention 24/7, will pinch your cheeks and arms until you finally look at her.

⭑.ᐟ This girl gets the zoomies randomly, giggling about stupid things and jumping on top of you to tickle your life out and cover your pretty face in wet & very sloppy pecks.

⭑.ᐟ Never having to be scared of her cheating cause realistically she’s a big loser who can barely talk to a girl without stuttering and wears shirts that say ‘i love my gf’ every other day.

⭑.ᐟ Is so freaking clumsy, keeps on hitting her toes on wall corners and breaking cups because she trips on literal air. It’s all worth it for her though because she gets to have you as her personal nurse, putting a band aid over where she’s hurt before placing a kiss over it.

⭑.ᐟ Paints your nails while you tell her about the latest gossip going on, listening attentively and gasping dramatically when she thinks something is particularly shocking.

“He did what!? :0”

⭑.ᐟ Genuinely leaves hickeys on you sometimes without even noticing. She’ll be kissing your neck without any second intentions and before she can stop herself there will be a whole bruise on it.

⭑.ᐟ Has a lego collection with spaceships from star wars and some geeky video games. Gets sooo giddy when you buy her new ones and prepares a whole date night for you to build it with her.

⭑.ᐟ When you’re sitting together in class she draws silly doodles on your notebook, making very bad drawings of both of you holding hands with hearts around you.

“Look, that’s us :)”

⭑.ᐟ Sometimes gets a bit insecure and doesn’t understand what you see in her, it’s hard to believe you actually love her for who she is. But once you call her over when you’re with your friends in public and literally show her off she knows there was never a reason to doubt it.

[katszumi]

Studying with bakugo is almost NEVER studying with bakugo. The mf can yell at you to pay attention all he wants but a few seconds of it and you’re already back to yapping about the latest drama. Drawing little doodles on your paper (and a few on his) while you tell him about how kuroiro finally confessed to Komori from class 1b, and although he doesn’t like to admit it he’s paying more attention to your yapping then his studying. (Your the only person who can do that)

i hope i did your ask justice😔 this is the first one i’ve done, but thank you sm for requesting. and gosh, i love silly highschool romance sm REQUEST MORE PLS

sorta linked to this but can def be read as a standalone

“did you hear about kuroiro’s confession today?” you asked. you were laid on bakugou’s room floor, your notebook wide open with a few math equations along with a dozen of doodles.

you just asked him another silly question, one of the countless ones that you’ve already made in a hour.

bakugou already knew that you were a sociable person from the way you find a new person to talk to everyday, but he didn’t expect you to be this talkative.

truth be told, you’ve talked more than you have actually studied. which was the main reason why you had come to his room at nearly eight o’clock at night, close to his bedtime.

he only accepted the late study session was because the other reason for you to come was so he could speak with you privately. this was the best way he could do it secretly without being found out.

bakugou looked up from his textbook, directly at you. “no. not that i even care about that stuff anyway.”

your chin rested in the palm of your hand, silently drumming your fingers against your cheek.

“it’s hilarious though, cmon!” you pleaded with a small smile on your face.

“we’re supposed to be studying, y/n. did you forget that you didn’t exactly ace that test?” he rhetorically asked.

you pursed your lips together in a thin line, looking away from bakugou and back onto your textbook. you were dumb enough to even think you could gossip with bakugou.

he offered to help you study, not to bond more as friends clearly.

you picked up your pencil and began to write the equation that was written in the hardbook next to you.

hearing that there was no response from you, bakugou internally began to slightly panic. it was never like you to just shut up so easily. he couldn’t help but come to the conclusion that he came off too rude.

it’s not that he didn’t want to hear you speak, he just didn’t want to make his crush on you so obvious. he was trying so hard to be his normal self which was much harder towards you than he thought.

bakugou placed his textbook down, leaning back into the palm of his hands behind him. “what did that extra do?”

almost immediately, you released the pencil that was in your hand and made eye contact with the ruby eyed male in front of you. a smile tugged on your lips, one that bakugou couldn’t help but think was so fuckin’ cute.

“he made her a bouquet of mushrooms, because you know, her whole mushroom quirk thing. he tried to give it to her discreetly but someone walked past and made it a whole big deal.” you described. “honestly, i feel bad cause i think they’re both kinda shy. they probably didn’t want that attention.”

bakugou unknowingly listened to every word of yours, feeling himself being drawn into you. what was it about your voice that made it so compelling for him?

if it were anyone else like stupid shitty hair or raccoon eyes, he’d shut it down immediately, not caring about a single word they had to say about it.

but, he found it a little more difficult than usual to refuse when it came to you.

he snickered. “public confession? what a romcom move of him.”

you looked back down, noticing bakugou’s blank paper. out of boredom, you grasped onto his notebook. you started to doodle on the small square in the upper left corner; a couple of hearts, stars, dots to make it less bland.

“i think it was sweet. it’s hard to confess already, but to do it in front of an audience? takes guts honestly.”

bakugou watched you draw on his paper. he felt a little jump in his heart, some part of him liking the fact that you took initiative to add your own touch to something of his.

something so stupid. so small. but he couldn’t help but feel a tad giddy.

bakugou sat upright, gulping nothing but his own saliva. “is that something you would like?”

at first, bakugou curses at himself. why would he ask something like that? something that could definitely give away his small crush on you. but he remained his same stone-cold look.

you looked up at bakugou, noticing his eyes softening slightly before returning to their original position.

you thought about it long before responding. “nah. don’t think that’s something i’d really prefer. i’d like a simple confession with just the two of us.” you described.

it seemed a little weird to you that you were casually speaking of your own relationship preference with bakugou, but you tried your hardest not to think too much about it.

you assumed he was only trying to make small talk.

“good.” again, with bakugou’s one worded response. even though he didn’t add more to his sentence, his eyes lingered with yours. as if he was deciding something or carefully analyzing you. but it was a different look. not a competitive, angry look. but rather a tender look. one you have never seen bakugou wear, ever.

suddenly, he looked away, back onto his textbook. you seemingly didn’t mind considering the small tingle you were receiving in your face.

bakugou looked over his shoulder, begging to anyone even the gods above to remove the deep-set blush that was occurring on his face.

the male cleared his throat. “alright, let’s fuckin’ study. gossipin’ and yappin’ won’t help you get a better damn test score.” he chose the defensive route to move on.

you silently agreed with a nod. but, your mind goes back to the thought that you successfully just gossiped with the katsuki bakugou. the one that’s listed to only care about being the number one hero.

you bit the inside of your cheek to hide a smile as you tapped your pencil against your notebook.

just now, a kaleidoscope of butterflies slipped through the cracks of your stone wall, entering your stomach, and began to harvest a life within that had bakugou’s name branded on it.

[sunflowerhae]

Late to Love you

Haechan x f!reader, hogwarts!au

Warnings: strangers to ??, angst, fluff, she fell first he fell harder (yes that’s a warning), language, hogwarts theme so spells are mentioned, a made up graduation and college sorry yall, weird y/n, lowkey asshole haechan (stupid)

Notes: hiii this is sooo late i was supposed to upload this on Haechan’s bday but uhm..whoops!! Lmk if yall want part 2 and also HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHANNIE 🤍

1/?? , Masterlist

Y/N sat cross-legged in her usual seat near the back of the Astronomy Tower, a scuffed leather-bound notebook resting in her lap. Around her, the quiet scratch of quills echoed like rainfall. She had already finished charting Jupiter’s moon cycle twenty minutes ago, but she liked to double-check things. Triple-check, if no one was watching.

Renjun sat beside her — one seat over, of course. He always did. Their desks were angled just far enough apart that she could pretend she was alone if she wanted to, but close enough to trade parchment or steal glances when she didn’t.

He was hunched forward, face shadowed by the edge of his sleeve as he drew. She’d peeked once — it wasn’t notes. It was a sketch of the stars, sprawling and inky, a mess of emotion more than astronomy.

“I like your moons,” she offered quietly, still staring at her own parchment.

Renjun made a quiet sound in the back of his throat — not quite acknowledgment, not quite dismissal.

They were like that. Comfortable, sort of. Silent. Two people who knew how to fill space without talking too much. He was the closest thing she had to a friend, though she wasn’t sure he’d call her the same.

A breeze ghosted through the cracked window beside her, stirring the fringe of her cloak. Y/N tugged her scarf tighter. The Astronomy Tower was always cold, even in early autumn — like it hoarded winter for itself, unwilling to let go

“So…” Renjun began, dragging out the syllable as if the thought was heavy. “Quidditch tonight.”

She looked up from her notes. “Hmm?”

“Slytherin versus Ravenclaw.”

A pause.

“Will you be there?”

Before she could answer, he shook his head, still not meeting her eyes. “What am I saying — of course you will be.”

She didn’t respond right away. Just watched him add a silver starburst to his sketch.

“…Yeah,” she finally murmured, returning to her own chart. “I’ll be there.”

Another pause. This one longer. Renjun didn’t say anything else; he didn’t need to. That was how their conversations went — half-sentences, unfinished thoughts, and space for interpretation.

Y/N liked it that way.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, distractedly tapping her quill against the edge of the desk. She didn’t love Quidditch, not the way most students did. She liked the atmosphere more than the sport — the lights, the energy, the flash of house colors weaving through the sky like stitched thread. She liked how people shouted with abandon, faces flushed and paint smeared across cheeks.

It was chaos. Beautiful chaos. Something she never fit into, but always admired from afar.

She supposed there were other reasons she went, too.

But she didn’t think about those.

Instead, she focused on the moon phases again, her parchment now dusted with graphite fingerprints and little doodles along the edges — an owl, a jar of stars, a cat in a wizard hat.

Her drawings always took over when she wasn’t paying attention.

Professor Sinistra called for the class to prepare their scrolls, and Renjun exhaled, folding his sketch with careful fingers.

Y/N didn’t move right away. She glanced out the window — far off, the Quidditch pitch was being charmed into readiness, blue and green banners starting to flutter along the stands.

Somewhere out there, someone she tried not to think about too often was probably already practicing. She ignored that thought.

Y/N liked being quiet.

She didn’t mean in the “shy girl in the corner” kind of way — not really. It wasn’t that she was afraid to speak. She just didn’t feel the need to. And at Hogwarts, not needing attention was practically an art form. Students clawed over each other to be seen — louder spells, brighter robes, drama in every hallway. But Y/N? She preferred the sidelines. The shadows. The fourth row, third desk from the right. The one that didn’t creak. It wasn’t sadness; Not quite. It was just stillness.

Her mum always said she was born that way — with eyes too big for her face and a quiet sort of soul that made animals trust her before people did. “You’ve always seen too much,” her mum would hum, brushing tangles from her hair, “you look right into people. It unnerves them.”

Her father, a Muggle musician who had stumbled heart-first into the magical world by falling for a witch with poetry in her blood, had only ever encouraged her weirdness. He taught her how to play the guitar with fingers too small for chords, how to make mixtapes from the radio, how to paint feelings instead of landscapes.

She never quite knew where she fit — not in his world, not in her mum’s either. But maybe that was the point. Maybe she was meant to drift between them like a ghost with a sketchbook.

At school, she didn’t try to be invisible. She just was. It was easier that way.

Most people didn’t notice her, and those who did — well, they rarely remembered her name. Not that she blamed them. There wasn’t anything remarkable about Y/N. She had plain hair and a plain wand and robes that hung a little too big. She wasn’t charming like the Hufflepuffs or wild like the Gryffindors or even intellectually intimidating like the other Ravenclaws. She was just… odd. Gentle. Too sensitive for her own good, her mum always said with a kiss to her forehead. She kept her heart on her sleeve and her sleeve wrapped in protective charms.

Her best conversations were with the Fat Lady (who often invited her for tea), Nearly Headless Nick (who once offered to teach her ballroom dancing), and the owls in the Owlery (who didn’t need words to understand). She liked her life on the edges. It gave her time to see what others missed — the way the paintings whispered to each other between classes, how Peeves always avoided the Arithmancy corridor during lunch, how certain professors only smiled when they thought no one was looking. Y/n liked seeing what others didn’t. Her only issue? It lead her drifting eyes and wondering mind to places she really wished it didn’t - to the one person who y/n really wished had less of her attention.

—-

By the time night fell and the Quidditch pitch was roaring with color and chants, Y/N was already tucked into her usual spot — top row, far end, sandwiched between two older professors who smelled faintly of peppermint and ink. The crowd was electric. Ravenclaws in bronze and blue shimmered like stars, while Slytherins waved green fire in the air like victory was a foregone conclusion. Y/N watched it all unfold like a painting in motion. She liked the colors most of all — the way the scarves fluttered, the banners danced, the way house pride turned even the quietest students into living, breathing fireworks.

Y/n watched with bated breath, not because she really cared who won; Because there was always a moment — always — when he first appeared.

A flash of green.

Broom in hand.

Goggles pushed into his curls.

Smile sharp and effortless.

Lee Haechan, Slytherin’s golden boy.

He had that energy about him — the kind that didn’t just draw attention, it demanded it. When he walked onto the pitch, even the professors leaned in. He laughed with his teammates, bumped fists with Chenle, and casually winked at a girl in the first row who immediately screamed.

Y/N didn’t scream, She didn’t even move. She just… watched. From this far away, he looked like a storybook character. Fictional. Unreal. A flash of color and charm, untouchable as the stars they studied in Astronomy. And like always, she wondered — just for a moment — what it might feel like to be seen by someone like that.

But only for a moment.

Then the whistle blew, the game began, and the world exploded into skyward chaos.

And Y/N, quiet as a breath, watched from the background. Right where she liked it.

—-

The Owlery was empty at this hour — except for the rustling of feathers and the occasional coo of a drowsy barn owl shifting in its nest. The scent of parchment, hay, and old stone mixed with the sharp crisp of night air that always managed to sneak in through the arched windows, no matter how many warming charms she muttered.

Y/N moved quietly between the perches, whispering her hellos. Luna, her snowy owl, blinked at her sleepily, ruffling her feathers with that usual air of mild disapproval. Y/N smiled faintly and reached up to gently clean the edge of her perch with a rag.

No one asked her to come here every night. No one even noticed. But she liked it — the silence, the routine, the way the owls seemed to trust her in the way people rarely did. She liked feeling useful, like someone in this big school would miss her if she left.

Usually, y/n danced through the owlery with a determination that rivaled the athletes on the field. She insisted on being good at this, being good with her animal and all the other ones that needed attention while she was here (as if it even came hard to her). Usually she was careful and attentive, but tonight, her hands moved on their own while her mind ran miles behind.

It wasn’t the game. It wasn’t even the win — though she was sure Slytherin was still celebrating in that loud, dramatic way they always did.

No. It was him again. She couldn’t seem to get him out of her head even if she wanted to, and she hated him for that.

She remembered the first time she saw Lee Haechan.

They were eleven. Small and confused and jittery with nerves. She remembered the chill of the Great Hall floor under her shoes, the way the Sorting Hat loomed like something out of a Grimm fairy tale. And then—

“Donghyuck, Lee.”

He had walked up like he didn’t have a single worry in the world. She remembered his eyes — curious, bright, mischievous — and the way he grinned at something one of the other students whispered to him as he passed. He sat on the stool. The Sorting Hat barely touched his head before it shouted—

“Slytherin!”

The table erupted in cheers, and he jumped off the stool like he’d been expecting it all along. He didn’t look back. Didn’t notice her.

When her name was called — quiet, hesitant — he was already talking, already making friends, already becoming Haechan.

And yet, something in her shifted. She felt it — the tug in her chest. Like a string tying itself to someone who didn’t even know she existed.

Years passed. He became himself more and more. Loud, effortless, magnetic. And y/n? She stayed her strange little self, tucked away in libraries and forgotten corners of towers.

And of course their paths had crossed — a few fleeting times. After all, the two were in the same year, and how could she forget the most memorable time: fourth year tutoring.

She was top of their year in Herbology, naturally. To y/n, school and studying came easy. It wasn’t like she even really tried, even though that would probably annoy her classmates if she were to say it out loud. The truth is, y/n loved being a witch. Maybe it’s because she saw a different side of it, what with her muggle father. And while she was always raised around magic, she never took it for granted. Not like Haechan - who was raised in a pureblood family - did. And the grades showed it; He was failing it miserably.

She never offered to help. He never asked. But Professor Longbottom paired them together out of what he claimed was “academic balance” - y/n saw it as being held hostage, though she never outwardly complained.

It was two weeks. Just four sessions.

He was frustratingly charming, fidgety, always trying to distract her. He doodled on his notes and spent more time making jokes than listening, but — once or twice — he really listened. Asked thoughtful questions. Caught her off guard. And once, she even thought he looked at her a second too long - But she knew it was nothing. She was delusional, but not that delusional.

By the end of the two weeks, he was passing.

And they never spoke again.

Now, seven years in, she was still fighting it; Still angry with herself for feeling this way. He didn’t know her. Not really. He knew her name, maybe. Her face in passing. But he didn’t know her favorite stars or how she talked to ghosts or how she cried the night her father sent her a Muggle mixtape because the songs reminded him of her.

He didn’t know her.

So why — why — did she still look for him?

Why did she still feel like this? Like something inside her was breaking apart every time she caught his laugh echoing down the hall? Like a stupid fairytale still clinging to its ending?

She finished scrubbing the last perch, whispering another goodnight to Luna before turning toward the winding stairs. Her boots scuffed against the stone, loud in the hush of the night. That’s when it hit her — the weight in her chest, like a bruise blooming under skin.

“I’m so stupid,” she muttered aloud, voice bitter.

She was angry. At him. At herself. At this stupid, lingering, fragile hope she hadn’t realized she was still carrying. She was angry that she wasn’t the kind of girl someone like Haechan would notice — loud, flirty, spellbinding. Angry that she even wanted to be. Angry that she let her perfect little detachment crack open like a jar she couldn’t seal again.

Most of all, she was angry that her version of him — the one in her head, gentle and curious and kind — wasn’t real. Or at least, not real to her.

He wasn’t hers.

He never had been.

And she was finally, finally ready to stop pretending.

—-

The music from the Great Hall echoed faintly down the corridor, muffled by stone and the weight of celebration. Laughter spilled through the cracks, bright and careless. Inside, everyone was golden — dipped in glittering enchantments and glowing candlelight. Y/N, however, sat just outside it all, tucked on the edge of the wide marble staircase where shadows stretched long and the world felt quieter.

Her dress shimmered like the surface of a still lake in spring — seafoam green with delicate embroidery that caught the low torchlight with every breath she took. Her hair had been done up loosely, soft curls falling to frame her face in gentle waves, and her skin seemed to glow with the faint sheen of carefully applied highlighter and nerves.

She looked like a painting. Plush. Dreamy. As if youth and longing and softness had taken physical form and settled onto her shoulders. To be frank, y/n felt beautiful, and it made her laugh - after all, she hadn’t even meant to come.

It was her roommates, really — all wide-eyed and buzzing with Yule Ball fever — who had practically dragged her from bed and spun her around until she barely recognized herself in the mirror. And for once, she didn’t hate it. For once, she didn’t feel like a shadow.

When they’d entered the ball, though, it had taken all of fifteen minutes before they vanished — swept away by the arms of dates and friends, or the thrill of the crowd. And, of course, Y/N hadn’t minded. It’s not like they were all friends - just forced acquaintances with nothing in common but last names, gender, and a magical wand.

Besides, like always, she liked sitting in the in-between. Where she could observe and imagine. Where she didn’t have to pretend to be someone bolder than she was.

She watched the doors of the ballroom now, half-lidded and peaceful, letting the sounds melt around her — until the heavy doors slammed open with a crash that startled the silence right out of her.

Two figures stumbled through, giggling, flushed, and tangled in each other’s arms.

Yunjin. And him.

Haechan.

Of course it was Haechan.

He was laughing into the crook of her neck, his hands resting low on her waist, and for a moment — one horrible, disorienting moment — the rest of the world blurred at the edges. Her lungs caught.

He hadn’t seen her. Neither had Yunjin. Not as they stumbled to a halt halfway past the now closed doors, lips finding each other’s in a feverish, hungry kiss that made Y/N shrink instinctively against the wall.

Her throat went dry. She tried to shrink further into the shadows, silently begging the stone to make her invisible.

But the universe had other plans.

Her foot slipped — just slightly — but enough to send her bag tumbling from her lap. It hit the stairs with a loud thud-thump-thud, items spilling like fallen leaves.

Yunjin flinched back with a yelp, whipping around. Haechan blinked rapidly, disoriented, before his gaze finally landed on Y/N.

The air stood still.

No one spoke. Not for a long, aching beat. Y/n couldn’t even bring herself to look up, instead freezing like a turtle who knows a predator is nearby. The three stood like that for a good second, Yunjin and Haechan staring at the small frame of some random girl from their year, who very clearly would rather be anywhere else but here.

And then Haechan moved.

Before his brain even caught up, his body was already reaching — stooping down the steps, collecting her scattered belongings with quick, nimble fingers. He held the bag out to her, eyes wide, lips parted as if he might say something but thought better of it. His cheeks were flushed — not from the cold or kissing, she thought dimly, but from embarrassment.

She could barely meet his eyes. Her fingers trembled as they closed over the strap. “Thanks,” she whispered, voice small and paper-thin.

He offered a single, casual “No problem,” like it hadn’t meant anything, like it hadn’t shattered something fragile and private between them.

Then he turned. One arm wrapped back around Yunjin’s shoulders. No apology - just quiet footsteps fading into the corridor.

But just before they disappeared — just before the shadows fully swallowed them — he glanced back. Quick. Brief. Like he didn’t mean to. Like it was a reflex.

And it wrecked her.

She sat frozen, blinking too hard. Her cheeks still burned, but this time it wasn’t from the dress or the attention. It was humiliation — sharp and painful. The sour sting of reality slipped into the seams of her daydream as she tried, but failed, to keep the hot bite of tears that clouded her eyes at bay.

Because for a moment — just a single moment — she had felt beautiful.

And it hadn’t mattered.

—-

Graduation day at Hogwarts glimmered like something out of a fairy tale.

Above the courtyard, charmed ribbons of house colors danced lazily in the air, shimmering like silk in a breeze that didn’t exist. Floating candles dotted the sky, mimicking stars, while soft orchestral music drifted through the open castle doors. The air smelled of summer grass, old stone, and a touch of magic that clung to your clothes like dew.

Y/N stood quietly near the edge of it all, her parents on either side. Her father looked up at the towers with a dazed sort of awe — the look of a Muggle man who had fallen in love with a witch years ago and was still wrapping his head around how his daughter had grown up inside a castle. Her mother, in contrast, looked wistful, her eyes glossy with memory. She’d been a Gryffindor once — class of the famous Harry Potter — and always said Hogwarts had a funny way of leaving little roots in your heart, no matter how far you went.

Y/N shifted her weight onto her heels, adjusting the tassel of her cap absentmindedly. She loved them, her parents. But something inside her was buzzing, unsettled. Maybe it was the thought of saying goodbye to seven years of walking through talking paintings and dodging Peeves. Maybe it was because the world beyond the castle gates still felt too big and loud and unfamiliar.

“Be right back,” she said softly, brushing a speck of glitter from her sleeve. “Professor Lillith wanted to see me”. She turned, wandering toward the castle one last time, her boots making faint clicks on the stone floor. The halls were quieter than usual, sun pouring in from the stained glass windows in candy-colored rays. She hummed to herself — something off-key and half-invented — the way she always did when no one was listening. And then—

Thunk.

“Ow.”

Her forehead bounced off someone’s shoulder. She blinked, took a step back.

“Oh. Hello, Renjun.”

Renjun looked at her with his usual expression: somewhere between annoyed and amused. “You walk like someone who’s never had a body before,” he said.

“And you stand like someone who’s lost in a dream they don’t like.”

He blinked. “What?”

Y/N smiled, a little lopsided and unreadable. “Nothing. Just something I saw in a book once. Or maybe a puddle.”

Renjun snorted despite himself. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“Mm,” she hummed, gently plucking a piece of lint off his robes. “And yet, here we are. Destiny’s favorite joke.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was no bite to it. “You heading out?”

“Soon,” she said. “Just tying up loose ends. What about you?”

“Waiting on Jaemin. He lost his wand or his sanity or both, not sure.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Tell him to check his left shoe. Sometimes magic hides there when it’s bored.”

Renjun opened his mouth, paused, and then slowly turned to glance behind him.

Y/N followed his gaze—and promptly froze.

Standing by the archway, in various degrees of lazy slouching, were the rest of his friends. Jeno, hands in pockets, shirt collar slightly wrinkled. Chenle, already halfway through a chocolate frog. Mark and Jisung, laughing at something only Gryffindors would find funny. Jaemin, of course, waving cheerfully like she hadn’t just caught them all staring. And finally, Haechan.

His eyes were already on her.

Not in a mean way. Not even in a curious one. More like he’d been staring before his brain caught up with the fact that someone might notice. The moment she glanced his way, he flinched — like a kid who’d been caught with his hand in a cookie jar — and quickly looked away, feigning interest in whatever Jaemin was saying.

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, but she kept her face neutral. Serene. Unbothered.

Renjun leaned a little closer, smirking. “You’ve got an audience.”

“Oh, I know,” she murmured, still smiling faintly. “I always do. Ghosts, mostly.”

He gave her a look. “You are so weird.”

“It’s my brand,” she sighed out exasperating, making renjun chuckle. “Well. I’ll see you in the next life, Renjun.”

“Unless I die first.”

“Do send a postcard.”

She turned and walked away.

But curiosity, that fickle little thing, tugged at her. Just as she was about to slip around the next corridor, she paused. Let herself listen.

“…wait, how do you know her?”

“She’s in Ravenclaw, right? Since when do you talk to her?”

“That was—kinda cute, though?”

“She’s… odd.”

And then came the one voice she wasn’t prepared for. Softly spoken, casual in a way that screamed ‘I could care less’.

“…what��s her name again?”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She didn’t know what she expected — not him remembering her, of course. That would’ve been foolish. She had worn her best dress to a ball and still faded into the background. Why would this be any different?

And still, she felt the smile slide off her face like melting wax. Whatever flicker of something she’d seen in Haechan’s eyes — whatever momentary softness or regret or curiosity — it didn’t matter. He didn’t know her name. Had never cared to learn it. She’d been a footnote, even in the chapters where she was bleeding over him.

She walked faster and didn’t look back.

She left the hallway, the castle, and, quietly — without ceremony — she left her crush on Lee Haechan behind her too.

The Eldhollow University library was quieter than usual that evening. The kind of quiet that came not from silence, but from deep magic, ancient and breathing softly between the stone walls. The lamps flickered with a steady, golden glow, and every now and then, the soft rustle of turning pages echoed through the long halls.

Y/N had found her usual spot near the back—a crooked table beneath an arched window, half-covered in ivy and glowing faintly from the full moon outside. She liked studying here. It was tucked away from the louder corners of the library, where students whispered and snacked and pretended to revise. Here, she could hear her thoughts. Or ignore them, if she preferred.

It had been a good couple months into her first semester, and for the first time in years, she felt like herself. Really herself. She was at the top of her class—again, but this time it didn’t feel so lonely. She had friends now. Real ones. There was Xiaojun, who studied experimental potion theory and talked a mile a minute, wild and witty and weirdly protective of her. He once hexed a guy’s robes inside out for looking at her the wrong way. Yangyang, who was studying magical law enforcement for the Ministry, was a little unhinged but never boring, and always brought her the oddest sweets from the market. Then there were her roommates—Karina, who dreamed of being a reporter and worked for the school’s underground paper, and Giselle, whose magical fashion degree was so specific and bold it made everyone else feel boring by comparison. The four of them had taken Y/N in without hesitation, quirks and all. She laughed more now. She wore what she liked, spoke her mind freely, and hardly thought about the past. Hardly.

There was even a boy who’d been circling lately—handsome, too polite, and clearly enchanted by her. He brought her little things: enchanted perfumes, floral hair clips, bracelets that changed color with her mood. Pretty gifts meant for someone a little softer, maybe, but she didn’t mind. No one had ever tried to impress her before. It was… nice.

Tonight, though, she’d come alone. She had research to do and a lingering curiosity she couldn’t shake. She was halfway through her notes on spell displacement theory when she heard it—footsteps.

Not the light, hurried steps of a student late to return a book. These were slower. Hesitant. Like someone who didn’t know where they were going, or why they were even there.

She paused, fingers stilling over her quill.

And then she heard a voice.

“Where the hell is the bloody index in this thing?”

Her heart stopped.

She looked up, just as a figure came into view at the far end of the aisle. He hadn’t seen her yet. He was tall, built broader than she remembered, with dark curls that flopped over his forehead and an oversized jumper layered over his shirt. He had a book turned sideways in his hands like it personally offended him. There was something familiar about the tilt of his head, the slightly narrowed eyes, the way he chewed the inside of his cheek when frustrated.

It was Haechan.

And for a second, all the air left her body.

She hadn’t seen him once since arriving. Eldhollow wasn’t exactly small, but it wasn’t massive either. And she’d told herself if he were here, she would have known. She’d have spotted him immediately—he’d always had a way of standing out, even when he wasn’t trying. But somehow, they’d gone all this time without crossing paths. Until now.

She could’ve stayed hidden. Could’ve ducked back behind the shelf and slipped out of the library and let the moment pass, let the memory stay dead and buried where it belonged. She knew that’s what high school her would have done - and she could easily do the same. Except - she wasn’t highschool y/n anymore, right?

So she didn’t.

Instead she stepped forward, slowly, and spoke before she could stop herself.

“You’re in the wrong section.”

Haechan startled, nearly dropping the book. He spun to face her, brows raised, eyes scanning her face like his brain hadn’t caught up yet.

She raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. “Unless you’re researching magical fertility charms, I’d recommend the aisle two rows down.”

He blinked. “What?”

She pointed to the book he was holding. “That’s for reproductive theory. And you’re holding it upside down.”

A beat passed. His lips parted, like he was about to reply, but nothing came out. Then he looked down at the book and gave a short, disbelieving laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well,” he said slowly, “this is going well.”

She didn’t smile. But something flickered across her face, amused and distant. “I’d say you’ve improved. Last time we spoke in a library, you walked into a wall.”

She giggled, reminiscing on her time tutoring haechan, when he would do stupid things to distract her from actually teaching him; a time so far away, it appeared hazy like a dream. That seemed to click something into place. His eyes sharpened slightly, focus narrowing.

“Wait…” he said. “What’s your name—”

She tilted her head. “You’ve asked that before too.”

And just like that, she turned on her heel, books floating after her in a neat, silent trail. She didn’t look back.

Haechan stood frozen for a second, then slowly exhaled. His heart was racing. He wasn’t sure why.

She was familiar. But not in the obvious way. Something about her voice had struck a nerve—soft but certain, like a whisper cutting through fog. And her face… he didn’t know how to explain it, but it felt like something he should have remembered. Something he wished he had.

He whispered to himself, almost defensively, “Who the hell was that?”

Haechan didn’t mean to obsess over her.

But of course he did.

He told himself it was nothing. A fluke. Just one of those strange encounters that linger for a few hours, maybe a day or two, before fading into the background noise of memory. He wasn’t the type to dwell. He liked things light, easy, untethered.

Still, that night, lying in the bottom bunk of his shared dorm with his curtains drawn tight and the rain tapping soft against the enchanted windowpane, he couldn’t stop seeing her face.

It wasn’t even just her beauty—though, Merlin, she was beautiful in a way that was hard to describe. Not flashy, not loud. Quiet, eerie almost. Soft in a sharp way - Like moonlight cutting through mist. He could still hear her voice, the lilt of it, how her words felt dipped in irony and honey, like she was perpetually a beat ahead of him and enjoying the chase.

But more than that, it was the knowing that rattled him. The familiarity in her eyes. She had looked at him like he was supposed to remember her.

And he didn’t. Not really.

He had turned it over in his head for three days now, trying to pinpoint where that face had come from. Old friend? Hogwarts? A dream? Some former life he’d obliviated to forget? But each time he got close, the thought slipped like water through his fingers.

Eventually, he decided the only winning move was to fold. Plead the fifth. Deny everything and distract himself with Quidditch drills, classwork, and Mark’s truly unhinged musical taste. He didn’t even tell Renjun. That felt like inviting the chaos to stay. Haechan had worked too hard on becoming his best self—had the planner to prove it. He was not about to spiral over a girl who didn’t even give her name.

By the start of the following week, the encounter had settled into a corner of his mind like a strange dream: disorienting, hard to shake, but mostly harmless; until Tuesday.

That day began like any other. He and Renjun skipped the main library in favor of a new café across from the Owl Post, which had been getting buzz around campus for its cozy study corners and butterbeer lattes. Eldhollow, the magical college town surrounding the university, had a habit of reinventing itself overnight—shops appeared where there weren’t any the day before, buildings rearranged their interiors, and streetlamps whispered gossip if you listened closely. It was whimsical, modern, magical—and just the sort of place that Haechan had quickly grown to love.

The café itself was tucked between a talking tailor shop and a hex-removal studio, marked by a crooked wooden sign that read: Witch’s Brew & Co.. It smelled like cinnamon and roasted coffee beans and something faintly floral. Haechan approved immediately.

They were barely through the door when Renjun suddenly stopped mid-step, his face lighting up in a way Haechan rarely saw. His whole body shifted with recognition.

“Y/N?” Renjun called, grinning. “What are you doing here?”

And then Haechan saw her.

Or rather, she appeared—because of course she would materialize right when he’d finally begun to erase her from memory. There she was, standing just to the left of the café counter, the sun catching in her hair through the glass, head tilted up in surprise before her expression broke into a warm smile.

“Renjun!” she said, her voice as familiar as it was foreign. Then, without hesitation, she crossed the room and hugged Renjun.

Hugged him.

The air left Haechan’s lungs in a single, confused huff.

They looked like old friends. No—close friends. Renjun had his arm draped easily over her shoulder, like it wasn’t anything unusual, like he’d done it a thousand times before. And she—she was laughing. He’d never heard her laugh before. It was strange and soft and pretty. It sounded like something private.

Haechan’s stomach twisted.

And then it hit him. Like a weight he should’ve noticed a long time ago.

Her. Her.

Hogwarts. Not in a loud, neon-light memory kind of way—but something subtler. A hallway. A library. A girl who wore her robes slightly crooked, who never spoke unless she had something worth saying. Ravenclaw, he was sure. Always off reading in corners. The girl who never seemed to be part of the noise—but was somehow always watching.

He stared at her now like he was seeing her with new eyes. How had he missed it? She looked so different here—confident, a little brighter. Still odd, but in a way that suited her. Her hair was down, tucked behind one ear with a copper pin shaped like a moth. Her outfit was layered and witchy, rings on every finger. She looked like she belonged here. Like she owned the place.

And Haechan—who hadn’t remembered her name, who had dismissed her as a momentary glitch in the matrix—stood there frozen, the guilt crawling up the back of his neck.

She noticed him. Of course she did. Her eyes flicked to him over Renjun’s shoulder. They paused, unreadable. She didn’t say a word.

Haechan, ever the professional, raised a hand in awkward greeting. “Hey.”

Y/N blinked once. “Oh. Hi.”

Then she turned back to Renjun like he hadn’t been the one to haunt her sleep three nights in a row.

Renjun, oblivious to the tension, gestured toward the empty seats by the window. “We were just gonna study. You wanna join?”

Y/N hesitated. Just a beat. Then she smiled politely. “Raincheck, Jun. I’ve got an essay due in an hour. But I’ll come by later.”

And then, just like that—she was gone. Out the door, the little bell above it chiming faintly in her wake.

Renjun slid into the booth across from Haechan, humming as he pulled out his notes. “She’s great, right? Y/N was in my house back at Hogwarts. Bit odd, but brilliant. Top marks. Can’t believe she ended up here.”

Haechan said nothing. He could still smell her perfume—lavender and something darker.

Renjun glanced up. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Haechan said slowly, eyes still fixed on the door. “I just… I think I know where I remember her from now.”

—-

From then on, fate took over. It was like one minute Haechan didn’t even know this girl existed, the next she pops up everywhere, like a new word you just learned that you suddenly start seeing on every page of your favorite book. He doesn’t think he could avoid her, even if he tried. First, there was the potions store:

Y/N was crouched near a low shelf, carefully examining a small vial of Moonshade Elixir—a rare ingredient she needed for her upcoming potion assignment. The shop was warm, cluttered with jars and bottles softly glowing in the dim light. Just as she reached out to grab the vial, another hand brushed hers.

“Ah, sorry,” Haechan said quietly, stepping back with a sheepish smile. “I was just about to grab that.”

Y/N blinked, heart thudding in an oddly hopeful way. “Oh. It’s… okay.” Her voice was softer than usual, surprised to see him here.

He studied her for a beat, the corner of his mouth twitching in that familiar, easy way he did when caught off guard. “You always come here for potions stuff?”

“Yeah,” she said, tugging the sleeve of her sweater nervously. “It’s kind of my sanctuary. You?”

“Mostly snacks and weird magical gadgets,” he admitted, his eyes flicking to the curious collection of enchanted candy behind the counter.

Neither moved for a moment, both feeling the awkward weight of unspoken words. Y/N finally managed a small smile. “Well, maybe I’ll see you around then.”

“Yeah,” Haechan said, watching her walk away with a new kind of curiosity blooming in his chest. “Maybe.”

And maybe was an understatement, because just two days later, there was the lecture hall incident:

The lecture hall buzzed with students settling into their seats. Y/N scanned the room, hoping to find a spot that wouldn’t put her in the spotlight.

The only empty seat was… right next to Haechan. Y/n sighed in disbelief - had he always been in this class?!

He caught her eye and gave a small, encouraging nod. “Guess it’s fate,” he said with a wink.

Y/N smiled shyly, feeling a strange mix of nerves and excitement. She slid into the seat beside him, quietly getting her notes out and keeping her head down as much as she could.

At first, they said nothing.

The only sound was the professor setting up at the front and the shuffling of parchment and books around them. Y/N sat stiffly, her eyes on the front, quill in hand, pretending to copy down the lecture title already written on the board.

Haechan, beside her, tapped his own quill against the desk in slow, deliberate boredom.

Then—

“Hey,” he whispered, leaning slightly toward her. “You got any ink?”

Y/N blinked. “Didn’t you bring your own?”

“I did. It’s dry,” he replied, frowning like this was a personal tragedy. “I think my bottle was cursed. Or I just forgot to screw the lid on. Either way, I’m a victim.”

She sighed, already reaching into her bag. “Here.”

Instead of just taking the bottle, Haechan peered into her bag with dramatic curiosity. “What else you got in here? Anti-anxiety tea? Spare socks? A live owl?”

Y/N stifled a laugh, clutching the ink tightly. “Do you want the ink or not?”

“I do,” he said solemnly, “but I’m also deeply invested in the psychological study of what you carry around.”

She shook her head, trying not to smile. “You’re impossible.”

He took the ink but kept talking, voice a little too loud for a lecture hall. “I bet you were the kind of student who color-coded everything at Hogwarts. Am I wrong? Let me guess: blue for Charms, green for Herbology, red for anything involving possible death—like Potions or Divination.”

“Divination doesn’t involve death,” she muttered under her breath.

“Tell that to the time my crystal ball showed me drowning in marmalade.”

She bit her lip to stop from laughing, shoulders shaking slightly.

“You’re laughing,” he whispered triumphantly.

“No, I’m not,” she whispered back, eyes wide and innocent.

“You are. This is a win for me.”

And just like that—somehow, she was laughing. Quietly. Barely audible, but real. Her hand covered her mouth and her eyes crinkled at the corners, and Haechan was watching her like he’d never seen her properly smile before.

And then everything slowed.

The laughter ebbed. Their eyes met.

Neither of them spoke. For one suspended moment, the air between them buzzed—not loud, but intense, humming with something unsaid. His smile faded into something gentler. Her gaze didn’t drop right away.

When it finally did, she turned her face forward again, cheeks burning. Haechan rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but her.

Then, trying to salvage the moment, Haechan asked, “So… did you always like magical theory? Or were you just unnaturally good at it back in school?”

She hesitated. “I… yeah. I guess I did.”

“You were kind of… famous, actually,” he said. “I remember that. Always top marks. Everyone used to say you were scary smart.”

Y/N smiled faintly, somewhat surprised to hear this. “I didn’t even have friends. I wasn’t famous….not like some people.”

He turned his head toward her, curious. “What’s that mean?”

Her eyes darted to the front, pretending to listen to the professor. “Nothing. Just—never thought you’d talk to me, is all.”

There was a pause. Haechan’s brows furrowed. “Why not?”

She opened her mouth.

Paused.

And then—

DING.

The class dismissal bell echoed like salvation.

Y/N stood up fast, clutching her notes. “Thanks for the ink,” she said quickly, moving so fast she didn’t even realize her mistake. She didn’t wait for a reply, instead quickly slipping out of the room and into the hallway.

Haechan remained seated, staring after her. He had no idea what had just happened - just that he wanted it to happen again.

And finally - the library. Haechan saw y/n there quite a bit after that first meeting, so he knew to look there first.

The library’s third floor was quiet enough to hear the scratch of quills and the occasional creak of ancient wooden shelves. Dust hung in beams of golden afternoon light, and the entire space felt wrapped in velvet silence.

Haechan found her exactly where he thought she’d be.

Slouched low in one of the deep window alcoves, Y/N was hunched over her parchment, quill gliding furiously across the page. She didn’t even flinch when he pulled out the chair across from her and sat down, not even a flicker of recognition. Her brows were drawn tight in concentration, the tip of her tongue barely poking out the side of her mouth. It was… kind of unfair, how cute she looked when she was this focused.

He cleared his throat gently.

Nothing.

He tried again. “Y/N?”

Her whole body jolted. The quill snapped off the parchment. Eyes wide, startled like a deer in wandlight, she gasped—and in her flinch, Haechan instinctively reached forward and placed his hand over hers, steadying her.

They froze.

Her skin was warm. Slightly ink-stained. Delicate in a way that made his own breath hitch.

Y/N looked down at their hands. Then up at him.

He snatched his hand back like he’d been burned.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “You just—you jumped, and I—yeah. Sorry.”

She blinked at him, still catching her breath. “You scared the life out of me.”

“I noticed,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, ears turning pink. “Didn’t mean to. I actually… I was looking for you.”

Y/N raised a brow. “You were?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice soft now. “Don’t make it a big deal or anything, but I figured I’d use fate to my advantage. Been running into you a lot lately. Figured it was a sign.”

“A sign?”

“To ask you for help,” he said. “With studying. Just—just one night, that’s all I’m asking.”

Her eyes narrowed in playful suspicion. “You hate studying.”

“I hate failing more,” he replied dramatically. “And I’ve got a Magical Applications final coming up that might actually kill me.”

She tilted her head. “Why me?”

He leaned forward, folding his arms on the table. “You don’t remember? Fourth year. My herbology scores were tanking. You used to help me after dinner in the library. Little study lessons. You even color-coded my notes.”

Y/N stared at him, stunned.

“I thought you forgot about that,” she said quietly.

He smiled, a little crooked. “I didn’t.”

That surprised her. It surprised him, too—how vividly he could remember it now. Her voice in his ear, softly quizzing him. The way she always smelled faintly like mint and incense. The way she’d smile when he finally got something right.

Y/N blinked, then nodded. “Okay. Just one night.”

“Deal,” Haechan said quickly, before she could change her mind.

They set up shop right there, books spread between them, notes scribbled, diagrams drawn. For the first hour, it was actually productive. Y/N explained everything with patient clarity, pointing out keywords and breaking down logic with that Ravenclaw precision. Haechan asked questions, nodded along, even took notes.

But then…

Then he noticed the shirt.

It wasn’t intentional. He just happened to glance up, and there it was—one side of her shirt slipped slightly off her shoulder, exposing a long stretch of skin kissed by golden light.

His brain stalled.

Her collarbone was defined, delicate, the kind of shape painters used to worship in oil. The sunlight from the window pooled there like liquid gold, turning her skin warm and soft and impossibly radiant. There was a faint freckle near the dip of her neck. He stared too long, caught between awe and confusion at how something so simple could feel like a revelation.

He tried to focus again. Failed.

She said something about core wand movements. He nodded.

She asked if he was following. He said, “Absolutely,” without knowing what he was agreeing to.

God, she smelled like lavender again. And ink. And something sweet he couldn’t name.

He nearly knocked over his ink bottle when she leaned closer to point something out in his textbook, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking once more—shoulder, collarbone, the elegant slope of her neck.

It was maddening. Gentle. Completely intoxicating.

By the time the sun dipped behind the towers and long shadows stretched across the library floor, they had stopped pretending to study. Their books were open, but their attention wandered. Y/N was mid-sentence when she caught him looking again.

“Is there ink on me?” she asked.

He blinked. “What?”

“You keep staring,” she said, amused.

“Just… lost in thought,” he mumbled.

She tilted her head, unconvinced.

Before she could press further, Haechan slapped his notebook shut and stood. “Dinner.”

Y/N frowned. “What?”

“You helped me study. Now I owe you food.”

“That’s not necessary—”

“It is,” he interrupted, already slinging his bag over one shoulder. “Non-negotiable. It’s the noble thing to do.”

She hesitated.

“C’mon,” he added, giving her a small grin. “You’ve earned it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but stood anyway, gathering her things.

And as they walked out together—books in hand, shoulders brushing just slightly—Haechan tried not to think too hard about how easy this all felt.

Tried, and failed.

—-

Haechan had never seen Y/N so happy to be sweating.

The tiny Asian restaurant at the corner of town was loud with the sounds of Chris Isaak singing Wicked Game, the blades from the shrill ceiling fans spinning furiously but managing only to circulate the heat. The walls were crammed with mismatched decor—paper lanterns, faded posters, chopsticks glued in artful shapes—and the scent of sesame oil and chili paste clung to the air like a second skin.

They slid into a booth near the window. It was barely sunset, but already the heat was relentless, making the table sticky and their glasses of water sweat harder than they did.

Y/N immediately peeled off her outer top, revealing a fitted white tank top beneath, ribbed and snug to her figure. Her long hair clung to her neck in strands, a few pieces fluttering in the cross-breeze of the old fans. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she laughed as she fanned herself with a menu.

“It’s like being in a greenhouse,” she joked, cheeks flushed from the walk and the heat. “But honestly? Kinda makes it feel more authentic.”

Haechan was silent (a first for him) as he focused his energy into trying not to stare.

He failed miserably.

There was something about her like this—unguarded, glowing with that sun-warmed sweat, eyes bright, talking with her hands. Her collarbones gleamed. Her tank top stuck to her in places that tested the limits of his self-control. He could barely keep his brain functioning, let alone think about what to order.

She went with sushi. “Reminds me of growing up near Muggles,” she said, grinning around a bite of salmon roll. “I used to sneak off with my cousins to this little shop in London. We didn’t even know how to use chopsticks yet—we’d just stab the pieces and laugh until we cried.”

“You grew up in London?” he asked, eyes on her but also vaguely on the rice stuck to her lip.

“For a while,” she nodded. “Moved around a lot. My mum’s a witch, dad’s a muggle. Neither side really… understood the other. And I guess I never really felt like I fit on either end.”

Haechan leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, gaze drifting to the window where the sky was turning sherbet pink. “Too magic for the Muggles. Too Muggle for the magic. Even at Hogwarts, I’ve always felt a little…” She shrugged. “Separate.”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he stared at her. Not in the way he usually did - distracted by beauty, struck dumb by how good she looked in a sunbeam - but like he was memorizing her.

“I get that,” he finally said. “Not in the same way, but I get it.”

She looked up, brows lifted.

“My family’s pureblood. Super traditional,” he explained. “Dad works at the Ministry. Wanted me to do the same since I could hold a wand. Mum’s got four of us to handle— me and three younger ones — so she barely had time to sleep, let alone give us all attention. But still… I was loved. Just not always seen. I felt like I had to be this version of me they pictured. Which… isn’t really me at all.”

Y/N’s expression softened. “So what is the real you?”

Haechan gave a lopsided smile. “Still figuring that out.”

They fell into silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was full of meaning, heavy with things unsaid. The air between them crackled like fire on damp wood—slow, smoldering, impossible to ignore.

“I don’t think you’re alone,” he added, softer now. “You’re not weird. Or separate. Not anymore.”

Her lips parted slightly. Her eyes were wide and searching.

“You mean that?” she asked.

“Every word,” he said.

And then… the world disappeared.

The clatter of chopsticks. The whir of ceiling fans. The laughter from the kitchen. All of it faded into a warm blur as they looked at each other like they had never really seen before. Neither one blinked. Neither looked away. Something had cracked wide open—between them, within them—and neither was quite sure how to close it again.

He wanted to tell her how good she looked in this light. How he’d never met someone who made him feel like this. How her laugh stuck to his ribs and her voice echoed in his head at night.

But he didn’t.

Because for now, the way they were looking at each other said enough.

—-

The windows were cracked open in Haechan’s flat, letting in a warm breeze that fluttered the corner of an old Quidditch banner tacked lazily to the wall. Four half-full Butterbeers sat sweating on the chipped coffee table, and the place smelled like leftover takeaway and citrus cleaning charms.

“Mate, I forgot how decent your place is,” Jeno said, sprawled across the floor with a pillow under his head and his wand lazily twirling between his fingers.

“That’s because he lets it go to shit until the night before we visit,” Renjun said dryly, flipping through the evening’s game schedule on the small floating screen above the couch. “Guarantee he Febrezed his laundry again instead of actually washing it.”

“I Febrezed and did a Refreshio, thank you very much,” Haechan replied with mock offense, flicking a rolled-up napkin at him. “Besides, I knew you three gremlins were coming. Needed the place to smell like less death.”

Mark chuckled from where he was sitting cross-legged near the window, a Butterbeer balanced on one knee. “Honestly, I missed this.”

They all nodded. It had been a while—too long since they’d had a night like this, no obligations, no loud parties or crowded clubs. Just them.

Renjun was the one who broke the quiet moment first.

“Hey—Hyuck, remember that coffee shop we went to last week? That little place near the botanical greenhouses?”

Haechan glanced over, nodding carefully.

Renjun turned to Jeno and Mark. “You’ll never guess who we saw.”

Mark blinked. “Uh… your ex?”

Renjun snorted. “Worse. Better. Depends who you ask.” Then, dramatically, “Y/N.”

There was a beat of confused silence.

“Who?” Jeno asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Y/N,” Renjun repeated, giving Haechan a knowing look before turning back to the others. “You wouldn’t know her super well. Ravenclaw, same year as us. She was kind of… quiet. Eccentric. But smart as hell.”

Mark squinted, trying to recall. “Oh wait—wasn’t she the one who used to sit on the floor of the common library tower with, like, three books open and a flask of tea?”

“That’s the one,” Renjun said, smirking. “She’s in college with us now. We saw her at the café. Hyuck almost choked when we saw her.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did. You froze up like someone hexed you.”

Jeno leaned up on one elbow, grinning. “Wait—this is the girl? The one you’ve been blowing us off for?”

“Shut up,” Haechan mumbled into his Butterbeer.

Renjun leaned back, arms behind his head, victorious. “Knew it.”

Mark eyed Haechan, amused. “Usually you’re the first one to brag. Last year you told us in detail how you got that girl from the Duelling Club to snog you behind the owlery.”

“This isn’t like that,” Haechan said without thinking—and then froze.

All three of them looked at him. Even the air seemed to pause.

“Oh?” Jeno said quietly.

Mark looked surprised, but not mocking. “So… what’s it like then?”

Haechan rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. It’s just different. She’s not someone you talk about like that.”

Renjun nodded slowly, looking more curious now than smug. “I kind of got that vibe. She made you nervous, man. I haven’t seen you fumble that hard since second year when Changmin hexed your broom mid-air.”

That pulled a laugh out of Jeno.

“But seriously,” Renjun continued, “she was cool. And honestly? She seemed really comfortable with you.”

“She was being nice,” Haechan said, though his voice lacked conviction.

Mark leaned forward. “Do you like her?”

Haechan didn’t answer.

He stared at the bottle in his hands instead, his thumb running around the rim in slow, aimless circles.

That was enough of an answer.

“She’s pretty,” Renjun offered, tone softer now. “And smart. Funny, too. You should talk to her again.”

“I don’t want to weird her out,” Haechan said. “She’s… not like the other girls. I don’t want to mess it up.”

Jeno and Mark exchanged a look—this time serious.

Renjun nodded. “Well, we’re doing that chill thing here Friday night. I know it’s just us and a few friends, but if you wanted to ask her, i’d be cool with it. Just sayin’.”

Haechan hesitated.

The thought of seeing her again sparked something low in his chest, that strange, warm something he hadn’t been able to shake since she laughed at his jokes in the library, since she let her shoulder peek out in the sunlight and made time stand still, since she told him about her lonely childhood with such honesty it almost hurt.

“Yeah,” he murmured after a moment, more to himself than them. “I’ll think about it.”

They didn’t press.

But later, when the boys were gone and the apartment was quiet again, Haechan sat at his desk, trying to distract himself from your smile with his homework. He wasn’t sure if he’d invite you next time he saw you, but knowing him - he probably wouldn’t have a choice.

—-

The hallway outside one of Eldhollow’s lecture rooms smelled faintly of ink, old oak polish, and roasted coffee beans from the café across the quad. The afternoon light stretched through the long windows in gold ribbons, pooling on the floor and dancing lazily along the scuffed stone walls.

Y/N walked slowly, a half-laugh caught between her teeth as she tilted her head toward Xiaojun, who was passionately describing the exact moment a mismeasured Shrinking Solution had turned an entire class rat into a mouse-sized, fire-breathing menace.

“It sneezed flames,” he was saying, wide-eyed, “like a dragon with seasonal allergies.”

Y/N chuckled under her breath, the sound airy and content, her arms folded lightly across her stomach, one shoulder brushing against his now and then as they walked. Talking with Xiaojun made y/n feel so much better. She didn’t need to worry about school, money, her future, romance - just her and her best friend (yeah, you heard her - BEST FRIEND. The thought makes her giggle) on a casual day where she had no expectations and no commitments, no ghosts to be her only friends, and no boys to pine over while they barely recognize your face, five months after they last saw it. Y/n smiled to herself, enjoying the moment as she walked along the hallway, watching the doors come and go, her eyes moving on to the next one after one leaves; she repeats this three times before the classroom door just ahead opens.

Mark Lee stepped out first, his voice already mid-sentence as he turned to whoever was behind him. “—just ask Johnny, he’ll know where to—” He stopped abruptly, eyes locking on Y/N and Xiaojun. “Oh.”

Haechan followed a beat later, tugging his hoodie sleeves down to his wrists, his hair a little messier than usual and a golden-tan scarf slung loosely around his neck. His laugh caught in his throat the second his gaze landed on her.

They stopped at the exact same time.

And the hallway, for all its lively magic and afternoon clatter, went quiet in both of their heads.

Y/N blinked. Her breath caught, subtle but noticeable—just enough that Xiaojun’s head tilted in curiosity beside her. She didn’t look away, though. Not this time.

Haechan’s thoughts fumbled immediately. It’s her again. The girl with the voice like starlight and the smile that looked like it was always on the edge of disappearing—unless you caught it fast enough. He hadn’t seen her in days, not since dinner, and yet she’d taken up permanent residence in his brain. And now she’s here—just like that—again.

He took her in. Noticed the way her skirt brushed softly around her boots. The faint shimmer of flower pins tucked along her hairline. The way her hand hovered so close to Xiaojun’s arm. Too close.

Y/N gave him the gentlest smile. Reserved. Polite. Like she hadn’t spent all week wondering if she’d imagined the look in his eyes that day at the café. Like her pulse wasn’t thrumming now just from standing this close to him again.

Mark gave a short, awkward nod to Xiaojun, who returned it just as silently.

Haechan, on the other hand, was spiraling. Why is she here with him? Do they always walk together like that? Why do I even care? Get it together, get it—

And then he heard himself say it, words spilling out like a charm gone rogue:

“Hey. Um. I’m having a small thing this Friday—just a few people, nothing serious, mostly food and studying and… music. You should come.”

He hadn’t planned it. Not even a little. And yet the second it was out there, floating in the open air between them, it felt completely irreversible.

Y/N blinked at him, stunned. Her fingers twitched at her side, then quickly curled around the strap of her bag. “Oh,” she said softly. “That’s… nice of you.”

Her voice was quieter now, just for him. It always felt that way. He’d thought she was some figment before—something unplaceable and strange—but the way she was looking at him now? Shy, yes. But there was a glint of mischief there too. Something warm and hidden just behind her eyes.

Something that made him forget what he’d said.

“I mean,” he added quickly, trying to ignore the butterflies suddenly wreaking havoc in his chest by pulling out a piece of parchment paper and the only pen he owned, scribbling down his address and handing it to her before she had time to reject him, “you don’t have to. Just thought I’d ask.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said, pocketing the piece of paper quickly like it burned her. And though she tried to sound neutral, tried to sound indifferent, Haechan caught the tiny lift of her lips when she turned back toward Xiaojun and they started walking again.

He watched her go, her scent lingering—a light, floral note he couldn’t name, but would know anywhere.

Mark smacked his arm lightly. “You good, man?”

Haechan didn’t answer right away. His eyes were still on her back as she moved further down the hallway, sunlight catching the curve of her jaw.

“Wha-what? Uh…Yeah,” he said finally, voice dazed. “Yeah. I’m good.”

But he wasn’t. Not really.

Because whatever this was, whatever she was—it wasn’t going away.

And now he wasn’t sure he wanted it to.

—-

Friday evening crept up quietly, hidden beneath a day of cloud cover and soft wind. Y/N sat cross-legged on her bed, her blanket twisted around her legs like a safety net she couldn’t quite convince herself to leave. The fairy lights strung along her wall flickered gently, and her teacup — untouched — had gone cold.

She stared at the small piece of parchment on her nightstand - his handwriting was slanted, casual, like he hadn’t thought twice before writing it down. She, on the other hand, had thought about it constantly.

“Are you seriously still in pajamas?” Karina called from the doorway, leaning against the frame with a knowing look. “It starts in less than an hour.”

Y/N blinked down at her old sweater and worn socks. “Technically, I haven’t committed to going.”

“Technically, you’ve been staring at that paper for forty-five minutes and whispering things under your breath like you’re about to hex it.”

Behind Karina, Giselle peeked in. “She’s spiraling, isn’t she?”

“Spiraling,” Karina confirmed.

Y/N groaned, flopping back onto her pillows with a dramatic sigh. “What if it’s not even about me? What if he just invited me because of Renjun? They’re friends. Maybe he thinks Renjun and I should get together or something and he’s just—facilitating it.”

“Facilitating it?” Giselle echoed, amused. “Y/N. You’re not a school project.”

“I’m serious!”

“And we are seriously not letting you stay here and mope when the most beautiful boy in Eldhollow invited you to his place.”

Y/N sat up, hugging a pillow to her chest. “You don’t understand. I’ve known of Haechan for a long time, he’s always been the most beautiful boy around me. For years, I used to—” She stopped herself, cheeks flushing.

But her roommates had known her long enough to read the rest between the lines.

“You used to hope he’d notice you,” Karina finished gently, sitting beside her on the bed. “And now he has. So what are you going to do? Pretend it’s not what you always wanted?”

Y/N bit her lip. Her heart felt like it was being wrung out, slowly and carefully. For so long, Haechan had been the boy in the distance. The untouchable. Loud and golden and surrounded by people. He had existed in a world of bright lights and crowds, while she’d lived in the quiet corners, safe in the soft folds of her books and thoughts. And now here he was — really here — handing her an invitation like it was no big deal.

And maybe to him it wasn’t - but to her, it had been everything.

“I’m scared,” she whispered. “What if I go and regret it?”

Giselle plopped a dress onto the bed — simple, soft blue with fluttery sleeves. “Or what if you go and don’t?”

⸻

Twenty minutes later, Y/N stood in front of the mirror while Karina curled a loose piece of hair behind her ear and Giselle fixed the clasp on her necklace. They didn’t try to transform her — they knew better than that — but they helped her feel just enough like magic to remember she had always been made of it.

“Okay,” Karina started quietly, smoothing her skirt before stepping back, “You look like yourself. Just… the version of you who knows she deserves this.”

“Still time to turn around,” Y/N teased nervously, already half-turned toward the door.

Giselle grabbed her coat and handed it over. “And miss the slow-burn of the century? No chance.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, trying her best to ignore their jokes. As she stepped out into the twilight air, the breeze caught the hem of her coat, lifting it slightly as if nudging her forward. The street lamps glowed golden, leading her down the cobbled paths of Eldhollow like something out of a fairytale. She kept her eyes forward, even though her stomach was doing cartwheels and her brain was running every worst-case scenario.

But underneath it all — buried deep where no one else could see — was the tiniest thrill. That maybe, just maybe, something was beginning.

Not a dream this time.

Something real.

—-

Haechan answered the door himself.

Y/N hadn’t known what to expect — maybe a roommate, or someone she didn’t recognize — but not him. Not Haechan, framed by warm apartment light, wearing a soft honey-colored sweater and casual joggers, hair still damp like he’d only just showered. He smelled like sugar and clean linen and something deeper, almost like warm vanilla dusted with cedarwood. He blinked when he saw her.

Then grinned, just barely. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she replied, a little too quietly, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her fingers were cold.

“You want anything? Food or, uh—drink?”

Y/N glanced over his shoulder and took in the floating charmed candles, the long table lined with snacks and cups, the handful of people already milling about. “It looks like I can help myself,” she said with a polite smile.

He laughed awkwardly. “Right. Yeah. Of course. Come in.”

She stepped past him into the warmth, taking off her jacket and clutching it awkwardly to her chest. The buzz of chatter and light clinking filled the air, cozy and intimate — but not in a way that made her feel at home. In a way that made her feel like an outsider peeking in through the window.

Renjun was the first to greet her, looking genuinely surprised but glad to see her. “Y/N! I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Neither did I, honestly,” she admitted. “But… Haechan invited me, so.” She shrugged, trying to keep it casual.

Renjun smiled. “Glad you did. Everyone, this is Y/N — from Hogwarts.”

Introductions flowed. She already recognized Mark and Jeno. The two unfamiliar faces were Johnny — all warmth and charm — and Doyoung, quieter but no less kind. Mina, Johnny’s girlfriend, greeted her with the gentle enthusiasm of someone who always remembered birthdays, and Yuna — well, Yuna barely looked her way.

She gave Y/N a glance and a small smile, then immediately leaned toward Haechan to ask him something. Whatever it was, it made him laugh. Really laugh.

Y/N tried not to watch them.

She mingled. She smiled. She stood beside the drinks table with Renjun and Mark, talking about classes. And slowly, something began to shift inside her. That same gnawing feeling she’d buried all through her school years — that sense of being just a step off, like she’d come to a party dressed for the wrong theme — began to creep in.

She tried to ignore it.

Until it happened.

Renjun asked about her studies, and Y/N — desperate to sound casual, clever, normal — launched into an explanation about a theory she’d been writing. “It’s about the shared impulse between ghosts and transfigured objects,” she said brightly, “like — like how you can’t use a ghost as a magical power source, but if you transfigure an object to have soul-like qualities, there’s a chance it might try to haunt you—”

She trailed off when she saw Renjun blink, then laugh.

“Wow,” he said, not unkindly. “Y/N, nothing’s changed about you at all.”

She froze.

For a moment, she just stared at him. Then she forced a laugh. “Yeah. Still me.”

She could tell he meant it lightly — like a fond observation. But the words wrapped around her ribs like vines, tugging tight.

Nothing’s changed.

But she had changed. Hadn’t she?

She had spent so many of her Hogwarts years in the shadows. Her only real companions had been ghosts, paintings, her owl, and the teachers who didn’t mind her asking a hundred questions. She was odd, yes — painfully shy, always scribbling notes, talking to herself under her breath. But she had tried, since graduation, to grow into someone brighter. Someone who didn’t get flustered at the smallest social interaction. Someone who didn’t feel like she was on the outside of every room.

But tonight… tonight she just felt like that lonely girl again.

And Haechan — who she thought wanted to talk to her, who had looked at her like she was fascinating — was now barely glancing her way.

“I’m gonna get some ice,” she murmured, setting down her drink before anyone could stop her.

⸻

The kitchen was quiet. She let the door close behind her and pressed both hands to the counter. Her chest was tight as her fingers trembled against the woodgrain; She hated how fast this was spiraling.

Why had he invited her?

Why had he looked at her like that in the hallway? Why say anything if he was just going to ignore her now?

The door creaked open behind her - She turned slowly.

Haechan lingered in the doorway, hesitant. “Hey. I… I saw you leave. You okay?”

Y/N blinked. Her throat was dry. “Why are you being so weird?”

Haechan looked caught off guard. “What?”

“You invited me,” she said, softly but firmly. “You — you literally asked me to come. And I thought— I thought we’d talk. I thought maybe you wanted to get to know me. But we haven’t even really spoken.”

“I did want to talk to you,” he said quickly. “I do.”

“Then why haven’t you?” She shook her head, cheeks hot. “You’ve been paying more attention to that girl—Yuna—than you have to me.”

Haechan blinked, stunned silent for a moment.

Then: “I’m nervous, okay?” He looked almost… embarrassed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I didn’t even know who you were at school. And now—” he exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, “—now you’re all I can think about.”

Y/N stared at him.

“I don’t get it,” he said, voice quieter. “I never really… liked someone before. Not really. I mean, I’ve messed around, sure, but it’s never felt like this. And with you, I—I get nervous. I say stupid stuff. I avoid you even though I invited you, because the second you walked in I felt like I couldn’t think straight.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment.

Then, very quietly, “I used to wish you knew who I was.

“I had no one in school. Just books and ghosts and paintings and—my owl. And I used to wish you’d just look at me. Just once. And now you are. And it’s like—like I’m too late.”

He looked pained. “It’s not too late.”

She gave him a soft, sad smile. “It feels like it is.”

He took a step forward. “Y/N—”

“I think I need some space,” she said gently. “I’m sorry. And thank you, for inviting me. It… meant a lot.”

Then she turned and walked past him, back into the hallway where she could slip out quietly, her chest full of static and her heart both breaking and blooming all at once.

[toshn]

teachers assistant mark grayson pining for the girl who wants his job 🧘‍♀️

mark grayson: “she'll be the death of me—“

— contents: teacher’s assistant!mark pining over f!reader — from the author: thank u sm for ur request!! i loved writing this like sm^^

there he was again. sitting at the teacher’s desk while mr. wilson discusses whatever topic in biology he’s on. your friend told you he was only present in some of mr. wilson’s classes—but a semester has already passed and you still saw his stupid face. you thought he’d only last for a few weeks and then you’ll be able to get the extra credit and finish as top of your class. but no. this ‘mark’ guy is overstaying and he’s gotta go.

“(y/n)? are you okay?” your friend asked, taking a hold of your shoulder worryingly. you didn’t realize the nasty scowl you had on as you stared at mark. you shook your head and hoped he didn't notice—no. you hoped he noticed. notice the ugly mean face you were making towards him so he could hopefully tuck his tail between his legs and leave that sweet teacher's assistant badge for you to use.

you looked at your friend beside you, "yeah. i'm okay, i was just... thinking of something."

"you mean mark?"

your eyes widened in shock, with a bit of disgust, "no way."

"you were totally looking at him. your eyes were about to jump right out of their sockets with how much you've been staring at him." they smirked, giving your shoulder a light shove. "c'mon. there's no need for you to hide your wittle crush on wittle marky.” they teased, “you know, i’ve seen him give you that look the other day. and the day before that. and even the day before before that.”

a deep resentful frown spread across your lips, your arms folding against your chest. that was by all means the farthest thing imaginable from what was going on. and there was no way he was looking like that towards you. there was a mutual understanding that you can’t be friends with the enemy, in this situation, he’s the enemy breaching foreign territory since he has the job you’ve been wanting. and it wasn't like that was the main reason you've been staring. you needed that job for the extra credit, but maybe a small part of you in the back of your mind agrees with what your friend said. you're never telling them any of that though. "i'm so gonna kill you one day."

they shrugged, shifting their gaze back to the power point mr. wilson was discussing.

halfway through the lecture, you looked down onto the blank notebook staring back at you. awaiting to be written on. you lifted your head to look at the power point when for some reason, something enticed you into looking at the teacher’s desk. where mark was at. you tried to subtly look at the desk for just a split a second, only to come into eye contact with mark. who was seemingly already staring at you beforehand. he must be plotting some kind of ploy to keep you away from stealing that sweet teacher’s assistant position. you quickly looked away before it could prolong and tried to soak any information that left the professor’s mouth.

you understood nothing. you instead doodled mindlessly on what was supposed to be your notes for today's lecture for the entirety of the class, failing to comprehend anything at all. the lesson wasn't really getting through your head for some reason, and you figured it was one of those days. the only thing that snapped you away from further drifting off into space was the professor’s loud voice bidding farewell, signaling the end of the lesson. you couldn't even remember the first thing the professor said, or hell, even anything. all you could think about really was coming into eye contact with mark. but maybe that’s because you hated him so much.

you were packing your stuff back into your tote, already planning on where to eat lunch at with your friend, when all of a sudden, a large hand appeared on your desk. placing your research paper down which had a large 'B' marked in red on the upper-right corner of your paper.

your mouth went agape. that was a flawless paper. you revised the damn thing more times than you could count and made sure each and every citation was reliable and substantial. you even went out of your way and consulted different professors in the field to make sure what you were doing was right. and mark had the balls to give you a B?

"how is this a B? did you check my paper?" you accusingly smacked the material in hand to emphasize that you are not happy with your grade.

he raised his eyebrow, "yeah. and what if i did? if you have any problems. feel free to talk to mr. wilson for whatever concerns you have." he blatantly responded, quickly walking away before you could protest any further.

"that little shit. he knows i'm onto him. he knows i'd be a better assistant than he would so he's- he's doing this on purpose!" you frustratedly ranted towards your friend, who was busying themselves with cleaning up their spot. “he’s unbelievable! how-how is someone like him allowed to be given that job!” you shoved the remainder of your stuff into your bag and scurried off towards mr. wilson, leaving your friend behind with an exasperated sigh.

noticing you approaching, mr. wilson turned his head towards you. “(y/n), how can i help you?” he politely greeted with a smile.

you slightly shifted on the spot, changing your demeanor slightly. you stretched your hand out and showed him your unfairly graded research paper. “mr. wilson, i was wondering what was the criteria for me to be graded with a B? my work deserves more than this grade i was originally given.”

he nodded his head in understanding, “ah. your academic paper. mark was the one who graded these on my behalf. what’s the matter with it?”

“professor, it really seems to me that he’s irresponsibly and unfairly grading papers that don’t deserve low gradings, i really spent my time and effort into producing an output that i was sure to get a higher mark than this.”

he took the paper out of your hands and skimmed the first two pages, his eyebrows raising in surprise. “this is a good paper, i’ll talk to mark about this later. for the mean time, i’ll be keeping it. i’ll give it back to you tomorrow.”

“thank you so much, mr. wilson. i really appreciate it!” you cheered, leaving the room with a content expression before a mischievous smirk crawled onto your lips. when mr. wilson finds out how bad mark messed up, he’s sure to give the job to you and-

“you just had to tell him. didn’t you?”

before you could get a few steps in from leaving the classroom, mark stood in front of you at the doorway. all tall and broad, preventing you from reaching the exit in peace.

you raised your eyebrows and scoffed, “you graded my paper unfairly and you know it. step aside-“ you squinted your eyes to look at the name tag beside him, rolling your eyes internally at the title above it, “grayson.”

you turned to his right to quickly leave him behind without saying anything more to mark. you were gonna be late for your lunch date with your friend after all.

mark held a hand to his chest, biting his lip to prevent the feelings bubbling up from within his chest. he wanted to jump out a window and scream how pretty you were even when you were mad at him. his heart was thumping so loudly it was ringing in his ears and it felt like it was about to implode into itself. he turned around to look at your retreating figure one last time, before preparing himself to face the professor over a grade he gave on a whim to piss you off.

she'll be the death of me.

@ toshn, pls do not steal or ur cheeks will!! be clapped.

[jals-stuff]

Some Rayne brainrot...

this is some stupid (and a bit horny??? no? yes? i don't know) stuff that went through my mind last night

MDNI PLEASE! this spawned in my head, no context

warnings: female reader, rayne is ooc and pervy, he is staring, dubcon (bit steamy at the end), bit of swearing, bit of horniness, mentions of boobies and peen...

i am very sorry, i wrote this with 0 hours of sleep. barely proofread. enjoy

Rayne Ames. The Divine Visionary, the Sword Cane.

If you watch animal documentaries, you are probably aware that cheetahs can stay in the same position for up to sixteen hours without moving at all…

Well, it so happens that Rayne’s facial expression is like a cheetah. He somehow always looks like you’ve told him a really bad pun, and he’s judging you for it (not funny, did not laugh). He probably even has this face on while he sleeps, eats, showers, and probably even while he decides to please himself. 

And yet, despite looking annoyed every second of the day, despite looking like the unfriendliest guy in the whole Academy, he looks absolutely stunning. Anyone would agree that Rayne Ames is a feast on the eyes. And you, as his seatmate in class, aren’t one to deny this.

.....................................................................

It was your last class hour for today and you couldn’t wait to go back to your dorm room and rot in bed like the absolute lazybone you were. Changing out of your uniform was now an emergency, as the shirt you had picked today was somehow way too tight for you.

Being clueless with basic things such as laundry had its pros and cons. Sure, your clothes were smaller now and you could barely fit; but it made you look incredibly sexy! …or so you kept telling yourself. Maybe you were just trying to cope with the fact that you were incredibly bad at basic human tasks.

You made your way to the classroom and got your notebook out. 

Today’s subject was pure theory, and you would’ve fallen asleep if you didn’t have the most scrumptious distraction sitting right next to you. You spent the hour doodling, taking notes whenever you paid enough attention to do so, and mostly throwing quick glances at your seatmate, Rayne, who was way too focused on the soporific theoretical experiments your elderly professor was passionately explaining, to pay attention to you.

When the old man turned around to write something on the blackboard, Rayne finally turned a fraction of his attention towards you. Of course, this happened during the minuscule amount of time you weren’t looking at him, and he took notice of a few things.

First of all, your notes were an absolute mess. Instead of trying to keep them consistent, you had picked a few words the teacher said, and chose to throw them into an adventure with other words, picked at different moments during class, resulting in an abomination that wouldn’t make sense, even to you. But you wouldn’t know, of course, since you never read your notes anyway. 

He would give you bonus points for the adorable little bunnies you had been doodling for the majority of your time in class, though.

Secondly, you seemed like you were about to sleep, but given the way you were taking notes, everything sort of made sense. Not your notes though, only the fact that you weren’t invested enough to stay awake.

Third of all, your shirt. He wished his eyes hadn’t lingered for such a long time on it. Why was it so tight? “Is she so dumb she can’t even do laundry?”, he wondered to distract himself from the fact that the button that kept your shirt closed around the chest area had the strength of a thousand lions. 

His eyes moved back to your face, and at this very moment, you chose to look at him. Your eyes met, and his expression was, as always, unreadable. Was he bored? Upset? Annoyed? At this point you were pretty sure he didn’t know any better. But it seemed a bit different this time, you could’ve sworn you saw his lower lid twitching slightly. 

You decided to turn your attention back to the teacher— or at least pretend to, for a while, and it lasted for a whopping fifty seconds. Efforts had been made! You deemed yourself deserving of a little treat, and an attempt was made to look at Rayne once again.

His eyes were still on you. Now it really felt like he was upset. You were used to his icy glare but it was getting a little uncomfortable, and so, as one does, you had a great shitty idea. You decided that stretching your back could maybe help you release some of this discomfort, and your button, may it rest in peace, gave up on its sole task of keeping your shirt closed. 

You couldn’t tell where it went at all. In fact, you didn’t even notice, but you did feel a little more comfortable now that your chest area was no longer being compressed, except it was in a literal meaning now, and not just figuratively speaking. You could still feel Rayne’s eyes on you, and decided that you wouldn’t look at him for the rest of this oh so boring class.

What you hadn’t noticed was that his eyes were no longer on your face, but rather on the missing button’s previous spot. “Is she so dumb she can’t take care of her clothing?”, he wondered to distract himself from the fact that he could now clearly see your bra. 

He could see that one mesmerising spot where your breasts were pushing in a wondrous effort to get out of their insufferable lace prison. In fact, pretty much anyone could’ve seen it if they had turned around, but it seemed this professor was either hypnotic or soporific because everyone was staring in his direction. 

You were then blissfully unaware of the fact that Rayne was now leading an internal battle. He had to get his eyes off of your cleavage, for your breasts were not the only things screaming for freedom anymore. Ah, perhaps Rayne was also bad at laundry, because his pants felt increasingly tight the longer he stared at you.

Divine Visionary or not, he was but a man, and what power does a man hold when presented with sweet bosoms? None. That’s right. He tried to think about anything else. Rabbits? His little brother, Finn? The concerning relationship Lance had with his little sister? The way alcoholism thrived amongst the ranks of the State police? No matter what went through his head, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

He had to do something about it, and you were probably not escaping this one.

.....................................................................

As soon as the bell rang, he closed his coat as much as he could, and grabbed your arm before you could leave, and this time you could tell he was pretty upset. Why? How could you know? You didn’t know anything. Had your head not been attached to your shoulders, you would’ve probably lost it already. 

Instead of giving you any sort of explanation, he immediately dragged you with him. Your life felt like a movie that was playing in front of your eyes. My time has come, you thought, but… not quite.

You found yourself in Rayne’s dorm room, locked in with him. His roommate wasn’t there, and it was clear this crime would leave no witnesses. 

It took him half a second to remove his coat and— oh. You were suddenly in Egypt.

Everything was there: the stone hard pyramid, the Sphinx (that seemed ready to pounce on you), and the heat. Oh boy, the heat. As a very refined lady (yes you are), you brought your hand to your chest in indignation, and oh, how distraught you felt when you realised that your beloved chest button was nowhere to be seen. It was all starting to make sense.

Without a word, he pushed you against the wall and his lips met yours in a rough, steamy kiss. Your whole body felt like it was on fire; his toned chest was pressing against yours and breaking your buttons further, his clothed erection was slightly rubbing against your clit through your panties and his hands roamed your body hungrily while his tongue left no corner of your mouth unexplored.

It was all a lot to take in but it felt so intoxicating, the way his large hands held onto your hips to keep you from squirming too much underneath his passionate touch, and how his teeth were grazing against your lips while a mixture of both your salivas dripped from the corner of your mouth. 

His body was grinding against yours like waves on the beach, and both your breathings were becoming increasingly noisy. Only after long, delicious minutes of this make-out session did he break the kiss, panting for air, as he looked into your eyes with a lustful gaze you were now used to seeing.

It wasn't your first time pushing his buttons like this, and it certainly wasn't your last.

“You did it on purpose, admit it.”

Whaaat, you? Pfffft, never! But… let’s just say you’re not usually that bad at doing your laundry.

.....................................................................

smol reminder that i am very bored and i also take requests for mashle, hsr, genshin, jjk, elsword, tower of fantasy...

xoxo

[marsh-idiot]

hello! i LOVE your content!!! may i request a jean x gn!reader? the context being jean having a huge crush on the reader but the reader is oblivious to it. it can be a fic, hcs, etc.. i don't mind! thank you SO much in advance!!!

Head-over-heels! Jean x completely oblivious reader my beloved <33 I hope I did it justice (I think this made me fall a little bit more for Jean, yall are going to convert me into a simp for him lmao)

Cushing!Jean who can't help but pick apart his outfits everyday to make sure you'll like them. Wearing the shoes you complimented once, styling his hair the way he thinks you'll like. Wearing your favorite color constantly, everything.

Cushing!Jean who can't help but stare in awe every single time he sees you, so entranced at the sight of you.

Cushing!Jean who turns bright red at every small compliment you give, stuttering out a cocky response while he leans against the nearest wall-- so he doesn't seem desperate even though he is head-over-heels for you.

Crushing college au!Jean who plans out his path to certain classes depending on where you'll be, just so he can run into you.

Crushing college au!Jean who offers to carry whatever you're carrying to class, insisting you shouldn't have to carry it all by yourself. Even going so far as to flex his biceps for you to prove he's strong enough to carry your things.

Crushing college au!Jean who confesses he has a crush on you to Connie and Sasha, proceeding to yell into a pillow about how much he likes you. Connie and Sasha laugh at how desperate his is, and he pleads for them to understand-- saying you're the most perfect person he's ever seen. Crushing college au!Jean who asks them for tips to get you to notice him more, then ignores everything they said because it was stupid to even ask those two.

Crushing modern au!Jean who can't help but set his phone background as a picture of the two of you, smiling each time he opens his phone and probably forgetting what he was going because he got distracted by you again.

Cushing!Jean who would dote on you as much as possible. Your shoes need tying? He's already kneeling down in front of you. You need help with your odm gear straps? He's securing them with nimble fingers.

Crushing college au!Jean who studies with you no matter the subject. Oh you're studying Spanish and you need help studying? Jean's helping, even though he's taking french. You need help with your math class? Jean is checking out a textbook from the library to study before helping you understand it.

Cushing!Jean who picks flowers just to give to you, yelling at Connie or Eren when they make jokes when he gives them to you, his face bright red.

Crushing college au!Jean who keeps every little thing you give him. You went to the movies with him? He's keeping the ticket. You found pretty flowers on your walk to class and you gave them to him? He's already googling how to press flowers.

Crushing college au!Jean who is an art major and ever since he started crushing on you he's filled an entire sketchbook of doodles and portraits of you. Even based a person in a painting off you-- of course you were completely oblivious when you saw it in his dorm room.

Crushing college au!Jean who has tried every medium of art, but thinks none can capture how truly perfect you are. Oil paint captures your skin beautifully, but not the shine of your eyes. Water color is wonderful for your hair and clothes, but terrible to get your soft smile just perfect.

Cushing!Jean who gets jealous whenever you interact with Eren. Walking up to you two and inserting himself into your conversation, no matter how dull it is. He even has draped his body over yours over a few times, glaring at Eren while leaning against you-- his arms draped over your shoulders and his head right next to yours or resting on top of yours.

Cushing!Jean who invites you on late night walks almost every chance he gets, just enjoying your company.

Cushing!Jean who once got caught out in the rain with you and couldn't stop himself from staring at how good you looked, even soaking wet. The cold wet feeling of the rain completely pushed aside for the warm feeling that you give him instead.

Cushing!Jean who laments to everyone that will listen that you aren't picking up on his hints, no matter how obvious he makes them.

Oblivious!You who laments that "He definitely doesn't like me back." to anyone that will listen.

Cushing!Jean who finds the meaning of every flower he gives you double and triple checking that they're only flowers representing love and positive things. He gives you aster, baby's breath, white carnations, red chrysanthemums, gardenia, daisy, and of course red roses. He also loves getting your your favorite flower, despite its meaning. If he can, he keeps a small pot of it growing so he can give you ones he grew himself.

Crushing modern au!Jean who listens to every song you recommend him, even going as far to find your spotify account and following it-- mainly listening to your playlists if you have any public ones. He even ends up making one of songs that remind him of you, consisting mainly of love songs. "Everything I Know About Love By Laufey" is definitely on there.

Cushing!Jean who shit talks people you hate just to talk to you more, growing a hatred for anyone you hate. He thinks of creative things to say about them just to get you to laugh, at one point saying "They deserve to stub their toe really hard on some metal" or even "The military wouldn't be missing much if they were eaten by a titan."

I enjoyed this a lot, twas very fun to write. Want more? here's my masterlist :] <3

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 6

[prompt: blowjob]

male reader x hyeju

12k words

“I mean, don’t you think,” Hyeju says, wagging a finger at you, “that when you suffer through a bad date, the world ought to owe you something?”

"Like what?" you ask.

"Better taste in women - maybe more orgasms; I dunno, a blowjob?" She shrugs. "The general idea is just that someone gets to cum."

You nearly choke on the air in front of you. "Jesus, Hyeju, warn a guy."

“What? I’m trying to commiserate with you,” Hyeju laughs. “Wouldn’t that be funny? Being able to kiss someone who actually, you know, might love you back, and at the same time. Imagine not hooking-up just to forget a shitty day. Sounds wild, right?"

"Utterly deranged."

"So wild."

-

The first time you hook up with your roommate, it’s because of genetics - though not in the weird, uncontrollable way your body gets rigid and sensitive to any pretty girl who wears nothing but a towel moving between her bedroom and the bathroom, or how her eyes might flick fast from your chest up to yours - or given that the absolute shape of her is a blessing from one god or another (benevolent, clearly). That's not why Hyeju and you find yourselves only a few months later grinding on each other after the clock ticked past midnight, making out on New Year's Eve.

No, it has to do with the fact that Hyeju's nearly failing the nine AM section of molecular genetics because she's spent every lecture doodling stars and planets and planets shaped like asscheeks and planet-ass constellations while everyone else writes notes or doom scrolls twitter or whatever and she is somehow simultaneously the only student who never slept with her face on the lab desk or missed an assigned reading and the only one who absolutely needs a tutor.

It's just cosmic odds that you'd be that one: her roommate, who shouldn't be talking so loudly in the library about sex (in a sort of non-sexy, Mendelian kind of way) or be thinking the kind of things you've started thinking when Hyeju wears one of her more sleepshirt-esque long sleeves, her voice getting lower as you rattle off, "fruit flies and thale cress, definitely, it's just an error of fate or chromosome splitting..." before trailing off into a question.

"This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me," she finally tells you. You listen to her sigh into the binding of her textbook, facedown. "I'm really going to bomb this exam."

You tap her hand twice with your highlighter across the desk. "Then you're pretty damn lucky, if you think about it."

She turns to you, smiles a bit. "Okay, point. The worst thing will be having to retake this stupid fucking class."

"Why didn't you ask for help or go to office hours if you knew you were... failing?"

"Maybe because doing anything more than the bare minimum to get through a class I don't care about is my definition of, failing," she mumbles. "Why didn't anyone tell me a single lab is worth half my grade? Or that the TA is this fucking unreliable? How is this the one thing, really, beyond the basics, that can't be taught by wikipedia, a wikihow article and a youtube video?"

You scoot your seat closer to her. "You really need to relax."

"Fucking tell me about it."

You turn it over in your mind a few times, capping the top of your highlighter.

"Want me to get you off?"

And it’s not like you really mean it, when you say it, which is the strangest thing: you wouldn't actually suggest it, normally, wouldn't mention it in passing and then leave yourself open to the follow up and cross examination; yet there it is, after three, four hours of cramming notes on heterochronicity and the sloshing of gametes - you actually did propose it.

Hyeju jerks up, surprised.

"Are you serious?" She looks around, nearly snorting. "In the library?"

The face you’re giving her makes her scoff.

“You’re absolutely nuts.”

You have character flaws; the inability to admit wrongdoing chief among them. Hell, maybe it's from your mother - or maybe all your brains are just scrambled by the fact that Hyeju's sitting there with her pen against her pretty lips, hair glossier than usual as she scans your face and makes your entire body feel like a reactor core in meltdown.

Maybe you can blame what comes next on that.

"I'm always serious. I'm asking a serious question," you whisper, closing the textbook and resting your elbows on top. You look around quickly, like you're sneaking something in instead of this perfectly reasonable exchange, the perfectly platonic - except maybe not so much - way for friends to help each other.

"And I'm wondering what you're asking." Her cheeks are definitely pinker, you think, or the way it fills out her face, from the bottom up, is just that easy to imagine.

“I’m saying you haven’t gotten laid in months.” Here, you realize, these blocks of mental logic that definitely weren’t there when you blurted it out start to coalesce into something solid as you go on.

And you hadn't been wrong when you thought no one had given Hyeju a helping hand in a long, long time: you've heard through the walls or the floorboards at odd hours of the morning that she spends far too long fingering herself to a mind-numbing, tear-worthy frustration that leaves her knuckle-deep but never, ever sated or satisfied.

"No one's around, you'll feel better. You said it yourself."

Not a work of your imagination here - her ears are fucking burning.

"Wait a minute." She pushes her chair back, away from you and your gleaming offer. It clatters on its back legs, and a librarian waves her finger in warning. You wave back, sheepishly, until she stops and Hyeju stands and moves away from the table to talk, hands crossed over her front.

She turns and asks in a hushed-down-voice, "how did you know - did you hear something last night?"

"You couldn't keep it down even if you wanted to, honestly."

Hyeju turns further and throws a glare at the library doors, because obviously her noisiness and their collective noisemanship, or whatever the hell the word is, is clearly the root of the whole goddamn problem.

"Look - if not, no big deal - but I'm just saying you'll probably get over it and at least think less about sex. Or at least the wrong kind of sex."

You expect her to turn, sigh, and ask if you've lost your mind. Expect her to gather her jacket from the back of her chair, take her books and stomp out the room. Or even burst out laughing at the insanity, before slapping your arm lightly, in playful retaliation - anything other than the serious look she gives you in return, tilting her head, pressing her lips.

She turns up at the ceiling for a moment, contemplating something. And it's cute. It's so very, very cute, how her mouth pouts as she considers the possibility, right up until she says, "okay, fine."

The moderate twist of surprise taking hold in your brow must be visible.

"Oh, don't tell me that was all talk. Get me thinking about the right kind of sex or whatever."

You laugh, which has the librarian staring at both of you - until the librarian stops staring and probably sees Hyeju sliding back into her chair, the full, pent-up weight of her concentration pointed your way, knees inching apart - you, and Hyeju waiting, your knee bumping into her inner thigh, leaning closer as the textbook hits the floor.

"Don't laugh."

"Not laughing, seriously. Not laughing," you stammer. “I just think you’re just full of surprises.”

She spreads her knees further and sits taller, looking right at you.

"So then, surprise me," and then presses her cheek to the crook of your elbow.

You slide your chair right into the space next to hers, nuzzling up into the space under her ear. “Keep studying, Hyeju, you’ve got shit to do.” And then you slide your hand beneath the waist of her sweats, knead the swell of her thigh until you find the seam where her leg meets her body, press your palm down on the place just next to her center, your thumb in the middle. All this perfect pressure.

"Fuck," Hyeju says under a shudder. She's breathing heavier when your hot, open-mouthed kisses start landing at her neck, and she probably tries to read her textbook for about forty-five seconds longer. But there's the clench of her jaw right as your middle finger begins tracing circles beneath the fabric of her panties, and her gaze is blurring until she can't tell the difference between an allele or your fucking name.

"Shh-shh," you quiet her, finger tapping harder, playing with the slick wetness beneath all those layers of thick cotton and pressing two fingers there until her knees part like they’re not interested in resisting at all. Your lips press a kiss to the shell of her ear and she tenses all at once, hand shooting up to cover her mouth.

She simply leans back, closes her eyes, and lets you take care of her.

“Okay, you’re right,” she says, shaky and uneven, “that really did take some of the edge off. Did we ever review - poly- uh, pol-polymers here?"

The sweatshirt sleeve falling off your shoulder is a hindrance to any actual reading; her shifting against the chair isn't helping either, but you manage to push down the thoughts of stripping her down completely and giving her your tongue as yet another distraction.

"What did the syllabus say? I don't know if we need to read too far on 'polymers'," you say, having going through an entire afternoon without considering this once, but as you curl your fingers and take an honest crack at cramming the remaining chapters into her head, the knowledge that no one else is getting her this wet - except for whoever she's got in her mind's eye at three AM - is enough to get you feeling a little dizzy.

-

It’s probably supposed to be weird, given that you’ve never gotten any of your other friends off spontaneously in the library, or there's the fact that you can't really avoid each other afterwards, how she shows up in a silk negligee when you're pouring coffee before sunrise to prep for another day and you have the opportunity to notice - yes, she has amazing taste in underwear, yes, you might not have really appreciated her chest and figure enough before - yes, fuck it. She catches you noticing that first time, after coming downstairs with nothing but one of her cropped t-shirts and her board shorts, and she smirks when she realizes you're still thinking about it that afternoon, when her foot grazes yours while you're both washing dishes, and she dries the plate in her hand with a slow swipe.

And it is weird, actually, to describe what’s going on between you in words. 

A few words, anyway, like a one-word label to describe what it was: friends or roommates-with-benefits, or - fuck buddies - god, it's even worse. Fuck buddies? Fuck friends? Something equally terrible and stupid that still makes sense, like something out of a shitty rom-com: it doesn't capture any of the rest of the myriad ways in which things can feel less or less friendly between two people.

So, friends was never, ever going to cut it. Roommates - although technically correct - is just this side of too clinical. And let's be clear: strangers don't wake up every morning together, walk to the same class, sit close together in the middle seats, secretly flick a strangers' skirt up in an empty lecture hall and get on their knees and work your mouth onto her pussy and watch the legs of the desks shake when her feet arch into the floor.

"The notes you've got are better than mine," is how Hyeju tries to put things, the next day and every time after that, standing in the doorframe, or at the foot of your bed and looking every bit the disheveled and hopeless mess you imagine she might spread out over the sheets of her own.

-

It gets complicated, which isn't really a surprise.

"You think your roommate is going to be home tonight?" is the question that comes up multiple times - from a revolving door of pretty names and faces. Hyeju has at least one opinion, if not more, on each of them.

"Tell Jinsoul I say hi," she says once, watching you get ready for a date, and you nearly bang your knee on the edge of the bathroom vanity. 

It's one of the more harmless comments she's offered.

Another, backhanded: "if you’re just looking for a blowjob everyday between lunch and our physics lab, let Hyunjin or Heejin or whatever-her-name-is know she's easily my favorite," Hyeju says on your way out one morning, still under her covers.

Or,

Hyeju's texted a simple "uh, Chuu? really??" when you mention, once, how much fun you've been having - and what kind, as you make a round of self-conscious and rambling phone calls the next day that land you with only one prospect for the night - but your roommate's also no longer being your roommate by the end of it, bouncing against your thighs in the bathtub and moaning something about please more and fuck or fucking make me cum; the details escape you a bit.

That's what friends are for, probably.

Still, in the same, bare-bones explanation, friends also aren't for falling asleep on you - or letting you hold her - or fucking you awake in the middle of the night. Friends aren't for pushing down your jeans when the early-morning dew settles on the back patio, or jerking you off in the seat beside yours with a sweatshirt over your lap when a group project is due later and you all should probably work on that and instead get yourselves off and leave the mess of what you're doing half-finished. Friends aren't, probably, for offering to watch you rub your palm up and down your cock the night before next semester's exams when you can barely sit in a single chair and you can't think about molecular biology or neurochemical transcriptions when your whole body aches to do the transcribing. (If you can catch that drift.)

The lists of who are and are not good enough for you goes on and on - the latter longer than the former.

So, there's Choerry, who according to Hyeju is 'straight up, a total slut'. Yeojin, who gets mistaken for your little sister enough times that Hyeju refuses to - in good faith - let you keep sleeping with her. Both Heejin and Gowon are apparently too pretty for you. "Kim-lip?" she asks, in the middle of peeling garlic, "is that one name or two?" And laughs into a bottle of beer, loud, while you're telling her to quit being nosey and watch her fingers with the damn knife.

"You have a problem."

"Why, because I asked a few simple questions? I think anyone would be a little curious with the -" she pauses to wave her fingers - "I'd be remiss to not be interested in the very drama that unfolds literally across the hall."

She waggles her eyebrows.

You look up at the ceiling. God save you, you think. "Hyeju."

("Seriously," Hyeju chimes in one evening, arms around you, and a mouthful of the dinner you'd cooked.

"You need better taste in girls. Don't waste time on anyone too dumb, or who drinks the milk straight from the carton, or doesn't wash her socks with the same load of laundry. Oh, and - no one who chews loudly. No one who can't tell you're going to cum. The worst is someone who doesn't know what you like, trust me on that. And remember the last rule: don't do anything with someone who eats at a really slow pace, it's incredibly depressing."

You rest your chin on her shoulder from the spot behind her. "Duly noted, oh Master of all Knowledge."

She sighs into your arm, but in the next moment, her voice gets a lot softer, her hips fidgeting slightly against you. "I just mean you're the kind of person people would want to sleep with again," she says, before turning to say your name and kiss you again and again as your bodies curl inward.

"I wonder what that means, Hyeju," you say.

"Fuck," Hyeju groans as you slide further into her, pushing her back into the sofa - hands on her shoulders, legs bent on her either side, "don't tease me like this.")

-

The first snowfall of the year is mild, a tiny dusting, nothing that sticks on the pavement in the alley or on the sidewalks - or the lintels - or in Hyeju's hair, but by evening, when the snow picks up and everything goes quiet, Hyeju has changed into flannels and wool socks in anticipation, curled up like a cat at one edge of the window ledge as the world begins to go white. It's enough that you even pull on a thicker sweatshirt, open up a book, and join her.

She turns toward you, quiet.

You've reached a point in the semester where this, the silence, doesn't unsettle you anymore. It's the space you fill up with time in-between, where you can see the contours of her body against the orange lamplight of the space heater, or watch her kick off the top half of the duvet at night as you fight over space in her bed and wonder about the bare skin peeking out from her shorts.

"Feeling bored?" She slides her foot a little closer to yours, almost imperceptibly. "Am I keeping you entertained enough?"

Her lips pull up at the corner. You chuckle.

"Oh, no."

She scoffs and puts her hands on her knees, pushes herself closer to the window sill and bumps her elbow into your shoulder. The bare skin of her neck and shoulders and face is getting a little redder as she cranes it forward. "Okay, if not, do you need someone to entertain you, maybe."

Your mouth twists, fighting a smile.

Hyeju is so close to you, you could kiss her really, really easily and not care how she'd feel about that. It's not a habit, not as often as it used to be, but every once and a while - she starts this game. Every once in a while, Hyeju just starts smiling like that, and leans into you like she's daring you to play along, hard round of chicken until it's clear what the two of you are doing with each other; the minutes pass by, one, then two, and then - maybe she pushes first, her leg on yours, or a kiss to your jaw or a palm on your back as she walks behind you - and then you'd turn and kiss her full on the mouth and pull at her clothes like nothing's holding you back.

She cocks a smile, and says, "why don't you go and call what's her name."

"Because."

You glance out at the cold, gray light outside. If you had a better understanding of any of the workings inside you, you could reach forward and tell her everything that's stopped you.

-

You're supposed to meet the girl-of-the-month at a New Year's party. Hyeju looks disgusted within the first ten seconds of the whole story.

"Heejin dumped you once, like, two months ago? For no reason."

"It wasn't a break-up. We talked about what we did wrong and we're doing better," you say, lifting one finger.

She glares, then, tilts her lips into this unamused purse that you can't take seriously at all when she starts walking back and forth across your living room, hands moving emphatically to the sides as she speaks, like she's in the process of unveiling a brilliant argument and is using both palms to guide your eyes toward the unquestionable logic. "God, you're the worst. You're just her easy fuck and you'll still answer her late night calls, really."

She leaves the rest unsaid - that she's just not that into you.

"I don't tell you which boys or girls you can call up," you try, putting on a boot. "If you'd like, I can. Name off the list, and make sure that the right name leaves my mouth this time."

Hyeju doesn't blush when you glance up, which is the surprising thing. No - her cheeks have grown a little more sullen, and she stares down at her socks in contemplation. You're in the middle of fastening up the lace and getting to your feet, waiting, wondering if Hyeju's going to continue this conversation, when Hyeju takes one small step forward.

And her hand goes out to touch your chin, thumb at your lip, fingers holding it in place - like you'll turn if she lets it go - the sharp shock of the sensation like a short circuit, before her knee comes between yours, and your body tingles, at the root and stem. "Hey," she says, eyes meeting yours. The edge of her nail flicking gently as she drags the curve of her thumb downward.

"Hyeju, please - I need to get going."

When you start walking toward your car, she calls out from the window. Something about how you better have the time of your life, fun for the two of you - it’s only fair.

(You feel, somewhere, a certain strange loss.)

"What, are you going to stay up and wait until I come back? Or am I interrupting your session for the night."

You can barely make it out, the smallest look passing over her face. "Maybe," she says, and then: "god, it's fucking cold."

-

New year's parties have this sort of quality of being simultaneously the most thrilling, exciting prospect on earth and the absolute worst fucking event in the history of the planet - depending on the venue, how egregious the racket is for a gin and tonic, the guests - oh, and the company.

Jinsoul and Choerry are both in attendance; in separate corners and in equal states of undress and intoxication, which seems fine by every present party, who are for the most part busy ogling one or the other in the full spirit of the New Year - as you would too, if the stars are aligned and Heejin hasn't already gone upstairs with half the guestlist, her arm wound with someone else's, as per her recent habit; if you haven't been tossed aside for any of the usual, less forgettable prospects and for something bigger, better and certainly much more enjoyable.

Which, if there were any way to track these things down with math, you'd already be reaching for your pen and notebook, as Hyeju would describe this sensation in a phrase she picked up from some podcast. Inevitable means necessary, or something.

"Good party," says Heejin, throwing back another drink.

"Yep. You said that," and you finish yours in one long draw, hissing through your teeth.

Heejin is a goddamn delight, of course, in all the simplest of ways. When she looks up at you - mouth pink, hair framing her face - she is so clearly and completely aware of what she is, and exactly what the world has in store for her, what it has set aside.

"Do you want to know what happened at the other New Year’s party we went to last year?"

"I - yeah. Hit me. Tell me all about (another date you were on) Heejin, that’s exactly what I’d love, let’s hear it."

She throws her head back and laughs, before starting into an overlong recount of her latest, greatest conquest, you on the outside. This is the thing - this is how a pretty face, with just a hint of a flirt, will make you feel for a beautiful, attractive, vivacious - absolutely shameless, raving sex-crazed lunatic of sorts who, apparently, loves to run around town and make a bunch of your closest friends fall in love and heartbroke-er, with every passing notion of her beauty, her charm - just the tilt of her chin, and some poor fucker is lost, absolutely lost.

 Even she knows it's a bad habit of hers. 

But who doesn't have a weakness? You've got plenty of your own - plenty, Heejin can admit - everyone does, in a way, and so Heejin, the other sloppy drunks milling about the party, and Choerry and Jinsoul all agree - someone like her just happens to have the best kind of weakness - so, so many of them, in fact:

"Can you believe how easily a few words get Jinsoul riled up? Or how it only takes a couple drinks for Choerry to pull up the hem of her skirt, not knowing the effect that'll have?"

And as for the last, and arguably worst kind -

"Hyeju, huh? What a great start to the New Year," is her final word. Heejin reaches across and downs your drink. Her expression turns just shy of grave, a pensive look. "Not your smartest idea, the living-together situation. Who in their right mind would put themselves in such a mess?"

"Thanks for the great advice." You wave her off, irritated.

There's another laugh before Heejin leans her face onto the table.

"Though maybe she's onto something, now that I think of it. Who needs anyone for the New Year?" and it's almost convincing the way her mouth, lined up with the rim of the glass, smirks when she drinks. "Mm. All a matter of taste."

-

The snow is halfway up your calves when you realize you need to find a cab at 11:30 PM on New Year's Eve. (Which, categorically, is the worst time to need to find a cab on New Year’s Eve.)

Or just:

11:36 PM and the nearest bus stop is too far away.

11:41 and the temperature feels like its dropped by fifteen degrees, like you should start wondering what hypothermia symptoms look like and what signs to look out for in yourself, your future wife and your children. You try not to think about why, but you get your phone out and immediately call Hyeju, so you're not sure what you think you're denying.

"No party?" she asks. Her voice is distant and sleep-ridden, but Hyeju's quick to pick up, like always.

"It sucked, I'm trying to find a way home early. Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year." There's a long pause, filled in by the squeak of snow beneath your boots. "Get a kiss?"

"Uh, not yet. In the market, I guess."

Hyeju's low hum isn't reassuring, either. "Well, you're kind of missing your window. Bad time to start looking."

"Says you, and here you are - still up for someone to spend the night with. Look at you," you respond, all this snark in your voice that she clearly hears. There's a long sigh.

"Actually," and Hyeju, much to the confusion of you and possibly the whole world, doesn't respond, and for a few seconds, the line goes completely silent, leaving you hanging.

She breathes once and comes out of her sleep with a yawn.

"I actually," she begins. There's a lot less preamble this time - this tone - and when she speaks again it comes through not nearly as sleepy, "was sorta wondering. Are you on your way home?"

"If I don't freeze to death, yeah."

"Yeah - no, yeah," and that's it. That's the sum total of what makes any difference between where you were a moment ago, and where you are right now, head spinning, fingers buzzing. Hyeju waits and there's the wind on the line, snow settling on your hat and in the corners of your face.

"I - sorry. I probably woke you up. Are you expecting someone else," you say, very small. Your foot drags behind the other. The cars whizz by you faster, passing.

"Hm. You're the only one, I guess," and after that - just static and the muffled sounds of her footsteps on creaky floorboards - or the tick of her ceiling fan? You can't make heads or tails of the rest of the background noise. All those words she said.

You bite your tongue to stop whatever curse words start pouring out from the jumble and cross streets, or the pedestrian underpass; snow gets stuck in your lashes and burns, but your chest is like a molten furnace. You consider telling her right there on the line, everything you're feeling - so hot, it feels like fire, Hyeju, I'm not used to getting heated and desperate and impatient - that even if you're not here now - just imagining your face - the sound of your breathing, it feels like I'm on the cusp.

"Yeah. Sure - good - okay, Hyeju."

"I guess, see you soon?"

"In a bit."

(It takes 33 minutes, trudging through cold and wet. It's all very dramatic, you think, and there's no one there to even watch you suffer for it, or - though you try not to think about that particular line - really, no one at all.)

-

You hear the way your key grinds in the lock - it's been like this, jammed since summer, when you pushed the front door in late at night a little too hard and something came undone and made a sound like a small stone tumbling down the world's deepest well. The hinge squeaks, and there's ice on the stoop, on the doormat, on every nook and corner you can see, all the way up your neck.

And your face, too. You shake off your hat, undo the buttons on your jacket, and pull off your boots before hanging them and all the layers to dry.

You can make out the outline of her profile at the edge of the door frame, right in the kitchen - barefoot, hip pressed against the island, pajamas - the dim lights illuminating the shadow of her head, hair over her face -

- but you don't pause. The next layer. There's nothing left to say. You're too cold for excuses, too smart to use the same ones you'd been taught, like: this is a normal, acceptable circumstance; everything, anything, will be perfectly normal if the two of us act as though that's the case; pretend we're both acting within the norms of reason, within our senses and logical thinking and I won't make myself go out in the cold a second more - won't stand for more than five minutes with your eyes looking like they're waiting.

So you move instead toward the kitchen, where the heating is better and she's already pouring coffee. There's a heat radiating out of the oven, and it smells sweet in there, like cinnamon and warm butter, and you wish you weren't still shaking, blood barely thawed, but there it is - her face, watching you - eyes gleaming as you wrap your hands around a mug, steam rising up - a shiver running up your arms; her knees skirting yours when she takes one step back and there's the cabinet door shut, then open again, and then a palm on your back.

Hyeju presses a cup of the fresh coffee, now warm enough to drink, to your chest, and says, softly. "What the fuck happened out there?"

She starts reaching out to wipe the frost and slush from your face. You let her hand hold you still, eyes wide.

"Oh you know," and her palm stays, even though it's obviously - suddenly - gotten warmer, and wetter too, and the longer she stands there and lets her fingers warm the pale bones of your cheeks, her wrist, the base of your forehead and ears, the more expectant the look on her face grows. "The usual."

Her eyes go as narrow as they ever can. For just a moment. "You're gonna die a slow, pathetic death someday, just for the record."

"Don't forget how this starts," you try, and feel your neck go warm, throat and breath tight. And not even when her shoulders shift, her mouth going smug - just looking at you.

“I mean, don’t you think,” Hyeju says, wagging a finger at you, “that when you suffer through a bad date, the world ought to owe you something?”

"Like what?" you ask.

"Better taste in women - maybe more orgasms; I dunno, a blowjob?" She shrugs. "The general idea is just that someone gets to cum."

You nearly choke on the air in front of you. "Jesus, Hyeju, warn a guy."

“What? I’m trying to commiserate with you,” Hyeju laughs. “Wouldn’t that be funny? Being able to kiss someone you actually, you know, might love you back, and at the same time. Imagine not hooking-up just to forget a shitty day. Sounds wild, right?"

"Utterly deranged."

"So wild."

When Hyeju sighs and gives a long, nonchalant hum, leaning her body closer, pressing up until her waist hits the cabinet top and you're pressed together chest-to-chest, she looks at you and her hips settle, the heel of her foot reaching around your calf.

There's that tingle. Again and again. You're not even trying to not think about what it might mean.

But then, you start, silently and unconsciously, trying to answer the question: why don't you, maybe. Why don't you, actually - Hyeju kisses you, pulls on the loop of your jeans and lets your lips brush the corners of hers and pulls away, suddenly, mumbling and head-turning. And just as abruptly, your nose buries in the space between her neck and her shoulder, where it's all warm. And when she puts her palms on your hips and squeezes and twists her knuckles into the fabric there, it seems she wants your hands up her shirt and under the small of her back.

And her hands - they're fidgety tonight, fingers curled up to keep their nails and the chill away, moving lower - one on your ass, while the other comes forward and begins rubbing circles, a handful of times - enough so you're letting a deep, low breath escape into the space just above her collar, your knee working its way between hers.

"That," Hyeju breathes, lips at your ear, hand reaching down to trace the hard curve of your cock pressing in the spot right between you, and there's that small rush again, familiar now, like you've caught a rhythm and she wants to feel it in its fullness: "is how you can make it up to me. For making me stay up. Worrying about you, god knows why. Waiting."

You're still half-frozen in a way, slowly thawing. "Hyeju, I've been trudging through the consequences of my actions this entire night. What am I about to suffer through now?"

"It's no consequence, honestly."

You squint.

"Just an idea, but," she breathes again; your bodies getting closer, and looking up at you, she grins and reaches down to touch the very root of you, her fingers drumming. You make a sound, and at that she says, her voice coming out thick, low:

"Want me to get you off?"

She squeezes again for good measure, just to be clear. Just a slight curl of fingers that's enough to send a flash of heat and the transient thought: why, why, why is she always wearing those fucking shorts, even in the winter?

Your blood thrums through the pulse at the end of your cock. You shake.

"Alright," is the response you let out.

And at that, Hyeju takes your wrist and leads you upstairs.

"There's that look. Don't worry. We'll find a way," is all she says as your feet walk forward, up step-by-step and higher and further up to her room. "After all, isn't that what we've always done?"

"It's usually whatever will make me stop talking."

Hyeju puts her chin on your shoulder. Her eyes follow the lines and shapes in the patterns of wallpaper as you turn onto her side of the apartment, and even through the wall and behind the doorway, her arm still around you, she pulls at your chin until your faces turn and you both can share each other's heat.

"Who, you and your awful habit of talking out-loud in your head while you work through equations?" and she brings her lips to yours, close and warm.

"Hey. Fuck you," and your voice breaks into an odd, low laughter when she kisses you harder.

"Yeah, I know," she whispers as her hand dives past the band of your boxers, palm sliding easily until she's gripping you fully and letting her fingers rub. She holds you there, in her room, her arm looped through yours, another arm resting at your belly.

And she stops there. She stays like that: holding your gaze.

"Look, Hyeju," you say, unable to not, though this can hardly count for anything; this, what you're about to admit, is nothing new. You swallow. "The thing is - you shouldn't."

"Don't want me to touch you?" she says, finger to your lips.

"Well, that's different. Maybe. Is there - maybe it's not the best thing to ask you right now."

Hyeju considers for a brief moment and tuts under her breath. "Can you at least do me the decency of waiting until I'm done wringing you dry before you say shit like that."

And she moves then, toward the bed.

So:

No. Yes. Maybe. Who knows, you tell yourself. Maybe, but only because you'll do anything if it makes you feel less sick, like a creature standing over its own skeleton - an abandoned shell; a relic, something to be feared and disgusted, as you let her go between your thighs, kneel beside the bed.

"I mean - since when - have you felt," is just as far as you're allowed to go before Hyeju presses her nose into you and pulls you out of the thin, cold fabric - palm, thumb, all those slender fingers swiping over your head - and now there's just the smell of her room and the shock, the buzz that runs down your spine and settles somewhere, somewhere inside the small and desperate movement of your hips and the tension building just below.

And god, fuck, Hyeju’s lips.

These soft, wet, pouty fucking things that could suck you straight off if you were feeling any less stupid or inexperienced or sentimental - if she wasn't solely intent on teasing it out of you first; a slow drag of the tongue up the underside; the tip of it poking, tracing the rim, like she's figured you out, just where to lead you. She's ready to smoke you out - always - until you're not taking in a breath every ten seconds but starting to close your eyes to the overwhelming, needling pleasure, too sharp, the way she knows you like best.

"Now you're finally - mm - starting to sound hot," and that smirk comes back to the corner of her mouth, teasing the sensitive belly of your cock and tracing her tongue everywhere. "With the voice and -"

You're losing track, her thumb and fingers circling the whole length of you - just, one after the other - mouth a hair-breadth away, her breath hovering like a promise.

"- that face."

"Don't, fucking tease me-"

The sound of your cock going in is like nothing else.

Wet and filthy in all the right ways.

Just the suction in her throat has your eyes nearly roll back into your head - Hyeju's gaze calmly watching the terrible sort of helplessness that washes over you like this: her lips wrapped around, bobbing - her hair falling into the wet mess of her mouth and sticking there. Hyeju likes being a little sloppy, likes feeling that spark run up the length of her tongue when she slides. It's the wet and the heat that gives everything away.

"I don't have much of a choice -" her jaw and chin is smudged when she pulls back off of your cock, mouth glossy and glistening, "and honestly, wouldn't it be a better use of our time, or my talents if I actually do that thing?"

“Which is?”

She looks up for a bit and sighs, the flush blooming pink to the tip of her ears and into the rounds of her cheeks and all across her neck. "Since, as far as I can see, what you really like - is, oh I'm just spit-balling here," and she stops just to bite her tongue and look into your eyes, "it's letting the girls take care of you? Isn't that right?"

You want to tell her, no, not always, that it's not as though you enjoy giving control completely - that that would be completely and unarguably, the opposite of true -

That most of the time you love it when the person you're with is a little bossy, a little crazy for you. You know some guys really get off on a strong woman and maybe, maybe if a girl's pretty and dressed up, and - sure - a little wet, but that's hardly -

“You know I’m right,” she says, a flicker of mischief skittering across her features. “These walls are paper thin.”

You want to tell her, perhaps remind her, that she likes someone in charge just as much as you do - to be taken care of, told what to do - to have a hand curled up around her throat and the other at her tits while a guy fucks her the right way and takes the reigns when she needs. So who are you, when it comes to knowing her better? And who, really, are you fooling?

But before you can get any words in: Hyeju dips, lips parting where the head of your cock throbs, and then disappears; and the hot wet warmth, enveloping all around your shaft and back; the curve of her throat contracting.

You moan - a lot, and louder this time - into the whole feeling. The way her fingers work the distance from the base, twisting and twisting and twisting into the pout of her lips; or how the sound is like nothing - a whimpering, messy sound - almost a whine and definitely not a slurp as your cock sinks further and further, until it's all one big, heavy throb.

And it's like Hyeju can read your thoughts, the visual you have of her lips screwed tight around your shaft - cum leaking from the corners, and her eyes scrunched up tight, as she looks up to watch your face unravel - this perfect image of her taking you, all of you, swallowing each drop as your hips start rutting up into her and - and - and.

Or else she gets impatient, because then Hyeju gives one long pull off the tip of your cock - saliva mixed in the precum there, and that shiny string of fluid hanging, caught in the middle between your bodies - a disgusting and irresistible sight. Her jaw slack, lips swollen and full, and her mouth gone wide open, wanting.

"Fuck - that's good. Don't stop," you start to whimper, desperate, at the sight, the smell. Her hot breath coming quick over the red wanting wetness left behind - then touched by the cold air - fuck -

She slaps your cock to the corner of her lips as she speaks.

"Can you believe what's going on down here?"

"God, can you -"

"And to think most guys wanna jump straight in. That or fuck a load out between my tits."

"Hyeju, shit, come on -"

She kisses the soft tip, right where it’s most sensitive, rolls it along her lip. Then, back down the length of your shaft where she's generous with her mouth inch after inch - lapping, licking, laving - and Hyeju begins working her way down and downward, nestling in at the edge of the bed and between your thighs.

Your eyes blow up the first time she dips low enough to put your balls in her mouth. 

“Mmhm,” she hums.

It’s killing you and she knows it; it’s killing you and she can feel the pre-cum leaking from your slit - the thumb she has moored there, keeping everything right where she wants it, running circles up the length with such little intention - she could bring you to the end just like this. 

"Am I supposed to believe it?” she asks out from beneath the shadow of your cock, looking up at you with her eyes all wide and brilliant - pupils dark as sin. “That not a single one of those girls ever did you proper?"

You curse under your breath. Hyeju seems amused, at least, like she can't help but love doing that to you, which is almost worse and honestly the sexiest thing a girl can be. You groan - wanton, raw and desperate and feeling exactly what she wants you to feel when her nails drag along the dip of your hip bones.

"Did they not leave you fucked-up the right way?"

Her wrist flicks out these twists and turns, making your spine bend to her control. Like even when you're sure to be bundling her hair in your fingers and fucking the whole length of your cock down her throat, all of this is the worst kind of power-trip for her - not the other way around.

Her tongue runs through the tangle of your balls, slowly, lasciviously, as though the plan is to memorize and map every detail. 

And the worst part is, how much it's making you desperate for the warmth of her mouth - where she'll run her tongue up and down and over and around and inside - before sucking you off nice and slow.

"Or maybe," she laughs; another flick to the top and then suddenly her hand goes faster and the fist pumping the rest of you tightens. "They left you so needy you're resorting to having the bestie suck you off so that you won't be desperate the next time you date. Oh my god-" 

Hyeju breaks into this fit of laughter, and you're nearly cross-eyed at the feeling of your entire existence - not just your cock - so wholly held within her mercy, and her pity, and you're breathing so shallow now you'd think this is the real reason people have died and will die - this exact moment where you're choking and stuttering at the edges, so very close to cumming and going absolutely bonkers with how good Hyeju is with her hands, her tongue, her mouth - everything - how much she's wrecking you, and your jaw drops, wide open, her name dripping like molasses off your lower lip.

"Are you going to cum?" she asks, curiously. All as if she can't see you nodding, collapsing under pressure, and then and there: "should we make it official?"

Her nose tickles the seam of your balls. And your toes begin to curl and uncurl - all this anticipatory, coiling pleasure burning from her throat, shooting from the pit of your stomach; the tightening spiral, twinging and stretching every nerve - as her lips enclose around the end of your cock, softly.

And oh, just excruciatingly slowly.

You watch the irresistible shape of her mouth travel down until her throat feels so incredibly, beautifully, and unbelievably tight, and then, just like that - Hyeju starts fucking herself onto you; pushing forward and down the full, rigid length of you, hard and fast - each time hitting deeper inside her - all that sticky, messy, wet squelching.

"Unh-unh, yeah. Unh. Mm-!" you say, or moan, or some animal version of that, maybe, it’s incoherent.

But regardless:

It's messy and your hands scramble for purchase in the sheets of her bed when you feel that snap, the tightening of a trigger; when your balls roll up and it builds, and builds, and it comes faster - harder and -

"Hyeju," you pant, and it sounds so, so filthy. "I'm gonna cum, if you - gonna cum-"

Hyeju pulls you free from her lips, quite possibly at the most final of final moments, to rub the base up and down, just right, between her fingers. Your cock is resting right on her cheek when it all happens. When she squeezes her fingers around your balls just enough to hear you wheeze and make a sound no sane man should have the right to. And fuck, you're cumming all over her face - or just one side of it - which is already just -

Okay, fuck.

She makes a startled sound and her fist closes tightly around your shaft when you pump another fresh load of white up onto her eyebrow.

"I'm, ah-shit," your mouth moves faster than the blood in your veins - and now the shame - oh god, the humiliation, it's pulsing right behind you. "Hyeju," you apologize.

Only, Hyeju has no interest in any of it. She doesn't seem offended or disappointed in proportion to how you're ruining her pretty face: "no, just do it, cum wherever you fucking like."

Which isn't what you're expecting at all, because Hyeju makes no effort to close her lips, let alone avoid any of it; nor is she making a fuss about the sticky mess in her hair, her mouth, nor as another stream of cum throbs from your cock, all tangled up in the long dark eyelashes that sweep down across her cheek.

It’s fucking filthy: you're cumming all over her and she's just kneeling there, telling you, "good boy."

See, she pushes through it, languidly - all those filthy sounds, and those watery little tears gathering at the edge of her eye and all of that, mixing up together until you're rolling your head back with your orgasm, shuddering, feeling weak - drained dry -

Except,

Hyeju's pushing a finger to your chest, kneeling up tall from the side of the bed. She turns her body toward the center of the bed and wipes a bit of the cum on her knuckles into the sheets. Here you feel like you've done something terrible or at least regrettable, like that last round at the bar when you have a test the next morning; a dick move, all of the sort that requires apology.

"You gotta give me a minute, if you're thinking about hopping on."

"Hmm. Sounds like a lot to ask."

"Wait," you grab her arm. Hyeju grins and there's nothing stopping the shake of your knees now, that weakness between your thighs: "let me get you a drink."

"Or."

"Or?"

Her tongue peeks out, running along her upper lip. Her eyes drop again, hands dipping below, beneath the hem of her shorts and oh. She slips a hand past her bra. The whole outline of it. And you -

"Mm, I could show you what that actually means." She lowers her chest, her breasts, and a lot of skin to the mattress while keeping your cock firmly in her hands. "That look tells me you wanna stick around a bit. Stay up past New Year’s, you know?"

You're almost unable to parse her words, there is so much to look at: the jutting curve of her chest, cleavage pressing into the mattress as her body settles between your knees. A soft chuckle; a sigh: "you are seriously the best lay, no-one else can get hard the minute after they just fucking exploded all over me-"

"Fuck, watch it," you hiss, because there's oversensitivity - and then there's Hyeju's mouth on the line of your cock, polishing you clean.

And it’s not that she isn’t trying to prove a point. Or that she's not trying to tease - that's an inherent quality of her character: a naturally dominant position with a high appetite for your lust. That much, Hyeju gets from you, whether you've got your head down between her thighs or the other way, too, so that her neck is arched around and her ass pushed up high in the air, legs open, and if she had any idea you would spend the next twenty minutes or more just going down on her, licking into her creaming cunt while two fingers work over her aching clit, then really, Hyeju would only encourage it - maybe get on top, force you to gag - and so you don't know where it comes from - how and why you want nothing more than to drive your fingers inside her and work her until she's a wet, squelching mess, not when this was always Hyeju's role of being the aggressor; and yes, sure, even the aggressed.

Surely not because you came so hard, still somewhat shivering with the remnants of a rather abrupt, painful, sudden and all-consuming orgasm.

"We're not doing anything else," she says, lips pulled up into a smirk right at the crown of your cockhead. But before you can respond she pushes a hot open kiss, and goes lower. She presses the flat of her tongue to the seam, just below the head. Licks a line right up to the tip and finishes with a tender flick that sends you fisting the bedspread in your fingers and leaning back as your mind begins to disintegrate -

"I'm not going to ride you yet, or going to get my hips in your hands so you can fuck my pussy real hard until I cry and pass out. Nothing of that sort is gonna happen." She licks one long drag of her tongue. Then, the other way. "I want to make this very clear: this isn't some huge favor - and if you want it - want it so bad, you can stay there and I'm going to do everything for you. We will get there - together," and with her voice shaking as she brings the wet, glistening skin of your cock just inside her mouth, she looks up. "We'll get each other off, just like this," and it's the deep, dark, throated moan that makes your thighs and all the nerves in between stiffen and buck when she swallows you again.

Hyeju's hands tug, pull her whole body closer still as it slowly bends, curves - her ass raised, her stomach lying on the bed. Her mouth takes you another few inches, until the tip of her nose is barely visible, but when she pauses to lick the cum still left over - the cum that's starting to leak out again - to breathe through it, then squeeze her palm and bob her mouth down, take another inch, until the sides are stuffed and emptying out again, that's when she finally has something to say: "got anything left? I'm a little starved."

"I. Christ, yes-" you whine, which doesn't help your case at all: the image, the image of you lying flat - back with Hyeju's head tucked between your knees, her hand pulling out your cock.

Sloppy, slimy-wet.

She presses an innocent, not-at-all-innocent kiss right to your tip, puckering - 

"You know what I did learn in that genetics class?" she muses, tongue flicking over her lips. Hyeju's about ready for a second helping - you're losing it. "When I first saw that DNA diagram - the double helix and all those little base pairs, and everything - it made me think of your cock. Your cock and me. Specifically our DNA. Did you know-"

She presses her palm over the head and rolls it - teases and strokes her palm - her knuckles - her fist - the whole nine. "When I hold your big fucking cock, mm, and just get it right - up in here, rubbing all along my walls - so deep, it gets me in my fucking ribs, makes me choke like I never been choked before, ah-mm," and it's this thought sliding toward the front of your mind, this perfect picture: Hyeju, getting fucked hard and open and stuffed full and stuffed good and stupid; you’ve got more than a few inches on her, can make her feel small and delicate; you know how to do her right.

But here you have Hyeju stroking the shaft - holding her hand tightly up near the head, rolling and twisting and sliding down and pushing her whole body right into the side of your legs: the soft, solid length, warm flesh and curves everywhere pressing into you.

You sit back, and just watch Hyeju with her eyes cool and composed, like half of her fucking face isn't streaked with your cum, mouth wrapped and looking fucking satisfied to be a total, gorgeous mess. She makes a dramatic display of kissing the tip again, just before telling you words you probably dreamt up at some point - either sleep deprived, or, during three AM jackoff, fantasizing. "Sometimes, just from riding your cock, I can't sit up straight."

"Fuck," and you feel your whole body run rigid, because apparently that's something you’ve been aching to hear.

You're covering her mouth again. White streaking onto her lips - where she's catching it in the well beneath her tongue and letting it spill out of the corner of her mouth. Into the crook of your thumb, which catches a drip here and there and rubs it down the length - down the curve - and pushes it back between Hyeju's pert little pout.

"Doesn't count, mister, just more pre-cum," she says, all with the audacity of a wink and smile; her words are a little garbled around the head of your cock between her teeth. And when you nod and realize just how painfully your jaw hurts, your throat becomes tight and raw, a knot pulling the underside from the center. Hyeju slides her lips lower, lower down, to the hilt and stays there, just like that - one hand holding down the flat of your belly to keep your hips still, her chin hanging - bobbing-as she feels every pulse, every twitching shift. You curl one hand around the side of her face, over the sharp edge of her jaw; rub a thumb into the delicate skin of her throat.

She shifts. You start to tell her what you like: how hot the rush comes when a girl puts her tongue against the slit at the very tip, and licks at the precum in nice, quick circles, soft and fluttering. And how her fingers shouldn't hesitate either, Hyeju's not even struggling to give it to you - god - just giving and -

She jerks her head up, swallowing down her next breath like it's one of her last. "I'm serious, if you're going to fuck a hole, start with my mouth - we can move onto everything else after."

"You're ridiculous -"

She meets her lips to your head, kissing once. Again. Kissing every inch, letting her mouth wrap around and then just - staying, just - staying like that and humming, with you, enjoying the fullness, the smell of you, the taste, the shape, just the weight and size and you.

There is spit fucking everywhere.

And if it's not clear what you're supposed to be doing - her fingers weave through yours, squeezing hard at the wrist and you can imagine: pulling her forward by her hair and holding her down while she chokes on your cock. "Fuck, Hyeju," you say, and your voice comes out way shakier than you'd like, "when, how did it get like this, huh? You always - always did, shit, always want your mouth filled."

"Never figured you to be someone who'd get turned on watching their friend sucking their cock like this."

"Doesn't everybody love the sight of their cock in a pretty girl's mouth?

"You were really convinced they weren't lining up behind you? Or anyone in the queue who can't keep their eyes off of this thing. Tell me, and try not to lie, try not to bullshit this one out: how many girls have you come home and fucked and creamed their brains out - then asked for the sloppiest, most -"

"Honestly."

"- Filthiest, nasty, ball-busting, gut-wrenching blowjob ever to make them think - to make them really start wondering what the hell it was you did - like it's gotta be something that leaves them so ruined, they can't ever not compare - can't ever not compare this moment, right here. Ever. When you give them the hardest fucking of their life, compared to any other guy - can't not, because no-one, literally no-one's cock can fuck like you do-"

"Fuck-"

"Any harder. Come on, seriously, tell me it isn't true. Come on."

Her voice - her fucking words, the tone she uses and how her words roll: honey-warm and soaking with sweet, thick degradation - she talks like sex, and that's exactly what gets you harder, like it’s something else; like it’s nothing, like it’s less, so much worse - you feel this guilty-dirty heat pool at your tailbone and push down the hard press of you throbbing all the way to her nose. And Hyeju smiles as much as she's capable around the fat, round stretch, humming around the warm taste of you, before opening wide and sinking her throat on it.

There's nothing like it.

You've got two fists in her hair; she's so tight and wet around every god-damn inch. Her cheeks flush - hot to the touch; her tongue laving in slow, long drags, slicking your shaft nice and warm until you're balls-deep and pushing her further: a small shift to the hips, a push here, a harder, faster pull, and Hyeju's feet behind her go curling like an angry cat, wanting the tug.

A long, satisfied breath slips from the hollows of her throat.

There are tears threatening, thickening her lashes, and though she doesn't choke - you're just afraid. Every sound that she pulls out, her eyes blinking up to you as if it's only natural to love getting used by her friend's cock, like the very premise of it - swallowing down the very shape of you, dragged over her tongue and brushing cum into the back of her throat - is something she can’t go without.

But this is nothing compared to the noises from where her lips are pressed tight around you, where you're hearing and even feeling:

That gluck, gluck - where her chest spasms just the slightest when her nose gets nuzzled right into your belly and you remember how much she likes to hear you talk dirty, how fucking wet it gets her. The heavy, deep breaths, gasps; the strangled moans when your hips just buck - the heat and the thrill, and this is better than every other time because there's just something in this moment -

"I'm not gonna come again, not like this. Not in your mouth. You can’t-"

But Hyeju refuses to hear a word; just pumps your shaft faster, feeling it's familiar hardness grow and throb and ache and retch, all her effort paying off: you're slick with precum and spit, hard and straining, the whole shaft begging for release - all because of her. And Hyeju won't stop, she pushes her cheek onto your thigh and then taps a hand there to pull your hips. The motion drives your cock further still inside her. Until it’s bathed in her spit, your cum, all this mess.

Until it's reaching, choking her, and the muffled sounds she's making are filthy and wet and so incredulously hot.

But god. Hyeju has something of a temper and a habit, too: with those big beautiful eyes and the perfect plump of her pouting lips, her tits swelling up around, when your grip slips on her shoulder, and her mouth goes tighter - how the pleasure begins to make you unbearably cruel and you push her away from you, only for a second -

She doesn't wait or seem to care; Hyeju follows the cock with her whole head and whimpers so hotly in her throat when it plops right back on her tongue. "That's more - more like - fuck, oh, there we go," her nose and fingers prodding.

You groan through a high, strangled whimper, a helpless shiver that turns into an uncontrollable roll of the hips - you can't believe it: she's already so thoroughly debauched and defaced; just fucking painted with it. Your cum dripping off her chin and rolling down her neck.

"Fuck - gonna make me - ah, Jesus -"

When Hyeju seems to have reached her fill, the feeling, you're cumming - pumping the length of your shaft. And the moment she feels you twitch and throb and that first hot spill lands in the bend of her mouth, it's as if she understands and holds herself tight - her legs going stock-still while your eyes blow up behind her, your cock spewing another and then another thick, milky load into her mouth, over her tongue: all along the topography of her throat - sticky cum landing in every ridge and valley -

Hyeju catches as much as she can. What little she can. You cum and pump and gush so much that when you're finally finished - done - every last drop spent and given - your cock throbs soft between her fingers; her chin is a complete and utter mess and her chest heaves with the sound of her catching her own breath. Hyeju groans softly and just swishes the load around in her mouth for a bit as if wanting to remember its feel and weight before lifting her eyes to look into yours. You can just barely see the color.

"Jesus, Hyeju-"

The entire bit of it, slick and shining-wet. With a small moan, a sound from the back of her throat: one swallow and the cum is gone, disappeared, vanished. She smiles like she didn't just ruin your entire goddamn life and, with her body limp and exhausted beside you - her gentle hand rubbing a flat stroke over your thigh before yours slips up to meet her chin.

"You," you curse and roll your eyes, catching the mess at the edge of her jaw, the very little left in the corners of her lips. You feed the cum over her bottom lip - her chin, her throat - watching your friend: Hyeju's throat, bobbing. "Really didn't have to," you start, but you realize just how useless a point it is to make.

She's smiling and biting and showing you what's left between the tips of her canines. "Do you always do this to the people who suck you off?"

"That's an awful habit. A pretty girl's lips aren't meant to get that messy," you reply.

"Oh." She frowns. "Well, I do a lot of things I shouldn't."

"God, seriously," and you think there's no greater hell, no sweeter pain than whatever's lingering in these little aftershocks - this fizzling and dying sort of pain, where the body is buzzed with all you're aching for. It's impossible to stop this train of thoughts, is the fucking feeling of her-

But just then, Hyeju rises to her knees, a new spark in her eyes, as she grabs ahold of your wrist and tugs you off the sheets, a few inches closer.

"And you," she purrs as she drags the palm of your hand across her neck and collarbone, collecting what remains and making the perfect image, "well - you are going to help clean me up, like you said before." She sits tall; the arch of her spine is pronounced - her back, so, very, slightly tapering, to where your hand slips right off the last of it: the wide flare of her hips. "Now isn't that the gentleman's thing to do?" she asks.

"Of course." You sigh, resigned and in desperate need of water. "Of course," you add and smirk a little and slip your hand lower, toward where her skin is getting hot, and her body, "let's get you clean."

"Mm." She's already grinning. "You know what wasn't in those textbooks?"

"Oh, I can only guess." You bite your cheek and start to lower yourself back. "Give it a try."

Hyeju drags you by the wrist toward the hall, the bathroom, ostensibly the shower -

"There's no way in hell you don't want to put a baby in me, like, right fucking now."

"Is that what we're doing?"

Hyeju makes a face like you're stupid - she might've grabbed a towel on the way out. She wipes her chin a little while walking - the corner of her mouth where, well - where it looks like a little dribble has somehow remained. "No. But you’re going to fuck me like it is."

-

(There's got so much on her mind. 

The door of the shower rattling in its frame as she struggles standing up against it. Getting fucked so fast and full, the feeling of both your hands cupped beneath the weight of her breasts. It's not the fact of where you are and your situation, per say - more about the immediate, the imperative nature. About fucking you. She was already feeling herself like, leaking the moment the door shut, so all that waiting, all that patience, really - and it's what drove her insane when you were, well: like that, after she put her mouth around your cock, made a right and proper mess of herself, and sucked you off.

Though there's less on her mind, clearly, when she cums all over your cock.

She's crying with her tits up onto the glass, your palm holding her ribs. Your cum-slick cock working itself hard again as it slips, back and forth, as you're fucking her open, spread apart. It's your finger in her asshole. That's what's on her mind then. How the press of your knuckle lights her entire fucking spine on fire - how the other hand finds her clit in all this, too, when you're no longer supporting the both of you but rather Hyeju is folding on her bent knee and trusting, on shaking and shivering, raw nerves, that you're not going to collapse.

"Fucking. God, please-"

There's the harsh slap of flesh - skin on wet skin, your palms against the sides of her ass and the curve of the breast. But otherwise - it's you, sighing - soft and gentle, like you can't get over the feel of her. "Hyeju, oh-fucking, god, fucking," is what you're saying, and it doesn't end up really mattering which one of you came last because she can feel you twitching, squelching in and out with how badly you're wanting to explode inside, but also you can feel her cunt absolutely begging, this fucking fluttering and clamping down on every thrust and the moment you manage to grind this angle she loses her ability to speak properly because you're not just, like - fucking her-

Just, absolutely, completely pounding her pussy, stretching her insides, dragging and sliding along the walls; each rough rub and thrust makes her knees quiver until her body is trembling and falling. But mostly her voice, the sharp gasp that shakes into her, how her nails are scraping the walls of the shower stall and she's saying - telling, crying and asking and wondering and pleading - just utterly astounded:

"Amazing," she huffs, breathes coming out cloudy and true onto the pane of glass, "you - it’s, fucking amazing.")

-

“And I am… Ironman.”

Your eyes flicker awake, hazy, as Tony Stark snaps his fingers, killing himself alongside Thanos’ army in the process.

The TV's long been running on background noise, though not as ambient. Its characters now bickering between the rubble and ruins and being picked up for the end credits. In the dark of the screen, you see Hyeju had nodded off and slumped over the side of your body. A new year means new beginning means resolutions and diets and gym routines -

Maybe no sooner than the sun can come up, apparently.

You lean over to grab your phone from the table: 4:14 A.M.

There's a lot of things you want to say, even more you want to hear, but your mind has begun to settle a bit - a lazy and dreamy thing that fills you with this sort of, tired kind of - not sad, or empty - no, of course not. That's hardly fitting; not after tonight. You want to wrap this in an idealistic sort of sentiment - maybe hold Hyeju close and let the hour carry you and the comfort be enough to forgive whatever there is to miss: like the fact, it's still really dark, so dark even outside. The moon reflecting off the sheet of snow on the street. And not even a distant dog barking, or car driving by or someone playing loud music in the early hours of the new year.

As the film drifts off into another set of commercials, you slip into an easy sleep that feels effortless. Your head drops, landing on the cushion by the arm of the couch, where Hyeju's hand begins to slip mindlessly across your belly, tickling your waist and causing you to slightly squirm - things are cooling down, but still a little agitated.

"Don't tell me you're waking me up, cause I just -"

She kisses the pulse at your throat and answers, mumbling half-words into the spot below your ear. "A kiss for a new year."

And maybe the world doesn't owe you anything at all.

Maybe it just gave you more than enough.

[currentloser]

childhood promises

kwon ji-yong x reader

word count: 5562

content warning: yandere!gd, manipulation, creepy man once again

summary: (Unofficial) prequel to there was no other choice. You used to be school friends with Ji-yong. Despite promises made you naturally fell out of contact over time, until you ran into him again at an old hideout.

( ao3 link ) • part 2

The air in the empty classroom was thick with the stale smell of chalk dust and old books. Outside, there was a muffled sound of rushed footsteps and chatter between students as they left for the day. You, though, had landed yourself in detention and merely watched the crowd speed by. The freedom was held out in front of you, sentenced to an hour of staying after school. Across the room the teacher in charge of making sure you stayed in had started to doze off after you were forced to wipe down desks, pick up trash.

It started at a harmless doodle, Ji-yong had scribbled a sketch of their teacher. Of course though, it was exaggerated and drawn out to poke fun at their teacher. He'd shown it to you, holding a hand up to his mouth to cover for a wide smile. Though his mischievous behavior took a step further when he'd balled up the paper and tossed it to the front of the room. When the teacher had seen the piece and shown it to the class, it earned an uproar of laughter from the ground. When the teacher pointed to him, you ended up roped into the punishment alongside him. So unfair.

Beside you none other than the troublemaker himself, Ji-yong. The reason you had been pulled into this torture to begin with. He had slouched lazily in the desk he’s been assigned to for detention as he lazily flipped through a stack of worksheets. His face was locked into a perpetual pout, shuffling them rather than ordering them how he was supposed to.

“This is so stupid,” He muttered quietly and tossed a crumpled paper into the trash with a dramatic sigh, “We didn't even do anything.”

You squinted down at an old ink stain that had set into the desk you were trying in vain to scrub clean, “We? I didn't say anything, but I got dragged into this just for sitting near you.”

“So what, it's all my fault?” He shot you a look with a raised eyebrow, if the answer wasn't obvious enough.

Your feisty behavior only intrigued him further. Most students would duck their heads and play along for the sake of playing along, but when you stood up for yourself he was only endeared further. He held up his hands in defeat and shrugged, tilting his head to gesture over to the teacher. Across the room, they had let their head slowly fall back against the chair and their mouth had hung open. Now was the time more than ever to make a break for it.

You followed his gaze, slowly balling up the dirty rag you had been using and left it folded on top of the desk, “You started this.”

“You know,” His dark eyes sparkled with amusement, “We could just… leave. It's not like anyone actually checks if we finish.”

The suggestion was reckless, but much more appealing than wasting the rest of our scrubbing desks and organizing paper. You send a nervous glance to the teacher who gave a sputtering snore. You sigh and give in, pushing the folded cloth forward.

“Where do we go?” You asked, if you went home early you'd surely land yourself in trouble.

Ji-yong stood, stretching with an exaggerated yawn, “Come on, unless you're too scared.”

His confident ease was all it took for you to nod to him. He ducked down below the window, nodding in an invite to follow him along. You kept below the eyeline of the windows, trailing behind him to the open doorway. Ji-yong glanced either way, his movements practiced as he ducked down the halls. He managed to stay along the side and moved like a shadow, easily avoiding any rooms where anyone might've still been staying behind.

He ducked through a side door, glancing back at you as he pushed outside of the school. The escape was thrilling, your heart pounding as he lead you across the empty field. Finally the two of you could break out into a proper sprint, ducking past nearby houses and into a small side alley. You nearly lost Ji-yong somewhere along following him, ducking underneath obstacles before his chase finally came to an end.

There, you stumbled onto an abandoned rooftop. Hidden away behind older buildings, its age showed with vines crawling along the edges of the roof hidden behind older buildings. There was forgotten potted plants overgrown. You were too quick to notice when you'd managed to climb up to a roof level, and you stepped out onto the edge to look down. The city stretched below the two of you, only a sparse biker or car passed by. It was silent here, far away from the buzz of bigger crowds. It was distant here, peaceful.

Ji-yong took a pick exhale and plopped down on the ledge, patting the spot beside him, “No one comes here. It's perfect.”

“How did you find this?” You ask, taking his invitation to sit down beside him.

“Well, I would never be the person to serve out a detention. My parents or the school might've come looking for me, and I happened upon it,” He explained with a soft smile forming, “You’re the first one I've shown it to.”

This sudden change in demeanor was shocking, the adrenaline from running halfway across town still buzzing through you, “It's nice out here… Thank you for showing me.”

“Don't mention it,” Ji-tong waved, “Let's make this place ours. A a secret spot, for just us.”

You perked up, holding out a pinky finger for a promise, “Just for us.”

The words were light, spoken in a careless manner. A pact formed between the two of you. His voice made it feel more permanent, sealing the two of your fates. To Ji-yong, it was a promise he'd never let go of.

That had been years ago now. The wind whispered across the rooftop through the nearby terrace. Fallen leaves stirred beneath you across the cracked building. You stood in that same place you made that promise all those years ago. As school flew by, you managed to stay out of trouble and talked to him less and less. You sat in the old spot you'd shared with him before, tracing a fingertip over the warn ledge.

Ji-yong had gone and made himself something… well, a big deal. You ended up with a meager enough job to pay your bills and make a living, meanwhile he'd become an artist. The king of all of them, really. You couldn't help but be happy for him, even if you never saw him now. It only left you, swinging your legs off the edge of the building and reminiscing on your old promise.

The city was as quiet as it was back then, but footsteps behind you broke the silence, “You’re here again?”

Ji-yong. His voice had matured but it was unmistakable, breaking your concentration toward the street below. Your mouth fell open as you gazed back toward him. The way he dressed mirrored his public appearances, hidden underneath layers of clothing. He casually grabbed at his jacket and peeled it off, pulling back a beanie he wore and revealing his dyed blue hair.

“It's been a while since I last saw you,” You're taken aback, gaping as the artist casually plops down beside you.

Like all the times before, he sat right over the worn spot the two of you previously shared. Ji-yong fidgeted with his jacket for a moment before nodding, stretching out his legs. He exhaled slowly, finally looking back to you.

“Funny, isn't it?” He manages to keep his tone casual, but there was something else you couldn't quite place, “Out of all the places in the city, you came here.”

You're thrown off for a moment and nod, “I just felt like visiting.”

“Yeah,” His lip curls, not breaking his gaze just yet, “Me too.”

Ji-young leaned against the open railing. He sighed softly, grabbing onto the ledge and scooting closer to you. Your hands nearly touch where you still squeezed onto the ledge of the balcony. You didn't move, letting him come closer to you. His nails were painted bright colors, so different yet just the same as the boy you knew.

“You know, you were so worried about getting caught, but you followed me anyway,” Ji-yong spoke, breaking that silence.

As much as you wanted to ask about his career or his life the subject was on you now, “I was just being smart. You were reckless.”

“Yet, you still trusted me,” Ji-yong pointed out, his grin widening as he finally flickered his gaze back to you.

Something about the way he said it made your breath hitch. His gaze keeps flickering over your face, his gaze intent. As if he was searching for something in you, though you couldn’t have known what.

“Well, people grow up,” You clear your throat.

Ji-yong let go of the edge of the roof and reached over and held over your knee, “As they do, but some things never change,” His voice dropped to a whisper, “Like how you still chew your lip when you're nervous.”

Your stomach twisted in response. It was a bad habit you couldn't kick when you were younger, but you hadn't done it in years. Had you? And how had he even known of it?

“You used to do it a lot around me, you know,” Ji-yong continued, interrupting your train of thought, “Do I have that effect on you?”

Oh, he was smug.

You chuckled at that, letting him play into it, “I didn't know you kept that close an eye on me. Or how you remember that after how long it's been.”

Ji-yong shrugged, unfazed. A silent habit of his was rubbing his hand over his legs, pressing it back and forth. His gaze hadn't left you yet, only staring and letting the silence hang between the two of you. You couldn't help but squirm away from it, the first to break eye contact and pull your hands into your lap. His pinky stretched out to catch your hand, but he was a little too slow to trap you.

“It's simple. You caught my eye. I never forgot you,” He purred, his hand inching closer to the side of your thigh.

Your breath hitched at his words, your eyes fixed on a spot at the horizon. You tracked the road as a singular car passed by, so slow in the distance. You couldn't believe a word you were hearing. The weight of his words was so sure, they way he spoke left no room for doubt. Sure, you'd been childhood friends for a while– but hearing it felt like a romantic confession more than anything.

You raise your hand to your cheek to attempt to hide a raising flush, “C'mon, G-Dragon, we barely knew each other then.”

The words barely left your mouth before his expression shifted out of the corner of your eye. You dare to turn toward him to witness it. His grin that stretched just a little too far faltered, only for a moment. It was still enough to catch it along with a flicker of something in his eyes you couldn't quite place.

“Did we?” His voice was soft, and maybe even a little hurt, “Then I must've just imagined all of it, huh?”

You hesitated at how quickly his tone had changed. His eyes seemed to shut off from the world around him, like he had already planned for you not to take it back. His fingers twisted the fabric of his designer jeans, wearing a hole into the once nice pair. He let go, reaching out to ghost over your knee. Just over where your own hand held on. You felt pinned under it, even without contact made.

He retracted his hand just as quickly with a dry laugh, “I thought we had something back then. Guess I was wrong.”

The tone in which he spoke made that guilt in your stomach twist further than before. Even though you hadn't done anything wrong. You only promised to keep meeting with him, yet your heart squeezed like it was something deeper. Something more important. You open your mouth, and Ji-yong interrupts you.

“Forget I said anything,” He sighed with a click of his tongue, his hands retreating into his pockets, hiding himself away.

You exhaled, pushing out the guilt that plagued you so heavily, “I didn't mean it like that, Ji-yong…”

Your words were just enough for him to stay in his place, running a hand through his hair, “I guess I just built it up too much in my head.”

“No,” You press on, and this time you let your own hand grab onto the edge just beside him, nearly touching his, “It's not like I didn't notice. I just didn't think I was lucky enough you would think of me that way.”

Ji-yong's eyes instantly light back up again. He'd been slouching and closed around himself, but this sudden confession has the man beside you sitting up. All the confidence seemed to pour back into him from before. The affect your words had- quickly deciding his mood from up and down, was undeniable. Still, you brushed it off, for now.

“So, you did notice me?” He asked as his hand curled over the cusp of his knee, the edge of his hand brushing against yours.

“Of course I did. I mean, I thought you were so cool,” You feel a heat creeping up your chest and look down to your hands brushed up together.

Suddenly you felt like you were back in school again. When the two of you had shared this ledge together and you couldn't help but admire him, how easily he made his way through the halls of school. It didn't feel that long ago now as you reminisced, your past right beside you.

“Cool, huh?” He asked, his voice still a bit far away as he pressed his hand against the edge of your own.

You chuckled nervously in an attempt to lighten the mood, “I might've had a bit of a crush on you, this is embarrassing…”

That was a mistake.

Ji-yong went still for a moment. All of his idle fidgeting came to a sudden halt. The air seemed to shift around you as he slipped right back into that bubblier act he'd adopted just a moment earlier.

“So I hadn't just been imagining it,” He finally broke the silence, “You've always been special. I knew it since then.”

You flush a bit, nodding sheepishly. The sun started to set in front of you. It painted the landscape in tones of light pinks and reds, bouncing off the side of his face. He always managed to look so handsome, the light bouncing off him only made it more obvious. Red light curls at the edge of his smile that returns to his face.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” He murmurs, ducking his head to meet your gaze.

You shift a bit, half-warmed and half-unsettled by the way he looked at you. Before you hadn't picked up on it, but now it was a heavy sense he revered you. His eyes might have flickered away, but they always returned right back to yours. Ji-yong finally closes the distance between your hands. His curls over the top of yours, covering the top of your hand and squeezing it gently. His thumb pressed down against the top of your head, tracing small circles in your skin.

“I should admit, I thought of you all the time,” He admitted with a squeeze of your held hands together, “I didn't want to- no, I couldn't forget you.”

It was almost comforting, the way he spoke. His words painted a warm picture along with the carm colors of the horizon, but the way his tone came across was all wrong. You could imagine him practicing these words before he finally came to confess to you. You tried not to let it get to you. His grip didn't loosen yet, finally holding onto something he wasn't willing to let go of so easily. 

“You want to know something silly? I even passed by your neighborhood,” He grinned down at your intertwined hands, “I hoped fate would let me see you again.”

The way his eyes sparkled made it look like he was the happiest now he'd been this entire encounter. Your stomach squeezed, and you weren't sure if it was affection or something else teasing you. You could only tell yourself your mind was being too rude to an old friend, an old crush who wanted to rekindle what the two of you had after so long.

“You make it sound so sweet. You really went back?” You asked, squeezing his hand in return.

Ji-yong raises his eyebrows as if it's the easiest, most obvious thing, “Of course, we promised.”

You shake off the feeling that had risen over the back of your shoulders, lime somehow you were being watched. You didn't expect someone like him to take a childhood promise so seriously, but you never expected to hold his hands either. Your legs swing against the edge of the building and you breathe out, steadying yourself once again.

“You're a really good friend, Ji-yong,” You smile at him, still a bit flustered from the close contact.

At that, Ji-yong's smile faltered. It hadn't quite faded, but it resembled one more force than one that came naturally. His grip on top of yours becomes noticeably tighter, the close contact with his own hand making the close hold warmer than before. It wasn't painful, but it was enough of a reminder to you how much stronger he'd gotten in the years past. 

“A friend,” He repeated, tasting the words on his lips.

Unlike the first time, he's still fidgeting. His free hand plays with a stray thread and tugs it before snapping it off. He rolled up the string into a ball before slowly rolling it off the edge of his knee and watched in silence. Until it fell out of your vision, and presumably fell into the street below.

Ji-yong traced idle circles on the back of your hand, “Thats not really fair, is it? After everything we've had together?”

His smile returned to something more natural, shifting until his leg was pressed up against yours. He overlapped his arm onto yours, his body heat all too noticeable. You aren't sure if you want to argue when he starts to act this way, so you remain silent until he's worked himself up to speak again.

“I mean, if we're going to pick up where we left off,” He lifted your closed together hands, “Why don't we start now? I'll take you out‐ just like I should've back then.”

Your stomach flipped at how casually he phrased it, “I…”

As you were lost for words, Ji-yong took your hesitation as an answer, “Come on. Just one night. You wanted this all along, right?”

He left no room to argue. It was stating a fact rather than asking. His fingers tightened just a touch more, your hand properly trapped in his grasp. It bordered on starting to sting.

“I know you did,” He finally let up on you.

Though he wouldn't let you be so easily. Beside you, he kept a hold of your hand as he pushed himself up to standing. He tugged on your hand a little too insistently, assisting you in standing alongside him. Whatever plans you might've had for the day were off the table with how certain his grip was, and how happy he was to take you away.

Following him across the roof, you follow a well-known path well. The two of you are lucky to be on the side of town where a mob wouldn't appear at the sight of him, especially with the moon rising in the distance. Ji-yong walked ahead of you, his arm stretched behind you as you diverted from a well known path to the more upscale half of town. You weren't one to argue as he slipped into an elegant, tucked away restaurant.

The inside mirrored that of the rooftop. Potted plants sat at the window and false ‘vines’ crept up the walls. You recognized it as one you wished to go to a handful of times, but it had been to upscale for what you could’ve afforded. You'd never mentioned it out loud, yet Ji-yong had brought you as if it was the most obvious choice.

Stepping beside you, he let go of your held hands to place a guiding hand against the small of your back. Without speaking to the host at the entrance, he guided you with a practiced ease to the back of the building. A private table was already waiting, a centerpiece with your favorite flowers poking out of a glass vace. You couldn't help but stare at them before looking back to Ji-yong, who only offered you a smile as an explanation.

“Perfect, isn't it?” He murmured as he pulled out your chair.

You ducked your head and sat in the one he offered, taking the menu, “When did you have time to-”

Before you had time to even open it, Ji-yong gently took the menu from your hand, “You don't need to look. I already ordered for us.”

“You?–”

“I know what you like,” He grinned, sitting across from you and resting his fist underneath his chin.

With quick, unsettling timeliness- the dishes were served up to either side of your table. It was exactly what you would've ordered along with an expensive wine you previously only wished to taste. All of this weighed on you. Your favorite flowers, the order you would've gotten yourself, the table already set? It all came blow after blow, not giving you a moment to react one way or the other.

“Ji-yong,” You grab the stem of the wineglass and twist it between your fingers, “This is so much. How did you do it?”

“Come on, it's not that hard,” He chuckled, offering out his glass to clink, “A little research, a little bit of memory. I pay attention to you.”

Present tense. He pays attention to you. 

Willing your hand still you swallowed, pressing out an awkward smile and clinked glasses with him. You swirled the drink, the rich aroma curled into your senses. You close your eyes in anticipation with the usual taste of alcohol, hesitant. It was smooth, luxurious. So much out of your price ranged but exactly what you would've chosen. Too perfect, too planned.

Across from you, Ji-yong’s gaze had intensified as he leaned over the edge of the table. His head tilted as you inspected it before drinking. He watched closely as you took another sip, tracking it down your throat as you swallowed. Sighing with some sort of tenseness he had been holding, he sat back with a sense of satisfaction.

“You always had good taste,” Ji-yong mused, taking a drink of his as well, “Still do.”

Just as you barely had time to touch your food, a waiter passed by to refill your wine. As they did, they offered a polite nod to Ji-yong. A show of familiarity. He must've been here, more than once. You should have expected it, but the thought lodged itself into your head uncomfortably.

“Actually, no,” Ji-yong exhaled a quiet laugh, finally setting down his glass, “I just had to make sure everything was perfect for tonight.”

“You planned this ahead of time?” Your stomach twisted, your suspicions confirmed so easily.

Ji-yong hadn't blinked yet, “I wasn't just going to leave things up to chance.”

The possessiveness woven into your words managed to be light and affectionate. It pressed down on you in a way you couldn't ignore, confusion plagued your thoughts. How would he know you decided out of the blue to visit an old hideout? Your gaze flickered to the centerpiece. The flowers were fresh, arranged with care.

“How did you know I would be there?” You ask, carefully setting down the glass.

Ji-yong shrugged, finally grabbing his chopsticks and taking a bite of his food before answering, “Because you wanted to.”

“Are you a mind reader?” You joke, but there’s more concern behind your words than you let on.

He didn't answer you, and instead he reached his free hand across the table. He offered his palm facing upward and gave you an expectant look, waiting. You hesitated, but his desperate pout you allowed it and let your fingers brushed against his. Again, his fingers weaved between yours and he resumed those small, soothing circular motions.

“I’m lucky fate allowed us to meet again,” He said instead, “Who knows? Maybe I've been doing this, wasting a dinner reservation for weeks.”

You weren't sure if you really had a choice in joining at all.

“I mean, it's nice catching up,” You kept your voice deliberately light, “I didn't expect all this, though. It's a little much for two old friends.”

That sour word made his eyes darken for just a moment “Friends,” He repeated, letting it sit on his tongue.

“You always downplay things,” He shook his head, his grip still not letting go yet.

He leaned more into his playful tone. Yet it mixed into something unreadable, when he managed to be intimidating and unthreatening all in once. It was a whirlwind for your mind.

“I just mean this is really nice, You didn't have to do this,” You shift in your seat, “And I know I agreed, but… we haven't seen each other for so long. You didn't have to do all of this.”

“But I wanted to,” He said too quickly, and leaned forward, “For you.”

You pressed your lips together, glancing away for a brief second. Your food was getting cold and your wine was practically untouched. Rekindling a friendship was harder than you could've expected, but his gaze was so warm. His grip remained so gentle. It wasn't so much of a trap, you told yourself. No, he was just desperate. When you framed it that way in your own mind, you could find it cute. Endearing.

So, he found out what your favorite flower was. The image of him trying again and again to catch you out of the blue was heartwarming. You had to wonder how he would've found the time for it. To be such a good friend with no reward.

“Of course. I appreciate all of this. Really,” You manage a soft laugh, “I know what you said earlier, and I apologize if I created a misunderstanding. Since we haven't seen each other for so long, we can think of it as a reconnection between friends?”

As you stumbled your way through your sentence, Ji-yong still hadn't blinked, “Of course.”

The way he said it was agreeable, effortless. His expression betrayed himself, the unmistakable look of hurt beneath how he tried to play it cool. He let go of your held together hands, letting his hand sit still palm-up on the table just to the side of yours. He took another sip of his wine, setting down the glass with a little too much force.

“You haven't changed much,” He mused, “You still try to talk your way out of things when you're nervous.”

You chuckle, pushing your plate forward awkwardly, “I'm not.”

Ji-yong turned his hand. This time instead of holding you, his polished nails tapped over your wrist. A pattern you couldn't quite recognize, tap-tap-tap. You squinted in confusion at him as he did, formulating his next words.

“Friends for now?” He tilted his head.

There was a hidden promise in his words- that sometime, this would go further. He sounded sweet again, his demeanor switched up yet again to that of a close friend rather than the controlling persona he'd shown you.

Without waiting for an answer he spoke again, “You know what? We can consider this a close gathering between friends.”

Even though his food was as relatively untouched as your own, he pushed back in his chair. It squeaked awkwardly against the hardwood floor and you grit your teeth in response. It wasn't aggressive, just enough to send the signal he wasn't pleased where this conversation had gone. He crossed the table to your side, reaching across you and grabbing your phone from your pocket.

Even though your phone had a lock, he started to tap on the screen.

“What are you doing?” You ask, reaching out to grab it.

Ji-yong grinned and swung his hands away, typing quickly before returning your phone to you. Saved in your contacts was his number addressed with his name. Your mouth goes agape as you look to him, in surprise.

He's still grinning, “You shouldn't make your passcode your birthday. Anyone could get in your phone.”

“You have quite the memory,” You shut off the screen, sliding it back into your pocket, “So this was just a meeting between friends, right?”

“Jeez. Let me off easy, won't you?” He's chuckling a little too forcefully, waving over a waiter to pick up your mess. 

Stepping past you, Ji-yong started to make his way toward the door. Not yet done with him, you scamper after him. You aren't sure what you want to say to him beyond not allowing him the last word.

He looms at the coat rack before seemingly realizing he must've left it back in your hideout. 

Seeing your opportunity, you speak up, “Um… Let's meet again.”

Out of everything you expected to come out of your mouth, that wasn't it. You could've demanded how he knew all these strange things about you, how he memorized your birthday. How he set up a date for you, strangely intense throughout the whole encounter.

Ji-yong finally looked back to you, his eyebrows shot up in surprise, “Sounds good. I'll text you.”

He winked, finally stepping out of the door and leaving you to wonder in the empty restaurant. Behind you, the waiter quickly gets to cleaning your still-full plates and wine glasses. You slowly pace to the door interrupted by the buzz of your phone in your back pocket.

Ji-yong: Let's meet again next week.

You type in your passcode to reply, only to be met with a screen reading: Incorrect passcode, try again. You shrugged it off and quickly enter it again, only to be met with the same screen. You groan and step outside of the high-class restaurant. You didn't want to seem rude with your face buried in your phone as you fought against the cursed contraption. 

Again, you enter your passcode. This time, slowly nodding as you press each number. Instead of unlocking, the device tells you it's automatically locked, and to try again in 30 seconds. Curse the thing. You pace down empty alleys, trying to remember your way back to your place. As you walk the time comes to an end.

You repeat the process, delicately and slowly entering what you know will unlock your phone. Your attempt locks you out for a minute. Groaning, you wait on the side of the street and wait for a taxi. You give the driver your address, sitting back and staring down into your phone as the seconds tick down. At a rough turn you try again, even adding an old passcode tyou used before, only to wait another five minutes. You sat your phone in your lap and rubbed at your temples in frustration.

Your technology must've been cursed. The taxi comes to a stop in front of your place and you pay, thanking them as you step out. It drove off behind you, and you sigh as you stare at your screen asking again to be unlocked. As a last ditch effor, you enter the only other passcode you remember.

1808.

Your old crush’s birthdate. To your surprise, your phone opens to the screen of Ji-yong's message. The message changed from delivered to seen, and you couldn't stop blinking owlishly down at your device. You know for certain you hadn't set it to that code, and yet…

 Ji-yong: Ah, so you remember my birthday too?

 Ji-yong: I have our reservation set. I expect to see you.

Another message popped of an image of a reservation for two at another fancy restaurant popped up, at the same time the next week. You huff at his audacity, and quickly type back to him.

It's rude to go changing things in someone's phone. >:(

Ji-yong: Cmon, I was just messing with you. Let's meet, okay?

You sigh, clicking off the screen tucking it in your pocket to answer later. You couldn't deal with his antics invading your mind. You grab your handle, the unsettling feeling of being watched crawling up your shoulders pointed directly to the back of your head. Unable to help yourself, you snap back your gaze to the empty streets.

Of course, no one was there. You stepped inside and flopped onto the couch lazily, willing to calm yourself from the whirlwind that had been your day. An itching thought clouded your mind as you closed your eyes, ignoring yet another buzz from your phone.

Maybe you just hadn't seen who was watching you enter all along.

taglist: @petersasteria

[surplekit]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪. Quiet observations. ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪.

Synopsis: You befriend the quiet, nerdy boy in your class and it leads to something more.

Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x black fem!reader

Genre: fluff at the begining, smut towards the end

a/n: Thank you to this anon for this ask. Not only did you give me a great idea, but you gave me a new crush 😻 I hope this is up to your standards and I apologize if it’s not what you were looking for 🙏🏾

Izuku Midoriya.

That quiet, green haired, freckle-faced boy that was in a few of your classes. He usually kept to himself, sitting in the back of the class scribbling down notes or little doodles in his notebook. He’s not very known around, and those that are familiar with him aren’t necessarily fond of his presence.

The boys often made fun of him and his obsession with heroes. And of course, he was incredibly awkward with the girls, leading them to steer clear of Izuku. But he didn’t care, he continued to keep to himself, doing what he loved. That’s what you like about him. He doesn’t let himself be affected by snappy comments.

Him being in most of your classes allowed you to subconsciously pick up on some of his mannerisms. He may not seem like it to most, but he’s actually quite smart, a few rankings above you in your class.

Regardless of everyone else’s opinion on the boy, he interested you, and you wanted to see what he was about for yourself.

“Hey, Izuku! What are you drawing?” You ask him enthusiastically, reaching out. He flinches at the sound of your voice and quickly retracts the book towards his chest, shielding whatever he had written.

“Ah.. uhm.. just some notes, scribbles, nothing important really!” He spits out, not revealing anything.

“But I saw some really cool concepts, were they costumes?” Your compliment seems to mitigate the embarrassment he felt, and he fell into a more comfortable state after realizing you weren’t going to make fun of him.

“..yeah. It’s kinda stupid though.”

“I don’t think so. Can I see?” Izuku hesitates, but eventually opens up, holding the book open for you. He turns away, a light shade of pink blushing across his cheeks.

“Wow.. you drew this..? That’s so cool!” You’re genuinely interested in his art, although you’re not as hero obsessed as he is.

“Really..? You think so?” He says quietly, smiling gently.

“This drawing is so good! I didn’t know you were so talented Izuku.” You exclaim, pointing to the drawing of All Might on the page.

“You like All Might too?! He’s so cool! I wish I was as amazing and strong as him. And don’t even get me started on his quirk! The-“

Ring Ring

The bell indicating the end of the class period rang, interrupting Izuku’s rambling.

“Oh sorry.. got a little carried away didn’t I!” Izuku nervously laughs, rubbing the back of his head.

“Don’t even worry about it. I would love to learn how to draw like you. By the way, my name’s Y/N.” You start to pack up for the day, taking the chance to introduce yourself.

“Y/n..” He says, as if he’s testing out how your name rolls off the tip of his tongue.

“Mhm! Alright, see you tomorrow!” You grab your bag and turn, walking out of the classroom.

See you tomorrow? You wanted to see him tommorow? Nobody has ever wanted to speak to him, but for you, a girl.. to want to see him a second time?

“Y-yeah.. s-see you tommorow, Y/N.” The shy boy says, his voice slightly echoing in the empty classroom.

On his way home, his mind is filled with thoughts of you. Izuku never noticed how pretty you are, with your coiled hair slicked back and held in a cute pink clip. Your eyes are pretty, a deep shade of brown. Kinda like mocha. You were kind too. Not just kind, but kind to him. And you’re smart, funny..

Damn.

He’s full on blushing now. What have you done to him? He’s never been too fond of girls but the way you showed interest in his hobby.. he thinks he’s fallen in love.

It’s the morning of the next day, and you’re walking into the building with a group of your friends when you see Izuku off to the side. He’s walking alone, and you feel the urge to go up and talk to him.

“Kk guys, see you later!” You yell, running off before your friends can protest.

“Hey! Izuku!” You call out, alerting lots of others around.

“Y-Y/N? What are you doing being so loud?!” He whisper shouts. “Do you want people to know you’re talking to me!?”

“Wait what?” You pull back a little bit, confused almost.

“Go to your friends, I don’t want to ruin your reputation.. or something.” He walks off with his head hung.

“Izuku, I really don’t care about that. Besides, I want to talk to you so what’re they gonna do about it?” You assure him, picking up your pace to match his.

He stops in his tracks, and he feels heat slowly rushing to his cheeks. His palms started to sweat and he could feel his heart rate rapidly increasing. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so nervous around one person in his life, other than All Might. There’s no way you actually wanted to talk to him.

“Hey.. you good?” You question, concerned. It was evident he was uncomfortable.

“Y-yeah. I’m fine, just a little hot, that’s all.”

“Izuku I’m pretty sure we have first period, wanna walk together?” He nods, still wondering why you’re acting this way towards him. Walking through the halls, you get some stares, and some even whisper amongst themselves. You notice it and he notices it, but you ignore them.

The two of you walk into the classroom and greet your teacher, Mr. Aizawa, and attendance is taken. Izuke places his stuff down at an empty seat and you pull up a desk right up next to his. Again, he could feel his heart start to beat a little faster, being in such close proximity with you. Once everyone has sat down, the teacher begins lecturing.

“This shit is so boring, like bro just pass out the work.” You whisper to Izuku, enticing a quiet chuckle from him. The sound of his laugher makes you grin and you struggled to hold back your own giggles.

“Y/N and Izuku.” Mr. Aizawa sighs exhaustedly, already tired of your shenanigans. “Do you have something you’d like to tell the class?”

“N-no, sir. I’m sorry.” You manage to choke out, stifling giggles in between each word.

Mr. Aizawa moves on and soon enough, the work is actually passed out. Izuku gets right to it, but you find that you’re having trouble with the work today. Usually, you were able to fly through each worksheet and have extra time to fool around at the end. You place the pencil down and bring your hands up to your forehead, frustrated.

“Do you need help Y/N? Izuku looks over at you, offering help. Your mocha eyes meet with his deep green ones, and he freezes up. You stare for a moment, admiring his face. He was actually adorable, something you’ve never noticed before. Your breathing hitches, and you can feel your cheeks heating up.

“Yeah.. I don’t know why I’m having so much trouble on this. I feel stupid.” You complain, leaning back in your chair.

“Don’t say that. You’re really smart, Y/N. You just made a little mistake here, and then you can solve it from there.” Izuku refutes your statement, and effortless explains the problem to you like its second nature. His intelligence is incredibly attractive, and so was he, to you at least.

The two of you finish up the worksheet with some free time left at the end. He pulls out his notebooks per usual, this time allowing you to see it aswell. You pick up on some new doodles that weren’t there yesterday, and it amazes you how accurate some of his drawings are.

“Seriously Izuku, you need to teach me how to draw like that.” You say in awe, and he blushes lightly at your comment.

“I’ll teach you anytime.”

The class period ends soon after, and you realize that you don’t have any more classes with Izuku today.

“Damn. Don’t think I’ll see you again today.”

“Seems like it. See you tommorow..?” He asks.

“Or… today. I’d love to hang out with you, outside of school of course.” You’re feeling bold in the moment, but the second the words leave your mouth the nervousness settles in.

“..Me too! I mean, I would like to hang out with you too.” He rephrases, not wanting to come off as too eager.

“Let me see your phone really quick.” Izuku grabs his phone from his pocket, and hands it to you.

After a moment, you hand it back, quickly walking off to your next period class. To his suprise, he sees that you added your number into his phone and named your contact “Y/N!!”

He fumbles with his phone before placing it back into his pocket. All the way to his next class, he’s fidgeting with his hands, nervous. The only girl he’s ever had on his phone was his mother. What is he supposed to do? Should he text you? Or wait for you to text first? He tries to focus on his schoolwork, and it seems he’s calmed down until he feels a slight vibration in his pocket.

“Are you free after school?” The message read.

“Yeah. Wanna come over to mine?” His finger hesitated, hovering over the screen, but he sent the message.

“Kk! I’ll find you after school, we can walk together!” He hearts your text, staring at it for a little longer than he should’ve.

After that, the classes seem to fly by at 2x speed. All he could think about was you, in his house. In his bedroom. Good thing he cleaned it yesterday.

The last bell rings, and you shoot Izuku a text.

“Wya?”

“First floor, I’ll wait by the door for you.”

You catch yourself smiling especially hard and struggle to control your facial expressions. From any other point of view you probably looked crazy, flying down the stairs.

As he promised, he was waiting by the door. The two of you walked out together making your way towards Izuku’s house. All throughout the trip, you guys cracked jokes and learned more about each other. Thankfully, it wasn’t awkward at all.

Before walking in, you reapply your lipgloss and check your appearance in the camera of your phone. He smiles at you, shaking his head slightly.

“Y/N, what are you doing?”

“I have to look my best! I want your mom to like me!” He laughs, pulling his key out of the lock and pushing the door open.

“She’s not actually home. She went on a trip but I asked her first if it was okay for you to come over.”

You’re relieved, but for some reason also disappointed..? You place your bag down next to the door along with your shoes. Izuku offers you a snack or drink but you politely decline. You’re a little too nervous you don’t think you can stomach anything right now.

“D-do you want to go to my room.. or we can stay here?” He asks, fidgeting with his hands.

You suggest going to his room and he leads you up there, allowing you to enter first.

“Whoa..” his room is filled with countless posters of All Might and limited edition figurines.

“Sorry, I’ve had them since I was a kid. I hope you don’t find it weird.”

“No, I’m just wondering how you managed to get not one, but all 7 limited edition figures.” You walk around, inspecting each one. He smiled so big at your admiration. He thought for sure you’d make fun of him.

He reached into his backpack, pulled his notebook out, then made his way towards his bed. Of course, you trailed him, flopping onto his bed and laying on your stomach.

“So I like to start with shapes when I draw. Like this.” He sketches a circle.

“And like this.” Then a trapezoid-like shape for the body.

“Izuku I already can’t do that!” You say, and he laughs. The sound of his laughter is so enticing and it makes you laugh. His smile is adorable too.

“I promise it’s really simple!” You watch him sketch in awe, smiling at the thought of him being comfy enough to show you his interests. Your eyes, gravitate to his face, rather than the paper. Subconsciously, you begin counting the freckles on his face.

“Then I-“ all of a sudden, his green eyes meet yours. His cheeks quickly grow pink but you can’t seem to pull away from his gaze. Izuku begins stuttering, and he averts eye contact.

“W-what are you doing.. Y/N?” He manages to spit out.

“Uhm..8?” He furrows his eyebrows and tilts his head in confusion at your response.

“That’s how many freckles you have!” You tell him, laying your head on your folded arms.

“Oh. They kinda look weird a little, don’t you think?” He sighs, almost embarrassed to acknowledge them.

“What?! Izuku I think your freckles are the cutest thing ever. They make you look ador-“ You try, but you can’t take back what you’ve already started to say.

“..able” you kick your legs back and forth, refraining from burying your face into his sheets. No way you just said that.. to his face.

“..cute?” He manage to choke out, in a timid tone, hesitating to say the word. You reach out to play with his green hair, fondling each lock that falls gently over his forehead. You could feel you heart race, threatening to burst out of your chest.

“..yeah. And smart, and you have a good sense of humor. And you’re a really good artist.”

“Y/N I’m still stuck on the ‘cute’ part.. if I’m cute then what are you?” Your eyes shift towards his and you could see the genuineness in his expression.

His face was so close to yours you could feel his breath brushing against your cheek. His eyes were slightly lidded, his mouth slightly open. You batted your eyelashes at him, waiting in anticipation. All of a sudden, he felt the blood rush to his face.

And to his crotch.

He’s never felt like this before, nor has he been in such close contact with anyone. You’re so kind, so gentle with him, and you caused that dull ache in between his legs.

You moved in closer, eyes searching his face, inspecting his lips.

“Can I.. kiss you?” You ask.

He nods, and you cup the side of his face with your hand, pulling him in closer. You carefully place your lips on his and caress his cheek. Izuku gasped and closed his eyes, unsure of where to put his hands to prevent making you uncomfortable. You take note of this, and guide his hand onto your waist. He borderline moans, the dull ache becoming a throbbing pain.

You pull away for a second to let the boy breathe, but pull him back in just as quickly. You refrain from using tongue, not wanting to scare him as he seems inexperienced. In the heat of it, you accidently brush your hand over his crotch.

“mm..HNGH” he cried out, folding over into you. You quickly pull back, worried.

“Izuku..? Are you okay?!”

“..’m s-sorry.. I don’t know why.. it’s l-like that.” He’s out of breath, panting, his eyes full of need and desire.

“Oh.. Izuku. It’s because you’re.. aroused? You know?” He looks at you like a deer in headlights, a look of concern written all over his face.

“Do you want me to help you?” You offer.

“O-okay..” The boy lets you take control, following your movements. You roll the heel of your hand against his dick and unsurprisingly, he was hard.

“A-ah..!” His eyes widen and he looks to you for safety. You assure him that he’s okay, and he seems to relax slightly.

You hook your finger onto the waistband of his sweats, gently pulling them down. You do the same with his boxers, releasing his leaking cock. He shivers at the feeling of your hand touching his tip that was overflowing with precum. He’s not huge, but he’s a little bigger than you expected.

“W-what are you doing.. Y/N!?” He whimpers in between each word, gripping onto your shoulder.

“Have you never touched yourself..?” He stares at you, breathing heavily. He feels like his chest is going to explode with the way his heart is beating.

You knew he was inexperienced but you didn’t think he’d never even masterbated. Damn he was really innocent.

You start with soft, gently strokes up and down his dick. Simultaneously, you pepper his freckled-face with kisses, leaving it coated in your signature lipgloss. You trail your nail over his jawline, pulling whimpers and whines from him.

“Y-Y/N… Y/N stop!” He cried. You halted your movements, asking if he’s okay.

“F-feels.. like something’s g-gonna.. gonna come out..” He whimpers, that rising heat in his stomach cooling down.

“Ngh.. but it.. feels s’ g-good. What.. what are you d-doing.. to me..” You pet his cheek and he leans deeply into your touch. His bright eyes have glossed over, tears threatening to falls down his face.

“You were about to orgasm, or cum, Izuku. It’ll make you feel really good. Do you want me to keep going..?”

“P-please.. Y/N.”

Again, you start with slow strokes. Every few, you stop at his pink tip to roll your thumb over the slit. He writhes in pleasure, whimpering, and begging. Begging and begging you for.. he’s not even sure what.

You place your hand on his chest which is rapidly rising and falling. You can’t help but notice the way his eyelids flutter with each stroke of your hand.

“Ngh.. hah..” he whines, like music to your ears.

“C-cum..! G’na cum.. soon..!” He screams out, his grip on your shoulder tightening. You suck at his pale neck, also littered by freckles, and your other hand fondles his heavy balls, causing him to gasp. He was so overwhelmed with the new feeling all he could do was buck his hips up into your hand.

“Y/N! ‘m cum..cumming! ngh..!” He freezes up, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. All of a sudden, you felt the liquid shoot out from his dick.

“so.. s-so sorry.. jus’ w-won’t stop.. a-ah!” He continued to chant apologies like a mantra. The cum dripped down your hand, staining your shirt and the sheets. You tried to help him ride out his high but he just couldn’t.

“P-please.. p-please no more. c-can’t.” Izuku twitched at any sensation he felt on body, he was just so incredibly sensitive.

As he relaxed, what happened starts to really settle in.

“Oh my god, I got it.. a-all over you. I’m so sorry!” He attempts to clean his mess up with his sleeve but just smears it all over.

“S-shit. I just made it worse. Let me go get you a rag o-or som-“ his cheeks and the tips of his ears dust a deep shade of red.

“Izuku, it’s okay. Just relax for a minute. You must be tired, no?” You can tell he’s ashamed, so you try to mitigate his embarrassment.

“Yeah.. I feel like I could fall asleep. T-thank you, Y/N.” He crawls back into the bed, curling up in your arms, falling asleep in a matter of minutes.

[junwritten]

my blogger

pairing: choi yeonjun x f!reader

genre: fluff, mutual pining, slice of life, light academia vibes

warnings: light swearing, mild academic stress, adorable yeonjun being adorable

summary: you’re sitting at starbucks with your crush doing homework when he invites you over to a friend’s place—and drops a line that just might ruin you forever.

MDNI . txt masterlist

you don’t really mean to fall in love with choi yeonjun.

it just kind of… happens.

it starts in your elective media studies class, where he shows up with fluffy hair, chapstick shimmer on the edge of his cup, and opinions on blogging that make the whole room sit up straighter. you don’t talk to him for the first two weeks. you just write about him.

because, well—your professor made you start a blog. and not just a pretend blog—a real one, with actual weekly entries about digital culture, personal reflections, media consumption, blah blah. most of your classmates do the bare minimum.

but you? you write essays about yeonjun.

not directly, obviously. that would be unhinged. you just refer to him vaguely as “the boy with the soft laugh who sits by the window.” and “gloss boy,” once, which is embarrassing in retrospect.

you write about how he talks with his hands, like he’s painting ideas in midair. how he doodles on the sides of his notes. how he reads blog posts out loud with this half-laugh in his voice, like everything is secretly funny to him.

so when he turns to you one day and goes, “hey, wanna get coffee and study sometime?” you nearly choke on your own breath.

but somehow you say yes. and even more miraculously, it turns into a habit.

starbucks becomes your thing.

you get the same drinks each time—he orders some ridiculous iced monstrosity with extra whipped cream and strawberry drizzle, and you get a boring latte and steal sips from his cup when he offers. he always offers. you always pretend not to want it and then take it anyway.

you work together, side by side, laptops open, headphones half-on. he makes you laugh more than you probably should during a study session. you keep writing blog entries about him, even though your class only requires one a week and you’re way past the limit.

and okay. maybe you’re delusional. but sometimes it feels like he’s writing about you too. not in blog posts—you’ve never seen his, he’s secretive about it—but in the way he looks at you when you’re not paying attention. in the way he saves the seat next to him with his jacket. in the way he texts you at midnight like, “send me a pic of your notes i zoned out thinking about waffles.”

you’re so down bad it’s painful.

today’s no different.

he’s waiting for you at the usual table when you arrive, spinning his iced drink between his hands, eyes lighting up when he sees you.

“you’re late,” he says with a grin.

“you’re early,” you shoot back, sliding into the chair across from him.

your laptop’s heavy in your bag, your brain foggy from too many late nights, but something about being here—being next to him—makes everything feel easier. he always does.

you sip your drink, scroll through your notes, make it exactly fifteen minutes before he distracts you again.

“hey,” he says suddenly, glancing at his phone. “soobin just texted. he’s having people over. wanna come?”

you blink. “oh, i thought you were just heading over to his place.”

“yeah,” he says, like it’s obvious. “but aren’t you coming?”

you pause, caught off guard. you were fully prepared to say goodbye, to sit here alone with your homework and your unspoken feelings.

“well…” you start.

but before you can finish, he’s looking at you with that stupid, goofy smile. the one he only ever really gives to you. and he says, with zero hesitation and all the dramatic flair of someone who absolutely knows what he’s doing.

“i’d be lost without my blogger.”

you freeze.

your heart skips three beats. maybe four. your brain explodes.

“you—” you choke out. “what?”

he just sips his drink, unbothered. smug. “what?” he echoes, voice light.

“you know about my blog?” you hiss, leaning across the table like it’s a secret government mission. “how do you—”

“you write like you think no one’s ever gonna read it,” he says, all soft and honest, like he hasn’t just upended your entire existence. “but i read it. every post.”

you are going to die right here in this starbucks.

“you’re the reason i passed that midterm,” he adds. “your notes? immaculate. your media takes? unhinged but smart. your entries about ‘the boy with the soft laugh’?” he wiggles his eyebrows. “flattering.”

you cover your face with both hands. “oh my god.”

he laughs—actual, full-body laughs—and reaches out like he’s going to tug your hands away, then thinks better of it and just lightly taps your wrist.

“you’re a good writer,” he says. “and a terrible liar.”

you peek through your fingers. “how long have you known?”

“first week,” he says. “you posted about my ‘strawberry crime against coffee.’ i put two and two together.”

“why didn’t you say anything?”

“i dunno,” he shrugs. “i liked being your secret muse.”

you groan. “yeonjun.”

he tilts his head. “what?”

you lower your hands, exhale, and look at him—really look at him

he’s so annoyingly pretty. he’s so bright, and funny, and stupidly clever, and he’s looking at you like you’re something worth reading twice.

“you’re lucky you’re cute,” you mutter.

“oh?” he says, smirking. “so you do think i’m cute.”

you shake your head, laughing despite yourself. “are we going to soobin’s or not?”

“only if you sit next to me the whole time,” he says. “i need my blogger.”

“you’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

“not a chance.”

you pack up your stuff together, sipping from the same drink, your shoulders brushing as you walk out into the golden haze of late afternoon.

it’s a little ridiculous. a little romantic. painfully soft.

you don’t know what’s going to happen next. you don’t know if this means anything real, or if he’s just teasing, or if you’re dreaming this whole thing up and you’ll wake up in your dorm bed with a dead phone and a missed alarm.

but then he slips his hand into yours without saying a word.

and you think maybe—just maybe—you’re not the only one who’s been writing love letters between the lines.

later that night, when he falls asleep halfway through a movie at soobin’s, curled into your side with his head on your shoulder, you take a picture of him and post it to your blog with no caption.

the next morning, he reblogs it from his burner account.

the tags say:

#i’d be lost without her

#yes this is about me

#no i’m not embarrassed

and you just sit there smiling at your phone like an idiot, typing one final entry for the class.

“there’s a boy i wrote about once. i thought he’d never know. i thought if he did, it would ruin everything. but it didn’t. it made everything better. it made everything real.”

you hit post.

and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re writing for a grade.

you feel like you’re writing for the boy who sees you.

the one who reads between the lines.

and honestly?

you’d be lost without him, too.

[backwardshatnick]

in which the friendship blossoms into something that is never addressed.

notes: fluff!!! matt and bloom are somewhere around the ages of 15-17 in this. but chat..... i fear i have lost my funny...... click here for series masterlist <3 divider by koosuvi as always!

The high school hallway was sun-warmed, the glow casting a homely shadow to each passerby as the air drifted with a gentle scent of iced coffee, Bath and Body Works body mist and recently mowed grass. The bell was about to ring, signalling the start of the next study period and when it finally did, it had sent all the students scampering to their respective classrooms, lest they get reprimanded with a late slip.

Among the scurrying footsteps of teenagers, stood one stationary boy, posture frigid as his hands fiddled with the blue lock of the small metal compartment. A few rows to his right, a girl had stopped in her tracks staring at him from afar while leaning against a drinking fountain, mind contemplating onto whether she should save his day.

“Why won’t this stupid thing just open?” Matt uttered, frustrated and movement careless as he kept on twisting the damned combination.

Bloom finally approached him, quiet as a mouse but intentions pure.

“Still can’t open it?”

Matt exhaled, “This thing is obviously rigged. Really has been cursed since the 90s.”

“Or maybe you just suck at the left-right-right-left movement,” she answered.

He gave her her way, allowing her to take the lock from his fingers, her nails slightly brushing his fingertips. Matt pretends to not notice and observes Bloom’s magic onto the bolt, finally knocking the locker twice for an extra effect, “There you go.”

“Witch!”

Bloom let out a small laugh, fixing the strap on her backpack before turning her heels, “You’re welcome.”

Ever since the locker antics, they happen to just find each other in each step, as if orbiting just tight enough to graze but never close enough to fall.

Sharing a class in Algebra led to tiny doodles on the corners of each others’ notes.

Being paired for English Literature meant that the shared copy of The Great Gatsby was always plastered with Post-It notes, all scribbled with messy handwriting with promising sentences to meet each other after school when they get separated for their next class.

Let’s get Slurpees soon. - M. P.s.: I’m getting you the cherry. It’s my favourite.

They sat on the curb by the convenience store, Bloom fidgeting with her maroon corduroy skirt, a weak attempt at covering herself more while she sipped on her slush. Her thighs were now closed tight together as she balanced herself on the concrete, her legs pushed to one side to avoid any unwanted accidents.

“Hey,” Matt said, startled as he put his drink on the pavement and fished his own backpack to pull out a white lacrosse jersey, “Take this. It might stink a bit after practice, but at least it’s something to cover you up, kid.”

Somewhere between midterms and exam preparations, Matt tends to find himself sat next to Bloom at the bleachers during lunch. Or whenever he had a break from lacrosse practice, away from his own circle of friends. Sometimes, he would playfully bump her shoulder to which she bumped back, almost toppling each other off the cheap school benches.

“That’s criminal,” Bloom scoffed, “I almost got killed!”

He would laugh at her jokes, letting her head slowly tip onto his shoulder. Her hair slightly tickling his neck. But Matt was a boy of perseverance, though he was not sure entirely why he was that persistent. Something within himself itched, whispering into his ear like an outsider pretending to be his inner voice. His uninvited monologue drowning the slow music which was playing through their shared earphones.

They did not speak whenever they listen to the shared playlists— not that they need to. The rhythm and lyrics were enough to fill in their silent conversation as his hand rested near hers, almost touching. She would notice the way their fingers twitched towards each other, especially the way hers was but suddenly retreating as Matt never grabbed them.

Neither Bloom, nor Matt ever established a label to themselves. They never kissed in public but she would never forget the one time she unlocked Matt’s locker to place a small lip balm wrapped with a pale blue bow, cherry-flavoured just how he likes his Slurpees and his kisses.

And similarly, Matt would sometimes leave her bookmarks, handmade with tiny pressed flowers and carefully laminated with transparent plastic and a small satin ribbon tied through the punched hole. One day it was stalks of baby's breaths, another time it was soft cream roses all arranged on a sliver of recycled card. But it was never complete until he leaves a small note written in matching gel ink, the loopy, slanted penmanship obviously belonging to a confident 11th grader.

She opened her locker, the small white envelope greeting her with a note:

Bloom, because of course I had to. Check inside. Don’t freak out, it’s not drugs. - M :) P.s.: Kid, you really need a proper bookmark, I’m tired of seeing you use those faded paper receipts. P.p.s.: Can you help me out with Geo later? Mr. Finnigan gave me this weird h/w and I know you have a knack for volcanoes & tsunamis.

ꫂ❁ @oopsiedaisydeer @bbgirlmatt @courta13 @mattspillowprincess

[alesbianperson]

loser!ellie williams x loser!reader

summary: You're down bad for intelligent people (Ellie yapping about smart things)

warnings: both reader and Ellie are huge simps for each other tbh, like one swearword, my writing probs

authors note: here I am again after half a fucking year woah idk i got this idea randomly in the middle of class cause I'm such a sucker for people who say smart things also idk if the facts that are stated in this oneshot are 100% true I've done research but I have legit no clue how the universe works so heres that lmao

also here daily click for everyone

--☆--

"I hope everyone did their homework. We'll need it for the following group project."

"Shit!" You heard your best friend hiss at todays greeting of Mrs Thomson, your english teacher. She then leaned over her desk towards you. "Did you, by any chance, do the homework?"

"Yeah, I did. Just hope we get sorted into the same group." You chuckled, looking back at your teacher as she kept talking. "Everyone will find a card with a certain symbol on it on their desk," she further explained the group project. You looked at the card on the right side of your table, wondering how you didn't notice it sooner. "Everyone with the same symbol then gets together and works with the sheets I'll hand out."

Right as she finished her introduction, you took the card on your desk and turned it around. A big, self drawn, blue star was on the other side. Quickly, you turned to your left, where your best friend sat and held up your card. She suddenly smiled and proudly held up her own card, a blue star drawn on it as well, and quickly made her way over to you. "The luck is on my side!" She squealed, stretching the last i. You just laughed off her dramatic character.

A tap on your shoulder made you turn around, locking eyes with beautiful green ones. You smiled at the girl in front of you, and she returned it, which brought out her cute dimples. A few strands of her auburn hair, which she had tucked back in a lower bun, framed her face perfectly and contrasted those beautifully drawn freckles on and all around her nose.

Ellie Williams.

The girl you've shared the same class with since elementary school. A talented guitar player with straight a's in all science subjects. You never really had anything to do with her, though. Except maybe some small school projects or homework comparison. Therefore, you two also weren't friends.

She held up her arm, exposing various little doodles and drawn symbols on her hand and arm by her fallen down sleeve. From little stars and planets over to abstract patterns, everything scribbled with a black pen. Too focused on that: you didn't even wonder why she held up her arm until your best friend slid a third chair to your desk. Only then did you see the card in her hand with the same star drawn on it as on yours.

The very same moment, Mrs. Thompson came around, handing out the worksheet that was needed. You took it from her, smiling as a 'thank you' and read the first few instructions. "Why are we always doing such unnecessary tasks? We don't even have to be in groups for that." You rolled your eyes annoyed as you told your best friend, handing her the sheet. She skipped over it as well, then handed it over to Ellie. "Fuckin' stupid." She added.

"It won't take that long, though." Ellie started participating in the conversation, "if we hurry, we'll have a longer break." You both nodded, agreeing with her statement. But as you looked over the tasks again, a sigh left your lungs, and with as little motivation as possible, you pulled out your block for notes. A pen already in her hand, your friend copied your move, but making no effort to do any of it.

You just turned towards her, trying to hold the conversation unnoticed by Mrs. Thompson. "Oh my God, yesterday my dad was searching for some key he had lost, but instead found a few old photos from him and his friends when they went stargazing as teenagers!" You loved space, and the photos that were shown to you yesterday by your dad were breathtaking. The original plan was to take them to school, but you unfortunately left them at home, lying on your desk. Of course, you had to promise your friend to at least send a photo of the pictures this evening so she could see them as well.

With a new topic to talk about, the task was long forgotten. Ellie instead decided to blend out your conversation and began working on the few questions regarding the previous homework. They were easy, to say the least, probably again some excuse for Mrs Thompson to see who did something at home and who did nothing, just to grade the homework higher than she could. Ellie didn't really mind, though, because even though English has never really been her strength in school, Mrs Thompson made it really easy to get acceptable grades with just a bit of diligence.

"Ellie?" Your voice made her eyes look up from her work, looking at you expectingly. "We need a third opinion," you continued, as you gave your best friend a triumphant look. "You do know a lot about planets, right?" Ellies nod answered your question, so you went ahead. "If you could rank the planets in our solar system, which categories would you compare to decide on the coolest planet?" Ellie smiled slightly at the question you just threw in the room. With the summary of Shakespeares 'Romeo and Juliet', which they had as homework, still half in mind, she needed a few seconds before actually thinking about a possible answer she could give.

Always when admiring those planets, the first thing that came to her mind were the different characteristics that made each planet so individual. All the different sizes, colours, and features, and none of them would be able to exist without the Sun.

As you noticed, she wasn't gonna answer right away, you just began elaborating on your idea that your best friend declined to Ellie. "If I'd have to rank the coolest planets, I'd definitely rank the ones high that have cool features such as many moons or something. What should not be a main category," you jokingly glared at your best friend as you emphasised the negation,"is the colour of a planet." She just rolled her eyes at your comment.

"Actually," Ellie cut in, "I think the colours are just as interesting as the rest. It resembles the structure and material of the planet, which gives it such cool features in the first place." Her answer impressed you. How could her words make so much sense? A slight warmth in your belly caught your attention, which you just swallowed further down. "But I get your point." She added afterwards.

The confident smirk you sent towards your best friend because of Ellies approval brought up the corners of her mouth slightly.

"It still is soo much cooler to say 'did you know, jupiter was supposed to be a star' instead of, I don't know, 'neptun is blue woah'" You explained your argument again. This time, Ellies eyebrows wrinkled slightly before she voiced her objection.

"Actually, jupiter isn't a failed star. It falsely has the name because it was born from the same cloud of molecular gas that gave birth to the Sun. But without the Sun, Jupiter wouldn't even be able to exist. It was never even close to growing massive enough to become a star as well. It would need about 16 times the mass it already has to even be rightfully considered a failed star.."

As Ellie realized what she said, blush slightly reddened her cheeks. "Sorry, that was not the point you were making.." she added and then quickly looked down at her finished task and pretended to read it over again. You didn't know why, but something about her answer made your stomach flutter, so you just stared at her starstruck, not having any intention of stopping soon. If your eyes could turn into blinking hearts, they would've done so already.

You knew that girl was a nerd and knew a lot. Especially about astronomy (she may or may not have held a presentation about the milkyway, because she thought your teacher didn't do that topic enough justice) but what you didn't know is how such an answer could have such an effect on you. You looked down at your poorly written notes to distract yourself from your current thoughts.

God, you were fucked.