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gghostwriter · 4 months ago

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One Single Thread of Gold

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times Penelope tries to solve a Spencer Reid riddle and the one time she (and the team) meet the reason behind all the changes Trope: Fluff! Just fluff and team banter! w.c: 4.0k a/n: For some reason, my earlier post on this disappeared dunno why. But this is a very self indulgent fic as reader’s background is basically based on the industry I work in. I had a lot of fun writing the team banter and I hope you enjoy it too! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗

The first clue presented itself on a dull Wednesday night as the team, minus Hotch and Rossi, were leaving the bullpen after a full day of pushing papers. Penelope in all of her sunshine and colorful glory was buzzing about these accessories that she once spotted on a storefront window.

“I saw a pair of earrings and a matching necklace that would look so good with that top you bought the other day, JJ. You know, the blue one with those soft sleeves—they would look great with it. It’s tres boho chic.”

JJ smiled, opening her mouth to reply, but Spencer beat her to it.

“Did you know that boho chic was actually a response to political and social movements?”

“Wait, what?” Emily interjected.

He took her disbelief as a sign to continue on. “Yeah, yeah. There’s an article written about it in Vogue—softness and femininity historically appears in moments of political stress and war. Just like in the 70s with the hippie and anti-war movement that defined their style as a generation.”

They all piled into the elevator and turned to face the boy genius like he grew another head. For all they knew, this could be a clone and a very bad one at that. The Spencer Reid that they knew had absolutely no interest in the realms of fashion.

Penelope was the first to break the silence. “Vogue?”

“Kid, what gives? Just the other time, you didn’t know how many shoes a woman owns and now you’re some kind of expert?” Derek asked with both eyebrows raised.

“Did not knowing activate some kind of button that made you want to read about it?” Emily added on, feeling like she was in some kind of TV prank show.

“What?” Spencer licked his lips, nervous with all the attention on him. He felt like he was about to slip something up that he had been keeping to himself for a while now. A hidden precious gem that was you. “I—I like to read.” A believable excuse except his voice went up an octave, giving him away.

The three women shared a look.

“But you read academic textbooks and classic literature,” JJ stated.

Penelope added on. “Not fashion magazines.”

He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “I don’t discriminate when it comes to reading. If it’s interesting—” he shifted his weight one side to another, thinking that the ride down on the elevator seemed to be taking slower than usual. “—I’ll read it.”

Penelope narrowed her eyes. She was no profiler but she could smell a lie from a mile away way. That wasn’t the whole truth. Dr. Spencer Reid was hiding something.

“Okay, see you tomorrow!” he squeaked out as he ran out of the elevator once it hit the lobby.

She turned to the three profilers, stunned with the boy genius’ erratic behavior. “Huh, did anybody else get the feeling that Spencer was hiding something?”

“Maybe, but the kid does read a lot. Maybe he just ran out of books.” Morgan shrugged.

The other two profilers tilted their heads and slowly nodded in agreement. It wasn’t far off on something Spencer would do. He did once pick up a pamphlet in the airport to read as mentioned before to her by Derek, granted it was for a case but still, Penelope couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else.

So when she arrived home that very same night, she propped up her laptop and got to digging. Boy Genius was hiding something big and Little Miss Oracle of Quantico can find anything with her tech skills. She’ll get to the bottom of this mystery, once and for all.

———

Spencer was glad to be coming home to your presence. Having spied the lights still on from the outside of the apartment, he took the steps two at a time, excited to see his 2nd favorite person after his mother—you.

“Spence?” You called out, having heard the mahogany front door open. “Is that you, baby?”

“Hey, love. I missed you,” he deposited his satchel to the nearby sofa and ran to give you a hug.

You burrowed yourself into his arms. All the muscles in your body relaxing as you caught a whiff of his cedar wood perfume—the same scent you’ve gifted to him during the early stages of dating. “I missed you too. How was your day?”

“Better now with you,” his words coming out muffled as he refused to detach himself from the embrace. “Actually, I almost slipped up today.”

You extricated from his arms to give him an inquisitive look. The slight scrunch on your nose and raised brows made his heart flutter. How expressive, free, and trusting you were. It reminded him of your first encounter. How you teasingly asked him if he was a serial killer when he offered you a ride home in the pouring rain and how you easily accepted regardless.

“Yeah? Did any of them catch on?” you probed as you pulled him by his belt loops to the direction of the bedroom.

He laughed, finding your aggression cute. “No. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Maybe we should schedule dinner with them sometime,” you coyly suggested as you slowly started to unravel his tie. “I mean, we’ve been together for over a year now and I have moved into your apartment, under the guise of watering your plants while you’re away. Which is a lie, by the way—”

“I have plants!” he protested. His hands divesting you out of his sweater, bringing to view his favorite silk set in deep purple that accentuated your skin and the blush on your cheeks.

“—that I brought over, Spence,” you quipped back. “But don’t worry, I won’t spill how the intelligent FBI agent fooled naive me into moving in with him.”

There was a glint in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine. “Love, I wouldn’t exactly call you naive—” his voice going an octave lower. “—not when you’re looking at me with those tempting eyes of yours.”

Giggling, you leaned in for a kiss, one that he quickly took over. His calloused dominant hand wrapped around the back of your neck, effectively caging you in while his other cradled your cheek—a stark contrast to the other. Kissing Spencer had always felt like a religious experience that you never want to part from.

Reluctantly pulling away, you caught glimpse of his need for you. His hazel eyes now dark as ink, nostrils slightly flared, teeth sinking into his lower lip, and his dominant hand dug into the fleshy nape of your neck. It made you feel desirable, like the goddess that he would call you when he’s on his knees tasting nectar from the source.

The discussion of inviting the team out for dinner was long forgotten. No other words were spoken as you pushed him on the bed—only the cries of his and your name and moans of ‘yes’ echoed well into the night.

***

The second clue was uncovered when Spencer walked into the cold windy bullpen with new black cardigan adorning his lithe body. It was non-descriptive to the untrained eye but for fashion enthusiast Penelope Garcia, she knew what those four white lines on the sleeve meant—luxury label and priced well above their pay grade.

She narrowed her eyes. The Spencer she knew wouldn’t dare spend his salary on anything besides limited first edition books. Something was truly up and she planned to get to the bottom of it as her initial online search turned up nothing.

“Reid, that’s a really nice sweater,” she complimented, throwing in her bait.

He smiled. The thought of who gave it to him warmed his heart. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks Garcia.”

Her sparkly pink kitten heels clacking on the floor as she came closer. “Can I see it?” she innocently asked.

The request threw Spencer off the loop but thought nothing of it as he shrugged and handed it to her—still warm from body temperature.

Her squeals caught the attention of the other profilers filling into the office.

“What is it, baby girl?” Morgan deposited his bag on the table and stationed himself beside her. “It’s Reid’s new sweater. Are you seeing something I’m not seeing?”

Garcia rolled her eyes. This was why females are considered more observant that their sex counterpart. Her chocolate thunder was a profiler but how could he not notice what she was deducing?

“Huh,” Emily surmised. “Based on the fibers, it’s definitely not polyester. Possibly a 100% wool, what do you think, JJ?”

“It says here on the tag—100% virgin wool,” she read out loud. “That makes it very expensive, right Garcia?”

The colorful tech analyst smiled. Her girls could never let her down. “Right you are, girlfriends! But it’s not only that, this—” pointing at the four stripes on the sleeve. “—this is a signature Thom Browne detail. Their prices go up to at least 600 dollars—” they all turned to Reid who seemed clearly agitated. “—now why does our boy wonder have a piece that could buy at most five cute heels?”

With his vast intellect, he couldn’t think of a way to weasel out of this impromptu interrogation. He couldn’t very well say that it was a gift now could he? If he did, that would lead to another hard hitting question ‘from who?’ He raked his hand through his curly hair, taking the same path as yours did just earlier as you gave him a kiss goodbye.

When you gifted him the cardigan from your last New York business trip, he really thought nothing of its material equivalence, besides feeling grateful and loved. It was proof that you paid attention to even the littlest details about him.

“Hey Spence, I got you something,” you looked up at him with sparkling eyes. The first thing you had done when you got home was run into his arms. A simple act that healed his aching heart from missing it’s other half.

You reached into your luggage, enthusiastically pulling out the black clothing wrapped in tissue paper like some magician pulling out a rabbit from a hat. “Here you go!”

“A new sweater!” He exclaimed.

You rocked on your heels, looking bashful as you explained the reasoning behind it. “I noticed you fidgeting when you wore the cardigan JJ gifted you last Christmas, the polyester fibers used on it must have been really itchy so I got you a new one—” your eyes widened at how your explanation could be taken the wrong way. “—not that her gift wasn’t great! No, it was very cute! It’s just—I want you to be comfortable and protected during your cases in cold states. Polyester is a good insulator of heat but wool is still the best.”

He loved how unabashed you rambled about your interests. That was one of the first things he piqued his notice. How you liked to share your knowledge about the fashion industry that you work for but never coming across as stuck up or snobby, you just genuinely wanted to educate anyone who had a wrong perception of the billion dollar commerce. Admittedly, he was one of them but hearing you rave about it’s nitty-gritty details and socio-economic movements changed his mind. It also helped that a beautiful and intelligent woman, such as yourself, was educating him.

He pulled you in for a kiss, stopping all the worries that ran through your head. “I love it. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing at all, baby. I like taking care of you. Just like how you take care of me,” you reasoned. “Plus I got it on sale courtesy of the magazine connections.”

A tap on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie. It was Penelope with an eyebrow raised at the subtle smile that graced his face while he replayed the moment in his head.

“Okay,” Morgan drawled. “What’s got you smiling, Pretty boy?”

“Nothing,” he squeaked out, turning to see Hotch make his way across the office. Spencer hurriedly collected his things and started to move even before their unit chief could call their attention.

“We have a case,” Hotch announced.

The remaining BAU members all looked at each other, silently communicating about Reid’s irregular demeanor, before piling into the conference room for another grueling scene of murder.

“He’s been acting weird,” Garcia rushed out. “Definitely hiding something. What do you think, Em?”

Emily nodded. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“A girl?” JJ guessed.

“Yes, must be a special one for him to keep secret for so long,” Garcia surmised. “Do you think he’ll hate it if I go further digging around to find out who she is?”

“Further?” Emily clarified.

JJ laughed. “Probably, let’s wait for him to volunteer the information. Okay, Garcia?”

She sighed, shoulders drooping, before nodding in agreement.

***

The third clue was quite literally handed to Penelope Garcia on the jet after a case when she accompanied the team.

“Cold Alaska is so not good for my skin,” she grumbled as she rummaged her bottomless bag for her favorite hand cream. “I love going with you all on trips rather than being stuck in my own tech cave but the weather wasn’t it.”

Morgan chuckled. “Aw c’mon baby girl, don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy our time together?”

“You, my sculpted hunk, and the fireplace were the highlight,” Penelope turned to the other female profilers. “My beauties, do any of you have lotion? I think I lost mine.”

Before JJ or Emily could even utter a word, a tube made its way to her lap courtesy of her seat mate, Dr. Spencer Reid.

“Reid, since when do you carry lotion?” Emily inquired.

He shrugged. “Hand cream has it’s benefits besides from moisturizing the skin, it also provides an additional layer of protection. Depending on it’s properties, it can also repair and undo damage.”

The females all shared a look. This was another unexplainable behavior from their resident genius.

“We know that,” JJ stated. “We just thought you didn’t.”

His brows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, besides from the fact that you’ve never shown interest about skincare before, isn’t it a stereotype for men not to know? Unless—” Emily slyly smiled and nodded at Garcia to continue.

“Unless you have a girlfriend that we don’t know about,” Garcia bounced on her seat.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Spencer’s eyes widened in alarm. He didn’t realize he was walking into a trap before it was too late. “What makes you say that?”

They laughed.

JJ started. “Besides from you suddenly being knowledgeable in fashion—“

“—or having a pricey sweater you’d never buy for yourself—” Emily added on.

“Or, or—“ Garcia reached out to touch his hand. Which made Spencer react with a high pitched call of her name. “—having a shea butter lotion with rough hands!” She waved the tube up in the air. “Plus, this is half empty. So either it’s not working which I doubt since this is a good brand or you keep this in your bag for a special someone to use!”

Derek chuckled. “Baby girl, you could be a profiler at this point.”

“Oh tell me something I don’t know,” she quipped back. “So Reid, want to tell us the truth?”

He sighed, finding no escape. “Yes, yes I have a girlfriend.”

The girls all shrieked with laughter and their own corresponding questions of who is she? How did you meet? How long has this been going on? What does she do for a living? Is she pretty? Oh I bet she is!

“Looks like that cat is out of the bag,” Rossi nonchalantly stated.

Four sets of eyes turned to look at one of the BAU founders. “Rossi, you knew about this and didn’t tell me?” Garcia gasped, a hand to her chest at the thought of betrayal.

He laughed. “I caught them on a dinner date once and our boy wonder over here—“ nodded in Reid’s direction. “—begged me not to out him yet, said he wanted to be the one to tell the team the news but that was like what, six months ago?”

“Six months ago?” Emily repeated.

“Wait, wait. Hotch, don’t tell me you also knew?” Morgan asked.

The unit chief smiled. “She was added to Reid’s emergency contact last February.”

“February? That’s almost a year ago!” JJ sputtered out.

The tech analyst turned to glare at the youngest member of the BAU. “Reid, you better start spilling all the details or so help me, I will stalk all your digital footprint when we land until I find out who she is, where she lives, and what her deepest darkest secret is.”

“What about hearing it all from her, instead?” He rubbed the back of his neck. The secrecy had gone on for so long and there was no time like the present to introduce his chosen family to his chosen partner—hopefully until the end of time. “She wants to treat you all out for dinner tonight.”

All four nodded vigorously as they watched him pull out his phone and send a quick text to which you readily replied and agreed to.

“My man,” Derek sighed. “Can’t believe you got a girlfriend without me being your wingman.”

“Answer me at least this, is she pretty and does she make you happy?” Garcia asked. No matter how nosey she may be, she only wanted the best for Spencer and if the recent lightness and smiles were all caused by his mystery girlfriend, she already approved.

“The prettiest,” Spencer gushed out. “She’s my own personal sunshine.”

The three girls melted into their seats. Their youngest was all grown up waxing prose over his lover.

“She makes you sappy too,” Derek teased.

***

[EXTRA - When the mystery was uncovered]

Spencer had never felt any more nervous that this moment as he, with the rest of the team minus Hotch and Rossi, wait for your arrival. He sat with his back to the restaurant entrance and his cardigan laying on the empty seat beside him as a reservation mark. His eyes had been going back and forth to his idle phone and to the conversation the team was having.

Morgan noted his state of distress and chuckled. “You okay there, lover boy? She’s still coming right, your mystery girlfriend?”

“Yeah, yeah. She said she was on her way 9 minutes and 24 seconds ago and based on the route and traffic, she should have been here 45 seconds earlier. Just worried that something might have happened.”

Penelope leaned in, picking on her bubblegum pink choice of drink as she did. “You know, if you just told me her name I could have tracked every movement by now and you wouldn’t be sitting here worrying.”

“What—no Garcia, I don’t want her tracked plus she didn’t want you to know everything about her even before meeting her,” his voice going up an octave in your defense.

She shrugged. “I’m just saying. I mean we don’t know a single thing about her—”

“We do know she exists and you’ve been together for almost a year now,” Emily interjected.

“Actually, it’s been more than year—one year and 124 days to be exact.”

“Buttercup, all I’m saying is we don’t even know how she looks—” Garcia gasped, having spotted a passerby on the window and what she was wearing. “Oh my gosh, that maroon coat is to die for and that textured leather bag—I wonder if I could track her down and ask where she got it.”

“Oh she’s pretty,” JJ noted.

Derek smirked. “Baby girl, tell me if you plan to ask her ‘cause I wouldn’t mind asking for her number.”

The tech analyst’s eyes further widened as she noted the attractive woman going inside the restaurant.

“You weren’t kidding about that coat, Garcia, it looks really nice,” JJ appraised.

Emily squinted her eyes, taking note of the garment in question. “It looks high quality, probably vintage and—is she going near us?”

“Oh gods, she is! Act natural, act natural!” Penelope chanted as she repeatedly slapped Derek’s arm.

The stranger stopped behind Spencer. “Hey handsome,” your melodic voice was a siren that called to his every being. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Penelope’s jaw dropped as she took in Derek’s flustered reaction.

“Me?” He pointed at himself, getting picked up in such a public setting was new even for him—the ladies man of the BAU.

You laughed. “Well, you too but I was more of talking to this lover of mine—“ you bent down, kissing your boyfriend’s cheek. “Hey, Spence.”

A series of gasps were heard all around the table.

The youngest stood up and turned to give you a soft kiss on the lips. “Hey, Y/N. I was starting to get worried.”

“I missed the train, sorry I forgot to send an update,” you explained as he helped you into your seat.

Promptly seating back down, he angled his body to yours—all attention on you as if you were the only one in the room. And in a way you were, with how molten his doe eyes stared, alternating between yours and your painted lips that begged to be kissed.

He always felt breathless when you were near. It was as if he found his very own Aphrodite to worship here on earth. Spencer was no believer of fates or destiny but he would pray and light a candle if he needed to, just to keep you his. Your intelligent mind complimenting his, your outgoing personality that draws anyone in, and your face that could launch a thousand ships.

Those eyes that could read the deepest crevices of his fiber of being. Those cheeks that begged to be caressed by his calloused hands. Those soft lips that deserved to be kissed and devoured until you, in turn, were as breathless as he was. He suddenly wished you both were anywhere else but here—specifically in the confines of the apartment where he was free to express his love, devotion, and adoration until you scream his name and beg him to stop. His hand, having found it’s way to your thigh, squeezed the flesh three times—communicating his promise to have your hair laid around you like a halo as you lay under him, bare and writhing with need.

The blonde on the other end of the table cleared her throat, cutting through the tension.

“Okay, Spence,” she smiled. “Mind introducing us to your girlfriend?”

He brought your hand to his lips, leaving a series of sweet kisses on your knuckle. “This is Y/N, my girlfriend. Y/N, this is the rest of the team. Morgan—“ he gestured to each one. “Emily, JJ, and Garcia.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you!” You exclaimed. “So sorry we’re only meeting now. We wanted to stay in our little bubble for as long as we could plus this handsome FBI agent—” you nudged Spencer’s shoulder. “—wanted to keep me to himself. But where’s Aaron and Dave?”

Emily whispered under her breath. “Aaron? Dave?”

“They had prior commitments, love. They did send their regards and Rossi wants to invite you to the next gathering at his mansion,” Spencer explained.

“Love?” Penelope squeaked out. This was really starting to feel like Twilight zone for the team members.

You nodded. “I’ll definitely plot it on my calendar. Now, I heard you had some questions for me?”

“How’d you two meet?” JJ asked.

“When was the first date?” Emily inquired.

Penelope brought out a pen and paper. “What’s you social security number?”

Derek snorted at that. “Do you have any other siblings?”

Spencer’s eyebrows raised further and further up with each question while your shoulders shook with laughter.

“She has all the time in the world to get to know each of you,” Spencer laid out. “No need to make it sound like an interrogation.” He was wishing to keep you forever, if you’d let him.

You smiled as you caressed his cheek, having caught on to the veiled meaning behind his words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #my own fics

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fireflysummers · 1 year ago

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FireflySummers’ Guide to Arguing Against the Use of AI Image Generators

(AKA I hate AI image generators so fucking much that I published a whole ass academic article on it)

Read the Paper: Art in the Machine: Value Misalignment and AI "Art"

Citation: Allred, A.M., Aragon, C. (2023). Art in the Machine: Value Misalignment and AI “Art”. In: Luo, Y. (eds) Cooperative Design, Visualization, and Engineering. CDVE 2023. Lecture Notes in Computer Science, vol 14166. Springer, Cham. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-43815-8_4

The purpose of the original paper and now this post is the following:

Provide at least one academic article that you can cite. (Full paper + citation available below)

Make explicit community values that have previously been implicit, in order to better examine your own perceptions of the online artist community, and where you sit within it.

Provide rebuttals to common pro-AI talking points, with the intention of shutting down the conversation and reclaiming the narrative.

What this paper and post cannot do:

Act as a sole authority about the online artist community and its values. We are not a monolith, and it is up to you to think critically about what, exactly, you want to take away from this discussion.

Provide a way to convince AI Evangelists that what they’re doing is wrong and bad and needs to stop. You will never convince them. Again, focus on shutting them down and reclaiming the narrative.

Final Disclaimer: I'm a very fallible researcher who is still very much learning how to do academia. I cannot speak for the entirety of the online artist community or fanartist community. We all have different lived experiences. I have done my best to include diverse voices; however if you have concerns or critiques, I am open to hearing them.

If you show up to debate in favor of AI image generators, you will be automatically blocked.

Credits:

Editors, Meme Experts, and Annotators: @starbeans-bags, @b4kuch1n, @cecilioque.

Tutorial Examples: @sabertoothwalrus, @ash-and-starlight, @miyuliart, @hometownrockstar, @deoidesign, @cinnamonrollbakery

If you have read this far, thank you very much. I hope that you have found a constructive lens for approaching the war with AI image generators, as well as a new tool for shutting down debate and reclaiming the narrative.

#anti ai #fuck ai #fuck ai everything #fuck ai bros #anti ai art #ai is theft #ai is a plague #fandom #fandom research #fanart #my academics #that's a new tag for me #long post

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ryozakidesu · 2 months ago

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Yours, Inevitably - l.jn

2/4 diary of the heartbreakers

summary: ➸ ♡ To say that Lee Jeno is pretty would be an understatement. The man's gorgeous. One thing he uses to his advantage, going through college getting girls he spots his eyes on. But there's one he just couldn't get. His brother's bestfriend. You can continue and avoid your feelings for each other, but eventually, it'll happen. You were someone that stayed, a constant in his life. You might not know it, but for the years you've known Lee Jeno, he slowly became yours, inevitably.

"I should've known it was you, because no one else made sense."

GENRE: Angst, Fluff, Humour, Smut

WARNINGS: Minors DNI, Explicit Sexual Content, Language, Slight Alcoholism, Mentions of Drugs/Weed, fuckboy!Jeno, brothersbsf!reader AUTHOR's NOTE: Holy shit, it's done! I was about to pull all my hairs off for this one :// but i can finally say that it's all worth it! I hope y'all are still here. And I really wish y'all would like this story. Enjoy reading!

WC: 18 k (I tried my best)

DISCLAIMER: This story is purely fanfiction. Only the names of the Idols are used, and does not reflect on them in real life. There's no way in any shape of form that they are like this in person, because I MADE IT UP. I don't personally know them. DO NOT STEAL / TRANSLATE / MODIFY. This is my work and I don't appreciate people stealing it. Thank you.

Enjoy reading! -ryo

Lee Jeno is a phenomenon.

Jeno, on the other hand, likes to think he’s just a pretty boy who kinda knows how to dribble.

Maybe he’s not bad in the actual learning part too, maybe he did get an award for the research paper he did on Biochemistry last year. Maybe he won MVP on three consecutive basketball tournaments, making history in his school as the only player to excel in both the sports and academics.

So yeah. He’s a textbook definition of an A-list student that you would totally see in one of the frames along the halls of this very school in about thirty years, with the trophies and accolades he made during his time here.

You wanna hear what’s even more annoying?

He’s hot. And he knows it. Please, he’s so undeniably gorgeous it's starting to hurt.

Unlike his friends, Jeno keeps it on the down-low. Which was surprising because he had every right to be cocky and brag about all of his achievements but he’s the least show-y among his friends.

In Jeno’s defense, he likes to let his performance do all the talking.

Words on the street says he fucks like an incubus, but talks like an angel. He’s proven to be hung, emphasizing the word proven, based on the girls he had walking side to side after he spent a good, long night with them.

But despite all of that, he’s pretty cool and quiet most of the time.

Which is even more attractive. According to a study based on no-actual-facts, girls tend to like the quiet ones more. Especially when they look like a greek god that managed to escape mythology and then learned to be a legend in basketball instead. In simplified terms, girls like Lee Jeno.

Naturally, of course, girls are all over him. That's something really common between the four of his friends, and you're not shocked that Jeno sleeps around-- because he just can. Girls will literally faint in front of him if they could, just to get his attention.

“Don’t make a sound,” he whispered, desperately trying to finish while a girl, known as Jennie, was bent over the counter. His hands covered her mouth, and to be frank, he just want this to be over with.

And of course, in typical fashion, Jennie is also a name most of the students are familiar with. Cheerleading captain, arguably a girl that’s expected to be with him. What makes it so easy, is that this girl is obsessed with Jeno.

Meanwhile Jeno, had no indication of being tied down. He likes hanging out with her sometimes, sure, but the girl’s way too much for him. Jeno likes being lowkey, despite being one of the most famous guy in campus, Jeno preferred to be outside the spotlight.

A couple more thrust, his eyes closed, mind far from the girl bent over in front of him who’s just desperately wanting to pleasure him, Jeno finishes. He murmured a curse, and as soon as the feeling of cumming washes off, guilt starts creeping in his veins as Jennie smiled in satisfaction as she fixes her uniform.

“God, you’re still so fucking good,” Jennie put her hands around Jeno’s neck, biting her lips in hopes to seduce the cold man in front of her.

“Come on, my brother’s gonna be here soon,” Jeno shrugged her hands off, fixing his shirt. He did not even get the chance to take it off, Jennie just went and got what she wanted as soon as she enters the apartment.

Don’t be mistaken tho, Jeno liked having sex, more so with a girl like Jennie. But Jeno’s consciousness can’t help and tell him that he’s stringing along this girl, knowing full well he’s not even one bit interested in pursuing a relationship with her.

Jennie never really cared about what he thinks tho, so that kinds of shaves a bit off of his guilt.

“Call me, okay?” Jennie tried to give him a kiss, but he’s fast enough to dodge it.

Jeno sighed as he walked the girl to the door. And in some wicked timing, his brother opened it, his step stuttering as he saw Jennie, but never minded the fact that the girl is walking side to side. Jisung, his brother, have seen this situation way too much before that it doesn’t shock him anymore.

Another footstep followed behind Jisung, You, not even sparing a glance over him, walking behind his brother. You looked bored, giving absolutely no interest over him or Jennie. He never really got bothered about it before. He’s just wondering when you started ignoring his existence like this.

You were nothing like the girl he witnessed growing up all these years.

The sweet smiles you used to offer him were all gone. The once cute little y/n that he knew were long gone. But what can he do, that’s just how it goes. Right?

People change. And you weren't an exception. But deep inside, Jeno has this unsettling sensation that hunts him at night. This isn’t you. You used to light up the room whenever you walked in. You used to make him believe in butterflies and rainbows and shit, but now, you’re just… there.

Jeno often wonders. But that’s about it. He’s way too much of a pussy to actually read through your chapters that led into this character you have now. So Jeno, the ever so nonchalant, settles in being curious– not concerned in finding answers.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

You were twelve, when you met Jisung.

At first, you’re confused. There’s a new family that moved in next door. It was a common occurrence in your neighborhood, really. In your very-long life experience of twelve years, you’ve seen countless families moving in and out. So you question in your pretty little head why your Mom is way too excited about this next one.

Turns out, the family that will be moving in is your Mom’s best friend. You were twelve, you did not care about your Moms friends like that. Apparently, they’ve been best friends ever since they were five. They just kept in touch all these years.

“I'm Jisung,” the little boy, an inch taller than you, reached out his peculiarly large hands at you.

You felt your Mom nudge you a little bit, so in annoyance, you accepted his hand. “Y/n.”

Both mothers shrieked in excitement, but you were busy trying to examine this boy's hands.

Little did you know, that handshake would lead to years of friendship that you’d forever cherish, no matter how annoying this boy with freakishly large hands is.

“Who’s that?” You ask, still helping Jisung to count all his pokemon cards. You point outside their house, by the courtside next to their pool.

Jisung looks, but rolls his eyes after. “That’s my big brother, Jeno-hyung. He’s obsessed with basketballs.”

Your little twelve year old eyes sparkle, watching the boy shoot hoops around the court.

“Ew, you like boys?!” Jisung, disgusted.

“Your brother isn’t a boy, You’re a boy. He’s a man.” You sigh dreamily in sight of Jeno, making Jisung gag.

“He’s old, like, fourteen. Please, he’s a loser! Playing with balls all day,” Jisung says as he waves his hands in an attempt to distract you from his brother.

“Oh well…” you didn’t let it falter your adoration towards Jeno.

And before you could even watch him longer than you wished, Jisung’s mother called you two in for clubhouse sandwiches, and she made banger sandwiches so you really had to follow up to the kitchen.

You were fourteen, when you realized you had a crush on Jisung’s big brother.

“That’s bullshit, the paranormal movie is full of crap!” Chenle, your new found friend, complains as soon as the movie ends. His high pitched voice woke you up, not even realizing you had slept halfway through the movie.

“Dude, it’s from CCTV footage. It’s definitely true!” Jisung counters, and you just want to go back to sleep again.

The Paranormal Movie was mediocre, and maybe you were just a sceptic, but ghosts just doesn’t do it for you. “Most of these horror films really just depend on jumpscares to be scary.”

“Oh, coming from Miss Little poopy pants over here,”

The room went silence over Jisung’s attempt at a clapback, you and Chenle looking at each other before breaking into a laughing pit.

“Poopy pants? Really?” You say, refusing to believe that Jisung still used that term as an insult.

Jisung, obviously flustered, resorted in grabbing two cushions, one at each hands and started throwing them at the both of you.

“Just get the freaking potato chips downstairs.” Jisung says, specifically to you.

“What? No! I’m not going down there!” You say, as you bury yourself further on Jisung’s bed.

“Because you’re scared?” Chenle, in a mocking tone. You flip him off, to try and cover the fact that you are scared because it’s night time and the lights are off.

“No, ghosts aren’t real. Why can’t Chenle go?” You whine even more.

“He already got the drinks, and this is my house so what I say goes!” Jisung grabbed your wrist and pulled you out of the bed.

And because you like proving your point that ghosts aren’t real, you let out a grunt, stomping your way out of Jisung's room.

Your way down the stairs goes smoothly, the light still being on. But as soon as you turn to the dark kitchen, that’s when it creeps in. Yes, you do not believe in ghosts, but you’d be fooling yourself if you say that being alone in the large empty kitchen didn’t scare you.

“Oh, god.” You whisper to yourself, as you desperately find the chips cabinet. Rummaging through as quiet as possible, but also trying to find it as soon as possible.

But when a noise from the table interrupts the creepy silence, you can’t help but yelp out a scream.

“Oh my gosh!”

You turn your head towards the table, just to find a cute little cat that had lost its way through the big surface.

“Thank God it was just a little cat,” you say in relief, but as soon as you try and step closer to it, a name being called from the stairs can be heard.

“Bongsik-ah!”

So it has a name. Bongsik.

A figure walks down the stairs, obviously, being Jeno.

You immediately fold into yourself, biting your lip as soon as he enters the kitchen.

“What are you doing down here?” He says as he carries the cat off the table and on his chest. It took a couple of seconds for him to look at you, and he smiles.

“Y/n-ie. Do you need something from the kitchen?” His soft voice snaps you from the trance, as he helps you with the chips you were trying to get from the upper cabinet. His body was so close to you as he did so, that you swear you can feel his heart beating.

“Y-yeah.. Just those chips. Thanks.” Your entire demeanor changes when it comes to him.

“Here you go,” He says softly, you wonder if he intentionally talks to you like that, or it’s just how he talks. A little bit inside you likes to believe you’re special and that he does this only to you.

“Thanks, uh– new cat?” You say in the most casual tone you could ever produce.

“Yep, a rescue. Mom brought it home the other day. Jisung freaked,” He chuckles as he looks at the cat, snuggling in his chest.

You awe in sight, wanting to pet the cat but you hesitated at first.

“You can pet it,” Jeno moves his body to yours, to allow you to pet Bongsik. You did so, and when the cat purrs at your touch, you gasp in awe.

“Hi Bongsik,” you say in a whisper, intended for the cat only. But you can feel Jeno smile at you.

“You can visit her everyday, not that you’re not here everyday, but she’s gonna be here starting now..”

“She’s adorable,” you say, still petting the cat in his arms.

“I love cats, any pet really. But cats just really bring out the inner softness in me, y’know?” Him being this close to you feels weird and intimate, but it's not like you hate it. Your heart is practically doing jumping-jacks right now.

You use him focusing on Bongsik as an excuse to look at him, even just a glance.

You get a closer look on his face, the mole he has under his left eye, the thin lips and his perfect nose. In the two seconds you allow yourself to take a peek, you convince yourself that you had his features memorized now.

You can just feel that it’s just gonna live with you forever.

Because as he takes Bongsik away and starts walking back up the stairs, you make a big-girl realization that you do have a crush on Lee Jeno.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

Jeno was woken up by the sound of his phone ringing. It was his brother, Jisung, calling in the middle of the night asking for his keys.

“What do you need my car for?” Jeno, frustrated as he grabs his keys from the night stand.

“My car broke down and Y/N really needs to get home.” Jisung on the other line also sounded like he just woke up. Jeno curses under his breath.

This wasn’t the first time he heard his brother in trouble with you being the main source of chaos. It’s always the same thing. Either you’re black-out drunk, or one of your boyfriends has dumped you on the side of the street.

Over the years, you had changed so drastically it almost gave him a whiplash. You used to be so careful and so paranoid about drinking, waiting until you turn 18 to get a sip of alcohol. And when you did, it’s like you never stopped.

So despite Jeno’s interrupted slumber, he gets up and leaves his shared apartment with his friends, just to wait outside his building for his brother. And surely, just like every other time this has happened before, he finds Jisung standing there in the cold.

“I need my car tomorrow, in pristine condition. One scratch and you’re done,” Jeno, tossing the car keys to his brother.

Jisung didn’t bother to answer, depicting the reality of brotherhood. But before Jisung could leave, Jeno turns to him.

“What happened this time?”

“She’s really–”

“Drunk?” Jeno finishes his sentence, as if he had seen this before. Jisung sighs in agreement.

“--yeah, and Chenle’s drunk too so he can’t drive her back to the apartment.”

“What happened to her? She isn’t really like this, at all.” Jeno dared to indulge in one of his curiosities.

“I’ve been asking the same question, hyung.” Jisung ends the conversation without really answering Jeno’s question, which frustrated him more.

Because of course, nobody really knows what happened. It’s a question he needs to ask you, directly. Only if you didn’t spend the last few years avoiding being on the same vicinity as him, then maybe he could actually talk to you.

“Three seconds left on the clock, Lee, for the three.. He shoots… and bang! Lee Jeno has done it again!”

Jeno thinks it’s getting way too easy for him. Winning at this point just felt like a routine for him. The new normal, it’s just how it goes around him now. Everytime the other team makes a mistake of letting him have the ball, the game ends with Jeno taking home the win.

Honestly, it’s getting pretty boring and predictable.

“That’s my fuckin’ man!” Yangyang, one of his teammates, excitedly hugs Jeno as he entered yet again another victory party for his team. It’s his second one this semester.

“Okay, dude, chill.” Jeno pushes the very drunk Yangyang away, afraid of getting thrown up on.

As he sinks his feet deeper into the party, he starts getting loose. The alcohol hitting the tense spot in his body, reminding him that fuck it, he’s the man of the evening. This party is for him. So why not have fun, right?

The music starts to sound less chaotic and more tolerable, and the people start to get blurry. Weed and alcohol really does the trick, Jeno thinks.

“Jeno, the man of the hour! That game was lit!” Jeno’s not sure who’s this man, but nevertheless, he still smiled at him and let him dap him up. He blabbers more and more about Jeno’s career path in professional basketball but just like always, Jeno just dismiss it.

It’s too early to plan for the future. He’s enjoying what he has now and content on just thinking about what happens today.Tomorrow is tomorrow’s problem, and he can’t be bothered to be bothered about what his future brings.

Some people likes to think they know what’s best for Jeno, and sometimes it does make sense, Jeno getting to the professional basketball league, in tune to what he does best now. But fuck that. Jeno doesn’t want to be in a box full of other people’s expectation of him.

“Jaemin’s not here?” Jeno finds relief to hear Renjun’s voice, one of his very few trusted people. In some way, knowing Renjun was here by his side, it made him feel that he’s okay.

“Yeah.. he’s still locking himself out.” Jeno answers.

Jaemin was his best friend first, and he knows Jaemin well. And for the first time, he knows Jaemin really do need time for himself. This isn’t something Jeno could fix, he knows when to step away. So he lets Jaemin be.

“Haechan?”

Jeno saw Haechan earlier but he’s not sure where he is now. That’s just how he is. He’s probably in one of the rooms upstairs, on his way to ‘pound town’ in Haechan’s terms.

In typical Jeno fashion, he tolerates some annoying congratulations for a bit, give fake smiles and forced handshakes before finding his way to escape the crowd. Although it’s difficult because again, this party is thrown for him and his team, he still finds a way.

And that way has a name. Yunjin.

“Ah, Jeno,”

At the back of the party, there's a huge backyard, large enough that if he’s with this girl fucking around at the very end of it, he’s sure no one will notice. His hands roam freely against the girl, letting her know his full intention. Not like she has no clue, the hands up her skirt gave her enough hints.

“Hmm,” Jeno hums, just to satisfy the girl’s pleas.

But before it gets further, a rustle of the grass made him stop his tracks.

Someone’s here.

“Wh–what happened,” Yunjin was confused as to why he suddenly stopped.

Jeno furrows his brows, and tries to look at whoever was on the back of the big oak tree.

“Sorry! Sorry– fuck, carry on, please!”

The familiar pitch of voice made Jeno move away from Yunjin. He knows who it is behind the tree. And he suddenly has no interest in going home with Yunjin.

You stumbled out of your hiding with a bottle of alcohol on your right hand, your left trying to pathetically cover your eyes as you tried to walk.

Jeno hates it. He fucking hates how drunk you are right now.

“Oh shit, Jeno!” You peek at the gap in your fingers that was covering your eyes, to see him looking at you with a mix of emotion you can’t make out. He’s not angry, but he’s definitely not amused.

“I–,” you burped, “I’m not here..” you followed with a laugh, finding all these hilarious.

“Don’t mind me!” you laugh again.

Jeno murmured a curse. “Yejin, I’m sorry but I need to go,” he says in finality, not even waiting for the girl to answer as he walks straight in your direction.

“It’s Yunjin! Ugh!” The last words he hears from the girl before she stomps away.

He shakes his head as tried grabbing your arm, to help you at least find a stable balance. He grabs the alcohol out of your grasp harshly.

“Hey, what the fuck!” You whined. You tried to chase the bottle, but with his hold on your arms, you failed to do so.

“Y/n, please, fucking stay still. You’re very drunk!” He says in a strict but stable voice, not wanting to rile you up even more.

“Give me it,” You whined again, much softer this time, and with no attempt at grabbing the bottle.

He looks at your struggling figure, eyes almost closing as you stumble against his hold.

“Ah, fuck it,” he curse one more time before propping you off your feet, carrying you in a bridal style.

“Hey, get me– Oh my gosh! Help!” You yell, but followed with a giggle, which made the people around you think that the situation is not something to be worried about. And they know you and Jeno, so him carrying you just makes sense.

He hates this version of you. He hates how this character you have is so far from what he knew you from. He hates that you find comfort in drinking, partying and sleeping with other men. He hates that whatever happened, it completely changed you. He hates that he cares.

“What the fuck are you staring at?” Jeno can’t help but to lash out at some people who gives him and you a judgemental look. He despises people who judge you.

He finds an empty room upstairs, and he puts you down gently. You dress is up to your waist now, so Jeno pulled it down. He opened his phone to text his brother to let him know you’re with him. He knows Jisung will be worried at your whereabouts. He also texted Chenle, to make sure that they know you’re safe.

He grabs a clean washcloth out the bathroom, and soaks it with cold water.

“I’m not… I am drunk.” You say, swaying your head left to right as you lay in the bed, trying to grab at whatever’s the softest around you.

He sat a foot away from you, but still reached his hands to your face to gently caress you with the soaked towel. This might help sober you up.

Speaking of being sober, Jeno entirely forgets that he’s also intoxicated. For some reason, he sobered up. Seeing you in this state made him think that he needed to straighten up and get you out of here.

“What the fuck are you doing to yourself, y/n..” he says under his breath, as he gently brushes the towel on your face. Seeing you deep in sleep now, he sighed.

You used to be so bubbly. You were sweet as honey, as bright as the sun. He still remembers how your eyes lit up every time you would talk to him. As he looks at you right now, it’s still the same features, the soft ones he grew to know, but he knows that once you wake up, you’d be a stranger again.

He sighed in defeat, and stood up. He was about to get water for you, before the door opened.

“Jeno,” It revealed Qian Kun, a man he heard is your boyfriend. Not sure about the boyfriend part, but he’s sure that he hangs out with you a lot these days.

Kun was his senior, basically the smartest man on this campus. Famous for his 5.0 GPA, this Kun guy really is a genius. He used to get notes from him, back when he was writing for his research paper. He had no idea how you two met, but it’s really not his business.

“She was in the backyard, drunk as fuck.” Jeno says, looking at your peaceful figure.

“Alright. I’ll take it from here,” Kun says, walking past him, around the bed to get to your side.

He can hear Kun murmur a pet name as he caresses your hair. Jeno felt the need to roll his eyes.

“Next time, keep an eye on her. If you can’t handle her, maybe you shouldn’t be with her at all.” Jeno didn’t care if he sounded harsh. He needs to let Kun know that you need to be taken care of properly.

“You don’t know her, Lee. So I suggest, keep your mouth shut and mind your own business.” Kun snapped back, standing up to look back at Jeno.

“Oh, I knew her long before you did. But I agree, she’s your business. I just hate to fucking deal with it because you can’t fucking seem to do it yourself.” With that, Jeno walks out the room.

And even if Jeno sounded secure, he can’t lie and say that leaving you with another man didn’t affect him, even just one bit.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

Looks from other people don't budge you at all.

They can stare at you, even whisper some bullshit about you, you really don’t give a shit. There’s nothing they can say that you’ve not said to yourself.

“You really should take it slow with the alcohol, y/n.” The first thing Jisung said as you sat down beside him. You rolled your eyes, and looked at him.

“Not you too,” You say rather exhaustedly.

“Especially me too. I’m your bestfriend and I’m just worried.” Jisung wasn’t the type to give out unsolicited advice, a serious one at that, therefore you sighed.

“It’s college, Jisung. We’re supposed to have fun.”

“Not to a point where other people have to take care of you.” That came out rather harsher than what Jisung had intended, but you really need it. You know it too. You just refuse to believe it.

“You don’t have to take care of me.”

“If not me, then who? You’ve been passed out drunk for the third time this week, y/n. I don’t know what definition of fun you have, but I think it’s not this.” Jisung was scarily serious now. You blink to try and process the seriousness of the situation.

You gulp, realizing that Jisung isn’t in the mood for your snarky comments right now. “Alright, damn. I’ll take it down a notch..” you say and look away from him.

You can’t blame Jisung for acting like this. You know that you’re spiraling down, you just refuse to accept it. In your head, this is just how college life goes. You get drunk, have sex and maybe a little bit of homework here and there. In your head, this is how it should be.

In a fucked up world, it is. But your world is already fucked up. So in a way, it just makes sense. To you.

“You have to get better,” Kun’s words rang in your head.

“This is the best I can, Kun. Chemistry isn’t really my thing,” you turn your homework down at Kun’s table. You were here after class, hoping to get help from Kun.

Despite popular belief, Kun isn’t your boyfriend. You’re too fucked up to commit into a relationship, no matter how good Kun is. Matter of fact, Kun is just the perfect man for that role. You can see yourself going straight with him, like your life might just take a turn for the better.

However, no matter how evil you see yourself as, you’re not that evil to give Kun the burden to have you as a girlfriend. You can’t do that to him.

And you did clarify that to him before sleeping with him. That whatever you have, just had to stay that way. He can’t expect something more. Surprisingly, he agreed. Qian Kun, the guy that has so much credentials because of his undeniable intelligence, the guy who rejected Harvard and Stanford, agreed to have a stupid set-up with a girl that’s one step away from actually losing it. Why?

You have absolutely no idea.

“I’m not talking about your homework, my love.” He says, sighing. You know that sigh very well.

You look at him, your eyes stoic as they can be. “We’re not having this conversation.”

Kun closed his eyes as he let out a deep breath. “You need to have this conversation. Lee Jeno had to carry you upstairs, in front of everyone last night. You were so drunk that you threw up all over yourself and you think that’s okay?”

Oh, so that’s what happened. He had to rescue you. Out of all people, of course it had to be him.

“Look, Kun, I didn’t come here to be judged. I was stupid for drinking that much, I know. But it’s not gonna happen again.” You say matter-of-factly. This is the second time this day that you had to promise to someone that you’ll be drinking responsibly. You feel like everyone is ganging up on you.

“Okay, sweetheart. Okay, calm down.” You didn’t know you were standing up until Kun pulled you from your wrist to sit back down.

Kun smiled at you and kissed your forehead, before sliding your homework back in front of you again and clicking his pen. “Let me see your answers…”

You’re glad he decided to drop the topic, but before you could even say thank you, an aggressive knock on Kun’s office got both of you to look up.

“Y/N! I know you’re in there! Qian, open your fucking door!”

You widen your eyes. “Fuck, it’s Yeonjun!” you say, standing up and grabbing your purse.

Kun looks at you, before looking back at the door. You can tell he had a very concerned face, but as soon as another man’s name fell out of your lips, he knew right away what situation you’re in. He pinched the bridge of his nose due to stress, and stood up.

“What is it this time?” He asks, not that he needed to.

“He’s just… Ugh, I told him we were over!” You say, feeling bad that this situation is happening in front of Kun. The knocks are turning more aggressive.

“Y/N, you slut!” Another loud bang from the door.

“I’ll deal with him.” Kun says. You immediately shake your head in disagreement.

“No! I’ll go. You don’t need to–”

“I’m not letting that man harass you, y/n—”

“No, Kun. I’m not letting you deal with my problems anymore.” Before Kun could even say anything, you opened up the door to see a very angry Yeonjun.

Kun rushed to your side, but you didn’t let him get in contact with Yeonjun and slammed the door shut.

“You’re gonna ghost me and you think that’s funny?” Yeonjun seemed to calm down, seeing you in front of him.

There’s quite a crowd that’s forming in the hallway, some have their phones out, some whispering whilst looking at you two. Not that you care.

“Let’s talk outside—”

“Yes, you’re coming with me after I punch that–” Before Yeonjun could even finish saying it, you looked him straight in the eyes, pointing at him.

“You’re not touching Kun,” you say, full of conviction. If there’s anything you could do for Kun, its that you will protect him from getting tangled with your mess.

You pulled his wrist to get him out of the building.

At the end of the day, there’s one thing that could shut these kinds of men up. It’s getting real easy, one thing you do for them and they’ll behave like a dog. It’s getting laughable, really.

So you shut them up. By doing what you do best.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

You were sixteen, when you got your heart broken for the first time.

“Stop looking at my brother, you weirdo.” Jisung threw a pillow towards your position on the couch.

The soft object hit you right in the noggin, earning a grunt as you pulled your eyes off of him.

“Bitch. It’s not my fault he’s getting hotter by the day. Damn,”

You were busy staring out the pool area, where Jeno and his friends are hanging out. You were at Jisung’s place, spending your summer in the most boring ways.

Good thing Jeno’s gorgeous self is here, entertaining you. He’s so pretty, you could just eat him up.

“No he’s not. He’s a nerd!” Jisung fights back, earning a smirk from you.

“Says the one who's summer plans are to play league of legends until he becomes a ‘Challenger’ .” You retort, cranking your neck back to where Jeno was.

You recognize his friends, of course. They’re starting to gain popularity in the school, especially when Jeno got on the basketball team.He’s been working out a lot, gaining extra muscles, toning his body to get even hotter. If that’s even possible.

“Eugh, Jisung, y/n’s drooling over Jeno-hyung again.” Chenle enters the conversation, with a soda in his hand and plops himself on the couch.

“I am not drooling!”

“I got something you can drool on.” Chenle’s awful snark earns a hefty punch on his shoulder from you, the boy laughing in a high-pitch tone that makes it even more annoying than it is.

“Anyways, I think he likes me too.” You sigh dreamily, remembering the things Jeno does to you specifically.

He always carries your bags for you. He’s always the first person to welcome you into their house, and the first person to ask if you’ve had breakfast yet. He offers you rides to school when he sees you walking, and he always asks how your day has been. He’s so charming, so nice and you just can’t help but give at least a little bit of malice into it.

I mean, there has to be something, right?

“Oh she’s crazy. She’s fucking insane!” Chenle dramatically gasps, and points at you like you’ve committed a crime.

“That is seriously concerning, y/n. The level of delusion– my god.” Jisung joins in, as he pauses his game to look back and judge you.

“You two are just haters. Get off my ass!” You flip them off, with two hands, each one gets a middle finger from you.

“Look, y/n, we’re just sparing you from getting your little heart broken. Jeno-hyung does not like you.” Chenle’s tone becomes more serious this time, but in your head, he’s wrong. If Jeno didn’t like you, then why would he get out his way just to walk you home whenever you leave their house way too late?

“Seriously. You guys, I really think he’s the one for me. I mean, I can’t really think of any other reason as to why he’s so kind to me, y’know?”

Jisung looked at Chenle as if he really cannot believe what he’s hearing from you. Chenle shakes his head left to right, disappointment spread all over his face.

A set of laughter broke your conversation as you three faced out the pool side, to see Jeno and his friends now actually playing in the pool. Jeno then went on the edge, the ones in front of the back door where you were looking from, and pulled himself out of the water.

The trinkets of water dripping in his hair was one thing, but his wet body being revealed in front of you, the perfect curve of his shoulders down to his small waist, and the veins in his arms definitely woke something up in you.

“Yeah… I’ll confess to him tonight.” your voice almost sounded strange, like you were in a hypnotic state, still mesmerized by Jeno.

“Jesus christ, y/n–” before Jisung finishes, Chenle interrupts.

“Dude, let her. This is her canon event.”

You had no idea what that means, and you’re not interested to know. One thing’s in your mind, Jeno will be yours by midnight.

9:56pm

It’s like the heavens planned it all out for you.

Jeno’s friends all left, as to your surprise, because you thought they’d at least spend the night. Jeno had always offered to let his friends stay, but this time, he asked them to leave before 6. Which is odd, yes, but this all favors you in a way.

Chenle and Jisung still visibly opposed to your idea, and you’re sure they had reason to think its not gonna work out, but it’s not like it matters to you.

Whilst the three of you are in Jisung’s room, you can hear the TV on the lounge area. Their parents are out of town this summer, something about a cruise, so that means, it has to be Jeno.

In your mind, it’s the perfect timing. It’s deep in the evening, the moon’s out, and there’s never been an opportunity where you’re brave enough to actually confess.

Your heartbeat notches another tempo, as you leave Jisung’s room, much to the two’s dismay.

Before you could get to the lounge area, you’d have to pass the kitchen first.

A couple more steps, your feet turning cold, but you still managed. But before you can get a glimpse on the couch, your name was called.

“Y/n?” It’s him. Fuck, it’s him!

Okay, so he’s in the kitchen. That’s fine. Take a deep breath, You just gotta talk to him!

“Jeno,”

You took a step closer to where he was, and he’s looking extra delectable with his white shirt and grey sweatpants. Not that there’s been a moment where he didn’t look good.

“Are you going home? Ask Jisung to walk you home, I kinda—“

“Jeno, I want to talk to you, actually.” Now your voice trembles, and you’re starting to feel nervous.

“Oh, okay. Sure, what’s up?” Jeno looks to be still oblivious to your anxious state. He puts down the wine that he was holding, and turned to you completely.

You gulped, finally looking up to his eyes. He had a shadow of smile on them, but was still curious on what you had to say. You're mere two feet away from him, yet his musky scent still invades your nose.

God, all of that can be yours.

“But you’d have to say it fast because I have—”

“I like you. Very much.”

The deafening silence engulfs you, and only the sound of your heartbeat was prominent. Him, on the other hand, eyes wide, mouth ajar.

“—and I know this is so sudden but I’ve liked you ever since we were kids. I’ve always thought you were cute and nice to me!” You tried to fill in the silence, because every second that passed with him not saying anything kills you.

Another second passed, and your nervousness is long gone, because it was replaced by an impending doom.

“Y/n, look, I really appreciate it but… I-I’m just being nice.. I have to be nice. You’re my brother’s best friend—”

Fuck, shit, fuck! This cannot be happening!

“Oh, my, god!”

A high pitched voice behind you tores the tension in the air, and when you looked back, you saw Eunmi, with an amused look in her face, then covering her mouth with her hands.

She let out a laugh, as if he finds all of this ridiculous.

All of a sudden, you can’t breathe. Your heart was about to explode as you looked back at where Jeno was, seeing two wine glasses behind him. The movie in the background, still playing.

And it all just stops.

“That’s so cute!” Eunmi screeched, before walking towards Jeno and snaking her arms around him.

“Babe, I was wondering why it’s taking so long, you didn’t tell me this girl is pouring her heart out to you! Awe,”

You can feel your eyes warming up. You had so much left to say. But your voice can’t be found. The heart ache was too loud for you to even utter a word.

And in the end, all you could say was, “I’ll.. go home.”

Then you were gone, every step with every tear drop, and although you expected it to hurt, it still surprises you how painful it was.

You’re glad he didn’t run after you. You can’t be more pathetic than this, but it would kill you for him to witness your vulnerability.

Jeno was your first love.

And then Jeno became your first heartbreak.

With all the smiles he brought you, you never thought he could cause you so many tears.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

Is it wrong to be this young and this tired?

You look at yourself in the mirror, analyzing every inch of your body. On the contrary, you don’t hate what you see. You’ve worked so hard to attain the body that you have now, and you’re satisfied where you’re at.

But there’s an empty feeling in your stomach that never left, and you can’t seem to figure out what it is. It’s always been there.

“Get back to bed,” You hear a disgruntled sound from the bed, and immediately your smile fades. You’re pulled back to reality, one that you hated to be in.

“I’m going home,” you say, before grabbing your clothes and putting them back on.

You don’t know why you do this, but you wait before walking out the door, for a sliver of a second to see if the man on the bed even attempts to ask you to stay. And just what you expected, he didn’t.

Sometimes you wish you’re worthy of being asked to stay, but who were you kidding.

There’s a deep routed scar that you’ve been trying so hard to cover. You like to think that the antidote that you have for it works, but the way you’ve been stuck in the same situation all over again says otherwise.

You thought you were healing, but the truth is, you just stopped feeling.

All your life is ahead of you, they say. But yours feels far behind.

You don’t really know where you went wrong, you thought if you became pretty, everybody would like you. You thought that if you agreed to sleep with them, they’d appreciate you. You thought that if you change your entire personality, they would start to see you.

Where did you go wrong? You dyed your hair blonde, you worked your body to achieve the hourglass figure and you even went ahead and let every man that looks your way to have you. Isn’t that enough?

See, this is why you hate being sober. You hate being alone with your thoughts, because it drowns you. You start thinking of things that overwhelms you to the point of tears, and you hate crying. You’ve already done too much of that before.

So why does everybody hate you for drinking? If that’s the only escape you know? It isn’t fair.

“I’m losing my mind,” you say, biting your nails and jerking your knees in frustration.

“Jesus, you’re like a crack addict without crack for a day.” Chenle says as he looks at you.

“She hasn’t had alcohol in a week,” Jisung says as if he’s proud, smiling at you.

You roll your eyes. You’ve been trying to stray off alcohol ever since Jisung and Kun asked you to. You ought to at least try, because you owe them that. On the latter part, if it didn’t work, and you spiral out, you can at least say that you tried.

“Ah, fuck it.” You say, but before Jisung freaks, you clarify, “I’m just gonna smoke for a bit, grandpa.” You say and dashed out of his dorm, down to the parking lot.

It’s winter, and the snow has already covered the streets. The cold was always your favorite season, it gives you reason to just stay inside and cuddle up in your cozy room.

You open up a new packet of cigarettes as you stand outside basking in winter air. It’s especially windy today, you thought.

The heat of the smoke traveling through your lungs was refreshing. It rivals the coldness of the wind, creating a balance that hits you just right. A perfect combination of sensation to combat the numbness in you.

Before the light hits the filter of the cigarette, you hear a screeching sound to your left.

It was a car, no, it was his car.

You mentally curse, throwing the unfinished stick to your feet and stomping on it. You frantically try to walk back up the building, but as you hear the car door slamming, you take a deep breath.

“Smoking’s really bad for you,” Jeno says, walking towards your direction.

“You basically run off of weed and gatorade, Jeno.”

Although you did try your best to keep walking, Jeno catched up in a couple of steps. You stood together waiting for the elevator.

“Is Chenle upstairs, too?” He starts.

“Yeah. Congrats on the game, Jeno. Sorry I had to ruin your night,” you followed it with a slight laugh, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Nah, it’s fine. Didn’t wanna stay in that party anyways,”

The elevator finally dings open, you hesitate to move at first, but when Jeno enters the lift and looks at you, you take this as a sign to walk in with him. So walk in you did.

“Kun took care of you, right?” He asks. You badly wanted to look at him, but you chose not to.

“Yeah.. he’s a great guy.” You silently say, not feeling good about the conversation.

“Hm,” he paused. The suspicious tone made you look at him, anticipating what comes out of his mouth next.

“I saw you walking out of Yeojun's dorm last night tho.” He says as if it was nothing, as if it was a little detail he had to tell you. But the underlying idea behind his statement was obvious.

You hitched your breath. No, y/n. Fight back.

“What can I say, I’m booked and busy.”

“You’re— that’s not something to be proud of, y/n.” He states as if he’s running out of patience, now looking back at you.

You smirked wider, “Oh don’t be a hypocrite, Jeno. You do the same damn thing,”

He grunts in frustration. “Yes but you’re different, y/n!”

8… 9….

“Different in what way? Because I’m a woman? And this isn’t what women do? Don’t give me that bullshit,”

“Fuck that, you know that’s not what I meant. I’m just protecting you from what people think about you.”

10… 11… 12…

“Jeno, I want you to listen to me carefully.” You took another step closer to him, looking up to level your face with his. “—whatever you heard about me, I want you to times it by a million, and when you think it’s bad, make it worse.” You whispered.

You tilt your head to hover your lips on his ear, “And guess what, who knows, maybe they’re telling the truth.”

And as soon as the elevator hits the 15th floor, you walk out without looking back.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

You were a lost cause.

Jeno thought he just needed to accept the fact that you’re just never gonna be the same.

He doesn’t know why it bothered him so much, the fact that you’re not letting anyone help you. It never bothered him before, and so, it shouldn’t bother him now.

It’s not his fault that you turned out to be this way. It’s not his fault.

So he distracts himself. Both in ways of basketball and women.

He tried to go back to his old ways, back to where he’s safe. He was doing fine, before you plagued his system. Plus, it’s not like he didn’t try, he damn did try.

Maybe this version of you is the real you. Maybe this is what’s meant to be.

“Holy fuck,” Haechan eyes the woman who walks out of Jeno’s room, obviously checking her out. Jeno just rolled his eyes and spread his arms around the back of the couch. Dragging a long hit of the weed he seemed to never get run out of.

“That’s the third girl this week, Jeno. Are you trying to break my record?” Haechan scoffed, as if proud of his friend.

“I’m not trying to break anything, but if you want, I’d gladly break your nose.”

Haechan put both his hands up, taking a step back because out of all of them, Jeno’s the one who could really do it. And he’s not trying to risk his beautiful face.

“Dude, this is bad.” Renjun was the second one to comment, following Haechan. He looked at Jeno’s state, and he can tell something’s not right. There’s something bothering Jeno, and Renjun can’t exactly tell what.

He had an idea, but he’s sure as hell won’t tell it to Jeno’s face.

“What? I have two weeks before the game. I need to relax.” Jeno says, ignoring the concern in Renjun’s face.

“And this is relaxing to you?” Renjun grabs an empty bottle of beer, one of the many that’s scattered all over the place.

Jeno didn’t answer, letting a sigh out of his lips and closing his eyes. He can’t think straight right now, or in the past week. He had been sleeping with different girls, to the point where he ran out of bed sheets to use. His room stinks of sweat and axe body spray, and he can’t seem to be satisfied, at all.

“I don’t know, Junnie. Just… leave me alone.” At this moment, Renjun can’t help but sigh. It's these kinds of moments where he knows that Jeno needs someone. Where the one month gap in their age really shines and Jeno needs his older brother, Renjun.

He puts down the plastic bag of trash and sat beside Jeno. “Look, Jeno. I’m not gonna sit here and ask you what this is about, but this is starting to look really sad. Jaemin is already down, and I don’t need you broken too. I can’t handle Haechan by myself,” Renjun, in an attempt to lighten up the mood.

“Junnie, just let me be, okay? I swear.. this will pass.”

“I sure hope it would. Because you can’t fix someone if you’re broken yourself. That’s just plain dumb.”

He grunts, and cursed deeply because he know’s Renjun’s right. But how can he, when it feels like he’s stuck? When has everything, but he feels like he’s got nothing? He has a great future ahead of him, he knows that, but why does it feel like something’s missing?

Girls, money, fame. What more could he want?

In a split second, Jeno regrets asking himself that question. Because he feel like he knows the answer, but he really doesn’t like it.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

“Lee Jeno, what the fuck was that?!”

Yangyang pushed Jeno, but instead of fighting back, Jeno just shook his head. He raked his fingers across his hair as he sat at the bleachers.

Thank fuck this isn’t the actual university game. Because if it was, they’d for sure lose the first quarter and Jeno will have his first ever loss written on his otherwise squeaky clean reputation.

“Don’t fucking yell at my face.” Jeno’s voice thundered.

“Five hundred dollars are at stake, and Minho would not let us live if you lose against him, Jeno.” Yangyang’s voice was a lot more controlled, but still angry, nonetheless.

“Man, I don’t really care.” Jeno let out an unenthusiastic chuckle, drinking out of his tumbler.

“What?” Yangyang feels like he’s mistaken. Lee Jeno doesn’t care if he loses? In a basketball game, that is? Oh he truly thinks the world has turned upside down.

Before he could even ask his friend again, Minho starts shouting from the other side of the court.

“What, Lee Jeno? The magic doesn’t work now, doesn’t it?” Minho yells, earning a laugh from his teammates.

“Fuck you! Games not over, bitch!” Yangyang yells back, full of confidence but looked back at Jeno, worry splattered in his face.

“Dude, I swear, we need to put that son of a bitch back in his place!” Yangyang angrily whispers.

“I’m gonna sit this one out, Yang–”

“How about we bet on that y/n girl?! Your brother’s friend, right? Heard she spreads it open to just about anyone who looks at her funny!”

Without even thinking, Jeno’s fast on his feet, and his vision turns red. His fist curled up and his logical thinking was out of the window. His vision is straight at Minho, and his only thought is to knock this bitch out.

Yangyang couldn’t even process anything, as he watches Jeno’s eyes darkens and before any of his teammates could even try and stop Jeno, his fist already connects with Minho’s face. The boy fell down, immediately knocked out, and chaos between both teams ensues. But Jeno didn’t stop.

He’s not letting Minho get up.

“Jeno, slow the fuck down.” He heard a concerned voice at the corner of the nearby club he went to. His feet dragged him here after the incident, wanting to drown himself with anything that could take away his mind from everything.

One shot, two shots, three shots, four.

“I’m paying you, Doyoung, aren’t I?” Jeno says, rolling his eyes at the older man in front of him.

Doyoung was another person Jeno trusts. Besides the three idiots back in his apartment, Doyoung is also the one Jeno’s comfortable with.

“Yes, but I don’t want to report an alcohol poisoning inside my bar, Jeno.” Doyoung can tell Jeno’s done for the night. Slumped over his counter, he forces the shot glass out of Jeno’s hold.

He signals one of his co-bartenders to take over the bar for a bit, before dragging Jeno’s body out of the bar. He notices the bruising at the boy’s hand but he didn’t say anything and drove Jeno home.

“I don’t want to go back to my apartment, Haechan’s there with a girl,” Jeno mumbled, slowly getting more and more sober as the fresh air wakes him up.

“Where’d you want me to bring you then?” Doyoung asked.

“I don’t know… fuck.. just, bring me back to my brother’s.”

Thankfully, Doyoung knew Jisung’s apartment. He’s close with both of the brothers, often being mistaken as a brother as well. But after graduating, he just naturally went off and did other things.

Doyoung huffs as soon as he successfully brought Jeno in front of Jisung’s apartment, however, another problem was that Jisung isn’t answering the phone.

“Jeno, I really can’t stay here with you, I just sneaked out of my shift,” he explains, but Jeno just dismissed him and nods. Doyoung knocks at the door before he left, making sure that if there was a person inside, they’d open the door for Jeno.

Jeno wasn’t as drunk as earlier, that’s for sure. What’s left is the pounding headache plus the fact that no one’s opening the door for him.

Out of sheer frustration, he kicks the door, strong enough to make a banging sound but not hard enough to damage it.

“Fucking Jisung,” he murmured to himself, almost turning his heels to walk out, but before he could, rattling on the other side of the door can be heard.

Jeno sighs in relief, but seconds after it opened, what greets him almost knocks the breath out of his lungs.

“Shit, Jeno.” Your soft voice matched your soft expression as you look at him with obvious shock.

Jeno, on the other hand, didn’t want to extend the painful awkward silence.

“I-Is my brother there?” Stuttering was never Jeno’s thing. Until this moment, he thinks.

“He’s… he’s like, I think at a girls place somewhere… fuck, I think her name’s Jieun or some shit..” Your eyes take turns in blinking, but still standing straight— conflicting the idea that you’re drunk. Well, at least not y/n drunk.

“Then why are you here?” He didn’t know why, but his hands automatically grabs the door knob to swing the door more open to see if you’re inside with somebody.

He just needs to know you’re alone.

“I crash here sometimes… when I’m locked out of my apartment.” You shoulders where slumped, words were coming out slow. Jeno can tell you’re not sober.

He can’t say shit because he’s not in an exactly sober state as well. So he just proceeds to walk past you to enter the dorm.

Technically, Jisung’s place is his place too. Their parents fixed it up for the two of them but Jeno chose to stay over at his shared apartment with the other boys. So he can do whatever he wants to do.

The entire place reeks of weed, and the floor has two empty bottles of Soju. He almost threw up, he hates Soju.

“Jesus fucking christ, Jisung.” He murmured as he picks up the trash, forgetting that you were standing behind him baffled.

“I’m sorry about that…” Of course it’s yours. Of course you’ve been drinking again. Fuck him for thinking that it’s his brother’s fault. Because it’s would always be you.

Jeno stays quiet. He’s not in the best mood to even look at you. Everything that’s been happening to him recently is because of you. He hates that he blames you, but he can’t just think of someone else.

“Jeno...” Your soft voice calls for him again. It took everything from him to ignore you, and walk back to the kitchen and throw all the trash away.

He’s hanging by a thread, and he starts to realize it’s a bad idea to stay here for long.

He takes a deep breath and walks towards the door, but before that, he felt a tight grip in his arms.

“Jeno.. talk to me.” The sultry voice you had did not go unnoticed, and Jeno couldn’t help but stop his tracks.

Don’t break, Jeno.

“Jeno.. please look at me.”

He forces your grip out of his arms. It kills him, so much to hear you like this.

“I’m leaving,” He managed to say, however, his feet says otherwise. He’s standing still, not even another step out the door.

“You’re not, please. Just… just look at me.” Jeno heaves, his hands turning into fists as he tries and compose himself.

Just this once.

He turns his heel and immediately surrendered. The moment he let his eyes on you, he already lost the game.

“Why don’t you want me?”

He gulps. He bit his lip to stop himself from saying anything, because he doesn’t trust that he’s not going to say something he’s not ready to say.

“You’ve had so many girls.. Jeno, why not me? I’m…” You paused, you look left to right as if you’re finding words to say. “..I’m better than all of them.”

“Y/n—“

“No! Fuck it, Jeno! There’s no fucking reason why you won’t fuck me! It doesn’t make any fucking sense!” Jeno hears ringing in his head, the string of patience threatening to snap.

“Why? Explain to me fucking why you would fuck all those bitches and not me? I swear.. Jeno, I’m good— fuck that, I’m the best—”

“I’m so—”

“Ask half of your team.”

In that note, the last thread he was hanging on to snapped. You want him? Fine. Take it.

He grips your arms and drags you inside of the room, and in his peripheral view, he can see your demeanor changes. Now, your eyes are mischievous, and your lips turning into a smirk.

“You want to fucking play that game? Fine, I’ll fucking play with you.” Jeno almost growls, letting you sit on the bed as he slams the door shut.

“Strip.” He orders, in the most dominant voice he has.

You bit your lip as you look up at him. Slowly discarding your clothes one by one, but not breaking eye contact with him.

His eyes were dark. So dark that you can’t tell anything that’s on his mind. His jaw tightens at the sight of you almost stripped off of your dress.

“I’ve been so fucking patient with you,”

The dim lights shone at his back, as he craned his body down, standing before you. Nearing his face unto yours, the mirror on the side of the bed depicted something out of a dark fairytale, a silhouette of a beast trying to tempt an angel.

But in reality, the angel had already fallen. Deep and hard. The beast didn't even have to do anything.

"Tell me you want me," he says.

"I do, Jeno. I really want you," And as of this moment, you lost the battle you've fought for all these years.

"All this time, huh? You're still lusting over your best friend's brother?" Now, his tone was slightly teasing. His once gentle hands on your cheeks turned possessive, his grip getting tighter.

"Dirty, dirty, dirty little girl. Bet when you fuck those boys, you think of me, don't you?" His thumb on your lower lip, parting it softly.

"This is your chance, y/n. Tonight, I'm yours. Just tell me the words," his whispers turned deadly, as his own lips are almost touching yours.

"J-jeno.."

"Pretty, pretty, pretty..." His words spit like venom. Every movement of his lips gave you a tease, your entire body burning with desire.

Your mind was under his control, and you completely and utterly surrendered to him. He's not yours— you're his.

"—Please," you finally choked out, and like a green light, Jeno kissed you with hunger, pushing his entire body weight onto you forcing you to lay down on the bed.

“I thought you won’t beg anymore?” The cockiness in his voice would usually prompt a reaction from you but you don’t care anymore.

This time, his hips close the distance between your bodies, maneuvering his knees to position between your legs. Careful not to crush you, he kept balance of his weight as he pushed his hip further, creating a slight friction between your clothed core.

After what it seemed like forever, his lips traveled down your neck, and almost immediately you can feel that he's gonna leave a mark. You'll definitely leave with a painted neck.

His hands expertly went under your dress, grabbing your breast, squeezing them ever so slightly. It doesn't take a full minute when his hands went around your back and unclasped your bra like it was nothing. All while he was focused on kissing every part of your skin.

Of course he's good at this.

Just then, he pulled away but only to pull your dress up and completely undress you. He took his time looking at your exposed body.

"You're so fuckin' perfect," he mumbled more so to himself as he admired you. He leaned in again but this time his mouth landed on one of your breasts, sucking them deftly.

"Shit, Jeno," you can't help but moan his name, grab the back of his head to level yourself. You pulled his hair, and you didn't know if he likes it, but with the way he groaned gave you a hint that he does.

As he keeps himself busy, his hands go down to your clothed core. Goosebumps ran down your body as his middle finger traced your slit, already feeling the wetness you've desperately hid before.

"So fuckin' wet, and all for me. Am I right, baby?" He whispered, you answered with a whiny 'yes' that it almost sounded like a stranger.

"Lemme' take this off," he quickly pulled down your panties, only to be welcomed by your soaking wet core. Jeno was ravenous, like he's been starved all his life.

The room was dark, only a dim lamp providing some light, but the wetness in your pussy glistens and reflects, that Jeno swore he's never seen something so beautiful. You're beautiful, and he's gonna make you feel just exactly that.

You can hear his belt buckle, him swiftly taking all his clothes off.

"God, I can never get used to how fucking pretty you are, my pretty little baby," he mumbled again, to himself.

"Who was the last guy you fucked, baby?" Jeno asked, catching you off guard. He was pumping himself as he looks at you, and you never thought he would ask such question.

"Wha-- why? I don't kn- probably—" Your speech cut off when you looked down at his moving arms, to see all of him.

You've heard rumors. You knew he was packing. But good God, he's so fucking big. Almost knocking the breath out of your lungs. You're starting to get worried if it would fit.

"Doesn't even matter.. everyone else doesn't count. Just me.”

He then pressed his finger down in your core, finding the clit right away. Rapidly circling his finger, and a wave of pleasure started to form. "Oh fuck--," you moaned.

He dove down to kiss you, this time passionately. Much softer than before. Only for you to feel his finger entering you that you went crazy. Not long before he added another,pumping it swiftly in and out. He moved away from your face to watch your expression. And he fucking loved it.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum-" you whispered.

"Go on, baby." Jeno, encouraging you even more, fingers going faster.

"Shit.. oh my go-" and then it hit you, your first orgasm of the night. Jeno's face was all you can see, and his fingers was all you can feel. Your brows furrowed, mouth agape, you felt like you can't control your body. Jeno's lips was also parted, as if he gains pleasure from watching you reach your climax.

"Good girl," he groaned.

"Need more, Jen. Please," begging was never on your vocabulary, until now.

"Shh, no need to beg, baby. I'm more than willing to give you all," his sweet words acted as an aphrodisiac, igniting the fire in you. As if you needed him to be even more sexier.

Because it was dark in the room, your sense of touch is heightened. Every touch lingered, and its as if you were touch deprived your entire life. Jeno brings out your true colors, and you're not mad about it.

"Make you feel good," he whispered more praises, and you can hear him pump himself as he aligned his length onto your aching core.

"Oh my god," you can't help but gasp, the stretch overwhelming you. You've never taken someone this big before, and it fucking felt like its your first time. Not in a painful way, but because you've felt a whole new sensation.

"S' wet, baby, fuck, you're choking me," in a low groan, Jeno slowly bottomed out. He sits fully inside you, and you can feel every single inch, every single vein. It felt so raw, and so right.

"Hmm, fuck, fuck you feel.. fucking hell. S' good." You never expected Jeno to be this vocal, and you weren't complaining. You always thought he didn't like being vocal, but damn, were you so wrong.

"Jeno.." you moaned, and you can already feel your impending orgasm. Its just that good.

Before Jeno could even find a pace with his thrust,, he pulled out. Your eyes opened in confusion, from the abrupt emptiness.

"Fuck this," Jeno was fast on his feet, you wondered where he was going, but before your mind settles on a conclusion, you were blinded by bright lights.

"Need to see you properly," he reasoned, before he went back to the position he was before.

With the lights on, you can now see his perfectly lean body, toned abs and the sweat beading on his sideburns. He looked so hot that you could cum right there and then.

"So fucking beautiful," Jeno never failed to compliment you, as he stares at you before sliding it in again. For the second time you gasp, but because he slid it in so swift that you didn't even get a second to breathe before he pounds.

"Oh, fuck, Jeno!" you squealed, your entire body rocking back and forth with how rough he was.

His hands grabbed your left leg and hooked it in his shoulder, all the while he kept the fast pace of his thrusts. You can see his face twist, him biting his lips and looking up. His expert thrusts made his abs flex everytime. The sight was stunning, and for a second there you were lost. You can't believe other girls had seen this before you.

The orgasm you fought so hard was out of your control now, and you knew you weren't gonna last.

"Jeno, I'm gonna cum," you tell him, and he switched his position in no time. "Together. Cum with me," he muttered.

"Come inside, Jeno. I need it so bad," you were slurring words at this point, so barbaric with the feeling.

He unhooked your leg and leaned forward. Your body now pressed together as he wrapped your legs onto his waist, his hands finding your neck, holding it steady as he touched his forehead with yours. His piercing eyes were hyper focused on yours.

"Eyes on me, baby. Fuck, please," he moaned, his tempo going even more rapid and desperate. Both of your mouths was wide open at this point.

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck!" he stilled, as you both reached climax. He emptied himself inside you. You can't help but moan in a high pitch as orgasm washes over your entire body, an intense wave brought you to euphoria, and you never wanna leave.

"Damn," he whispered, almost in disbelief on how it felt to be with you. Still giving you everything he had, every single drop.

"Jeno," you called out once you relaxed, hoping to get him back to his senses.

"Wait- just.. shit." he managed to mutter despite his weak state. He's still wrapped around you, tight as if you were disappearing. Not to mention he's still balls deep.

A solid minute has passed when he decided to pull out, both of you hissing at the feeling. You felt so empty, and he felt so bare.

And when Jeno closes his eyes, he accepts defeat. You’ve successfully broken him.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

Sooyoung, Minnie, Hoyeon, Yoonah.

So far, those are the names that you gathered.

It doesn’t take a long time to figure out what Jeno likes, based on the girls he’s been with. They’re all hot, popular with the boys, and if not the same age as him, they’re older.

The other common denominator is that they all have experience. When Jeno started sleeping around, you would only see him with women who’s expected to be with him. Like those women who knows how pretty they are, who’s aware how to handle a man like Jeno.

So when you finally turn eighteen, you did not waste time.

“Do you think I look hot in this, Ji?” You ask innocently, looking at your best friend through the mirror you’re standing in front of.

He barely looks up from his nintendo switch, and when you make eye contact, the look of disgust on his face makes you roll your eyes.

“Your freakin’ ass is hanging off that skirt. You look like a…” Jisung turns his head towards Chenle on the other side of the room, playing on his playstation.

“…hooker.” Chenle finished the sentence for him. You hide a smirk.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you!” You did a curtsy, before grabbing your purse.

“Wait, where are you going?” Chenle asked as soon as he paused the game to see you walk towards the door.

“NCU is throwing this party for the new basketball team, got an invite from Jungwoo.” You gave Chenle a wink, knowing it would annoy the heck out of him.

“What?! Why do I not know about this?!” You flinched when Chenle says the first word in the highest octave possible.

“Probably because we’re not in NCU’s college department yet? The party’s exclusive for college students, dumbass.” Jisung says boredly, bringing his attention back to his nintendo.

“Except I got an invite, you losers didn’t!” And just for extra annoyance, you stick your tongue out to mock them.

Chenle only huffs, but takes his phone out of his pocket.

“Invited or not, I’m going. I’m sure your broke ass would take up a free ride to the party,” He says as he waits for someone on his phone.

“And how do you plan to enter the party, dimwit? You don’t have an invite,” Jisung asks.

“I’m Zhong fucking Chenle. That’s my invite.” He smirks, grabs his keys and your wrist. You flew a kiss towards Jisung and left his apartment.

Booming music, strobe lights. The bass vibrates through the wall and honestly, this is way too extreme from what you expected. This is the first real party you had attended, where you’re specifically invited.

Jungwoo was someone you knew, from one of your girlfriends. He’s three years ahead of you, making him a year older than Jeno. And to be frank, Jungwoo didn’t peak your interest at first. But when you knew that he’s in Jeno’s friend circle, you figured that maybe, you do like Jungwoo.

“Hey,” Someone from behind you whispers on your ear, making you whip your head. You saw Jungwoo, head hangs low just to whisper. He displays a playful smile as he hugs you.

But before you could even tighten his embrace, Chenle took a protective stance, putting his arms in between. “Woah dude, chill out.”

Jungwoo chuckled, putting his hands up. “Zhong, calm down,”

You immediately give Chenle a look of confirmation, “I’m good, Le.”

“Just making sure.” He says and steps back. He patted Jungwoo’s shoulder in a sense that he’s good. Chenle has always been protective, in literal terms. Jisung however, is protective in a motherly kind of way. In short, Chenle’s fights, Jisung nags.

“Why don’t you talk to Jaehyun? Heard he’s interested in taking you in the team.” Jungwoo says making Chenle widen his eyes, a breathless ‘really?’ coming out of his lips and Jungwoo nods. You pushed Chenle to go find the Jaehyun guy and before you know it, you’re alone with Jungwoo.

“He’s really into basketball, huh?” Jungwoo, sounding amused.

You on the other hand, start roaming your eyes around the room. You’re here for someone, and you need to know if they’re in this party, or else this would be a huge waste of time if he’s not here.

“Yeah, he basically worships Stephen Curry.” You looks at him, to at least try to entertain the boy.

“Mm-hm.” The way his hands crawl into your waist so naturally was a shock to you, but you don’t say anything at all. He starts walking and with his hands attached on your body, you can’t help but walk with him.

“So.. where’s the team?” You really did try to prolong the moment you’re with Jungwoo, but you just can’t stay still without confirming if he’s here.

“They’re upstairs. Some of my teammates doesn’t really like hanging out with too many people.”

“How about you?”

“I was waiting for you, pretty.” Jungwoo flashes a smile, someone could argue his most defining feature but then again, you have your sights on someone else.

True to his words, Jungwoo brought you upstairs, where it’s more intimate with a few people. There’s a lounge area in front of a bar and that's where you spot the certain someone you’ve been looking for.

And as expected, he has a girl with him.

“Hey, guys, uh– this is y/n.” Jungwoo awkwardly introduces you to everyone, including Jeno who at first was shocked at your presence, but soon enough replaced with a certain tension in his eyes.

You did a small wave, still shy at the amount of eyes on you. These people are legends on campus. They’re basically the school’s pride and seeing them acknowledging you was amusing. And Jeno, like the perfect man that he is, just fits right in.

“Hi, I’m Juyeon,” He extends his hands, so you, a person who doesn’t like leaving people hanging, gladly accepts it.

And everyone else follows suit, except Jeno. He was looking at something else, not even the girl he’s with. He’s fixated at his beer can, looking at it very seriously.

“Jeno?” Jungwoo asks, questioning why the boy didn’t acknowledge you.

He looked at Jungwoo, and he was about to answer but you did it for him.

“We know each other. I’m friends with his brother.” You smile at Jungwoo, and he seemed to understand it so he just lead you to the empty spot on the lounge.

They started talking, but your attention was on Jeno. You realized that this is his crowd, quickly you found that he’s very different in front of other people. He’s more talkative, that’s for sure.

But your eyes also catch the soft touches he graces the girl beside him. The whispers he gave, the smiles and subtle kisses on the side of her head. His arms around her and the jokes he tells just for the two of them.

It has been years since he rejected you, yet the pain still stings.

You took your eyes somewhere else, made easy as Jungwoo starts to caress your shoulder. He leaned below, matching your face. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you smiled at him. You weren’t, but you’re obviously not gonna tell that.

He hands you a shot of what you assume alcohol, with his eyes anticipating your next move. This is the first time you’re drinking without Chenle or Jisung around, and you’re unsure if this was okay.

But with everybody starting to look at Jungwoo’s waiting hand, the shot clearly for you, you start to panic. There’s no way you’re gonna embarrass yourself in front of these seniors.

So you suck it up and took the shot. You’re not sure, but you got a glance from Jeno that tells he’s not happy with your action.

The taste of the alcohol was strong, but somehow your throat didn’t burn. Yes, you definitely felt it heat up your taste buds but not bad enough for you to hate it. It’s like a sensation that hypes up your system.

And so, with your new found information, you were more confident in taking shots now. And exactly that you do.

But with the amount of liquid going in, it has to come out. So you excused yourself to the bathroom to pee. You assured Jungwoo you were okay, because heck yeah, you’re fine.

Not until you actually stood up. Good thing you didn’t stumble, but shit, your world is spinning.

You bee line straight to the bathroom and relieve yourself. It took a couple minutes before you finished washing your hands, and as you walk out of the restroom, you were met by a figure clearly waiting for you to finish up.

“J-Jeno,” you muttered, moreso in surprise.

“Y/n what the hell are you doing here?” He whispers, angrily of course.

“Jungwoo invited me!” You whisper back, leaning on the door behind you to balance yourself.

“Where’s my brother? Chenle?” He looms over you, and all you can think about is his luscious lips, mere inches to yours.

“They.. Chenle came with me, Ji stayed home..” You answer, despite being in a trance. The entire place is spinning, but not Jeno’s face. It’s there, in front of you.

“I need you to find Chenle and go home.” He says in finality, expecting you to follow. You knit your brows, as you take in offense over what he’s doing.

“What? I’m invited here!” You whined.

“Find Chenle. Now.” The growl in his last words made you slightly intimidated, not to mention his eyes burning holes into your own.

God, he’s so handsome.

You don’t know if its the vodka, or just plain recklessness that gave you the idea of just tipping on your toes and try kissing Jeno.

It made perfect sense in your head. Your hands cupping his cheeks obviously caught him off guard, but before your lips touch his, his reflex of pushing you off was unfortunately faster.

He shoved you harsh, causing you to stumble and almost losing your balance.

“What the fuck?!” He yells.

Your heartbeat went quicker. Everything started to process. Jeno looks so mad, he huffs and wiping his palm against the part of his face that your lips had touched.

“I-I’m s-sorr—”

“I have a fucking girlfriend, y/n!” He spits, words felt like daggers through your chest.

“Jeno, I’m sorry. I was out of—” Your eyes start to burn.

“Are you that desperate? I rejected you already, didn’t I? I will never look at you different than being my brother’s best friend, y/n! So stop this fucking delusion while I’m being nice.” Jeno points his fingers at you, making you flinch a little bit.

“Jeno, please.” Your tears are now slowly flowing. You attempted to grab his wrist to make him stay and listen to your apologies but he swiped it off like he’s disgusted to be touched by you.

“No, y/n. You’re like a sister to me. It disgusts me to even think of being with you romantically. So please, know your fucking place.”

With that, he walks out and leaves you broken.

You don’t understand. You did everything by the book. You looked pretty, you knew how he liked girls. You made yourself into his fantasies and he still can’t see past the fact that you’re just his brother’s bestfriend.

You take a deep breath between the sobs, calming yourself down. You felt horrible. You felt so sick and embarrassed. You felt so fucking desperate and pathetic that you just want to numb yourself of the pain.

You grab your chest, having difficulty breathing from crying too hard.

This is way more than a broken heart.

You’re no longer consolable, and there’s just no way you’re going back there with your makeup now ruined.

Are you that hard to want?

Are you that hard to need?

The tears don't stop as you walk out of the party. Gladly, everybody’s wasted so nobody noticed you ugly-crying.

As you turn to an alleyway, you shoot Jungwoo a text saying you got sick, and Chenle saying you got an uber home.

With your 7-inch heels on your hand, in the cold street, you walk in shame.

Bare feet on the sidewalk, shivering, that's when you noticed a bar.

Your feet prompted to enter, so that you did. You were going to drown the pain, and there’s nothing in your mind except alcohol.

You hoped that it would ease the pain.

And it did, the effects of it giving you a temporary memory loss. This was the numbing you needed.

The sensation of alcohol gave you solace, and for a while, your thoughts melted into nothingness.

Staring at the shot glass in front of you, you made a promise to your eighteen year old self.

That if Jeno doesn’t want you, you’ll make it your life’s mission to make everyone else crave you. You don’t need Jeno.

You’ll never be rejected again.

And just as soon as you felt like you can breathe again, your phone buzzed.

[2:34am] jisung: y/n, come home, quickly. it’s your mom.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

It was odd to say the least.

This has been what you’ve wanted for so many years. You prayed— and begged the heavens for Jeno to finally take you, to prove that you can get him.

And now, you’ve proven your point.

But why does it feel… strange?

Yes, it was the best sex you’ve had, and it might be the only one that could make you feel that way. It was mindblowing, it was everything and more.

Isn’t this the goal? For him to actually step over that line of being your best friend’s brother?

What else did you want?

Honestly, you don’t know anymore. Hence, you sneak out of the apartment in the middle of the night. Jeno was laying on his stomach, the comforter covering his lower half. His back muscles spread across the sheets and you take the art in. He really is sculptured to perfection.

You managed to put on your clothes and walk out of the apartment building. You find yourself in a nearby convenience store, walking through the isle finding something you didn’t know. Your mind is blank and empty.

These are the times where you wished there was someone to guide you to what you should do next. Because you have no idea. You’re confused, and you need direction.

These are the moments where you wished your mom was here. She would know what to do.

For a while, when you were with Jeno, you felt warmth you’ve always been trying to find from somebody else. With Jeno, you actually felt like sex wasn’t only about pleasure, but it’s also about being able to express unspoken feelings.

Sex wasn’t something you just needed to get over with. It felt amazing, It was perfect.

But it clicked too, that you know yourself was the only one who really appreciated it. Jeno— was in for the satisfaction. He never needed you like you needed him. You talked him into sleeping with you. You were begging for his touch.

You pushed him to a point where he just snapped and gave you what you’ve been desperately chasing him for.

And for what? Probably for you to stop. He was throwing scraps at you because he’s tired of that one girl who keeps chasing his tail. He just gave in, expecting you to finally give up.

Then it hit you. Your fourteen year old self, your eighteen year old self and your twenty-two year old self still has something in common.

You realize, that all the hard work, the wall you desperately tried to build was a fraud. Because at the end of the day, you never lost feelings for Jeno.

No matter how many people you’ve been with, it’s still gonna be Jeno for you.

That makes you laugh. In both ridiculousness and despair. Hopelessness felt eerily familiar.

Silly you, for thinking you’ve moved on.

Jeno is inevitable. And you’ll learn to accept it too.

As you reach up the isle and grab a bottle of Soju, a hand stops you.

“My love, are you okay?” A soft voice that you haven't heard in a while.

“Kun,”

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

Jeno knows he’s royally fucked.

He gave into your trap, and you’ve successfully defeated him. All his morals, his beliefs, and the logic he stands on was out the window.

He knows you planned it out too. This was your way of taking revenge on him, when he repeatedly rejected you years ago.

He tried to keep his distance, because he promised.

And he takes his promises seriously, especially when it involves you. And he felt like he broke the one thing that’s keeping the promise he made a couple years ago.

You weren’t supposed to end up in his bed. You weren’t supposed to still want him after everything he’s done. You weren’t supposed to even be involved with him. He’s supposed to stay wherever he is, on the sidelines, silently protecting you.

But it’s all been done. You and Jeno did it, and it cannot be reversed. And now that its happened, there’s not much he can do. He has to hash things out, he has to fix everything.

Because no matter how many women he had before, no matter how many times he tricks himself, he had always felt like it wasn’t what he’s been searching for.

And when he finally had a taste of you, he’s afraid he’s gonna want more. And he’s afraid that he’ll never feel the way it felt with you. He’s horrified that what happened opened his eyes with what’s the truth.

And when he felt the other side of the bed cold, he opens his eyes and you’re gone.

Yeah, this is just a game for you.

But for him? Oh, he’s eternally fucked. The shame, the guilt, and everything in between creeps up. And not of you, he’ll never—ever be ashamed of you. He’s guilty about the fact that he let himself get carried away.

Out of frustration, he hits his steering wheel as he drove. He can’t believe he just did that.

He was drunk, you were clearly not in the right state of mind. Even if you were, he was still drunk. What happened was fucked up, both for him and for you.

He takes a deep breath before pulling out his phone.

He carefully types, calculating everything he needs to say.

[7:35am] to: y/n

hey. dont say anything to my brother. it was a mistake, i was drunk. i don’t really like you like that.

He sent it quick, afraid he’d delete it if he hesitated longer. And just as he did, he felt his whole chest stiffen.

Because once again, he lied. Both to you, and to himself.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

You woke up through the sounds of your phone ringing. It was the next week after the whole thing happened with Jeno, and you’ve not craved anything but sleep.

Kun never asked questions. Which you’re thankful for, but you can’t help but feel bad.

You ghosted the guy, again, but he welcomed you into his apartment with open arms like nothing happened. His smile was there, the warmth of his embrace still the same.

Before you could even say anything about your guilt, he’s quick to tell you that it’s okay. He’s with you because he wants to. Although you can’t give him what he wants the most.

In a perfect world, if you weren’t so fucked up, you’d be with Kun, no questions asked.

You were lucky it was the weekend, and you’ve got no class. So you just laid on Kun’s couch, binging away, rotting in the cushions. Kun doesn’t mind, he says its better than you going out and drinking.

Which is true, plus you just can’t physically get yourself back up and doing what you do before, after what happened with Jeno.

Jeno, Jeno, Jeno. Fucking Lee Jeno.

It’s like a curse, following you all throughout your existence. He’s like a ghost stuck in your hip, a burden you’d beg to get off of you. There’s just no way you’d have to carry these feelings towards him until your seventy, right? Jesus.

Your head whips at the door when you hear it open, not expecting Kun to come home so early.

He’s not here ‘til 7, right?

“Oh, you’re still here.”

Well, you’re right. It’s not Kun. It’s his lovely roommate Ten. Note the sarcasm on the lovely part.

“Yeah.” You backed down to the couch.

If there’s anyone annoyed at your presence, it’s definitely Ten. You think he harbored the anger and disappointment Kun should’ve had with you— like some sort of anger translator.

“Your roommate must be overjoyed having your place for her own.” He says, with feign casualness in his tone.

“She’s doing fine,”

“I mean, at this point, you’re gonna have to pay your share with the rent.” He scoffs as he puts down his bag harshly on the counter.

You let out a deep breath, reminding yourself that this is also his place. You’re not in a position to return his attitude because you, in your own thoughts, are aware that you’ve overstayed your welcome.

“Kun says its okay–”

“That’s–” Ten’s voice in a high pitch, but quickly calming himself down. “--that’s because Kun can’t say shit to you. I don’t know if you noticed but my friend is literally insane for you. And of course, you like the attention.”

You can’t help but look at him, your mouth slacking due to disbelief of what he just said. You bit your lip and paused, not wanting to say things without thinking about it first. Again, you're not in a position where you’re purely innocent in this situation.

“What do you want me to do? Tell me. I’ll leave right now.” You managed to calm your tone, avoiding any more discussion.

“What I want you to do is to be straight with Kun, y/n. I know you’re used to being a player, but Kun isn’t. He agreed to your situationship because you weren’t ready. You ghosted him for a few weeks and still he took you in even tho I fucking knew it was a dumb decision because he’s just hoping to be with you again. If you’re not planning to be with my friend, then just fucking make your decision. I know you’re not that cruel to string him along. He’s a good person, y/n.”

His sudden outburst caught you off guard, but every word he said was like a slap to you. Every sentence was nothing but facts, and you knew deep inside that you were in the wrong. That Ten was right. Kun is way too good for you. He does not deserve this.

You felt your eyes starting to warm, for a hundredth time. You nod in agreement. However, you can tell he wasn’t finished.

“He’s not your back burner, y/n. And I’m not saying this to you because I have a problem with you, but I’m saying this because he’s my friend. At first it was fine, but when you treat him lesser than what he deserves, I just feel like you’re being.. really selfish. It’s clear that you have your eyes on someone else. But please, Kun doesn’t do this type of shit. He’s way too naive. Poor guy thought he did something wrong.” The last sentence hits you the most, thinking about Kun probably did think that he’s the one to blame.

You sniff, nodding along Ten’s statement. “I will… I’ll talk to him.” You quietly say. Ten just looks at you before sighing, walking towards his door. As soon as his door closes, the front door opened.

“Sweet cheeks, what’re you doing?” Kun asks, seeing you standing on the doorway staring at nothingness.

You immediately wiped your tears and looked at him with a smile. “Really sad netflix movie,” you excused. Kun doubts, but chooses to stay silent. He walks two steps in front of you before giving you a warm hug like he does everytime he sees you at his apartment.

You gulp, gathering courage to actually start the conversation.

“Uh, Can we talk?” you nip at the bottom of your shirt.

“Of course, princess,” The old nickname he had somewhat felt like an assurance that he’s still the same. It lifted a bit of weight in your chest.

You sat in one of the chairs, not knowing what to do. This place was once your safe haven, now it just feels strange knowing what kind of situation you are in.

“So, uhm, I want to apologize for.. essentially cutting you off. It’s just that, uh, I’ve been–”

“You’ve been with Lee Jeno, right?” he asks, a ghost of a smile still present in his face.

“Well, yeah, but also, I didn’t know that I had that much of a relevance in your life so...” you say, honestly.

“Darling, you were everything.” he pauses. “--but I know that I’m not what you need, or what you wanted. And that’s fine. You don’t need to feel bad, it’s just how it goes.”

“But I’m here, and I promise you, that you don’t need to feel responsible about how I feel. I’ll be fine.” He smiles, like he used to, but this time you know it’s fake.

“Kun, you’re too good for me. You deserve more than me.” Your eyes start to water, but Kun never lets it drop. He caresses your cheeks for what it feels like the last time, before nodding at you.

“I know, baby.” He leaned closer, lips slowly grazing yours. As you felt it, the instinct of kissing back was swift, but Kun did not give you the chance of doing so as he pulled away.

“Don’t kiss me back, please,” he mumbled, before caressing your face for what it felt like the last time before turning away.

And just like that, you lost the man who was ready to give you everything for a man who can’t even spare you a glance.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

Jeno is still out of his mind.

He had flunked out of practice, only attending a couple times out of the two weeks that he needed to attend. Barely even there, just standing and basically lifeless in the court.

His coach and his teammates already feel less secure because of Jeno’s state of mind, especially when he’s supposed to be the team’s captain. He feels like shit, truly, and he knows he should be focusing on the game. But how can he, when all he can think of is you?

His coach gave him a hard talking but even that can’t seem to shake him up. His willingness to play disappeared like it was nothing.

He’s pretty sure the entire team hates him now, and if only there’s time to replace him, they’d definitely do it, but finding a replacement, with his skills, is basically impossible. Moreso in limited time.

As soon as he enters his apartment, he throws his bag on the floor and tunnels through his room to lock himself in there. But as soon as he entered it, he was shocked to find his brother laying in his bed.

“What’re you doing here?” He asks, confused.

“Just want to know something,” Jisung says, slowly sitting up. He looks up his brother, standing in the door frame. Jeno couldn’t read his expression, but its pretty clear that he’s not happy.

“Did you sleep with y/n?”

Jeno didn’t know how to react, his eyes widened and for a while, he had nothing to say. But in the end, he knew this was bound to happen. If not you, it would be him spilling the information to his brother.

He didn’t need to say anything, and he knew the silence is more than enough for Jisung to conclude.

“She really likes you, you know? I just–” Jisung paused, “--I just don’t know why you’d sleep with her when you don’t like her back. You know she likes you, hyung. What, is this like an ego thing? She’s y/n, hyung. You know she’s different.” Jisung honestly just sounded confused and tired. He’s not angry, not upset, he comes off like he just wanted proper answers from his brother.

“Dude, just get out.” Jeno dismissed, which pissed off his younger brother more.

“Oh fuck you. You can’t even hold a conversation with your own brother? And if only it’s not y/n, I wouldn’t even waste my time. But it’s her. You know her,”

Jeno took a deep breath. “I like her too, Jisung. No, fuck, scratch that. I fucking love her.”

For a minute, it was silence. Jisung then took the initiative to talk,

“Talk to mom, hyung.”

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

Jeno was sixteen, when he realized that he likes the way you smile at him.

He saw you run down the stairs and straight to the kitchen. You were at his brother’s room, for a sleepover with his brother and Chenle. He was lounging on the couch, and he didn’t bother to turn on the lights. He likes to lay in here at night, cuddling with his cat, Bongsik. He can’t let the cat into his room because of his allergies, so he just settled on the couch.

Because Bongsik was alerted of your presence, the cat follows you to the kitchen. Jeno, of course, followed in pursuit. He can still remember the cute expression you had when you discovered Bongsik on the table.

He smiles at you, struggling to get chips from the cabinet. Naturally, he grabbed it for you. You had asked if Bongsik was new, and he answered yes.

“Yep, a rescue. Mom brought it home the other day. Jisung freaked,” He chuckles as he looks at the cat, snuggling in his chest.

He can see you almost begging with your eyes, wanting to pet the cat. So he let you. Surprisingly, Bongsik, who’s usually grumpy, purrs as soon as your hands come in contact with it.

You were so careful, and Jeno almost wants to chuckle at your meek attempt at staring at him.

A slight smile on your face was something Jeno noticed, from a close distance. He surely did not expect you to be this soft and angelic, but he thought to himself, that your smile is something he’d like to get used to.

Jeno was eighteen when he made his first mistake.

He had invited his friends over at his house. He had made some really cool friends, and he even got this girl he’s been trying to get with to tag along. Jeno feels nervous, of course, he wants to impress them.

Besides Jaemin, Haechan and Renjun, he also invites some people from the basketball team he’s trying to get into, and some girls that are part of the circle. And of course, the girl he had liked, Eunmi.

His friends encouraged him to make a move tonight, and for some dumb reason, he thought it would be romantic to bring out wine. So he went to the kitchen to do so, but got surprised when a soft voice called his name.

It was you. Your shy demeanor, and your avoiding gaze startles him but he can’t help but smile. You’re so cute.

He clears that with whatever you were gonna tell him, make it quick because someone’s waiting for him. But as soon as you open your mouth to say the next words,

“I like you. Very much.”

He feels like his feet are frozen. His heart starts to race and if only he wasn’t leaning on the counter behind him, he would definitely stumble. His grip on the wine glass tightens. He doesn’t know what to do.

The next words just came out, and he instantly regrets it.

“...I-I’m just being nice.. I have to be nice. You’re my brother’s best friend.” In a split second before Eumi interrupts the conversation, he can clearly see the pain in your eyes. The initial shock of the fact that he’s rejecting you was prominent in your face and he just wanted to take every word back at that point.

But before he could even utter another word, Eunmi decided to take over. You then quickly walked out, but before you can turn around, he sees a teardrop, and by then, he’s sure he’s made a mistake. He can’t believe he just broke your innocent heart.

Eunmi is no longer in his mind, his friends no longer his priority, the entirety of the night, you plagued his mind. He wanted to run after you, and apologize. But what exactly is it for? It’s not like he was rude. He was calm, but still, you were visibly upset.

Jeno blames himself, until the night ends, he shoots his brother a message to ask you if you were okay. He needs to know.

Jeno was twenty when he breaks his own heart for the first time.

He can’t believe his eyes. He doesn’t know which emotion he should feel, the anger that slowly builds up upon seeing you entering the party with Jungwoo, or the adoration to seeing you looking that good in your mini dress.

You had walked in with the confidence he failed to notice before, with Jungwoo’s arm around your waist. He clenches his fist, but soon he gets caught in his own mind when his girlfriend of two weeks leans over to him.

The train of thought he had was still there, however, he was forced to pretend like everything’s fine. Although he can’t look at you in the eye, when he can certainly feel your gaze time to time.

What he can’t absolutely avoid tho, is his eyes on Jungwoo’s touches. Since when did you let a random man touch you like that?

More so, a man like Jungwoo? Much older than you, and he doesn’t remember Jungwoo and you ever be in the same vicinity as each other. Why are you so comfortable with him already?

Green doesn’t suit Jeno. So he tries to focus on the girl beside him. But mentally, he counts the shots that was given to you. Too many, and if the situation is different, he’d take those shots and shove it up Jungwoo’s ass.

But as soon as you stood up, his quick reaction was to follow you.

All he can think about is you getting out of here.

“Find Chenle. Now.” He groaned, despite his anger, he doesn’t like yelling at you.

What you did next was unexpectable.

You had tried to kiss him.

His reflex was to push you, and that, he did. His demeanor changes, and everything that falls from his lips after that was a blur to him.

One thing’s clear, the look in your eyes. You were so defeated, but Jeno didn’t let it affect him. He was blinded by anger, and the fact that you’re so drunk that you’d kiss just anyone. Not to mention a man that has a girl! What has gotten into you?

He was completely out of his mind when he said that to you.

And when you cried in front of him, he felt his own heart break. Every tear is equivalent to a stab right through his chest.

Right there and then, he wanted to beg for your forgiveness. Say that everything wasn’t true, that he doesn’t think you were desperate. Hell, he would kiss you back if you’d let him.

But all those hope was thrown away when you left. Because what’s left was this strange, terrifying feeling that somehow, this was the last straw for you.

And Jeno despises himself for causing you pain, over and over. He curses at his own self for being so coward.

“Hey Jen, how are you?” His mom’s voice was enthusiastic as ever. Even over the phone, he can hear the smile in her face.

He thinks he should be honest. “Not good,”

“Aw, is it your practice? Don’t worry darling, just a few more months and you’ll be graduating!” He smiles at his mother’s sweet voice of anticipation, he can just imagine the tiny claps she does.

“No, mom. I—“ He closes his eyes in frustration. “I have to talk to you about something,”

“What is it? Is it your brother? About y/n?” Her tone changes, now sounding concerned.

Jeno curses mentally, because of how quick his mom mentioned you.

“It’s about y/n,” he says lowly, testing the waters for a bit.

He hears a deep sigh, “I called her a week ago and she’s been real distant from me, Jen. Anything I should know?”

“Mom,” He almost whines. He just wants to spill it out.

“What? You’re worrying me. Is our y/n okay? God, she’s been out of control, hasn’t she?” The concern is now intensified, and Jeno thinks he should just spit it out. But his tongue can’t seem to say it.

“She.. she’s fine.”

“Good gracious, okay. I thought something had happened. Her mother must be frowning at me from heaven right now. Still remember your promise to your Auntie, right?”

Bingo. The very reason as to why he can’t just say it. Why he can’t just be with you already. It’s because of this god forsaken promise that he made.

“You need to be a big brother to her, treat her as your sister. She has nothing but us now, Jeno.”

He almost cries, he just wanted to yell. He felt as though he failed his mother, your mother and you. He shouldn’t be feeling this emotion towards you. This harbored feelings are forbidden. He can’t. He just… can’t.

He lets his eyes get warmer, gripping in his phone harshly. He takes a huge, deep breath.

“Mom, I love her. So much. I- I can’t… I can’t keep on hurting her and pretending that I only look at her as a sister.” He pleads, finally letting it known. There’s no turning back.

Silence was deafening on the other line. Every millisecond, he can feel his heartbeat race.

“Jeno, we’ve talked about this.”

“I love her, mom. I do, I really do.” He cries, for the first time in a long time.

“She’s your sis—“

“She’s not! God, she’s your best friend’s daughter, I know that but I’m not her older brother. I’m a person that truly loves her. I have loved her for so many years but I keep on h—“

“Jeno, hush, darling. I understand… but she’s our family. If all these feelings get old and you decide you don’t love her anymore, who will she turn to? Not us, darling because at the end of the day, we’re your family. I’m just… worried about her, she has… no one to turn to if this all blows up.” His mother’s response, despite the rise of emotion, was still calm and soft.

“I won’t, mom. Please, just let me love her. I can’t keep hurting her, mom, It kills me.” Jeno never begged this much. Just for you. His only exception.

His mother pauses, way too long, before finally breathing out again. “Okay, darling. I trust you. But please. I beg you, not to hurt her. We’re all that she’s got.”

Jeno whips his head up, baffled as to how easy she agreed to him. A little to no persuasion, and it didn’t even take ten minutes.

“What? J-just like that?” Jeno questions in disbelief. Years of yearning, years of hurting you, when Jeno could just do this early on?

His mom, regardless of the moment, managed to let out a breathy chuckle.

“Darling, you’ve proven yourself over the years. Me and your Dad had an inkling that you have a special admiration for Y/n ever since before. Its just unfortunate that her mother had to pass, and had asked us a favor— more to you, to look after Y/N like your own sibling. And when you agreed, I felt like it’s just how it goes. But years of seeing you pretend to not care about her, and seeing you struggle to cope with your feelings, I knew then that you were serious.”

“Me and your Dad realized that our eldest, really, has grown up to be a man. And seeing you still have the same passion and the same feelings towards her until now, says that you’d stop at nothing at this point. So what’s the use of preventing you?”

And with that, Jeno was free. Free of constraint, of guilt and control over his own will and feelings.

Like a baby, Jeno falls asleep with tears in his eyes. In complete satisfaction on how things went. Now, his only problem is getting to you, and begging for your forgiveness. Wishing by then, you’d still want him.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

Jeno didn’t waste his time. As soon as the morning comes, he’s fast on his feet. He wants to talk to you, he wants to clear everything up. He had tried to text and call, but he quickly realized you blocked his number.

He called his brother next, but Jisung also has not heard from you since yesterday.

It wasn’t until 5pm that he couldn’t find you, he started to worry. None of your friends know where you are, and you’re not in your apartment either.

He contacted every possible soul that could even have a hint on where you’re at, but none of them knows.

He feels like he’s running out of time, running out of momentum.

And just as soon as he was about to call for help, he received a message.

[5:32pm] unknown number

she’s at dreamscape hill. she likes going there to ease her mind. take care of her, please. -k

He didn’t care to ask who it was, he just prayed that whoever sent him this message was right.

And off to dreamscape hill, Jeno goes.

He can barely catch his breath when he arrived, heart pounding at his chest. It was past sundown when he found you sitting at the bench, on top of the hill.

It’s you. He’s sure it’s you. To the curves of your shoulder, to the waves of your hair. Call it creepy, but he spent years looking at your back, from afar, forbidden to even glance at you when you’re close. So yes, he’s a hundred percent sure that it’s you.

He’s a few feet behind you, when he noticed the earphones you had on. Probably why you didn’t hear the ruffling of the twigs and leaves as he walked closer.

And in divine timing, you look back at your shoulder, looking straight at Jeno’s eyes, as if it made sense why he’s here.

Slowly, you pull the earphones out.

“What’re you doing here?” You ask, almost a whisper. But the city in front of you gave him enough silence to hear every breath you take.

“Finding you,” he answers. He struggles to keep his words straight, the thumping in his chest causing him to stutter.

You blink thrice, seems like you’re still processing Jeno’s answer.

“Why?”

Jeno took a couple step, and finally he sat beside you. he looked forward at the cityscape. He took note of your body language, it seems to him that you’re starting to get nervous.

“To tell you I’m sorry. I’m sorry it took this long for me to find you. I’m sorry I hurt you, I’m sorry for making you cry. I’m sorry that I wasted years, and I’m so sorry I lied.” Jeno says every word with great diction, in perfect pace and clear voice. He wants you to understand every word that he says.

He hears you let out a huff, as if in disbelief. His heart went even more faster, scared on what you might say.

He’s never anticipated an answer like this before. He never had to grip at his own knees in nervousness before. He can’t even look at your expression.

“I think we’re past that, Jeno.”

This is what he’s afraid of. He might be too late, he might fuck this up. Nevertheless, he’ll never regret trying.

“I know that I’m years too late but you need to understand—“

“I don’t need to understand nothing. What I need is to just live my life, love my life. I have spent years yearning for you, let me love myself too. I think I’ve loved you since I met you, Jeno. I just mistook it for curiosity. Everyone else isn’t you, and turns out that’s a huge problem for me.” Jeno can hear you smile, and when he finally let himself take a look, he softens.

You’re smiling like you used to smile. You’re smiling like you again.

“That’s because we thought we could alter fate, and tell me I’m batshit crazy for believing but I can prove to you that we’re just… soulmates, y/n. Y-you’re meant for me as much as I am for you.” These are some words Jeno never thought he would use. The things you make him do.

You chuckle again, while shaking your head. Do you find it ridiculous? Do you think Jeno is joking? Are you finding all of these insufferable? God, Jeno wished he could read you.

“We are not soulmates, Jeno. This is not some divine intervention, and shit, this is not fate. I wanted this. I knit the threads of my destiny until it spelled your name. I love you intentionally, Jeno. It’s not the stars and the heavens that brought us together. I did.”

Jeno was speechless. He could not utter a single word, he felt like he had no right to dictate you about what you feel. He’s ashamed, because what you said was right. You made him feel this, because of your desire for him, you made him fall. And damn it, he fell hard.

“It’s like you filled my lungs with flowers, although they are pretty, it made it hard for me to breathe. That's how much I wanted you.”

“Y/n, I will apologize to you forever if you wanted me to. Just… just please, let me have my chance.” Jeno begged like he never did before. He let his emotions out, and all for you. Because you deserve it. You deserve the real him.

Slowly, he felt your hand on his clenched fist, instantly letting it loose. He took the opportunity to lace your fingers together. It felt right, like your hand always belonged intertwined with his.

“If I took this chance with you, that would be the knife that would slit my own fucking throat, Jeno. And you know what’s funny? I’d probably apologize for bleeding in your shirt.”

“So let me have this time for myself, Jeno. And just like the old saying, time will tell. And if we find each other without even looking, then that’s when I’ll believe in that fate you were talking about.”

As your grip in his hand loosens, he felt like this was the first and last time he’ll get to hold your hand. He wanted to be selfish and not let you go, but he knows he’d be cruel to do that.

So he didn’t move. “I’ll see you around,” you say.

“I’ll find you,” he whispered, to you, to himself, and to whoever who’s listening. Let it be the heavens, or the devil in hell. He whispered to anybody, because he knows he’ll do it, and he wants everyone to stand witness to this promise.

“Sure you will,”

And in every step you made, as your body slowly walks away, you took his heart with you. Its yours, anyway. He’ll just have to find you to have it back.

୧ ‧₊˚ ☆

“Lee Jeno! Lee Jeno! Lee Jeno!”

The screams from the bleachers never seemed to falter, only getting louder each time.

The band is on full blast, people running around down the court as soon as the last whistle of the game went off.

Jeno had won the much awaited game against the SKU, with a whopping 73 points under his belt, making it the first time in his school’s history to earn that many points, by a single player, in one game.

This just solidified his reputation, being named the greatest player that had ever stepped foot on this campus.

And to make this game, even more legendary than it already is, it’s the last game of the season before Jeno graduates. So he’s literally going out with a bang with this one.

His teammates celebrated the win, begging Jeno to go the the victory party. For the first time, Jeno refused to attend a victory party. Much more, a victory he made happen.

He walked past the girls that’s lining up to take a picture with him, immediately walking straight back to the lockers.

He shoots a text at Renjun, informing his friend that he’ll head home, instead of attending the party.

He was about to turn to his locker, when his name was called by a familiar voice.

Jeno looked back, and to his disappointment, it’s Jennie.

“Why haven’t you answered my calls? It’s been months, Jeno! You can’t just..” Jennie couldn’t even finish her sentence, stomping her feet like a toddler.

Yes. It has been months since he blocked every girl that he had ever slept with.

Three months, thirteen days, and twenty-one hours, to be exact.

“My team’s gonna be here soon. You don’t want me to embarrass you in front of them, trust me.” Jeno’s threat was casual, but he’s serious enough for Jennie to take the hint.

“B-but, Jen, it's me.” Jennie’s voice turns softer, making Jeno cringe at the tone. She then tried to touch his shoulder, but Jeno was quick to dodge.

“Exactly. You’re you, Jennie. And I don’t like you.”

The girl was aghast, to say the least. Her mouth wide open in disbelief. Taking Jeno’s advice, albeit with offense, she stomps her way out of the lockers.

Just as he said, his teammates started flocking in, with his coach holding the trophy. He lost count on how many pats in the back he received after the game. The repetitive congratulatory messages are starting to grow old.

“Are you really not coming? You’re literally the man of the year, dude. Everybody’s gonna be looking for you!” Sungchan, one of his teammates says.

“Nope,” Jeno says with a pop.

“Come on, this’ll probably the last victory party you’ll ever have!” Yangyang joins in, but Jeno just shrugged his shoulders.

“Sorry, dude. I got a thesis paper due in two days.”

A plethora of complains, grunts and ‘what?!’s came pouring in after his statement, but Jeno stood his ground.

Jeno was serious. He needs to study for his thesis paper, and pass it on time. His professor expects him to match his academics to his basketball career, and he doesn’t want to disappoint.

Before the commotion gets even more wild, and before Jeno gets kidnapped into attending the party, he swiftly bids farewell to his coach, the only person that mattered to him. His coach just shook his head and gave him a nod, before letting him go.

“You did well, kid.”

Jeno heads through the parking lot. He had been stopped by students every ten seconds therefore his usual 4 minute walk to his car ended up being 30 minutes.

He starts up the engine, but before taking off, he checks some of his messages.

[8:43pm] dong(yuck!): congratulations, lebron ‘lee jeno’ james! the game was so cool dude u look good throwing balls lol btw im staying at my girls hauz. also ur welcome. also enjoy. lolz

[8:54pm] jaemjaem: dude that game!!! ur on FIRE my guy!! pls pls apply for nba so i can watch courtside with kanye west :D im out rn and i wont be home til tmrw. ur welcome ;)

[8:59] jisung: great game couldve been better tho… anyways… wrap it b4 u tap it!!!

[9:02pm] injunnie <3: game was lit. didnt understand shit abt the game but u did good. im spending the night @ my moms so u better make it worth it, lee jeno.

Jeno’s breath hitches, and before he could even question the hints his roommates are giving him, another ping notifies his phone.

[9:04pm] unknown number: hi. im at urs. can we talk?

Jeno knows not to speed, but tonight, he swears his tires didn’t even touch the concrete. He is flying off the highway.

With sweaty palms, he enters the security code to his door. Hands shaking, he opens it up and with the sight of a woman’s shoes on his doorstep, he takes a deep breath.

“I hope you don’t mind, it was Jaemin’s idea to let me in without telling you. Uh, so if you’re not—“

“Y/n,” he gulps as he takes in your figure, standing in the middle of his kitchen.

“Yeah.. it’s me.” You smile tightly, shrugging your shoulders.

Even though Jeno was ready to leap and drown you in his embrace, he stood his ground. He’s still not sure why you’re here, and until you say so, he’s not moving. The last thing he wants to do is push your boundaries.

“What’re— what are you—” He feels stupid. Stuttering like a five year old in front of you.

“Figured we could talk. Jisung and Chenle got sick of me moping around so they made me—“

“I hope you’re not being forced to talk to me. I told you, I’ll wait. No matter how long,” The sincerity laced in his voice was prominent.

“I promise you, I went here in my own will. Two idiots just talked some sense into me, and Jisung told me about the promise you made my mom years ago.”

Then there was silence. But this time, it wasn’t deafening. It was peaceful. Its as if you two are finding serenity in each others presence and just the way you stare at each other already says the words your mouth couldn’t speak.

But Jeno cut it short. “Does this mean..”

“I want to try, Jeno. I want to experience this with you. Slowly, at our own pace. I want to go on dates. Carnivals. Watch netflix. Everything, with you.” There's a tinge of shyness in your voice, and Jeno just wants you to scream it out. You don’t need to shy away from him.

“Everything, with me. At your own pace. I’ll accept everything you can offer,” He assured your worried mind.

You nod gently. “I want to feel loved without feeling like I’m begging for it,”

Jeno shakes his head vigorously, “No, baby, you’ll never beg to be loved, ever again. I swear in my grave.” He takes one step closer.

“I’ll trust you and risk getting my heart broken again, but I really hope you won’t.”

One more step closer “I will never. Baby, you’re it for me. I didn’t know it before, but I should’ve known it was you, because no one else made sense.”

You nod again, biting your lip. “When I visited my mom, I told her about you,”

“Yeah?” Jeno asks, in a sweet tone, taking another step closer.

You smiled at him. “I bet she would trust you too,”

“I will not break her trust. Not again,”

He watches carefully as you raise your hand to cup his cheeks, his reaction was to lean into your touch. He takes your initiative as a signal, but still takes his movement slowly.

You gulp, looking up at him. “Can you love me now?”

“Oh, baby. I have loved you since forever. It just took me time to realize it.”

And then, as you tiptoe to match his height, he feels your lips on him and he swears that you taste like heaven.

Jeno didn’t remember how long you talked that night, but somewhere in the midst of your laughter and smiles, he decided that he would destroy the world for you.

Because you might not know it, but in every universe, in every lifetime, and in every story, Jeno has always been completely, madly, and inevitably yours.

A/N: From the bottom of my heart, I apologize for making you guys wait this long. I promise, it just happened to be my worst year ever :'(( but at least she's here! I just wish this could at least be worth it. Tune in for the next part (I promise, it would NOT take this long lmao)

taglist: @cutiepeas @legbouk @hyuckissed @bockhyun @hibernatinghamster @shookyungsoo @sundamariis @sharkipoonis @ohmykwonsoonyoung @carelessshootanonymous @glamourizz

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amethystwrytes · 4 months ago

Text

Of Course, Professor

Pairing: Law Professor!Lee Know x Female Reader

Genre: Smut. Romantic-ish. Basically just porn with a hint of plot tossed in so I don’t just keyboard smash sex stuff on the page and feel bad about myself. 18+.

Summary: The law professor everyone is scared of generously offers to help you with your school work.

Warnings: There is explicit language. There is explicit sex (oral, penetration, teasing, edging, cumshot). There is a Professor/Student relationship, and IRL I do think that’s super inappropriate BUT this isn’t real life and I promise everything is very consensual, there’s no like “give me sex and you’ll get an A” kinda stuff, so, it’s all very much in my own personal scope of comfort. I wouldn’t write anything I felt was yucky. If any of that rubs you the wrong way though, that’s totally fine, and this one isn’t for you which is completely okay.

A/N: So, once upon a time in my undergrad years I was determined to be a lawyer. For a solid academic year I changed my major to Paralegal Studies because I figured that would be a perfect foundation for law school (smart, right?). Except like, three months in I was miserable and hated everything about it and realized that it absolutely couldn’t be me. I ended up having a similar discussion with my academic advisor/professor - except I didn’t end up fucking them - not that professor anyway (kidding). I always wanted to write a story about that awful year, and now I have - kinda…sort of. With a twist of delicious Lee Know and forbidden love. Yum.

“Can you stop please?”

You look at the girl sitting next to you in class. Her name completely escapes you but her eyes are burning lasers at the pen you’ve been clicking nervously in your hands.

“...Sorry…”

You apologize and gently set the pen down on your desk. Professor Lee is taking his sweet time passing back the most recent term papers and you dig your nails into your palm in anticipation of your grade.

To say you’re struggling in his Civil Procedures course is an understatement. In fact, you don’t seem to be doing well in any of the classes you’re taking this semester. The voices of your parents condescendingly telling you “Law School isn’t for everyone and that’s okay,” sound like they’re playing on repeat in an echo chamber.

If you bomb this paper you’re out. You stayed up almost all night last night going over the pros and cons of dropping out. You went back and forth so long fighting with yourself that you fell asleep thinking about it, and when you woke up the only thing you could think of was letting the universe give you a sign.

You had worked on your term paper for weeks, carefully piecing it together, you spent so much time in the library that you now know the TA who works at the help desk on a first name basis. So if you flunk it, there’s your magical sign.

“Ms. ___,” Professor Lee sets your paper face down on the desk - bad sign. He leans down just a tad, “Why don’t we meet in my office after class?” - even worse.

“Yes, Professor,” you nod. You think about not even flipping the stapled monstrosity over, but curiosity gets the better of you.

There it is, a painful 55% staring back at you in thick, blood-red marker. You spare yourself the trouble of pouring over the thinner red notes made in the margins of every page. You can’t help the tears of frustration that pool in your eyes.

“Everyone enjoy your break and the time spent with your families, when we return we’ll begin our discussions on Summary Judgement, so please make sure you complete the reading outlined in the syllabus before we see each other again. Dismissed,” Mr. Lee nods and the ruckus of chairs against linoleum and exasperation fill the room.

Mr. Lee’s office is four floors above the classroom, so you have a few minutes to spare - which you spend in the restroom crying, drying your eyes, then crying again.

You’re dropping out of Law School. All that work, all that trying, all those late nights - and don’t even start on the amount of money spent on coffee and tuition and fucking textbooks and…you start sobbing again.

“How did you do?” Seungmin asks when you emerge from the ladies room, his face immediately contorts into a painful frown at your red, puffy face, “That bad huh?”

“I can’t really talk Seungmin,” you take a deep breath, “I’ve got to go meet Lee in his office before his next class begins.”

“Fuck,” Seungmin frowns even more, “That man scares the shit out of me.”

“Thanks,” you say, “That’s helpful.”

“Sorry. We’re all heading to the Coffee House before everyone starts driving home for the break, do you want to come? After your meeting of course,” he asks.

“Not today,” you shake your head, “but thank you for asking.”

He gives you a sympathetic look and your shoulder a tiny squeeze.

You stand outside Professor Lees office for a few moments, gathering yourself. Professor Lee makes everyone nervous. He’s a hard instructor, emotionless sometimes, so direct it’s painful, and it doesn’t help anyone that he’s also devastatingly attractive. He’s a giant walking slab of intimidation.

You softly knock on the door and he looks up at you from over his glasses as he types something.

“Ah, Ms. ___, there you are. Come, sit down,” he instructs and you slide through the doorframe and slouch in an old green armchair across from his desk.

“Just give me one second,” he says slowly as he continues typing, “alright.”

“I’m sorry sir, for the term paper, I should have done better,” you offer up, electing to go ahead and fall on your own sword.

“There’s no need for apologies Ms. ___, a waste of time in this kind of situation. I would like to speak to you about your grades this semester though. After I graded your term paper, I reached out to some of my colleagues - some of your other professors - and they all had similar reports to give me, can we talk about that?”

You sigh, fanning out your fingers over your thighs, “Please, Professor, you mentioned a moment ago about time wasters - and I don’t want to waste anymore of your time - I’ve decided to drop out of law school.”

The defeat you feel just saying the words out loud to someone is enough to bring tears back, but you fight them off. You will not cry in Professor Lee Minhos office. Absolutely not.

Professor Lee purses his lips and nods, “I think that’s probably for the best.”

Your jaw drops, “Aren’t you supposed to encourage me to do the opposite? To try harder or something?”

“Miss ___, I fear if you tried any harder your hair might burn out from the roots,” he smiles and if you weren’t so shocked, you’d laugh at the first joke you’ve ever heard him utter.

Before you can think of something to say, he produces a file folder from his drawers and smacks it on the table making you jump.

“These are all the papers you’ve written for my class so far this semester. Your papers intrigue me Miss ___.”

Intrigue? That’s a funny word to use for ‘disgusted and disappointed beyond imagination.’

“But you-,” you begin to point out that the highest grade he’s ever given you on a paper was a 68%. Far from intriguing.

“But…as legal writing? They’re all absolute trash,” he tells you. “What intrigues me about them is the way you write, it’s quite good, every time I read one I feel like I’m in the room with a friend who’s trying to sort of explain law to me, the problem is you just don’t think, rationalize, or talk like a lawyer. I noticed in your transcript that your undergraduate degree was in education, and you had a 4.0 GPA. I can’t help but wonder, Miss ___, what career are you looking for?”

“A…a lawyer,” you say in a quiet voice, staring at a knick on his desk.

He looks skeptical as he leans back in his chair, “Why?”

“Because…” oh fuck it all, you may as well just say it, “because my father, my mother, and my older brother are all lawyers, who went here.”

“I see, so one could deduce that you wanted to be a lawyer because they wanted you to be one, they expected it of you?” he concludes.

You smile comically, the truth is much more pathetic.

“No, actually, they all told me I couldn’t do it. They told me I wasn’t smart enough, sharp enough, bold enough. I wanted to teach art to school children, but when that’s exactly what I elected to study, their comments started. I was just a private joke between the three of them, and I hated it, so I wanted to show them that I could be a lawyer.”

“You came here to study law out of stubborn spite?” he reiterates.

“Yes sir, I did,” you look at your lap and play with a rogue string from your sweater cuff.

“That’s quite impressive, Miss ___, to go through all that trouble, strife, and money to do something you have no interest in just to best your family.”

“Well when you say it like that I sound like a psycho,” you laugh timidly, trying to keep the sludge of humiliation down.

“I don’t think you’re a psycho, I think you’re a bright woman who wanted to show her family they were wrong, but just ended up making herself miserable,” his expression is soft, almost understanding. “However, as your professor, I don’t think I could recommend continuing with law school. This is your first year, with first year level studies, and you’re struggling this much all for something you don’t even want, it will only get more difficult from here.”

You nod, “You’re probably right sir,” you stand, “I should get to the admin office before they close for the break, I’m sorry for wasting your time,” you give him a respectful smile and grab your bag.

“Miss ___,” he motions for you to sit back down, “First of all, you’ve not wasted a single second of my time. Second, I don’t recommend dropping out right now, I think you should finish this semester at least.”

“You just said…”

“I said I don’t think you should continue with law school, and I don’t. However, we’re past the official mid-point of the semester, the cut off to withdraw for a full refund of tuition was last week, if you go now you’ll never get that money back.”

You plop back down in the chair, even more defeated, “I didn’t realize that,” you drag your hands down your face in frustration, “shit.”

Professor Lee chuckles, “I do have an alternative plan for you, if you’re willing to hear it and put in the work,” he offers.

You sit up straight, “Yes, of course sir.”

“I suggest you finish this semester, and I will help you - starting with rewriting your latest term paper. I’ll even try to assist you with some of your other courses, if you’d like. If we work diligently enough, you can finish this semester with an acceptable GPA, that keeps your academic record away from probation or academic expulsion,” he explains.

“You would do that?” you ask in disbelief.

“Well, of course, I am a professor after all. What sort would I be if I wasn’t willing to help my students?”

“I don’t know what to say Professor,” you smile, “that’s too generous.”

“It’s not a problem Miss ___. Now, let’s talk strategy, I assume you don’t plan on spending break with your family?” he guesses.

“No sir, they’re too busy anyway, I plan on staying in my apartment off campus during the break,” you answer.

“Splendid. This evening I have a night class to teach, but perhaps we could meet tomorrow? The library will be closed for break, but my students enjoy meeting up together at that coffee place downtown, uh, Coffee Shack or something,” he struggles.

“The Coffee House?” you help him and try to hold back a grin.

“Yes, would you like to meet there, say, 1PM tomorrow afternoon? We can go over some of your papers together and I’ll help you with your legal writing technique,” he asks.

“Yes, I’ll be there sir, I really can’t thank you enough, truly I appreciate this,” you tell him.

“I look forward to it, Miss ___.”

📖 ❤️

You adjust your backpack as you walk towards the Coffee House doors. You packed your laptop, all your text books, notes, and a few other things because you weren’t sure what Professor Lee would want to cover. The weight of it all is dragging you down and you have to hunch over a bit to balance it.

“My goodness, here, let me get that for you Miss ___,” Professor Lee greets you at the door, he seems to have already picked a table near the front and grabs your bag with a grunt. “Did you pack your entire house?” he teases.

“I didn’t know what you’d want me to bring, so I brought all my school things,” you laugh.

“Well, I suppose it won’t matter that the library is closed since you brought it with you,” he chuckles and you take the seat beside him.

“Should we start?” you open your laptop and power on.

“I thought perhaps you’d like a beverage?”

“Oh,” you look behind you at the register, “Yes, I suppose we should caffeinate,” you smile.

“What would you like?” He stands up and brings his wallet out.

“Oh please sir, let me pay, it’s the least I could do for all of your help,” you beg.

“Nonsense, as much as I love to argue Miss ___ I don’t see the point over a cup of coffee, what would you like? Are you hungry?”

“No, I ate lunch before coming, just a latte for me, small,” you concede, “and thank you…again.”

He smiles and departs from the table. You watch him in the line from where you sit. Seeing Professor Lee like this feels…different. In a less formal setting he’s almost approachable, and you’re starting to see things about him that you don’t in class. Like his generosity, and kindness, the man even has a sense of humor and you think of texting Seungmin about it but stop yourself. You want to keep this all a secret. You don’t want anyone knowing that you’re in such desperate need of assistance with your courses, but also you want to keep this side of Professor Lee to yourself.

You could think of worse ways to spend your Saturday afternoon than with an attractive law professor who’s willing to help you pass your classes. You wonder if he’s aware that all his students find him so hot, or if it’s something that’s never occurred to him. He doesn’t wear a ring on any of his fingers, which tells you he isn’t married, but that doesn’t mean he’s single. You can’t imagine that he’s not seeing anyone. In class he’s usually got on some academia aesthetic looking suit on, lots of tweeds and browns - today he wears a fitted pair of jeans, and a navy sweater with a white collared button up fashioned underneath, the sleeves pushed up his forearms. His jet black hair isn’t styled like it usually is in class, and hangs long and loose around his face. He looks like such a boyfriend…

You blush and go back to focusing on your laptop. What the hell was that? He’s your professor. Which is actually kind of enticing…

You press your lips together and roll your eyes at yourself. Stop with the intrusive sexual thoughts about Professor Lee - the man is trying to save your ass, not spank it - having inappropriate daydreams, no matter how justified they may be, is unacceptable.

“Here we go,” he comes back to the table and sets two mugs on the surface as he takes his seat again.

“Thanks,” you smile politely, trying not to look at him. If you don’t look at him, maybe you won’t think about how cute he is and instead focus on what you ought to be: your failing grades.

“So, let’s start with the main issue of your papers. Writing, in the legal sense, is cut and dry. It’s all about facts, findings, and nothing expressive or personal, which is where you seem to have the most trouble,” he begins and you try to absorb the information instead of noticing the way his lips look while sipping his coffee.

This endeavor may be harder for you than just pulling your grades up.

📖 ❤️

“I think that was a very productive first meeting,” he says optimistically as you start piling things back into your backpack.

“I think so too,” you nod. Productive, yes - but now the real work begins and you’ll have to go home and actually re-write the damned thing.

Professor Lee carries your backpack out the door, “Where’s your car?”

“Oh, it’s at home, I just live a few blocks away,” you point in the general direction of your apartment.

“You mean to tell me you carried this while walking from your house?” he holds the backpack with two hands for dramatics and you giggle.

“It’s not that terrible, how long has it been since you were carrying books around, Professor? Surely you remember the struggle,” you tease.

“I suppose it’s been a bit, here,” he reaches in his pocket and the SUV beside you beeps, he opens the passenger door, “I’ll drive you home so you don’t have to endure the struggle.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that sir,” you shake your head.

“It’s fine, it’s a small college town Miss ___, I can get literally anywhere in less than five minutes, especially since the majority of students are gone this week. Let me be chivalrous for you,” he smiles and you melt a little bit.

“Well, if you insist,” you look up at him as you slide into the passenger seat.

“I do,” he closes the door, then places your bag in the backseat before coming around to the drivers side.

“Are you always this difficult, Miss ___? Or are you just trying to be overly polite because I’m your professor?” he asks when you point him down the street towards your apartment.

“Difficult, sir?” you look at him wide-eyed.

“Mmhmm,” he nods, “You didn’t want me to buy your coffee, you nearly refused my ride home electing to carry a small library on your back while you walk,” a look of panicked concern washes over his face and he looks over at you, “This isn’t making you uncomfortable in any way is it? Being alone with me?”

“No! No, absolutely not,” you assure him, though you wager that your thoughts about him would certainly make him uncomfortable. “I’m just so incredibly grateful for your help, and you continue to go out of your way for me. It’s just never something I…” you stop yourself.

“Never something you what?” he presses.

You laugh awkwardly, “It’s just not ever something I expected from you, given your reputation with the other students.”

“Ah, yes,” he sucks his teeth, “My reputation of being an uptight jerk who doesn’t like anyone.”

“I would never use those words sir,” you tell him.

“You might not, but I have the internet too, I’ve seen the threads about me on social medias,” he shares.

“You read those?” your voice raises at least three octaves.

“Of course, I’m only human, curiosity gets the best of me from time to time.”

“I don’t participate in those conversations,” you shake your head, “I understand that it’s only natural for students to want to know about the personalities of their upcoming professors, but the bias that occurs in those threads is absurd.”

“I agree, though sometimes they can be helpful, to my ego at least,” he laughs.

“How so?” you wonder, because you don’t remember seeing anything about his classes online that would feed his ego.

“Some of my students may not like my personality, but they like looking at me,” he grins.

“Professor Lee! That’s scandalous,” you laugh and playfully smack his shoulder.

“What?” he laughs with you, “I’ve got to take something positive from it! 75% of those comments are atrocious, but I’m quite proud that I scored three hot peppers on the professor hotness scale.”

“Oh my God,” you cover your mouth, “I cannot believe I’m sitting in your car having this conversation,” you giggle.

“Is this your building?” he points.

“Yes, it is.”

He parks on the street and you take a deep breath when he exits the car. He knows his students think he’s hot, and now he knows that you know he knows. You pat yourself on the back for indicating you’ve never participated in those threads before the conversation took a turn towards hot peppers. Though you are 100% guilty of voting for his peppers.

He opens your door, hanging your backpack across his shoulder.

“I’ll walk this up for you,” he offers and you swallow hard.

“Sure,” you smile, your heart pounding out of your chest. Professor Lee Minho is about to see the inside of your apartment. You try to recall the state you left the place in. You remember doing your dishes before you left, but that’s about the only productive thing you can remember doing today.

You unlock your door and flip the lights on. Your art supplies are everywhere, and you have a bag of laundry by the door because you plan on hitting the laundromat this evening. In trying to move it out of the way you knock it over, a pair of your underwear spilling out onto the floor right at his feet as he walks through.

“Jesus,” you mutter, humiliated, as he looks down at you grabbing up the black lace thong and shoving it back into the bag.

To your utter relief, he says nothing about your undergarments. He sets your backpack down and looks around.

“Can I offer you anything to eat or drink?”

“Did you do all these?” he walks forward into the room towards the area you dry your paintings in. Canvas after canvas sits up against the wall, some completed, most unfinished.

“Oh, yes,” you say, walking up beside him, “This semester has been really frustrating for me, and painting helps.”

“Well, they’re beautiful, truly - you’re quite talented,” he looks down at you, “I can see why teaching art is a passion for you, you’ve certainly got quite a knack for it.”

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

“Teaching is very rewarding,” he adds, “I think that you should pursue your original dream Miss ___. You’ve clearly got a lot to offer the world,” he smiles down at you and you catch his gaze, a few quiet seconds pass as you look into his dark eyes.

“You could just call me by my first name, ___, if you wanted,” you say softly, “and um, thank you, for complimenting my art.”

“You’re very welcome, ___,” he responds, staring at you again. You watch his eyes flit down to your lips and your heart speeds up again. He suddenly clears his throat and looks back at the paintings, “I think we should make the most of the week, since classes aren’t meeting, this is a perfect time for you to catch up with your studies. Tomorrow is Sunday, which is the day I typically devote to catching up on grading, and I do have midterm grades to enter. Perhaps Monday?” he asks.

“Monday, yeah. That works, um, I have a shift at work on Monday morning, but I’ll be free after 3PM.”

“Perfect, we could meet at the Coffee House again, around 4:30?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Great,” he begins walking back to the door, “and, um, while we’re together - working on your coursework I mean - feel free to call me Minho. However when classes resume, it’s probably best to address me as Professor Lee.”

“Of course, Professor,” you agree. “Thank you, er…Minho…for everything today.”

“You’re most welcome,” he opens the door then pauses, turning his head slightly in your direction, “Nice panties, by the way. See you Monday!”

You stand there, speechless, staring at the closed door.

📖 ❤️

Monday afternoon you can’t help but notice that Professor Lee - Minho - sits closer to you at the table in the coffee shop as he helps you study for one of your other classes. You don’t blame him, truth be told, you spent over an hour after your shift at the bookstore getting ready, hoping he’d look at you the same way he did Saturday. You are, without a doubt, down bad. To impress him even further you’ve got a surprise for him.

“I re-wrote my term paper,” you blurt as the two of you are clearing up the table after studying.

“Already?” he looks at you.

“I worked on it all night Saturday, and most of the day on Sunday. Do you want me to email it to you?”

“Absolutely,” he smiles, “Good girl.”

Fuck off, he did not just say that. You bite down on your lip and your thighs press together as you bring up your student email. You attach the file and send it to him.

“It should be in your inbox the next time you check,” you say…like a good girl. Swoon.

“Great, um, I was wondering - and just tell me to shut up if you want to - but I was wondering if you had plans this evening?”

Your heart grows wings and begins to fucking fly.

“No,” you shake your head, “I have zero plans for a Monday evening in a town that’s practically shut down.”

He chuckles, “Right. So, would you want to join me for dinner maybe?”

You at least pretend to mull it over instead of just shouting YES in some unflattering, desperate tone.

“Where were you planning on eating?” you ask.

“There’s a really nice place I like, it’s about a twenty minute drive out of town, but the food is impressive, never had a bad dish there,” he shares.

“I am hungry,” you say, “I’d love to.”

“Good, shall we?”

📖 ❤️

“Are we celebrating anything special this evening?” the waiter asks as he sets two glasses of water down, “A first date? An anniversary perhaps?”

“No.”

Both of you answer him at the same time, and try to hold your laughter in when the poor man looks taken back.

“Okay,” he says, “Can I get you all anything to drink from our wine or cocktail menu?”

“I’ll have a glass of this pinot, chilled, please,” you point to the wine and the waiter writes it down.

“I’ll have the same,” Minho smiles.

“I’ll get those right out.”

Minho bites his lip and stares down at the tablecloth, you frown.

“Is everything alright?” you ask.

“Everything’s fine,” he says, “I’m just trying to remind myself that nothing inappropriate is happening here, I’m having dinner with one of my female students, but you are an adult and so am I and it’s fine.”

“I won’t be your student after this semester,” you point out, “I don’t know if that’s helpful or not though.”

“It is,” he nods, then tilts his head, “yet somehow I still feel like I’m misbehaving.”

“It’s only food, how is that misbehaving?”

“It’s not what I’m doing,” he bites his lip again and looks up at you, “It’s what I’m thinking.”

You take a sip of water, your body practically vibrating with curiosity, “What is it that you’re thinking, exactly?”

“Things that I shouldn’t be thinking about my student,” he says quietly.

“This isn’t high school, Professor, this isn’t even undergrad. Don’t be harsh on yourself, I’m sure whatever you’re thinking about isn’t a bad thing,” you point out, hoping you sound cool and collected and not like you’re ready for him to take you right on this table.

“So if I was thinking about fucking you after class in my office, across my desk, that wouldn’t be a bad thing?”

You nearly choke on your water. Before you can respond the waiter returns with your glasses of wine, not a moment too soon.

“I’ll let you guys look over the menu and come back in a few minutes.”

You clear your throat once the waiter is gone, “I think fucking me on your desk would probably be inappropriate,” you smile, “especially to your neighboring colleagues. I have quite a mouth on me,” you say, opening your menu.

You can feel him staring at you. “I’d very much like to hear it.”

“Maybe you will, I guess we’ll see,” you shrug.

The smile that spreads across his face is so dangerously mischievous, your clit throbs where you sit and you shift uncomfortably, only making it worse.

📖 ❤️

The sexual tension between the two of you could be cut with a knife as you make your way back to his car. You reach for the door handle, but he grabs your arm and spins you around, your back pushed up against the door.

His lips crash against yours, arms caging you in which is completely fine by you. You bury your fingers in his hair on either side of his head but he pulls away.

“I want it to be clear I have never had any kind of sexual relationship with a student, ever,” he says quickly, then his lips are against yours again.

“I believe you,” you manage between lips and tongues.

He pulls away again, “And the only reason I’m pursuing this is because I can’t fucking resist you and you’re not going to be my student again after this semester,” he adds, then more kissing.

“Got it,” you mumble into his mouth.

Again he pulls away, “Seriously, even if you don’t quit law school I can never have you in class again, okay?”

“Yes! Fuck that place, I’m done, and even if I wasn’t - I wouldn’t take you again, you’re an uptight jerk of a professor, remember?” you tease him, then desperately pull him back onto your lips.

He shoves you harder against the car, his knee coming between your legs and you press yourself down on his thigh. You moan softly into his mouth and his hand smacks the side of the car.

“Get in, fuck, please get in the fucking car.”

He scrambles around to the drivers side as you jump in.

“Your place or mine?” he asks, turning the ignition.

“Which is closer?” you ask, pulling the seat belt so hard and quick that it locks up.

“Uh…mine… mine I think.”

“Then there’s your answer,” you tell him.

Five minutes of him burning rubber down the highway is too long for you not to be touching him. You reach over and caress his thigh through his jeans, moving higher and higher until you find what you’re looking for in the darkness.

He hisses as you stroke and massage his hard length through the fabric.

You unbuckle your seat belt, “Are you as good a driver as you are a professor?”

“I…why?”

You scoot as far as you can and lean over, undoing the button and zipper of his jeans, sliding your hand through the opening of his boxers until you feel the warm, velvety skin of his cock in your fist.

“Oh fuck…oh my fucking…” he pants, his knuckles turning stark white around the steering wheel.

You unbuckle his seatbelt as well and help him get it out of the way before pulling his cock from the confines of his jeans.

You stroke him a few times, then let a glob of spit drip from your lips onto him so you can continue stroking more comfortably.

“God…”

You take him in your mouth and suck, running your tongue over the tip. The way he’s nearly whimpering, eyes so wide on the road, delights you. You put your mouth on him again, taking him deep in your throat, taking turns stroking and licking.

“I’m going to cum,” he whispers hoarsely after several minutes, “I don’t have anything to…” he looks around frantically but you shake your head, popping your mouth off of him momentarily.

“I can take it,” you whisper, then suck him between your lips once more. You can feel the base of his cock twitch and brace yourself, spurts of hot cum follow seconds later and you take it all from him greedily, swallowing then wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Holy shit,” he says through clenched teeth. “That was so fucking hot.”

“Thank you,” you grin, pulling down the visor so you can fix yourself in the mirror. The “kiss proof” lipstick you wore today is evidently not “road head proof” and you clean up the edges of your mouth.

He reaches over and grabs your hand in his, squeezing and rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb while he speeds down the road.

📖 ❤️

The door to Minhos apartment isn’t even locked before he shoves you against it and presses his mouth to yours.

“I want to make you feel so fucking good,” he whispers, trailing kisses down your neck. He drops to his knees and unbuttons your pants, pulling them down your legs. You kick your shoes off so he can get the pants off completely.

He looks up at you and grins, tracing the lines of the black lace thong that toppled over at your apartment, “I was wishing very much that I’d get to see you in these,” he says, pressing his tongue against the tiny bit of cloth.

You gasp at the way his lips move, teasing and licking through the thin lace, “Are you really going to eat me out against the door?”

“Mmm,” he moans against your clit and your legs jerk, “Yes,” he says hooking his fingers in the strings and pulling the soaking wet cloth down your legs.

“No patience at all Professor, I’m shocked,” you tease.

“So… you can call me Minho,” he smiles, kissing and licking trails back up your legs, “but in class and when I’m fucking your pretty pussy feel free to use Professor.”

“Absolutely Professor Lee,” you rest your head against the door as his tongue wiggles between your slick. “Fuck!”

He finds your clit and wraps his lips around, gently sucking. You lay one of your thighs over his shoulder and try to steady yourself while he laps and sucks you off. You grab his hair with your fingers and move with him, fucking his face and listening to the delightful slurping, wet sounds erupting through the quiet room.

“Oh…just like that, right there,” you whine when he begins to softly lick the perfect spot, “fuckfuckfuck…yes!” you release his hair from your fist and hold yourself against the wall as your legs begin to quake, cunt throbbing in rhythmic spasms as he milks you with his lips.

“Oh my god,” you groan, trying to stand straight. He finally gets around to locking the door then picks you up, carrying you down a hallway. He pours you onto the bed and you watch as he strips himself of clothing, you follow suit, though half your outfit is in his foyer.

You lay back, bottom lip between your teeth as you watch him crawl over you, positioning himself between your legs.

“You’re sure this is okay?” he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours, the head of his cock leaking against your open cunt.

“Yes, fuck, yes I want you,” you assure him, nails digging into his shoulder. He makes a gruff noise deep in his throat and lines himself up with your opening. You wrap your legs around his waist, encouraging him to push into you and he does, slow and deep. You both moan into each other at the sensation of it.

Slowly he begins to move quicker, still deep, but urgently. The sound of skin against skin intoxicating. He sits up a bit, your hips coming with him and he grabs them, using you as an anchor to thrust into you.

“Minho…” his name comes out as a whisper, your eyes screwed shut. “So close…”

“No, no,” he tsks, slowing down and pulling himself out, pushing the head of his cock against your clit. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He slides his cock against you until you start squirming beneath him, your clit still sensitive from his front door excursions. “Please? Fuck…” you whine loudly.

“You want it?” he asks in a growl, stuffing himself inside you then pulling out again.

“Yes! Yes! Please!” you cry, your nails scraping against the sides of his legs.

“Are you sure baby?” he smirks, pushing into you and pulling out slowly several times. Your orgasm begins to build again and you meet his thrusts with your hips, chasing it. Until he pulls out again.

“What are you doing?” you groan, half laughing and out of your mind.

“Beg a little,” he urges, teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock but pulling away every time you try to push against it.

You snap your eyes open, the sight of him looking down at you makes you unhinged. “Please, Professor Lee, please let me cum,” you say it as sweetly and earnestly as you can muster.

His eyes practically roll back in his head as he lines up with you again and pushes in deep, his hands fly back to your hips and he drags you on and off his cock until your vision goes white with the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had.

“Sit up, please,” he begs breathlessly as he pulls away, stroking himself. You do as you’re told and watch as his lips part, his hand stills and shots of pearly strings shoot across your breasts.

“Hold on,” he says when he can move again, then disappears behind a door, emerging a few moments later with a warm damp hand towel. He kisses you deeply as he cleans his cum off your chest.

“That was so fucking good,” you whisper, taking his face in your hands.

“Yes,” he sighs, pulling you down beneath the blankets with him, “Yes it was.”

He holds you close to him, your eyes getting heavier, “I think my books are still in your car. We could go over the paper on tort law I bombed over breakfast tomorrow?”

He chuckles and nods, “It’s a date.”

📖 ❤️

You sit in Professor Lees classroom as he passes back the latest exam. Term is almost over and everyone seems to be reeling with nerves around you.

He slows beside your desk and lays your test down, “Much better, Miss ___, much better.”

Seungmin looks over at your test, “Hey! Not bad,” he smiles cheerfully.

“I’ve had a lot of help this semester,” you smile.

At the bottom of the last page you read the note of thin red ink,

See you at my place tonight?

The End

Endnote:

I am in my Lee Know slut era. I will not be taking questions about my worship of him at this time, thank you. As always, if you made it far enough to read this, please accept my virtual smooch.

Also as always this is unbeta’d bc that’s typically how I roll so it could be absolute trash but that’s okay bc we’re just having fun.

#skz fanfiction #Lee know fanfiction #skz smut #lee know smut #Lee Minho #skz romance #Lee know romance #Lee Know x reader #fanfiction #stray kids

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inmyheaddd · 2 months ago

Text

✦ love story, (scribbled version) - percy jackson x reader

summary: percy’s handwriting is more difficult to decipher than ancient greek code - but with the sleepy sea eyed boy laying next to you, you end up asking him to translate almost every word in his blue birthday letter. warnings: nothing really, mentions of kissing, v fluffy and silly overall wc: 700

you sat on your bed, still in the outfit from your birthday party, a small plastic tiara your friend gave you perched on your head. percy was lying next to you, sprawled out across your pillows, one arm slung over his eyes.

he looked half-asleep already, his hair a little messy from the day’s chaos, and from you constantly running your fingers through it when you would kiss.

you glanced down at the letter in your hands, biting back a smile. it was his birthday letter to you—sweet, definitely, but completely illegible.

"perce?" you asked, your voice quiet, tapping his shoulder.

he groaned softly, shifting but not removing the arm over his face. “hmm?”

"what does this word say?" you asked, tilting the letter towards him so he could see it.

he peeked out from behind his arm, blinking lazily. “uh… ‘best.’”

you raised an eyebrow. "you sure about that? ‘cause it kinda looks like ‘beast.’"

“well, it’s not,” he mumbled, pulling his arm back over his eyes. “you’re the best.”

“aw,” you fake cooed at him, and you could practically hear the eye roll he would do to hide his flush. “thanks.” you smiled, trying to keep reading, but almost immediately got stuck again.

“…okay, wait. what about this one?”

he sighed, rolling onto his side to face you, his hair falling into his eyes. “it says ‘beautiful.’”

"oh," you said, glancing back at the letter. "right. obviously." you nodded, the scribbled mix of print and cursive still looked like a mystery to you, but you didn’t want to bug him too much.

you tried to keep reading, but less than two sentences later, you hit another roadblock. “percy…”

this time, he didn’t even open his eyes. “seriously?”

you held the letter infront of his face, pointing to something that looked like ‘federal’.

“what does this one say say?”

he cracked a single eye open, looking embarrassed now. “uh... ‘forever.’ it says ‘forever.’”

his face was flushing slightly, his usual confidence diminishing as he realized just how many times you had to ask.

as he lay back with both his arms over his eyes, you continued reading.

okay, now you were going on a streak. that was two whole sentences you understood without having to ask percy!

“okay, i’m sorry, but—”

“again?” percy groaned as he sat up, rubbing his face with his cheeks going pink. “how bad is it?”

he glanced at your face, glanced at the scribble on blue paper, and then sighed. “that says ‘cute.’” he said, “i was calling you cute.”

he let himself fall back on the bed with a huff, propping himself up with one elbow and resting his head on one hand as he looked at you.

you held back a laugh, placing the letter down in your lap. “perce, you know i love you so much, right?”

“…yeah?” his voice was cautious, clearly not trusting where this was going.

“and you know that even though you may be…” you trailed off, “less academically inclined than others, i still love you more than anything?”

he groaned once again, rolling onto his back and covering his face with both hands now. “okay, that’s not a compliment.” he said, “and does not make me feel better in the slightest.”

you laughed, sitting back against the pillows. “no, i promise, it’s cute!” you doubt calling it cute helped, but you said it anyway.

“i’m just saying, next time you could, i don’t know, type it? maybe make it a little easier on the birthday girl?”

he dragged his hands down his face, peeking at you from beneath them. “you’re killing me,” he muttered, though there was a smile tugging at his lips. “i’m never writing you a letter again.”

you grinned, adjusting the little crown on your head. “oh, come on. don’t be like that,” you teased, “it’s sweet. messy, but sweet.”

“yeah, well, now i feel like an idiot,” he said, cheeks pink as he sat up a little.

you leaned over, pressing a kiss to his temple. “you’re not an idiot, percy. seriously.” you said, and you weren’t lying. he was way smarter than what people gave him credit for.

“it’s the thought that counts. but maybe... practice your handwriting?”

he hummed a groan again, this time pulling you down onto the bed with him. “on your next birthday, my handwriting will look like times new roman. just you wait.”

“i’m holding you to that.” you teased, resting your head on his chest as you got comfortable.

he reached over and took off your tiara, placing it carefully somewhere on the bed side table before running his fingers through your hair lazily.

he then picked up the letter off the bed, having a read of it himself. you couldn’t see, but he was struggling to read it even more than you were with his brows knitted together to the extreme.

he tsked in frutstation when he couldn’t get past the 2nd paragraph, shaking his head as he put the blue card on the bedside table, alongside the tiara.

“less academically inclined, huh?” he mumbled, running his fingers through your hair again. “is that what you said?”

you giggled, already feeling tiredness wash over you, tilting your head to look up at him. “yep.”

he attempted a half-hearted glare, but his grin broke through far too quick as he looked at you, “alright, yeah, i can’t even argue with that.”

taglist: @lovethornes @littlemissmentallyunstable @midiosaamor @maybxlle @imaseabear

@sheisntyou @off-to-the-r4ces @anintellectualintellectual @wish-i-were-heather

#percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson x reader #pjo #pjo hoo toa #pjo series #percy series #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x y/n #pjo fanfic #❦ jude writes

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astraystayyh · 2 years ago

Text

Invisible thread- one

pairing : minho x reader

genre : university au, academic rivals to lovers (rivals not enemies because they respect each other), slow burn, fluff, angst.

warnings : reader has a very bad relationship with her mother, insecurities, talk about murder but as a joke, mention of alcohol, reader has she/her pronouns.

summary : Your studies were your lifeline for as long as you can remember. What happens when Minho comes into your life and rips it away from you?

word count : 20k

Author's note : I've been working on this fic on and off for the past two months, so if you do enjoy reading, please let me know. asks, comments, reblogs i read them all and they truly make me the happiest <3 (also i based this off my own college experience, where we study two terms and there is one person on top of the class every semester)

part two

You have always been first in your class.

Not because you particularly enjoyed studying. You simply felt that your worth was solely tied to the marks on your papers.

You never wanted to crumble under the pressure of studies, to hole yourself up in your room for an assignment you won’t remember in a month. But achieving good grades was the only way for you to feel seen; to make someone stop in their tracks and acknowledge you.

A simple “good job” that you preserved inside your mind, as a reminder that you did exist to other people. Considering that the majority of your life was spent in silence.

Your mom put a roof above your head and food on your table, but she never asked about your day, nor did she seem to care. You felt as though you were no more important to her than the tapestry hanging on your wall.

At times, you imagined that if you stood close enough to that tapestry, you could merge with it as one. The intricate embroidery would wrap around you and draw you in. And your mother wouldn’t notice. She would regard you with the same indifference she showed towards that textile- a mere decoration, at times a nuisance when she had to dust it.

You always ate your dinner alone. When you scraped your knee, you tended to the wound by yourself. No one attended your childhood musicals, and you patted your back when you cracked an egg without dropping a shell into the bowl.

You’ve come to learn since your young age that all your milestones, both small and significant, would be celebrated alone.

On the rare times your mother would acknowledge your presence, she’d unleash a flurry of criticism your way as if she was eagerly awaiting the opportunity to strike you down. She'd toss crude comments over her shoulder as easily as a casual hello, leaving you feeling battered and bruised in her wake.

You felt as if you were shoreline rocks, and your mother was the ocean. You never knew if she would be like a gentle tide, barely brushing against you, or an enraged storm, mercilessly crashing down on your being. And you weren't sure which one was worse: to be invisible or to be seen and despised.

That’s why you grew up plagued with self-doubt. You made friends throughout your school years but you never allowed them to get close enough to really see you -you feared that they might glimpse the very thing your mother seemed to despise in you.

Throughout your childhood, you were like soft clay in your mother's hands- pliable, and easy to mold. And she indented you, everywhere, carved in edges and dips where they should not have been ones. Handled you roughly when you should have been treated with care. And as the years went by, you hardened- much like clay, but her touch remained imprinted upon you. It was difficult at times to discern who you were and who she made you to be.

You tried to start anew when you went away to university; to rewire your brain into believing that you were enough- you exist and you shouldn't prove to anyone that you deserved to be alive. But her words haunted you, they were like skeletons in your closet- but the closet was you. You could never part from them.

So, you fell back into the same pattern of seeking good grades and congratulatory words from your professors. Every A+ you got infused you with a momentary sense of worthiness.

But unlike in high school, you weren't always the best. Your competition came in the form of a single man named Minho, who seemed to excel in every class you shared.

Minho was mostly quiet, but whenever he spoke, you found that his words carried weight. Your professors consistently agreed with his points, and you envied the confidence he exuded. You wondered what it must feel like to be so sure of oneself.

It wasn't until a month into the year that you had your first interaction with Minho. You were in your Constitutional Law class when your professor Kim brought up the notion of ‘Separation of Powers’. You were arguing that judges shouldn’t be included in the writings of law when you heard a scoff from the row behind you. You turned around, raising a brow at the culprit, "Is there something you’d like to say?" you asked.

And in response, Minho smiled lazily, an air of smugness surrounding him, "I just don’t agree." The professor urged him to explain himself, so he leaned back into his chair, eyeing you. "Judges are the ones who practice the law every day, and sometimes they find that none of the written texts fit their case. If they get involved in lawmaking, they can help address those gaps or uncertainties."

"Who's to say that those judges aren’t biased or politically motivated? They’ll end up writing laws to fit their own preferences," you pointed out, raising an eyebrow at him. "We elect judges to interpret and apply laws, not make them. If they start writing laws too, we'll be violating the separation of powers between the legislative and judicial branches. That's what keeps our entire system from crumbling."

Minho rested his chin on his hand, tapping his cheek thoughtfully with his index finger. "Aren’t legislators prone to biases too? Your point doesn’t stand then," he challenged, tilting his head to the side, "and judges can participate without going overboard. They can provide input on proposed laws without actually drafting them. That way, we ensure that the laws are crafted with a clear understanding of how they'll be put into practice."

"If your main concern is to ensure that the laws are impartial, we have people who work as consulting experts whose job is exactly that," you flashed him an innocent smile, firing back. "Also, wouldn’t these overstepping branches put the judges in a position to be perceived in a bad light? Is that what you want?"

Before Minho could respond, Mr. Kim intervened, putting an end to your debate, "Let's save this energy for your essays and see who can convince me more."

You gave a quick nod, swiveling in your seat without a backward glance. However, you could sense Minho’s gaze penetrating through your back- as if he was trying to read your most intimate thoughts.

That was the first thing you noticed about Minho when he walked over to you. His eyes were brown, not a special color by any means. But they held a certain depth to them that seemed to draw you in like a black hole. You weren't sure what you would find on the other side, nor did you have any desire to find out.

He outstretched his hands towards you, stopping you in your tracks. "Minho," he introduced and your hand met his in a firm grip. The second thing you noticed about him was the coldness of his hand, as it wrapped tightly around your palm.

Suddenly you were taken back to when you built a snowman for the first and last time. You were just seven and the ice was freezing, numbing your fingers as you worked. Your mother never told you that you should’ve worn mittens, or a thick jacket to fight off the cold when she saw you walking out of the house. The memory of your cold hands and the horrible illness that followed still left a bitter taste in your mouth, like an unripe fruit. With a jolt you dropped his hand, forcefully pulling yourself away from that memory.

"Yn," you said back, and he smiled to himself, repeating your name slowly, each syllable dripping from his tongue.

"We'll see who'll write the best essay, right?" he asked, clearly challenging you. There was a gleam of excitement in his eyes that reminded you of a child gazing up at cotton candy.

That was the third thing you noticed about Minho; how expressive his eyes were. They moved with his every word, punctuating them.

He was infuriating but also amusing. You've never had a clear competitor in your life. Or maybe you had, but you didn't notice them. You were always so reclined on yourself, trying to survive the day, you didn't pay enough attention to your surroundings.

"You want to compete with me?" You asked, and he smirked, leaning against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. "What? Scared you’d lose?"

"Please." You rolled your eyes at his taunting, "Don’t come crying when I win."

"We’ll see about that!" He shouted after you as you walked ahead, leaving him behind.

This essay was insignificant. A simple way for your professor to assess your knowledge and work approach. And yet, you found yourself staying up all night to complete it. There was no way you were going to let Minho take this one thing from you.

Who were you if not the best in your studies? You were deathly afraid to find out.

Later on that week, the professor handed you your grade back, 98%. You turned around to show Minho your mark, and so did he. You surpassed him, only by mere percents. "I told you so," you smiled cheekily and he pouted, holding a hand to his heart as if your grade wounded him.

"I'll beat you next time", he mouthed and you chuckled, "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

✹✹✹

The first time you studied with Minho was in a cat café near campus, called Limbo, about two weeks after your initial interaction. You stumbled upon it serendipitously while strolling through your university town. You couldn’t study at home, since you were easily distracted in there, and the eerie silence of libraries often left you unsettled.

Limbo, however, offered the perfect middle-ground: it was calm, not overly crowded, and the buzzing of the coffee machine blended harmoniously with the occasional mewls of cats, which helped you concentrate better.

You were sitting in a secluded corner table at the café's back, a sleeping black cat comfortably nestled in your lap when you sensed a shadow loom over you. You glanced up quickly to find Minho. He was clad in a grey hoodie sporting a bunny holding up its middle finger. You had to bite your cheek to suppress a grin at his clothing attire.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

"You know for someone smart you sure ask stupid questions," you remarked, already looking down at the papers scattered in front of you.

He huffed, taking a seat at the table right next to yours, "I can’t believe that of all places you’ve found this café to study in."

"My apologies, am I disturbing you, your highness?" You asked sarcastically, and in retort, Minho mimicked your words in a high-pitched tone. You threw the pillow right next to you at his head, and Minho swiftly ducked, easily avoiding it. He chuckled loudly while you glared at his laughing figure. That was the end of your conversation that day.

From that moment forward, it became a routine for the two of you to study at Limbo, every Saturday, without fault. You didn’t explicitly plan on it, but it seemed that both of you found it comforting to work there. And you could also tell that, unlike you, it wasn’t Minho’s first time coming to Limbo. He was friends with the owner, a sweet middle-aged man who offered you pastries whenever you stayed there until closing. The cats seemed to know him too, they mewled at his feet whenever he entered and he always greeted them with a soft smile on his face.

You didn’t talk much in those unofficial study sessions, the both of you were consumed by your own work. But you’d steal quick glances at him every now and then, the sight of him so concentrated only fueled you to work harder.

Admittedly, your competition left you feeling anxious for days on end at first. Each time Minho came out on top, you’d found yourself losing your grip. Your studies have been the one anchor keeping you afloat your entire life, and now, Minho was ripping it carelessly away from you. So, you resented him- you were human after all.

But then, you realized that Minho’s taunting wasn’t malicious. He wasn’t competing with you to hurt you, he was doing it for amusement only.

You've slowly started to learn that despite his relentless teasing, Minho had a gentle aura surrounding him. Glimpses of which occasionally emerged like rays of sunshine piercing through a thick cloud cover.

True, he chuckled when you accidentally bumped your head on the table while retrieving a fallen pen. Yet, you also noticed how he began to cover the table's corners with his hand whenever you bent down. He swiftly retracted his hand, seemingly believing you didn't notice, but you did.

During class presentations, he deliberately prepared challenging questions for you, urging you to study twice as hard to ensure no stone was left unturned. Yet, whenever the professor praised your performance, Minho offered a subtle thumbs-up as a gesture of support. He winked at you each time he got the right answer and you didn’t. However, when he noticed you struggling with a particular subject, he scooted closer and patiently explained it to you. He got up before you could thank him, swatting his arm in the air as if he didn’t do anything of significance.

To show your appreciation, you bought him a drink that day he helped you—a simple gesture that sparked an ongoing game of "win a bet, get free food". You bet on who would receive the first mark on an assignment or who would finish an essay first- anything to further deepen the competition between you.

That's how you came to know that he loved puddings, among other things.

Curiously, as the months went by, your mind began to retain these little details about him. How his eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings when he blinked repeatedly during your conversations. How he glanced at the ceiling when lost in deep thought as if he was waiting for the answers to descend from the sky. Or how his lips take on the shape of an "o" while thinking of his response during one of your many debates. But you supposed that it was natural to take notice of such things when you spend countless Saturday afternoons with the same person.

You were still studying for someone else, in the sense that each time you stayed up working, it was solely to prove your worth to Minho. But at least unlike your mother, Minho's words never haunted you at night.

✹✹✹

Just like that, four months have gone by since you joined your university as a law major. It was nearing finals week and you were preparing it at Limbo. Minho was naturally present too, at his usual table right next to yours.

On the last weekend before the beginning of your finals, you were head-deep into your Criminal Law documents when Minho abruptly got up from his seat and settled in the chair in front of you.

"Yn," he whispers and you glance at him, "What?"

"I have an idea."

"Keep it to yourself," you grin sarcastically, only for him to pick up your spoon and move it around in a threatening manner.

"Are you trying to scare me with a spoon?" you chuckle in disbelief.

"Anything can be a weapon if you use enough force."

"Okay… that was creepy. What do you want?"

"The end of the first term is coming up. So, to celebrate our little rivalry-"

"It's not a rivalry if I’m always winning," you cut him off.

"Yeah, that’s why I have a fridge full of pudding."

"But-"

"Anyways, how about the top of the class takes the other out for dinner? A fancy one." He suggests, his gaze fixed on you.

"No, thank you. I already see you enough in classes."

"Didn’t think you wouldn’t up for a bet. Guess I was wrong," he remarks, a cheeky smile drawn on his lips. He knows you couldn’t possibly say no now.

"Fine," you roll your eyes at his proud expression. "Prepare your wallet."

"Mm, sure," he responds, before rising from his seat once more.

That day, you both lost track of time as you studied in Limbo until it closed down. When you finally stepped outside, stretching your tired limbs, you were met with the sight of falling snowflakes.

"Nooo, go away. I don't want to watch the first snow with you," Minho whines, referring to the superstition that watching the first snowfall with someone could spark love between the two of you.

"As if I could ever love you," you laugh at the ridiculous idea, "that’d just be signing a death warrant."

You resume walking towards your apartment when suddenly something freezing and hard hits your back with enough force to make you stagger. Turning around slowly, you find Minho erupting in laughter, his body filled with uncontainable joy. He’s jumping and clapping excitedly, and for a fleeting moment, you can’t decide if your shock was from the impact or from how beautiful happiness looks on him.

Snapping out of your daze, you swiftly retaliate by scooping up a handful of snow and hurling it at him. "Now you are cold too!" you shout, while he’s still laughing uncontrollably.

Thus begins an impromptu snowball fight between the two of you. Unsurprisingly, you’re being competitive in this too, trying your best to strike each other before the other could recover. But Minho draws nearer to you, and in your desperation to win, you fall to the ground when he throws a snowball at your chest, gasping as if you’re in pain.

"Shit, did I hurt you?" Minho quickly kneels in front of you, concern evident in his voice. It surprises you for a moment- how worried he seems at the prospect of causing you pain.

But you shake that thought off and push him down to the ground, a proud smile on your face. In his fall, Minho instinctively reaches for you to steady himself, which ends up with you landing on top of him. Your faces are mere inches apart, and a soft gasp escapes your mouth at your sudden proximity.

Minho has a mole on his nose. You’ve never noticed that before.

You quickly push yourself off of him, not enjoying being this close to somebody. "Why did you drag me down with you?" you grumble, shaking off the snow from your hair.

"Play stupid games, win stupid prizes," he cheekily stuck out his tongue, and you respond with the same childlike gesture before the both of you burst into loud laughter. The sound reverberates through your entire being, and it echoes in your mind long after the two of you go your separate ways.

As you lay in bed that night, ready to drift off to sleep, a quiet realization dawns on you. This was the first time you've touched snow in since your childhood incident.

That unpleasant memory didn't cross your mind once. Instead, all you thought about was Minho’s infectious laughter, and the surprising warmth it stirred within you.

✹✹✹

You came first in your grade this semester.

True to his words, Minho texted you the name of the restaurant where you’d both meet to celebrate your win. As you got ready for your outing, you couldn’t help the nerves creeping up on you. Studying in silence next to Minho was something, going to a friendly dinner with him was another. You feared it would be too awkward and Minho would regret ever proposing such a thing.

So, as you sit in the refined BBQ restaurant waiting for him, you fidget with your hands, counting down to three in your head in an attempt to steady your breathing.

You were clearly not accustomed to existing with Minho outside of the confines of your studies.

"Did you wait long?" Minho asks as he finally pulls the chair in front of you and you shake your head no.

"Are you nervous?" he chuckles at your lack of words, and you frown, suddenly feeling defensive. "Why would I be nervous? This isn't a date."

"Who said anything about a date?" he smirks and you grab your fork threateningly, pointing it at him, "Don't say anything stupid or I will walk out."

"And stand me up on our first date? That's too mean.” He pouts, a hand on his heart and you can’t help but giggle at his antics. You were ridiculous for being nervous. This was Minho, the one person you’ve talked to the most since the start of this year.

"What will you have?" he asks and you smile mischievously.

"Most expensive thing on the menu."

"So you are only here for the food."

"Well, it's certainly not for your company," you wink and he chuckles, his bunny teeth on full display.

"And here I thought we were going to be civil with each other."

"When are we ever not?" you gasp dramatically and Minho swats your hand with the menu. "Just order whatever," you finally answer," I trust your food judgment."

"I could poison you, you know?" He smiles proudly and you roll your eyes at him, "Can’t you be normal, for once?"

Minho calls over the waiter and places your orders. The food is quick to arrive and Minho starts to grill up the meat, while you cut the Kimchi into smaller pieces.

"Here," he puts the perfectly cooked rib onto your plate first and you smile at him, "Thank you."

"Eat up, don’t wait for me," he tells you and you nod, tasting the flavorful meat.

"Wow this is really good," you compliment and he smirks proudly at your words, "I know."

Minho places four other ribs for you, without eating one himself. You start to feel bad, so you grab his chopsticks, pick up the meat, and move it toward his mouth, "Open up."

"What?" He asks confused and you wave the food in front of his face, "Come on, you haven’t eaten anything."

Minho parts his lips slowly, and you feed the tender meat to him, before eating one yourself. You notice how his cheeks are slightly tinted pink now, and you account it to the intense heat of the grill.

"Oh, let's not talk about studies, my brain can't take another debate with you," you tell Minho in between bites and he grins at you, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. "If you were to dispose of a body, how would you do it?"

"I think our next celebration will be in an asylum." you smile too sweetly at him and he stares at you pointedly, "Please, I know you've already thought about it."

"Fine. Probably in a deserted land. What about you?"

"I'd cut their bodies and then bury each part in a different forest. In a different city."

His answer came too quickly, and you pause in your tracks, "Should I be worried?"

"You are too cute to kill." His tone is sarcastic and you make a show of gushing at his compliment, clasping both of your hands in front of your heart, "Growing soft on me, Minho?"

"Yeah, I’m basically sooo in love with you," he replies with a smirk and you roll your eyes at him, an amused smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"What's your favorite color?" you finally ask, changing the subject.

"Purple."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"You'll buy me purple flowers?" He coos at you and you shake your head as you grab the utensil from his hand, to grill the meat your turn.

"No. I'll paint your tombstone purple," you grin and he laughs loudly, eyes squinted close, and you can't find it in you to care that the people next to you are staring.

"What's yours?" he asks when he calms down and you shrug, "Navy blue, I think."

"You do remind me of navy blue."

"And why is that?"

"When you look at it, at first glance, it looks like black. But the more you stare at it, the more layers you uncover. Just like you. There’s more to you than what meets the eye."

You grab your glass of water, gulping it down to hide the way your eyes just glossed over. You suddenly felt bare in front of Minho. How did he know?

You clear your throat, racking your brain for a way to move on from that question. "If you were to describe colors to a blind person, how would you do it?"

"Mm," he looks up at the ceiling as he mulls over your question, "I’d say that yellow is the feeling of eating ice cream on a sunny day, in an amusement park. Your fingers are sticky but your cheeks ache from how much you smiled that day."

"Yellow is carefree and happy."

"Exact. Now your turn, red."

"I’d say that... Red is the thrill that rushes through your veins when you do something you are passionate about, you know? It’s what makes our blood boil and our heart race. The very essence of our humanity."

Minho smiles softly at your words, seemingly agreeing with your description. "Don’t you think it would be easier if we simply asked, what color are you feeling today, instead of a 'How are you'?" He questions and you tilt your head to the side, "What do you mean?"

"Well, you could say, I feel like that moss green that no one seems to pay attention to. Or, I feel bright yellow as if the world's energy is stored inside me."

"And right now, how do you feel?"

"I feel orange, not the ugly orange." He precises and you chuckle, "the orange that paints the sky when the sun is about to dip into the ocean."

"A bittersweet orange, an ending that instantly strings along a new beginning. And you don't have time to rest."

Minho places his chin on his palm, eyeing you curiously, "Is that what you want? To rest?"

"Yeah." You admit quietly, "Don't you sometimes wish that the world would just stop, for a few seconds? Just like in a song, right before the beat drops. That silence, I wish I could live inside of it."

"I do too."

You both hold each other’s gaze for a while after that. You felt as if he was keeping you captive with his brown eyes, and he was slowly peeling each of your layers, in silence, as you were peeling his. For the first time, you think that you and he are similar, more than on a studies level. There was a part of his soul that understood yours perfectly. And it felt good, to be understood, for once.

"If you lived in this silence, what would you be doing?" he asks, breaking the serene quiet that surrounded you.

"I’d open a café that had books. And there'd be a little space, where people could paint. Or do pottery. And I’d have cats in there too." You reply excitedly, hands moving around in the air, you end up missing the way Minho gazes fondly at you before his smile morphs into a smirk.

"Please tell me you won't be cooking."

"Shut up. What about you?"

"I’d be a dancer."

"You dance?!" you whisper-shout and he frowns at the surprised look on your face.

"Yeah. Why are you looking at me like this?"

"I just never expected it. Can I-"

"No." he cuts you off immediately and you pout.

"I didn't even finish."

"I knew what you were going to say."

"Please, I won't make a sound I’d just watch. Pinky promise.” He grabs your now outstretched pinky with the tip of his index and thumb, lowering it down.

"I’d only grant you this wish when you’re on your deathbed."

"Bold of you to assume you'd still be around."

"Death might be around the corner."

"Stop it."

"Close your door tonight."

"You are deranged."

Minho chuckles at the crestfallen look on your face, "I’ll think about it."

Just like that, three hours of talking have gone by, the conversation flowing easily between the two of you. And when you finally leave the restaurant, Minho grabs you a cab and you wave him off with a smile. You couldn't lie to yourself, you had a really good time with him. You liked to think that Minho was no longer just a rival, but a possible friend.

But now that you were laying in your bed, you couldn’t help but curse Minho in your brain. His repetitive talk about murder made you paranoid, and now every creak in your apartment made you feel as if death was really right around the corner.

You decide to text him, figuring that if you couldn’t sleep because of him, you could at least disturb him for a bit.

Yn : I hate you I'm paranoid from your murder talk

Minho : Poor baby

Yn : Is that you at my door?

Suddenly your phone rings, the shrill sound echoing around your apartment. It was a Facetime call from Minho. You panic for a few seconds, before remembering that you just spent your entire night with him. A call can’t be more daunting than a real-life meeting.

"See, I’m in my home," he tells you as soon as you pick up and you laugh.

"It's pitch black, I can't see."

"Just say you miss my face." You can’t see him but you can clearly hear the proud grin in his voice.

"What's there to miss?"

"Are you actually scared?" Minho asks gently and you clear your throat, feeling ridiculous all of the sudden.

"There is a tree right outside my window and it keeps rustling from the wind," you grumble and Minho laughs at you.

"Trees can't hurt you."

"No shit Sherlock."

"Close your eyes.” He instructs and you frown at his words.

"Why?"

"I’ll tell you a story."

"Fine.” You close your eyes tentatively. It’s quiet for a few seconds and you feel yourself relax slightly.

"So, I bought a sous-vide machine and-"

"Is your bedtime story going to be about meat?"

"Yes?” He replies as if it’s an evidence, “Now be quiet." You pretend to zip your mouth and Minho faintly giggles, before resuming his story. "So, I was saying. I bought one and I wanted to experience different kinds of meats. So, I bought a 30-day aged one and a 58-day aged one and I cooked them both."

"What did you use?" you ask quietly.

"Just garlic, and thyme, I didn't want to overpower the taste of meat. Anyways I cooked them, but I didn't have plastic bags so I had to go out and buy them."

"Mm," you hum in acknowledgment. You could feel your nerves slowly dissipate with Minho's every word. His story might be ridiculous but his honey-coated voice compensated for it, wrapping around you like a protective cocoon.

"And I found pudding there so I had to buy it."

"Obviously," you whisper. Sleep was knocking on your door, but paradoxically you tried to fight it off. You wanted to hear the rest of Minho’s story.

"And I went back home and I cooked it, then I plated it nicely with vegetables that I sauteed with butter and garlic. Just mushrooms and potatoes, nothing too fancy. Again, my main focus was the meat. But there wasn't a difference between the two. They tasted the same for me, for some reason. And I didn't like this because the aged one was very expensive. Maybe I was scammed. Honestly, that butcher looked kind of suspicio..."

Your quiet snores make Minho pause in his tracks, and he laughs quietly. You did end up falling asleep. He can't see your face clearly, but he can see its outline and he stares at you for a while. You look peaceful.

He goes to hang up but his finger hovers over the 'end call' button. You aren't talking, but your hums are quiet enough that they fill up the space around him. It calms him down, and he lets his head fall on the pillow, his phone lying beside him.

He closes his eyes, thinking that maybe he just found the silence you talked about earlier on.

You just made his world stop.

✹✹✹

The second semester had just started and with it the return of frat parties. You were excited at the prospect of going to one with your new friend Mina. You met her in the library when you both went to grab the same book. You quickly apologized but she waved you off, handing you the book with a huge smile on her face. She was bubbly, like a human serotonin boost, and she started gushing about how much she loved the author. You saw her again in the campus cafeteria, and she skipped towards you as if you've both known each other your entire life. That was the start of your friendship.

You walk into the frat house, both your arms encircling each other. The flashing lights of the party blind you for a moment, and it takes you a while to adjust to the loud music bouncing off of the walls. But you like it, it was like a shield from the outside world and its problems.

You feel yourself letting loose in the crowd, swaying your hips to the music. Mina spins you around and you laugh, dancing with no care in the world. It was just the both of you in that instant.

Mina spots Jeongin in the crowd, a friend of hers that she had an immense crush on. You couldn’t blame her- he was very attractive; his easy smirk and his blonde tousled hair earned him lots of appreciative looks from the people around him. But when his eyes locked with Mina’s, you found that his face morphed into a beautiful smile, that made his dimples look on full display, as if it was only reserved for her.

“Go get your man!” You shout in her ears, so she’d be able to hear you.

“What are you talking about?” She yells back, but you could see the nervous smile on her face.

“He likes you! Go talk to him!”

“I don’t want to leave you alone. We came together!” She clasps your hand in hers and you smile touched by her kind spirit.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll go to the kitchen to get some drinks. Go have fun!”

“You are sure?” She asks, her eyes darting between you and Jeongin, who was still looking at her, and her only.

“Yes! Go!” You say, gently pushing her away. Mina jogs up to Jeongin who greets her with a side hug. He quickly glances at you and you shoot him a thumbs-up, to which he grins. You loved playing Cupid.

With that, you decide to head to the kitchen to grab a drink. You pick a beer from the fridge, double-checking if the can is closed before opening it.

You lean on the countertop, sipping on your drink while you watch the crowd, humming along each time a song you knew played. You enjoyed watching people dance freely from afar, with no apparent care in the world.

You feel someone stand next to you and you brace yourself, getting ready to tell the person off if they decide to bother you. You didn’t have the energy for mindless flirting. But then, you smell the cologne that has lingered around you for the past term- Minho. You haven't seen him since your dinner. That was a month ago.

"Fancy seeing you here," he greets as he leans on the counter right next to you, his eyes fixated on the mingling bodies.

You turn around to face him, faking an outraged gasp, "Are you following me?"

"Mmm. You look nice", he compliments and you smile cheekily, "I know."

"Won't tell me I look nice too?" he smirks, leaning closer to your face. "Someone didn’t get enough compliments tonight?" You pout, placing a hand on your heart in mock concern.

"I did, but I want to hear it from you. You’re the only sensible person in this room."

"You look nice. Now leave me alone."

"Come on, I know you can do better than that", he jokes and you roll your eyes, muttering “You’re annoying”, under your breath.

Still, you comply, placing your arms on top of the counter and leaning your head on them to get a better look at him. He does the same, smiling, and you both stare at each other for a while after that.

The strobing lights dance on Minho’s face, casting enticing shadows on him. You've always known he was a beautiful man; you've looked into his eyes far too many times in your heated conversations. But this time was different, there was no cheeky smirk on his face nor a furrow in his eyebrows. He was simply looking at you, and it made a pool of warmth huddle in your belly. You feel yourself relax under his gaze, everything around you seemingly melts away.

You weren’t wrong when you thought that his eyes were like a black hole, pulling you in. But this time, you realize that you didn’t mind knowing what was on the other side. On the contrary, you longed for it.

"I like your eyes right now. They remind me of the night sky. Black, with tiny little stars littered in them," you finally say.

Minho is taken aback by your words, he wasn't expecting you to compliment him, let alone to tell him something so special. He can feel his cheeks burn red at your words, feel his heart hammering in his chest. He's afraid you can hear it too.

He doesn't know what to say, so instead he clears his throat, plastering a smirk on his face, "I heard better." He hasn't. This is the first genuine compliment he's ever gotten.

"Oh, fuck off," you laugh and he joins you. The music was loud and yet the only sound his ear seemed to pick up was your laugh.

"Are you here alone?" He asks, and you shake your head no, "Came with my friend Mina."

"Did she leave you by yourself?" He frowns and you feel yourself warm up at his worried tone. "I told her to go talk to Jeongin."

"Next time, don’t stay alone."

“Fine, Dad.” You chastise and he stares pointedly at you, "I’m serious, yn."

You take another swing of the beer before turning your body fully towards Minho. After a few beats of silence, you finally ask a question that has been on your mind for a while. "Why do you say my name this way?"

"What way?" He questions and you shrug, "Slowly. People used to always rush it but you don’t."

"Well, it’s a pretty name. It deserves to be pronounced as a whole."

You beam at his words; you smile so brightly it makes his heart skip a beat. This is the first time you’ve grinned this widely at him, no hand in front of your mouth as if to hide it. He did notice how you were a reserved person outside of class, as if you were afraid of taking up too much place. But he could tell you were slowly unraveling, growing bolder with each passing month. He wanted to tell you that if people like you spoke more, the world would be a far better place.

But he couldn't bring himself to say all of this, so he forced those bubbling words down his throat. "I’m hungry," he whines instead and you laugh at his pout. "I'm kind of craving a greasy pizza."

"Should we go buy it? You can tell Mina to come so we can walk her back."

"I’ll ask her."

You shoot Mina a text, asking her where she was and telling her about your plan. She replies that she’s with Jeongin who just offered to take her home, so you could leave without her.

"We can go." You tell him and he nods. Minho shrugs his leather jacket off, gently placing it on your shoulders. His warmth engulfs you and you sink further into it. His arm hovers around your shoulder not touching you as he leads you out of the party. He has never touched your body, you note, it's like he was everywhere and nowhere at once.

You both walk to an open parlor near the frat house, and you order a Margarita pizza to share. You sit down on a nearby bench to eat it- the night breeze too liberating to pass up on.

As you both finish eating, a cat with white and orange stripes all over her body approaches the both of you cautiously, and you pat her head softly. "Aren't you the cutest thing ever?" you coo and Minho chuckles as he scratches the cat’s chin. She purrs at his touch appreciatively, and you smile at the soft look on his face.

"Never knew you to be this gentle", you giggle and Minho shushes you, "Let's not do this in front of the cat."

"Why are you acting as if we are a divorced couple and she’s our child."

"Easy, yn. You make it sound as if you want me to marry you."

"Now you're just projecting," you chastise and he laughs, eliciting giggles from you. He had a melodic laugh, you noticed, and you always felt a surge of pride whenever you made him close his eyes and tip his head from laughter. You felt as if it's a sight only you can see.

"I have three cats", he says softly and you gasp, "Really? We spent all of our Sundays in a cat café and this is when you tell me?"

"I only tell my friends."

"So we're friends now?" You gush and he rolls his eyes at you, "I take it back."

"What’s their names?" You ask curiously and his eyes soften at your question- you could easily tell he loved them dearly.

"Soongie, Doongie, and Dori. They are rescues."

"That’s very sweet of you Minho."

"Most of my scars come from them though," he chuckles but you sober up at his words, quietly scratching the cat's ears.

"What’s on your mind?" He asks and you glance at him. It was scary how well he’s starting to know you. But it was also nice; to be known is to exist, after all.

"I just... Sometimes I wish that memories would leave physical scars on you. Because at least then, you could treat them, put a band-aid on, and watch them fade away day by day. Because when the scars are emotional, you can’t treat them, you know? And someday someone brings up a name or a place, or you smell a certain scent, and suddenly they reopen as if no time has gone by at all.”

Minho stays silent for a while, mulling over your words. You don't mind, you weren't expecting him to comfort you. You just needed to free those words from the mental prison you've held them in for so long.

"Do you know Kintsugi?" he finally asks and you shake your head no.

"It's a Japanese art. They put back together broken vases with molten gold. It represents strength despite our flaws."

"That sounds nice," you sigh wistfully and he nods.

"It is. When you look at that vase, you know that it was once broken, but it doesn't take away from its beauty, on the contrary, it adds to it. Scars, whether they are emotional or physical are there for a reason. They remind us of how we pushed through whatever life threw at us."

"Am I supposed to be grateful I survived this?" You chuckle lowly, as your hand scratches the cat’s ear. Your fingers brush against Minho’s and you hesitate for a few seconds before moving them away.

"I wouldn't say grateful for what you went through," he speaks once again, "but grateful to yourself. At the end of the day, the reason why you're still here is you. You put yourself back together," he then bumps his elbow into your side softly, "and hey, even if your scars reopen there will come a time when they wouldn’t anymore. Sometimes, it takes a while to be okay again."

This was Minho’s way of telling you that someday it wouldn’t hurt anymore. That someday you’d be okay. And you needed to hear that. You needed to hear someone else other than yourself tell you that.

"Thank you, Minho, I needed that", you smile at him and he grins back at you before his smile turns to a smirk. "I charge 15 dollars for the hour by the way."

"Oh, come on! You didn't even say something revolutionary." You are lying. Minho's words will echo in your mind long after this night- a beacon of light to hold onto.

"Oh, so now it’s no longer ‘I needed that’. Tsk," he jokes a smirk still plastered on his face.

"Okay, Mr. Therapist. I’ll pay for your coffee tomorrow, sounds good?"

"I should have you as my client more often," he winks and you laugh, head tipped back. You were grateful more than ever for his teasing, loving how it wasn’t awkward between you after your discussion.

"You are a good listener." You tell him as you stand up, dusting your pants.

"I’m good at everything," he grins cheekily at you and you roll your eyes playfully, "And here I thought we were having a moment."

You both start walking side by side toward your home when Minho speaks again. His tone is quiet as if he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear him. "About earlier, your compliment, I mean. I suppose I didn't thank you. So, thank you," he scratches the tip of his ears and you shrug nonchalantly. "It's the truth. You might get on my ass but that doesn't change the fact you are a pretty man."

He doesn’t respond and you tug at the sleeve of his shirt playfully, "You won't tell me I’m pretty too?"

"But then I’d be lying."

"Asshole."

"Pretty," he replies without missing a beat.

You laugh loudly, hand tightly clutching your stomach and he joins you. There is a newfound lightness in your steps now. Unbeknownst to him, Minho just managed to lift a small weight off your shoulders, allowing you a brief moment of respite.

"This is me," you say when you arrive in front of your apartment block, "Thank you for walking me home."

"Of course. Don't dream of me."

"Idiot," you laugh waving him off and he does the same. "Oh, and text me when you get home safely!" you shout before heading inside.

For the second time this night, Minho is blushing profusely at your words. He sighs to himself, waiting patiently until a light turns on in your place to leave.

✹✹✹

It’s been two months since the start of the new term. You still went to Limbo, every Saturday with Minho- even when you didn’t need to study.

Sometimes you’d just grab a book and you’d both read, a cat lazily lounging at your feet. You started sitting at the same table too; you figured it was easier since one of you always pays for the other. When you have a bet, but also randomly, when you notice that the other person is feeling down and you want to cheer them up without saying anything.

That's why you bought three bubble teas for Minho in a row. He was quieter these days, you noticed. He didn’t talk to you nor did he retort back in class. It was the first time you’ve seen him this way. As if he was a simple shell of the person he usually is.

You were walking out of your Communications Strategies class, which Minho weirdly didn’t come to when you realized that it was pouring rain. You smile lightly to yourself, grateful since you thought about picking up an umbrella this morning.

As you walk through campus, everyone around you running to take shelter, you spot someone sitting on a bench, completely drenched from the rain. Their head is hung low and you frown to yourself. They would surely get a cold if they stay there.

But then the person raises their head and you quickly realize it's Minho. You jog up to him instinctively, standing in front of him and shielding him from the rain with your umbrella.

He looks up at you and you feel your heart clench. His eyes are void of emotion and he stares blankly at you. "Are you okay?" you ask and he blinks at your words, as if his brain hadn't yet registered that you were there.

"Yeah."

"You don't look like it", you tilt your head to the side and he looks down again. You have to strain to hear his next words, muffled by the rain and his mumbling, "I don't want to talk, yn."

You decide to put away your umbrella and sit down next to him on the bench. The rain falls rapidly on both of you, and you feel yourself grow cold from it.

"What are you doing?" He questions, turning to the side to look at you.

"Enjoying the rain. It is kind of stupid that we have umbrellas, right?"

"You'll catch a cold."

"I mean we always complain about the drought and then when it rains, we hide from it. But it's really beautiful."

"Stop, I don't want you to get sick."

"Well, neither do I. Let's go eat some soup. My treat."

"Yn, I don’t-"

"I thought you were smart enough to know I won't take no for an answer."

"But I-" you cut him off again. "Also, I’m doing this for me because when you order for two, they give you a lot of side dishes. Now come on."

You stand up and he looks doubtfully at you, before following suit. You open up the umbrella again and hold it over both of your heads. He has to huddle close to you, and your shoulders brush against each other. Once, twice. Not that you're keeping count. But your body is always hyper-aware of Minho’s proximity. You also notice how he silently moves from your right to your left, this way he's the one walking right next to the speeding cars. Your hold on the umbrella tightens. You were still not used to those small attentions of his.

You arrive in front of your apartment block and he hesitates. "Come up, I won't murder you I promise." You joke and he smiles lightly back at your words. Progress.

He enters your dorm and you can see him eying his surroundings. You know that if it was another time, he would have teased you about something- anything. But he stays quiet, and you find yourself missing the sound of his voice.

"Would you like to shower?" You offer and he nods, "Please."

You lead him to your bathroom and show him where the washing machine is. "Put your clothes in there for a quick wash and dry. You can shower meanwhile."

He nods again as you hand him a towel. "I'll be outside."

You quickly leave the bathroom to place the soup orders, and Minho discards his wet clothes, walking into your shower. The water is piping hot, and he leans his forehead on the cold tiles. He doesn’t move for the first ten minutes, too tired at the prospect of lifting his limbs.

Nothing particular happened. But he’d go through days when he’d quiet down because everything around him was too much. The feel of his clothes against his skin, and the sun streaming through his curtains. But it always passes. Minho was a realistic man and he knew that his emotions would regulate themselves. That’s why he didn’t like appearing vulnerable in front of other people.

But for some reason, he didn’t mind lowering his guard with you. He knew you wouldn’t judge.

He sighs, grabbing your cherry-scented shampoo and pouring it into his hands. He can clearly smell you now. The scent of your hair that always tickles his nose, whenever you are sitting close to him. Your body wash is next and he wonders if this is how your skin smells, like vanilla and jasmine, and something entirely you.

Forty minutes later, Minho finally steps out of the shower. His clothes are clean and he quickly puts them on. He dries his hair with the towel as he walks out of your bathroom towards the living room.

He finds you sitting on the ground, in front of a heater that looks close to giving up. He makes a mental note of giving you the one he has since he doesn't really use it. You changed out of your clothes too, and you are now wearing a pair of pajamas with little bunnies sewn into it. The sight almost manages to make him smile.

"Still cold?" you question when you notice him standing behind you, unmoving, and he shakes his head no.

"Good, the soup is here." You say cheerfully, pointing at the steaming bowls sitting on your table. Minho hums in reply and you stand up, grabbing the towel from his hands to place it on the drying rack.

You come back, a soft green blanket in your hands. You sit on the couch and pat the spot beside you. Minho sits next to you, and you lay the blanket on both of your laps, before handing him his soup.

You start the show you’ve been last watching, as you both eat in silence, your legs crisscrossed. You make some comments throughout the episodes. You figured that it was a safe territory, to talk about something as mundane as this. He didn't reply but you didn't mind. You weren't here to have a conversation with him. You just wanted to distract him.

You realize at that moment that Minho always looked so put together to you. But he had problems of his own too. That much was obvious. It made you feel closer to him, in a sense. You were both just trying to make it through the day.

Two hours later, you get up to grab a book, handing Minho the remote to put on a show of his own. You curl in a ball in the corner, reading where you left off last night.

"Can you... Can you read out loud?" Minho speaks for the first time in a while and you look at him. His eyes are closed, his head resting against your couch.

"Sure."

You start to read, and Minho further sinks into the couch. He feels at home here. Because the blanket is soft and the light is dim enough to not hurt his eyes. Or it could be that he smells like you, a scent so comforting he wants to bury himself in it. Or maybe it's your voice that floats through the air, slowly clouding Minho’s every sense. He feels as if he could see the words you were pronouncing dancing in front of his eyes. You enunciated each syllable clearly, making sure that no sound was forgotten.

As Minho gently drifted to sleep, he felt as if he was part of the words you read out loud. He felt as if you were treating him with the same care, making sure that he knew he wasn't invisible. At least not to you.

When you wake up the next morning, Minho is gone. And his place beside you on the couch is empty. He made you breakfast, scrambled eggs, and freshly pressed orange juice. And right next to it you find a note, "Thank you for reading to me."

✹✹✹

Minho didn't believe in having a lot of friends. He was content with the two people he had, Chan and Changbin. The latter was his high school friend, he skipped a year and ended up being in the same class as Minho. They didn't talk at first until the day Changbin dropped a book on Minho's foot. The brooding man started apologizing profusely, and that was the start of their friendship. They've kept in touch since.

Chan was his roommate at university. It's not that he particularly wanted to befriend him, but Chan was a social butterfly and he quickly managed to pull Minho into his friendly trap. He annoys Minho the most, but in an endearing way. And although Chan is older, Minho still strangely developed a soft spot for him.

And he supposes he has you too now. At first, you weren’t friends, rivals at most. He enjoyed reeling you up and having you frown at his words in your heated debates. He also liked talking to you, because your ideas were interesting and you always gave him a new fresh perceptive to see things.

That’s how he strictly saw you as, an intelligent human who he liked to debate with.

But then he started to look forward to meeting up with you at Limbo. He no longer minded the fact that you took his self-assigned table, from his high school days. And he laughed more freely with you, enjoying how you always had a witty retort sitting at the tip of your tongue.

That’s how he started to notice things that friends most definitely notice. How you have a charm bracelet you always fidget with whenever you are nervous. How you stray away from physical touch. How you scratch your eyebrow when you are deep in thought.

But also, how you seem to have an obsession with cherries. Your cherry pendant, your cherry-scented shampoo, and your cherry-tainted lips. A friend would most certainly think that your lips are like red wine-stained glass.

He remembers one of the many times when you were at Limbo, and he saw you reapply your lip tint, or so you called it. You caught him looking and he swiftly averted his gaze, but it wasn't quick enough. Suddenly you were in front of him, a tiny red bottle in hand.

"Let me apply it to you," you smiled and he pushed your head away with his pointer finger. "No."

"Please," you pouted and he couldn't help but find you adorable. You sometimes reminded him of a small kitten. But he didn’t dare to call you by that nickname.

"Never."

"If I score more than you in our environmental assignment then I will do it."

"Fine." he huffed so that you'd leave him alone.

Minho didn't study for that assignment. He blamed it on a headache, not that it's ever stopped him before. And two weeks later you were in front of him, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. You applied the lip tint gently on his plump lips, carefully tracing over his cupid bow.

Your face was mere inches away from his and he noticed how you were wearing a gloss today, for change. It was shimmering under the lights and he usually didn't like glittery things, but he couldn't take his eyes off your lips.

"All done!" you clapped excitedly, snapping him out of his haze. You then shove your phone camera into his face so he'd look at the results.

"You should be a model. Your face is perfectly sculpted," you comment nonchalantly, before sitting back in your seat.

“I know.” He replies confidently, but his hand kept fiddling with the tip of his now pink ears. He couldn't concentrate for the rest of the night.

You were his friend because he always worried if you were eating enough. That’s why he urged you to grab a bite in the convenience store near Limbo, whenever you finished up your studying late.

This was one of the many times you sat on the minuscule table outside, hot ramen bowls in front of the both of you. Minho huffed in annoyance between each bite, his bangs were getting longer, disturbing him when he leaned down to slurp his noodles.

“Here,” you stand up from your place, a hair tie in your hands.

“What are you doing?” He questions as you stand behind him. You don’t reply, silently grabbing his hair and putting it up in a tiny ponytail, this way it wouldn’t get in his eyes anymore.

“Voila,” you sit back down, resuming your eating. Minho was grateful for the dimly lit street because his entire face was burning up. Your fingers in his hair were gentle and he wondered how it would feel if you ran your fingers through it.

This was something friends think about, right?

"I’ll cut my hair tomorrow," he clears his throat. He didn't know why he told you. You certainly weren't interested in his hair endeavors.

"What?!" you yell, "Don't. Your hair is beautiful why would you cut it?"

"Because it's getting longer."

"But it suits you."

Minho also noticed how you always threw compliments his way. Not in a flirtatious way, but in a genuine one. He couldn't help but wonder what made you this way. Did you so freely give love to others because you knew how it felt to not receive it?

"I’ll still cut it."

Minho returned home; his hair still clipped back in a ponytail. Chan eyed him weirdly but he shut him off with a glare. The elastic remained at his bedside since.

He didn't cut his hair.

The moment Minho started to consider you a close friend, was when you invited him over to watch your show. You didn’t force him to open up that night, and he appreciated it, more than he let on.

That's how a week later, he finds himself walking towards your dorm again. The thoughts in his head got too much, and Chan was immersed in his makeshift studio, which meant he won't be free for the next four hours, minimum.

He didn't plan on going to you. It was late at night and you were probably asleep, but his feet naturally led him to the direction of your place.

He knocks softly on your door. He wasn't even sure if he wanted you to open. What would you think of him showing up at eleven pm? He should have thought this thro-

"Minho?" you call out, and he startles a bit, his feet already inching away from the door.

"This was a bad idea, I'm sorry," he starts to retract back but you grab the hem of his jacket to stop him. "Do you... Do you want to watch my show with me?" you ask, a soft smile on your face and he nods tentatively.

"Okay, come in," you open the door wider and Minho follows you inside. The look in his eyes reminds you of the day you found him sitting under the rain. You didn't like it, you wanted him to find his spark back, his usual demeanor. He wasn't deserving of anything but happiness.

"I’ve started a new show, this one's a bit more romantic, so don't go around imagining me as the main character," you tease and he scoffs at your words, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He doesn't reply, but you don't mind. There was this secret agreement between the two of you, you would talk and he would listen. He needed the distraction, and you needed the company. Sometimes the line between alone and lonely blurs, and on days like these, Minho’s presence fills the void inside.

You comment on the scenes and Minho hums in reply, you watch three episodes in a row, and your eyes are getting drowsy, so you close them.

"Minho," you call out gently and he turns his head towards you.

"Yeah?"

"What color are you feeling tonight?" You ask, referencing to what he told you on your dinner celebration. That felt like an eternity ago.

"Black." You stay silent and Minho fidgets with his hands before speaking once again. "I feel a lot at the same time, too much of every color. That's why- that's why I said black."

"How can I help you feel yellow?"

"You already do." His admission came softly and it made your breath hitch in your throat. You wanted to open your eyes and look at him, but you figured it will only make him close off even more.

“Okay. Will you stay for breakfast?”, you whisper. You were very sleepy, the soft chatter of the TV and your hushed conversation were like a lullaby to you.

"You want me to?" he asks, and he sounds so vulnerable you can't find it in you to say anything but the truth.

"I do," you admit, and that's the last thing you remember before sleeping.

Your head falls near Minho’s lap on the couch, your hair tickling his exposed thigh. Minho shouldn’t feel this way, he thinks. He’s sitting on the leather couch and his feet are touching the cold floor and yet all he can feel is three strands of your hair tickling him.

He glances at you, at your now parted lips and your relaxed eyebrows. His hand hovers over your hair, but then he curls it into a tight fist. What is he doing? He thinks to himself as he drags an angry hand through his face. He sighs, before standing up and grabbing the blanket you had on the opposing chair. He gently lays it on your body before sitting next to you once again.

You told him to stay for breakfast. He’ll stay.

✹✹✹

2 months later

"Yn!" Minho shouts in your ear as he plops down next to you. You startle, dropping the book you were reading.

"I hate you," you grumble, picking up your book and he smiles cheekily at you, "No you don't."

You were laying on the grass of your campus garden, in between two classes, trying to kill the time. It was April so the weather was perfect for lying under the warm sunrays. You loved spring, it always held within it the promise of a better time.

"What are you doing?"

"I was reading before you got here and started to annoy me."

"Don't mind me. Do your thing."

"And what are you doing?"

"Enjoying the sun."

"You couldn't find any other place to do so?"

"Nope."

"You're annoying" You try to sound mad but the smile on your face betrays you. You started looking forward to any moment Minho randomly shows up throughout your day. Sometimes it's late at night when he's suddenly craving sushi and he drags you with him because if he's not studying then you shouldn't be too.

Sometimes it's during the day, when he takes you to a new garden where he found the quote "cutest cats in existence". Not as cute as his cats, of course.

Sometimes it's late afternoon when he just knocks on your door, and he's there with Chan-his roommate who sometimes joins your study sessions- snacks in their hands. You've learned that what Minho doesn't say in words, he compensates by spending time with you. And you didn't tell him but waiting for these moments has been the joy of your life for the past few weeks.

It made you feel excited- like a child waiting up for Christmas morning to discover what gifts they are receiving.

So, you resume reading, as Minho is lying next to you. You could smell his pinewood cologne and you wished you could pour his essence into a bottle and carry it with you everywhere.

You notice how the sun is hitting Minho’s eyes directly, and how his eyebrows are scrunched up at the aggression. So, you grab your book with your left hand, and hover your right one over his eyes, shielding him from the sun. Minho's breath tickles your hand and you can feel goosebumps rising through your skin.

It's as if every physical proximity with Minho made you feel hyperaware of every part of your body, and how he can lighten it with a simple breath from his part. It made you wonder what it would feel to have his hands on your skin.

As if Minho heard your thoughts, he gently wraps his thumb and index finger around your wrist, steadying your hand in place so it wouldn't strain your arm. You suddenly don't know what page you are in, too overwhelmed by the feeling of his hands on you.

His touch is very featherlight and you are afraid to move, to break the bubble you are suddenly pulled into.

"Read to me," he tells you and you gulp. You never understood why Minho enjoyed it when you read to him.

"Like my voice that much?" you tease, in an attempt to hide how affected you are. You were so close to him; it would be easy to slide down and lay your head on his chest. You wondered how his heartbeat would sound. Was it steady, or racing just like your own?

"Yeah, it's calming," he replies sincerely, catching you off guard. You didn't expect him to compliment you, and now you are racking your brain for a retort, anything to make you breathe again.

"Growing soft on me Minho?" you say, the same question you asked on your first dinner out. The first time you truly saw him, the first time you felt as if you were two pieces of the same puzzle, just waiting for someone to connect the both of you.

He doesn't reply. And you sit there, patiently waiting. His first answer came so easily, so naturally, because he was being sarcastic, "I’m basically in love with you", he told you back then. So why can't he say it again?

"Yes, I am." He finally replies and you feel your breath catch in your throat. You try to account it for your brain misguiding you. It wasn't Minho speaking, it was the rustling of the leaves and the singing of the birds that you just heard. But it was him, and now his eyes are open and he's looking at you. Your hand is still shielding his eyes and his fingers are still wrapped around your wrist. And you are suddenly feeling. You are feeling too much. You don't know what to do with those feelings cursing through your veins and you can't face them. Because they are scaring you.

"I'll just... Yeah, I’ll just read," you say quietly, too flustered by his intense gaze. You were already on the other side, you realize. His eyes pulled you in and you were stuck in there, swimming in a pool of honey.

"Out loud," he says and you chuckle, "Fine, Min." The nickname slips out of your tongue naturally and you quickly snap your head towards Minho to see if he noticed.

His eyes are closed, and there is a slight smile on his face, and you can swear that he just repeated the nickname to himself softly.

✹✹✹

You've been so sick these past days, you barely managed to go to class. Your head throbbed with pain and your entire body felt as if someone thoroughly boxed it.

You were grateful that Minho reeled down his teasing because you had no energy to retort back. He may have noticed how sick you felt and truthfully it would be hard not to. You stayed silent throughout the day, and you looked so pale, you avoided looking at the mirror altogether.

Though Minho didn't talk to you, he still silently placed water bottles and some of your favorite snacks on your desk. You'd down the water, grateful for the relief it brought your sore throat. And when you didn't touch the food, he'd immediately text you 'Eat up', followed by a simple 'Please'. Having someone else care for your well-being felt weird, but it warmed your heart beyond what words could describe.

You only came today to pass your Criminal Law mid-term, but your head hurt so badly that you weren't even sure what you wrote on your paper. The words blurred in front of your eyes and you almost slept in the middle of your exam, exhaustion threatening to take over your body.

You fucked up, badly. You haven't screwed up this much in years.

You thought that you were slowly getting better since Minho surpassing you no longer sparked an unworthy feeling within you. But apparently, you were wrong to believe so. Self-doubt crept up within you once again, and the ugly feelings it stirred slowly clawed at your throat, making it hard for you to breathe.

It was one test, and yet it reeled you back ages ago.

Tears threaten to spill out of your eyes as you hurriedly walk out of your class. You make a beeline for the library, figuring that it will be mostly empty by now.

You pull out a chair and sit on it, lowering your head down so no one will see you. Your tears are falling rapidly and you hit your thigh repeatedly. You hated how weak you felt in that instant.

"Yn?", someone calls out and you curse internally. You don't have to look up to see who it is, Minho's voice has become a part of you- you could easily recognize it between a thousand mingling sounds.

You don't want him to see you, especially not like this, weak and vulnerable and on the verge of breaking down. So you quickly slip a pair of sunglasses on your eyes, before raising your head to look at him. "Hm?"

"Are you okay?" he asks, his tone so soft it makes you want to cry ten times fold. You hated it, hated how attentive he was to you. You didn't deserve it.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just here to pick a book," you lie, abruptly standing up and heading toward the rows behind you. You desperately needed to get away from him.

You pause in front of a random shelf and then you feel Minho standing behind you. You grab a random book and he peeks above your shoulder to see it, "Economics? You hate this subject."

"Why are you following me?" you turn around attempting your best to sound mad. When in reality, your heart was brimming with hurt. You wished you could get away from your body and seep into someone's soul to feel what it's like to love yourself.

"You aren't okay," he asserts and you hate it. You hate that he sounds so sure of himself. Was it that noticeable? Were you not fooling anyone?

"I am," your voice is shaking but you are adamant about contradicting him. You couldn't let him see you. What if he runs?

"Then..." he steps forward and you take a step back until your back is against the shelf. His left arm cages your body, but his right one stays by his side. He is leaving you an opening, you realize, an outing in case you feel uncomfortable. Against all odds, you don't.

"Why are you hiding from me?" he asks, gently taking your sunglasses off your face, and placing them on the top of your head.

You don't look up at him, and he hooks his finger underneath your chin, gently raising your head. When your tear-stained eyes meet his, he frowns deeply, "Why are you crying?"

"it's nothing."

"Yn..."

"I fucked up, okay?! That was the worst test I’ve ever given in years." The tears start to flow at your words and you wipe them away aggressively. You despised crying in front of people.

Minho raises his hand to wipe the tears away for you but he quickly retracts it- you probably wouldn't want him to touch your face. It was enough that he had grabbed your wrist a couple of weeks before this. He quickly racks his brain for something to do, because the sight of your tears is making his heart ache in a way he hasn't felt before. It's as if he's feeling your emotions deep within him.

In desperation, Minho pinches your arm and you yelp, startled. "What was that for?" you whisper-shout and he raises his hands in defense, "I didn't know what else to do."

"So, you thought about pinching me?" you chuckle in bewilderment and he scratches the top of his hair sheepishly.

"I mean, it worked. Look, you stopped crying," he points out raising his brows at you proudly and you shake your head at him.

"Remind me to never cry in front of you again."

Minho grins at you before his face turns serious once again. "Look, you are the smartest person I know," he pauses, adding with a cheeky smirk, "After me of course." Which makes you giggle against your will.

"Shut up", you lightly punch his chest and he smiles. "One test doesn't define you. You always work very hard. I wouldn't lie to you."

"Mm," you hum and he frowns at your lack of enthusiasm, but still, he doesn't comment.

"No more crying," he wiggles his finger in front of your face and you roll your eyes, wiping the rest of your tears away. "Fine. Pretend as if this never happened."

"What are you talking about?" he asks as if confused, and you can't help the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. It's as if Minho knows exactly what to say to cheer you up.

"Come with me," he tells you, gently pulling you by the sleeve of your hoodie.

"Where to?"

"I’m craving ice cream."

"And why do you need me?"

"You're craving ice cream too," he says in a matter-of-a-fact tone.

"Only if you're paying," you add with a giggle and he whines loudly, "I feel so so used around you."

True to his words, Minho takes you to the nearest ice cream parlor. It's a 20 minutes walk away and you are grateful for the distance because it helps you clear your head a bit.

Minho lets you pick whatever flavors you want, and when you hesitate between two of them, he tells the cashier to put them both into your cup. This is how you end up with a container of 5 scoops of ice cream. You insisted you'd share, and Minho begrudgingly agreed when you threatened to walk out and leave him.

You then walk to a deserted alley and sit on the sidewalk. You didn't want to be around people right now, and thankfully, Minho understood without you having to say a word.

You munch silently on your ice cream and Minho does the same, the both of you lost in your thoughts. You naturally take turns holding the freezing container, so it wouldn't numb the fingers of one of you.

When you're done, Minho stands up to throw it away in a nearby trashcan before sitting back again next to you.

Suddenly you feel him gently tapping your hand. You look down to find that you've curled your fingers into a tight fist, so much that there are crescent indents visible on your palm now.

"Let's play thumb war," he tells you and you giggle at his words. You never knew what to expect from him.

Still, as your fingers hold each other, and your thumb circles one another, you feel yourself calm down slightly. You play a couple of rounds, and you know he's going easy on you, allowing you to quickly trap his thumb down.

No one has gone to such lengths to cheer you up, and you suddenly feel so grateful for Minho’s presence in your life. You didn't care in what shape he was in, you just needed him to be in it. Which in turn makes you think how bad it'd hurt if he ever leaves.

You don't want Minho to leave. You've gotten so attached to him that the thought of not talking to him again makes your heart race in panic.

Minho notices the change in your expression, suddenly melancholic once again. Your hand has gone limp in his, the thumb war long forgotten by you.

He curses under his breath, before looking at you. "If I dance for you, will you quit being so sad?"

"Dance for me?" you repeat incredulously and he nods, "Yes. I’ll show you an upcoming choreography just... Please smile?"

"Okay," you giggle, plastering a wide grin on your face.

"Not like that you look scary."

"Get to dancing!" you clap excitedly and he rolls his eyes, standing up and looking through his phone for a particular music.

"Oh and no comment!" he looks pointedly at you, and you nod, pretending to zip your mouth and throwing away the key.

'Finesse' by Bruno Mars starts playing and you are left mesmerized by the way Minho dances. It's short but it leaves you yearning to see more. His body moves smoothly, hitting each beat effortlessly. He made it look as if dancing was second nature to him, that it came as easily to him as breathing.

You were speechless, rightfully so. You wished you could build a world where all Minho did was dance.

"That was-" you start when he stops the music but he cuts you off instantly, "I said no comment."

"But--" Minho places his finger on your mouth to silence you, seemingly not thinking too much of it. But the feel of his finger on your lips makes you dizzy. Minho quickly takes off his hand, a blush evidently creeping up his neck.

"Let's just go home," he sighs in defeat and you laugh despite the intense feelings cursing through you.

You don't know if you are imagining it but you swear that your pinkies brush against each other on your walk back. As if there was this magnetic force pulling them together. You wondered what would happen if you just linked your pinky with his. Would he grab you by the hand or will he let go of you entirely?

You were too much of a coward to find out. You were scared of messing up anything with him. So, you'd settle for this. Stolen glances and random outings. You just need him in your life.

"Thank you for today," you tell Minho once you arrive and he shrugs, as what he did wasn't a big deal.

"No, I mean it. Thank you," you repeat, trying your best to convey how sincere you were being. You take in a deep breath, before grabbing his hand and squeezing it, for a fleeting second, before dropping it again.

Minho is sure that your hand will now be imprinted into his, that the lines tracing over your palm will merge with his as one. Your touch was barely there but it had electrocuted him. He wondered to himself if his body would be able to handle more from you. But he'd gladly burn in your fires for the sake of holding you. And he'd wait, unwaveringly, as time stretches alongside the two of you. He'd wait as long as it takes for you.

"Yn, I..." he stammers, taking a step closer to you. His scent engulfs you and you shamefully close your eyes, inhaling it. When you open them again, you find Minho glancing down at your lips. You gulp, dazzled by his proximity.

"You have a mole on your nose," you suddenly speak up and his eyes snap back to yours, an adorable confusion drawn on his features.

"I like that mole," you continue and you wish you could dig yourself a hole and bury yourself in it.

"Thank you," he chuckles and you nod vigorously, "You're welcome."

"Can I ask you something?" he says and your breath hitches in your throat. "Sure."

"You don't like it when people touch you, right?"

"Yeah."

"Can I ask why?"

You want to confide in him, to tell him that it’s because you long for it, you crave it so badly. That this need has woven itself into the very fabric of your being. An ache so raw that it scares you at times. You’ve never known what it feels like to be held- it was uncharted territory to you.

"Isn't everyone scared of the unknown?" you settle on saying, and he nods in understanding. Of course, he understood. No one knows you as well as him.

"It's okay. I just wanted to know if I ever overstepped my boundaries."

"You didn't," you reply instantly.

"Good. You'll tell me if I ever do, right?"

"I will."

"Okay."

"Um. I'll get going," you point behind you and Minho smiles at you, waving you off.

You walk for a few steps before coming back again quickly. You then grab Minho’s hand, gently squeezing it like before, "You are an amazing dancer."

And then you drop it, running back towards your apartment block without waiting for a reply.

Minho stays frozen in his place. You think he's an amazing dancer. And you held his hand for five seconds.

That's four seconds more than the first time.

Progress.

✹✹✹

You haven't gotten out of your house for the past three days.

Everything crashed around you rapidly, it made you realize that the ground you once stood on was only an illusion, elusive and fleeting.

You were doing well; you were getting better. But then Monday came and you went out for a walk in the park near you. As you sat there, you saw a little girl playing on the swings, delightful joy dancing across her features. But then she fell to the ground and you instinctively stood up to help her, only to notice her mother running to her.

The world stilled around you as you clearly saw it- how the little girl clung to her mother's embrace, her embodiment of hope and love. You never had that. You don’t even know what perfume your mother used because she never allowed you to get that close to her.

You stood up abruptly, quickly heading back to your apartment block. As you ran up the stairs, you ended up bumping into one of your neighbors. You were quick to apologize but they ignored you, and the feeling of being invisible came back to haunt you ten times fold.

You knew you shouldn’t have done it, you knew you should have deleted your mother’s number when she sent you away to university without a backward glance, relieved at the thought of you getting a full-ride scholarship and not needing her anymore. But you didn’t, you kept her number in the hopes that she’d call. On your birthday, on holidays, on a random Thursday to tell you that she did remember who you are.

With trembling hands, tears welling in your eyes, you dialed your mother’s number for the first time in a year. You didn’t know what you were expecting. Maybe she regrets it. Maybe she misses you. Maybe she didn’t find the courage to mend her wrongdoings and that's why she never called.

"Hello?" her voice rang through your apartment. Goosebumps erupted on your arms and your hold on the phone tightened. Her voice took you back to memories you thought you had buried. How you spent countless nights yearning to hear the sound of her voice, how you regretted it once she spoke to attack you.

You hate her. You miss her. You want to hang up. You need to ask if she's doing okay.

“Who is this?” Her voice was devoid of recognition, freezing you in your tracks. You felt as if a bucket of ice was thrown over your head, dousing the flame of hope that flickered in your heart.

She deleted your number.

You quickly hung up, placing your phone down on the table. The tears refused to fall. It was as if your body had long anticipated this outcome, leaving only your wounded soul to bear the pain.

Healing isn't linear, you've read about it in books and heard it in shows and movies. One step back doesn't mean that your entire progress is gone. You know this, you've memorized those sentences. So why do you not believe them? Why does it feel as if you can never be free from the past? Why does it feel as if you’ll always seek something out of her?

Those questions roamed your mind for the past three days, making you too tired at the prospect of lifting your limbs, let alone leaving your apartment. You sent your two friends a text, telling them that you're sick so they wouldn't worry. Not that you believed they would. Nothing made sense to you anymore.

You laid on your bed in utter silence- a tense quiet that was disrupted on the third day by someone knocking on your door. You didn't know who was there; you just hoped that they'd leave you alone.

To your surprise, you open the door to find Minho, some notes in his right hand and a coffee in his left. He sends an easy smile your way. You don't smile back.

"What do you want?" your voice is cold, but Minho doesn't bristle. A cheeky smile settles on his lips as he leans on your doorway.

"You didn't come to class for the past three days, so I brought you the notes. So, you wouldn't think our competition is unfair."

"Competition," you chuckle coldly, heading inside your apartment, and he follows suit. You start to pace around furiously, and Minho looks at you worriedly. "Competition?" you repeat, the word dripping off your tongue like venom. You turn around, marching towards Minho and standing a few inches from him. "You know what? Fuck you and your competition!"

"Yn-"

"Did it ever occur to you that I never wanted a part in this competition? That all I wanted was to be left alone?" you say, growing louder as you jab your finger into his chest repeatedly. "I never wanted any of this! Do you understand? I never wanted to be this way," you shout angrily in his face.

The worried look in Minho’s eyes snaps you out of your haze. You realize that you are being utterly ridiculous lashing out at Minho, when the one person you are mad at is yourself.

Your anger quickly deflates, leaving in its trail an agonizing sadness. It's so sudden that it knocks the breath out of you, and you clutch your chest as if it could soothe the burn in your heart. Suddenly you are twelve years old again, crying in your room because you feel like no one has ever loved you.

But this time you aren't alone. Minho is in front of you, and his eyebrows are so furrowed you want to lean forward to ease the tension between them. His eyebrows, you liked his eyebrows, they were arched, and they framed his eyes nicely, and his eyes are brown and so big, and they always look at you softly and why is it getting so hard to breathe-

"Did I do something to you? Whatever it is I’m sorry," Minho panics, cutting off your frantic train of thought. But now, the weight of guilt adds to your overwhelming emotions. You shouldn't have lashed out at him, he brought you coffee and you yelled at him. Maybe your mom was right after all.

You shake your head left and right furiously, your words coming out in hiccups. Since when did you start crying? "It isn't- it isn't you."

"Then let me help you-", he steps forward, hand outstretched, but you take three hurried steps back and wrap your hands around yourself protectively. "Don’t. Please, don't."

"Why are you pushing me away?" his tone isn't accusatory. You've learned time and time again that Minho wouldn't do anything that made you feel uncomfortable.

"You won't understand."

"Then make me."

"Because I’m afraid!" the words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them. "I’m afraid if you ever hug me, I wouldn't be able to go back to hugging myself. I'd need you and I can't afford to need someone else."

You regret the words as soon as they fleet away from your mouth. He would look at you differently, he would find you pathetic and then he’d leave. And you wanted him to leave. But you also wanted him to stay. It was all so confusing.

You felt as if your being was torn between two great forces, each one of them trying to win the war raging inside you. You wished someone else would make the decisions in your place, for once.

Minho places the coffee and notes on the ground before approaching you, his palms facing up in a gesture of surrender. "I won't leave you," he says softly. "I’ll be by your side for as long as you'll have me."

"Minho..." your voice catches in your throat as you utter his name- like a broken prayer. He stands before you, his eyes shimmering like the reflection of a river on a sunny day.

"Please, let me make it better."

You nod tentatively and Minho comes even closer to you. He was treating you like one would with a wounded animal, giving you a chance to ultimately back out. But for once, you listen to what your heart has been yearning for. Your bones are aching to be held, to feel the warmth of a body against your own, to feel safe and secure.

Minho embraces you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and bringing you to him. You slowly bring your arms up and lace them around his waist. You are afraid, deathly afraid. His grip is loose, and you almost can't feel him around you, but when you lay your head on his chest, he tightens his hold on you and you instinctively let out a sob.

He's hugging adult you, the woman whose heart was once again broken by her mom. But he's also hugging little you, the girl who was craving affection from everyone around her. In that instant, Minho is hugging every single version of you that ever needed a hug.

You were right to be scared because you don't want to let go, you want to stay in his arms because they feel safe, like a shield protecting you. You can't go back to not hugging Minho.

The sensation is overwhelming and your knees buckle underneath you. But instead of holding you up, Minho falls to the ground with you, as if you are two inseparable pieces of one puzzle. He isn’t here to fix you, he’s here to break down with you and help you pick up the scattered pieces.

You think back to that night in the park when Minho told you about Japanese vases. At this moment, it dawns on you that Minho has found a way to become a part of you. He was the molten gold binding your broken parts together. He was the invisible thread stitching your wounds back together.

Who were you fooling? It was him; it was him all along.

Minho rocks you gently as you cry and cry and cry. His hand finds your hair and he plays with it as you sob. He tells you you'll be okay, you'll feel better and you try to believe him, his words wrap around your bruises like a healing balm.

"There, there, love. You are okay", he murmurs, tenderly patting your head. A fresh set of tears wells up in your eyes. Love.

"I’m sorry. I'm so sorry," you apologize as you pull away from his embrace.

"Why are you apologizing? Is it because you wet my shirt? I don't mind," he reassures you with a smile and you shake your head.

"I was mean to you and you didn’t deserve it," you explain through hiccups.

"It's okay, you weren't mad at me, were you?" he asks, wiping your tears away so gently with his thumbs, careful not to irritate the sensitive skin.

"No. Still, it isn't okay and I’m sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Shh, don't apologize. It's okay." you look at him doubtfully and he rolls his eyes playfully, "Here I’ll even do your silly pinky promise, okay?" he laces his pinky with yours, but then he suddenly leans forward and places a chaste kiss on your thumb pad. "There, sealed forever."

You giggle faintly as a blush dusts your cheeks, "That's not how it works."

"I know."

Your giggle was far different from the ones Minho was accustomed to. It was small, and it didn't brighten up your face like usual. But he was grateful for it nonetheless. He realized how much he missed your laugh, and how all the other sounds in the world pale in comparison to it.

In that moment Minho thinks to himself that he'd do anything to make you smile again. He'd make a fool out of himself if it meant making you happy. He'd settle for a simple tug at the corners of your mouth, anything but the sadness that seemed etched in your face, as if it was blended into the colors that drew you.

You tentatively move around, before laying your head on his lap. Minho's hand instinctively finds your hair and he starts to gently play with it. It feels as if you've done this a million times before, when in fact it was the first.

There was something wildly intimate about laying on the floor with the man who just comforted you. It made you want to spill all your secrets to him, one by one, and have him hug you through them.

"Did you mean it? When you said you'll stay?" you felt so vulnerable in his hold, as if he could twist you whoever he liked. But you trusted him. You trusted yourself with Minho.

"I did. Your walls are always up. It's hard to peek behind them. But I don't want to tear them down. I want you to slowly unbuild them. I want you to do it for yourself."

To do it for yourself, it's hard to even know who you are anymore.

"I want to tell you."

"You don't need to."

"I know, but I want to."

"Okay. Take your time, kitten." he pats your head gently, and you try to sync your breathing to the rhythm of his touch. You were grateful that you were lying on his lap since you couldn't see his face. It made talking feel a little less daunting.

"On my 9th birthday... I was very excited. I'd been on my best behavior that month, trying to please my mom in the hope that, for once, we'd celebrate my birthday. Like a normal little family," you smile sadly, you were so hopeful back then.

"My birthday came, I woke up, excited. My mom was still asleep, nothing out of the ordinary. So, I made my breakfast and walked to my school. I wore my prettiest dress and put on pigtails with hair clips. It was my birthday after all," Minho smiles softly at your words, his hand now resting on your own.

"I got back home and waited for my mom to come back. She remembered my birthday, I thought. And then, she came but she didn't talk to me. So, I thought, oh a surprise party!" you chuckle, but this time the smile on Minho’s face is gone.

"It was then 11 pm, and the hope had slowly died in me. So, in my stupid innocent self, I went to my mom, and asked her "Did you forget my birthday?". And I remember... I remember the way she laughed. Cruelly. Like I had told her the funniest joke in the world. And then. Then she looked me dead in the eye and said 'I hate the fact that you are born. Why would I celebrate that?'"

Minho sucks in a deep breath at your words, and you exhale one right out. It felt comforting, to have someone else stomach the hurt for you. To take the weight off your shoulders, allowing you a few moments to breathe.

"I confronted her about it one day, but she said she doesn't remember saying that. It's funny how it was a random Thursday for her, but for me, it shaped my life." you smile bitterly, "I remember how jealous I was of the way the other kids talked about their mothers. They said the word so lightly. It must have reminded them of sunshine and ice cream and rainbows. But for me, it held an uncharacteristic heaviness to it. I grew to hate the word."

"I drove myself crazy, Min", you whisper and he brings you closer to his body, "was it me or was it her? When did it start? Was it because I was too loud as a child or maybe too quiet? Did I not cater to her fantasies of a kid? I wanted to remember every single thing that happened throughout my childhood, thread through every single memory. I tried to pinpoint the exact moment my mom stopped loving me."

Minho squeezes your hand tightly in his, and you feel as if he was pulling you away from the memory that had long trapped you. You were now watching it unfold from outside of the window, your hand in his, safe from the hurt it had inflicted on you.

"It's not you. It could never be you. Some people are simply not fit to be parents. It's never their kid's fault."

Minho tries his best to keep his touch soothing, to make his voice sound as soft as possible. But he was angry, he was so angry at the world for not taking care of you when you were younger. His heart broke, thinking of 9-year-old you being told such cruel words.

He wanted to turn back time and tell you that you were enough. He wanted to make the pain that seemed so anchored in you float back to the surface, and dissipate like sea foam meeting the shore.

But he couldn't do that. All he could do is comfort present you.

Minho gently pulls you up from his lap, making you sit upright. He crisscrosses his legs and you do the same. Your knees brush against each other and you feel a shiver run down your spine. You didn't know that even knees could emanate such warmth.

"Yn, look at me. The world wouldn't be the same without you in it," he cradles your face between his hands, "You hear me yn? I’m so thankful you exist."

His doe brown eyes are sincere, and it made you want to believe him badly. That's a good start, right?

"I’ll be back," he tells you, letting go of your face and standing up.

You hear Minho rummaging through the kitchen and you take the time to calm yourself down. Sharing those parts of you with Minho felt therapeutic. As if you were healing parts of your inner child. You have never talked about this with anyone before, maybe this is why it still hurt as badly.

Minho comes back five minutes later, his hands behind his back. You raise a brow at him inquisitively and he just smiles secretly at you. "Close your eyes," he tells you and you giggle, doing as he says. He crouches in front of you, and you hear him shuffle in his place for a bit.

Then, "Open your eyes yn," and you find him, in front of you, a cupcake you had stored in your fridge in his hands, and a makeshift candle lit up. "Happy 9th birthday, love. You did well."

You stare at him in utter bewilderment. You couldn't believe your eyes. How could this man be so thoughtful? He was wishing you a belated birthday, to compensate for the 9th birthday you didn't celebrate.

You panic, at the look in his eyes. You've never seen it, never dared to dream of it, of someone caring for you unconditionally. So, you try to scare him, to push him away. You didn't want him to regret knowing you.

"There are things I need you to know um", you chuckle nervously, "When I... When I throw up, I hold my hair, and when I’m sick I nurse myself back to health, and when I have a nightmare I- I hold my hand in the dark. It will be hard for me to hold yours instead."

"We'll start a finger at a time, yeah?"

"It will take time."

"I have time," he speaks easily, as if loving you was effortless and not a strenuous task. You couldn't fathom it.

"You are too busy-", he cuts you off instantly, "Not for you."

"The world doesn't stop because we need it to." Your voice is quiet; this is your very last try. You are tired of fighting. You are putting down your armor and waving a white flag.

"We'll make it stop. Here, the two of us. On this floor. We'll take as long as we need to."

"I never deemed you as an optimist", you smile a little, a hint of teasing in your tone.

"I’m not," he pauses, gazing down at the cupcake between his hands and then at you. "But I feel that we deserve a bit of happiness together, don't we?"

"We do."

"Then make a wish."

You close your eyes for a few seconds, before blowing on the candle.

"What did you wish for?" he asks a fond smile on his face.

The answer came naturally to you, you didn't even need to think about it. "I wished for you."

Minho's lips come crashing down on yours, and you imagine that this is what it feels like to see colors for the first time. To discover a new world beyond the one you've always known.

The kiss isn't urgent nor feverish, it is one of comfort. Your lips spilling the words you have not yet said to each other. "I love you," he kisses you, "I love you too," you kiss him back. "I need you to stay," you swipe your tongue across his bottom lip, "I’m never leaving you," he opens his mouth allowing you entrance.

As you kiss him, you remember a fact you once learned in high school. The human body possesses seven trillion nerves. And for the first time in your life, you feel as if each of these nerves is alive. You feel that even the smallest atom is electrocuted with Minho’s love and it’s all you know within you.

You feel as if the pain, the hurt, and the ache you've been through are slowly unraveled, and in their place, a timid happiness is starting to bloom. You imagine that when Minho’s lips met your own, the seven trillion nerves inside you exhaled in relief 'We've made it', they said, 'we'll finally be okay.'

Epilogue

You've always thought that epilogues were useless. How can you resume the rest of your life in one sentence, boil down the rest of your existence in mere pages? Because life doesn't stop at the epilogue, and a new book can start once again, right where you left it off.

But with Minho, you didn't mind an epilogue. On the contrary, you longed for a soft one. You wanted to rest on this last page, you wanted to lay your worries on the words and tuck them into the syllables. And you wanted to wake up anew.

And this wasn't the end of your story with Minho. A lot happened after it. But it didn't worry you, because epilogues are about the one thing that doesn't change throughout the long march of time. And luckily for you, that constant was Minho’s love for you. From that day he held you, he has never let go.

It took time, for his warmth to seep through your bones. It took time, for your heart to forget the cold. But you wanted to do it. With him. You wanted to love and be loved.

The sound of cats mewling fills your apartment, pudding can always be found in your fridge and you haven't felt invisible in years.

6K notes · View notes

illbegottenfaith · 1 month ago

Text

lucky pt 2 - theo nott x reader

after the Felix Felicis incident, your relationship with theo has dramatically changed, for better and for worse

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

a/n - by popular demand! rip my title tho the best alternative I could come up with was ‘feminine ass-kicking’ but idk if that’s too out there. also I’ve started part 3 too! (which should be the final part) this was kind of inspired by gilmore girls season 6 :)

tropes/warnings - academic rivals to lovers, angst, slow burn, miscommunication

word count - 2.1k

The Felix Felicis incident had given the both of you much to think about. Outwardly, you maintained the appearance that nothing had changed between the two of you, taking snipes at each other every now and then. But every night, before you’d fall asleep, your mind would wander back to that evening at the Astronomy Tower, the sight of Theo and the harsh contours of his face softened by the forgiving setting sun. Every night, he asks if you have anything else to say. Every night, you shake your head.

And as much as you’d like to pretend otherwise, things had changed between you. Theo became more reserved, somehow, less determined to spar with you. Your fights didn’t hold anywhere near the spark they once did. And you hated it. You hated that it bothered you, you hated that it upset you, you hated that it was all you could think about every time you were in the same classroom as him. It just wasn’t fair.

What also wasn’t fair was your entire group falling sick the day before an extremely crucial Potions project was due. They were all more than apologetic, but it didn’t change the fact that months worth of work to complete in one night if you wanted even a semblance of a chance at passing.

Which was how Theodore Nott found you in the library late one night, pouring over five gnarly tomes on Potions from the Medieval era, writing what looked like three essays at once. You flinched when you heard a noise near the bookshelves, and your mood wasn’t much improved when you saw who it was.

“Trying to read every book in one night, L/N?”

You wanted to roll your eyes. After weeks of stunted conversation, now that it was just the two of them, he was suddenly feeling chatty?

“I'm busy. Buzz off.”

Ignoring you, Theo crept closer, tilting his head to read what you were haphazardly scribbling.

“The Potions project? But we started that months ago. And it’s due tomorrow.”

You swept the papers up out of his sight. You were already in a testy mood to begin with and you were in no mood to have him crow over your bad luck.

“What part of ‘buzz off’ don’t you get?”

“Where are your groupmates?”

“Sick.”

“Sick?”

“They all went on some Hogsmeade trip together, the whole lot of them. They all caught it from each other and they’re supposed to be stupidly contagious.”

“But their reports should be fine.”

“They were, until Madam Pomfrey declared them a biohazard.” Your head was beginning to hurt from the bottled-up frustration. You knew it wasn’t their fault for falling sick, but now you had to pull an all-nighter just so you wouldn’t fail. You stood and walked past him to the shelves, pulling out any and every book that remotely looked like it might help.

You glanced at the clock, mentally calculating how much time you’d need. There was no way you could get it all done by 9 am. Feeling quite proud of yourself for successfully giving Theo the same cold shoulder he had been giving you the past couple of weeks, you walked to the library telephone and started dialing the number to Slughorn’s office. One of the only people who could help you now was Jeeves, Slughorn’s teaching assistant, provided he was in a good enough mood.

“Jeeves, hi. Yes, I know it’s late, but I was wondering if you could delay the Potions project submission by just an hour? I’m sure Slughorn wouldn’t mind. It’s just my entire team fell sick all at once, and Madam Pomfrey threw out everything they’ve touched in the past three days, including their reports. I know it's due 9 am but couldn’t you bend the rule a little, just this once? For me?”

You rubbed your forehead anxiously, an unpleasant expression on your face as you tried to follow whatever Jeeves was yammering about punctuality. When he moved on to the importance of personal accountability, you felt like you were going to combust if you didn’t shut him up soon.

“Y’know, Jeeves,” you interrupted with a dramatic sigh, dropping your voice, “just the other day I was thinking about that one Quidditch match you had played a couple of years back. Yes, that one game you subbed in for the Chaser? I have to say, you’re no slouch yourself out on the pitch. You sure look like you know your way around a broom. Yes, exactly, way better than those oafs on the team. I always thought it was a shame you didn’t make the cut - one hour. Yes, yes, that’s all I need. Thank you, thank you!”

You hung up, already feeling much more hopeful with the one-hour extension. All that was left to do was slave away for the rest of the night, and by morning you’d have a more than acceptable report ready.

“…what was that?”

You started, having nearly forgotten who was with you. “What was what?” You asked, half-distracted, once again absorbed in rearranging the layout of your Potions project.

“That, with the - ‘you look like you know your way around a broom?’ Really?”

You glanced at Theo, frowning. “Well, how do you get what you want?”

You turned your gaze back to the book splayed out in front of you, missing the brief look of longing that passed over Theo’s face. “Hmm. Bribery, mainly.”

“Right,” you said slowly, a hint of sarcasm in your tone underneath the flurry of activity. “That trust fund isn’t going to spend itself, now is it?”

“My trust fund doesn’t kick in ‘til I’m 25, tesoro.”

You wanted to kick yourself when your heart fluttered over the stupidly endearing pet name. You didn’t realise how much you missed it. “Oh, oh, of course. Mr. Moneybags here is just absolutely rolling in it even without his trust fund. How could I forget?”

“Mr. Moneybags? That’s the best you can come up with?”

You huffed without any real annoyance. You walked over to where Theo was lounging as he lazily watched you spin like a top between the bookshelves. He had the decency to sit up slightly as you approached and dumped the stack of papers into his lap.

“Look, Nott, I’m on a time crunch here. So either help me or get out.”

Theo looked up at you without a trace of mockery in his otherwise teasing blue eyes. You willed yourself to not look away.

“Yes, ma'am.”

You made the mistake of holding his gaze. A beat passed, then two. It seemed that it was surprisingly impossible for either of you to look away. Finally, you snapped out of it, mentally giving yourself a good shake as you hurried out of his magnetic field back to the table. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought you were flirting with him.

“Wha -?”

“Toast. From breakfast.”

You glanced around the room bleary-eyed, seizing Theo’s wrist a little harder than necessary as you blinked the sleep out of your eyes. As much as you hated to admit it, last night had gone better than you could have ever hoped. It helped to have another pair of hands and a brain that was almost as good as yours. Unfortunately, you must have nodded off at some point,

Cursing as you finally made out the time on his watch, you peeled off the piece of parchment stuck to your face and continued writing, even as every muscle in your palm protested. Theo rolled his eyes and stuck the toast in your mouth, which you mindlessly nibbled on for the next hour or so.

When you were finally done, you stuck your group’s names on the cover page and the two of you hurried down to Slughorn’s office a little before 10 o clock. Jeeves, good man that he was, was still in. But your relief was short-lived.

Jeeves did an insufferably exaggerated impression of reading the time as you walked in. “It’s 2 past 10. I’m afraid I can’t accept your submission.”

This was it. You reached your limit. You weren’t running on what was at most 2 hours of sleep just for some self-important dimwit of a teaching assistant to refuse your submission.

You grabbed the collar of Jeeves’ shirt, manhandling him with hours' worth of frustration. “Listen here, Jeeves. You will accept my group’s submission if you want to walk out of here with every part of your anatomy intact. You will take these essays I have here and you will accept them graciously, Merlin help you if you don’t.”

“What happened to using your feminine wiles?” asked Theo, thoroughly enjoying himself.

“Yeah, well, now I’m more in the mood for a feminine ass-kicking. Jeeves, come on. ”

You only released him when Theo placed a calming hand on your wrist. He reached into his pocket, offering something to a very red-faced and highly affronted Jeeves.

“C’mon, Jeeves. Maybe we could make this more worth your while.”

You hesitated, torn. On the one hand, you were raised better than to bribe people or accept financial aid, especially when you didn’t really need it. On the other hand, this project was worth 40% of your grade and Jeeves was being a little bitch.

Jeeves mulled over the coins in his palm, taking his sweet time appraising them. Just as it looked like he was about to ask for something a little more, you slammed a hand on his desk.

“Alright, fine, hand it over.”

Once you’d finally successfully submitted your project, the two of you walked out of Slughorn’s office in a daze. Without the stress of the impending deadline to act as a buffer between you, a certain awkwardness started to set in. Theo had his hands in his pockets, rubbing at a scuffed patch on the floor with his shoe.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you started, but he waved off your protests. Still, no one pulls an all-nighter for just about anyone.

“So how much did you give him?”

Theo sighed. “L/N.”

But you were already pulling out your coin purse. “It can’t have been more than what I have on me now.”

“Y/N.” You stopped counting out your coins. He was looking at you strangely, like he didn’t understand what he was doing either. “Forget it. Really.”

Reluctantly, you pocketed your coin purse. A hysterical sort of giddiness was starting to set in. “We did it.”

“You did it.”

Maybe it was the long night of endless writing or your grumbling stomach. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation. Or maybe it was the way he was looking at you now, with a smile so sincere like he was genuinely so proud of you. Whatever it was, you took a step towards him, and then another before throwing your arms around his neck.

It was a little less dignified than you would have hoped, what with you trembling with barely any sleep and the vestiges of caffeine-induced adrenaline and him having the audacity of being a whole head taller than you since sixth year. But he steadied you before you could tip back, his arms resting around your waist. You had never shaken hands, much less hugged each other, but something about it felt so warm, comforting, familiar. The feel of his solid body pressed against yours didn’t feel so terrible.

But as you pulled apart, you caught sight of his expression, and your face fell. He wasn’t smiling like you, not anymore.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out, immediately feeling like the biggest idiot in the world. He still wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t look angry either. He looked - you couldn’t tell how he looked. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear almost regretfully, before turning to leave.

“Don’t.”

Theo paused. He didn’t turn to face you.

“Don’t do this, Nott. Don’t be cold. Don’t be distant.”

He adjusted the shoulder strap of his satchel. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was nervous. “I have Charms to get to.” He turned his head slightly but not enough to meet your gaze. “You should get a proper breakfast.”

And then he left, as if he had no idea what you were talking about. As if the last twelve hours hadn’t occurred. As if he hadn’t felt the void festering between you the past couple of weeks.

As if he didn’t care about you.

Part 3

#theo nott x reader #theo nott #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott angst

289 notes · View notes

cheezeybread · 6 months ago

Note

Hello! i do have a request headcannons with the housewardens with g/n reader who is very physical affection, yet they are also very smart on academics. They also loves to take a notes during a lessons so imagine they saw reader who writes a lot that definitely until a whole paragraf (even worse if they ran out of the paper or books, they can be write until the table)

I hope you like the idea if you can't you can ignore it, and i'm sorry for the bad grammar, have a good day! (⌒∇⌒)ノ"

Will do! You have a good day, too! :D

𝙂𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙣𝙚𝙪𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙡 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙝𝙮𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙖𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖 𝙨𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙮-𝙥𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨

𝐅𝐭: 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞, 𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐚, 𝐀𝐳𝐮𝐥, 𝐊𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐦, 𝐕𝐢𝐥, 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐮𝐬, 𝐈𝐝𝐢𝐚

No, this is not proof-read, I'm lazy, sorry TwT

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒

Oh my goodness, you show him physical affection AND you're studious despite not having any magic to practice on in class? He's so in love it's crazy

He finds it very admirable how you pour your heart and soul into the technical aspects of class...which only serves to make Grim look worse in his eyes (I mean, the little Direbeast is your magic-half and he doesn't even pull his own weight! Grim is single-handedly dropping your grades down with every magical assignment)

Anytime there's a group assignment, you bet your bottom dollar that Riddle's going to convince the teacher to make the two of you partners! You both pull your own weight in the task and always manage to get the highest grades on projects! Plus, he enjoys spending class with you

Although he's not exactly the best with physical affection (words of affirmation are more his own love language because of his STUPID MOM-), he does his best to reciprocate, albeit somewhat awkwardly.

Expect some hand-holding from him in public, because that's all he can work himself up to do, PDA-wise. In class, though, he's more prone to absentmindedly touching you. Hand-holding, for sure, or maybe just resting a hand on your side, nudging you with his elbow to see what sort of notes you're writing down. His attention in class is split between the teacher and you, a fair 50/50

But sometimes it leans more towards 40/60 when you squeeze his hand affectionately.

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑

A big cat at heart (and physically, lol), Leona's a bit iffy with the physical affection. It mainly depends on the mood you catch him in.

If he's in a particularly gracious mood, he'll allow the physical contact and even give some back, preferring to wrap an arm around you or rest his head on your shoulder

If he's in one of his leave-me-alone kitty phases, he'll allow the touch, of course, but he might be a little less prone to give you any in return. But he'll never say no to you if you want to show him your own way of love

Because of Ruggie, you're now his un-official tutor! I mean, you are his partner, so you might as well help him learn some stuff with all the time you spend around each other, right?

Pretty much how the tutoring sessions go: *y/n, opening their notebook for a class, preparing to read to Leona since he missed that day's lesson* Leona: Wtf y/n: What? Leona: Why do you have so many notes for just one lesson? y/n: Oh, this isn't all of them, actually. Leona:....Why does it say 'Page 1 out of 32'.

Whether he likes it or not, he's gonna learn something from those notes of yours!

Of course, when he does come to class, his attention is always on you throughout the entire lesson.

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐋 𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐎

You're actually his soulmate, he's convinced.

Physical affection? Poor little guy needs all he can get! It helps assure him that 1) You don't find him absolutely repulsive, and 2) That you like him! He's the sort where if you don't give him a kiss upon first seeing him, he'll spiral into a "omg they hate my guts and want me to die now" mindset. Poor fella.

During any lessons the two of you have together, he's found that since you have the better notes out of the two of them, he can look over yours and add to his notes. So expect him to ask to borrow your notebooks after every single class. Or maybe he'll just forgo writing his own notes and copy yours entirely, hm? Nah, he couldn't bring himself to do such a thing-

This man is clingy af

He's always got a hand on you in some way, shape, or form, and always, always finds a way to touch you in passing. Your hanging out with him in the Mostro Lounge? He's leaning up against you, legs crossed. You two are out walking? Arm around your waist. In class? He's got his ankle hooked around yours.

Expect him to constantly ask you if what he's doing is alright or not. He's not well-versed in the relationship-styles of humans, and he knows that merfolk can come off a bit...too much. So he figures that it's better safe than sorry!

He's also totally going to ask you to read over any contracts that he drafts up, asking if you can find any loopholes written in the fine print or not. A second pair of eyes helps out more often than he'd like to admit!

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

𝐊𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐌 𝐀𝐋-𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐌

FINALLY, someone on his level of affection!

PDA? Hell yeah!

Always touching, always hugging, and he gives zero regards to who might be looking when he gives you a lil smooch!

"Oh, yn, you took notes today? You always do, you're such a good student! Can you come back to Scarabia with me and help me out with my classwork? Jamil is busy, and I really want to get better so I can beat him fair and square!" :D

Of course, whenever you go over to help him study, or just to review notes, it ends up in a cuddle-fest.

Are you complaining? You better not!

Every time there's an option to pick partners, you'd best believe he's picking you! Even if somehow he doesn't end up being your partner, he'll congratulate the person who is, telling them how nice and kind you are, and how smart, too!

The world doesn't deserve Kalim, fr fr

But you sure do!

And he'll make sure that you know how much you mean to him, whether it's by an ungodly amount of gifts, compliments to make you all flustered, or even just insisting on hanging around you 24/7!

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

𝐕𝐈𝐋 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐓

Due to his own preoccupation with his looks and such, Vil unfortunately misses some parts of lessons. He'll pull out a small mirror to double-check if his eyeliner is smudged, and bam! Suddenly the teacher is onto the next subject.

Not to worry, though, because he has you!

With a bat of his eyelashes and a few small kisses on the back of your hands, he can convince you to show him your prized notes (of course, you'd be more than willing to give them to him with just a please, but you quite like the effort he puts into it)

In return for you re-reading your notes to him out loud, he'll fidget with your appearance, or simply caress the back of your hands

You two are working in the courtyard? He's running a hand through your hair, braiding it if it's long enough. You're in his dorm reading? He's painting your nails. You're in the library? He's running a hand up and down your arm.

He's more into the low-key physical affection out in public, but who's to say he won't openly kiss you if someone starts trying to hit on you? Or maybe he just feels like a bit of PDA is deserved after all your hard works! Who can tell with that guy!

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐃

Definitely one to gift you with custom-made notebooks.

It started with him watching as you tried to make your handwriting smaller, attempting to fit your last notes onto the veeeeery last page in your journal.

When he got back to his room, Idia found some basic journals that he never got around to using, and he puts stickers on them, quotes, any and everything he thinks that you'd like. It's a sloppy mess, since arts and crafts isn't his strong suit, but it's handmade!

Eventually, though, he'll get frustrated with making the notebooks, and he'll just make some piece of technology that prints spoken words onto a notebook for you, so you don't have to have an aching wrist from writing so much.

God love him, he's trying, A for effort.

On the side of affection, though...he's still getting used to it. If you do ANYTHING in public, he's going to turn into an absolute mess and get all flustered. It's especially bad in class. You accidentally brush your hand up against his and he gives a shriek in response, slamming his head on the table in embarrassment and asking to leave

In private, he's still liable to get flustered, but if you assure him constantly that he's fine, he'll eventually settle down...eventually.

He's determined to get better at physical affection for you, so he's definitely trying...just give him a little bit, and he'll come around.

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐔𝐒 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐀

This is just normal human behavior, is it not?

Most definitely, though, he finds it refreshing to have someone at the school who doesn't fear him and treats him like an equal (although who's to say that there isn't a mutual worshiping going on between the two of you?)

Since you are the Prefect of the Ramshackle Dorm, you are required to attend the Housewarden meetings! On the occasions that Malleus is unreachable and unfindable, you take it upon yourself to write down the notes of the meeting, nearly word-for-word of what transpired. Later on, you'll hunt down Malleus and give him the notes, which in turn you'll receive a kiss as a thank-you.

He truly does appreciate you, in every way, shape, and form. Just so ya know ;)

He'll find old journals around the Diasomnia dorm (either journals that Lilia has and never used, or just ones that were bought for dorm use), and he'll give them to you, seeing as how you make the most use out of them!

And by gosh, these journals are gorgeous! They're rugged and antique-looking, leatherbound, and some of them even have an ancient design burned into the cover. It almost makes you sad to use them, but Malleus is overjoyed when he sees you writing down notes or anything in one of them

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

537 notes · View notes

melrodrigo · 8 months ago

Text

friends? - cairo sweet

Cairo Sweet x Reader

Summary: A new class leads to some heated feelings

Warnings: Finally wrote an enemies to lovers, they’re academic rivals ur honor, my writing, cairo being a meanie, quite an excessive use of italics

Word Count: 1k+

A/n: wanted to practice some, tell me what u think? do you want a part two?

“Cairo Sweet.” You read aloud, scrolling down your class list for the next year. Winnie —your best friend since childhood—laughs quietly at the sound.

“Funny name.” She mumbles when you quirk an eyebrow at her.

There was no reason to think ‘Sweet’ was a weird surname; however, Winnie, at the moment, was high out of her mind, so you let it go.

“Jacob Weinstein, Sophie Bell, Anthony Smith—god I don’t know any of these people!” You whisper, the slightest bit of anxiety creeping in.

Your first day is tomorrow, and you’ve sworn to yourself not to check who is in your specific class, wanting to try to spontaneously make new friends.

The keyword was try, because god you were bad at small talk.

Even in her mellowed state, Winnie could tell the nerves were settling in. She reaches out and draws you towards her, sitting so you’re facing each other, only a finger away from completely pressing into one another.

She swirls the lollipop in her mouth around, angling your head to look her in the eyes.

“It’s gonna be fine. Don’t sweat it, please? It makes me sad to see your pretty face in distress.” She spoke evenly, making you feel like you had steady ground to walk on, helping you come back to earth. You let out a deep breath, one you didn’t know you were holding.

“You’ve got to stop flirting with anyone and anything that moves.” You tell her, lightheartedly. She had helped taken the edge off, for now.

Bless her heart, Winnie’s reassurance lasted about until she left for her own home, leaving you alone with your thoughts in the big lonely house you had to call home.

It takes a book, or maybe two, for your eyelids to flutter shut, comforted by the smell of old paper and the feeling of coarse parchment.

Walking to school is no different. You listen half-heartedly to whatever Winnie decides to babble about this specific morning, your mind elsewhere.

As you near the doors of your next class, Winnie gives you a quick wink.

“Good luck soldier.” She says, smiling an almost teasing smile.

The minute you push open the doors you’re taken by surprise. It was fairly early, and though you expected no one would be there yet, there was a girl sitting smack dab in the middle of the class. Her head rested on her hands, staring blankly at the chalkboard in front of her.

You walk up silently to the desk behind her, far enough so you weren’t in the first few rows, but close enough that you wouldn’t be sitting with all the slackers in the back.

You slip out a book, kick your feet up to rest on the wooden table, and relaxed slightly. She seemed to pay no mind to you, and didn’t seem to want to pay any mind to you.

After a few pages in, you realize you’ve been reading the same sentence over and over again, not quite comprehending the letters that now looked like a random jumble.

There was a sinking feeling starting in your stomach, as if something were twisting and screaming for your attention.

Table or chair, wind or sun—you couldn’t quite figure out what it was that was bothering you.

Your eyes wandered from the page to your surroundings, trying to pinpoint what it was.

You must’ve been making quite some noise, because the girl in front of you turns around, an obvious distaste on her face. The moment you lock eyes you feel it.

Ah, I know what it is now.

It seems almost silly to say, but you could swear, she was the root of your problems.

There was an almost inimical aura about her, the way she acts—the flick of her eyes, the slight clench in her jaw, her rigid robotic posture—was enough for you to cower.

Of course, you had never even talked to the girl, but you could tell all at once, you weren’t going to be good friends.

“Could you stop moving so much? It’s distracting me.” She tells you, in a manner too rude to be a real request.

Her eyes narrow when you don’t answer. You had elected instead to stare at her freckles, ones that littered her face. Not counting your current feelings for her, you couldn’t deny it, she was beautiful.

However, the way she was acting now was more than enough for you to be sure she was not someone friend-worthy, and you ignored her remark.

In a quiet retaliation, you wait till she titled her head back that you scratch the rug beneath you with the heels of your feet.

It creates a faint screeching sound. When the mysterious girl turns back once again, this time with fury in her eyes, you avert your eyes and look around the room, whistling.

You could tell you were pushing her buttons, but oh boy if it wasn’t just the most fun. If it weren’t for the sound of the door opening you’re positive she would’ve gotten up and confronted you.

In walked a short, scruffy, middle-aged white man whom you concluded must have been the teacher.

“I didn’t expect anyone to be in yet. Students aren’t usually thrilled to learn my class.” He said, sounding pleased with himself to have two new focused students.

“I’m quite excited to see how it’s going to go, I’ve never learned with a favorite author of mine.” The girl spoke, this time with no venom in her voice.

The professor let out a strangled sort of squeak, obviously caught off guard.

Great. She’s also a suck-up.

“Well, i’ll be damned. I’ve never met someone that’s read my book— other than my wife. Although I’m not sure if she even read the whole thing.” He said, failing to hide the excitement and disbelief he was surely feeling.

“I thought it was amazing commentary on modern marriages and love through difficult times.” She said, the light from outside lighting her hair up a lighter shade of brown.

Blah, blah, blah. Someone save me.

As if hearing your prayers, another student entered the room, effectively cutting off that godforsaken conversation. More pupils start filling up the class, and even though you can tell the professor wants to keep talking to the brunette, he steps up to the small platform.

“Good morning class, my name is Mr. Miller, and I’ll be teaching you english literature.” He announces, voice full. You can tell he’d practiced this beforehand.

Your plan to make friends, to both your joy and dismay, get crushed almost immediately. There are no group activities or opportunities to even speak to the other people in the class, all attention directed to the front while Mr. Miller scrabbles on the chalkboard.

The brunette’s name, you learn, is Cairo. She manages to be the first person to raise her hand, to challenge Mr.Miller, to question almost every single thing on the board.

And even though that nagging feeling you felt when you first saw her is gone, you let yourself dissociate and simply stare at the girl. If the class was going to be boring, it wouldn’t hurt to have some eye candy, would it?

“Now, who can tell me exactly why Orwell chose to use these sets of words? What do they give to the overall tone of the book, umm-y/n?” Mr.Miller called, looking from his list of students.

You stir in your chair uncomfortably; you have not been listening to him. The air had turned very cold; your heart picking up its pace.

“I don’t know.” You mumble after a while of every face turned your way, impatience in their gaze. You shrink into your seat.

You hear a little scoff from ahead of you, coming from none other than Cairo Sweet.

You bite back an insult, and try to ignore the disappointed murmur that comes out of Mr.Miller.

Before you know it the hour is gone, and the sound of books stacking against one another breaks you out your daze.

Winnie’s waiting for you outside the door, quite creepily, you tell her as you walk together to your next class; a subject that you both have.

“So, how was it?” She nudges you lightly, smiling expectedly.

You flash her a tight lipped smile, then let it drop when you know she’d be able to see right through you.

You grip her arm and lean in closer, checking around you.

“There was this one girl, she was horrible!” You whisper, a new spark of energy flowing through you at the prospect of telling Winnie about it.

“She was the BIGGEST teachers pet, and she said something so rude to me before class, so like we were sitting and…” You continue to recount the story, trying your hardest to recreate Cairo’s glare.

When you get done, you turn to Winnie, waiting for her to join in on your gossiping.

“So am I going to witness an enemies to lovers type of thing right in front of me?” She sighs, exasperated.

You’re so shocked you don’t follow her into the class, stood rooted to the spot at the door.

“Wait, what?”

#cairo sweet #cairo sweet x reader #millers girl #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wednesday addams x reader #enemies to lovers #melrodrigo

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tlou-reid · 11 months ago

Note

Hiii! I absolutely love your writing and I was wondering if you could write something about Spencer reid and reader who have just started dating and they get into their first ever argument and it’s a bit angsty but cute(?) cause he gets all worried while reader is more experienced in the relationship department so she (or gn!reader, your choice) doesn’t worry as much cause she knows it doesn’t mean they’re over? And then he gets all pouty and clingy when they make up cause he hated being far from her sm🫶 I know its very specific and idk weird so its totally okay if you don’t wanna write it but I’d really appreciate it!!!

as an insecure certified lover girl i love this request and i am so sorry it took me so long to get to <3

spencer was not expecting you to leave. to argue, to complain, even to berate, but to leave? the thought the didn’t even cross his mind.

the argument had started over something stupid, probably like a teasing remark that had gone too far, or the fact that he had been nagging you about doing the dishes. he wasn’t sure. all that filled his mind now was the fact that you walked out the door and slammed it behind you. he wasn’t sure where you went to, or if you were coming back.

yet, he was frozen in place. his knees had begun to shake as tears started to well up in his eyes. for a genius, you are really fucking stupid, he thought. he couldn’t believe he blew things with you, already.

you two hadn’t officially been together long. only around 3 months, but had spent much more time together prior to that. he was truly falling for you, something he wasn’t expecting to do. he loved the way you laughed and the way you listened to him. he loved that you were always there to greet him with a wide smile and a tight hug when you he came back from cases. he loved being around you and he loved the positive energy you put out.

and he just ruined all of that over some stupid argument.

spencer was rarely one to be unsure. after all, he is a genius, so there wasn’t many things he didn’t know. but, standing alone in front of his apartment door, he was clueless. should he run after you? should he wait it out? should he start packing up all of the things you’ve left at his apartment over these three months? he didn’t know.

so, like with most things he didn’t know, he was going to research. sure, to the common person googling “what to do after a fight with your girlfriend” would be corny, maybe even a little dumb, but not to spencer. when he couldn’t figure stuff out, he found other sources that could. so that’s what he was trying to do now.

much to spencer’s dismay, he was met with a whole bunch of editorials. not a single academic paper, dissertation, or research project had been conducted on the topic. so, he took what he could get and began reading over the newest People Magazine article titled “steps to making your girlfriend happy after being a bad boyfriend”.

he wasn’t sure how long he’d been reading, or how many different pop culture magazine websites he’d accidentally signed up for on his old desktop by the time his phone rang. it startled him, but he moved quickly to get it, assuming it was hotch calling him to come in for a case.

his heart sped up but his stomach dropped when he saw your first name, with the little otter emoji next to it. you had picked it, spencer didn’t even know there was an otter emoji.

his thumb slid over the answer button as quickly as he could move it, but once he brought the phone up to his ear, spencer couldn’t find any words.

the line was silent for a minute. you weren’t sure if he was even breathing on the other side. you wanted to give yourself time to cool off, separate from spencer. his little remark about your poor cooking skills had gotten to you, and you didn’t want it to become a massive argument. you didn’t know that spencer had spiraled after you left.

“are you going to come over or what?” you couldn’t help but let the residual anger you were holding slip out. despite this, spencer’s breath caught in his throat. you heard him take a deep exhale before saying, “you want me to come over?”

the desperation in his voice was so apparent, it broke your heart. any anger you were holding onto, or any bitterness about the comment he made completely wiped away when you heard spencer’s voice. you guessed that he had probably been crying. you softened your tone, and spoke slowly as you answered him, “of course i want you to come over, spence. we don’t get to have two sleepovers in a row very often.”

spencer’s hand was shaking as he listened to your words. he thought for sure you were going to break up with him. all he said was, “i’m on my way.” before hanging up.

you shouldn’t have been surprised at spencer throwing himself in your arms when you opened the door for him. he always craved physical touch, despite his fear of germs. he knew you and he cherished you, and all he wanted was to be close to you.

your hand snaked around his back as he buried his head in your shoulder. you tried to pretend you couldn’t feel the tears escaping from him. he wasn’t sobbing, there was just other way for him to have the emotional release he needed than to allow his tears to fall. your hand rubbed lovingly over his back, letting him adjust to being back with you.

“i’m so sorry,” he muttered against you. his hands were balled up between you two and you could feel him nervously squeezing his fists tighter. “spencer, it’s okay,” you assured.

you pulled away from him, only to wipe his tears away and move his hair out of his face. despite his height, he looked so tiny and vulnerable. “i didn’t mean to upset you,” he whined. “it’s okay,” you repeated, grabbing his hand to move him to the sofa.

you sat across from him, but he stared at the floor. “i thought you were breaking up with me,” he muttered. his voice was quiet and gentle. you couldn’t help but laugh at his statement. “why would i do that?” you moved closer to him, tucking his hair behind his ear to get him to look at you. “i-i don’t know! you just left and you were angry and i thought you weren’t coming back,” tears were filling up his eyes again as he finally met your gaze.

“spence,” you cooed, “couples fight and sometimes they need space. a little argument like that is nothing. we’re okay,” you promised him. he nodded, then reached out to pull you into his chest. “i don’t like when you storm out like that,” he said. “‘m sorry,” you mumbled against him. he just nodded and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

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bruhstories · 5 days ago

Text

Muse III

p.1 && p.2

minors dni

summary: one way or another, the inevitable happens - circumstances force you to talk to viktor

pairing: viktor x painter!reader

warnings: some angst, swearing, super slow burn, p with plot?? unprotected p in v, kind of creampie, reader on top, fluff, comfort, afab!reader with she/her pronouns, some mentions of y/n (i think maybe once), canon divergent, bickering and banter

w/c: 6k...

a/n: there we go, the series is now complete! i do hope you all enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it! liking and reblogging are encouraged! thank you for being on this journey with me haha

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The constant ticking of the clock irked Viktor and he pinched the bridge of his nose. The downside of becoming a professor were the exams — sitting down, waiting, wasting hours was unproductive. He could've taught, could've researched, could've experimented with new elements. Instead, he was stuck in a classroom with a handful of students who looked like they were about to shit themselves.

And then there was you. In the back of the room, watching said students like a hawk, circling them like a predator, like you wanted to catch at least one of them cheating. He hadn't spoken to you since the academic year started — two months and two weeks, to be precise.

Viktor tapped his cane, impatiently counting the minutes until the exam was over. It felt like an eternity, watching the sand in the hourglass flowing ever so slowly. The thought of counting each particle of sand amused him. It probably would've been the most productive thing in the past hour.

The sudden noise of a book being dropped caught his attention. Viktor got up from his chair, but you were already at the source. Some little shit thought he could cheat his way through the semester, but not with you there.

"Get out." You told the student, your rigid voice reverberating in the classroom.

"Professor, please-"

"Get out of my classroom." You repeated, eyes burning holes into the poor student's head.

Trembling with fear, he gathered his belongings, tripping on his way out. You just knew the gossip that would start around the campus about you being a bitch, a horrible teacher, the worst he'd ever seen. But you only had one single rule — no cheating. That was it. You allowed your students to eat during your lessons, to call you by your first name, to approach you with any issues they had, whether academic or not. But you did not tolerate cheating.

No one dared to move until the end of the exam, and even Viktor was shaken by your hostility. He remembered you so differently, still visualising how you knelt between his legs to take off his brace, and how sweet your scent used to be whenever you visited him in the laboratory. But now you built metaphorical walls around yourself, changed your clothes, your hair, even your perfume — jasmine, bergamot, musk. Anything but sweet. And Viktor couldn't help but blame himself for that.

The grandfather clock in the classroom struck once, and every single student put their quills down. No one wanted to get on your bad side. Still watching them intently from the back of the classroom, they gathered their belongings quietly and placed their papers on Viktor's desk on their way out. With the last student out, you walked up to the desk and counted half of the papers, stacking them in a separate pile.

"Can we talk?" Viktor caved in. He couldn't stand seeing you like that anymore.

"Here's your stack of exams." You ignored his question. "I'll mark my part, then drop them off at your lab once I'm done. Tomorrow or the day after."

"Of course. I shall try to finish them as quickly as-" He watched you leave, hips swaying as you walked out the door without even saying goodbye. "-possible."

There was no denying that Viktor found your attitude insufferable, albeit it being his fault. He misunderstood you, he got that now. But you refused to give him a chance to explain himself, to apologise, and that drove him mad. The worst part? He couldn't blame you. You basically saved his life, and he repaid you with disdain. Viktor would've probably done the same if the roles were reverse, really.

You walked back to your apartment with the papers neatly organised in a leather bag, careful not mix them with other files and textbooks. The air was getting colder, winter was approaching, and you rushed to get home before the wind froze you to death. You appreciated the warmth of your apartment more than ever, and began marking the papers as soon as you took off your coat and boots.

Thinking back at how you reacted when you caught that boy cheating, you began to consider it might have been too harsh. He still had the chance to retake the exam in summer, but you scared him shitless, you could see that in his eyes. And you didn't want to be the bad professor. You didn't want Viktor to be the good one. The mere idea of him being loved by students while you were hated by them made you cringe.

No, you needed a different approach, one that wouldn't compromise your position at the Academy, or your title of Master of Arts. You needed to kill them, and especially Viktor, with kindness. But you only had two options to be able to do that. You could tell Viktor you got over whatever happened in the lab last year, which was unlikely that he would believe you, or you could actually talk to him about whatever happened in the lab last year, which was highly improbable of you to do.

Okay, so maybe being a spiteful bitch was the way to move forward, only it wouldn't work on the long run. Not when the exams were half science, half arts, and you needed to speak to Viktor about them. Or when the curriculum needed to be revised, and you needed to speak to Viktor about that, too. Or when there were staff meetings, or half term parties, or social gatherings.

The bottom line was that, one way or another, you would end up in a situation which required you to speak to him more than just hellos and goodbyes, and the longer you avoided him, the harder your life would be. And what could you even say? Sorry? Fuck no. Viktor was supposed to apologise, not you.

True to your word, like you had always been, you visited the lab to drop off the papers. Some things stayed the same — same doors, same walls, same floors. But there was something new within the laboratory, something you did not expect. A woman.

She smiled at you, a sickening sweet smile that made you gag, but out of politeness, you nodded, acknowledging her presence. Her tight curls were neatly gathered in a top bun, and she pushed back her half-moon glasses that hid the freckles on her cheeks.

"Hi." You clutched the exam papers at your chest. "Is Viktor here? I need to give him something. "

"He should be back any minute now. I can give him whatever it is you need." She still smiled.

"No, I can wait."

Why? Why did you say that? You could've given her the damn papers and left. You and your stupid mouth. Silence echoed in the lab as you shifted your weight from one leg to another, impatiently glancing at the door in the hopes that Viktor arrived sooner. She, on the other hand, tidied up the place, careful to not throw away anything useful, organising tools and materials that belonged to him. You knew Viktor didn't like it when others touched his stuff, so why was she just casually picking things up like she lived there?

"And you are?" The words came out before you could stop them.

"Oh, silly me, where are my manners?" She shook her head and walked towards you, a hand reached out to shake yours. "Sky Young. I'm Viktor and Jayce's assistant."

"Assistant?" You nodded, stunned by the newfound information. Since when did Viktor need an assistant? "Y/N Y/L/N, Master of Arts." You shook her hand, gripping it a little too tight for her own liking.

"Ah, you're the painter who saved Viktor's life!" Sky looked at you in awe. "I used to be his nurse. Whatever you did baffled the medical community! I became his assistant to help around, but to study him as well."

Study him? You studied him for your portrait, that didn't earn you a spot in his lab. Why was she any better?

"How... nice." The fake smile on your lips betrayed the jealousy in your heart. "On second thought, you can give him these papers. There's no need for me to be here."

"Are you sure? Vik should be here any minute now." Sky's nod of encouragement only added fuel to your desire to leave.

Vik?? They were on a nickname basis now? Bullshit, she wasn't just his assistant.

"I'm sure. I need to prepare the lectures for next term anyway. I don't suppose you know if he finished marking his part of the papers?" You kept your cool.

"He did, actually! Let me get them for you." The girl rushed into an annex of the lab and came back with the stack of exams.

You took a quick look through them to make sure they were all marked, so you wouldn’t need to come back, and shoved them in your bag.

"Thanks."

"No problem! What you are doing is groundbreaking! If there's anything I can assist with, please let me know!" Sky smiled.

Okay, you got it — she was nice and you weren't. Was that how she got under Viktor's skin? By being insufferably nice and sweet? It didn't matter. She was there, in the lab, working with him. And you? You went back to your apartment, alone and upset.

Viktor spent his holiday revising the curriculum for the next term. While Sky was a brilliant assistant, she could be quite overwhelming sometimes. He learned his lesson about not assuming that anyone who treated him with an ounce of respect wanted to secretly mock him, but he forgot about boundaries. As a consequence, Sky waltzed into his lab every day, talking, singing, bringing him food, coffee, tea — Viktor took your silence for granted. He missed that.

He missed you.

Snow crunched under his feet, each step heavier than the previous one. Viktor should've known better than to go to the Academy during a blizzard, but he needed to return a few books back to the library and to write down the grades in the register. Sky offered to do that for him, but there were personal details about his students that she wasn't allowed to see.

He locked the back door to the staff entrance once he was inside the Academy, wiped the snow off his brace and boots, and walked straight to the library. It was hauntingly quiet and dark, and although he appreciated silence, the empty hallways of the University gave him anxiety. Viktor was a rational man, he knew there was nothing there, but the lack of students and staff simply sent a chill down his spine.

With the books returned, he traversed the library and walked downstairs to the staffroom. He would have to write down the grades quickly — the blizzard was getting worse, and the last thing he wanted was to be stuck in an empty University for who knows how long. It would be ironic, poetic even, to die of starvation in a place where he starved for knowledge.

The door to the staffroom was ajar, and the lights were on. Strange, he didn't think anyone else was there. Not in this weather, anyway. Pushing the door open with his cane, Viktor froze on the spot when he saw you sitting down, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, forehead creased as you copied the grades into the register. He would never get another opportunity like that. He needed to finally clear things out with you.

"Hello-"

The wooden chair fell to the floor as you recoiled in fear, one hand on your thumping heart. You sighed in relief when you saw Viktor standing in the doorframe, the panic stronger than the hate you held for him.

"For fuck's sake, Viktor." You grabbed the chair to put it back in its place and sit down. "You scared the shit out of me."

He wasn't used to your colourful vocabulary, not when you posed as an elegant, educated professor. But he couldn't deny the joy it brought him to hear you say his name.

"My apologies, I didn't mean to startle you." Viktor propped himself on his cane.

"No, it's fine. What are you doing here?" Averting your gaze, you looked down at the register.

"I came to return some books and register the grades. I see you're doing the same."

"Yes, well, no rest for the wicked, I suppose." You shrugged. "Why in this awful weather, though?"

"I thought you'd do it when the term started and I didn't want you to feel obliged to speak to me then." Viktor said.

Ouch. His words made you feel horrible. You had been horrible to him. It was a deserved jab at your behaviour and attitude.

"I can come back later-"

"Don't." You almost launched yourself across the table. "You walked all this way in a snow storm, don't leave because of me. If anything, I should leave."

"Eeh, we've both been pricks." Viktor shrugged.

There it was, the crucial, inevitable conversation you dreaded for so long. The one that kept you up at night and stopped you from functioning. The one that would make or break you.

"Listen, Viktor, I-"

"I'm sorry." He cut you off. Taking advantage of your shock, Viktor pulled a chair and sat down, his leg hurting too much to stand. "There's no excuse for the way I reacted, but you must understand that I haven't met a lot of people who genuinely wanted what was best for me. Most people either mocked me or pitied me for my disability. No one really saw past that, with very few exceptions, like Jayce or Heimerdinger."

Shit, you didn't think about why he reacted the way he did. You just assumed he had a god complex and thought your art wasn't comparable to his science. You really took it the wrong way, and drowned him in pettiness and loathing. How could you not think he must've been bullied his whole life? Just because you saw past his illness didn't mean others did. Oh, you were an idiot.

"You don't need to apologise, I need to. I just thought you considered art to be beneath science, and by extension that I was beneath you." You cringed at your own ignorance.

"Why would I ever think that?"

"I don't know, I've been stupid, alright?" You scoffed. "I'm sorry, Viktor. Peace?"

"Peace. Do you mind if I register these exams? That snow storm looks terrible and I’d like to finish before it gets worse." He took out the papers from his bag.

"Not at all! I'll make us some tea, it's bloody cold in here."

When you turned on the stove, Viktor dragged his chair next to yours, and your heart skipped a beat. Rationally, you knew he did it so you could both access the register, but the idea of sitting so close to him gave you heart palpitations. You stirred the honey in his tea, and you smiled to yourself at the memory of you doing the same thing a year ago, when you were in his lab. Who knew you would do it again?

"There you go." You placed two mugs on the table and sat down.

The scent of roses, cinnamon and vanilla filled his nostrils, and Viktor couldn't think anymore. It was the same perfume you wore when you spent time in the laboratory, when you put all your blood, sweat and tears into his portrait. He wondered if wore the other perfume, the one that didn't suit you as much, just to spite him? No. Surely you weren't that petty. But if you did, it stroked his ego to know you cared so much. And just like you did in the lab, you jotted down the grades in complete silence, both of you focused, and so close to one another. It felt normal, and he realised how much he needed your presence around him.

Between writing and sipping tea, you occasionally glanced at Viktor's profile, and it sparked something within you — a burning desire to sketch. He didn't know, but you finished registering the exams a while back, and reached out for a pencil and a scrap piece of paper. Your other hand shielded the lines and circles that began to take shape and look more like him, and as inconspicuous as you tried to be, it was futile.

"I know you're drawing me."

"Damn it!" You huffed.

The staffroom echoed with your laughter, and how could you not laugh? It was such an innocent moment between the two of you that both you and Viktor found it amusing. You really couldn't stop yourself from drawing him — your muse. But all good things had to come to an end, and Viktor finished writing down the last grade in the register. You didn't know why, but the idea of having to go home left you feeling hurt.

You walked with him down the dim hallway and unlocked the back door, but were unable to open it. Something was in its way. Viktor looked out the window, amber eyes wide in genuine panic. When he didn't say anything, you scoffed and moved in his way to try and look outside, but you couldn't see anything but white. The thick snow was blocking the door. You were effectively stuck. One more push, and the door didn’t budge. Another push, and you hurt yourself more than you moved the door.

"Well, looks like we're going to have to dig our way home." You mused.

"You're joking. We'll freeze to death!" Viktor leaned again the window for support.

"I don't see you coming up with a better idea, Mr. Scientist."

"Oh, and digging through snow was your master plan?" He snorted. "I'm sure me and my leg are going to make it back home safely."

"What would you rather do, then, if you're so clever?" You folded your arms across your chest. "Go on, genius."

"We can just... wait for it to end." Viktor pondered. It was definitely better than going out in the cold, and you hated to admit that he was right.

"Ugh, fine. But it's getting late and it doesn't look like it's going to stop any time soon. We need to find a place to sleep in."

"My office has a sofa. I can sleep on the floor." He suggested and you stared at him in shock and disbelief.

"Office? You have an office? All I got was a fucking closet."

"Well, I was the Dean's assistant." Viktor chuckled.

You didn't reply, for fear of saying something you might regret later, and instead huffed, puffed and stomped up the stairs, trailing behind Viktor like a lost puppy. That part of the University was foreign to you, and you stopped to examine the portraits of some members of staff — Professor Heimerdinger had one, Jayce had one, Viktor had one, but whoever painted it couldn't capture his real grace.

"Hm, I could do this with my eyes closed." You judged the technique, the colours, the proportions. It was a fantastic portrait, it just missed Viktor's essence.

"Is it not up to your standards, Miss Painter?" He tapped his cane. You got the hint and carried on walking.

"No, the painting itself is fine, but it didn't do justice to your beauty." You said with so much nonchalance that it made Viktor short of breath.

Did you really think that about him? You probably meant it as a painter — most artists found beauty in ugliness, or in the mundane. But there was no possible way you meant it as a woman, not when you were so perfect and he was so broken.

Viktor stopped in front of an oak door with a thin tinted window in the middle of it. He pulled out a set of keys, all of them identical, but he knew exactly which one unlocked his office. Curiosity got the better of you, and with inquisitive eyes, you began examining his study. The first thing that caught your attention was the bearskin rug on the floor. A bit distasteful, you thought, but it looked soft enough to sleep on it. In front of you was a brown velvet sofa, and to your right was a fireplace. The mantle was decorated with trophies from competitions and a picture of Viktor and Jayce, which brought a smile to your face.

On the other side of the office, across the fireplace, was his desk — a few papers were scattered on it, but otherwise it was tidy — and behind it were a bookcase and a wardrobe.

"What's there?" You asked, head tilted towards a door.

"The shower."

"You have a shower, too? I'm sorry, do you live here, fancy pants?" Your reaction to his answer made Viktor chuckle, but he had a perfectly reasonable explanation for that.

"Eeh, Professor Heimerdinger found that some of us spent so much time buried in work that he had showers and toilets installed. They're powered by hextech, so regardless of the weather, there's hot water. Feel free to use it if you want." He shrugged, hanging his coat by the back of his desk chair.

"There's only one problem, Mr. Scientist. I don't have any spare clothes." You saw the grin on his lips. "Don't tell me you have that, too."

"Plenty of clean shirts in the wardrobe. Please help yourself to one." Viktor nodded.

"Wouldn't your girlfriend mind if I wore your clothes?" The hint of jealousy in your voice betrayed your nonchalance.

"Girlfriend?" He looked at you dumbfounded. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

"Come on. Pretty girl with glasses and freckles and a sickeningly sweet smile? Sky?"

"Ah, Miss Young!" Viktor remembered. "I'm sorry to disappoint, but she's not my girlfriend."

It did not disappoint you at all. In fact, it made you hopeful. You weren't sure what you were hoping for, but it felt as though a boulder had been lifted off your shoulders to know that Viktor wasn't involved with Sky.

"Very well. I shall take that offer, then. A shower will warm me up." You walked up the wardrobe and examined the collection of identical shirts. "I suggest you do the same, you shouldn't stay cold." You chose a top that looked a little bigger than the rest, as you didn't want it to be too tight and uncomfortable around your chest.

"I'll start a fire for us, then. The office should warm up by the time you're finished." Viktor dragged his feet to the fireplace.

You thanked him and entered the bathroom, searching through cabinets and drawers for a clean towel. You found one and brought it to the shower, then stripped down and let the hot water clean your body. There was nothing wrong in what you were doing, right? You were two professors stuck in a university until the snow storm settled down. Nothing wrong with taking a shower. Nothing wrong with scrubbing your skin with his body wash. Nothing wrong with drying yourself with his towel. Nothing wrong with wearing his shirt. It was just a professional predicament, nothing more, nothing less.

Gathering your belongings, you exited the bathroom, tugging at the hem of the shirt to cover your thighs. It was shorter than you had hoped, but you knew Viktor was an honourable man. He understood the situation you were both in and it wasn't as though he would jump your bones. Mostly because he didn't like you, and while that comforted you, it hurt your ego. He was an attractive man, and his mind was complex and intriguing — of course you had certain feelings for him. You didn't entirely understand those feelings — respect, admiration, adoration, leftover spite. It was an amalgam of emotions and you didn't have time to process them because you spent a whole year being a bitch.

Viktor's heart throbbed when he saw you awkwardly pull down his shirt to expose less skin, even if it was to no avail. He pretended not to notice your bare thighs and how tight his shirt was around your chest, the buttons barely keeping your breasts from spilling out of it. He poked the fire instead, and you walked around the desk in the hopes that it would cover your lower body.

"I don't suppose you have a blanket I could cover myself with."

"I only have one blanket." Viktor said, back facing you to give you privacy. "Top shelf in the wardrobe. You can use it tonight, I'll sleep in my coat."

"Absolutely not." You stretched, tiptoeing to reach the shelf and he could not stop his head from turning, eyes darting at the shirt that did nothing to cover your lace underwear as you struggled to grab the blanket. "We'll sleep on the rug, back-to-back."

If Viktor didn't know any better, he would've thought you did everything you could to get closer to him. But that was just his imagination. He had no chance to be with you, and understood you were only trying to protect him from the cold. You snatched the blanket and wrapped it around your body, and while it irked him that he couldn't see the skin he would never touch, Viktor found the way you looked all snuggled up to be adorable. It was a stark contrast from the heartless mask you wore for so long.

He left to take a shower, and you guarded the fireplace, cast iron poker in one hand like some knight of flames. The blizzard wasn't getting any better, and the darkness of the night coupled with the snow made it impossible to tell when it would stop. One thing was certain — you were grateful you brought food, and enough for both you and Viktor. Who knew how long you would be stuck there for? Surely Jayce would come looking for Viktor considering he wouldn't be in his lab any time soon.

A great friend he was, you thought. Not just to Viktor, but to you, too. It was Jayce who forced you to draw again, who managed to get you out of the house and who brought some sort of stability in your life. You should thank him at some point. Him and Mel. Things were somewhat back to normal, and it wasn't because of you, but because of them and Viktor.

As if he knew you were thinking about him, Viktor walked into his office, wearing only a pair of loose linen trousers that barely clung to his waist. Beads of water glistened on his pale chest and a few strands of wet hair stuck to his flushed cheeks. You assumed he would put a shirt on, but instead he crawled on the bearskin rug, wincing at the pain caused by his leg, even if it wasn't as bad as it used to be.

You reached out for the leather strap of your bag and pulled it into your lap, taking out the bread you baked that very morning. Breaking it in two, you offered one half to Viktor, who eagerly took it.

"We make a good team, don't you think?" He said and you looked at him with inquisitive eyes. "I provide shelter, you provide food."

"We even make a whole outfit together. You have the pants, I have the shirt." You joked and Viktor rolled his eyes at your attempt of a joke, but his smile was there.

With food in your bellies and the fire dying down, you lied on your back and pulled the blanket over you and Viktor. You could still vaguely distinguish the patterns on the ceiling in the dim light — leaves and vines, flowers and curved lines.

"Back-to-back, yeah?" You told him, turning on your side.

"Yes." Viktor murmured, doing the same.

In the silence of the night, he could hear his own heart pumping blood through his veins. Viktor could've sworn he heard your hear beat, frantically thumping against your ribcage, but he blamed it on his imagination again. You were probably sound asleep, dreaming the sweetest dreams.

You weren't sleeping, you were staring into the darkness of his office, eyes wide and refusing to stay closed. There wasn't an ounce of tiredness in your body, but you thought Viktor had already fallen asleep, and didn't want to bother him with late night conversations about the meaning of life.

His left side was going numb from the pressure of his weight, pins and needles in his arm and shoulder. Viktor sighed, uncomfortably sighing at the sensation. He turned on his back, feeling better already. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, vaguely distinguishing the shapes around him. He raised his head to look at the fireplace — the last thing he wanted was to set fire to the Academy. His mind spiralled, thinking about the next term, about the work he still had to do in the lab, about how his interactions with you would be from now on. Viktor was so used to you ignoring him that he couldn't even imagine you smiling and greeting him in the morning.

"Are you sleeping?" You whispered, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"No, not really." He said. "I don't feel tired."

"Me neither." You turned on your back and faced the ceiling.

"What happened to back-to-back?" Viktor playfully mocked you.

"I got pins and needles in my arm." You admitted. "Can I ask you something?"

"You already did."

"Oh, wow, okay, fuck off." You frowned in the darkness and he laughed.

"I'm only joking. You can ask me anything."

"Would you model for me? I swear on my life I'm not making fun of y-"

"Yes." Viktor cut you off with no hesitation in his voice. "If that will make you happy, then yes.

"Oh. Since when do you care about my happiness?" You laughed, hoping he was jesting, praying he would say something witty.

"Since I lost you." Came his all too serious response, enough to make your blood freeze in your body.

He meant that platonically. He must've meant it platonically. There was no way in hell Viktor cared for you more than a friend, not after the way you treated him. You waited for him to chuckle, to say he didn't mean it that way, but he was quiet. Only one way to find out how he meant his words.

His breathing was heavy, like he had a weight on his chest stopping him from functioning properly, and Viktor flinched when he felt your hand touch his under the blanket. He brushed it off as an accident, until your pinky found his, hooking around it.

"I'm here now." You told him, voice sweet and soothing. "If you'll still have me."

Viktor boldly intertwined his fingers with yours, and you could feel your cheeks burning. But friends held hands, didn't they? It wasn't out of the ordinary. The room was getting colder, and the thin blanket barely offered you any warmth. When your body shivered, Viktor dared to scoot closer to you, his body radiating heat. How was he so hot when he looked so pale?

"Do you want me to hold you?" He asked — platonically, of course.

You didn't reply, but instead crawled under his arm, resting your head on his chest, feeling his frantic heart beats. Friends did that, didn't they? Particularly in such a situation that required you not to freeze.

"I missed you so much." Viktor confessed, burying his face in your hair. You smelled less of you and more of him, and it drove him mad. You were so close, and so far at the same time that his heart almost exploded in his chest from the overwhelming emotions.

"Missed you too." You mumbled, intoxicated by his scent and warmth. "I don't ever want to be a petty bitch to you."

"I promise I won't give you any reason to be one." He smiled into your hair. "Although I must admit, it was quite exciting."

"Mm, how so?" You looked up at him, even if you could barely distinguish his features in the pale moonlight.

"Well, as frustrating as you were, I really wanted to put you in your place." Viktor purred, fingers combining your hair. "I still do."

There was nothing platonic about his words, nothing platonic about the way he held you, and nothing platonic about how you lifted your leg to straddle him, hovering over his body.

"So do it, then. Put me in my fucking place."

His hand slithered behind your head, pulling you into a wet, feverish kiss with newfound strength. Toes curling, you let out a guttural moan, grinning against his lips — you needed him, not as a muse, not as a model, but as a man.

Viktor's hands travelled up your thighs, up your hips, pulling the shirt over your head. There was no time for foreplay — he wanted you, and he wouldn't stop until he had you. With the shirt tossed on the floor, you leaned back for another kiss, another taste of him, and he gladly obliged.

The room wasn't cold anymore, not when you could feel him hard against your clothed cunt, and you automatically rolled your hips, aching for any bit of friction.

"So needy." Viktor's lips curved into a grin, and he dug his fingers into the plush of your thighs, earning a whimper from you.

"Not needy." You shook your head and pouted. "Greedy."

He couldn't see the lust in your eyes, but he felt your hand slip between your bodies, under the fabric of his trousers as you tugged on the waistband, yanking it down. That same hand found his cock, fingers gently wrapping around his shaft and Viktor bucked his hips, yearning for much more than just your fist.

"So needy." You mocked his words, and he found your panties, sliding them to the side.

"Greedy." Viktor corrected you, his digits poking at your entrance, slick coating them.

Lifting yourself to manoeuvre his aching cock, you pushed his fingers away to slip the tip inside of you. Inch by inch, you sunk lower, feeling him stretch your spongy walls. He was bigger than you had anticipated, and you sat there for a good minute to get used to the girth, hissing at the pain caused by the intrusion. It had been a while since you did this.

"Tight." Viktor bit back a moan, struggling not to move — he wanted you to take the lead when you were ready. Perhaps skipping foreplay wasn't such a good idea.

You placed a hand on his chest for support, slowly rolling your hips, his cock reaching deeper than you thought was possible. It was no easy feat taking him all in, but what little stinging pain you felt was soon replaced by pleasure, and the hissing turned into whimpering, weeping.

Viktor was on the verge of a panic attack when he heard your quiet sobs, almost pushing you off him until you bounced up and down his cock, riding him like it was the last time you would see him.

"Fuck- oh, fuck, Vik-" You broke when he held you in place by your hips, fucking you deeper, harder, and you were pliant for him. Obedient for him. Good for him.

Viktor wouldn't last long, not when you chanted his name like a prayer, cunt clenching around his cock. You were made to take him, he thought, his hand on the back of your head pulling you into another sloppy kiss.

"I'm close-" He shamefully admitted, wanting this moment to last forever, but his stamina was weak, and you didn't want to push his body over the limit.

Your fingers reached out for your clit rubbing frantic circles over it to help you climax. Not that his cock couldn't do that, but you could feel it twitching inside of you. He lost himself when your orgasm crashed down like a tide, having the privilege of finishing inside of you. Your body was limp as you struggled to get off him, falling backwards on the rug, his fingers firmly wrapped around yours.

The silence in the office wasn't haunting anymore, but rather peaceful, natural. You didn't feel the need to fill it with meaningless conversations, or petty bickering, or silly jokes. No, it felt good just lying there next to Viktor, holding hands and breathing. Two lost souls — mind and heart, logic and feeling, science and art — coexisting, completing each other, fusing with one another to create something so delicate — love.

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