#n solving for variables | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

andy-15-07 · 5 months ago

Text

Infinite Horizons

PAIRING: Reed Richards x reader

WORD COUNT: 1159 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The Baxter Building hummed with the quiet energy of invention. Fluorescent lights cast a cool glow over the laboratory, where papers, holograms, and whiteboards filled with intricate equations surrounded a single figure.

Reed Richards stood before a towering chalkboard, writing with swift, precise strokes, his mind working at a speed no ordinary person could match. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms dusted with chalk. His dark curls were slightly tousled, and his eyes burned with concentration as he scrawled symbols in a methodical yet fluid rhythm.

You leaned against the doorway, watching him. Admiring him.

There was something about seeing his mind at work that left you breathless. The way his brow furrowed, the way he whispered numbers under his breath, the way his fingers absentmindedly tapped against his chin when he hit a snag in his calculations—it was mesmerizing.

And he hadn’t even noticed you yet.

Smirking, you finally spoke. “You know, Reed, most people don’t spend their Friday nights romancing a chalkboard.”

His hand stilled mid-equation. He turned, his sharp eyes softening the moment they landed on you. “Y/N,” he said, and just like that, the tension in his shoulders eased. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

You stepped forward, arms crossed, head tilted in playful scrutiny. “You were too busy proving the meaning of the universe to notice, Professor Richards.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not quite. Just solving a little problem in quantum instability.”

You raised a brow. “A little problem?”

He turned back to the board and gestured at the dizzying array of symbols. “I’m attempting to stabilize the quantum field distortions in our multiversal gate. Right now, the energy fluctuations are unpredictable. If I can refine the equation, I might be able to prevent spontaneous breaches.”

You stared at the equations, pretending to consider them seriously. “Mmm, yes. Of course. Looks like... numbers.”

Reed laughed—a warm, low sound that made your heart flutter.

“You’re impossible,” he murmured, his fingers brushing over your wrist as he pulled you closer.

“And yet, here you are, madly in love with me,” you teased.

His lips quirked. “Madly.”

Your heart did an embarrassingly giddy flip, but you disguised it with another playful remark. “So, what happens if you don’t solve this equation?”

Reed sighed, running a hand through his curls. “Worst case scenario? Unstable dimensional rifts. Possibly reality imploding. Best case scenario? I get a headache and need coffee.”

You gasped dramatically. “A headache? We’re doomed.”

His eyes twinkled. “Not if you stay here and keep distracting me.”

You smirked but didn’t move away. Instead, you stepped behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against his back. You felt him exhale, his muscles relaxing under your touch.

“Your brain is my favorite thing,” you murmured. “Well, one of my favorite things.”

His hand covered yours, fingers lacing together. “That’s comforting.”

“What’s the other worst-case scenario?” you asked, tracing lazy circles on the fabric of his shirt.

Reed hesitated, then sighed. “The math isn’t adding up. If I don’t find the missing variable, I can’t stabilize the distortions. Which means—”

“—which means no experimental travel through the multiverse anytime soon,” you finished.

He turned in your arms, facing you fully. “Exactly.”

You studied him for a long moment. “How long have you been at this?”

His silence was telling.

You groaned. “Reed. Have you even eaten today?”

He pressed his lips together in thought. “I had coffee.”

You placed your hands on your hips. “That’s not food.”

He exhaled through his nose, amused. “I was in the zone.”

“You always say that.”

“And it’s always true.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed his hand. “Come on, genius. You’re taking a break.”

He resisted for half a second before relenting. “Fine,” he murmured. “But only because you’re bossy.”

You smirked. “And because you love me.”

He squeezed your hand. “That too.”

You sat cross-legged on the couch in the lounge, watching Reed as he leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee. The kitchen was bathed in warm, golden light, making him look impossibly soft despite the sharpness of his intellect.

“So,” you started, “what’s the missing variable?”

Reed sighed, rubbing his forehead. “That’s the problem—I don’t know. The math should work, but there’s a fluctuation that keeps throwing it off.”

You tapped your chin. “Couldn’t it be an external factor? Something you haven’t accounted for yet?”

He hummed in thought. “Possibly.”

“Have you considered... I don’t know, the energy signature of whoever’s opening the breaches? Maybe the anomaly isn’t in the math but in the source itself.”

Reed’s eyes widened slightly. “You might be onto something.”

You grinned. “Of course I am. I’m brilliant.”

He smirked, setting his mug down before walking over and placing his hands on either side of your head, trapping you in. “You are. And now, I’m going to need your help.”

Your brows lifted. “My help? In quantum physics?”

Reed grinned. “I need a second set of eyes. Even if they’re skeptical ones.”

You sighed dramatically. “I suppose I could lend my expertise.”

He chuckled and kissed your forehead. “Then let’s get back to work.”

Hours passed as you sat together in the lab, Reed scribbling equations while you sat beside him, offering insights where you could. It was a strange dance—you weren’t a scientist, but Reed valued your perspective. He thrived on discussion, on the challenge of explaining concepts in ways you could understand.

And you? You just loved watching him work. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, Reed froze.

Your head shot up from where you’d been resting it on your hand. “What? What is it?”

His eyes flickered with realization. “You were right.”

You blinked. “Obviously. But about what?”

He grabbed your shoulders, excitement radiating off him. “The anomaly wasn’t in the equation itself—it was an external force! If I adjust for the unique energy signature of the breaches, the entire system stabilizes!”

You grinned. “I mean, I did suggest that hours ago.”

He shook his head, grinning. “You did. And I was too busy overcomplicating it to listen.”

You leaned closer, whispering, “Say it.

He narrowed his eyes. “Say what?"

“That I was right.”

He sighed dramatically. “Y/N was right.”

You smirked. “And?”

His lips twitched. “And Reed Richards was wrong.”

You gasped. “A historical moment. I need this on record.”

He kissed you before you could gloat further, his lips warm and insistent. You melted into him, savoring the quiet triumph in his touch. When he pulled away, his voice was soft.

“You’re my favorite variable.”

Your heart clenched in the best way. “And you’re my favorite genius.”

Reed exhaled, resting his forehead against yours. “Thank you for keeping me grounded.”

You smiled, fingers brushing through his curls. “And thank you for reaching for the stars.”

And in that moment, with the weight of the universe pressing against him, Reed Richards knew—no equation, no discovery, no multiverse could ever mean more than you.

531 notes · View notes

writingbuckets · 5 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩

paige bueckers x tutor!reader

wc: 3.5k

synopsis: In a tense library setting, Y/N tutors Paige Bueckers in math, but Paige’s distracting flirtations make it difficult for Y/N to focus. As the session progresses, Paige's teasing escalates, and the playful tension builds between them.

warnings: flirting and sexual tension, mild power dynamics, explicit sexual content, public setting, sexual innuendos and suggestive themes

a/n: smut!! hopefully the next thing i post is for the hot take?

“Alright, so this is a basic setup for solving linear equations,” you said, your voice calm but tinged with a teacher-like authority. Your pen glided over the page, underlining the example problem with precision. “The key is to isolate the variable, so you want to start by simplifying both sides.”

The library was bathed in soft afternoon light streaming through tall windows, the rays casting long, golden streaks across the tables and shelves. The air felt still, heavy with the kind of focus that seemed to permeate academic spaces. Occasionally, the faint hum of the air conditioning broke the silence, accompanied by the gentle rustle of someone turning a page or the muted scrape of a chair being adjusted.

Across from you, Paige sat slouched in her seat, an air of nonchalance radiating from her. Her elbow was propped on the table, fingers cradling her cheek, her head tilted ever so slightly as though the weight of paying attention was too much effort. The textbook lay open in front of her, but its pages were pristine, unbent, untouched—like a prop more than a tool.

Meanwhile, your notebook was the complete opposite. The pages were covered in neat rows of equations, annotations, and diagrams, each one carefully designed to explain the problem at hand. You leaned forward slightly, your brow furrowed in concentration as you scribbled another step beneath the problem.

Paige’s eyes weren’t on the notebook. They weren’t even on the textbook. Instead, her gaze lingered on you—on the way your fingers moved smoothly over the paper, the way a strand of hair had fallen into your face, the way your lips pursed slightly when you were focused.

“Are you even listening?” you asked without looking up, sensing her lack of attention.

Her blue eyes snapped to yours, wide with feigned innocence, as if she’d just been caught red-handed and was scrambling to cover it up. The corners of her lips twitched, hovering between a smirk and a nervous smile. “Yeah. Totally,” she said, her tone overly casual, as though repeating your words would make up for the fact that she clearly hadn’t heard a single one. “Isolate the variable.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly in your chair to give her an expectant look. “Okay, then,” you said, your voice dripping with skepticism. “Tell me what the first step is.”

Paige’s face froze for a beat, her confident front cracking just enough for you to catch the flicker of panic in her eyes. She shifted in her seat, her fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the table as she stalled for time. Her gaze darted to the notebook between you, scanning it as though the answer might jump off the page and save her.

She blinked once. Then twice. Each deliberate, slow flutter of her lashes seemed like an attempt to buy time, to summon an excuse that would pull her out of the corner she’d backed herself into. Finally, with a resigned exhale, Paige leaned back in her chair, the legs creaking softly under the shift in her weight. A sheepish grin spread across her face, one of those lopsided ones that managed to look charming even when it was entirely unearned.

“Uh… you know,” she began, her voice light and teasing, “this whole tutoring thing would be way easier if you weren’t so distracting.”

Your pen froze mid-scribble, and you looked up, eyebrows raised in disbelief. Heat bloomed across your neck, a quiet embarrassment sneaking in at her unexpected comment. “I’m the distraction?” you shot back, trying to sound exasperated but unable to keep the faint incredulity out of your tone. “You’re the one zoning out like we’re not cramming for your math quiz tomorrow.”

Paige shrugged, entirely unfazed, her smirk stretching wider, becoming more self-assured. “Can you blame me?” she asked, tilting her head slightly as her eyes scanned your face, her expression making it clear she was in no rush to answer seriously. “It’s hard to focus when you look like…”

She trailed off, letting the silence hang between you, knowing full well it would make you curious. Her hand lifted lazily, gesturing vaguely in your direction as if the rest of the sentence didn’t even need to be said.

“Like what?” you pressed, narrowing your eyes at her and crossing your arms over your chest, the action more defensive than you intended.

Paige leaned forward again, her elbow resting on the table as she met your gaze with a mischievous glint in her blue eyes. “Like that,” she said simply, her voice soft but firm, as though the words held a weight she wasn’t willing to explain.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t completely hide the faint smile threatening to tug at the corners of your lips. There was a part of you—a small, secret part—that enjoyed her relentless teasing, even if it made concentrating nearly impossible. In truth, who didn’t want an attractive athlete constantly flirting with them? “Compliments won’t get you out of this, Bueckers,” you said, shaking your head as you tapped the open notebook with your pen. “Eyes on the notes. We’re finishing this problem before I lose my patience.”

She groaned dramatically, her head tipping back as though the weight of the request was unbearable. “Fine, fine,” she relented, her voice dripping with exaggerated defeat. Slowly, she leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand as her other hand hovered above the notebook. Her gaze skimmed over the words without much urgency. “Isolation of variables. Got it. So simple.”

The sarcasm in her tone wasn’t lost on you. “If it’s so simple,” you countered, shifting in your seat to lean closer, “then what’s the next step?”

Paige tilted her head, her eyes lingering on the page for a beat too long, as if stalling for time. The faint crease in her brow made it clear she wasn’t entirely sure what to say. But then, her focus flickered—first to your hand, resting near the edge of the notebook, and then upward, locking onto your face.

Her lips curled into that signature smirk of hers, the one that practically radiated confidence and just a touch of mischief. “Honestly?” she began, her voice taking on a softer, almost playful tone.

You raised an eyebrow, sensing the shift. “Yeah?”

“The next move,” she said, her gaze unwavering, “is probably asking you out. That’s gotta be easier than this math stuff.”

You froze, your pen hovering mid-air above the notebook, her words replaying in your head like a broken record. Slowly, you blinked, your brain scrambling to formulate a response as an involuntary warmth spread from your chest to your cheeks. “You’re impossible,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head as you refocused on the paper in front of you, hoping she didn’t notice the subtle hitch in your composure.

“But you’re still here,” she quipped, her voice light and teasing, accompanied by a grin so self-satisfied it could’ve powered the room’s dim lighting. She leaned back in her chair again, stretching her arms behind her head like she didn’t have a care in the world.

You shot her a look, your eyebrow arched in mock annoyance. “Not for much longer if you don’t start paying attention,” you warned, though the corners of your lips betrayed you, twitching upward despite your best efforts to stay stern.

Paige tapped her pencil lazily against the edge of the table, her eyes flicking between the open textbook and your concentrated expression. A playful grin spread across her face as she leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand.

“You know,” she started, her tone light and teasing, “I think I could probably focus better if I was sitting next to you.”

You paused mid-scribble, lifting your head to give her a skeptical look. “What difference would that make?” you asked, though your voice wavered slightly under the weight of her mischievous gaze.

Paige shrugged, the grin on her face growing wider. “I don’t know. Something about proximity to greatness or whatever,” she said with a wink. “Plus, you could point out what I’m doing wrong in real time. Super efficient.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the blush creeping up your neck. “Or you’d just get more distracted,” you countered, trying to sound unfazed.

Paige tilted her head, pretending to consider it. “Maybe,” she admitted, her voice dropping slightly. “But I think it’s worth the risk.”

You sighed, shaking your head as you tried to focus on the notes in front of you. But the warmth of her words lingered, and from the corner of your eye, you could see the triumphant spark in her gaze.

Without a word, she pushed back her chair, the legs scraping softly against the library floor. Before you could question her, Paige stood and casually made her way around the table, plopping herself down in the empty seat right beside you. The subtle scent of her cologne hit you immediately, and your heart rate spiked as the proximity closed the space between you.

“Paige,” you said, your voice low but exasperated.

She leaned forward, resting her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand, her blue eyes gleaming with mischief. You blinked, completely thrown off by the sudden closeness. Her shoulder brushed yours as she leaned just slightly into your space, and you could feel your face heat up. “That’s not how this works,” you mumbled, looking down at your notes in a desperate attempt to avoid her gaze.

Her eyes dropped to your notebook, and she gestured toward it lazily. “Alright, teach. Show me how it’s done.”

You sighed, trying to suppress the fluttering in your chest. “If you don’t take this seriously—”

“I am,” Paige interrupted, her voice soft but sincere. She looked at you, her smirk softening into a small smile. “Promise. Just… don’t mind me sitting here.”

Before you even realized it, your concentration shattered like fragile glass, the words on the page blurring into meaningless scribbles when Paige’s hand, warm and deliberate, began a slow, almost hesitant journey up your thigh, slipping just beneath the edge of the table. Her fingertips grazed your skin lightly, tracing lazy, teasing circles that sent a shiver up your spine. The contact was featherlight but impossible to ignore, each movement deliberate enough to make your heart race.

Your breath hitched, and you instinctively glanced around the library, your eyes darting to the other tables to see if anyone might be watching. The muted hum of the room felt louder, the soft rustling of pages and faint whispers of conversation suddenly heightened against the thrumming of your pulse.

“What are you doing?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, a mix of shock and disbelief. Your gaze snapped back to Paige, wide-eyed, but she didn’t flinch.

She leaned in slightly, her lips tugging into a sly, self-assured smirk. “Helping you relax,” she murmured, her voice low and velvety, as though this was the most natural thing in the world. Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief, daring you to call her out—but the steady rhythm of her fingers told you she had no intention of stopping.

"Shh," she whispered, her hand inching further up. "Just relax and let me take care of you."

You bit your lip, your heart pounding in your chest as her fingers found the hem of your skirt. The possibility of getting caught only heightened the thrill, your pulse quickening with anticipation. Paige's hand slid under the fabric, her palm grazing against your bare thigh. You sucked in a sharp breath, your skin tingling at her touch. She traced light patterns on your inner thigh, drawing closer and closer to your aching core.

"Paige, we're in public," you hissed, but your words held no conviction. Your body betrayed you, your hips shifting towards her teasing touch.

"I know," she purred, her fingers dancing maddeningly close to where you needed them most. "But no one can see what I'm doing to you under this table. So, you just sit there and look pretty, and I’ll handle the rest, okay?”

The war raging in your mind was written all over your face, each flicker of hesitation and uncertainty etched into your features. Your eyebrows furrowed, then lifted slightly, your lips parting as though to speak but quickly pressing together again. It was a silent tug-of-war, the conflict within you mirrored in the subtle shifts of your expression, betraying the chaos swirling behind your eyes.

As Paige's delicate fingers traced tantalizing patterns across your skin, a shiver of electric pleasure coursed through your body. Her touch was like liquid fire, igniting every nerve ending and sending waves of intoxicating sensation straight to your core. You found yourself lost in a haze of desire, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as you struggled to maintain your composure.

The rational part of your brain screamed at you to stop, to pull away from whatever this was. But the primal urge growing within you drowned out all reason. Your body betrayed you, responding to Paige's skilled touch with a hunger you'd never experienced before.

As if in a trance, you felt your head slowly nodding, giving in to the overwhelming need that consumed you. Paige's lips curled into a knowing smirk, her eyes glinting with triumph at how easily she'd convinced you. That smug expression only fueled your arousal further, making you ache to prove just how dirty you could be.

At your agreement, Paige's eyes flashed with predatory hunger. In one fluid motion, she removed her hand from your thigh, leaving a trail of tingling skin in its wake. Her slender fingers curled around the armrest of your chair, nails digging into the fabric.

With surprising strength, she yanked your chair towards her, the wheels squeaking in protest. The sudden movement sent a jolt through your body, your heart pounding as you were pulled into her personal space. The scent of her perfume - a heady mix of jasmine and something darker, more primal - enveloped you.

Your bodies were now mere inches apart, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off her skin. Paige's chest heaved with each breath, the swell of her breasts straining against her tight top. Her legs parted slightly, inviting you closer.

The abrupt closeness left you dizzy, your senses overwhelmed by her presence. You could see every detail of her face - the flecks of gold in her eyes, the slight parting of her glossy lips, the flush creeping up her neck. The air between you crackled with tension, thick with unspoken desires and the promise of what was to come.

Paige abruptly broke the intense eye contact, her gaze darting down to the open textbook on the desk. The sudden shift in her demeanor was palpable, like a switch had been flipped. Her long lashes fluttered as her eyes scanned the page, a slight furrow appearing between her perfectly shaped brows.

With a graceful movement, she extended her arm, her finger tracing a line in the book. The simple gesture drew your attention, almost hypnotically. You could see the delicate bones of her wrist, the soft skin of her inner arm, the way the fluorescent light caught the fine hairs there.

Her body language had changed subtly. Where moments ago she had been all seduction and hunger, now she affected an air of studious concentration. But there was a tension in her shoulders, a slight quickening of her breath that betrayed her act.

As you followed her gesture to the textbook, you caught a whiff of her scent again - that intoxicating blend of jasmine and musk, now mingled with the faint smell of arousal. The proximity of your bodies hadn't changed; you could still feel the heat radiating from her, could still see the rise and fall of her chest with each breath.

The moment of studious concentration was shattered as Paige's hand found its way to your bare thigh. Her fingers traced slow, teasing circles on your exposed skin, the sensation sending shivers of anticipation through your body. You felt the heat of her palm, the slight calluses on her fingertips, as she caressed your leg.

Paige's eyes lifted to meet yours, the fleeting vulnerability replaced by a smoldering intensity. The air between you was charged with tension, thick with the promise of things to come. You could see the dilation of her pupils, the flush that was creeping up her neck, the slight parting of her pink lips.

Her hand moved higher, inch by torturous inch, her fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The flimsy skirt provided little barrier, and her touch felt like a brand against your flesh.

Paige leaned in closer, her breath hot against your ear as she whispered, “Tell me,” her hand continued its torturous exploration, fingertips teasing along the hem of your skirt. She pulled back slightly, her gaze locked on yours, "how badly do you want this?”

Her hand slid higher, skimming the edge of your panties. Suddenly, her pinky and ring finger slipped underneath the elastic band, hooking into the side of your underwear. With a quick tug, she pulled them to the side, exposing you fully to her touch.

You hesitated before whispering out, “So bad, Paige, please.”

Paige's fingers stroked through your wet folds, gathering the slick arousal there. She brought her hand to her lips, wrapping around them, swiping her tongue across the digits in a slow, deliberate motion. "So good," she said, her eyes never leaving yours.

You watched, mesmerized, as she pulled her fingers out with an audible pop and returned them between your legs. Her fingers found your clit, rubbing slow, maddening circles around the sensitive bud. Pleasure jolted through you, your legs quivering and toes curling in your shoes.

Just as you felt something within you building, Paige moved her hand lower. You gasped as you felt her tracing your entrance, your slick arousal allowing her to glide easily across the delicate skin, Paige's lips curving into a wicked grin against your ear.

"Feels like you want this," she whispered, dipping her finger teasingly inside your heat before retreating. "So wet. I wonder..." She dipped back in, this time adding a second finger to tease you as she withdrew.

Paige continued her maddening torture, fingers slipping into you only to withdraw once more before you could get too accustomed to the sensation. Your thighs trembled, hands fisting in the arms of your chair as you tried to control your breathing.

"Feel so good," Paige murmured appreciatively, "I can't wait to feel you around my fingers."

She pushed two digits deep inside you, finally giving you the penetration you craved. Your head fell back as she began to pump slowly, building up a rhythm. Her thumb found your clit, adding another layer of stimulation that had you squirming. "You like this, don't you?" Paige's breath was hot against your neck as she pressed open mouth kisses to your pulse point. "Being touched like this, in public where anyone could catch us. It excites you, doesn't it?"

Paige's fingers were relentless, plunging into you at a steady, driving pace that had you seeing stars. Her thumb circled your clit, each touch sending bolts of pleasure coursing through your veins. The dual sensations were almost too much to bear. You felt yourself hurtling towards the edge of oblivion, your body tensing tighter and tighter. "Go ahead and cum for me," Paige commanded, her voice a dark, sinful purr. "I want to feel you soak my fingers with it." She pressed her thumb hard against your clit, the increased pressure finally pushing you over the brink.

Wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over you, your inner walls clenching rhythmically around Paige's fingers, your teeth clutching your bottom lip in an attempt to silence your noises.

Even as you rode out the aftershocks of your climax, Paige didn't stop. Her fingers continued to pump into you, drawing out your pleasure and making the intense sensations border on painfully overwhelming. You almost sobbed, you mouth forming an O, your hands coming down to clutch at her arm, nails digging into the skin there. "Paige, please," you begged, unable to tell if you were begging her to stop or for more. But she knew exactly what you needed.

Paige removed her hand from between your legs, your hips still jerking sporadically. Through the haze of pleasure, you saw her raise her hand, slick with your arousal. Rather than wiping her fingers off, Paige brought them to her mouth again. Your gaze locked with hers as she sucked them into her mouth, licking them clean. A low, throaty moan escaped her at the taste of you.

Paige leaned back in her chair, her trademark smirk firmly in place as she grabbed her pencil tapped it against the edge of the table. Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief, locking onto yours as if she’d just won some unspoken game, and in some ways, she had.

“So,” she drawled, her voice dripping with smug confidence, “the next step?”

#paige buckets #paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers x reader #uconn huskies #uconn wcbb #wcbb #wlw fanfic #wlw post #uconn x reader

514 notes · View notes

swiftiethatlovesf1 · 9 months ago

Text

Toto's obsession

Hii guyss, I hope you like this idea I had.

You knew who Toto Wolff was long before you actually met him. Your brother, George, spoke of him all the time, describing him as a visionary, a man who turned dreams into reality. "He’s not just a team principal," George would say, his voice tinged with awe, "he’s a strategist, a leader—a god, really. Strict, yes, but there’s no one like him. He’s why I’m going to win a championship."

Strict, charming, busy—those were the words George used. But it wasn’t until the first time you met Toto that you fully understood what he meant by "charming."

It was at a celebratory dinner. George had just signed with Mercedes, and the room buzzed with excitement. You felt a certain nervousness, knowing you'd soon be face-to-face with the man your brother had so admired. But nothing could have prepared you for that moment.

"Y/N," George called, catching your attention, "come to meet Toto."

And then you saw him. Tall, imposing, with an air of calm authority that seemed to silence the room as he approached. His sharp, tailored suit, the confidence in his stride—it all added to the magnetic pull he had.

Toto’s hand extended toward you, and the moment your fingers touched his, a spark ignited. His eyes met yours, dark and calculating, but there was something else—something deeper. You could feel the intensity in his gaze, as though he was memorizing every detail of you in that instant.

"Pleasure to meet you," he said, his voice smooth, but there was a certain edge to it—something almost predatory.

From Toto’s perspective, the moment he saw you, time seemed to slow. There you were, standing next to your brother, but somehow, everything else faded into the background. You weren’t just George’s sister; you were something he couldn’t quite describe—captivating, delicate, and untouchable all at once.

He prided himself on being a man of control, a man who calculated every move. But you… you were a variable he hadn’t planned for. The way you smiled, the softness in your voice, the quiet confidence that emanated from you—it all struck him harder than he had anticipated.

She has to be mine.

The thought crept into his mind, uninvited but relentless. He barely heard George’s words as they introduced you, his focus entirely on you. He was a man used to getting what he wanted, and you, without even knowing it, had become something he wanted more than anything.

As the dinner went on, Toto kept glancing your way, watching how you moved, how you spoke. Every detail fascinated him—the way your lips curved into a smile when you laughed at something George said, the way your fingers absentmindedly played with the edge of your glass.

Obsessed wasn’t the right word. It was something more. You were a puzzle he needed to solve, a challenge he couldn’t resist. And in his mind, the outcome was already decided. You were meant for him, and nothing—not even the relationship he had with your brother—would stop him from making you his.

Later that evening, when George stepped away for a moment, Toto seized the opportunity. He made his way toward you, his presence commanding attention without even trying.

“You seem to have made quite the impression,” he said, his voice low, eyes locked onto yours.

Your pulse quickened as he stood closer than before, and for a brief moment, you felt a tension that you couldn’t explain.

“Oh? On whom?” you asked playfully, but your voice wavered slightly.

His smile was subtle, almost imperceptible, but the weight of his words hit you with full force.

“On me.”

You stirred awake in the soft, dim light of a hotel room, the warmth of Toto’s arms wrapped securely around your waist. His chest rose and fell steadily behind you, his breath brushing the back of your neck in a rhythmic, soothing pattern. For a moment, you simply lay there, allowing yourself to enjoy the peaceful silence, the comforting weight of him holding you close.

Since that night at the celebratory dinner, your life had taken a turn you never expected. It was supposed to be a harmless introduction, a fleeting moment in the whirlwind of your brother’s new career with Mercedes. But after that night, Toto had made sure you didn’t slip away. You had started seeing each other in secret, always in the shadows, far from prying eyes and cameras.

The world would have a lot to say about you and Toto if they knew—about the age gap, about you being George’s sister, about the power dynamic. But in these quiet moments, it all faded away. Here, it was just the two of you, hidden away from the world’s judgment.

You shifted slightly, feeling his arms tighten instinctively around you as though he could sense you thinking about pulling away, even for a second. His possessiveness was something you were still getting used to, something you weren’t sure you fully understood. He wasn’t just protective; he was almost territorial, as if the very thought of you belonging to anyone else, even in the smallest way, was unthinkable to him.

"Stay," his voice, deep and groggy from sleep, rumbled against your ear. He nuzzled into your hair, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your head.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, smiling softly as you let your fingers trace his arm around your waist.

His hand moved to cover yours, holding it against his chest, his grip firm. "Good. I don’t like the thought of you slipping away from me."

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “Where would I go? No one knows we’re here, Toto.”

He hummed in satisfaction, but there was an underlying edge to his words as he murmured, “And that’s how it should stay.”

You didn’t fully understand the depth of his obsession with keeping your relationship secret, assuming it was mainly about the media and the attention it would bring. After all, he was an incredibly public figure, and any news about his personal life would be plastered across headlines instantly. And yet, sometimes, there was a flicker in his eyes that made you think there was more to it.

Toto shifted behind you, pulling you closer until your body was flush against his. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, his breath warm as he spoke in that low, commanding tone that always sent a shiver down your spine.

“Do you ever think about how it all started?” he asked, his voice smooth and rich with emotion. “That night… the moment I saw you, I knew I couldn’t let you go.”

You tilted your head back slightly, meeting his gaze. His eyes were filled with a tenderness that made your heart flutter, but beneath it, there was something else—something more intense. “I didn’t know you felt like that then,” you said softly, smiling at him.

He cupped your face, his thumb brushing your cheek gently. "You’re smart, but sometimes too innocent," he murmured, his lips curling into a faint smile. " From the very beginning, you were mine. I couldn’t let anyone else have you."

His words, though wrapped in affection, held a possessive edge that you had come to recognize. It wasn’t just love that fueled his actions—it was something deeper, a need to claim you, to ensure that no one else ever got close to you. But you trusted him. You believed in the love that you felt from him in these moments, not fully realizing just how consuming it was for him.

You giggled softly, brushing it off, still unaware of the full extent of his obsession. "Well, I’m not going anywhere," you repeated, placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

Toto's hold on you tightened once again, his eyes darkening with a fierce protectiveness. “No,” he agreed, his voice low and firm. “You’re not.”

Here's part 2

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #toto wolff #toto wolff imagine #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff x y/n

630 notes · View notes

vultursvolans · 6 months ago

Text

— ☆ 𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: alhaitham wants to cheer you up by giving you a cake but, much to his dismay, he discovers he’s not very good at baking

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: alhaitham x gn!reader, modern au, established relationship, fluff, slice of life, comfort, baking, you call him baby, he might be a lil ooc 1.2k wc. | masterlist

a/n: important!! this piece is for the @pixelcafe-network’s secret santa exchange and it is my gift to @ariiadnes <3 surprise little elf, i am your santa >:) hehe that was me on anon. i welcome anybody to enjoy it but i’m just prefacing that i wrote this with my little elf in mind so this is personalised and will include some details specific to our kay ^_^ thank you to the pixel cafe for organising something so sweet <3 happy holidays!

p.s there is an extra surprise at the end 🤭

The sudden clang of the rolling pin meeting the floor made Alhaitham pause mid-motion. He regarded the rogue tool with a glare as though it had a personal vendetta against him. If baking was a dance of trial and error, it appeared Alhaitham was hopelessly out of step.

This shouldn’t be so difficult, he thought, bending down to retrieve it with a sigh.

What had started as a bold plan to cheer you up was devolving into a textbook case of kitchen disaster. His countertops bore signs of his struggle: a battlefield of flour, sticky smears of frosting, and a timer that had long since been silenced, marking the hours he had spent here. A slightly concerning scent wafted from the oven, where a deflated Snoopy cake mocked his attempts, its ears drooping in defeat.

All his brilliance yet his intellect failed him in the kitchen. The art of baking required nuances he hadn’t yet mastered—the understanding of texture, temperature, and timing. These were variables that no theorem or formula could solve. He glanced at the instructional video on his phone, the cheerful baker’s voice grating against his fraying patience.

‘Step one: don’t overfill the pan,’ he recited in his head, lips thinning as he stared at the mess in the oven. “A bit late for that.”

His phone buzzed, pulling him from his brooding. It was a message from you:

“Done for the day! Heading home soon. Love you <3.”

Alhaitham paused, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. He could easily picture the exhaustion in your face as you typed the message. You’d been weathering the storm of clinical rotations, coursework, and sleepless nights to reach the summit of your master’s program. He’d witness you lose sleep over exams, spend weekends buried in textbooks, and wake before dawn to attend hospital shifts.

He’d also notice the fatigue in your voice, how you napped more often to catch up on rest, and the stress you tried to hide when things got overwhelming.

Even in your exhaustion, you still managed to grace him with a smile. There was something admirable about how your heart endured, how you found space for joy despite the weight you carried. He knew he couldn’t ease your responsibilities, but he could remind you that you weren't facing it all alone.

His gaze shifted to the Snoopy figurine he’d bought for inspiration, perched on the counter like a silent overseer of this culinary misadventure. No turning back now.

Alhaitham began to roll up his sleeves and pick up the piping bag.

For you, he was willing to stumble through every misstep.

Drawing Snoopy’s outline with frosting proved no easier than taming the batter. Alhaitham leaned in close, expression sharpening, and the tip of his tongue peeked out in concentration (a face no one but you might ever see from him). As he worked, his mind whispered doubts, yet his hands persisted.

Steadfast, if imperfect.

———

By the time you stepped through the front door, the scent of burnt sugar lingered in the air. The apartment, to your surprise, looked untouched—eerily pristine, even. Nothing seemed to have moved ever since you left the house this morning.

No hint of chaos. Yet.

“Haitham~?” you called out, kicking off your shoes. “What’s that smell? Did you… light a candle or something?”

“In the kitchen,” came his reply, his voice betraying none of his current predicament.

You rounded the corner, and the first thing you noticed upon entering was the stillness. Alhaitham stood near the counter, as composed as always, except for the flour dusting his hair and a smear of frosting on his cheek.

The second thing you noticed was the cake. Or what you assumed was meant to be a cake. Snoopy, your beloved Snoopy, lay immortalised in wobbly frosting on an uneven base. His ears drooped, and his face was just crooked enough to be endearing.

“Haitham?” you asked, placing your bag down carefully. “What… What happened here? Did Snoopy get caught in a blizzard?”

Alhaitham’s neutral expression didn’t falter, though his ears turned a light shade of pink. “It’s a cake,” he deadpanned. “Not a sculpture. Artistic liberties were necessary.”

That was all it took. You doubled over, laughter spilling from your lips like a bubbling brook. “You made this? For me?”

“Yes,” he said simply, the word softened by his sincerity. “You’ve been overworking yourself. I thought you might enjoy this.”

Your laughter melted into something warmer, and you stepped closer with a glow in your chest, inspecting the cake with a fond smile. “I didn’t know you could bake.”

“I can’t,” he admitted flatly. “And I don’t plan to pursue it further. The kitchen may never recover.”

"But you look so handsome covered in frosting." You reached up, gently touching the mess on his cheek. “You’ve got a little something here.”

Not wasting another second, you pressed a kiss to the smudge, tasting a bit of sugar on your tongue. His breath caught, just barely, and you pulled back with a grin.

“There,” you said playfully. “All cleaned up.”

His lips parted slightly as if to retort, but you didn’t give him the chance. You cupped his face, your thumbs tracing circles of flour on his skin. “Did my baby work hard on this cake?”

Alhaitham blinked, caught entirely off-guard by your tone. “I wouldn’t use the term hard,” he huffed slightly, a crack in his usual demeanor under your doting affection.

“Oh, but you did,” you teased, brushing your nose against his. “Worked so hard, just for me. My thoughtful, talented boyfriend.”

He sighed, a long exhale that felt more like surrender than irritation. “If you keep that up, you might convince me it was worth the mess.”

You beamed, leaning up to kiss him properly this time, imprinting your gratitude on his lips. “I already know it was. You’re the sweetest, you know that?”

His ears darkened further, and he turned his attention to the counter as if it had become the most fascinating object in the room. “The cake might taste otherwise.”

“Stop being modest,” you said, grabbing the knife. “Come on. Let’s taste your masterpiece.”

His hand covered yours before you could cut into it. “Be gentle with it. It’s barely holding together.”

You chuckled, nudging him. “Sounds a bit like me during finals actually.” Alhaitham was clearly amused by your comparison, lips quirking as you looked at him.

When you cut into the cake, the sound of the knife meeting its layers fills the space. You served a piece, taking a bite before offering your verdict. “Hmm.” You hummed thoughtfully, watching his expression tighten.

“Well?” he asked, the question almost reluctant.

You grinned and reached for his hand, squeezing it. “It’s perfect. Just like you.”

He raised his brow at the sentiment but you caught the way his grip mirrored your squeezing. “I think your standards are too forgiving,” he replied.

“Not at all,” you said earnestly, setting your fork down and stepping closer. “It means everything to me, Alhaitham. Thank you.”

For once, words faltered and fell away, replaced by the gentle press of his forehead against yours. At that moment, the world seemed to pause, and the chaos of frosting, cake, and his flour-coated hands faded into nothingness. In their place was something simpler, something truer—his love for you that spoke volumes without a single syllable.

bonus gift: some silly visuals 🫶

a/n: i was a little nervous about this because kay, you already write so beautifully. i truly hope this was to your liking 🥺💖 congrats again on completing your masters program. i hope your certification exam goes/went well 💖

divider: @/adornedwithlight

#✧ vultursvolans #alhaitham x reader #al-haitham x reader #alhaitham fluff #al-haitham fluff #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader

330 notes · View notes

fallenbratfiction · 16 days ago

Text

constants & variables ~ reed richards x f!reader

a/n: don't come for me, I had to google terms and concepts, I'm in another field of science FAR, FAR AWAY FROM THIS. That's all I gotta say.

mentions: fluff, stressed out reader, imposter syndrome, reed reassures you, sweet lil fanfic. if i missed any mentions let me know!

minors dni with my blog or works!

do not copy, translate or claim any of my work as your own.

⟡──────────────⟡

You’ve been at it for days. Every path leads to a dead end. Every new equation collapses in on itself. The whiteboard is a battlefield of half-erased solutions, and your notebook is filled with coffee stains and frustration.

“Fuck!” you mutter, scrubbing another attempt off the board with your sleeve.

Across the lab, Reed glances up from his tablet, his brow creasing as he watches you. He’s been buried in his side of the mission just as intensely, but somehow… he still finds room to worry about you.

The whiteboard squeaks under the force of your marker. You’ve been staring at the same theoretical loop for hours now. Your hands are covered in ink smudges and half-erased formulas. Your coffee’s gone cold. Your chest is tight. You want to scream or cry or run.

Reed's voice is quiet behind you, "Sweetheart"

"Don't," you shake your head.

He stands up, walks over, and offers his hand. “Come on. Let’s take a pause, okay?" he says softly. "Come lie down with me.”

“No,” you snap, sharper than you mean to. “I can’t rest. Not until I solve this. I’m stuck.”

“You’re hitting a wall, love." he moves a strand of hair behind your ear. “And the harder you push right now, the worse it’s going to feel. You’re not going to break through it tonight. You need distance—fresh eyes, another perspective.”

You exhale shakily, grip loosening on the marker. Reed gently eases it from your hand. “You're brilliant, but you're not a machine.”

He’s not trying to be Mr. Fantastic right now. He’s not lecturing you. He’s right, and you hate that he’s right. But admitting that feels like defeat.

You take his hand and let him lead you over to the couch in the corner of the lab, pulling you into his lap like it’s second nature. Your cheek finds his shoulder, and you close your eyes. His arms wrap around you like a quiet shelter.

“You’re so brilliant,” Reed murmurs against your hair. “And I admire you for it. I’m so lucky. But I hate seeing you like this, sweetheart. It’s no use burning yourself out. You don’t deserve to run yourself into the ground just to prove you can.”

“I just worry...a lot,” you whisper.

“I know you do.”

“What if there’s no solution? What if I can’t figure it out? What if we can’t fix this?”

“Hey.” He tilts your chin up gently with two fingers until your eyes meet his. His voice is low and steady. “We always figure it out. There’s always a solution. Like Feynman said—‘There’s a pleasure in finding things out.’ And we will. Just… not like this.”

You look him in the eyes. His gaze is steady, warm, full of quiet love.

And it makes it worse somehow—because all you can feel is the weight of not being enough. Not fast enough. Not brilliant enough. Not worthy enough.

“I feel like a fraud,” you whisper, voice barely audible. “To all of you… especially to you. When I can’t get it right.”

Reed doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t brush it off or tell you you’re being dramatic. He just cups your cheek with that steady, ink-stained hand, and his thumb brushes against your skin like he’s holding something precious.

“You’re not a fraud,” he says gently. “You’re exhausted. There’s a difference.”

You shake your head, but he leans in closer.

“I know that voice in your head. The one that tells you you’re not enough, even when you’re doing the impossible. But let me tell you something—you are not failing anyone. Not me. Not the team. And especially not yourself.”

You close your eyes, leaning into his touch.

He softens even further. “You’re allowed to be stuck. You’re allowed to not have all the answers right now. That’s not failure. That’s just… being human. Being brilliant and human.”

You let out a breath that trembles at the edges, and your shoulders fall.

“The problem will still be here tomorrow,” he says, brushing your knuckles with his. “But right now? I just want to hold the woman I admire most in the universe.”

You sink into his warmth, letting yourself be held. His arms wrap around you with a tenderness that makes your chest ache, grounding you in a way nothing else can. His heartbeat is steady beneath your cheek, his fingers slowly brushing through your hair. You're curled up in his lap, legs folded beside him, your cheek resting against his shoulder. The lab is quiet now. The whiteboard is blank.

Reed's fingers move gently through your hair, slow and rhythmic. His head leans back against the couch cushion, eyes closed but not fully asleep—just resting.

Silence feels like a pause, a much-needed one.

You’re staring at the empty whiteboard, and something shifts. A gap clicks into place. Not a solution, not yet—but the shape of one. You blink, your breath hitching. You sit up slightly.

“Reed.”

He hums, not opening his eyes. “Mmm?”

“I—wait.”

You freeze, staring, running over it again. It fits. The answer doesn’t lie where you thought—it’s beside it. A pivot. You scramble to untangle yourself from his lap, jolting up so fast he startles.

“Wait—hold on, what—?”

You’re already sprinting across the lab. You grab the marker and take the cap off with your mouth. You hit the whiteboard and write. Fast. Lines, symbols, a theory folding into itself with every pass. Your wrist aches, but your mind is flooded.

Reed sits up slowly, rubbing his eyes. Watches you in a daze as you scrawl.

“Baby,” he calls, voice still thick with exhaustion. “Enough for tonight. You need—”

“No, no, no, I got it—” You barely glance at him. “Reed, I got it! It’s the derivative link between phase decay and the fluctuation threshold—that’s what was throwing it off—oh my god, it was right in front of me—”

His brows lift as he watches, stunned, the fatigue melting off him. You’re in a frenzy, hair wild, marker racing. He sees the full scope of your idea unfold on the board. Elegant. Bold. Just Right.

Reed mutters something under his breath. He doesn’t interrupt. Just walks over quietly, standing behind you.

You’re halfway through the final line when he slides his hands onto your waist. “You did it,” he says, breathless with pride. “You fucking did it.”

You turn, eyes glassy, heart pounding. “I knew it was in there. I just needed—god, I just needed to stop thinking so loud.”

He leans in, forehead pressed against yours, grinning like he hasn’t slept in days and doesn’t care anymore. “You’re a genius,” he laughs. "Brilliant!" He lifts you slightly off the ground, arms tight around your waist, spinning you in one small, giddy circle before pulling you against him again.

“You solved it!” he says, half in disbelief, half in reverence. “You actually solved it.”

You’re breathless, laughing through the rush of adrenaline, still stunned by the clarity that hit like lightning.

“I did,” you say, dizzy. “I really did.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, hands still on your waist. “You realize this changes everything.”

You nod, beaming, heart still racing. “I know.”

“God, I’m so proud of you.” His voice cracks slightly—just enough to show how deeply he means it. “I love your mind.”

You blink back the emotion threatening to rise, overwhelmed not just by the breakthrough, but by him—his joy, his belief in you, the way he sees you even when you can't see yourself.

Your fingers slip into his hair, grounding yourself in him. The marker falls somewhere behind him and clatters quietly to the floor.

You lean in, eyes fluttering shut, and kiss him—deep, steady, grateful. You break the kiss to look at him. "Thank you," you whisper, a smile tugging at your lips.

He exhales against your lips like the weight of the universe just shifted, and he pulls you impossibly closer, his hand cradling the side of your face, the other still clutching your waist.

You break the kiss, forehead pressing against his, and breathe in the silence between you—the hum of the lab, the soft glow of the whiteboard behind you, still filled with your handwriting, your solution.

“Now we can rest,” you say, voice light, tired.

He chuckles, brushing his lips gently against your temple. “Yeah, baby. Let’s get to bed.”

And this time, when he leads you back to bed, it’s not with worry in your chest or doubts in your mind. Tomorrow, you're telling the team how you'll move forward with the mission. For tonight, the work is done.

⟡──────────────⟡

likes, reblogs & comments are appreciated always!!!

145 notes · View notes

saymonsays · 2 months ago

Text

‎1 — Solving for X (and Maybe Love)

‎

pairing: kwon jiyong x reader

ep 2 | ep 3

‎Summary: She’s a popular girl who hates math. He’s the quiet genius no one notices. When she’s forced to get tutoring—and he’s assigned as her tutor—their worlds crash into each other. She’d rather fail than accept help. He’d rather disappear than be noticed. It’s slow, it’s messy, it’s unspoken—but it’s real. In a classroom full of numbers, they might be solving for something they never expected: each other.

‎‎Tags: slow burn, highschool romance, opposites attract, art vs math, chaotic friendships, banter, wholesome chemistry, just fluff

‎‎‎‎“Variable Unknown”

‎‎There’s a rule I live by: If you can’t solve it, draw on it.

‎So naturally, my math quiz had a doodle of a frog wearing sunglasses in the margin and a dragon curling around question 7.

‎

‎“Y/N…” Mr. Lee sighed, holding up the paper like it smelled. “This isn’t... art class.”

‎

‎“Wasn’t trying to be,” I muttered, snatching it from his hand. “That dragon’s judging me for trying.”

‎

‎He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re smart. But attitude doesn’t pass exams.”

‎

‎I leaned back in the chair. “I don’t need help. I just need the system to stop sucking.”

‎

‎“You need a tutor,” he said flatly.

‎

‎“I don’t need—!”

‎

‎The door creaked open.

‎

‎And in walked him.

‎Kwon Jiyong.

‎

‎I’d seen him around. Hoodie. Headphones. A ghost in the halls. People said he once corrected a teacher’s math mistake mid-lesson and then apologized for speaking. He was the type who made solving equations look spiritual.

‎

‎He glanced at me once, then looked away. Like I was air. Or less.

‎

‎“You’ll be working with Kwon Jiyong from now on,” Mr. Lee said. “Unless you’d rather fail.”

‎

‎I scoffed. “Why him?”

‎

‎Jiyong blinked, like the conversation was happening in another dimension.

‎

‎“I… don’t mind,” he said quietly, eyes flicking to my desk. “I guess.”

‎

‎Ugh.

‎

‎After class, I stomped to my locker. Saebom was waiting, sipping a strawberry milk like she’d been born to meddle.

‎

‎“Sooo?” she asked, already grinning. “New tutor boy?”

‎

‎“He barely spoke three words. I don’t need a tutor, Sae. I need the Ministry of Education to lower their expectations.”

‎

‎“You do need a tutor,” she replied sweetly. “You also need to stop drawing frogs in your math tests.”

‎

‎Daesung popped up beside her like a gremlin. “Did someone say frogs?”

‎

‎“NO,” I groaned.

‎

‎“Ohhh, this is good,” he laughed. “Jiyong tutoring her? That’s like a cat babysitting a squirrel.”

‎

‎Saebom and Daesung high-fived like the menace twins they were. Meanwhile, I was internally screaming.

‎

‎Back in the empty classroom, Jiyong sat beside me like I was made of static. He opened his notebook—neatly written, color-coded, no doodles. The polar opposite of mine, which featured stickmen sword fighting beside a crying graph.

‎

‎“You really hate math, huh,” he said quietly.

‎

‎“You really can’t draw, huh,” I shot back, eyeing his sketch of a ‘tree’ that looked like an angry fork.

‎

‎He actually blinked in surprise. “It’s… not my thing.”

‎

‎“Well, this whole ‘me getting tutored’ thing? Not my thing.”

‎

‎He didn’t respond. Just turned a page in his notebook and slid it over, his handwriting painfully perfect.

‎

‎“Fine. Let’s just start.”

‎

‎As our pens began to scratch across paper, I realized something.

‎

‎This wasn’t going to be easy.

‎

‎Not because I couldn’t learn math.

‎

‎But because something about Kwon Jiyong made me want to draw him into my world. Even if he hated trees.

‎

‎The second tutoring session started like a funeral. Mutual annoyance sprinkled with suspicious butterflies, and a tutoring session that’s barely a tutoring session because you're too busy drawing and he’s too stunned trying to understand how you exist.

‎

‎Jiyong sat across from me again, silent as a ghost, his pen already poised like he was ready to operate on the math textbook.

‎

‎I, on the other hand, was drawing a chicken in a spacesuit.

‎

‎“Y/N,” he said softly.

‎

‎I didn’t look up. “What?”

‎

‎“You’re not even holding a calculator.”

‎

‎“I’m creating, Jiyong. Let me live.”

‎

‎He paused. “You spelled ‘space’ wrong on the chicken’s helmet.”

‎

‎I looked up. He was staring at my doodle, deadpan. And I swear—I swear—there was the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

‎

‎“You watching me or tutoring me?” I smirked.

‎

‎“Trying to do both. It’s hard,” he mumbled, eyes darting back to his notebook. “You’re… distracting.”

‎

‎Butterflies. Annoyed butterflies. “I told Mr. Lee this wouldn’t work.”

‎

‎“I didn’t ask for this either.”

‎

‎“Then why’re you here?”

‎

‎“Because I do things properly,” he replied, eyes suddenly sharp. “Unlike some people who draw chickens on math books and expect miracles.”

‎

‎“Correction: space chickens. And miracles are kind of my thing.”

‎

‎He blinked, then shook his head slightly like clearing a mental bug. “Okay. Fine. Let’s try again. Just—answer this equation.”

‎

‎He slid the notebook over. I glanced at it. Numbers. Letters. I wrote down “potato” and slid it back.

‎

‎He stared at the page.

‎

‎“That’s not even a number.”

‎

‎“I know,” I said proudly. “But it’s honest.”

‎

‎Jiyong let out a long, slow sigh, like he was using every brain cell not to give up on humanity.

‎

‎“You’re hopeless.”

‎

‎“No,” I said, tapping the page with my pen. “I’m just creatively rebellious.”

‎

‎He closed his eyes. “You’re impossible.”

‎

‎“And yet here you are. Voluntarily.”

‎

‎Silence. Just the sound of rain hitting the windows and my pen sketching a tiny crown on his doodle of a triangle.

‎

‎Then—he looked up. Right at me.

‎

‎And for the first time, I saw it. A crack in the wall. A question in his gaze. Like he was trying to figure me out—and kind of liked that he couldn’t.

‎

‎“What?” I asked, suddenly a little breathless.

‎

‎“…Nothing,” he said quietly. “Just… you’re loud.”

‎

‎“I didn’t even say anything.”

‎

‎“Exactly.”

‎

‎Our eyes lingered.

‎

‎And I hated it.

‎Because for a moment, I forgot I was supposed to hate being here.

‎——————————

Your room – Saturday Afternoon

‎Your desk was chaos—gel pens, pastel highlighters, open sketchbooks, and a half-eaten box of macarons.

‎

‎You weren’t studying. Obviously.

‎

‎You were halfway through drawing a bored-looking dinosaur holding a “HELP ME” sign on the corner of your planner. Next to it? A list of math formulas Mr. Lee told you to memorize. They were untouched.

‎

‎A text pinged.

‎

‎→ Saebom

‎‎“U still alive or did math murder u?”

‎

‎You smirked, sent a picture of the dinosaur, then leaned back in your chair and stared at the ceiling.

‎

‎Your room looked like it belonged in a magazine—soft lighting, clean aesthetic, shelves with books you might never read. Everything was perfect. Too perfect.

‎

‎And yet, you felt… stuck. Like everyone had already decided who you were before you even opened your mouth.

‎

‎Beautiful. Rich. Dumb.

‎None of it was true.

‎

‎Well, maybe the first two.

‎

‎You sighed, flipped open a new sketch page—and without thinking, started drawing a boy in a hoodie.

‎

‎Glasses. Blank expression.

‎A math book in his lap.

‎

‎You paused.

‎

‎“No,” you muttered to yourself. “Nope. Not happening.”

‎

‎You ripped the page out and threw it in the bin.

‎

‎Jiyong’s Kitchen – Saturday Evening

‎

‎Jiyong was slicing onions with surgical precision, his hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

‎

‎“Jiyong-ah, you don’t have to cook every time,” his mom said gently, walking in.

‎

‎“I like it,” he replied quietly. “It keeps me focused.”

‎

‎She smiled and ruffled his hair, even as he ducked away.

‎

‎In the background, his sister was doing math homework. He glanced over, spotted a mistake, and slid over next to her, correcting it without a word.

‎

‎“Thanks, ” she chirped.

‎

‎He nodded, then returned to the stove, his thoughts drifting back to you.

‎

‎You were everything he wasn’t. Loud. Bright. Effortlessly social.

‎

‎But also… sharp, in ways people missed. Your sarcasm wasn’t empty. Your doodles were alive. You didn’t try to be interesting—you just were.

‎

‎He had no idea how to talk to you.

‎But he couldn’t stop thinking about your hands when you drew.

‎

‎School Courtyard – Monday Morning

‎

‎“Is it true?” someone whispered.

‎

‎“I heard she’s getting tutored by him.”

‎

‎“Why would a girl like her even talk to a guy like that?”

‎

‎The words floated around Jiyong like smog as he walked past a group of boys.

‎

‎One of them—taller, louder—stuck out a foot.

‎

‎Jiyong tripped.

‎

‎His books hit the ground. Pens scattered.

‎

‎The boys laughed. “Woah.. Guess he forgot to solve that equation.”

‎

‎He didn’t say a word. Just picked up his things quietly, face unreadable.

‎

‎But as he stood, he saw someone watching him from the second-floor window.

‎

‎You.

‎

‎Your eyes locked. He looked away quickly.

‎

‎But you didn’t.

‎

‎Your fingers tightened around your sketchbook.

‎

‎School Hallway – After Lunch

‎

‎The hallway buzzed with lazy post-lunch chatter—lockers clanging, sneakers squeaking, some guy trying (and failing) to flirt with the class president.

‎

‎You were walking with Saebom, eating pomegranate seeds out of a ziplock bag and talking about literally anything except math, when you heard it.

‎

‎"Look, it's her nerdy little sidekick."

‎

‎You turned your head, mid-chew.

‎

‎Jiyong stood near the lockers, shoulders tense. One of the guys from the soccer team—Hojun, who was about as sharp as a deflated balloon—was blocking his path.

‎

‎“Oh come on, man. Say something. You tutor the prettiest girl in school and act like you’re above everyone now?” he laughed, glancing around to make sure people were watching. “What are you, mute? Got secret rich-boy confidence?”

‎

‎Jiyong didn’t respond. Just tried to move past.

‎

‎Another guy stepped into his way.

‎

‎You dropped the pomegranate bag.

‎

‎“Hey.”

‎

‎The whole group froze. People turned.

‎

‎You marched forward, voice sharp and crystal-clear.

‎

‎“Got nothing better to do than pick on someone who’s smarter than you?”

‎

‎Hojun blinked. “Wha—hey, we’re just joking—”

‎

‎“Oh no, I love jokes. Want to hear one?” you snapped. “A guy who failed math three times thinks he can bully the kid tutoring me.”

‎

‎Laughter scattered around the hallway like popcorn.

‎

‎Hojun’s ears turned red. “You don’t have to go that far—”

‎

‎“You didn’t either,” you cut in, stepping between him and Jiyong now. “So back off.”

‎

‎They backed down—slow, awkward, tripping over their dignity. The moment they disappeared, you exhaled hard, turning to Jiyong.

‎

‎He was staring at you.

‎

‎Expression unreadable. Eyes wide. Like he was seeing you for the first time.

‎

‎“What?” you asked, still fuming.

‎

‎“You didn’t have to do that,” he said softly.

‎

‎“Well, I did. Because that was messed up.”

‎

‎Silence.

‎

‎“You okay?” you added, quieter now.

‎

‎He gave a tiny nod. “...You made Hojun look stupid.”

‎

‎You shrugged. “He did that on his own.”

‎

‎And just like that, you turned to leave. But he called your name.

‎

‎You looked back.

‎

‎Jiyong wasn’t smiling—but he wasn’t blank either.

‎

‎“Thanks,” he said. Like the word wasn’t something he said often, but meant when he did.

‎

‎You waved it off, walking fast. “Don’t make it a thing.”

‎

‎But your face burned a little.

‎

‎And the worst part?

‎

‎Saebom was waiting around the corner, grinning like she just watched episode 12 of her favorite drama.

‎

‎“Ohhh… we’re getting somewhere.”

‎

‎You shoved her. “Shut up.”

‎

‎But even as you did…

‎

‎You were smiling, just a little.

‎

—

Author's note: i wrote this while pooping because i was bored.. this also my first fic PLEASE suggest more things (im a noob) might also drop another part :3

#gdragon x reader #g dragon x reader #kwon jiyong x reader #jiyong x reader #bigbang fanfic #kwon jiyong #gdragon #fluff #bigbang fluff #kwon jiyong fic #peaceminusone #bigbang x reader #bigbang

58 notes · View notes

belit0 · 3 months ago

Note

Virgin Tobirama and reader where Tobirama treats their first time like it's one of his experiments, lots of tests and trials to see what makes the reader react the most. He doesn't even really care about getting off because he's too fascinated by her reactions, and he accidentally overstimulates her to the point where she passes out. When she wakes up, Tobirama's already getting ready to do another test.

Basically, sex scientist Tobirama and his very enthusiastic volunteer 😌

Okay I may have taken this too literally

The first time, Tobirama approaches her like he does everything else in his life—with meticulous precision, unwavering focus, and a complete disregard for anything outside his objective.

(Y/N) should have expected it.

He is, after all, Tobirama.

Calculated, exacting, an architect of methods and theories.

And now, this—this exploration of hers, of them—is no different.

His touch is not hesitant.

No fumbling, no uncertainty.

If anything, there is an excess of control, fingers tracing over her skin with unnerving patience, as though he is mapping out a terrain only he will ever chart.

Observing, cataloging, memorizing the responses she cannot hide.

His breath is steady.

His heartbeat, calm.

Hers—frantic, erratic, utterly beyond her own command.

He tests her as he would a hypothesis, subjecting her to trial after trial with the relentless curiosity of a man who refuses to accept incomplete data.

—Fascinating…— he murmurs, more to himself than to her, watching her shatter beneath his touch like she is nothing more than an equation to be solved.

His voice is maddeningly composed, as though the strain in her limbs, the stammer in her breath, is merely another variable to analyze.

She pleads—not for him to stop, but because she cannot take anymore, cannot endure the onslaught of sensation he has forced her to drown in.

But Tobirama does not yield to words alone.

No, he requires evidence. Tangible proof.

And so, when her body finally succumbs, when darkness claims her in the aftershocks of his ruthless experimentation—

He finally stills.

When she awakens, the world is a haze, heavy with the remnants of exhaustion.

The room is dim, silent, save for the methodical sound of scribbling.

Her gaze drifts—and there he is. Sitting at the edge of the bed, a scroll in hand, ink drying on his fingertips.

Taking notes.

TAKING. NOTES.

She groans.

He turns.

—Good, you’re awake,— he states, entirely too neutral, too intent.

Then, flipping to a fresh section of his parchment, he regards her with that sharp, penetrating gaze—the one that has always seen too much.

—We still have more to test.

#naruto shippuden #naruto #naruto imagines #tobirama senju x reader #senju tobirama x reader #tobirama x reader #senju tobirama #tobirama senju #tobirama #senju clan #naruto founders

68 notes · View notes

uzurimisery · 2 years ago

Text

chapter 1: the setting. / coriolanus snow / nsfw

Watching TBOSAS rekindled my love of this series and Tom Blyth makes young Snow sexy.

wc: 4,422

waring: smut, misogyny, dubcon, toxic relationships, snow is insane, not beta read

AO3 version here | Series Master

“You’re to take Y/N to the gala and after that the two of you will begin a show of courting for the Capitol to watch.”

Coriolanus Snow found you to be a thorn in his side. An unknown variable. You were wellbred stock, perfect for carrying on a bloodline, but somehow you were as disgraced as those from the Districts. Even before the war had started and ended Coriolanus found you insufferable. Too aggressive, undisciplined, and unpredictable. He liked reading people, at this point he’d say he could read others better than they could read themselves. But you were a blank slate. Wellbred, well read, and well insufferable. The only reason he even pretended to care about you was who your mother was.

Dr. Volumnia Gaul was more of a creator than a mother. Mothers cared and nurtured their children with love and compassion, two emotions Gaul was incapable of. Funny considering she was once an obstetrician. It was there that she had been introduced to your father, another prominent Capitol resident, and had you. She liked you, surely, often willing to give you more grace than others for their mistakes, but love would be going too far. Perhaps her being your mother is why Coriolanus liked you even less, you had all of her traits he disliked the most.

The Snow family had always been led by men, a tradition passed down from father to son, an unbroken chain of masculine dominance. But the Gauls were different. They were led by women, strong, capable women who defied the traditional power dynamics. And you were no exception.

You were determined to prove yourself, to carve your own path, to become a leader just like your mother. You fought Coriolanus head-on, challenging his every suggestion, even when you knew your opposition was futile. You were a master of manipulation, using coercion, leadership, and cunning to bend others to your will. Even Coriolanus, the shrewd and calculating Snow, found himself falling prey to your machinations at times.

You had convinced two of the most desirable women in the Capitol, Persephone Price and Iphigenia Moss, that he was in love with them both. For a tense month and a half, they waged a bitter war for his affections, making his life a living hell right after he had returned from District 12. It was as if you simply enjoyed watching the chaos you created, relishing in the discomfort you inflicted upon him.

Coriolanus couldn't deny his grudging admiration for your skill. You were a force to be reckoned with, a whirlwind of ambition and cunning.You were a puzzle he couldn't quite solve, a challenge he couldn't quite overcome. And that unsettled him.

"Dr. Gaul," he began, his voice laced with scepticism, "I hardly think that I am the most suitable companion for your daughter, even if just for show.”

A sharp, echoing cackle escaped Volumnia's lips, sending a shiver down Coriolanus's spine.

"Oh, Coriolanus," she drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "my dear star pupil, you underestimate your own abilities. You are the very person I need to keep that girl in line. Plus she makes you look like a more viable successor."

His jaw tensed.

“I hardly think that if you couldn’t control her I could.”

“Control is a fickle thing Mr. Snow,” Volumnia did not even turn to face him as she stared down into a microscope. She turned a dial to clarify the view before then adding liquid, some sort of acid from the smell, and stirring the plate with a glass rod before continuing.

"Y/N is merely playing at having control. She is an actor, a performer, and you, my dear Coriolanus, will be her stage."

“And what is my role in this performance?”

"You will be the charming escort, the perfect foil to her rebellious spirit," she explained. "Your ability to manage her shows that the Gaul name carries on in your relationship with her, breeding the best gamemaker there could ever be."

His fingers itched to throw the beaker of acid onto Gaul. The very thought of touching you made his skin crawl. He could still feel the lingering sensation of your skin against his, a clammy, unnatural warmth that sent shivers down his spine from the last time the two of you had touched even briefly. Truly his interactions with you had been limited before the 10th games, you were two years his junior, it was only after he came back from 12 that he had even spoken to you. Now you worked side by side with each other on the games under your mother, and his every interaction with you made him violent.

The idea of having you draped over his arm all night filled him with a sense of nausea. He could almost picture you under him, your body contorting in agony as you choked by his doing. He envisioned himself standing over one of the ridiculous chaises in your family estate, your father's extravagant purchase. He would slowly tighten his grip around your throat, watching as your eyes bulged in terror and your face contorted in pain.

The thought of your hands desperately clawing at his arms, your tears streaming down your face, sent a strange jolt of excitement through him.

He pictured himself using one of the delicate scarves you always wore to strangle you, the soft fabric contrasting with the harshness of your screams. He would watch as your eyes rolled back in your head, your life fading away with a final, gasping breath.

Hate was a strong word, but it was the only word that adequately described his feelings for you. A venomous mixture of loathing, fascination, and a twisted desire that he couldn't quite explain. Lucy Gray he had wanted to control, but you wanted to break.

“As you wish Dr. Gaul.”

When your mother had told you that you were to be escorted by Coriolanus to the gala and then “pretend” to court him, you were pissed. You saw through his carefully constructed façade of charm and sophistication, recognizing him for the manipulative user he truly was. In his eyes, people were nothing more than expendable pawns, their lives mere tokens in his ruthless game.

While you couldn't deny that you shared a similar disregard for human life, having been raised in an environment where expendability was a given, there was a fundamental difference between your perspectives. You saw value in keeping people alive, recognizing their potential as tools in your own elaborate schemes. Death was not an option for you; it was a blunt instrument, a crude solution to a complex problem. People were willing to go to the extremes for their loved ones, and extremes meant profit.

There was no choice to be had in the matter of being his date, mother dearest had given you a look that said all. If you dared to defy her wishes, she would unleash a torrent of consequences, transforming your life into a living hell until she deemed your lesson learned. While you possessed a certain degree of freedom, there were lines even you dared not cross, and this was one of them.

But Coriolanus made you feel things that you thought you were incapable of, a deep burning rage that whispered at the end of it all one of you would be consumed. You could almost envision the moment when your fury would reach its crescendo, when your teeth would sink into his flesh, consuming him in the flames of your intensity.

As if life couldn't be any more cruel to you, Coriolanus had insisted that you were costumed by his cousin Tigris. Now Tigris was agreeable company, a beacon of kindness and warmth, possessed an innate ability to perceive the good in others. While you found her naivety and idealism somewhat exasperating, you couldn't deny her inherent goodness and her remarkable skill as a seamstress.

Yet, the thought of enduring the tedious process of changing into multiple outfits, each designed to enhance Tigris's artistic vision, threatened to push you to the brink of insanity, a state your mother had succumbed to years ago. The prospect of reliving her descent into madness sent a chill down your spine.

Tigris's fingers trailed along the soft fabric of the gown, carefully adjusting its folds to accentuate the curves of your body. "You know, you've got a really nice figure," she remarked, her voice laced with admiration.

A wry smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Why thank you, Tigris. If you asked your cousin, he'd tell you I had a body made for the Districts."

Tigris's brow furrowed in confusion. "What does that even mean?"

"Oh, it's just one of his many ways of insulting me," you explained with a shrug. "He's surprisingly bad at it, considering how much he tries."

As Tigris continued her work, meticulously crafting the gown to perfection, you found yourself enjoying her company more than you had anticipated. Her easygoing nature and engaging conversation provided a welcome distraction from the simmering tension that always seemed to accompany Coriolanus's presence.

For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to relax, to partially let down the guard you had carefully constructed over the years. You savoured the simple pleasure of Tigris's companionship, cherishing the rare moments of genuine connection in a world that often felt cold and impersonal. Even if it was inside the Snow family penthouse.

The black velvet gown hugged your curves like a second skin. Tigris' skilled hands moved with practised ease, adjusting the intricate details of the dress, ensuring that it would perfectly complement your form.

"I think I'll add a corset effect to this," Tigris mused. "Corio has some cufflinks that were his father’s that would go well with that."

"I am but your humble dress-up doll," you teased, playing along with her lighthearted banter.

Tigris's smile widened, her laughter echoing through the opulent dressing room. "Well then, I'll have to show off my best work for such a famous doll," she declared, her voice filled with playful affection.

The light hearted mood continued for some time, eventually a servant came in to offer you tea. That ended up being your only respite as Tigris then wanted you to try on more gowns for different events. Apparently you had sparked something in her to create various things.

Perched atop a pedestal, clad only in your underwear and an arm across your bare chest, conversation flowed with Tigris, her nimble fingers expertly hemming the length of a shimmering silver gown. Your topics ranged from the latest academy and university gossip to Ma Plinth's overprotective tendencies towards Coriolanus, eventually settling on your father's renowned interior design skills. His contributions to the Capitol's architectural landscape were a source of pride for both of you.

You two had been so lost in conversation you hadn’t heard Coriolanus enter the apartment and calling out for Tigris until he was in the doorframe of the dressing parlour.

“Tigris I need you to fix this stitch on my blazer, it came undone while I was walking over here- oh.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Coriolanus's face, momentarily disrupting his composed demeanour. He seemed momentarily taken aback by the sight of you.

Tigris quickly rose, her hands reaching to cover your exposed form, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Corio!” she stammered, “If you can just leave it on the chair I’ll get to it shortly.”

Coriolanus regained his composure. "No need to rush, Tigris," he spoke smoothly, his voice devoid of any hint of the turmoil that he felt "I just need this done by Tuesday."

He turned his attention to you, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "I should hope that's not what you’re intending to wear to the gala, I think your mother would throw you in the arena herself.”

Without another word, he turned and exited the dressing room, leaving you and Tigris to exchange looks.

___

Coriolanus couldn't shake the image of your back from his mind. The smooth, flawless skin, untouched by blemish or imperfection, is a testament to the care your mother had taken in your upbringing and no doubt the many concoctions she made to keep you that way. The memory of your curves lingered in his thoughts.

He had always held the opinion that your body was more suited to the Districts, a form meant for bearing child after child to provide the Captiol with more luxury. But seeing you laid bare made him reconsider your appeal.

His usual taste in women ran towards the petite, almost painfully thin, figures that could afford to forgo nourishment for the sake of fashion. They were delicate creatures, easily controlled, incapable of challenging his authority. But there was something about you, something that stirred a different kind of desire within him.

Thoughts of you under him shifted, taking on a carnal nature. The dim light in the room seemed to flicker with the intensity of the images playing in Coriolanus's mind.

You under him, tears streaming down your face, but no longer was he choking you. You cried out in pleasure begging him to never stop. Your cheeks flushed, eyes glossy, mouth open as you gasped. Neck covered in hit bite marks and hickies that trailed down your chest, heaving with exertion. His hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him as he thrust again and again, your nails digging into his forearms drawing blood.

You cried so sweetly for him, came undone so well for him. That cunning mind of yours consumed by thoughts of him. He might never figure out how to predict your actions but he could figure out your needs, your desires, what makes you tick. Pull your tongue out between his fingers and spit in your mouth. To turn you on your front and hike your hips up against his own, hands pinned behind your back.

“Corio, what's wrong?”

Coriolanus's mind jolted back to the present, the vivid images from his fantasies dissolving like wisps of smoke. He blinked rapidly, adjusting to the dim light of the room once more. Your gentle voice, using his nickname, had pierced through the haze of his thoughts, pulling him back from the precipice of his desires.

"Nothing, I was considering something for the next games," he replied, his voice slightly strained. "I do apologise, Mr. Creed. Innovation is something that weighs on me heavily.”

Mr. Creed chuckled, bassy and thumping. “ No worries my boy, your date was keeping me ample company.”

He watched as the older man's gaze lingered on your figure, a predatory glint in his eyes as it bore into your chest for a second too long.

Disgust churned within him, a visceral reaction to the blatant display of lechery. Mr. Creed's age only served to amplify the repulsiveness of his behaviour, a man old enough to be your father, yet still driven by the primal urges of a rutting animal.

Coriolanus saw through the façade of civility, the veneer of sophistication that Mr. Creed carefully maintained. Behind the polished exterior lurked a man incapable of masking his basest desires, his eyes a window into a mind consumed by lust.

He drew you in closer, feeling the heat of your skin spread against the material of his suit.

“And what company she is.” he placed a kiss on your temple with a chuckle all whistle maintaining eye contact with Mr. Creed. A man's warning not to vye for what was his. “I often say she should host the games instead of designing them.”

“Oh hush! You couldn’t possibly manage without me.”

“Well I’d have your mother.”

You giggled at that, showing that you had one too many fruity cocktails infused with a laughing agent earlier in the night, the light catching in your eyes. He could tell you were loose, more pliable then he had ever seen you. Part of him wondered if it was just all part of the act to you, playing as well behaved for him. The Capitol’s untouchable wild child made compliant in his arms.

Despite the lingering doubt, Coriolanus couldn't deny the allure of your presence. Your laughter, once a source of frustration, now held a captivating charm, and your relaxed attitude was a welcome change from your usual sharp wit and guarded demeanour.

“And with that Mr. Creed, I do think that Y/N and myself should go find Dr. Gaul.”

“Of course Mr. Snow, I look forward to your next presentation.’

Coriolanus pulled you away from the overly perfumed man and out of the garden where you had been. The president’s mansion always had half the party outside in the expansive greenery and the rest on the first floor of the building. He guided you out of the garden, the expansive greenery and lively chatter fading into a distant hum. He led you into a secluded sitting room, its dimly lit interior a stark contrast to the vibrant party outside.

Coriolanus was a man who prized possession, a collector of valuable objects and people alike. He had never been one to share, a feature made even worse after his time in District 12, and the sight of Mr. Creed eyeing his 'toy' had ignited a possessive fire within him.

You were his, he told himself, all the Capitol knew after the revelation of your made up love affair during the 15th games. But, you had made it abundantly clear that you were not his. The ownership did not extend into your life outside of performing in your role for the people of the Capitol and to appease your mother.

It was easy to keep the lines from being blurred normally but since that day in the dressing parlour something snapped within him.

Plopping down on the chaise you sighed heavily. “What crawled up your ass Corio?” To strung out every syllable of his nickname, teasing him.

A sharp exhale and her turned to face you. Watching you reapply your pristine red lipstick.

“Creed is nothing more than a pig, a bloated, self-serving creature who values nothing but his own wealth and power," he growled, his voice laced with venom.

You raised an eyebrow.

“Tell me something I don't know. One of their Avvoxes is like that because Festus saw his father with the girl, and his mother went bat shit.”

“How do you know this?”

You closed your compact with a snap and tucked it back into your clutch alongside your lipstick. "Festus told me," you confessed, a sly grin playing on your lips. "He squeals easily.”

He hummed in agreement.

“Tell me Snow, when did you start to care if some old pervert undressed me mentally.”

“Since your mother made the entire country think we’re in love.”

“But we aren't.”

“No we aren’t,” there was no love between you two “but that means you’re mine as far as he’s concerned. I don’t enjoy anyone coveting what's mine, even if this relationship is just for show.”

“Ah! Of course, there he is, the egotistical and controlling Coriolanus we all know. For a second I thought you might actually hold a shred of care for me.”

You leaned back in the chair, your dress slipping slightly down on your chest furthering the curve of your breast.

He had to admit to himself he was no more animal than Mr. Creed when the slightest slip made his thoughts race. His mind went back to his earlier thoughts now inspired by the room you were in. Bent over the chaise with your lipstick smeared, a litany of stains on his face and collar. He’d hike the skirt of your dress up and pull your top down, leaving your breasts free for him to grab at as he took you from behind, your underwear hanging off just an ankle. Festus or his father would walk in the scene and pale as Coriolanus displayed his ownership of you.

“Seriously Snow what’s wrong with you?” You’ve been distracted all night.” You shifted on the chair grabbing his arm and pulling him down to sit. “I won’t pretend to like you but you’re not yourself.”

His gaze flickered down to your chest before meeting your eyes.

Those eyes had always held the power to see through him, to strip away his carefully constructed exterior and expose the terrified child within, a child haunted by the horrors of the bombings. They roused something deep within him, something he couldn't quite comprehend. He was convinced it was hatred, an intense aversion to everything related to you. Yet, amidst the gaudy extravagance of this opulent sitting room, there was something more than hatred, a yearning, a need to possess you, not just in the pretence of a fabricated relationship, but for real.

“Nothing is wrong.”

"Bullshit," you retorted, your voice firm and unwavering. "You've been distant with me ever since that day in Tigris' dressing parlour. You refused to even acknowledge me the last time I saw you, couldn't even bring yourself to look at me."

He couldn't deny your accusation, for it was true. He had been avoiding you, intentionally keeping his distance, unable to face the tempest of emotions that your presence evoked within him.

"Have you considered that I find you repulsive and even looking at you gives me mental anguish?" he asked, his voice laced with sarcasm, a desperate attempt to deflect the attention away from his own turmoil.

"Okay, jackass," you sighed in exasperation. "I was actually trying to be nice to you here, even considering the possibility of being more amicable in the future, but clearly, that's an impossibility with you."

Standing up from your position, you straightened out your dress, your back turned to him. "I'm going to find my mother and then leave, and I don’t know how we will keep acting like we’re in love in public but we will." you declared, your voice seeming to echo in the room.

Before you could take a step away, Coriolanus' hand wrapped around your wrist. "You're hurting me," you exclaimed, struggling against his hold.

"What do you even want?" you demanded, spinning around to snatch his hand away, only to find yourself pulled down, landing directly into his lap.

You gasped in surprise, your body pressed against his, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt through your senses. His eyes, those storm-filled pools, were inches from yours, their intensity almost hypnotic. There was something swirling in them that you had never seen him express before.

“God seriously, what is wrong with you? I don’t know why my mother insists on it being you! You are the most insufferable man I have ever met. Constantly talking down to me and trying to make me feel lesser. You need to sort yourself out.”

Your voice raised, carrying into the hallway where he knew people were. He could hear their steps coming towards the door.

He watched you, his expression unreadable, his fingers still tracing patterns on your waist. It felt so breakable under his touch, like he could squeeze it ever so tightly and it would shatter. Maybe that was what was wrong with him, his image was that of strength and yet you were so fragile.

The reality was much harsher than that. He had never viewed you as a person before that day. You have been an obstacle or a pawn. Now he had to act as he loved you, craved you, desired you. Initially that was a hard ask, your very being was unpleasant to him, but since that day something had shifted in him. You were human now. And far too tempting.

The handle of the door began to turn. The narrative needed to be made, actions taken, you both were here for a purpose tonight.

His lips crashed into yours, more gnashing teeth than the delicate touch of a lover, a show of dominance and control. The frustration of this whole act and his loss of control bubbling to the surface and letting the anger out on you. You tried to pull away, speak to him maybe, but he pulled you back against him and with a hand on the side of your face pushed your jaw open letting him slip his tongue inside your mouth. It was wet and messy. His tongue running against the back of your top teeth before dancing with your own. The desire to consume you coming out on top.

“Oh my!”

He pulled away with a bite at your lip, hard enough to leave the both of you tasting blood.

A collection of Coriolanus' classmates from the Academy and a few notable members of high society, including both Festus and his father, stood at the now open french doors taking in the scene before them.

Y/N Gaul draped across Coriolanus Snow’s lap engaged in a hot and steamy makeout session. You intricate updo half udon by his actions, both your breathing labour, red lipstick smudged around both your mouths. You felt like a deer caught in the headlights. You hadn’t heard anyone coming to the room too distracted by Coriolanus’ odd behaviour which was now explained.

Coriolanus instantly snapped into character a charming smile spread across his face as he steadied a hand on your hip.

“My apologies I wasn’t aware anyone would be using this parlour tonight.” He spoke with a lighthearted chuckle. “Miss Gaul was just simply breathtaking this evening.”

Your name brought you back into the moment, the velvet of his voice soothing your panic. You moved to adjust his shirt and blazer back into place, an intimate gesture painting the two of you having a deeper relationship than people initially thought.

“Corio,” you chided gently “I told you that we needed to be careful.”

“You're right my dear. I was overconfident, assuming we had a moment to ourselves. I just can’t help myself when it comes to you.” He slipped the handkerchief out of his pocket and began cleaning up your ruined lipstick. “Please give us just a minute and we will clear the room for you.”

He finished cleaning you up and then stood, taking your hand in his. Some more apologies were given to the crowd as the two of you absconded away like teenage lovers that had just been caught. A trail of hushed whispers and lingering glances followed you out. You couldn’t catch everything but you heard one thing very clearly.

“Well there goes the gossip that they hate each other.”

#uzuri writes #hunger games imagine #tbosas #young!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #the death of an actor #hunger games smut

525 notes · View notes

kuronarnze · 4 months ago

Text

a/n: hihi! Today i had the urge to write for itoshi rin HAHAHAH, welll enjoy! (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

Itoshi Rin x Reader !

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Study Sessions & Stolen Glances

The library was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of pages and the faint scratching of pencils against paper. You sat across from Rin, your textbooks spread out, a look of utter despair on your face as you tried to make sense of the formulas in front of you.

"Rin," you whined, dropping your pen. "This is too hard."

Rin sighed, leaning back in his chair. "It’s not that hard. You’re just not paying attention."

"I am paying attention," you insisted. "It’s just... why are there so many steps in this problem? Who decided math needed to be this complicated?"

Rin rubbed his temples, clearly trying to hold back his irritation. "Do you want to pass or not?"

"...Yes," you muttered.

"Then focus." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Look, you have to isolate the variable first. Like this." He took your pen and neatly wrote out the equation, his handwriting crisp and precise.

You watched his hands move effortlessly, the way his fingers curled slightly as he wrote. It was unfair how someone could make something so frustrating look so easy.

"Are you even listening?" Rin's voice snapped you out of your trance.

"Of course!" you lied, quickly looking down at the paper.

Rin narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. "Then solve this next one."

You hesitated, staring at the numbers as if they would magically rearrange themselves into something understandable. Slowly, you began writing, only for Rin to let out a sigh the moment you made a mistake.

"You're overcomplicating it," he muttered, scooting his chair closer.

Before you knew it, he was right next to you, his shoulder nearly brushing against yours. He leaned in, his voice lower as he explained the mistake you made. You, however, could barely concentrate with how close he was.

His scent—fresh, like mint and something distinctly Rin—was distracting. The way his lashes framed his sharp teal eyes, how the sunlight hit his features just right...

"You're staring again."

Your face heated up. "I am not!"

"You are." He smirked slightly, the rare expression making your heart skip a beat. "If you actually paid attention to the lesson instead of me, you'd be done by now."

You groaned, dropping your head onto the table. "You're evil."

"And you're hopeless." He flicked your forehead lightly before sliding another practice problem toward you. "Now try again. I'll keep explaining until you get it right."

You sighed but couldn't help smiling a little. Maybe studying with Rin wasn’t so bad after all.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

I hope this story was goodd !! I hope you all enjoyed the story :)! Thank you sososo much for reading! Have a good day/night ! <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>

111 notes · View notes

oneslimybastard · 11 months ago

Text

Another underutilized aspect of N, Natural Harmonia Gropius himself, is that he's conceptualized as not just a Math Guy, but a Math Genius if we go by some interview trivia notated on Bulbapedia.

It clearly shows in the way he speaks since his (translated) dialogue (idk about the original japanese one) is full of hamfisted references to formulas and frustration expressed when the chaos of the world does not align with them — which to me is like, the core of his character, something that makes him both An Asshole to deal with but also a very intellectually curios and creative individual. It's just a brand of creativity not a lot of people can keep up with nor understand.

N likes math because a lot of math is about clearly defined variables and their relationship to one another. If you come across an inconsistency that doesn't fit any prior definitions, you iron out a new definition and suddenly the field has expanded upon itself tenfold. It aligns with how his Very Autistic Brain functions, x + y = z, if I do x to y then z will happen. If z doesn't happen, then that just means I have to identify the hidden variables within the exchange and rewrite the formula to be more accurate.

Black and White's quality of writing is. Like pokémon often is. Questionable at best. The foundations are there but the execution is dumbed down and corny because it's still aimed at kids, BW in specific really cutting the theme of pokémon trainer ethics short in favor of just "dang u beat me in the pogiebattle guess ur right!". How-ev-er. In my head, and the reason why I still find the plot of those games compelling (aside for my unhinged thirst for goth man-milf Ghetsis) is that to me they're about local cult-raised autist Normal Henry Gropus bashing his head against the world over and over to desperately try and make the formulas make sense, to distill it into variables he can understand and predict on a consistent basis, and failing miserably at it. Because even if the world is Technically made up of a bunch of chemistry that you could, in theory, predict, there's just a lot of random noise in there from microscopic complexities that fuck everything up.

Pokémon are simpler creatures (discounting the eerily intelligent ones) who will be nice enough to behave like math problems most of the time. Humans rarely extend that grace, the more N studies them like a science project the more contradictory variables pop up. They have a million thoughts in their head he doesn't have access to, that brew into feelings he doesn't understand, which leads to actions he can't do a proper traceback through. Which is frustrating, devastatingly frustrating. At least at first.

Due to how BW2 pans out and my own yearning for thematic mirroring, whereas Ghetsis gives in to the Autistic Bitterness over all these NTs he doesn't fuckign understand, I like to think N develops a sort of joy in studying people like the impossibly complex math problems we are. Because he likes math, he likes figuring shit out, he likes buying a nightmare rubik's cube and charting the squares out on a nightmare variable graph (listen i am not a math guy. i respect the hustle but my skill level is too low to accurately attempt to simulate the process in writing. im sorry math guys) so he has a home-made flexible cheat code on how to solve any possible mix-up of it. It's fun for him, it stimulates his brain and he is so stupid good at it that he can only share that joy with like a stray alakazam or metagross because he's a bit of a tarzan just hanging out in the wilderness, he doesn't know any high end mathematicians he can casually geek out about combinatorial game theory with, and the normies just do not get it .

I think this math enjoying is kind of a big part of his ~Innocence~ as well, since there's a lot of childlike glee to being a Math Guy. It's the love of problem solving as a process rather than a means to an end, it's playful, but severely misunderstood to the point where people kinda might assume things about you if you are a math guy.

N's love of math helps him love the world but it also isolates him. He's a genius, but since he can't communicate it in a palatable way it'll get overlooked in favor of him just being a loomy weirdo on the street chatting up the local patrats.

If introduced to DnD though he'd spend so much time on forging ridiculously optimized multiclass builds, then migrate to digging through old obscure sci-fi ttrpgs from the 80s with hellishly complex systems just for the funsies of learning how the presented variables behave within a variety of frameworks, but then if you actually invited him to play with your group he'd look at you like you'd just called his mom a llama.

He's a neat guy to me, STEM guy who's also one of those animal rights activists who's a little too PETA-coded, I like him :)

#this is mostly just headcanons and shit I've made up but we can pretend its meta *wink*#natural harmonia gropius #n harmonia #n pokémon #long post #pokemon bw #pokemon black and white

86 notes · View notes

florexyy · 1 month ago

Text

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐔𝐬, 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞 / 𝐍𝐢-𝐊𝐢

𝟏𝟎. 𝐀 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐌𝐞 Pairing: ni-ki x fem!reader WC: 909 Warnings(TBU!): profanity, slow burnish, y/n & riki have an attitude problem, might contain bad grammar and may be illogical sometimes. Taglist౨ৎ: @yunjica @flockskiii (Open<3)

a/n: Hi guys, sorry for not uploading for a rlly long time but ive had a lot of stuff going on with school and exams, but ill try to upload more frequently again<3 ༻꧁✬꧂༺

⇝08.09.22⇜

The bell rang, signaling the start of third period, and Y/N barely had time to register her headache before slumping into her seat. Another double math lesson. Great.

She pulled out her notebook, already half dreading the numbers on the page when the classroom door creaked open. Heads turned. A guy Y/N had never seen before stood in the doorway tall, sharp eyed, and wearing that specific brand of confidence that only new kids who know theyll be popular seem to have.

"Class," Mr. Park began, "this is Han Jae. He just transferred from Busan. Please be welcoming."

As Han Jae gave a polite nod, Y/N noticed something strange. The "cool" boy group was sitting three rows back, and already nudging each other. San leaned forward with a grin and pointed to the empty seat beside him. Of course. It took Han Jae less than two minutes to slide into it and join their conversation like hed always been there.

But somehow, when Mr. Park started talking equations and began pairing students off, it was Y/N who got assigned to work with Han Jae.

She blinked. "You sure you want to sit next to me?" she muttered, more to herself than him.

Han Jae smiled. "Yeah, unless youre secretly a math genius and I should be scared."

Y/N let out a laugh before she could help herself. "Hardly. But Ill try not to drag your grade down."

"You okay?" Jae asked, leaning over slightly. "You looked like you were preparing for war."

"I am," she muttered. "Math is the enemy."

"Well, Ive fought it a few times before. Mind if I tag in?"

He grinned. "Im good with numbers. And youre clearly good with sarcasm, so we balance out."

She couldnt help the snort that escaped her. "Alright. Lets see if this alliance holds."

They opened their books, working through the first question. He explained each step carefully, checking in with her after every one, not in a condescending way, but like he genuinely wanted to make sure she understood.

"Okay, so for this inequality, we need to isolate the variable first," he said, pointing to the equation in her book. "Subtract 4 from both sides, and then-"

"Divide by 2?"

His eyes lit up. "Exactly."

"Whoa." She blinked at the correct answer in her notebook. "Did I just.. get that?"

"Looks like it." He nudged her shoulder lightly. "Youre smarter than you give yourself credit for."

Y/N felt heat rise to her cheeks which was ridiculous. It was math. Not a compliment worth blushing over.

Still, the way he smiled at her, like she wasnt just the girl next to him in class, caught her off guard. She was used to her brothers friends teasing her or brushing her off. But Han Jae made her feel like she was part of the conversation. Equal.

They kept going, question after question, and her confidence slowly built. He never rushed her, never took over the problem completely just guided her, letting her take the lead when she felt ready.

When they hit a word problem, she groaned. "Okay, these are where my brain dies."

"Think of it like a story," he said, tapping the question lightly. "Its not numbers its clues. Someone left hints behind, and we re solving the puzzle."

She raised an eyebrow. "Youre really romanticizing math right now."

He laughed. "Im trying to make it less painful."

Y/N looked at the problem again. "So if the total is 40, and they already have 15.."

"Then the rest is what youre solving for. Think of it like.. budgeting snacks."

That made her laugh. "You really are good at this." ༻꧁✬꧂༺

When walking out the classroom, Y/N felt a light tap on her shoulder, making her turn around.

"Eh, hi." Han jae said smiling widely.

"Oh hey" She replied, surprised by unexpected face in front of her.

"I was wondering if i could get your number?" He nervously scratched the back of his neck.

Y/Ns eyes widened at his request. "Oh uh yeah sure" She said smiling to herself.

After exchanging numbers they parted ways.

As Y/N was putting her school books back in her locker, closing the locker.

A familiar face shows up next to her as if shes been waiting.

"Hi girly" Nao-mi squealed.

Y/N jumped, noticing her presence, "Oh fu- Wtf Nao-mi"

Nao-mi giggled now walking next to her, "Have you seen the new student?? Hes lowkey a hear me out."

Y/N sideeyes Nao-mi, "Yeah, we just had maths together, hes pretty good at it."

Nao-mis eyes narrow, "Wait how would you know?"

"Well, Mr. Park paired us up to solve some questions, and he helped me with most of them." She slowly said avoiding Nao-mis curious gaze.

"No way he paired you up with that total cutie" She said clinging to her right arm.

Y/N rolls her eyes in response.

"Oh also, my family and me are going on vacation next week friday" She said changing the topic real fast.

"Oh really? Where are you going, i totally forgot the holidays started next week." Y/N replied.

"Girl, my mom told me to invite you! We re going camping."

Y/N saw Nao-mi smiling at her from the corner of her eye.

"Wait what?" She turned to look at her,

"Yeahh, my mom wants u to come, wouldnt it be great? Us two on vacation together!!"

Y/N took a few seconds to reply, letting her words sink in for a moment.

"Sure why not, things have been kinda awkward with Jay, since you know." She rolled her eyes.

"Great, ill let my mom know as soon as i get homee, i cant believe it! Im so excited" She exclaimed.

Y/N just chuckled in response walking out the school.

⇜Last Part ❀ Next Part⇝

20 notes · View notes

seoliee · 2 years ago

Text

It's been a while since I wrote something so it might be trash lolol but I tried my best because there aren't any stories for my main ;_;

Behind Those Eyes

Reverse 1999: X x reader

"So... what is this supposed to be?"

You ask, staring at the unknown contraption X had placed in front of her desk. His handsome facial features beaming with excitement and pride.

"It's my newest innovation! Introducing the great expresso making machine!" X exclaims, his voice filled with enthusiasm as he made goofy hand gestures towards the contraption that he made.

You made an exasperated sigh, your gaze flickers to the grinning young scientist in front of you. As much as you are tired of his antics, you cannot deny the fondness you feel in your heart whenever he gives you that grin he seldom gives to others.

"What does it do exactly aside from of course, making expresso?" You ask, leaning yourself further on your swivel chair and crossing your arms waiting for his demonstration.

"I'm so glad you asked my dear (Y/n)."

And so, he went on lengthy explanation on how this new contraption of his is another step close to the great future and exaggerates how it could solve every coffee lovers dilemma.

Mainly, because the machine does the little artwork thing on the foam by itself rather than doing it themselves therefore no failures and you drink your coffee right away without any do-overs.

Perhaps, you should hide his coffee beans to lessen his caffeine addiction and knock some sense into that handsome head of his.

"Well? Amazing, right?" X looks quite pleased with himself, pertaining to the smug smile curled up on his lips.

"Yes. Indeed it is." You replied, clapping your hands and trying your best to show a genuine smile.

Though, of course nothing could get pass X's watchful eyes.

He pouts, looking as if he was about to throw a tantrum like a child. "Come on... That's the driest response I've ever gotten from you." He complains, displeased by your lack luster reply. He thought you would be so enthusiastic and basically be jumping all over the place.

His heterochromatic eyes narrows at you, as if a predator watching its prey carefully.

You had a sudden change after getting assigned to work under Madam Z. He deduced it must be because of the sudden inflation of workload or perhaps another variable he's unknown of.

Either way, he didn't liked it that much. No. Anyone, but not his (Y/n).

He heard you sigh once more, breaking out of his trance. He looked at you with concern as he sat down on top of your desk. "Hey, what's wrong? Is everything fine in your department?" He asks, sounding genuinely concern for her well-being.

You don't even know where to start. It's not like you can tell him everything you've witnessed as it'll endanger both you and him. Her lips pursed into a thin line, frowning. "It's just about the mountains of paperworks I have to do tomorrow." It's not a lie. You do always have a lot of paperwork to read and sign.

However, X had seen through it but decides not to go into detail.

"Then why don't you ask to be reassigned somewhere else?"

"That can't be done. It'll look so unprofes— woah!"

Before you could register what just happened. X had forcefully turned your swivel chair to make you face him, extending his arm to the head rest so his face is now close to yours. So close that you can practically feel his breath against your own parted lips.

His other hand was on top of your hand rested on the armrest, practically caging you underneath his body. His hypnotic heterochromatic eyes were squinted down, gazing deep into your own wavering pupils.

"I can go make a request to Madam Z to reassign you back in my department." He speaks in a hush tone, his hot breath fanning against your lips.

His eyes trail to your parted lips as he brings up his hand and runs his thumb across your bottom lip.

"I missed working with you, (Y/n)"

Before things could escalate further, you gathered your bearings together and gently pushes him off of you much to his dismay.

"B-Breaktime is over. I.. I have to go and deliver some papers to Madam Z." You hastily grab a few random papers off your desk and ran off outside the room with your cheeks flaming red and fuming.

Once you're out of earshot. X laughs and lets himself sit down on your swivel chair and glances up to the white ceiling above him.

"My dear little lamb has gotten so easily flustered these days..."

His right hand goes up to cover his peculiar yellow eyes that has a gear iris and combs back his bangs up.

"Perhaps blowing up this whole place isn't so bad." He says to himself, letting himself absorbed into his own thoughts.

He made a gun with his hand and makes an action like he shoots himself, chuckling once again to the thought.

"Just kidding..."

~•~

"Have you ever wondered what the outside world looks like?" A little version of (Y/n) asks the small gray head boy beside her.

"Sometimes. Why do you ask?" The boy asks.

Little (Y/n) continues to stare up at the glass ceiling above them and watches as birds freely flies above the globe. (Y/n)'s eyes glints in wonder. How would it feel to be free? Free from this orphanage.

"Because I want to see it. I don't wanna stay here anymore."

The boy only stared at her. A comforting silence engulfed them both before be uttered a response.

"Want me to burn everything and escape?

Little (Y/n) turns her attention to him and watches how the gear iris in his peculiar yellow eye began to turn.

#reverse 1999 x #reverse 1999 x reader #reverse 1999 x x reader #x r1999 #R1999 X #R1999 X x reader

220 notes · View notes

woneuntonzz · 1 year ago

Text

competitive academic rival!eunseok x overachiever, afab!reader

“ started with a spark,¹ now we're on fire.² ” ; (1/2)

warning/s: cussing, violent thoughts

content: songfic, enemies to lovers, academic rivals, fluff, incy-wincy bit of angst, very lovey-dovey i'm actually attached, mention of other idol names for world building !!

wc: 5.7k!!

⋆⭒°｡⋆ i feel like we've made it pretty far, now we're stargazing ☄️ ; inspired by The Neighbourhood's Stargazing 🎶

“Stupid algebra.”

Eunseok was never the type to grumble, but in this particular scenario, how could he not?

You were getting too good at math, better than him even. You were assigned by your teacher to create two algebraic word problems by pair. You were most certainly not expecting to get paired with him.

Your school life could've been perfect if it all had remained as simple as it was, but he had to pop out of nowhere to ruin everything for you. You've been a straight A student ever since stepping foot on a school, unfortunately for you, so was he.

A second year transfer from the pits of hell.

“Are you trying to say he's hot?”

“Ew, no. Why'd you even ask something that stupid.”

Your friend shrugs at you. “Cause hell is hot?”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

A stone-faced egomaniac, just as much as you were a people pleaser that strived off of sarcasm.

If you thought he was jerk-of-the-year, he thought you're pathetic, and for that reason he paid you special attention. He saw you as this pretentious overachiever that got everyone's approval for a reason he could not understand, either way he refused to understand.

But now you had him caged, tied down, crawling in the dark because of a math problem that you created. It was humiliating for him, but even more so redeeming and amusing for you.

“Is this a trick question? you sure you're not trying to make a fool out of me?” you scoffed at the frustration being hinted in his tone and his mouth moved fast, apparently not as fast as his brain should've been.

“Uh, yeah. I don't like wasting my time —just admit you can't solve it, geez.” the sound of his pencil hitting his desk followed right after you. “Are you mad at me?”

You looked at his face. Not an ounce of expression could be seen from it. This would be the pinnacle of your hatred, how he's just so good at hiding how annoyed he truly was that you could outsmart him, outperform him in oral recitations, that both teachers and students seemed to be so fond of you.

You avert your gaze from him. “What an interesting story it would be, Y/n staring at me.”

Halfway from lowering your head to recheck your equations, your head would snap back at him.

“Don't get too cocky now, the numbers and variables won't solve themselves.” you went back to your paper, expecting to hear not another breath from him.

“So you were staring?”

You held yourself back from cursing right at his face, pulling on the ends of your skirt as you readjust your position. “No, I believe being a smartass would have granted you the ability to conclude that I simply just refuse to acknowledge your bold assumption.”

You heard him scoff. It was such an excruciating sound, like nails against a chalkboard. He wouldn't speak again for another ten minutes, and when he did, he had already snatched your notebook from you.

“Being respectful and asking isn't in your list of attributes?” you retort, but he remained unbothered, flicking through your notebook and dismissing your foreboding stare.

You watched as his eyes scanned through your notes.

“Hmm…” his menacing hum sent shivers down your spine. “No wonder why.” he scoffed again, throwing your notebook into your hands with forgiving force.

He had a smug look on his face that you wanted to wipe off with such pressure that could erase his entire existence.

“You missed a step, miss know-it-all. Try harder next time.”

Your notebook hit the top of his head, exerting all the strength you had left in you. The impact was so loud and potent that he could no longer speak —is what could've happened if you weren't so patient. You're not a child after all, so admitting to your mistakes came easier unlike then. These hostile thoughts would only arise because of how tenacious he could be.

He was right, you missed a step and he saved your project. You would never be in the mood to be thankful, you still wished he could get one of his feet bitten off and not show up in class again. You doubt he was the same with everyone, well, sure, he kept displaying impassiveness towards everyone, but you'd prefer if he'd stay that way and not contest you in anything and everything.

You wished your misery would end at that, but he'd go on about it everyday. It was definitely on purpose, purposely letting you answer first when both of you had your hands raised, and then answering after, giving a much more impactful stand and if it was a bad day, he'd go on to correct you one way or another and oppose your opinions. You've learned to wait for him to finish answering before you raised your own hand. He picked up on it quickly, you should've known, so he'd go all out when answering, not leaving a single detail out for anyone else, especially you.

Both of you were never certain just how much of an effect you had on each other, but it was there and very undeniably so. Your classmates could see it, your teachers were no exception —your teacher's and other school officials being the few he'd spare his enthusiasm.

Nobody knew just how far the two of you would go, but it wouldn't take long until he'd finally pushed your buttons down in place.

“With all due respect Ma'am, Mr. Song and I aren't even friends. I don't think it would make sense for us to copy off of each other's work.” a frown fell upon your face, bracing yourself for whatever Eunseok had to say after shaking his head.

“Ma'am, you must know by now that I would never even attempt such a thing… Miss Y/s/n however…” with slightly knitted brows, the grip of your clasped hands became tighter. “I mean, where's her fair share of well written essays anyways?”

Utter disbelief washed over you. You had a lot to say, a lot of daggers to throw at his chest.

“Miss Y/s/n, got anything to say for yourself?” It took you about eight seconds to have enough courage to look your English teacher right in the eyes.

“I stand by what I said. I did not copy off of anyone.”

At the end of the day, you'd walk out of the teachers' faculty room in tears. However, you'd never let anyone catch you in that state of vulnerability and you'd be out of their sight by the time you broke down.

“Y/n!” it was that stupid voice of his again, now it called for you.

Wiping your tears away, you weakly seek for the cockiness that he'd proudly carry around you. But there was none —he had nothing on him that you could see through your watered eyes.

“Y/n, can we please talk?” the way he grabbed your wrist made your cringe, immediately pulling away before he could even get ahold of you.

“Oh, you wanna talk now? Why didn't you tell her? Why didn't you say that the essay you were holding was not yours?” you tried your best to hold your composure, but halfway into it, your voice cracked and your tears continued to flow.

“Yes, I knew it wasn't mine, but how would I know that it wasn't you who copied whoever wrote that—”

“Are you that fucking shallow? you've been making my life fucking miserable just cause I could do some things a little better than you —you had no reason to hate me —why do you hate me?”

Why did I hate you again? —he searched within the crevices of his mind, “Why wouldn't I when everyone else loves you—”

“Everyone? you know nothing, don't pretend you don't hear others spreading rumors about me.” —the thing is, he never heard them.

He never cared about everyone else, in his world, he had only one nemesis —you, the only one he thought was worth his thoughts, and his precious time.

“I didn't copy, and whoever did that can—” you had to stop yourself from spewing out anything from your jumbled mind. “Get off my back, fuckface.”

He watched as your feet almost stumble on nothing as you rushed out of the school building. The paper he held whilst he humiliated you in front of your teacher was not his. He went back to the faculty room to ask his teacher why he was called in when the paper had no name or class number written on it at all.

“The writing is excellent, I couldn't really think of anyone else capable of this. While Miss Y/s/n does have a lot of potential, the sudden shift of word choice and the incredible transitions between the points were flawless.” Eunseok's eyes grew a little wider.

“But it really isn't mine. I haven't submitted anything yet, I was facilitating an org program all week.”

“Is that so?” the teacher held her chin as she hummed. “Well, we owe Miss Y/s/n an apology, don't we?”

Eunseok nods hesitantly, answering the teacher only in his mind —Only mine, my apology.

“We just have to figure out who submitted that nameless paper.”

“I'm on it.” Eunseok had only mindlessly gotten himself into something he knew he didn't have a knack for.

While he was familiar with the faces he often saw around school, he'd never really waste his time on familiarizing himself with the attitudes, the eyes and the voices. He has friends, but they were all in his org, with the same motivations and skill level as him.

The next couple of days, he'd observe, but would fail to be inconspicuous.

You ignored the eyes that lingered at your direction, you thought he was sick for even daring to look anywhere near you.

He was trying to see who stuck around you, especially when you were at your most useful.

He was lucky when three days later you were assigned to conduct a trio experiment project on microbiology. The one that seemed to be your best friend was pulled into another group, while two other girls who he'd never seen you hang around with as often would pull you to them.

“You're ours!” The pitchy exclamation from one of the girls inflicted pain to Eunseok's ears.

He fanned his apprehension away to the people who dared to approach him and slowly made his way to you, walking closely behind you as you exited the classroom after briefly greeting your groupmates.

You could feel his lanky figure following you, but you were persistent.

“Y/n.” his conceit would shatter when you continued to walk as if he was just a lone spirit cursed to follow you.

When you were near the library, he swiftly got in front of you, blocking the door. You rolled your eyes at him, turning your feet around to go back, to where? —you didn't have anywhere else to be.

“Where are you going?” His question halted your steps.

You finally faced him, mimicking his stoicism. You didn't answer, he didn't deserve an answer.

“There'll be one duo for the project since there's forty-two of us.” you just stood there and waited for him to speak again. A scoff almost broke out of you when you watched the movement on his throat as he gulped in search of his next words. “Be with me.”

He picked the wrong words and it shuddered your core, he saw it, looking into your eyes as he added with haste, “Be my partner for the project.”

His heart sinks, seeing your eyebrows nearly touch each other. “Did you seriously think I'd even consider it?”

You shook your head, moving towards the door behind him making him move aside warily. You were sane enough to not slam the door at him, and after all you were entering a library. Shh —at that point you had no idea if the librarian had shushed you or if it was just the voices in your head. I hate him, he's just another jerk.

All he had to say was he had already talked with the teacher, and that he's helping —or offered doing all the work himself in finding the culprit responsible for your misfortune. The affliction could've easily been avoided, he was only now starting to realize how much of an asshole he was three days ago.

Everyone loved you —loved was in the past, people would prove to be ever-changing.

“I'm really not surprised she plagiarized, she's such a try-hard.” it was meant to be a whisper, but Eunseok could hear it, finally.

“I know right? is it that hard to admit that Eunseok is better—”

“Shh! he's right there!”

He'd only subtly shake his head at their lax attempts to keep quiet, it seemed as if they wanted him to hear. He felt small under their disparaging mouths. They were all way below him, but somehow they've evoked his frailty with running gossips.

The cluster of students would flinch at the loud sound of his chair's feet grinding against the floor as he stood.

Without facing them, he spoke, “She didn't plagiarize anything, she's better than all of you, better than…” his eyes shifted from ahead of him to the floor beneath him. “...me.”

And he could only say so because you weren't there to defend yourself, even then, you wouldn't have the strength to speak up against them.

He'd run into you on his way out of the classroom, and he would stand there and stare into the empty hallway as you walked past him with your headphones on and textbooks in hand.

He hoped you would see it —he had left you a note under your desk. Be my partner (please?) ;It had a drawing of keroppi, you grew to despise that character. You'd always see it doodled around his notes, and that time you were in the same group for a mosaic project where he had sketched the frog in pencil on multiple spots of your worksheet.

“Keroppi is cute, you should accept his offer.” you almost gagged at your friend —Yunjin's suggestion.

“No, after what he did? Why should I?” Yunjin shrugged at you.

“Maybe he has something to say, maybe he might even apologize.” you avert your eyes from your laptop, giving yourself a second, and more to think.

Apologize? him? with that inflated ego of his he might as well just tell everyone I plagiarized his work. —you vigorously shook your head. “He wouldn't.”

Scrolling through an article in your laptop, your eyes glided over an ad that read, Looks tough? look again., the image of Eunseok's dismay flaunted by his usually stoic face flashed in your mind. You swore you have never seen him that way before.

He had never raised eyebrows at you or looked at you for more than ten seconds. You both held the same high regard for your time, and for as long as you've started this enclosed war with him, you've had this unspoken vow to never waste a minute of your time on each other unless it was necessary for you to accomplish your goals.

“Well, are you really going to group up with Yuri and Ahra? they've been milking you like a cow.” you chuckled despite your friend's genuine worry.

“Well what can we do? They need us.” you watched Yunjin shake her head at your response, a bitter smile spreading across her lips.

You had no choice. You would definitely tell your teacher if they had no contributions, but they tried.Most of the time their work would be utter garbage, but as the assigned leader for every group work and a renowned top student, you were obligated to put up with their shit and correct every mistake and redo it if it was completely useless.

It's this aspect of yours that Eunseok could never compete with, more of a reason for him to despise you. You could easily talk your way in and out of your classmates' favor, and he thought it was unfair.

Was it your stupid smile? your gaze so sweet it could kill a man? nonetheless, it was unjustifiable. You can't just be perfect.

He knew you weren't perfect, that you still made errors. When he read the copycat of the essay you made for yourself, he could tell it was definitely yours. The copy was plagiarized word for word, technically he was reading through your very essay. There was an overlooked grammar error, you missed a word in one of the sentences of your conclusion.

For a minute, he loathed the chuckle that escaped his mouth when he spotted that error. It was very unlike him and he noticed a few of his classmates looking at him like he was an extraterrestrial. Ridding of his immersion, he swiftly folds the paper he was reading, hiding it under his desk.

You were so flawed, yet he hated you for being perfect.

“Hate's a strong word.” Eunseok didn't even dare to look at Shotaro as he spoke.

His left leg was restless, bouncing up and down continuously putting it to an abrupt stop as he replied, “Yeah. So, maybe it's not hate.”

As much as he'd like to deny, he knew he fixated on you —your best qualities— as much as he did his studies. Perhaps it was envy, but it wasn't like he tried ousting you from everyone, he would only watch from a distance whilst you connected with others, and he disconnected himself from the world, too preoccupied with the thought of you. Sure, he could never stare at you, but your image in his mind was crystal clear. So it must be jealousy. But was he really jealous of you, or the people you chose to be involved with?

──────────﹒★﹒﹒──﹒﹒★﹒──────────

School hours have ended, the bell rang and it was soon followed by heavy chattering and some laughter. You could also hear some pained groans, must be because of piling deadlines —you thought as you walked past the rambling crowd.

You are one amongst those who had no time to wander outside of school perimeters for trifling activities like hanging around. You had responsibilities, responsibilities that did not stray far from your academics, responsibilities that kept you busy and distracted from the sorrows of your life.

“Y/n! hi! I was wondering…” you turned around, being met with the pretty-faced Yuri and by the look in her eyes and her disheveled cheer uniform, you already knew her purpose of approaching you. “I'm really busy with cheerleading these days, we have a big recital coming up. I was just wondering if you could help me with our oral comm project.”

Busy? busy fucking the jocks? —you hid your hostility behind a lenient smile. “Yeah, sure. Will do.”

“Thanks so much!” you yelped when she had —almost aggressively— pecked your cheek before she ran out of the school building.

Well, the help was only writing a five-page transcript accompanied with unfabricated evidence that you could only hope she'd study for her own sake. You couldn't really say no. You didn't play a major part in the student body org or the literary club, and you were still not accepted in the journalism team. There was no way you could say that you were busy too.

Taking another step, you feel a tap on your shoulder. Three quick taps, whoever it was, you felt their aggression falter in between those taps. You turn around again, thinking it might be Ahra.

“You saw the note, right?” an exasperated sigh leaves your lips.

“The groups are finalized. Find another partner.” you spoke as you turned your back against him, your tone was a mimicry of his.

“But…” you halt your steps. Pathetic. —you thought he sounded pathetic, and it was amusing, somehow made you want to hear whatever he had to spew.

“But I want you.” When he saw you shake your head and continue to shun him, he promptly added, “We need to talk, please.”

You were already out the door. It was like a scene in a drama, a very melancholic scene.

For the first time in Eunseok's life, he'd feel like he made the biggest mistake of his life.

“Oh, sorry!” he kept his eyes straight ahead when Yunjin bumped into him.

He watched you through the glass, as Yunjin ran after you with a query, “Is he asking you to be his partner again?”

You sigh again, weakly nodding your head. You felt his gaze through the glass doors, instinctively, you looked back. He was at a great distance from you, but you could see his apologetic eyes. Still, you refused to accept them, shying away from his stare as your subconscious drives you to grab Yunjin by the wrist and pull her away with you.

Writing an argumentative essay is nothing for you, but why can't you just say it? —he was frustrated with himself, his misguided words, his hesitancy. All he had to say was, I spoke to our teacher about your essay, we're trying to find out who did it. I'm sorry. —just as simple as that.

He kept his eyes on his feet as he walked to the bus stop, vanity hanging low, wondering when he should try again. If he were to do so, he must do it soon.

──────────﹒★﹒﹒──﹒﹒★﹒──────────

You had left your study music playing as you rushed back to your classroom to grab your favorite pen. It was the best pen, the best brand that fit your handwriting. It made your writing look effortless and pretty, and you hated when you'd use another pen that makes your writing look like you missed all writing days in kindergarten.

Before you could reach your classroom though, you were stopped by your English teacher. You almost flinched thinking she'd still have this condemn attitude towards you.

“Hi Miss Y/s/n, i'm sure Mr. Song had already told you about, you know, the essay.” she looked expectant, but you were still clueless.

“Oh, Ma'am, I actually haven't heard anything from him.” —anything other than his constant, piteous pursuits of having you as his partner.

“Oh, I thought he would've told you by now —well, anyways…” your teacher holds on to your forearm, moving the both of you aside, out of the way of passersby. “We're trying to find out who plagiarized your work, Mr. Song has offered to help as an apology.”

Your eyes widened by itself, shifting and blinking to the melody of your teacher's short hum. “I have three leads, two of them might've not passed their essays yet —and one is the culprit. A Joo Yuri, Choi Jiung, and Matthew.” you nod along with your teacher's words.

It's Yuri again. —you knew all too well.

“Make sure to inform Mr. Song about this too, I apologize for my inconsiderate assumptions.” she holds your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze as she finishes speaking.

You nod hazily, his name still blurry to your auditory canals, “Will do Ma'am.” your utterance was faint, like you were going to break down into a sob.

Your teacher leaves you a small hug before walking away.

You clear your throat to no one, almost forgetting why you were there, where you were supposed to be. Why didn't he say anything? —was all you could think about as you made small steps to your classroom. Maintaining your pace, you went to your desk, looking and feeling for your pen, but it wasn't there when it should be. You had one knee making contact with the ground, you remained still next to your chair, unsure of where else to look. It wasn't like you constantly shifted places in the classroom, even during vacant times you were always just sitting pretty on your seat.

You stood up after another minute, and there you saw him from the corner of your eye. He was only two seats behind you, the image was blurry in your peripheral vision, but you knew he was looking at you. You pretend to fix your uniform, fingers clumsily gliding through your shirt's collar and tugging your skirt down a bit. With a quiet sigh, you would turn your back against him again, but instead of lifting a foot and head back to the library, you just stood there.

He hoped you had a reason for not moving as fast as you'd usually be, one that would lead you to finally accepting his offer. He was obviously oblivious to the fact that you already knew about his personal little mission, so when you rushed near his desk and said, “Wait for me by the drinking fountain near the exit.” the distinguished fire that he had in soul would form sparks.

His hopeful eyes watched your figure hurry out of the classroom. He knew you'd ignite his flame again, and with an unspoken promise to himself —and to you, he'd grow to treat you as his equal.

He took anxious steps to meet you later that day, he still wasn't so sure if you had called him there to slap some sense into him or not.

He'd be a few meters away when you spot him, keeping your gaze at him as he got closer. When he finally stood in front of you, your mutual eyes would meet. It was the closest he'd seen your eyes, and it reflected his own. It was overwhelming for him, and he'd look down to the floor at his right.

“I'll be your partner.” he snaps his head back up to meet your expectant gaze.

His eyes were the widest you've seen them, you almost wanted to laugh. You tried your best to keep the corners of your lips from rising, but he saw it. It was small and short lived, but it was something worth his own smile spreading across his face.

However, you would never see that smile since you'd left him after two minutes, but the watchful eyes of your school saw —those who knew him for being so aloof wanted to ask him what made him that way when they had never seen him smile like that.

“Won the lottery or something?” Shotaro had come up to him from behind, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Huh? Why'd you ask?” Shotaro only shook his head at him, not minding to explain further.

Eunseok seemed to be indifferent to his own feelings as he'd never realized then just how odd he looked to everyone else, especially Shotaro —who had known him since he transferred, swore he'd never seen him make a face like that.

“You have got to tell me what happened.”

It was a soft urge, but Eunseok gave in so easily, words slipping off his tongue like they've been sitting there, “She said yes.”

Shotaro had to stop him for a moment, confused as to what he was referring to. Did he ask someone out? —then he remembered the little mission that Eunseok had about asking you to be his project partner. It felt like centuries for him to finally succeed, and when he did he still he thought it was all because of his own effort.

The next day however, his theory would be debunked, finding out that your English teacher had beat him to it.

“It's either Yuri, Jiung or Matthew according to Mrs. Cho.” you were clear-cut with your words, giving him a good three minutes to think of what to reply.

You were situated in the school's microbiology lab, seated close enough for the two of you to have a comprehensive conversation as you prepared for the project.

“It should be Yuri, right?” the words that fell from his lips had caused a stagger in your movement.

“What makes you say so?”

“She sticks around you often —during group assignments. She seems so desperate to have you around, and for what? only to make use of you?”

Your eyes lingered at the side of his face, unbeknownst to you, he's been looking at you the whole time when you weren't looking at him. He'd slowly look back at you, a low chuckle escaping his mouth when he saw a speck of shock on your face.

Your eyes only grew wider at the sound of his voice, it was unlike his conceited scoffs, and he did not present himself as usual, there was no arrogance in him it seemed.

“I hope you don't call her your friend. She's not. Friends don't use you, friends don't keep you around because they need you to maintain their B pluses and get a few A's.” his voice had a hint of softness in it, it made you avert your eyes from his.

“I know that. I have a friend —I have Yunjin.” you could see him nod from the corner of your eye.

“That's good, but maybe stop saying yes to those idiotic low-lives.” as harsh as his words were, his tone contradicts them, sounding like a fresh breath of air on a summer night.

You stared at the poster at the other end of the room, a poster about culturing. You two were like pathogens, slowly growing to understand each other.

He'd keep the image in his head. He could only see one side of your face, but it was enough for him to see your eyes softening as you zoned out, still refusing to smile wholly.

Later that day, he walked to the teacher's faculty, straight to Mrs. Cho's desk and he bluntly states, “Joo Yuri, it's Joo Yuri who copied Y/n's essay Ma'am.”

The English teacher would tell him shortly after that she'd already figured it out since the two other leads had already passed their essays earlier that day, but she still thanked him —and reminded him to pass his own essay before the end of the week.

He'd finally rid of the needle stuck in his mind, it was just that now, he'd find himself a different reason to stick around you.

──────────﹒★﹒﹒──﹒﹒★﹒──────────

Yuri and Ahra had seated themselves with you and Yunjin in the cafeteria, confused as to why they were now grouped with some other brainlet and not you. You would carry on to explain to them why as you ate your food, but Yuri would interrupt, “Isn't it unfair for you and Eunseok to be in the same group?”

And Ahra would butt in. “Tell me about it, like, share some brain cells guys.”

You and Yunjin exchanged looks with each other, and your friend would subtly shake her head.

“You know what, we could've asked Eunseok first. He's not only really smart, he's like, really cute too.” you softly bit the inside of your cheek, suppressing a scoff as you listened to Yuri babble on about your project partner.

“Yeah? Do you fancy him now?” you ask with a slight laugh.

“Well, yeah. There's no way a little touch won't break him out of his shell.”

You and Yunjin would exchange looks again, this time visibly disgusted.

There was no way Eunseok would fall for someone like her, right? But he was just another guy, and guys are so unpredictably predictable, if that even made any sense.

In a span of a few days, you would walk in the classroom seeing Yuri seated next to Eunseok, almost squishing herself into him. You'd meet eyes with him, and you'd immediately look away, almost rolling your eyes as you walked to your seat.

Once you were seated, you'd hear them converse, or more accurately, here Yuri ramble as Eunseok gave her the driest replies you've ever heard.

“You should tutor me, you know. I feel like you could make me a better student. Maybe we can hang out at your place? study? or anything else you have in mind?”

“I don't do commissions and my family doesn't welcome strays.” Your back faced them so they couldn't see you holding back your laughter as you quietly sat and listened, pretending to read something in your textbook.

The bell rang minutes later, you remained seated watching everyone else run out of the classroom to get lunch or go on about whatever they had to do before you got up yourself. When you stood up, you felt a slight nudge. It was Yuri, she held out a tiny piece of paper with what you could only make up as numbers —a phone number in Eunseok's handwriting. “I got him.” she whispers, wearing a smug smile after.

You waited for her to disappear from your sight before you shook your head. It wasn't impossible for Eunseok to not give in to her, she's pretty, she's skinny, her hair is healthy, so why not right?

When you had tidied up your space, you turned around to make your way to the door, only to be met with him. It's been more than ten seconds when he realized you were looking right into his eyes, and he'd shy away for a bit before finding your gaze again.

“What happened to saying no to low-lives?” an innocent chuckle left your mouth as you spoke.

“Oh, that? it wasn't my number.” he smirked, glancing at the ground for a short while. “I saw it on a flyer for pest control.”

You almost guffawed at what he said, but you maintain your composure. “That's too bad, I thought you'd consider tutoring her.” you started taking steps to the door, and he'd follow closely behind you.

“Me? tutor her?”

“Well, yeah. She's a pretty girl. You could ask every guy in this school and they'll tell you they'd hit.”

You two were already out of the classroom, walking side-by-side as you made your way to the cafeteria. It was silent for a while, until he spoke again to reply,

“Maybe that's true, but I'd rather have you than her.” he said, almost in a laugh.

It wasn't quite clear to you what he meant, but you assumed it was just his way of telling you that he'd prefer an intellectual over someone who's just in for play. You two would part ways once you've stepped foot in the cafeteria, giving each other one last glance before heading your separate ways.

A playful grin greets you when you sit down next to Yunjin who says, “You seem happy today.”

“I do?” it was a genuine question, but Yunjin couldn't help but laugh at you. “What?”

“I see you got yourself a new best friend.” she would then wiggle her brows and point at Eunseok's direction with her head.

“He's not.” a smile would creep up to your lips, shaking your head at the same pace you spoke.

“Well, you two were definitely not fighting. That has got to count for something.” you would end up quietly laughing with her.

You couldn't tell if it was just the pity he felt for you that one fateful day at the teachers' faculty room, or if it was something in the air —perhaps something you had said to him that had led him to take a second look. Hate is a strong word, and when he'd look at you again, he knew it wasn't hate, nor resentment. Maybe it wasn't the others' favor that he yearned for —maybe it was yours.

do you want to stargaze with me?

> yes <33

> no :(( (thanks for reading!)

#riize #riize au #riize fanfic #briize #riize x reader #riize fluff #riize eunseok #song eunseok #riize imagines #songfic #spotify

87 notes · View notes