#Student Desk bench

[coffee-and-geto]

A DISTRACTION? OR A DUTY-FULFILLING BOYFRIEND?

“You’re losing your mind again, sweetheart?” he mumbles as his lips crash against yours, hungrily devouring your mouth. “Then let me do it twice.”

pairing: professor!gojo x f!reader

summary: what could be worse than giving your all to a school assignment only to see yourself fail with no chance of catching up? helplessness is a real haunt. but having a boyfriend under your arm who fulfills his duties, that’s just downright better.

warnings: MDNI +18 ONLY, smut, nsfw, angst, fluff, fingering (f! receiving), sex p in v, unprotected sex, spoon position, morning sex, teasing, love making, overstimulation, creampie, art by @/3-aem.

wc: 3,749

masterlist | next part

Among all the sensations you may have studied during your PhD years, never, as a student, has the idea of feeling the world crumble around you in front of your powerlessness crossed your mind to the point of being a victim.

In fact, it’s more accurate to call it your world.

The Earth hasn’t stopped spinning, there are no earthquakes, no one is screaming or running away from the university to take refuge anywhere.

It’s just you, standing in front of a white lab bench littered with glassware of all shapes and sizes, from Erlenmeyer flasks to tubes and test tubes — there’s hardly any space to rest a hand. The oppressive silence seems to come alive despite the luxury of the large space provided by your university’s funds, which ensure that you always have the best equipment available for your students.

But it doesn’t matter when the silence wraps its anxiety-laden hands around your neck to strangle you like a sleep paralysis that urges you never to wake up from your nightmare.

Oh, if only it were a nightmare.

In your hand is your phone, the screen lit with a white light, leaving words typed in black ink at your attention, with nothing to defend you against, nothing.

No ammunition, no power, no control except an imposed acceptance in response to your research grant sent over a month ago that has perhaps 200 words to explain for the one word that remains etched in your retina was written, typed, and sent with the utmost cruelty:

Refused.

Once you’ve imprinted the word in you, everything collapses around you.

The clock in the room never stops ticking, advancing its hands with constancy, regularity and rigidity. Nothing stands in its way.

Whereas for you, it’s as if the world has stopped.

Nothing in you responds. All your limbs move, pick things up, move forward, backward, away. But something remains off.

The almost empty corridors of the few strolling students are invisible, the occasional muffled chatter in your ears, the cold wind scratching your face as pale as a sheet is nothing compared to the din your head produces.

No, no, no, no…

It’s a nightmare…

Just wake up…

The door to Satoru’s office swings open, the strength of the wood and your grip creating a draught that blows away sheets he’s carefully stacked to slip into his bag to end his day.

“What’s going—”

Remaining standing in front of the door, which you soon close with more force than you’d like, you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from breaking down in front of him, even though the urge is more than seductive. Your heart is pumping wildly in your ribcage — so hard, in fact, that the thought of tachycardia crosses your mind.

There’s little light in the classroom laboratory, so it’s the yellowish glow of the lights that melts onto your skin, casting tired shadows on Satoru’s face.

He scrutinizes you, cautious and hands still frozen just above his desk where his papers still lie. His normally impeccably pressed white shirt is slightly creased beneath his black tie. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms with colored veins sinuating his milky skin.

His mouth parted for a second, the words hanging on the tip of his lips but stopping all sound in their tracks.

“What happened?” he finally mouths.

The hand holding your phone tightens its fingers around the screen, which threatens to crack under the force of your pressure, and then the muscles in your face are the first to betray you.

Chin trembling, the lips curved downwards, eyebrows and eyes crinkled in a vain attempt to suppress tears, and a silent sob escaping like a sellout.

Immediately, Satoru’s two large, powerful and familiar arms encircle your body as it collapses against him. More sobs join the burning tears dripping down your cheeks, some of which crash onto his shirt while others get lost who knows where.

“Hey, hey. I’m here my love, I’ve got you.” Your boyfriend’s warm, comforting breath caresses your hair with the utmost tenderness. His embrace tightens slightly as you flinch. “Let’s go home together, okay?”

You nod feebly. An unpleasant headache tenses your skull and one thing is all you need: your home.

Your home is Satoru and his home.

The journey blurs through your eyes. The darkening sky is bleak, as is your mood. A few raindrops splash against the windscreen of Satoru’s car, driving with a certain tension and stiffness in his gestures.

One of his hands is busy driving while the other remains on your thigh, thumb drawing absent circles on the fabric of your pants as his serious gaze alternates between the rear-view mirror and the road ahead. Confronted by your ponderous silence, Satoru doesn’t utter a word, leaving you to curl up in your seat, your temple resting against the icy glass that relieves your headache a little.

In his apartment, the routine continues. Usually, you both shower, eat dinner, go about your university duties — him preparing lectures and correcting papers, and you studying lectures and doing homeworks. But just after the shower he gives up on swallowing anything when you shake your head as he beckons you to question your appetite.

And so, at 9pm, the two of you are curled up in his fresh blankets, your exhausted head resting on his comfortable chest.

He listens for a good hour as you tell him that your research grant has just been rejected — the one for which you’ve sacrificed your sanity, hours of sleep and even your social life to make it as perfect as possible — and that there’s nothing you can do about it. Your tears flood Satoru’s T-shirt as he listens intently, blowing your own nose when your sobs clog it red and runny. He wipes away all your tears, kisses your whole face, your hair, your neck, whispering words of comfort.

“You’re not a failure, love,” he whispers against the shell of your ear as you go silent after getting all your sorrow off your chest. “Just because you were rejected doesn’t mean you failed.”

“I failed,” you insist in a hoarse voice, eyelids closed. “Other people were taken, and I wasn’t. I deserved it, Satoru...”

“You did not.” He kisses your cheek and then your temple. “The person who turned you down may have been unfair, but you didn’t fail. Missing an opportunity doesn’t mean you’re doomed. Missing something doesn’t make the world stop, love.“

The words hit as hard as a punch, but fall as softly as an umpteenth kiss.

“There’s nothing stupid about your project, it’s perfect. It just needs to be seen by the right people.” One of his hands slowly strokes your hair, each finger passing between your strands as he gently detangles them. “You’re capable and brilliant, don’t ever doubt it.”

Your lips — swollen from your earlier tears — moisten again with more silent weeping. Under your weary nod, he sighs softly and adjusts the comforter over you both, making sure it covers you up to the shoulders.

“I love you, remember?” He peppers your head with soft kisses, closing his eyes as he feels you sniffle against his t-shirt. When you nod a second time, he lifts up your chin between his thumb and forefinger to press another slow kiss against your lips.

Your heart flutters by the second. With equal tenderness, you return his kiss, humming to keep from laughing as his hands slide up your torso to tickle you while he steals your breath.

Lips against lips, you feel Satoru’s stretch into a smile at your reaction and he releases you with an even firmer, more reassuring embrace.

“Love you so much, baby.”

“Me too,” you mumble, face buried into his neck.

He sighs, still stroking your hair back and forth while staying silent. In the bedroom, there is no sound. The simple silence of your love, which needs no words to express itself.

~~~~

Early the next morning, Satoru’s eyelids flutter open, bothered by the orange sunbeams that have managed to sneak in between the slats of the blinds at his windows.

His alarm hadn’t gone off yet, which earned him a smile of triumph: a delight — a luxury even — that even the wealthiest like him couldn’t always afford. Waking up before his alarm goes off is one of Satoru’s favorite moments in his life.

He can admire your sleeping face, still savoring oh how comfortable it is to hold you in his big, spoon-shaped arms in bed, how soft the steady sound of your heart beating peacefully in your chest is, or how steady your breath is, like a lullaby to him.

Then, taking advantage of the moment’s peace, he pulls you a little tighter into his arms, inhaling the scent of your shampoo as it drifts from your hair and nestles his chin in the hollow between your shoulder and neck. The warmth of your two hearts is enough to melt him.

He places a gentle kiss on your cheek, close to your jaw.

The action has the immediate effect of waking you up almost involuntarily. Of course, he wants to let you rest before tackling the long day ahead with him, but he also wants to be able to cover you with his love while you’re conscious.

A soft hum escapes your lips and you squirm a little, sticking your back even more to Satoru’s torso for added warmth.

A smile cracks his lips and he holds back a gasp when your ass rubs against his crotch. “Morning, sweetheart,” he manages to whisper close to your ear with a little raspy voice. “Did you sleep well?”

Keeping your eyelids closed, you continue to rub against him, a smile as amused as it is relaxed in his protective arms.

“Mhmmm…”

“What are you doing?” he mumbles, kissing your jaw, fingers creeping up your chin to make you face him.

“Need you,” you pant back, trying to take off the cover lazily because the heat on how turned on you’re getting is choking you, but it’s harder when Satoru is now pressing his mouth against yours with firm kisses.

“You’re losing your mind again, sweetheart?” he mumbles as his lips crash against yours, hungrily devouring your mouth. “Then let me do it twice.”

He helps you free yourself from the comforter and himself at the same time before running his hands up your shirt and pressing his already hard erection against your ass.

For a few seconds, the room is filled with nothing but breaths, a little heavy after the last one, warmer and faster. Sounds of wet kisses and rustling clothes too. Just your two bodies rubbing against each other in search of more until your first moan echoes louder when Satoru decides to play with your breasts, pinching a sensitive nipple under your t-shirt.

The gesture sends a delicious wave of electric pleasure to your crotch. In a reflex stride, you discard your pajama pants for a better sensation of friction, in hope to chase your highest pleasure.

“Oh God, you don’t even have to ask.” And Satoru gets rid of his own pajama pants and leaves himself in just boxers and a T-shirt. This is what he’s been loving in his daily life since you came into his life. Those warm mornings when you let your bodies do the talking for you.

Apart from the thin fabric separating your bodies, there’s nothing to stop you going further, but Satoru likes to savor and tease before tackling the main event. Sliding his palms first over your hot, soft-skinned hips, you take the opportunity to spread your legs without getting out of your spooning position with him, which makes things even hotter.

Access made free, Satoru’s fingers find their way to the wet spot on your underwear. A shiver runs through you, and you freeze, waiting for him to stimulate you in earnest. Slowly, his forefinger moves down your clit, wet with your active arousal. He taps it gently at first, then circles around it, spreading more and more of your juices as much on your core as on the fabric.

“Need me here?” he breathes in your ear, admiring how your face went from a pout to a little parted lips face and eyelids half-closed. “Or here?” He smirks. His index finger glides over your soaked panties to stop at your entrance. “It's pulsing, baby.”

“Need you on both,” you whisper in a breath. Your head is spinning like a dizzy woman drunk on pleasure. Or rather drunk on your boyfriend.

“As I see, I need to relax my girl to fulfill my duty.” He pushes your underwear to the side, and you gasp when his finger finds you, slipping easily between your folds. You moan, grinding into his hand, every nerve alive with the pleasure of his touch. He smirks, moving his fingers just how you like it, circling with precision.

He’s gentle in his gestures, but also teasing. He caresses with tender your most intimate parts — through your sensitive folds, rubbing your clit, and finally sinking a long, thick finger into you. From the last time the two of you had sex, Satoru doubts a second that it was longer ago than expected. Because God, you are so tight.

“You’re so wet for me already,” he whispers, the words sending a jolt of heat through you. He knows how to push your buttons, how to make you feel like you are falling apart in his hands. And you are — completely lost in him, in the moment.

Your walls squeeze his finger as if your life depends on it. He can barely pump at all with how it is sucked.

“Relax, darling, you’re tight.” As if to punctuate his sentence, he places butterfly kisses on the side of your neck, his breath tickling your jaw.

At the end, you obey, breathing out as your muscles unclench. Satisfied, Satoru resumes his activity and pumps his finger deeper into you, the pad looking for the sweet spot that will make you scream his name — as always.

Your moans multiply, little sounds that you try to muffle without much success as Satoru fingers you more and more, reveling in your sounds. A tight little knot forms in the pit of your stomach, a sign that you’re not long for coming.

“Satoru— Ah, ’m close,” you gasp, your hands gripping his wrist and forearm with all your might to keep from losing your head. “I’m—”

But your own cry cuts you off as your orgasm crashes over you, exploding around Satoru’s finger. The latter doesn’t stop yet, keeping it inside while it’s moving in and out of you until you’re dripping all over his knuckles buried deep.

Your breaths contrast, despite the fact that the room temperature feels like it’s risen by ten degrees. Yours is heaviest and fastest, in response to the aftermath of your perfect orgasm. Satoru’s is faster — slightly — due to the fact that he’s getting hotter and hotter by the arousal you’re giving him without doing anything (madly boys in love effect).

Slowly, Satoru withdraws his fingers from you, bringing them up to his mouth. You wince when he licks them as if they were covered with the most delicious flavor in the world. He punctuates each lick with a suction noise.

“You gross,” you mumble, feeling how weak your legs feel now. You try to sit up, but Satoru is quicker. He wraps his arms around your waist to hold you close. “What are you—”

You can feel his cock straining against his boxers, and the sound of his breathing growing heavier against your nape makes your own body ache with anticipation. Satoru’s grip was still soft, but there was an urgency to it now — like he is just as desperate for more as you are.

“Don’t you dare leave me like that, darling,” he threatens with a still playful, dangerous tone. “You’re not done with me yet.”

You swallow thick. Your heart hammers in your ribcage, anticipation coursing through your body like an electric circuit.

“Need you, sweetheart,” he breaths. “May I?”

“Just fuck me already, Satoru,” you mutter, ass grinding against his erection. He hisses, fingers clenching around your hips and waist.

“No fuck today. Love making only.” He peppers small kisses on your warm cheek before taking off his last cloth and guides his hard-rock and painful cock against your dripping slick. The fat head rubs teasingly against your entrance, tempting and enticing to make you ache and lose your mind. At every stroke, your walls squeeze around nothing, begging for something to stretch them.

“Don’t tease— Ah,” you whimper, lowering your hips for more. But it keeps the tip from sinking. So you pout slightly, a cute frowning your eyebrows. “I hate you.”

“Love you more,” he chuckles, still holding his length, brushing off how it’s twitching for you, as wet with pre as you are. “First, you need to say that you need me.”

“Satoru!” you protest.

“You know how I am,” he chortles. You wring your neck to meet his entertained eyes, a gleam of neediness but also frustration in your that turns him even more. “Beg, sweetheart.”

“I need you,” you mumble, your breathing hot brushing his lips.

Fuck.

He mouths, “Where?”

“Inside me.”

“Ask nicely now.”

You sigh in frustration. “I need you inside me now, please.” And to make him fall for you, you blink with your doe eyes, which work every time. “Satoru.”

He parts his lips, entranced by all your features, eyes lost into your soul. Lord, you are the most beautiful woman on the earth.

“Lift your leg for me.” It’s an order. But you happily comply, offering him your leg, every detail of which he worships, and take it under his arm to gain access to your welcoming entrance. When his cock stands there, ready and twitching just at your heat radiating like fire. “Ready?” You nod.

Then, in one smooth motion, he is inside you, and you gasp, your back arching off his back as he stretches you open. Satoru’s mouth finds your neck again, kissing and sucking as his hips begin to move up, slow and deliberate at first, letting you adjust to the feeling of him filling you completely.

“Fuck,” you moan, the stretch of him feeling so right, so perfect, that you can’t help but tighten around him. Satoru groans in response, his hands gripping your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he sets a faster pace. One of your hands finds his forearm and holds it like a life preserver from his thrusts that are making the bed creak underneath the two of you, and the other tangles the nearest sheets.

“You’re so tight, so fucking tight,” he murmurs, his voice strained with effort as his thrusts grow harder, more urgent. Your nails dig into his forearm and sheets as you pull him closer, your legs trembling to the rhythm of a crescendo, one trapped because slightly lifted up by Satoru’s arm as you take him deeper.

Every thrust, every movement is a sweet, slow burn that makes your entire body shiver with need. In the wake of his thrusts, Satoru’s lips manage to find yours, kissing you deeply as his hands roam over your body, worshiping you like you are the only thing that matters.

“I love you so damn much,” he mumbles against your swollen lips while another deep slam into you drags you out a cry.

And then, without warning, Satoru shifts, adjusting his angle just enough to hit that spot inside you that makes you see stars. You gasp, your back arching off his back again as your body trembles before his.

He smirks against your lips. “Found it,” he whispers.

You can’t form words — only moans and gasps as he repeats the movement, his cock hitting that sweet, perfect spot with each thrust. Your nails dig into his back as you feel your body tightening, the pressure building in your core.

Satoru’s pace never faltered, his thrusts deep and relentless as he took you closer and closer to the edge. His breath was ragged in your ear, his fingers digging into your hips, and you could hear the sound of skin slapping together, the wet sounds of your bodies moving in sync.

“You feel so good, baby” he groans, his voice strained. “Don’t hold back.”

You can’t stop it — can’t stop the way your body reacts to him. The way the pressure in your core is building, until you are teetering on the edge of something incredible. Satoru’s name escapes your lips in a breathless cry, and that’s enough to push you over the edge. Your orgasm hits hard, your entire body shaking as the wave of pleasure consumes you.

Satoru doesn’t stop. He keeps fucking you through your orgasm, his hips not stopping rutting up against yours and his hands never leaving your leg up and hip as he continues to chase his own release. He’s close, so close, and you can feel it in the way his thrusts grew sloppier, the way his breath hitches in your ear.

With a final, deep thrust, he cums, filling you completely with a groan that sends a wave of satisfaction through your own body. You both stay laid down for a moment, catching your breath, still glued together as you slowly come down from the high.

You turn over painfully on the bed to face him, his member still softening inside you. Your limbs are still trembling from the intense physical activity, and Satoru takes the opportunity to pull you even closer by the waist. His forehead rests against yours, his hands gentle on your hips as he pulls out slowly, making you whimper at the loss.

“You’re fucking amazing,” he murmurs, his voice soft as he kisses your forehead.

You smile, still breathless, but feeling that delicious satisfaction spread through you. “Another round before heading off to uni?” you tease, your fingers lightly tracing his chest.

“We’ll be late, you know?” He traces the contour of your face with the tip of his fingers and pecks a kiss from time to time.

“Maybe my professor won’t blame me this time, will he?”

“You little spoiled princess,” he snorts, pressing another kiss on your nose. “You’re lucky I love you.”

You smirk. “And you’re so lucky to have me.”

“I will never deny that.”

a/n: hellooooo!! how are you guys? 🥹 first, i’m sorry for my inactivity :(( i’ve been busy with school and all (+ i wasn’t ovulating lol). i wrote this little part 1 because i was frustrated about a competion i lost (law will make you cry your soul, trust me). also sorry for the little angst, i can’t help myself lmao. i hope you enjoyed this and see you soon!

likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!

for the tag list, i’ll try to add more ppl when i’ll have the time, i’m sorry in advance for those who came after i temporary closed it <3 you’ll be tagged for the next part for sure :) if you want to be tagged, pls put your age in bio and ask here.

tag list: @izumkay , @lostfracturess , @nariminsstuff , @superdonkeypatroleggs , @0hisu , @iheartgojoo66 , @cax-per , @not-aya , @petalsrdead , @kimkimoruo , @indiewritesxoxo , @paolarox01 , @reverrieee , @billiondollarworth , @myahfig4 , @lilac-witch , @markliving , @sukunaslilsocks , @hyori2 , @lilychan176 , @yvesdoee , @redbambii , @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore , @princess-bblgm , @oh-my-god-donald , @etsuniiru , @ethereal-moonlit , @lymsfm , @mutsu422 , @bearwithmoo , @chiiiiiichan , @ziggy0stardust , @purplegemadventures , @shibataimu , @chich1ookie , @c-moon20-12 , @cyrenees , @tbzzluvr , @kimvmarvel , @leabyjulia , @flowerpot113 , @luvvcho , @nanaosaki3940 , @rriwyu , @heybeebax , @satorugojoisamenace , @euhphoq , @aleviia , @hellowoolf , @petalshxwer , @gojo-caturo , @ssrist , @winniethepooh-lover , @kiriyue , @your-mum3000 , @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 , @satorusmochis

[casssmalefantasy]

WRONG JERSEY

PAIGE BUECKERS X READER

| synopsis: you’re a uconn senior who doesn’t do game days—until your best friend finally drags you to one. you show up in an azzi fudd jersey. paige bueckers shows up with eyes only for you. one too many glances across the court and one flirty encounter at ted’s later, and you’re wondering if it’s possible to fall for someone in four quarters and a drink.

| warnings: suggestive content, drinking, flirting, language, college shenanigans, heavy eye contact, one (1) wrist grab

| word count: 4.1k

dina’s been on your ass for weeks.

“just come to the damn game,” she groans, lying dramatically across your twin XL like she doesn’t have two essays due and a scouting report to finish. “it’ll be fun. the vibes will be immaculate. and paige will be there.”

you raise a brow from your desk, mid-scroll through a spreadsheet for your senior business capstone. “and?”

“and,” dina grins, “all the girls love paige. come on. just this once?”

you don’t answer right away, but she sees the flicker in your eyes—curiosity, intrigue, something—and she pounces.

“plus we’re all going to ted’s after. you haven’t had a night out since halloween.”

she’s right, unfortunately. so you groan, shut your laptop, and throw your hands up in surrender.

“fine. but if i miss this project deadline because of you, you’re writing the executive summary.”

“deal,” she chirps.

—

you’ve been to a few games before—dina’s job as one the team manager’s made sure of that—but this season’s been nonstop. between job interviews, papers, and back-to-back presentations, basketball had taken a backseat.

still, when dina texts you a ticket and says, reserved student section. wear something hot, you listen.

your azzi fudd jersey still looks brand new. dina got it for you last year after you said azzi was “cold as hell” during her freshman season. she even introduced you once, saying, “this is my friend. she thinks you’re sick.” azzi had smiled and said thanks, and you swore she remembered you in class this semester—sociology 2312—because she always waved.

you throw on the jersey over some black baggy jeans, lace up your jordan 4s, and brush through your hair until it sits just right. a little gloss, some mascara, and you’re out the door.

gampel is already buzzing when you show up. the crowd is loud, the energy thick, and the student section is packed with navy and white. you spot your seat, right in the middle of the chaos, and slide in just as the lights dim for warmups.

the team jogs out onto the court, and immediately, you feel it.

or maybe—you feel her.

paige bueckers walks out like she owns the floor. tall, calm, braid swaying as she dribbles toward the three-point line. and somehow—somehow—her eyes catch yours.

you blink. she doesn’t. then, slowly, her gaze dips, cheeks flushing ever so slightly before she looks away.

did she just—

“HEY!” dina screams, grabbing you into a quick hug. she’s breathless, clipboard still in hand. “you made it! holy shit. i didn’t think you would.”

“you peer pressured me.”

“and look at you. repping azzi. cute.”

you laugh, but your eyes flick toward paige again—just in time to see her watching. dina pulls away and heads toward the bench, but not before paige intercepts her, grabbing her by the elbow. they speak quietly, and then they both look back at you.

you freeze.

paige says something else to azzi, who turns her head, smirks, and bumps shoulders with kk. ice snorts.

yeah, they’re definitely talking about you.

paige’s eyes are on you all through warmups. it’s subtle if you don’t know better—but you do. you catch it every time she fixes her ponytail, every look she sends your way after a swish.

you try to play it cool. totally normal. completely casual. just a hot six-foot-something hooper staring at you like you’re the only person in the arena.

no big deal.

—

the game tips off and uconn dominates. paige is on another level tonight—no-look passes, step-back threes, crossovers that make the crowd gasp. you’re not a basketball expert, but you know when someone’s cooking.

and she’s cooking.

the student section’s rowdy. you scream with everyone else. paige hits a clutch three and points to the stands, eyes scanning—and for a second, you think it’s for you.

your stomach flips.

—

somehow, dina convinces you to go to ted’s after. she claims “everyone’s going” and you need to “celebrate the win” and also “stop being lame.”

you cave.

the bar’s packed, but familiar. sticky floors, overpriced drinks, and music just loud enough to keep you yelling across tables. you barely make it to the bar when you hear her.

“hey.”

you turn. paige is next to you, black hoodie on now, with a pair of gray sweatpants. waves a little looser around her face after taking her braids out. soft. casual. attractive.

“hey,” you say, pretending your heart isn’t in your throat.

“you had fun at the game?”

“yeah,” you say, turning to face her fully. “you were... really good.”

she smiles, slow and satisfied. “you always this generous with compliments or just for me?”

you arch a brow. “depends. you always this flirty or just with me?”

her grin widens. “guess you’ll have to find out.”

you shake your head, but your smile betrays you. “dina said you’re tired of being a campus celebrity.”

“she talks too much,” paige mutters, eyes never leaving yours. “but she did say you’re best friends.”

“that’s true. she also said you asked about me at the game.” you say teasingly.

she doesn’t even flinch. “guilty. azzi said you’re in one of her classes. said you’re smart. quiet. kinda hot when you’re focused.”

you blink. “azzi said that?”

“no,” she shrugs. “that was me.”

and then she smirks, like she knows exactly what she’s doing.

you don’t say anything at first. the bartender slides your drink over. paige orders a dirty shirley. she pays before you can.

“you didn’t have to—”

“i wanted to.”

you look at her, eyes warm and unreadable, and for a second, the noise of the bar fades. you take a sip.

“so...” she says, leaning in just enough to make your breath hitch, “you giving me your number or what?”

you laugh, finally, cheeks flushed. “smooth.”

“you like it.”

you type your number in her phone. she doesn’t look away as she saves it.

“i’ll text you.”

“i hope so.”

“and maybe next time,” she says, brushing a hand lightly over your waist as she passes by, “you’ll wear my jersey.”

[jeonette]

after school hours - jjk

A classic 90's enemies to lovers skit. Mixtapes, rooftop hangouts, and harmless bickering between classes. But somewhere between hallway glances, stolen car rides, and one kiss under the stars, everything changed.

pairing : jungkook x reader

genre : enemies to lovers ( my favv )

The classroom buzzed faintly with low chatter and the soft hum of the overhead fan, lazily spinning in the warm air. Pages rustled. A pencil rolled off a desk and clattered to the floor. Somewhere in the back, someone was half-asleep with their head against the window.

And in the middle of it all, Y/N was glaring at Jungkook.

"That’s not even the right metaphor," she muttered under her breath.

Jungkook didn’t look up from his notebook. “It is if you actually understood the poem.”

She scoffed. “I understood it fine. You just love the sound of your own voice.”

“Good thing it’s a nice voice, then.”

Jimin, sitting between them like some long-suffering referee, groaned softly. “You two are like divorced parents. I’m begging you—let me get through one class without a custody battle over Shakespeare.”

Y/N leaned over Jimin to poke Jungkook in the arm with her pen. “You think you’re so smart just because Mr. Kim actually likes your essays.”

“He likes them because they’re good. Unlike your tragic five-paragraph breakdown of 'Romeo + Juliet' where you called Romeo a walking red flag.”

“Am I wrong?”

Jimin stifled a laugh. Jungkook rolled his eyes but the corner of his mouth twitched.

The bell rang before Y/N could get another jab in.

Outside the classroom, muffled voices were already echoing down the hallway.

“Lunchtime!” Hoseok’s voice cut through the noise like a trumpet. “Let’s goooo, I’m starving.”

As students poured out into the corridor, Y/N grabbed her things and slung her denim jacket over one arm. Jimin stuck close by her side, nudging her playfully.

“You’re gonna marry him one day, y’know,” he whispered.

She scoffed. “I’d rather marry my Walkman.”

Jungkook, just ahead, turned slightly like he’d heard—but didn’t say anything. Just that little smirk again.

Outside the classroom, the rest of the crew was already waiting — Hoseok with a candy bar halfway to his mouth, Mina reapplying her lip gloss using the reflection in the vending machine, Jiwoo balancing her textbook on her head like a crown, and Yoongi leaning against the wall with his headphones in, pretending not to care.

“There they are,” Mina sang. “Finally. What took you so long—fighting again?”

“No,” Jimin said. “Just academic foreplay.”

Y/N elbowed him.

They all fell into step down the hallway, laughing, bumping shoulders, voices rising and falling in that chaotic harmony only best friends could make.

-

The cafeteria was full, so the group had claimed their usual spot — a half-shaded corner of the courtyard, where Hoseok’s guitar case was used as a bench and someone had definitely carved “KIM WAS HERE” into the picnic table.

Y/N popped a fry into her mouth while Jiwoo dramatically told the story of how she tripped over her own shoelaces that morning and almost took Mina down with her.

“It was like watching a slow-motion disaster,” Mina said between bites of her sandwich. “I literally felt my life flash before my eyes.”

“Don’t blame me!” Jiwoo whined. “These are the school’s floors, not mine. Slippery as hell.”

“Or maybe your boots are just for fashion, not function,” Yoongi muttered, eyes behind his sunglasses, sipping his iced tea.

Everyone laughed.

Jimin stole a grape off Y/N’s tray; she slapped his hand but offered him another anyway. Jungkook leaned back on his elbows beside her, legs stretched out in front of him, chewing gum and watching the clouds like he couldn’t care less about anything — except he kept glancing her way every now and then.

That was when Mark, Dongyeon, and Chanyeol strolled over, reeking of too much cologne and fake confidence.

Mark leaned against the end of the table. “Ladies.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Gentlemen. Or… whatever you are.”

Jiwoo choked on her drink.

Mina looked amused. “What’s up?”

“There’s a party at mine tonight,” Mark said. “Figured we’d invite the pretty half of this table.”

Chanyeol winked. “You girls should come. Bring that chaotic energy. We like that.”

Dongyeon added, “It’ll be fun. No parents, music, drinks... all the things good girls need to loosen up.”

The air shifted.

Yoongi pushed his sunglasses down, eyes sharp now. “You done?”

Mark blinked. “What?”

Jungkook sat up straighter. His gum hit the ground. “They said no.”

“No one actually said no,” Dongyeon muttered.

“They don’t have to,” Jimin said, voice light but eyes hard. “But since you’re not picking up on social cues, let me translate: no means no. Leave.”

Mark snorted. “Damn, relax. Didn't know they came with bodyguards.”

Hoseok stood. “And you didn’t come with manners.”

The courtyard quieted around them — not enough for teachers to notice, but enough for a few heads to turn.

Mark raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Message received.”

As the trio walked off, Chanyeol threw one last wink at Y/N. “Offer still stands.”

Before Y/N could respond, Jungkook said flatly, “She’s not interested.”

The second they were gone, Jiwoo broke the silence. “Well, that escalated quickly.”

“Ugh,” Mina rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t gonna go anyway. Their parties are just cheap beer and bad flirting.”

Y/N glanced at Jungkook, whose jaw was still tight. “You alright there, hero?”

He shrugged, not looking at her. “They’re just idiots. Doesn’t mean you have to listen to them.”

She smirked. “Aw, was that you caring?”

He gave her a look. “Don’t get used to it.”

“You so totally care,” Jimin said, grinning.

Jungkook kicked his shin under the table.

-

Mina’s place was their go-to hangout spot — big enough to fit the chaos of seven teenagers and loud enough that no one cared if someone accidentally knocked over a lamp during charades.

By the time they got there, shoes were already piled by the door and someone had claimed the remote. Jungkook tossed his backpack in the corner, flopped on the bean bag, and declared he wasn’t moving unless someone bribed him with snacks.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’re already eating my chips.”

“Exactly. You bribed me without knowing.”

Mina and Jiwoo were arguing over which CD to play next — Backstreet Boys or Nirvana — while Hoseok tried to convince Yoongi to play a stupid card game he swore he wasn’t rigging.

Then the door creaked open.

Mina’s mom peeked in, smiling warmly. “Well, well, the usual suspects.”

“Hi, Mrs. Lee,” the chorus chimed.

She looked around the room like it brought her joy to see her daughter’s life laid out in laughter and tangled limbs.

“You all staying for dinner?” she asked.

“Only if you’re making your kimchi stew,” Jimin said brightly.

“Oh, I might be persuaded,” she teased — then turned to Mina, voice shifting.

“By the way, I ran into Mark’s mom at the store. She said Mark’s throwing a pre-end-of-semester party tonight. Apparently you girls turned down his invite?”

Mina froze halfway through detangling her hair. “Yeah, uh… wasn’t really our scene.”

Mrs. Lee gave her a pointed look. “Well, she seemed really disappointed. Said Mark had been looking forward to you girls coming. Poor thing, probably nervous about throwing a party.”

Jiwoo muttered, “Yeah, nervous is one word for it.”

But Mina’s mom had already decided. “You should go. Be polite. Just for a little while.”

The boys all exchanged looks. Jungkook’s eyebrows raised. “Did she just guilt-trip you into partying?”

“Apparently so,” Mina sighed.

“We’ll go,” Y/N said with a shrug. “We’ll make an appearance, sip some soda, judge his music choices, and dip.”

“You guys should come too,” Mina said, turning to the boys.

Jimin raised a brow. “You just assumed we’d follow you into social hell?”

“Yes,” Mina deadpanned. “Because you’re whipped for us.”

Hoseok clapped his hands together. “Alright, alright. One hour. That’s it. We go, we dance ironically, we leave.”

-

“No, you can’t wear that,” Jiwoo said, snatching a sparkly crop top out of Y/N’s hands.

“Why not?”

“Because I wanted it.”

The girls raided Mina’s closet like they were prepping for a concert instead of a high school party thrown by a boy who once got suspended for graffitiing his own locker.

Meanwhile, in the living room:

Jimin sprawled on the couch. “Should I change or do I already look too good for this party?”

“You wore that to biology,” Jungkook said.

“And still looked better than you,” Jimin replied.

Yoongi didn’t bother changing — he just swapped his hoodie for a leather jacket and called it a day.

By the time the girls came out — Mina in platform heels, Jiwoo in glitter, Y/N in a cropped tee and low-rise jeans — the boys actually stopped talking for a beat.

Hoseok let out a whistle. “Damn. Okay, maybe we do stay longer than an hour.”

Y/N looked at Jungkook. He looked… unreadable for half a second. And then he tossed her his car keys.

“You call shotgun.”

She caught them. “Why me?”

“Because if I have to suffer through Mark’s voice for an hour, at least I should have decent company.”

-

They stood outside Mina’s driveway, debating the car situation.

“Yoongi’s driving me,” Jimin said, already sliding into the passenger seat.

“Obviously,” Yoongi muttered.

Hoseok gestured to his car. “Girls, hop in.”

Mina paused. “Wait — where’s Y/N going?”

“I’ll take her,” Jungkook said before anyone else answered.

Y/N blinked. “You sure?”

He shrugged. “My car’s quieter.”

Mina raised an eyebrow at her but didn’t say anything.

Y/N slipped into Jungkook’s passenger seat, tossing the keys back to him. “You always this generous with rides?”

He smirked. “Only with people who argue about Shakespeare like it’s a sport.”

The others pulled away, leaving just the two of them under the soft pink glow of the sunset.

The car doors shut.

The music turned low.

And for the first time all day — it was just the two of them.

Jungkook had one hand on the wheel, the other resting loose on the gearshift. The windows were cracked, letting in the breeze, and the stereo played something mellow — probably one of Yoongi’s burned CDs. Lo-fi with a bit of a grunge edge.

“You don’t mind giving me a ride?” Y/N asked casually.

He shrugged, eyes on the road. “Wouldn’t have offered if I did.”

“Could’ve made Jiwoo sit on Mina’s lap in Hoseok’s car.”

“I could’ve,” he said, smirking faintly. “But then you’d be stuck in a car with Dongyeon’s house in your future.”

She laughed. “God, imagine.”

“Don’t even joke about it.”

Y/N nudged his arm lightly. “What, jealous?”

Jungkook glanced at her, jaw twitching ever so slightly. “Of Dongyeon?”

“Of anyone,” she teased.

“Why would I be jealous?”

She tilted her head. “I dunno. You were awfully quick to shut them down earlier. Kind of heroic. Hot, even.”

He rolled his eyes, but she didn’t miss the way his grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel.

“They’re not good guys,” he said, quieter. “Not the kind who look at you the way they should.”

“And what’s the right way to look at me, Jeon?”

This time he glanced at her — really looked. And for a moment, his voice dropped, softer, less guarded.

“Like you’re not just something to win.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

The car settled into silence, but it wasn’t awkward. It was thick with all the things they weren’t saying.

Then she smiled, leaning back again, breaking the tension. “So philosophical all of a sudden. You trying to win me over with depth now?”

He scoffed. “Nah. Just tired of guys who think throwing parties gives them the right to hit on whoever they want.”

“Sounds like someone’s taking this personally.”

He didn’t answer at first. Then:

“Maybe I am.”

That hung in the air.

She looked over at him again, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re being weird today.”

He glanced at her again, his voice low. “You make me weird.”

Her heart did a little stutter-step.

Before she could say anything, his phone buzzed in the console. He ignored it. Then it buzzed again. And again.

Y/N peeked over. “Someone’s popular.”

He glanced, saw the name, and rolled his eyes before flipping the phone facedown. “Just Hana. From science. She’s been weird lately.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Weird how?”

“She asked if I wanted to go to the party with her,” he said, casually, like it meant nothing. “I said no.”

“Oh?” Her tone was too light.

“Yeah.” A beat. “Didn’t want to go with anyone else.”

She looked out the window, hiding the tiny smile tugging at her lips. “You’re really laying it on thick tonight.”

He shrugged, a little smirk forming. “Maybe I’m finally done pretending I don’t mean it.”

Y/N didn’t respond right away. But when they pulled up to the party house, music thumping faintly in the distance, she turned to him.

“I like this version of you.”

“What version?”

“The one that’s just a little jealous. And not afraid to show it.”

He glanced at her, cocky smirk replaced by something gentler.

“Stick around tonight,” he said, voice low. “You might like what else you find.”

-

The bass was already thumping by the time Jungkook pulled up along the curb, headlights washing over a line of cars crammed into Mark’s street. Multicolored lights leaked out through the living room windows. People milled around on the lawn, red solo cups in hand, yelling over music and laughter.

He killed the engine and looked over at Y/N. “You sure you wanna do this?”

She leaned forward, peering at the scene. “Not even a little.”

“Wanna ditch and hit the convenience store instead? Instant ramen and peach soda?”

She smiled, tempted. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Just then, Yoongi’s car pulled up behind them. Hobi’s headlights followed seconds later.

The gang regrouped on the sidewalk, dressed like a band of misfits forced into a high school teen drama.

“I already regret this,” Jiwoo muttered, tugging her jacket tighter around her.

“You and me both,” Yoongi sighed.

Mina groaned. “Let’s just go in, make a loop, and get out.”

As they approached the porch, the music grew louder—fast-paced 90s hip hop, all bass and no taste. Jungkook lingered close to Y/N, his shoulder brushing hers as they climbed the steps.

One of them knocked.

A beat passed.

Then the door cracked open—and there stood Mark, frozen mid-sip of his drink.

“Oh.” His eyes trailed over the girls first. “Didn’t think you were coming.”

Mina crossed her arms. “Yeah, well, my mom ran into your mom.”

Mark blinked. “Seriously?”

“She made us come,” Jiwoo added flatly. “So say thank you to Mrs. Lee.”

His gaze flicked to the boys. “Didn’t know this was a plus-one situation.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Problem?”

Jungkook stepped forward, calm but unreadable. “We’ll only be here a bit. We won’t get in your way.”

Mark hesitated—clearly annoyed, but too proud to say no. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

He stepped aside, letting them in.

The second the door opened fully, music hit them like a wave. The living room was packed—kids dancing, some standing around the kitchen shouting over each other, the lights dimmed and replaced by neon strips and someone’s terrible strobe setup. A couple was already making out near the coat rack.

“Classy,” Yoongi muttered.

They filed in, awkwardly scanning the room.

“I need a drink,” Jimin said immediately.

“Peach soda doesn’t sound so bad now, huh?” Jungkook said to Y/N under his breath.

She grinned. “We’re committed. Let’s suffer.”

Hoseok motioned toward the kitchen. “We’ll do a lap. Grab snacks. Scout the exits in case we need to make a dramatic escape.”

As they moved deeper into the house, Mark disappeared into the crowd—but not before throwing one last look at Y/N.

Jungkook noticed.

Of course he noticed.

He didn’t say anything, but his hand brushed the small of her back, gently guiding her away from the doorway, his voice low in her ear.

“Stay close, yeah?”

-

The house was packed.

It smelled like cheap cologne, orange soda, and someone’s burned popcorn. The music bounced off the walls, some mixtape of late-90s bangers that had been left on loop. Every conversation was a shout, every hallway a squeeze.

Y/N stuck close to Jungkook’s side as they moved through the crowd, shoulder-to-shoulder in the worst way. Not that she minded. He was warm and familiar, even in the chaos.

He leaned in toward her, voice low in her ear. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” she said, tugging on the hem of her borrowed top. “Just don’t feel like being here.”

He nodded. “Then don’t leave my side.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

They found the rest of the group gathered near the kitchen counter, already mid-debate about whether or not the red punch had alcohol in it.

Jiwoo took a cautious sip and cringed. “That’s a no from me.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Hoseok said, dramatically wiping down the countertop with a napkin. “The vibe here is sticky.”

Suddenly, a too-familiar voice rang out across the kitchen.

“Well, look who finally showed up.”

They turned just in time to see Chanyeol, drink in hand, flashing his signature too-wide smile.

He approached the girls first, eyes blatantly scanning Y/N, Mina, and Jiwoo.

“Thought you three were too good for this party,” he said, stopping a little too close. “Changed your minds?”

“Nope,” Mina replied. “Our moms did.”

Chanyeol smirked. “Lucky for me, then.”

Jungkook was beside Y/N in half a second, body angling slightly in front of hers.

Chanyeol noticed. Smirked wider.

“Relax, Jeon,” he said lazily. “Just saying hi to our guests.”

Jimin cut in with a grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “And now you’ve said hi. Congrats.”

Chanyeol shrugged and moved off, disappearing into the crowd with a wink Y/N pretended not to see.

Once he was gone, Jungkook exhaled slowly.

“You okay?” he asked her again, voice softer.

She nodded, but tucked herself just a little closer to his side.

“You’re sticking to me like glue tonight,” he teased gently.

Y/N gave a half-smile. “That a problem?”

“No,” he said quickly, eyes flicking to her mouth for a second too long. “It’s not.”

They stood like that for a moment—too close to be casual, too quiet to be normal.

Then Jimin appeared beside Y/N with a can of soda in hand.

“For you, m’lady,” he said with a mock bow.

She laughed and took it. “You’re too good to me.”

Jimin bumped her shoulder with his. “You doing okay?”

She gave him a small smile. “Better now.”

He looked at her knowingly, then at Jungkook. “He hasn’t left your side.”

“I haven’t let him,” she said, a little too honest.

Jimin’s expression softened. “That’s how it should be.”

Across the room, Chanyeol was watching again.

And Jungkook noticed.

He reached for Y/N’s hand without a word—just laced their fingers together like it had always been that way.

She looked down at their hands, then up at him, heart beating louder than the bass.

“Just so he gets the message,” Jungkook said, voice low.

She nodded. But they both knew it wasn’t really about Chanyeol anymore.

-

The party continued to pulse around them, but Y/N was only half-aware of it. She could feel Jungkook’s hand still wrapped around hers, thumb brushing gently across her knuckles like he was grounding himself with the contact.

His touch was calm. His energy? Not so much.

Across the room, Chanyeol was still watching — too casual, too smug — while Mark had reappeared, chatting up two girls from their chemistry class and throwing occasional glances in Y/N’s direction.

Jungkook noticed every single one.

“You alright?” she whispered to him, tilting her head just enough so only he could hear.

He didn’t answer immediately.

Just leaned a little closer, his breath brushing her ear as he murmured, “They keep looking at you like they’re waiting for me to slip up.”

She blinked. “Well, you haven’t.”

He gave a soft huff of amusement. “Don’t plan to.”

Just then, Mark sauntered over — red cup in hand, grin a little too practiced.

“Didn’t think you guys would last this long,” he said, eyes sweeping over their intertwined hands.

Jungkook didn’t let go.

“We were about to bounce, actually,” Jiwoo said flatly, already reaching for her bag.

But Mark was quick. “Wait, hold up—me, Dongyeon, and Chanyeol were gonna head upstairs. Start a game.”

Y/N’s brow lifted. “A game?”

“Truth or dare,” he said smoothly. “Classic. Stupid. Fun.”

Jiwoo crossed her arms. “Sounds more like a setup.”

“C’mon,” Chanyeol chimed in, appearing behind him with that lopsided grin. “Just the group of us. Old-school. Like spin-the-bottle but less gross.”

“Can’t promise that,” Dongyeon added, smirking.

The girls exchanged a glance.

Mina rolled her eyes but smiled. “We’ll come only if the boys come too.”

Mark laughed. “Wasn’t gonna exclude them. Especially not Jungkook.”

He clapped Jungkook’s shoulder — a little too hard, a little too familiar.

Jungkook didn’t even blink. Just smiled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Lead the way.”

Y/N squeezed his hand once.

“Are we seriously doing this?” she whispered as they followed the group toward the stairs.

“Apparently.”

“You’re not gonna kiss Chanyeol if the bottle lands on him, right?”

He looked over at her, deadpan. “Only if you kiss Dongyeon.”

She burst into laughter, leaning into his arm, and just like that — the air between them was warmer again. But something electric hummed underneath.

Because they were heading upstairs.

And if there’s one thing high school parties in the 90s were famous for…

It was what happened when the dares got too real.

-

The group slowly filed in, forming a lopsided circle on the carpet. Jiwoo and Mina plopped down first. Yoongi settled beside Hobi near the corner, arms crossed and expression unreadable as always.

Y/N went to sit in the space between Jimin and an empty spot—clearly left for Jungkook.

Jungkook followed right after her.

But just as he stepped forward—

Chanyeol slid right in, shoulder bumping Jungkook’s arm as he casually dropped down next to Y/N.

“Oops,” Chanyeol said with a smirk, not even looking up. “This spot taken?”

Y/N blinked, startled. “Oh—uh—”

Jungkook froze.

For half a second, his jaw clenched. His eyes dropped to Chanyeol’s hand, which had conveniently braced itself on the carpet a little too close to Y/N’s leg.

But Jungkook said nothing. Just exhaled through his nose and moved to sit on the other side of Jimin, opposite her now.

Jimin noticed everything.

He leaned slightly toward Y/N and gave her arm a gentle nudge. “Don’t worry. He’s fine. He just doesn’t want to ruin the game by launching Chanyeol through a wall.”

Y/N tried not to laugh—but it bubbled out anyway.

Chanyeol didn’t notice. Or pretended not to.

Instead, he turned to her, lowering his voice with faux sincerity. “Haven’t seen you around much this semester. You good?”

She gave a polite nod. “Yeah. Just been busy.”

“With Jungkook?” he asked, with that too-sweet tone.

She tilted her head, answering without hesitation. “Yeah. With Jungkook.”

Across the circle, Jungkook smirked quietly to himself.

“Alright!” Hoseok clapped his hands, grabbing a battered glass soda bottle from the shelf. “Shall we get this 90s cliché started?”

“Let’s,” Yoongi muttered.

Mina spun first. It landed on Jiwoo, who ended up doing a silly dance move in the middle of the circle.

Then Jiwoo spun. “Truth or dare, Dongyeon?”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to compliment Mark. With genuine emotion.”

The room howled.

It was lighthearted. Silly. And for a moment, everyone relaxed.

The bottle moved again. Jimin took a truth and admitted he once got detention for dancing too hard in gym class.

Then it was Chanyeol’s spin.

It stopped on Y/N.

“Oh boy,” Mina murmured under her breath.

Chanyeol leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Truth or dare?”

Y/N hesitated for half a beat. “Truth.”

“Alright,” he said, grin stretching. “Who in this room do you think has the biggest crush on you?”

Jungkook’s eyes snapped up.

The room went quiet for a second, the energy shifting ever so slightly.

Y/N stared at Chanyeol. He was enjoying this.

Jimin, beside her, muttered under his breath, “You can say ‘pass’ if he keeps being weird.”

But Y/N just smiled sweetly and turned to glance at Jungkook across the circle.

Then, calmly, she looked back at Chanyeol.

“Easy,” she said. “The guy who knows not to ask questions just to prove a point.”

Oof.

Yoongi gave a short, quiet laugh.

Even Hoseok raised his brows. “Damn.”

Jungkook’s mouth tugged into a grin — small but real.

And for the first time all night, Chanyeol looked caught off guard.

The game continued, but now there was a silent undercurrent flowing between Y/N and Jungkook. Every glance, every brush of eye contact held more weight.

-

The game kept going, the circle relaxing again after the slight spike in tension.

Mark got dared to sing a random love ballad with his eyes closed. (He chose the cheesiest one possible — everyone regretted it.)

Yoongi, when asked for a truth, revealed he once broke a vending machine at school and walked away pretending nothing happened. (“We knew it was you,” Hoseok said flatly.)

Then Mina spun the bottle, and it landed on Hoseok.

“Truth or dare, dance captain?” she asked with a grin.

Hoseok dramatically sighed. “Dare.”

“I dare you to text your crush right now and say ‘I’m thinking about you.’ No context.”

Half the room screamed.

“Do I have to send it?” he groaned.

“Yes!” Mina shouted.

He pulled out his phone, muttering, “I swear, if this ruins my life…”

They watched as he typed and hit send, dramatically flinging his phone face down on the floor.

“That’s tomorrow’s problem,” Jimin said, high-fiving him.

The laughter continued. Y/N started to genuinely relax, resting her arm against Jimin’s and occasionally glancing at Jungkook, who caught her eye more than once from across the circle. Every time, it felt like their own private thread pulling tighter.

Then it was Jimin’s turn.

He spun the bottle with too much flair. It rattled, clinked, and landed…

…on Jungkook.

“Ohhh,” Mina teased. “Finally.”

“Truth,” Jungkook said coolly, brushing a hand through his hair.

Jimin grinned like he’d been waiting.

“Alright, be honest. When was the exact moment you realized you liked someone in this room?”

The group immediately ooooooh’d like a sitcom audience.

Y/N tried not to freeze.

Jungkook didn’t blink. He leaned back slightly, one arm draped over his knee, expression unreadable but eyes locked on Jimin’s.

“You’re assuming I like someone in this room.”

“You didn’t say no,” Jimin replied, smug.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Jungkook shrugged. “Okay. It was the second week of school last year.”

Y/N blinked.

“That’s… weirdly specific,” Jiwoo said.

Jungkook didn’t elaborate.

He just looked briefly—so briefly—at Y/N.

And her heart stuttered.

Mina leaned over to Jimin, whispering behind her hand, “We are SO steering the next one.”

Jimin nodded solemnly. “Let’s make history.”

Next spin landed on Jiwoo, who had to wear a kitchen glove on her head for the next five minutes. (“This is bullying,” she said while posing like a queen.)

Then Mina took her turn.

The bottle spun.

And it landed between Y/N and Jungkook.

The group paused. So did Y/N’s breath.

Mina tilted her head dramatically. “Hmmm… we’ll let fate decide.”

She reached over, adjusted the bottle slightly (not subtly), and smiled.

“Looks like it’s Y/N.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “That bottle didn’t even stop moving yet.”

“It did emotionally,” Jimin added, nodding.

Mina smirked. “Truth or dare, sweetheart?”

Y/N glanced across the circle. Jungkook wasn’t smirking like the others. He was just watching her—quietly.

“Truth,” she said.

Mina didn’t miss a beat.

“If you could kiss someone in this room tonight... would you?”

Another beat of silence.

Jiwoo gasped. “That’s not even fair!”

“It’s just a question,” Mina said innocently.

Jimin, beside Y/N, leaned in. “Be brave.”

Y/N looked down, fiddling with the hem of her jeans.

Then she glanced up—only at Jungkook—and said:

“Yes.”

Not loud. Not bold.

But sure.

And just like that, the room seemed to still for a second too long.

Someone cleared their throat. Mark started laughing awkwardly. Jiwoo broke the tension with a joke about wanting another soda.

But Jungkook?

Jungkook’s gaze didn’t waver.

-

The room hadn’t quite recovered from Y/N’s answer.

The air felt heavier now — not uncomfortable, just charged.

Y/N could feel Jungkook’s stare, even when she looked away.

Mina tried to act casual. “Okay. Who’s next?”

Jungkook leaned forward, grabbed the bottle without a word, and spun it with two fingers — smooth, controlled, almost lazy.

It clinked around the circle once… twice…

Then landed on Mina.

“Ugh,” she groaned dramatically. “Knew I shouldn’t have interfered with fate.”

“Truth or dare?” Jungkook asked, calm as ever.

She narrowed her eyes. “Dare.”

Jungkook tilted his head slightly. “I dare you… to pick two people in this room to switch seats.”

Mina blinked. “That’s your dare?”

Jungkook shrugged. “Use it wisely.”

Y/N’s stomach flipped.

Mina took about two seconds to think before pointing between Chanyeol and Jungkook.

“Switch.”

Chanyeol groaned. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” she said sweetly. “You’re in Jungkook’s seat.”

Jungkook didn’t wait for permission. He stood, walked back across the circle, and this time, dropped down right beside Y/N.

No one said anything, but they didn’t have to.

Y/N could feel the heat of him now — how close he was, the subtle way his knee brushed hers as he leaned back on one arm, gaze forward but attention on her.

The game went on — more spins, more laughs, more noise — but none of it registered.

Because now it was Y/N and Jungkook.

Side by side.

His voice dropped near her ear when the others were distracted by Mark doing a handstand.

“Was your answer earlier for real?” he asked quietly.

Y/N turned slightly, just enough to meet his gaze.

“You asking because you want to dare me to prove it?”

His lips twitched. “Maybe.”

She raised a brow, whispering, “Then ask.”

A long pause.

Then—

“Mina,” Jungkook called across the circle, voice casual. “Dare for Y/N.”

Mina looked up from where she was watching Hoseok try to chug orange soda. “What?”

“She said truth before. I’m saying dare now.”

The group oooh’d again.

Y/N felt her pulse in her throat.

Mina, grinning like the chaos fairy she was, nodded. “Alright. Dare it is.”

Jungkook turned to Y/N — slowly, deliberately.

“I dare you to kiss someone in this room.”

Everything stopped.

The music downstairs. The laughter. Even the buzz of cheap light bulbs overhead seemed to fade into static.

Y/N didn’t hesitate.

She leaned forward, caught Jungkook’s collar between her fingers, and kissed him.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t overdone.

But it was real.

Too real for a party game.

His hand came up to her jaw, warm and steady, holding her like he’d wanted to for ages.

No one spoke. No one dared to.

Because even if it was just a dare…

Everyone in the room knew:

That kiss wasn’t part of the game.

-

The party buzzed on without them.

Laughter still echoed down the hall, muffled behind closed doors. Music thumped faintly beneath their feet. But none of it mattered anymore.

Because Y/N was slipping on her jacket, and Jungkook was already holding the door open for her.

They didn’t say anything as they stepped out into the cool night air.

Just moved together — side by side, like muscle memory — until they reached his car parked on the street out front, quiet under a flickering streetlamp.

Jungkook opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

She did.

He walked around, climbed into the driver’s seat, but didn’t turn the key.

Instead, he leaned back, exhaled slowly, and tilted his head up toward the sky.

“Look,” he said softly. “You can actually see stars tonight.”

Y/N followed his gaze.

The sky above was velvet-dark, scattered with tiny pinpricks of light — rare for their town, rare for nights like this.

“You ever think about how crazy that is?” she murmured. “That those stars are millions of years old? And we’re just… here. Existing beneath them for a second.”

Jungkook looked at her. Not the stars.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think about that every time I’m near you.”

She turned to him, breath catching.

“I’m serious,” he added, quieter now. “You walk into a room, and everything slows down. Like the universe forgot what it was doing and just… paused.”

Y/N blinked. “That’s… kind of the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

He gave a lopsided smile. “Well, I don’t say it to just anyone.”

They fell into a comfortable silence. The kind only possible between two people who’ve known each other too long to pretend. The kind that held a weight — not of pressure, but of possibility.

Jungkook leaned forward, resting his arms on the steering wheel.

“You meant it, didn’t you?” he asked. “During the game.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “Did you?”

He smiled again. “You kissed me first.”

She laughed softly, turning toward him. “Only because you dared me to.”

“Only because I wanted you to,” he said.

Her heart fluttered. Like it used to when she was younger. Like it always did around him.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against hers on the center console.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low, “I don’t know what this is. I don’t even know when it started. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since… forever.”

Her fingers turned and laced through his.

“You don’t have to,” she said gently. “I don’t want you to.”

The silence returned — this time warmer, wrapped in headlights and starlight and soft glances that said everything words couldn’t.

Neither of them said “I like you” or “let’s make this official”.

They didn’t need to.

Because right then, in the quiet hum of Jungkook’s car, watching the sky that had seen them grow up…

They knew something had changed.

And neither of them wanted to go back.

-

The drive home was quiet — but in the best way.

Jungkook had the windows rolled down halfway. The cool night breeze slipped in, playing with strands of Y/N’s hair as she leaned back in her seat, half-smiling to herself.

He glanced at her when they stopped at a red light. “What?”

She shrugged, barely looking over. “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

She turned to him with a lazy grin. “Okay. Maybe I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

She hesitated. Then, softly: “About how weird it is that… tonight felt kind of perfect.”

His grip on the steering wheel relaxed.

“Yeah,” he said. “It really did.”

They pulled up in front of her house a few minutes later.

The porch light was still on — a warm, yellow glow washing over the front steps. The rest of the house looked dark.

Jungkook stepped out first, rounding the car to open her door without even thinking.

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. “You know I’m capable of doing that myself.”

“I know,” he said. “Still wanted to.”

She stepped out, and for a second, they just stood there on the path, their arms brushing.

The energy between them had changed since the party — softer now, but still buzzing underneath their skin.

At the doorstep, they slowed.

Neither made a move to unlock the door just yet.

“So…” she murmured.

“So…” he echoed.

They both laughed quietly. The air smelled like summer grass and sleep.

“I had fun,” she said.

“I had more.”

She raised a brow. “Competitive even now?”

“Only when it comes to you.”

She rolled her eyes again — but this time, she was smiling too wide to hide.

He stepped a little closer.

The space between them was so small now.

“I’m really glad you kissed me,” he said softly.

Y/N’s breath caught. “I’m really glad you dared me to.”

And then, finally—

A kiss.

Not like the one at the party.

This one was gentle. Slow. The kind of kiss that said we don’t have to rush anything — we’re here now.

It lingered for a moment, both of them quietly afraid to pull away.

But then—

A small voice from behind the screen door broke the silence.

“Oooohh I am so telling Mom.”

Y/N jumped, nearly stumbling back as the porch light flickered behind the front window.

Her seven-year-old sister stood there with a juice box in her hand and the smuggest look in the universe.

“Mina!” Y/N gasped. “What are you—why are you awake?!”

Mina just blinked innocently. “I was getting apple juice. And then I saw you kissing a boy.”

Jungkook awkwardly cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous laugh.

Mina pointed straight at him. “You’re really handsome.”

Y/N groaned. “Oh my god.”

“Are you her boyfriend?” Mina asked, eyes wide.

“Uhhh…” Jungkook looked like he was about to melt into the ground. “Something like that?”

“Cool,” she said, then turned to Y/N. “Can I be the flower girl at your wedding?”

“Mina, GO TO BED!”

Still grinning, Mina turned and walked back inside, mumbling something about “diaries” and “blackmail.”

Y/N covered her face with both hands.

“I swear, she’s not usually like that.”

Jungkook just laughed, eyes crinkling as he stepped backward down the porch steps.

“I like her. She’s chaotic. Like you.”

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Goodnight, Jungkook.”

He smiled. “Night, Y/N.”

And with one last look — the kind that held way too much affection for a single glance — he turned and headed for his car, disappearing down the street as the porch light flickered softly behind her.

-

The morning sun was lazy, bleeding gold across the sidewalk as Y/N walked beside Jimin on their usual route to school.

He was sipping iced coffee from a cup twice the size of his hand, eyebrows raised as he watched her try (and fail) to hide a very suspicious smile.

“…So,” he said, drawing it out.

“So,” she replied.

“You’ve been quiet for approximately two and a half blocks, and you never shut up in the morning. Something’s up.”

She side-eyed him. “I don’t always talk.”

“You once recited your entire math homework aloud just to ‘hear how stupid it sounded.’”

Y/N tried not to laugh. “Okay, fair.”

“So…” Jimin bumped her arm lightly. “You and Jungkook.”

She blinked. “What about us?”

He gave her a deadpan look.

“Y/N, please. You sat next to each other at lunch yesterday like two magnets that just learned what touch was. And you haven’t stopped smiling since we left your house.”

She hesitated, cheeks warming.

“We kissed,” she said quietly.

Jimin nearly tripped on the curb. “I knew it! I knew there was weird tension at that party!”

“He kissed me back,” she added.

Jimin beamed. “You say that like it’s not the most obvious thing in the world that he’s obsessed with you.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, swatting him, but she was grinning now.

They reached the school gates, voices blending into the morning rush. Students poured in from all sides, some dragging feet, others already cracking jokes and chasing each other up the stairs.

But before they could even reach the front steps—

“Y/N!”

Chanyeol’s voice cut across the crowd like a bad ringtone.

She winced. Jimin rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle he didn’t see the future.

Chanyeol jogged up beside them, brushing his messy hair out of his face.

“Hey,” he said, giving Y/N a grin. “You left early last night.”

“Yeah, just got tired,” she said, keeping it short.

Chanyeol leaned a little too close. “We didn’t even get to finish talking.”

“We didn’t start talking,” Jimin muttered.

Chanyeol ignored him. “Anyway, I was thinking maybe we could hang out this weekend? Just us. Something chill—”

“She’s busy,” Jimin cut in flatly.

Chanyeol blinked. “How would you know?”

“Because she has better taste.”

Y/N sighed, already inching toward the doors, but Chanyeol wasn’t done yet.

“I don’t get it,” he said, louder now. “We’ve known each other forever—why are you acting like I’m some creep?”

“Because you are,” Jimin said, smile sharp.

“Dude, back off.”

Chanyeol glared, but Jimin stood his ground, and after a tense pause, Chanyeol scoffed and walked off, shaking his head.

Y/N sighed in relief. “Thanks.”

Jimin just gave a tiny smirk, tapping his coffee cup like he’d just come up with something evil.

“…What?” she asked warily.

“Oh, nothing,” he said sweetly. “I just had an idea.”

-

The courtyard was packed during lunch — bright sun, open tables, and every group claiming their territory across the grass.

Jimin sat beside Jungkook, chewing on his straw, leaning in like he was sharing state secrets.

“You want me to what?” Jungkook said, blinking.

“Just one kiss. Quick. Soft. Maybe a little showy,” Jimin said. “You don’t even have to dip her dramatically, though that would be iconic.”

“Hyung…”

“Chanyeol won’t stop pestering her,” Jimin said seriously. “And Y/N doesn’t like confrontation. But you? You’re the statement.”

Jungkook glanced across the courtyard. Y/N was sitting with Jiwoo and Mina under the big tree, legs crossed, laughing at something.

And Chanyeol was, not so subtly, hovering nearby.

Jaw tightening, Jungkook stood.

Jimin grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

Across the grass, Y/N looked up just as Jungkook approached — hands in his pockets, jaw sharp under the sun, confidence in every step.

He didn’t say anything.

Just walked up.

She stood instinctively, confused. “Jungkook—?”

Before she could finish, he gently cupped her face, leaned down, and kissed her.

Right there.

In front of half the school.

It wasn’t aggressive. Wasn’t rushed.

Just a kiss that said she’s mine. This is real. We’re done playing around.

When he pulled back, her eyes were wide — stunned, heart thudding, hands still frozen midair like she forgot how to move.

And then he smiled — really smiled — and turned, walking back to his table without a word.

Around them, the courtyard exploded.

“OHHHHHHH!”

“WHAT?!”

“HOLY—”

Jiwoo screamed. Mina screamed. Someone from the basketball team yelled, “FINALLY.”

And off to the side…

Chanyeol stood completely still.

Mouth slightly open.

Then he turned and walked away without another word.

Defeated.

Jimin leaned back with his arms crossed, sunglasses on indoors, sipping from his straw like a smug villain.

"Park jimin you wizard. How'd you pull this off?" Hoseok gasped next to him, seeing the look on Jimin's face was enough to tell he was behind this.

He simply smirked. "I did nothing really, they did this to themselves."

"Chanyeol's probably pissed." Yoongi says with a pleased smile, eyes looking back down at his ukulele from the newly announced couple.

Y/N turned slowly back to her seat, dazed.

“Are you okay?” Mina asked between gasps of laughter.

“I… I think I just got publicly claimed,” Y/N whispered.

And somewhere in the distance, Jungkook smiled.

-

Later that night, the sky over town stretched wide and quiet. The streets had gone still. The party echoes and school gossip had long since faded.

But up on Jungkook’s rooftop — a little above it all — two people sat side by side on a blanket, legs dangling over the edge, the night humming gently around them.

The stars were scattered like salt, and the air was cool enough to press them closer.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Y/N murmured, nudging him with her shoulder.

He looked over, grinning. “Did what?”

“You know what.”

“Oh, you mean the epic, public, once-in-a-lifetime kiss in front of the entire school?”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “You’re so annoying.”

“You kissed me back,” he said.

“You kissed me first.”

They both laughed quietly.

The kind of laugh that felt like something new beginning.

“Was it too much?” he asked after a pause. “Too showy?”

Y/N looked at him for a long moment.

And then, simply: “No. It was perfect.”

A breeze drifted between them, and she leaned into his side, head on his shoulder.

They sat like that for a while. No rush. No pressure.

Just two people who had always almost been something… now finally were.

“You know,” she said after a while, voice soft, “I used to think we were just too different.”

Jungkook tilted his head. “Different how?”

“I don’t know. You’re loud, I’m quiet. You’re chaos, I’m… slightly less chaos.”

He smirked. “You’re a different kind of chaos.”

She giggled, then went quiet again.

“But then,” she added, “I realized maybe that’s the point. We balance each other out.”

He looked down at her, warmth in his eyes.

“You’re my favorite balance,” he whispered.

She smiled.

“You’re my favorite everything.”

And then he kissed her again.

Not like the one from earlier — not to prove anything, not to claim or perform or make a scene.

Just to feel her smile against his lips.

And when they pulled apart, the stars still above them and the town still asleep below—

“You used to fight me over grammar, you know?” Y/N said, bumping her shoulder against his.

Jungkook smirked. “Only so I could talk to you without sounding obvious.”

She laughed. “Obvious about what?”

He looked at her — soft, a little smug. “Liking you.”

Her breath caught just slightly, but she covered it with a playful eye roll. “Still never beat me in English though.”

He shrugged, that same boyish grin tugging at his lips. “Maybe not. But I did get the girl.”

a/n : btw if you can't already tell, I loved writing this and am currently kicking my feet over my own story and I usually NEVER re-read my stories after it's posted. hehehehe, like, reblog and lmk what you lovelies think below mwahh

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which tattoos aren't the only thing that leaves a mark

warning : sexual content included - minors dni

Your dorm smells faintly of antiseptic and coconut oil, dimly lit by a salt lamp you found at a garage sale and a few strands of fairy lights taped haphazardly across the ceiling. Your tattoo machine is humming gently on your desk, neatly cleaned and resting beside a lined-up set of sanitized needles, ink caps, and gloves. You’ve got a system — one that’s been perfected over the last year and a half — ever since your roommate dropped out and you turned her bed into your makeshift tattoo studio.

Under the name Inkling, you’ve built a quiet reputation on campus. No one knows your real name unless they’ve been in the chair. Athletes, musicians, a couple grad students — they’ve all come through that dorm door, usually through hushed referrals and cryptic Instagram DMs. You’ve never posted your face. Just close-ups of fresh ink, your gloved hands, or that one photo of your forearm covered in delicate, razor-sharp line work. That one got shared a lot.

You’re careful. Every DM gets deleted after a location drop. Every appointment spaced out. You’ve seen enough busted dreams to know UConn wouldn’t hesitate to bench someone — or worse, expel you — if they found out.

It’s a rainy Thursday when your phone buzzes with a new DM.

Hey. Someone told me you might be the person to talk to about a tattoo?

The username catches your attention: @/paigebueckers.

You lean back in your chair, eyebrows lifting. The Paige Bueckers. You’ve seen her on campus, walking with her hood up and headphones on. People talk about her like she’s royalty — or a ghost. Never really both.

You heard right. What are you looking for?

The typing bubble appears. Then disappears. Then comes back.

Something small. My first one. Maybe ribs.

I got you. Location’s in your inbox. Delete this after reading.

You wait.

And then — just like you asked — the message disappears.

You hear the knock on your door five minutes early.

Cracking it open just a sliver, you scan the hallway. Empty.

Then you see her. Hoodie up, eyes down, clearly trying to go unnoticed. You gesture her inside, and she slips in quickly.

She pauses in the doorway, scanning the room. Your tall frame leans casually against your desk, arms inked and folded across your chest. You’re wearing a fitted black tank and sweats, fresh from a lift earlier. Her eyes drift, lingering a little too long before she catches herself.

"You're Inkling?" she asks, raising an eyebrow, tone skeptical — but not unfriendly.

You smirk. “In the flesh.”

She blinks. You can see the recalibration in her eyes, like she wasn’t expecting you — tall, masculine, and somehow both rough around the edges and easy to talk to.

“I’m Paige,” she offers, finally meeting your eyes.

“Yeah,” you say, stepping aside to let her walk further in. “I know who you are.”

You gesture to the chair in the corner — clean, covered in disposable wrap, next to your station.

“So,” you say, pulling on a pair of black gloves. “What are we doing today?”

She tugs her hoodie down, suddenly self-conscious. “I was thinking something simple. Maybe… a small cross? Just here—” She lifts the hem of her shirt slightly, revealing a sliver of toned side. “Right under the ribs.”

You nod, already moving to draw the stencil. “Any style in mind? Fine line? Bold? Shaded?”

She hesitates. “Fine line. Clean. Simple. Kind of like… a reminder, y’know?”

You nod again. “I got you.”

Within a few minutes, you’re walking back over with the stencil, eyes flicking up to hers. “You’re gonna have to take your shirt off.”

You say it casually, but her cheeks tint pink.

She hesitates, then pulls her hoodie and tank over her head, folding them neatly and setting them on the chair. She’s in a sports bra, but even so, her posture stiffens a little under your gaze.

You kneel next to her, applying the stencil with gentle precision, fingers cool against her warm skin. “This okay?”

She looks down and nods, voice quiet. “Yeah. It’s perfect.”

You pick up the machine, the buzz filling the room.

“First tattoo, huh?”

She nods. “Is it gonna hurt?”

“Little bit. But I’ll talk you through it.”

The needle meets her skin. She tenses at first — a sharp breath — but you keep your voice low, steady, as you work.

“You’re not gonna die. Promise.”

She laughs softly, tension easing just a little.

You fall into a rhythm — machine buzzing, your voice threading in between.

“So how’d you start tattooing?” she asks after a minute.

“Boredom,” you admit. “High school. I used to sketch on my friends with Sharpies. Someone dared me to buy a machine. I practiced on fake skin for months before I ever touched a person.”

“Weren’t you scared?”

“Terrified. But I loved it more than I feared it.”

She goes quiet. You glance up.

“What about you?” you ask. “Why basketball?”

“It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense,” she says softly. “It’s like… the court’s the only place where everything goes quiet.”

You hum in understanding, eyes flicking back to your work. “Same way I feel when I’m doing this.”

There’s a long pause. A comfortable one.

You finish the last line, clean it up, and wrap the fresh ink in clear bandage. You explain the aftercare — gentle washing, no picking, keep it moisturized.

She puts her shirt back on and hands you a wad of cash.

And then, just as she reaches for the door — she pauses.

“Hey,” she says, turning back, biting her lip. “Do you ever give your number out?”

You raise a brow. “That depends. Why do you need it?”

Her eyes flick over your face, a little emboldened now.

“I wanna get to know you,” she says. “Not just the artist. You.”

There’s a moment of quiet — just the hum of your machine behind you, the buzz of electricity in the air.

You step toward her, pulling a pen from your pocket and gently taking her hand.

You write your number on her palm, slow and deliberate.

“Then start with a text,” you murmur, eyes locked with hers. “And we’ll see.”

Two weeks.

That’s how long it’s been since Paige sat in your chair — stiff and unsure, her rib stinging under your needle while your voice calmed her nerves better than she’d ever admit.

She hasn't stopped thinking about you since.

Not just the way you looked — tall, confident, with inked knuckles and a crooked grin — but the way you spoke to her. Like she wasn’t just Paige Bueckers, UConn’s superstar. Like she was just... a girl in your dorm getting her first tattoo.

After she left that night, she stared at your number in her palm for a good half hour before finally texting.

hey. it’s paige. got one on the ribs.

You replied two minutes later.

hey ribs. glad you didn’t pass out lol.

Since then, it’s been constant.

Late-night texts. Memes. Song links. Half-flirty, half-real conversations about childhood dreams, favorite snacks, worst injuries, and best memories. She's gotten used to your name lighting up her screen — even looks forward to it. Maybe too much.

Right now, she’s lying on her stomach in the locker room, phone half-hidden under her forearm as she types out a reply.

P: would you ever tattoo your own face on someone as a joke?

You: only if they deserved it.

She grins, lip caught between her teeth, thumbs already flying over her screen for a comeback— when suddenly—

“Who’s got you smiling like that?” KK’s voice breaks through the quiet.

Paige fumbles, yelping a little and nearly dropping her phone. She quickly flips it over, shoving it under her towel.

“N-nothing,” she blurts.

KK lifts an eyebrow, towel slung over her shoulder, all mischief. “Nothing looks a lot like someone.”

“I was just—” Paige clears her throat, rolling over. “Twitter.”

“Ohhh,” KK says knowingly. “Yeah, same. I always giggle at tweets like they’re cute girls texting me too.”

Before Paige can defend herself, Azzi walks in mid-laugh and immediately picks up the vibe. “Wait. What did I miss?”

“Paige is hiding a crush,” KK sing-songs.

Azzi whips her head around. “You’re texting someone? Wait, is it that tattoo artist?!”

Paige goes red instantly. “What? No— I mean— not like that— we’re just—”

“Oh my God,” Azzi says, grinning like she just won the lottery. “You are! You went once and got hooked. I knew it!”

“She called her ‘ribs,’” KK adds dramatically. “I heard it. They have nicknames already.”

“Ribs!” Azzi cackles. “That’s gonna be her contact name in my phone for you now.”

“Shut up,” Paige mumbles, grabbing her towel and pressing it over her face to hide.

Then Aubrey walks in, adjusting her hair, immediately clocking the chaos. “Why is Paige buried like a corpse?”

“She’s in love,” Azzi says sweetly.

“With her tattoo artist,” KK adds.

Aubrey pauses. “Wait. Inkling?”

Paige lifts her head. “You know?”

Aubrey shrugs like it’s obvious. “Yeah. I got my latest one from her last semester. She’s fire.”

“She’s also hot,” Azzi adds. “Like, if I liked girls? I’d have gotten a sleeve just to keep going back.”

KK snorts. “I’d get her initials on my neck.”

“Okay, enough!” Paige yells, half-laughing, half-horrified. “Y’all are so annoying.”

But she’s smiling — wide, and a little dazed — because maybe, just maybe, she kind of loves that they can see what she’s trying to figure out herself.

Meanwhile, across campus, you’re sprawled across your bed, scrolling through Paige’s latest message with a smile playing on your lips.

She sends you a blurry selfie of her holding an energy drink with a caption:

P: this is either gonna power me through or kill me in the middle of practice

You laugh.

You: if you die i’m tattooing “dumb decisions” on your forehead. with wings.

A pause.

P: can’t wait 

Your heart stutters. Not just because she’s flirting. But because she’s still here. Still texting. Still choosing you — even if it’s just messages for now.

And that tiny seed of maybe?

It’s starting to bloom.

It’s just past 9PM when your phone buzzes again. You’re half-asleep on your couch, a late re-run of Ink Master humming in the background, one hand tucked behind your head, the other lazily scrolling through your camera roll.

P: hey! ribs needs a touch-up.

You grin, already sitting up straighter. You type back fast.

You: oh no. your tragic little cross fading already?

P: tragic? wow. ok.

You: come cry about it. you free now?

P: omw.

You glance up, blinking.

She’s coming here. Now.

You toss your hoodie on, adjust your sweats, and quickly wipe down your station — not because it needs it, but because you suddenly feel like everything has to be perfect.

You don’t even know if she needs a touch-up. You think the tattoo healed clean. You remember exactly how it looked when she left — skin flushed, ink crisp and sharp, your gloves ghosting her side as you wrapped her ribs with practiced care.

But if Paige wants an excuse to come back?

You’ll let her use all of them.

Fifteen minutes later, you hear a soft knock.

Three quick taps. Hesitant.

You open the door, and there she is.

Hair tied back in a bun. Hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. Eyes flicking up to meet yours with that soft, unsure kind of confidence that’s been growing since day one.

“Hey,” she says, almost breathless.

You step back to let her in. “Hey, Ribs.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips.

“I brought snacks,” she says, holding up a gas station bag. “Touch-up tax.”

You grin. “Bribery noted.”

She perches on the edge of your couch while you prep the machine again, glancing around like she’s trying to memorize every poster, every flickering light string, every shadow you cast across the room.

“So,” you say, sliding gloves on. “Let’s see the damage.”

She lifts the hem of her hoodie, then the tank under it, revealing her side again. She doesn’t flinch this time. Doesn’t hesitate. Just watches you carefully as you lean in to inspect the ink.

You blink.

“Yeah…” you say slowly. “You definitely didn’t need a touch-up.”

“Damn,” she says, tone innocent. “Guess I’ll go then.”

You catch her wrist before she moves.

“Nah. You’re already here.”

The tension builds like a tightrope between you — stretched thin but thrilling.

You lean in, dragging a gloved fingertip lightly over the healed tattoo, eyes never leaving hers.

“You been using the aftercare stuff I gave you?”

“Every night,” she murmurs. “Like a good girl.”

You pause.

You’re not sure who leans in first, but suddenly your faces are too close. Her knee brushes yours. Your fingers are still on her skin. Your heart’s somewhere between say something and kiss her now.

She breaks the silence first.

“You ever get nervous?” she asks softly.

You tilt your head. “About what?”

“Stuff like this,” she says. “Being in someone’s space. Not knowing what happens next.”

You let your hand drop from her ribs, slowly peeling your gloves off.

“I used to,” you admit. “But then I started noticing the signs.”

“What signs?”

You lean back slightly, just enough to make her lean forward — chase the space you left behind.

“Someone shows up without needing a touch-up,” you say. “Brings snacks. Doesn’t take her eyes off you.”

Paige swallows, pulse fluttering in her neck.

“And what do you do when you notice?” she whispers.

You smile — slow, crooked.

“I wait until she makes the next move.”

There’s silence.

Then Paige sets the snack bag aside and shifts closer — until your knees touch again, until the air between your mouths gets impossibly thin.

She rests her hand lightly on your forearm. Testing. Waiting.

“I came back for more than a touch-up,” she says, barely audible.

“I know.”

And then?

You both move at once — like gravity finally gave in.

She almost kissed you.

You know she almost did.

That moment — the way she leaned in, her breath catching, your eyes locked — it was charged. One inch closer and she would’ve been in your lap, her lips pressed to yours, hoodie half-off.

But she pulled back.

Murmured something about practice tomorrow. Smiled that crooked little smile and slipped out like it didn’t shake you to your core.

And now you’re haunted by it.

By her.

The ghost of her fingers on your arm. The scent of her hoodie. The way her voice dipped when she said, “I came back for more than a touch-up.”

You haven’t stopped texting, of course. If anything, it's gotten worse.

P: i keep thinking about that stencil gel. why is it always freezing

You: so u remember the cold gel and not the way i touched ur body huh

P: i hate you

You: no u don’t

She doesn't deny it.

And neither do you.

Three days later, you're bent over your client, your machine buzzing as you work on a chest piece — intricate line work, shaded stars that bloom over his pec like smoke. You're focused, gloved hands steady, music humming low in the background. Your lamp casts a warm glow over your little setup. Three quick knocks. Just like last time.

You look up, brows furrowing. You're not expecting anyone.

You lower the needle and call out, “Door’s open.”

It swings open a moment later — and there she is.

Paige. In joggers and an oversized tee. Slightly flushed like she ran here, hair pulled into a high ponytail, holding a bottle of blue Gatorade like she needed a reason.

“Hey,” she says, eyes flicking around your room. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Her gaze lands on your chair — on the guy sitting shirtless, one arm behind his head, wincing through the sting of the needle.

“Oh,” she says quickly. “I can come back.”

You shake your head, pulling your gloves tight again. “Nah. Stay.”

Paige hesitates… then closes the door behind her and sinks onto your couch, pulling one knee up, tucking her foot beneath her. She stays quiet at first, just watching.

But you can feel it. Her eyes on you. The weight of them.

Your shirt rides up slightly as you lean over the client. Your chain glints in the light. Your forearms flex. There’s a streak of black ink on your jaw from where you scratched an itch and forgot you’d touched the cap first.

You glance up.

She’s staring.

Her lip is caught between her teeth. Gatorade forgotten in her lap.

You smirk slightly.

“You good over there?” you murmur without looking away from your work.

She snaps out of it. “Yeah. Just… observing.”

You don’t push. You keep tattooing. But your voice drops just enough to tease:

“Didn’t know I was part of the show.”

She doesn’t reply.

But out of the corner of your eye, you catch her shifting — crossing her legs tighter, cheeks a little flushed.

When your client finally hops off the chair and checks out the finished work in your mirror, you clean up and walk him to the door, chatting easily. You say goodbye, click the lock, and turn back around.

Paige is still on your couch. Still holding her Gatorade. Still not looking directly at you.

“You sure you’re not here for another touch-up?” you ask, voice low now that you’re alone again.

She looks up finally.

“I don’t think the tattoo’s the part that needs touching.”

Your heart stutters.

The silence swells again, thick and buzzing.

You take one slow step forward. Then another.

She stands up too, meeting you halfway.

Close. Too close.

You can smell her shampoo. See the freckles scattered on her collarbone. Feel her breath on your chin.

But she doesn’t close the distance.

Instead, her hand brushes your wrist as she walks past you — casual, smooth, intentional — and she murmurs over her shoulder, “Text me later.”

The door shuts behind her.

And you’re left standing in your own dorm, slightly ink-stained, jaw slack, stomach twisted up in tension so sharp it almost hurts.

She pulled back again.

And you're starting to think she's doing it on purpose.

It starts with a text.

P: u up?

You: what are you, a guy on tinder?

P: shut up. i’m serious. come to the gym.

You: it’s midnight.

P: exactly. no one will be there. come shoot with me.

You: ...u tryna seduce me with hardwood floors and fluorescent lighting?

P: depends. is it working?

You don’t even respond.

You just throw on your sneakers and a hoodie, grab your keys, and head out the door.

The UConn practice gym is dim when you walk in — only a few of the overheads are on, leaving the court glowing like a movie scene. Quiet. Still. And there she is.

Paige.

Ball in hand, ponytail high, shooting solo from the top of the key. She doesn’t see you at first — just lets the ball roll back from the rebound machine, catches it in one smooth motion, and fires again.

Swish.

You whistle low.

She turns, a smirk already tugging at her mouth.

“About time,” she says, wiping her forehead with the bottom of her shirt — giving you a full view of her toned stomach before it drops again.

You blink. “Sorry, I had to emotionally prepare for whatever pickup line you were gonna hit me with.”

“Oh please,” she tosses you the ball. “You think I need lines?”

You catch it with a grin. “You’re kinda full of yourself, Bueckers.”

“And you are kinda stalling. Let’s see if you can actually shoot or if you just look cool.”

You raise an eyebrow, then dribble once, twice, pull up at the elbow — clean jumper.

Swish.

Her mouth parts slightly.

You shrug. “Told you I was more than just tattoos and biceps.”

She circles you, grabbing the rebound, bouncing it back your way.

“You are full of surprises,” she murmurs. “I didn’t expect you to have form. Or a jumper.”

You shoot again. Another swish.

“You know,” she adds, jogging over, “if I make this next shot, you have to give me a free tattoo.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And if you miss?”

She spins the ball on her finger, grinning. “Then you still give me one, but I pick where.”

You snort. “That’s not how bets work.”

“Shh.” She backs up behind the three-point line, sets her feet, shoots—

Clank. Off the rim.

You break into laughter, hands on your knees. “Yo—so confident. So dramatic. So short.”

“Okay wow, personal attack,” she says, chasing the ball. “We get it, you’re tall.”

“And humble,” you add with a wink.

She tosses it back. You shoot again. Net.

“You're seriously hot when you do that,” she blurts, then instantly freezes.

You pause mid-dribble, smirking. “When I shoot?”

“When you swish,” she mutters. “And like… do that half-smile thing after. You know what you’re doing.”

You walk closer, bounce passing her the ball again.

“Oh yeah?” you say, voice dropping just a little. “What else do I do that’s hot?”

She squints at you, stepping in too. “You wanna play this game?”

“I thought we were playing,” you murmur.

There’s a pause. Just breath and bouncing orange rubber.

Then Paige grins. “Okay,” she says. “Truth or dare, but gym edition.”

You laugh. “Why do I feel like this is about to go off the rails?”

“Pick one.”

You spin the ball on your palm. “Truth.”

She tilts her head. “Have you thought about kissing me?”

You hesitate — not in fear, but because damn, she really jumped right to it.

You take a slow breath.

“Yeah,” you say honestly. “Too many times.”

She swallows. Looks at your mouth for a second too long.

You step back. “Your turn.”

“I pick dare.”

You toss her the ball again. “Hit a three. If you miss, you owe me a date.”

She narrows her eyes. “That’s not a dare.”

“Sure it is. Do it.”

She backs up, sets her feet, deep breath — and shoots.

It arcs high. Hangs in the air. And—

Rim.

Bounces off.

She stares at it like it betrayed her.

You bite your lip, trying not to grin. “Damn. That’s crazy.”

She groans. “That was so close.”

You step up to her, gently take the ball from her hands, your fingers brushing hers.

“A deal’s a deal, Bueckers.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters. “You better take me somewhere good.”

“Oh, I will,” you say, dribbling lazily between your legs. “Just not to another empty gym at midnight.”

She grabs your wrist before you can turn — eyes locked on yours, soft and slow.

“But you’d come,” she says quietly, “anytime I asked, wouldn’t you?”

You don’t even pretend to lie.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I would.”

She lingers. Closer again. Inches. Seconds.

And then, like always — she pulls back.

Grabs her Gatorade. Spins the ball once. Looks over her shoulder with that damn smirk.

“Text me later.”

And she’s gone.

It had been four days since you and Paige shot around at the gym.

Four days since that charged truth or dare, since she missed the shot on purpose (you’re sure of it), since she got all up in your space only to walk away like she didn’t just set your heart on fire and leave it smoldering behind her.

You’d been texting still — the usual flirty banter and late-night teasing. But she hadn’t come by. Not since that night.

So when you hear a knock at your door around 7 p.m., your heart stutters.

Her?

You glance over your shoulder — already gloved up, your tattoo machine buzzing as you finish the shading on a delicate black rose. The girl in your chair is leaning back, her cropped tank pulled to the side to expose her ribs. She’s pretty — short brown curls, lip ring, soft eyes. You've tattooed her once before.

You lower the needle for a moment and call out, “Come in.”

The door creaks open.

Paige walks in.

And she freezes.

You swear you hear her swallow.

She takes in the scene — the girl, shirt hiked up, bra strap slipping down, your hand gliding carefully along the edge of her ribs. The soft music. The warm lighting. Your focused expression.

Her jaw clenches — subtle, but you catch it.

“Oh,” she says, stuffing her hands in her hoodie pocket. “Didn’t know you had company.”

You glance up and smile casually. “Just finishing up. Come in. You can chill.”

Paige hesitates, then steps inside and sinks into your couch, eyes lingering on the girl’s exposed skin.

You don’t miss the way she watches you — the way her knee bounces, the way she tugs her hoodie sleeves over her hands like she suddenly doesn’t know what to do with herself.

“Almost done,” you murmur to your client, finishing the last bit of shading. “You’re sitting like a champ.”

“Wouldn’t be my first time,” the girl says with a playful smirk. “You make it easy.”

Paige’s head snaps toward her.

You don’t look up, but you feel it.

She’s seething.

“Glad to hear it,” you say, smirking to yourself as you wrap the tattoo.

The girl sits up, pulling her shirt back down, glancing toward Paige. “Friend of yours?”

“She’s… someone,” Paige mutters, not looking away.

The girl raises an eyebrow, smiles slowly, and heads toward the door.

“Thanks again,” she says to you, hand brushing your arm on the way out. “You’ve got magic hands.”

As the door closes, Paige lets out a sharp, dry laugh.

“Magic hands, huh?” she echoes, voice tight.

You finally look at her — really look.

She’s not just irritated. She’s jealous.

And trying really, really hard to pretend she’s not.

You peel off your gloves, toss them in the trash, and sit on the edge of your desk.

“Something on your mind, Bueckers?”

She shrugs, eyes fixed on the spot where the girl had been. “Didn’t know you did flirty commentary with your clients.”

“She was being nice.”

“She was being obvious.”

You tilt your head. “So?”

Paige looks at you — and the mask slips just a little. Her lips part, then close again. She shifts on the couch, restless.

“So do you flirt back with all your clients?”

“Only the hot ones.”

She raises her eyebrows.

You smirk. “You didn’t seem to mind when you were shirtless on my chair.”

“That was different.”

“Why?”

She’s quiet.

You stand and walk over slowly, stopping just in front of her, hands sliding into your own hoodie pocket.

“Why, Paige?”

She looks up at you, eyes a little too bright, lips just a little too pouty.

“Because I actually care if you’re into someone else,” she finally says, voice low.

The room stills.

You exhale through your nose, taking a beat before you answer.

“You jealous, Bueckers?”

She lifts her chin. “You’re damn right I am.”

You don’t move — you just look at her. Let her feel it.

“You could’ve texted,” you say quietly. “Could’ve said something. Asked me to hang.”

“I didn’t wanna seem…” She trails off.

“What?”

“Attached.”

You take one slow step forward, between her knees. You don’t touch her — not yet — but you’re close enough for her to feel your presence everywhere.

“And what if I like that you’re attached?”

She blinks.

“What if I’ve been thinking about you just as much? What if that gym night messed me up? What if every time you leave, I want you back in the room five minutes later?”

She stares up at you, lips slightly parted, breathing shallow.

And then you lean down, close enough to feel her breath, close enough to kiss her — but you don’t.

You stop right there, noses brushing.

“Still jealous?” you whisper.

Her hand slides up your side, resting lightly on your hoodie — but still, you both hold back.

Barely.

“Only when I’m not the one in your chair,” she murmurs.

You grin. “You saying you want another tattoo?”

She looks at your lips. “No,” she breathes. “I want you.”

But still — no kiss.

Just that unbearable, perfect tension.

It starts with a simple text from Paige.

P: You busy tonight?

You: Not if you’re finally letting me beat you at Uno

P: Tempting. Come by my dorm? Girls are hanging out.

You: You sure? I don’t wanna crash the estrogen party

P: They’ll like you. I promise. Just don’t flirt with anyone but me.

You: Oh? Am I allowed to flirt with you now?

P: Only if you want everyone to know you’re obsessed with me

You laugh at your phone, toss on your hoodie, and head out.

By the time you get to Paige’s floor, you can already hear music and laughter bleeding through the cracked door. You knock once before stepping in.

It’s warm, loud, and full of energy. Sarah’s lounging on the couch with her socks mismatched. Azzi’s sitting cross-legged on the floor sorting cards. KK’s got her phone propped up against a candle jar, already live on TikTok.

“Heyyyy,” Paige grins, hopping up from where she’s been half-sitting on the armrest. She comes toward you, a glimmer in her eye. “You made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you murmur.

The second you step into the room, every pair of eyes snaps to you.

“Ohhh, so this is the mystery guest?” KK calls, adjusting the angle of her phone. “Wait, wait—come closer, let the live see this. Who is this??”

“She’s a friend,” Paige says quickly, shooting KK a look.

Your eyebrow quirks at friend but you play it cool.

KK waves you over like you’re already part of the crew. “Come sit! Don’t be shy. We were literally just talking about Paige’s secret text buddy—”

“KK!” Paige cuts in, her tone a warning.

“What? I didn’t say their name,” KK teases. “Could be anyone.”

You smirk, sliding into the empty space beside Paige on the couch. Your knees brush. She doesn’t move away.

Azzi greets you with a small, knowing smile. “You play cards?”

“Better than Paige, apparently,” you quip, and she chokes on her drink.

KK cackles from the floor. “Oooh, you got jokes! I like them.”

You glance over and notice Paige is still looking at you — not saying anything, just watching you like you’re the only person in the room. The heat in her stare is something else.

“Okay, okay,” KK says, turning her phone slightly. “Live wants to know who you are. You look suspiciously comfortable over there.”

You flash a polite smile. “Just a friend.”

Paige snorts, and you bump her leg gently with your knee. She doesn't take her eyes off you.

Live chat starts popping off on KK’s phone.

“Who is that???👀” “Is Paige finally boo’d up???” “She’s kinda fine ngl” “They’re sitting HELLA close 😭” “They matching?? Are they matching??”

You glance down at the hoodie you’re wearing — black. Paige’s is black, too.

You lift your eyes to her, biting your lip.

“Matching hoodies, huh?” you whisper under your breath.

“Just coincidence,” she says softly. “Unless you wanna make it a thing.”

Your heart skips, but before you can answer, KK calls out, “HEY. Come on live with us real quick.”

You blink. “Me?”

“Yes, you. You’re already famous in the chat. Might as well say hi.”

Paige gives you this amused little shrug, and Azzi’s smiling into her cup like she knows exactly what’s happening here.

You sigh playfully, scoot over to KK’s phone and lean in. Paige scoots right with you — now shoulder to shoulder, thighs pressed, close.

KK angles the camera toward you both.

“Okay live,” she announces dramatically, “say hello to our very mysterious, very smooth, very not nervous at all guest.”

You nod at the camera with a mock serious face. “Pleasure.”

The comments explode again.

“THE WAY THEY’RE SITTING” “PAIGE IS SMILING SO HARD OMG” “Who is this suave mf I’m in love” “Are y’all dating or what???” “They keep looking at each other omg STOP”

You glance at Paige.

She’s got that look again — amused, glowing, and just a little smug.

You lean closer to the mic. “No comment.”

The room erupts in screams.

You stay on the live for a few more minutes, answering random (safe) questions — what’s your favorite cereal, do you hoop, how did you and Paige meet (you lie effortlessly — “through mutual friends”).

Eventually, KK ends the stream, still giggling.

“That was the most fun we’ve had on live in weeks,” she grins. “You gotta come back.”

“I’ll think about it,” you wink.

Paige gives you a long look as you both settle back into your original spot, her voice low when she says, “You handled that like a pro.”

“Not my first rodeo,” you reply, nudging her leg.

The moment settles in again — comfortable, warm, buzzing beneath the surface. Her pinky brushes yours on the couch cushion.

You don’t move.

Neither does she.

And still—no kiss. Just charged silence, quick glances, and the weight of everything almost happening.

Almost.

It’s late.

That kind of quiet hour where most of campus has gone still, windows dark, the night holding its breath.

Your phone buzzes on your desk.

P: that live earlier… you were kinda smooth ngl.

You smirk, staring at the screen for a moment before typing back.

You: kinda? thought i had you blushing.

P: you wish.

You: come over. prove me wrong.

You hesitate only a second before hitting send. You’ve been dancing around this thing long enough—teasing glances, flirty texts, late-night thoughts.

Tonight?

You want to know.

The reply comes quick.

P: omw.

Ten minutes later, there’s a soft knock on your door. You open it to find her standing there in gray sweats and a white crop hoodie that shows a sliver of skin. Her hair’s loose, no makeup, eyes soft.

“Hey,” she says, voice low, like she’s already matching the quiet.

“Hey,” you echo, stepping aside to let her in.

The lights are dim, a candle flickering on your shelf, casting golden shadows across your dorm. The same chair you tattoo in sits empty now. You gesture to the bed.

“Make yourself comfortable.”

She sits, legs crossing at the ankle, eyes tracking you as you close the door and lock it gently behind you.

“Still think I was only kinda smooth?” you ask, grabbing a bottle of water and tossing it her way.

She catches it, smirks. “I think you’re full of yourself.”

You chuckle, settling into your desk chair. “Nah. I just know how to read a room. And your face during that live?”

“I was not blushing.”

“You so were.”

She rolls her eyes but she’s smiling, teeth tugging at her bottom lip in that way that’s dangerous.

“So what,” she says slowly, “this is your move? Invite a girl to your room, make her talk about her feelings under low light and candles?”

“Only the special ones.”

That gets her. She exhales a soft laugh, cheeks warming in the glow. “You flirt like you tattoo. Confident. Smooth hands.”

Your eyebrow raises. “You thinking about my hands?”

A pause.

She doesn’t look away. “A lot more than I should.”

The tension punches the air out of the room. There’s no music, no noise. Just the sound of your shared breath and the rush in your ears.

You get up and move to sit next to her on the bed.

Close. But not touching.

“What are we doing?” you ask quietly.

She looks at you. Really looks.

“You tell me,” she murmurs.

“I think,” you start, fingers brushing hers slowly, “we’ve been circling this for weeks.”

You turn your body toward her, eyes scanning her expression. “And I think you’ve wanted to kiss me since the night I tattooed you.”

“I almost did,” she admits, her voice barely audible. “That night… when you leaned in.”

You nod. “I know. I felt it.”

You inch forward, just a breath between your lips now. She tilts her head slightly, like she’s inviting it—

And then, just as your lips graze hers, she pulls back.

A whisper of space.

Your pulse stutters. “Paige?”

Her smile is teasing, but her eyes are molten. “Not yet.”

You exhale, not sure if you’re frustrated or even more into her now.

“Cruel,” you mutter.

“Maybe,” she grins, “but now you’re thinking about it more.”

You lean back with a soft groan. “You’re evil.”

She shrugs, smug. “You love it.”

She stays for another hour, curled up in your bed, both of you side by side talking about nothing and everything—what music she listens to pregame, your favorite artists to ink, how she once tried to pierce her own cartilage and absolutely passed out.

You almost forget the burn.

Almost.

Because every so often, she shifts, and her shoulder touches yours. Her leg brushes your thigh. She looks at your mouth and then looks away, and it drives you insane.

When she finally stands to leave, it's after 2 a.m.

You walk her to the door. She hesitates there, hand on the knob.

“Thanks for letting me come over,” she says softly.

You lean against the doorframe. “Anytime.”

Her eyes flicker down to your lips again.

You don’t move.

Neither does she.

Then she leans in, lips brushing the corner of your mouth—a whisper of a kiss, not quite what you wanted, but more than you expected.

A promise.

“Goodnight,” she murmurs.

And then she’s gone.

You’re not sure when exactly she got so deep under your skin, but now you feel it in your fingertips, in the buzz behind your teeth every time her name lights up your screen.

It’s been a few days since that near-kiss.

Too many.

You’ve been playing it cool, trying not to push—waiting for her to make the move.

But tonight?

Tonight you don’t want to wait anymore.

P: gym in 15?

You: be there in 10.

The UConn practice gym is dark, except for one row of overhead lights glowing above the court. Paige is already there, ball in hand, hair in a messy ponytail, wearing a black tank and loose shorts. She looks unfairly good under the gym lights.

She looks like trouble.

“You’re early,” she says, tossing you the ball.

“Didn’t wanna keep you waiting.”

She smirks. “You sure about that? You’ve been making me wait for weeks.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Me?”

She starts walking backward toward the top of the key, still grinning. “You’re the one who talks all this game and then freezes every time I get close.”

You follow, dribbling casually. “Please. You’re the queen of pulling back last second.”

“Maybe I just like the anticipation.”

You stop at the arc and shoot. Swish.

She raises a brow. “Okay Steph, I see you.”

You shrug. “I told you I could shoot.”

She gets the rebound and tosses it back. “Let’s make it interesting.”

“What, horse?”

“No,” she says, stepping close, just barely toe to toe. “If I make my shot, you have to answer a question. Truth only.”

You grin. “And if I make it?”

“Same deal.”

“Bet.”

She pulls up from midrange. Net.

You groan. “Alright. Hit me.”

Her eyes glitter. “Have you thought about kissing me since that night?”

You blink. “Is that even a question?”

“Answer it.”

You step a little closer. “Every night.”

She swallows, the moment thick now. Her turn to shoot again.

She misses.

Your ball.

You catch it, holding it between you. “My question.”

She lifts her chin. “Hit me.”

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

She bites her lip. “Because I wanted to see if you’d break first.”

You chuckle, stepping forward again. “Well, congratulations.”

She tilts her head. “Why’s that?”

You don’t say anything.

You just step into her space, close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin. She opens her mouth like she’s going to say something else—

And you kiss her.

No warning. No teasing. Just your lips on hers, firm and hungry, claiming the moment you’ve both been aching for. She gasps softly into it, hands finding your waist like muscle memory, and you deepen the kiss without hesitation, your fingers tangling in her ponytail.

It’s messy and hot and so full of built-up tension it practically cracks.

She pulls you closer, your body pressing hers gently against the padded wall behind the baseline, breath catching as your teeth graze her lower lip.

“God,” she whispers, head falling back just slightly, “finally.”

You grin against her skin. “I was gonna say the same thing.”

She kisses you again, slower this time but no less intense, like she’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth.

When she finally pulls back, her cheeks are flushed and her voice is rough. “You’re in trouble now.”

“Oh yeah?”

She nods, smirking. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

There’s no more pretending now.

No more slow-burn games.

She’s officially yours—and you?

You’re already all in.

She’s still catching her breath when you pull her by the hand—out of the gym, down the empty hallway, back toward your dorm like there’s no time left to waste. Because there isn’t. Not anymore.

Not after weeks of stolen glances, soft hands brushing thighs during shoot arounds. Not after that kiss that tasted like everything she’d been holding back.

You open your door, and she’s on you the second it clicks shut.

Your back hits the wall, her mouth claiming yours like she’s starving. Her fingers curl in the fabric of your shirt, tugging you closer, your hands already sliding up the back of her hoodie and under the hem.

You break the kiss just long enough to pull it off, revealing that toned stomach you’ve been sneaking looks at during practice. She's wearing just a simple black sports bra, but it might as well be lace with how fast your pulse jumps.

“Bed,” you mutter against her neck, kissing the warm skin just below her jaw. “Now.”

She obeys, backing toward it, climbing up without breaking eye contact. You follow, slipping your hoodie over your head, your shirt next, until you’re standing above her, toned arms flexing slightly as you kneel on the mattress between her legs.

She looks up at you like you’re something dangerous. And she wants to get burned.

“Still cocky?” she asks, breathless.

You smirk. “We’ll see who’s cocky in five minutes.”

Her laugh is soft, shaky, the nerves behind her bravado showing for the first time.

You dip your head and kiss her again—slow this time, tongue tracing her bottom lip, hands smoothing up her sides until your thumbs brush just under her bra. Her breath hitches.

“Off,” you murmur, and she arches up for you, letting you slip it over her head.

She’s so soft beneath you—golden skin, flushed chest, and already looking at you like she’s seconds from falling apart.

Your hand ghosts over her stomach, fingers tracing the top of her shorts. “This too?”

She nods.

You slide them down, along with her underwear, slow enough to make her squirm. Now she’s laid out under you, nothing between you but heat and air and the sound of her breathing.

“Fuck,” you whisper, dragging your eyes down her body like a prayer. “You’re so pretty like this.”

Her fingers curl into the blanket. “Then do something about it.”

You settle between her thighs, kissing slowly down her stomach, leaving a trail of heat in your wake. Her thighs tense as you press a kiss just above where she wants you most, but you pull back.

“You’ve been teasing me for weeks,” you murmur, mouth hovering over her, breath warm against her. “You really thought I wasn’t gonna return the favor?”

She whines, hand flying to your hair.

And then you give in.

Your mouth meets her with slow, devastating pressure, tongue moving with practiced ease, teasing her open until she’s gasping your name, hips rising from the bed. Your hands press firmly on her thighs, keeping her in place.

She’s so sensitive, so responsive, each moan rolling out of her throat like it’s been waiting in her chest for days.

When you add your fingers—slow at first, curling just right—she loses it, head thrown back, mouth parted, trying and failing to keep it together.

“Right there,” she gasps. “Fuck—please, don’t stop.”

You don’t.

You keep going until she’s trembling, legs shaking, eyes squeezed shut as she falls apart around you, fingers tangled in your hair like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she lets go.

You only stop when she’s tugging at your shoulders, breathless and wrecked.

You crawl back up her body, kissing her slowly now, her taste on your tongue, your hand resting on her stomach as it rises and falls.

“I told you,” you murmur against her lips. “I don’t miss my shots.”

She laughs, dazed and completely gone. “I’m never letting you near a basketball again.”

You grin. “Then I’ll just have to find other ways to wear you out.”

She’s curled against you now, legs tangled with yours under the warm sheets, skin still buzzing and kissed with sweat. Your arm’s draped over her waist, your fingers drawing slow circles along her back while her cheek rests on your chest.

The silence is thick with something warmer than lust.

You feel her chest rise and fall against you, slower now. Calmer. But every so often she lets out a breath like she’s still recovering—like you short-circuited something in her.

You brush your lips over her temple. “You okay?”

She nods, then looks up at you with the kind of smile that knocks the air out of your lungs. Messy hair, kiss-swollen lips, eyes too big and too honest.

“I’m… really okay,” she says softly. “Like… insanely okay.”

You chuckle and squeeze her waist, pressing another kiss to her shoulder. “Just okay? I’m offended.”

She laughs and hides her face in your chest. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”

There’s a long pause after that. A quieter one. One that has her fingers slowly brushing your side, like she needs to touch you to believe this happened.

“So,” she says after a minute, her voice lower now, careful. “Was that… like… a one-time thing?”

You blink down at her.

“What?” you ask, half-laughing. “Paige. I just took you apart on my bed. You think I’d do that and just ghost you?”

She shrugs, eyes still down. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to assume.”

You tilt her chin up with your fingers. “Then let me be clear.”

You kiss her—soft and slow, the kind of kiss that says everything you haven’t dared to say out loud yet.

“I want to keep seeing you,” you murmur against her lips. “Outside of tattoo sessions. Outside of gym rebounds. I want you.”

She exhales like she’s been holding it in for days.

“I want you too,” she says, her voice a whisper. “I have. For weeks.”

You smile. “Same.”

There’s another beat of quiet before she starts trailing her fingers up your chest again. “You’re really dangerous, you know that?”

You raise a brow. “How so?”

“You’re tall. Hot. Mysterious. You make art. And you’re insanely good in bed. It’s not fair.”

You grin and brush her hair back behind her ear. “And you’re a literal basketball god with killer eyes and an attitude. I’m the one in trouble here.”

She grins lazily and leans in again, kissing you like she’s falling into something she doesn’t want to stop.

Eventually, she sighs and buries her face in the crook of your neck.

“Can I sleep here?” she mumbles, her voice half gone.

You answer by pulling the blanket tighter around her and kissing the top of her head.

“Yeah, Paige,” you whisper. “Stay as long as you want.”

[xoxolaw]

+ DISCOVER YOUR SECRETS

in which seong-je happens to discover secrets about his school's student council president who happens to have a spotless personality.

Geum Seong-je x reader

secret 3 :- magic hand

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 final

The halls of Kanghak High always held whispers—gossip behind lockers, tension in glances, footsteps that came and went like secrets—but today, they were quiet.

Too quiet.

Y/N’s shoes clicked softly against the faded tiles of the old west wing—the part of the school time forgot. Windows were dust-filmed, lights flickered half-heartedly, and lockers stood dented like war relics from another era. Students avoided it. Rumors said it was haunted. Or worse—claimed by him.

She wasn’t superstitious.

Just… curious.

Today, her excuse was student council duties. Renovation assessments, apparently. But really, it was something else. Since that night in the cyber café, since the teasing smirk had cracked into something real—laughter, vulnerability—Seong-je had started to haunt her thoughts like a half-remembered melody.

Still, she hadn’t expected to hear humming.

Low. Tuneless. Human.

And then—laughter. Familiar. Warm in its defiance.

Her hand froze on the doorknob.

She should turn back. She didn’t.

The music room door creaked open with a sigh, and there he was—like a devil caught lounging in church.

Geum Seong-je.

Jacket slung carelessly over a chair, sleeves rolled to his elbows, smoke curling from a cigarette as he leaned back across a dusty desk like it belonged to him.

He didn’t even flinch.

“President,” he drawled, one brow raised in lazy amusement. “Thought you didn’t do abandoned places. Too much dust for your spotless reputation? Or maybe you are just following me around.”

“Funny,” she said flatly, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. “I came here to inspect the room, not inhale secondhand smoke.”

He grinned, unfazed. “And yet here you are. In my hideout. Alone. Almost feels like fate.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t look away. “Fate must be bored, then.”

He took a long drag, then stubbed out the cigarette with exaggerated grace. “What, no thank-you for putting it out? Tsk. So ungrateful.”

“Try not breaking school rules for once. Might surprise even you.”

As she moved past him toward the upright piano in the corner, he watched her with the idle interest of a cat who’d spotted something fun to mess with. She pulled off the heavy cloth covering the piano, her fingers already tracing the edge of the worn wood, lingering.

“You know how to play that thing?” he asked, voice quieter now, genuine.

She hesitated.

“A little,” she said. “I used to.”

She pressed a key. Out of tune, but not dead.

She pressed another. A chord formed—fragile, uncertain.

“You’re full of surprises,” he murmured, standing now, slowly stepping closer. “Didn’t figure you for a piano girl. Always thought you'd be more of a silent-meditation, sword-wielding general type.”

“That… sounds like a weird compliment.”

“It is,” he said with a crooked smile. “Weirdly hot.”

She turned to glare at him, but her lips betrayed her—curving into a reluctant smirk. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you’re not denying it.”

She scooted over on the bench. “Come here.”

“What?”

“Sit. I’ll teach you something. Since you’re so easily impressed.”

He blinked. “Wow. Am I dreaming? Is this my redemption arc?”

“Don’t ruin it.”

Seong-je slid into the spot beside her, knees brushing. He didn’t bother hiding how close he sat—his shoulder practically against hers, breath warm against her cheek.

“Try not to set the piano on fire,” she muttered.

“Try not to fall in love,” he whispered.

She gave him a look so sharp it could've sliced through the keys. He laughed softly, unbothered.

“Okay,” she said, ignoring the way her heartbeat betrayed her, “start with this note. Then this one.”

He followed, clumsy at first. His fingers were rough, too forceful. He cursed when he hit a wrong key. Then laughed when he hit three more.

“You’re hopeless,” she said, shaking her head.

“You’re adorable when you’re annoyed,” he replied, tapping the wrong note again on purpose.

She swatted his hand lightly. “Focus.”

“I am focused. On your hands. They’re... elegant.” He leaned in. “You hide a lot, don’t you?”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

“I—what’s that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached out slowly, almost reverently, and brushed a strand of hair away from her face—his fingers ghosting across her cheek. Right where, weeks ago, she'd cried in a dark alleyway.

“I’ve seen pieces of you that no one else gets to see,” he murmured. “You break rules when you’re angry. You swear like a gamer. And now you’re here, making music like it’s the only thing that ever made sense.”

She swallowed. “You romanticize too much.”

“You underestimate how interesting you are.”

Their eyes locked.

For a breathless second, nothing else existed—not the room, not the school, not the war of reputation and rebellion that normally defined them. Just the weight of shared silence. The kind that buzzed with every unsaid thing.

Then—Y/N stood abruptly.

“The drums,” she said, brisk. “Let’s see if they still work.”

Seong-je chuckled under his breath and followed.

She lifted the cover off the old drum set. Dust scattered like snow. She sneezed.

“Bless you, Your Majesty of Allergies.”

“Say that again and I’ll break your nose with a cymbal.”

“Hot.”

She handed him the sticks. “Go on then. Make noise. That’s what you’re good at, right?”

He grinned and banged out a wildly chaotic rhythm that somehow matched his personality. Loud, messy, no consistency—and yet, it made her laugh. Not just a polite smile. A real, startled laugh that spilled out before she could stop it.

His eyes lit up. “That’s a sound I want to hear more often.”

She shook her head, cheeks burning.

“Don’t read into it.”

“Too late.”

They tried every dusty instrument after that. She played a melancholy tune on a barely-functional violin, and Seong-je watched her like she was unraveling in front of him—soft and raw in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Why’d you stop?” he asked quietly when she lowered the bow.

Her fingers tightened on the neck of the violin. “Life got too loud.”

He nodded, slower this time. “Funny.”

“What is?”

“You’re the loudest silence I’ve ever met.”

She looked at him, confused.

“You don’t shout,” he said. “You don’t throw punches. But somehow, you’re the only one who ever made me feel like I wasn’t untouchable.”

Something fragile passed between them. Like porcelain, like the pause before a kiss.

“I used to come here to disappear,” he added. “But today… when you walked in…”

Y/N tilted her head. “Why didn’t you leave?”

He gave her a smile—smaller this time. Almost real.

“Guess I didn’t want to.”

The world outside kept moving. But inside that dusty music room, time hung suspended. They sat side by side again, this time closer, almost touching.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, voice low. “You ever think about how strange this is?”

“What is?”

“You and me. Right here. Like this.”

Her eyes met his. “Maybe.”

He leaned in, just enough. “Wanna make it stranger?”

Her breath caught.

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Because the silence said enough.

---

They stayed until the light outside turned to liquid gold and shadows stretched long across the floor. When they finally stepped into the corridor again, it felt like stepping back into a world that had forgotten them for a while.

Seong-je lingered by the door after Y/N stepped out, the fading sun casting gold across the dusty floor. The room had gone quiet again, but it wasn’t the same kind of silence he used to crave. It felt… emptier now.

He looked at the piano bench they’d shared, at the spot where her knee had brushed his, where her fingers had guided his clumsy ones across the keys. Her laughter, her soft sighs of irritation, even the awkward stillness when he’d touched her cheek—every moment was branded somewhere behind his ribs now.

Damn it.

He pressed his tongue to his cheek and shook his head, a crooked smile pulling at his lips. This was supposed to be his hideout. His escape. No rules, no eyes watching, no expectations. Just noise, smoke, and space to breathe.

But she had walked in—and somehow, without meaning to, she’d changed the air.

He exhaled slowly, flicking ash into the tray he’d left behind. Her presence had been like pressing a piano key that hadn’t been touched in years—dusty, slightly off-tune, but still humming with something alive underneath.

And the way she looked at him before she walked away…

Like she’d almost heard the same note.

He finally stepped into the hallway, catching up to her with that lazy swagger that always got him what he wanted—or at least made people think he didn’t care.

But he did.

Too much, maybe.

She turned slightly when he pulled at a strand of her hair, that surprised blink of hers etching itself into his memory like a favorite line of music.

“Next time you decide to explore hidden rooms… take me with you.”

“Why?” she asked, cautious as ever.

The grin that tugged at his mouth was reflex, but what sat behind it wasn’t a joke.

“Because I want to discover more sides of you.”

And this time, she didn’t argue. She didn’t roll her eyes or call him annoying. She just looked at him—really looked.

That was dangerous.

He could feel it in the way his pulse picked up. In the way he couldn’t quite wipe the smirk off his face, even as they walked side by side toward the late afternoon light. She didn’t tell him to go away. She didn’t outpace him.

She stayed.

And for a guy like him, that was a bigger deal than he’d ever admit.

As they turned the corner and the music room faded behind them, Seong-je glanced sideways. Y/N was staring ahead, unreadable as always—but he caught it.

The tiniest smile.

And just like that, the static between them didn’t feel dangerous anymore.

It felt electric.

---

AUTHOR'S NOTE + MASTERLIST

Hope you enjoyed this part as well <33

[kxsagi]

Bllk (school au) where reader is always late or missing school😍

“𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩”

a/n: i wasn’t sure what to write at first, so i made this about late! reader who goes to blue lock high and her best friends are all the boys 

there were a lot of rumors about you. 

some said you were a secret agent for the japanese government. others swore you were actually a ghost haunting the third-year corridor because you tragically fell into a vending machine last year. one time, a teacher asked the class if anyone remembered your name, and isagi just blinked like he was trying to summon your existence through sheer memory power. no one was really sure if you were still enrolled or just a legend left behind like a cryptid with a school ID. 

the truth? you were enrolled. technically. officially. legally. but mentally? emotionally? spiritually? you were not present. 

until today. 

today, for reasons even you didn’t understand, you decided to show up to school. 

you burst through the front gate of blue lock high with your tie in one hand, your shoe half-off, and a meat bun hanging out of your mouth like you were cosplaying a main character who still didn’t have her life together. 

students turned. birds scattered. even the old gym coach accidentally dropped his cigarette. 

“who the hell is that?” a first year whispered. 

“i think that’s the girl who went missing during golden week,” someone murmured. 

“nah, she’s the one who took a nap on the roof in june and woke up in september.” 

“bro, it’s only may.” 

“exactly.” 

you finally reached the shoe lockers, panting, your bag trailing behind you like it was just as exhausted by your existence. 

the door to the main hall slid open. and of course, standing right there with the fury of a thousand unpaid overtime hours, was mr. ego, your homeroom teacher. he looked like he aged five years just from making eye contact with you. 

“miss [name],” he said, voice sharp enough to slice through your last brain cell, “congratulations on gracing us with your presence.” 

you smiled sheepishly. “good morning, ego sensei.” 

he raised an eyebrow. “it’s third period.” 

you shrugged. “good afternoon, ego sensei.” 

you thought the chaos would settle once you entered the classroom. but no. not when you were the chaos. 

as you slid the door open and dramatically limped inside like a war veteran, every single head turned toward you. it was like being the final contestant walking onto a reality show where everyone already hated you for breathing. 

“holy crap,” reo muttered, mouth half-open. “you actually exist.” 

“yo, i thought you transferred,” chigiri blinked. 

“nah,” nagi yawned from his desk. “she probably just got lost again. remember when she tried to go to the library and ended up at a train station in osaka?” 

“that was one time,” you muttered, throwing yourself into your seat like you were claiming a throne. 

“you missed, like, three exams,” isagi said, turning around in his chair to look at you. “you’re aware of that, right?” 

you gave him a thumbs up. “make it four. i’m not emotionally prepared for midterms.” 

from the corner of the room, rin stared at you like you were a glitch in the matrix. “you should be suspended by now.” 

you smiled brightly. “but i’m cute.” 

he turned back around with the most judgmental sigh you’d ever heard in your life. 

lunchtime was no better. 

you flopped dramatically onto the rooftop bench, sighing like you’d just fought off a demon invasion. the sky was nice. the sun was warm. the school curry had betrayed you, but you were still alive. 

bachira poked your leg with his chopstick. “you okay?” 

“emotionally? spiritually? no.” 

“physically?” 

“also no.” 

he grinned. “glad to hear you’re doing well! it’s good to have you back.” 

nagi plopped down beside you and immediately used your lap as a pillow. “if you disappear again, leave a note or something. i thought you died.” 

you squinted at him. “you didn’t even text me.” 

“i was emotionally distancing myself.” 

karasu popped out from behind the water tank like a raccoon. “yo, i heard [name] came back from the dead.” 

“i didn’t die, i just… missed a few classes.” 

“a few? girl, you missed the school festival. the sports day. the class trip. midterms. they changed the uniform policy and you missed that, too.” 

you looked down at your shoes. “… wait, we’re supposed to wear white socks now?” 

later, during afternoon homeroom, mr. ego made you stand up and introduce yourself to the class again. you were technically still registered as “absent” in the system, so he claimed this counted as a re-enrollment. 

“hi,” you waved lazily. “i’m [name]. i’ve been here since the start. i just prefer a more mysterious and elusive academic aesthetic.” 

someone in the back muttered, “you missed the school’s plumbing flooding and the time sae punched a vending machine.” 

“what?!” 

“you also missed the fire alarm being pulled by shidou because he thought it was a candy dispenser.” 

“… okay, that i regret missing.” 

by the end of the day, you were exhausted from being perceived. everyone kept poking you like you were going to vanish again. oliver tried to drag you to practice. yukimiya asked if you needed help catching up on literally every subject. kaiser accused you of faking your existence for clout. 

but then, as you trudged toward the gates, backpack heavier with worksheets and pity snacks from your classmates, you felt something weirdly nice. 

you looked up. bachira had tied a neon post-it note to your locker that read: “don’t vanish again or we’ll file a missing person’s report. love u <3” 

and underneath it, scribbled in black sharpie: “class won’t be the same without our favorite cryptid.” – isagi 

“you still owe me five math assignments.” – rin 

“next time, take me to osaka, too.” – nagi 

“glad you’re back, even if you’re a walking disaster.” – everyone 

you grinned. 

maybe school wasn’t so bad. maybe disappearing mysteriously once in a while had its perks. and maybe, just maybe, you’d show up again tomorrow. 

… 

unless you slept in. again. oops. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[herrscherofinsanity]

Tangled Webs and Heartstrings

Spider!Minjeong... subtlety has never been her thing!

Fluff

Kim Minjeong (Winter) x fem!reader

Word count: 4.3k

Yes, this was a request. Yes, I had lots of fun doing it. Sorry for the wait, hope it was worth it!

____________________

The school gym is packed.

It’s the end of the day, and the student council is setting up for some kind of fundraiser — a bake sale, a raffle, something y/n y/l/n had excitedly pitched with sparkles in her eyes and a hundred volunteers too afraid to say no. Minjeong isn't even sure why she’s here, crouched awkwardly behind the snack table in her hoodie, pretending to fix the paper banner even though she’s mostly just watching y/n from a distance.

She tells herself it’s purely coincidental. Totally accidental. Not at all because y/n looks extra pretty in her student council sash, or because she’d smiled at Minjeong earlier and said, “You’re helping too? Cute.”

Nope. Not because of that.

Minjeong fiddles with a roll of tape to distract herself. She’s not Spiderwoman right now. She’s just… Minjeong. Ordinary. Invisible. Safe.

Then, as if summoned by karma itself, she hears it:

“Ow—! Whoa—!”

She looks up just in time to see y/n — up on a bench trying to pin the final banner over the gym door — lose her balance.

Minjeong gasps, the world slows, she doesn’t think — just moves.

By the time y/n blinks, Spiderwoman is already there.

She swings in through the high gym windows, landing with a soft thwip of web. She catches y/n mid-fall, bridal-style, one arm around her back and the other steadying her knees.

y/n stares.

Spiderwoman blinks.

“…Hi?” Minjeong says, her voice just a little too high-pitched behind the mask.

y/n arches a brow. “You again?”

Spiderwoman gently sets her down on the ground. “You, uh, twisted your ankle. I think. I mean—I saw—well, not like I was watching you—I just—was passing by! Over the gym. You know. Swinging.” She gestures vaguely upward. “Air.”

y/n bites her lip, clearly fighting a smile. “You really do show up every time I so much as sneeze in public.”

“I—it’s not just you,” Spiderwoman mutters. “I save lots of people.”

“Right, sure.” y/n grins, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “You wouldn’t happen to be stalking me, would you?”

“I—what? No! No, I—who would do that? That’s crazy. So crazy. Like, unhinged, even.”

y/n leans in just a little. “You’re kind of cute when you panic.”

Minjeong makes a sound like a squeaky toy and nearly trips over her own web.

“I—I should go. You’re safe. Mission accomplished. Okay. Bye.”

She fires a web to the rafters, nearly misses, and stumbles as it catches. y/n watches, fully amused, as the masked hero flails for a second before swinging off, muttering to herself about "stupid gravity" and “why now of all times.”

y/n tilts her head, watching her disappear through the window.

She rubs her ankle, then glances down at her wrist.

Wrapped around it is a thin strand of web — almost like a ribbon. Almost like a calling card.

y/n smiles to herself. “Spiderwoman, huh?” she says under her breath. “Interesting.”

-----

Minjeong’s Room – 8:42 PM

Minjeong groans and drops face-first onto her bed, still wearing her Spiderwoman suit from the waist up, mask thrown to the floor in dramatic shame.

“Why am I like this,” she mumbles into her pillow.

She rolls over and stares at the ceiling, arms flopped out like a starfish. Her cheeks are still burning. She replays it in her head — the twist, the save, the bridal carry, the flirting.

“She called me cute,” Minjeong groans, grabbing a pillow and smacking herself with it. “She called me cute, and I ran away like a complete loser.”

The small radio on her desk buzzes to life with police chatter. She glances at it, then looks away.

“Nope. Not going out again tonight. The city can survive one night without me. I almost tripped on my own web… in front of her. I have no dignity left.”

She picks up a crumpled notebook and opens it. Inside are quick sketches — little doodles of Spiderwoman and a mysterious girl with a sash and a mischievous smile. She stares at it, then hurriedly shoves it under her pillow like it might explode.

“She definitely suspects something. I need to stop showing up every time she breathes.”

Pause.

“…She has a really nice smile though.”

--

y/n’s Room – 8:43 PM

y/n sits cross-legged on her bed, ankle wrapped in a soft bandage, phone in hand, and a suspiciously giddy look on her face.

Across from her, Ryujin lounges with a face mask on, peeking up from her book.

“Okay,” Ryujin says slowly, “what’s got you smiling like that? Did another freshman confess their love again?”

y/n snorts. “No, not this time. Though that was hilarious. No, today’s chaos was… new.”

She taps her screen and holds it up. It’s a blurry photo someone caught in the gym — Spiderwoman, mid-swing, cradling y/n in her arms like a rom-com hero. The caption: “She came flying in out of nowhere???”

Ryujin laughs. “Okay, that’s amazing. But also? She’s totally into you.”

y/n raises a brow. “She is?”

“y/n, be serious. You’ve been rescued, what, four times now? And somehow, it’s always you. That girl’s got a spider crush.”

y/n hums, not denying it. “She’s… interesting. I think I get why people like the mystery. But here’s the thing—” she leans forward, eyes glittering with mischief, “I think I know who she is.”

Ryujin lowers her book. “Wait, what?”

y/n smiles to herself and says nothing more. But in her head, she’s already thinking of the quiet girl in the hoodie, the way Minjeong panicked when their hands brushed last week, the way her voice trembled when she said y/n looked nice at the last student council meeting.

Too many coincidences.

And maybe… just maybe… y/n kind of wants it to be her.

-----

Minjeong stands at her locker, staring into it blankly like the answers to life are hidden behind her math books.

She hasn’t slept much — her dreams were full of red sashes, crooked smiles, and falling out of the sky into y/n y/l/n’s arms instead of the other way around. The memory of yesterday's disaster still burns under her skin.

She exhales sharply and mutters, “Just act normal. Be cool. Avoid eye contact. Maybe move to Canada.”

“Morning, Minjeong!”

Minjeong jumps so hard she almost drops her books.

y/n y/l/n is right behind her, glowing like the sun, hair done up in a lazy ponytail, sash off for the day but still carrying herself like royalty. Her ankle is wrapped but she walks just fine — too fine, if you ask Minjeong. Suspiciously fine.

“Oh,” Minjeong says, voice cracking. “Hi! Hello! You’re here.”

y/n raises an amused brow. “Well, yeah. School. I do go here.”

“Right! Of course. Obviously.”

y/n leans a little closer, her voice lower now. “You look tired.”

Minjeong stares at her. “I slept. I mean—yes. I do that. Sleeping. At night. Regular hours. Normal human stuff.”

y/n grins like a cat who’s found a very entertaining mouse. “You know,” she says, twirling a strand of her hair, “Spiderwoman saved me again yesterday.”

Minjeong chokes on air.

y/n continues, voice sweet and casual. “She always shows up just in time. It’s weird, right? Almost like she’s watching me.”

Minjeong blinks. “That is weird. Super weird. Creepy, even. You should… maybe install cameras?”

y/n hums thoughtfully. “Or maybe I should just pay closer attention to the people around me.”

Minjeong lets out a high-pitched laugh. “Why would you do that?”

y/n just smiles and walks away, leaving a short-circuiting Minjeong frozen in front of her locker, fully broken.

-----

y/n didn’t plan to go get ice cream, but she’s finished her student council duties early, it’s a sunny day, and frankly, she feels like causing minor mischief. So, she heads out alone, takes a stroll, and ends up at her favorite spot near the park.

She's halfway through ordering when the universe intervenes.

A kid on a skateboard comes out of nowhere, careening down the sidewalk. y/n steps back just a little too late — her foot catches the curb, and she stumbles backward.

“Oh come on—”

Before she can hit the pavement, Spiderwoman drops down from above in an absolute flourish of limbs and webbing, catching y/n around the waist like she’s been waiting for this exact moment.

y/n ends up dipped backward like its prom night.

Spiderwoman blinks.

y/n smirks.

“…This is getting suspicious,” y/n murmurs, looking up at the masked girl who’s clearly blushing under that suit.

“I was just… around,” Spiderwoman squeaks.

“Of course you were.” y/n twirls a strand of her hair. “Let me guess. You were swinging over the ice cream parlor?”

“I was, um… craving strawberry?”

y/n laughs — full, bright, genuine. “You’re ridiculous.”

Spiderwoman helps her upright again, awkward and bashful. “You’re okay though, right?”

y/n nods, brushing off her skirt. “I always am when you’re around.”

That definitely short-circuits Spiderwoman, who nearly stumbles over her own feet trying to swing off again. y/n watches her disappear into the sky, a smirk tugging at her lips.

“I’ve got to figure out who you are,” she says under her breath. “Because this? This is fun.”

-----

“I’m gonna die. This is it. This is how I go. Death by flirting. At least she’s hot.”

Minjeong drops her head onto the cafeteria table. Jimin gently pats her back like she’s in mourning. Aeri sips her drink, unimpressed. Yizhuo is already halfway through her bag of chips, eating with the energy of someone watching a reality show.

“What happened this time?” Aeri asks dryly.

“She almost fell at the ice cream shop yesterday,” Minjeong groans, still face-down. “And I just happened to be around. Again.”

“You mean,” Jimin says carefully, “you were stalking her.”

“No! I was just—okay yes, but lightly. I was passing by!”

“You swooped in and cradled her like a rom-com lead,” Yizhuo adds, tossing a chip into her mouth. “That’s not casual. That’s soulmate behavior.”

Minjeong lifts her head just enough to pout. “She’s onto me. I can tell. She kept looking at me weird this morning, and she keeps teasing me about Spiderwoman. I think she’s playing with me.”

“She probably is,” Aeri says bluntly. “And you’re letting her.”

“She smirked, Aeri. She smirked and said ‘you’re always around when I’m in trouble.’ Like—like I don’t try to save everyone. Like I’m her personal superhero.”

“Which you are,” Jimin says, beaming.

“I’m gonna get exposed,” Minjeong whimpers. “She’s going to unmask me and then laugh and say ‘wow I really thought you’d be taller.’”

“Honestly,” Yizhuo says, “if she finds out and still flirts with you, it’s a win.”

“IF!?”

--

y/n leans back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other, sipping an iced coffee like she owns the school. She taps her pen against her planner and smiles to herself.

Across the room, Ryujin raises a brow. “What are you plotting now?”

“Me?” y/n says innocently. “Nothing, just thinking.”

Ryujin doesn’t even blink. “Don’t lie to me, you’re glowing. That’s your mischief face.”

y/n sighs dramatically. “Fine. If I were plotting, hypothetically, it would be… a light social experiment.”

“Which means?”

y/n smiles wider. “I’ve narrowed it down. Spiderwoman is definitely someone from this school, and I think she might be Minjeong.”

Ryujin blinks. “The tiny one who blushes when you say ‘hi’?”

“The very same.”

“…y/n, be serious.”

“I am,” she hums. “Think about it. Spiderwoman’s voice? Nervous. Awkward. Like she’s trying to be confident and only halfway succeeding. She always shows up where I am, which is honestly flattering. And yesterday, Minjeong looked like she saw a ghost when I teased her about it.”

Ryujin stares. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

y/n leans forward, eyes glinting. “Oh, I’m thriving. And now… we test the waters.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m going to be somewhere ‘dangerous’ after school.”

“y/n—”

“I’m not going to actually fall off anything,” she says with a scoff. “I’m just going to see if she shows up.”

Ryujin pinches the bridge of her nose. “You’re such a menace.”

y/n grins. “She started it.”

-----

y/n stretches her arms as the afternoon sun casts a warm glow over the rooftop. She leans over the edge just a little, enough to look dramatic but not enough to trigger a real emergency.

She’s counting down in her head.

3… 2… 1…

Thwip.

“Hey! That’s not safe, y’know!”

y/n bites back a smile and turns, as if surprised. “Oh? Spiderwoman? What a coincidence.”

Minjeong — Spiderwoman — swings down from the rooftop ledge and lands in a little tumble-roll, clearly trying to appear cool despite the fact that she nearly faceplanted. “Wh-what are you doing up here? It's, uh… dangerous.”

y/n blinks innocently. “I just wanted to watch the sunset.”

Minjeong panics. “You could’ve fallen!”

“I had faith you'd catch me.”

That makes Spiderwoman stammer. “Wh— I mean—of course I would! I-I’m always around. Y’know. Just… protecting people.”

“Really?” y/n steps closer, eyes twinkling. “Because you seem to be protecting me a lot lately.”

Silence.

Spiderwoman lets out a nervous laugh, clearly glitching. “Haha… well, you… just have very bad luck, that’s all!”

y/n tilts her head. “Or maybe you like me.”

Spiderwoman makes an inhuman squeak. “W-what?! N-no— I mean yes— I mean no— I mean—!”

y/n walks past her, casually brushing her shoulder as she heads to the exit. “Thanks for the save, Spidey.”

Minjeong is left rooted in place, mask slightly askew, heart pounding. What she didn’t know was that the most stressful week of her life was about to start.

--

Day 1 – Monday:

y/n is standing beneath a ladder that a janitor is using. A bucket of paint just so happens to tilt from the top—

Thwip!

Spiderwoman catches it mid-air with a web, flinging it safely aside.

“You have the best timing.”

“You have the worst luck! Why were you just standing there?”

“Maybe I was hoping you'd show up.”

--

Day 2 – Tuesday:

y/n is carrying a suspiciously tall stack of books down the library stairs. Of course, she trips.

Spiderwoman catches her bridal-style.

“We really have to stop meeting like this.”

“Or you could just—like—not fall off things?!”

--

Day 3 – Wednesday:

y/n stands under a tree during lunch. A bird decides to attack her hair.

Spiderwoman appears out of nowhere, shooing the bird off like some chaotic fairy godmother.

“I feel like a Disney princess with a superhero guardian.”

“You need a leash, is what you need!”

--

Day 4 – Thursday:

y/n reaches to get a soda from a vending machine. The machine glitches. y/n shakes it. The machine teeters.

Spiderwoman swings in, literally kicks the machine to save y/n.

“That was hot.”

“THAT WAS DANGEROUS.”

--

Day 5 – Friday:

The week ends at the school theater. y/n is helping with stage decorations, she’s standing on a wobbly chair.

Of course, it tips.

And of course—Thwip!

y/n falls right into a web… and Spiderwoman’s arms.

She looks up, grinning. “You always catch me.”

Spiderwoman is quiet for a second. “Yeah… always.”

-----

y/n is sprawled on her bed, legs kicking behind her as she scribbles in a pink glittery notebook. At the top of the page in bubble letters:

“Reasons Why Minjeong is Spiderwoman”

Weird bruises she can’t explain

Always disappears before Spiderwoman shows up

Same height, same awkward voice

Adorably clumsy in both identities

I’ve fallen into her arms five times and it’s been the exact same hug every time

Minjeong’s ears turn red just like Spiderwoman’s mask does when she’s flustered

I just know okay???

y/n taps her pen against her lips, grinning to herself. “Time to poke the bear.”

-----

y/n corners Minjeong by her locker, leaning against it casually, smiling like she knows something.

“Hey, Minjeong.”

Minjeong, half-choking on her own spit: “O-oh! H-hi! Good morning! H-how are you!?”

“I’m great, actually. Bit of a weird week though. I’ve been rescued by a superhero like five times.”

Minjeong’s smile falters. “H-ha. That’s… haha… yeah, weird. Really… strange.”

y/n leans closer. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Minjeong is frozen. “Me? Know about what?”

y/n lifts a brow. “Spiderwoman, of course.”

Minjeong nearly drops her books. “Wh-WHY WOULD I— no! I mean no! I mean why would you think I know her? I’m— I’m just—” she gestures vaguely at herself, “Minjeong.”

The other girl hums, eyes twinkling. “Sure you are.”

-----

During lunch, y/n is sitting with Liz, Ryujin, and Yeji at lunch, eyes locked across the room where Minjeong is poking at her food, clearly paranoid.

Yeji leans in. “So, uh… is it working?”

y/n smirks. “She’s one panic away from crawling up the wall.”

Liz smirks right back. “You’re playing with fire.”

Ryujin lets out a laugh. “Honestly? I’m rooting for the flames.”

y/n grins, “I just want her to admit it. And maybe kiss me after.”

--

Minjeong whispers across the table to herself as if in prayer. “I’m so doomed. I’m so, so doomed. She knows. She’s toying with me.”

“Is she flirting or threatening you?” Jimin asks carefully.

“Yes.”

-----

It’s a rare cloudy afternoon in the city, and school let out early due to some power outage. y/n, of course, decided to casually take a stroll toward her favorite boba shop. Alone. In a questionable alley shortcut. With her phone conveniently at 3%.

It was all part of the plan.

What wasn’t part of the plan was the sound of tires screeching way too close.

A reckless driver had hopped the curb just as y/n stepped off it—she froze. For real this time.

Before she could even blink, a blur of red and blue swung down and scooped her up bridal-style, soaring them both safely onto a nearby rooftop.

y/n’s arms are still wrapped tightly around Spiderwoman’s neck when she finally speaks.

“You came,” she whispers, wide-eyed and breathless for real this time.

Spiderwoman, trying to play it cool but visibly trembling, replies shakily, “Y-yeah, of course. You were—um—danger. Dangerous. In—no, wait. In danger.”

y/n doesn’t let go. In fact, she gets more comfortable, her voice going soft and sincere. “You’ve saved me so many times this week. I think it’s time I thanked you properly.”

Minjeong’s voice cracks through the mask. “Th-that’s not necessary! I-I mean, your safety is thanks enough—”

y/n leans in slowly, her fingers brushing the edge of the mask. “Just one kiss. For all the times you caught me.”

Before Minjeong can fully short-circuit, the girl in her arms lifts the mask just enough to reveal her lips—and kisses her.

It’s soft. Sure. But it sends Minjeong’s brain into a system reboot. Her hands, still holding y/n, stiffen like she’s forgotten how to human. Her knees buckle. Her heart stops.

And when y/n pulls back, grinning like the cat that caught the spider, she whispers right against Minjeong’s lips.

“Hi, Minjeong.”

Minjeong gasps. “W-WHAT?!”

“Told you I’d figure it out.”

Minjeong’s voice goes high-pitched. “You—You KISSED me to REVEAL ME?! That’s—that’s cheating! That’s emotional sabotage! That’s—”

y/n just laughs, cupping her cheek. “You looked cute in the suit. I had to know if you tasted sweet too.”

Minjeong genuinely collapsed.

-----

Two weeks had passed since The Rooftop Incident.

And Minjeong had not known peace.

Every time she turned a corner, y/n was there — smirking, tossing her hair, leaning against lockers like she was starring in her own rom-com, and absolutely thriving in the knowledge that she’d cracked the biggest secret in school. The one person who hadn’t been fooled? Of course, it was the girl who practically lived in Minjeong’s head.

Minjeong, meanwhile, had barely survived.

She had walked into four poles, missed two stair steps, and accidentally called her chemistry teacher “Your Majesty” once.

And now here they were, on the school rooftop again. This time, no mask, no excuses. Just them.

y/n sat with her legs dangling off the ledge, sipping from a strawberry juice box like she didn’t just alter the course of Minjeong’s entire life.

“So,” she said casually, “how does it feel to be exposed?”

Minjeong groaned beside her, flopping dramatically onto the concrete. “Humiliating. Debilitating. Traumatizing.”

y/n laughed. “You’re so dramatic. You got kissed by a pretty girl on a rooftop. That’s basically fanfiction-level romance.”

Minjeong covered her face with both hands. “You tricked me!”

“You kissed me back,” y/n shot back smugly.

“I panicked!”

“You cupped my waist.”

“…Nervous muscle memory!”

y/n leaned over her, face inches away, eyes soft now. “You can admit it, y’know. That you like me.”

Minjeong peeked through her fingers. “That obvious, huh?”

y/n nodded. “Like, painfully. I think even the pigeons knew.”

Minjeong sat up slowly, still pink from head to toe. “Fine. I like you. I’ve liked you forever. Since… before I even got bit, honestly. I was gonna tell you, eventually. Maybe. After graduation… or on my deathbed.”

y/n giggled, nudging her shoulder. “You’re lucky I like awkward nerds with superpowers.”

Minjeong blinked. “Wait—wait, you like me too?”

y/n scoffed. “What do you think the kissing was for? Science?”

“…That would’ve been less stressful, actually.”

y/n rolled her eyes affectionately and stood, dusting off her skirt. “Come on. Walk me home?”

Minjeong scrambled to her feet. “You want me to swing you?”

“Nope,” y/n said sweetly. “I want you to walk me. No suit. No excuses. Just my girlfriend.”

Minjeong choked. “Girlfriend?!”

y/n grinned, already heading for the stairs. “I kissed you as a thank you. You kissed me back. I’m just accepting your proposal.”

Minjeong stared after her, stunned. Then, with a dreamy little smile pulling at her lips, she jogged to catch up.

--

y/n leaned on the railing, watching the skyline, sipping another juice box. Behind her, a thump — the soft sound of someone landing.

“You’re late,” she said without turning.

Spiderwoman chuckled softly. “Some jerk locked himself out of his apartment five floors up. Had to help.”

y/n turned, arms crossed. “Mmm. Classic excuse. Got your priorities all out of whack.”

Spiderwoman stepped forward, mask half-off already. “But I made it, didn’t I?”

y/n softened instantly, walking up to her. “You always do.”

They stood there for a beat. Close, quiet.

y/n reached out, brushing a bit of hair from Minjeong’s face.

“You know,” she said softly, “I fell for both versions of you. The dork and the hero.”

Minjeong took her hand. “They’re the same girl, you know.”

“I know.” y/n smiled. “That’s why I’m keeping you.”

Minjeong leaned in, voice gentle. “Then I guess I’m yours.”

y/n pulled her close. “About time.”

--

One Week Later – Group Chat: [Jimin, Aeri, Yizhuo, y/n, Minjeong]

Jimin:

sooooo you two are finally official huh

Aeri:

thank god. i was about to lock you in a closet until you kissed

Yizhuo:

the lesbian rooftop superhero romance is real… we won

y/n:

you’re welcome for the entertainment

Minjeong:

I feel so attacked

y/n:

you’re dating me now. get used to it.

Minjeong:

…okay

Yizhuo:

…Minjeong get up

_____________________

Bonus:

Six months later...

The morning sun poured through the half-open blinds, casting streaks of golden light across the tangled sheets. In the middle of the bed, Minjeong lay on her stomach, one leg hanging off the side, her face buried into the pillow. Her hair was sticking up at odd angles — clearly a victim of the night’s tossing and turning.

On the other side, y/n sat cross-legged, fully awake, brushing her teeth with a lollipop in her mouth.

“Minjeong,” she said through the candy stick. “You’re going to be late.”

Minjeong groaned. “Spiderwoman doesn’t do mornings.”

y/n poked her. “Spiderwoman also has physics first period and a quiz on friction.”

“…Friction is my enemy.”

y/n’s eyes sparkled. “I dunno, you didn’t seem to hate friction last night when—”

Minjeong launched a pillow at her with deadly precision.

y/n collapsed into giggles, hands up in surrender.

Later, in the kitchen, Minjeong, finally upright and conscious, munched on toast while leaning heavily against the counter.

y/n was in front of her, poking through a box of labeled gadgets Minjeong had been tinkering with. “What’s this one do?”

“Glows in the dark. Kind of useless but cool.”

“And this?”

“Explodes glitter.”

Pause.

“…That one’s for emergencies only.”

y/n’s eyebrows wiggled. “Define emergency.”

Minjeong deadpanned, “If I ever forget your birthday.”

y/n smiled wide, leaning up to kiss her cheek. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Minjeong smiled down at her, eyes soft behind her glasses. “Lucky I’ve got you.”

--

Spiderwoman crouched on the edge of a building, surveying the city below.

Behind her, a voice crackled through her communicator. y/n’s voice.

“You know,” y/n said teasingly, “I think I liked you better when you were mysterious and broody. Now you’re just a soft little nerd with a grappling hook.”

Minjeong grinned under the mask. “You loved me when I was mysterious. You’re in love with me now.”

A pause.

Then her girlfriend replied, voice warm. “Yeah. I really am.”

Spiderwoman stood, wind brushing past her, and smiled out at the world.

She was awkward, nerdy, still tripped over her own feet half the time — but she was loved. Fully, completely, and fearlessly.

And with y/n in her corner?

She felt like she could do anything.

--

A Newscast Playing on a Shop Window:

“—and once again, Spiderwoman swooped in to stop a carjacking near the downtown plaza. Eyewitnesses say she seemed… embarrassed to take credit—”

y/n passed by the window, sipping her iced coffee, wearing Minjeong’s oversized hoodie. She glanced at the screen, smirked, and whispered to herself,

“Dork.”

Then she walked off down the street — texting one-handed.

y/n:

Miss you already.

Don’t fall off a roof.

I want cuddles when you’re back.

And my hoodie. Maybe.

Spiderwoman:

saving the world. brb.

but yes. cuddles.

and you can try to take the hoodie back.

____________________

A/N: Hi! I love these stories so much. Feel free to leave any requests, it'll take me forever, but I will write them eventually.

[novascharms]

teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe

reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.

word count — 1.8 chapter index — next chap. masterlist

one

thursday, january 9th

go where the wind takes me. it’s a phrase you’d heard countless times over the years. it eased people, gave them perspective, helped them loosen up. but you? no, it did the opposite. it made you do what you did best—research. what kind of research? the top 100 most successful people and whether they’d ever "gone with the wind." the answer was no. not a single one. going with the wind doesn’t make anyone successful. it leads to dead ends, wrong turns, wasted time—and time was the one thing no one could afford to squander.

the importance of planning everything as meticulously as possible was something that you'd ingrained in your mind at a young age and it had led you exactly where you were. it was the foundation of everything you’d achieved: top of your class, surrounded by like-minded peers, ready for a prestigious summer program, and just a year away from the university of your dreams. everything you’d worked for was at your fingertips. nothing could get in your way now.

"hi, sandy," you greeted the office secretary who watched you struggling to balance a precarious stack of papers in your arms.

"good morning, sweetheart. need help with that?" sandy asked with a warm smile.

"nope, i’ve got it," you replied, setting the stack on the counter with a satisfying thud. carefully, you aligned the papers before placing your palms on top to steady them.

"these are the documents for the student body audit next week. i printed an extra copy for principal oakley, complete with annotations, just in case there’s any confusion."

"always so thorough," sandy remarked with a grin. the compliment made your entire week.

"ah, just who i needed to see." a familiar voice sounded behind you and you twirled around to see principal oakley walking into the office. "oh, good morning, principal oakley." you said, your tone as polished as ever. you barely glanced at the boy trailing behind him before falling into step with the principal.

and yes, following him into his office was a tad unconventional but someone with as much determination and drive as you rarely let things like "innaproriate behaviour" get in your way.

"you are just who i wanted to see too. i know the holidays just ended but i did want to just follow up on my recommendation letter which you'd think about writing, remember?" you fixed your bag on your shoulder as principal oakley sat at his desk and briefly glanced behind you.

"y/n—" the principal tried to interrupt.

you didn't stop talking. "and i know you don't write recommendation letters for your students to keep things fair and whatnot but i—" principal oakley tried to interrupt again but didn't have the chance before you continued rattling. "—hope you reconsidered because i just know that having your letter under my belt will make me stand out to the admissions board and who am i if not representation for our fine school?"

principal oakley cleared his throat and this time you noticed the brief glance behind you. you slowly followed his gaze to see rafe cameron leaning against the doorframe.

your mental file on him loaded instantly: soccer player, tall, messy, and in your opinion, a bit… ran through. still contemporary philosophy like utilitarianism says the morality of having multiple partners depends on whether it increases overall happiness and minimizes harm so you were in no position to shame anyone just trying to increase their own happiness. you suppose.

"oh, was this a bad time?" you asked sheepishly, stepping aside. "not at all," the principal replied. "in fact, this concerns you as well. please, have a seat—and refrain from going into rants until i'm finished speaking." principal oakley says.

frowning in confusion, you complied. sitting beside rafe, you tried to mask your unease. what could he have to discuss with both you and rafe cameron? you weren't very good with uncertainty so sitting still was becoming a challenge as principal oakley rummaged through his desk.

you had to focus on something to stop yourself from panicking so you focused on him. very discreetly. he was so very..unruly. like something hard to contain, just spilling over the edges with his messy hair, that sweater that was not ironed, the shirt under the sweater that was untucked in that untidy way, that smell—woody with a faint hint of vanilla. you liked that smell.

you looked down at your own clothes—a powder blue ruffle top from khaite that you saved for for months and gifted yourself over winter break, off-white pants that were perfectly ironed and fresh from the laundry, hair in a neat french twist. from first sight, you and him were polar opposites.

"alright, y/n," principal oakley finally sat back down, his gaze steady as you watched him attentively. "you know rafe, right?" he asked, gesturing slightly toward the boy seated across from you. your eyes flicked to rafe, who was already staring at you, his expression unreadable.

"uh-huh," you murmured, turning your focus back to the principal.

"well, rafe here has a little problem." principal oakley slid a paper across the desk, and your curiosity spiked as you glanced down. it was rafe's report card.

it was disastrous.

you gasped softly, and rafe let out a noise of protest. "shit, it's not that bad," he muttered, leaning in close to peer over your shoulder at his own grades. the sudden proximity sent a ripple of awareness through you. despite your best efforts to stay indifferent, the intoxicating mix of his scent and the startling lack of male attention in your life was doing a number on your self-control.

"language, mr. cameron. and yes, it really is that bad," principal oakley said firmly. "which is why we need your help, y/n."

you tried to focus, though every nerve in your body screamed for you to stay perfectly still, afraid rafe would pull back. your intrusive thoughts—chief among them being the absolutely insane urge to bury your head in his neck—were becoming harder to suppress. quickly, you straightened and fixed your attention on the principal.

"my help?" you asked, the words laced with genuine confusion.

"the athletic board won’t let rafe play next season if he doesn’t pass at least one of his failing classes. we’ve discussed it with his teachers, and they believe algebra is his best shot. mr. coleman specifically suggested you for the job. he said your grasp of the material is exceptional, sometimes even surpassing his. your work ethic, dedication, and knowledge are exactly what rafe needs to bring his grade up to a satisfactory six—or, with hope, even a seven or seven and a half."

principal oakley's words hung in the air as you processed them. finally, you blinked slowly. "you want me…" you began cautiously, "to take him from a two-point-five to a seven-point-five in five months?"

"that’s like 150 days," rafe interjected, his tone unexpectedly eager. "we can do this! i’ll be the best student, i swear."

we?

"and on which planet is that 150 days, rafe?" you turned to him, your voice tinged with disbelief. "five months is about 150 days, sure. but i don’t know about you, mr. cameron, but i have class every day from eight to three. we have over 15 assignments a month, tests, midterms in march. i’m student body president. i’m organizing spring fling, pajama day, color war, the bake sale, and the car wash fundraiser—where, by the way, i expect the soccer team’s full, enthusiastic participation in semi-nude form for maximum profit. there’s also valentine’s day card exchanges, college fairs, and, oh, right—i have a life. i need to eat, study, and spend enough time with my friends and family to avoid being accused of neglecting them." you folded your arms. "so tell me, rafe, where in that mess do you see time for this?"

rafe stared at you, slightly wide-eyed.

"exactly," you concluded, crossing your legs. "nowhere."

you turned back to principal oakley. "maybe someone could contact the board and ask for len—"

"y/n, this is their leniency. usually, a two-point-five is an automatic cutoff." principal oakley cut you off, his voice calm but insistent. "i wouldn’t be asking if i didn’t believe in you."

the praise softened you momentarily. "principal oakley," you began, reaching into your bag and pulling out your life planner with a flourish. its heft rattled the pens on his desk. "this is my schedule." flipping to the last pages, you tapped a line with a manicured nail. "rafe, read this."

he leaned in, eyebrows raised. "january 20th, 2056: be sworn in as the 59th president of the country."

you smiled, all proud like you'd already achieved it which you technically had since everything that belonged to you was already yours.

"now, as you can imagine, i have a very rigorous plan in place to achieving my final goal and unfortunately, my schedule is just..airtight until.." you grimaced, "atleast 2061, maybe 2065." you were still debating the second term.

rafe chuckled quietly, and you shot him a glare before principal oakley interrupted.

"i assume my recommendation letter holds a significant place in your 30-year plan."

you hesitated. "…it does."

"well, helping your fellow student would demonstrate the leadership and dedication your university looks for. i could write you a glowing recommendation and even personally contact the dean’s office if you agree to tutor mr. cameron."

you froze, your mind flashing with possibilities. the thought of the dean knowing your name—of shaving years off your plan—was too good to pass up.

"fine," you said at last, exhaling. "but i expect nothing short of perfection in that letter. and the dean better invite me for tea when you’re done."

turning to rafe, you leveled him with a sharp look. "every tuesday and sunday at four. take this seriously, or you’ll see how hostile i can get. and read the chapters beforehand. i’ll text you my address."

you strode toward the door.

"you don’t have my number!" rafe called after you, amusement clear in his voice.

"i practically live in this office, rafe!" you shot back over your shoulder. "i have everyone’s number!"

chapter index — next chap. masterlist

[birdiewritessometimes]

Tutor

A/N: Soft hours ;-; this goes out to all my academic over achievers out there, girl me too. One beautiful anon who requested soft Matt or soft Theo got me thinking about this! Also please don’t skip meals, food is fuel <3

Also, also, I’ve heard your demands, and I have added a summary!

This has been a struggle tbh, I love it but I’m also not happy with it. Oh well, I hope you guys enjoy it <3

Summary: As Professor Flitwick assign you to tutor Theodore Nott in charms you two develop a strange friendship that brings a new set of friends into your life. Theodore helps you see that there might be more to life than just studying in the library every day.

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Ravenclaw!reader

Themes/warnings: Reader is overworking herself, skipping meals, self-doubt, sleep-troubles, cursing, fluff, found family, clichés (but oh what I love them), kissing, Italian pet names (Italians, I’ve tried to do some research, and I hope I didn’t butcher them, please let me know if I did though!), is this qualified as a slow burn?,  mentions of a dead parent.

Word count: 10 000-ish

Please do not copy or translate my work!

“But Professor, please. I really need to focus on my own work.” You pleaded with your charms professor and your head of house, Professor Flitwick. He was a short, clever man. You really liked him; he was a good teacher and a good head of house. Which is why you were feeling slightly guilty for pleading with him not to assign you to be a tutor.

“I’m sorry Miss l/n, I’m afraid you’re the best one for the job. Mr. Nott really needs an outstanding in his OWL in charms. Professor Snape asked me to help make it happen, and I have no doubt you are more than capable.” Flitwick said, an encouraging smile on his face. You felt your shoulders sag in defeat.

“Are you sure you can’t ask anybody else?” You asked, your last simmer of hope to be able to study undisturbed faded as you saw your professors head shake no.

“Alright, I’ll do it.” You said in defeat. Professor Flitwick smiled up at you from his seat behind his wooden desk.

“Excellent Miss l/n!” He said as he clapped his hands together. He paused when he saw your defeated expression, “Oh, Miss l/n, please try to see this as a learning opportunity, maybe young Mr. Nott could teach you something too.” He added, a sympathetic smile on his face as he surveyed your defeated form.

“Okay, I will.” You said, trying to brighten your own voice, “I’ll see you later, Professor.” You added while giving him a small smile before turning around to leave his office. Professor Flitwick’s office led out into the charms classroom that resided on the third floor, in the charms corridor. The classroom was dimly lit, the afternoon sun casting a golden glow on the wooden floor in the middle of the classroom. The benches were empty except for one where a tall boy sat. His legs were sprawled out in front of him, effectively making the chair look small beneath him. He was fidgeting with the ring that sat on his index finger. His head shot up when he heard your footsteps echo on the wooden floorboards.

“I’ll tutor you every Tuesday and Thursday, four o’clock in the library, don’t be late.” You said after you stopped right in front of the desk he was sitting in. He was looking up at you with his steely blue eyes, a tired expression in his eyes. He gave you a short nod as he stopped fidgeting with his ring.

“Good, I’ll, uh, see you then.” You said, giving what you thought was a friendly smile. The least you could do was to at least try to be friendly, it wasn’t his fault that you were in this situation. Come to second thought, it kind of was, but you can’t blame the guy for being stupid.

“Right, see you.” He said after he cleared his throat. His voice was deep and rich. You noticed that he didn’t have a British accent like most students in the school. You couldn’t quite place your finger on what accent it was though. But it added to the smoothness of his voice making you wonder why he didn’t speak more often. You gave him another small smile before turning around to head to the library.

The library was quiet when you entered, some students were scattered around the room. The smell of old books and burning fires hit your nose as you walked towards your usual space. It was in the corner, near one of the fires making it the perfect spot for studying, away from the cold draft that usually swept through the castle regardless of season. You spent most of your free time studying, finding yourself lost in books and books about different magical topics. You did this mostly because your dream was to one day become an unspeakable. The Department of Mysteries intrigued you but the way there meant top grades and hard work. And that’s just what you did, worked hard and got top grades. But that also meant that you had to spend your free time in the library, studying.

You sat down in one of the cushioned chairs around the table, gently placing your Ravenclaw robe on the seat next to you along with your bag. You pulled out the ancient runes-book. The worn leather rough against your fingers as you placed it on the table along with your quill, inkpot and some parchment. You opened the book at the bookmark and got to work. For hours you poured over the runes, their translations and writing down their meanings. The only thing that reminded you of the time was your back being stiff and your butt numb. Taking a glance at your watch you noticed that it was almost time for curfew. With a yawn you stood up. You quickly packed your things, grabbed your robe and hurried through the castle and up to Ravenclaw tower. After you got ready for bed, you fell asleep the second your head hit your pillow, sleeping through yet another restless night.

The next day you awoke feeling tired. It was a Tuesday which meant tutoring with Theodore after your last lesson of the day. Noticing the time, and that breakfast was soon to be over, you hurriedly got ready. You added light makeup to hide the dark circles that was accumulating under your eyes from another night where it felt like you didn’t sleep. Collecting your books for the day you dashed out of your dorm and hurried to the great hall. When you entered you found your seat next to the girls you share your dorm with. They were by no means your friends, but you could eat and make small talk with them, which was good enough for you. When you had quickly eaten a piece of toast you once again dashed away towards your classes for the day. The lessons went by quickly, like usual. Before you knew it lunchtime came. You actually had time to eat your meal calmly before you headed to your last two lessons for the day. These lessons went by as quickly as the ones in the morning did. Maybe it was because you had revised the material beforehand, or maybe time just went by quicker when you learned something.

It was a quarter to four when you walked into the familiar air of old books and warm fires of the library. You took your usual seat by the fire, placed your robes and bag on the chair next to you before picking up your copy of the Standard Book of Spells, grade 5, the large book heavy in your hands as you placed it on the table with a thud. You gently flickered through it as you waited for Theodore to show up. You refreshed your memory for some of the spells as you looked through the book. After around five minutes you heard low footsteps come nearer your spot by the warm fire, away from the chilly autumn breeze that seemed to drift through the castle. Looking up you saw Theodore approaching your table. His hair was its usual floppy self. He had rid himself of his Slytherin cloak, the material hanging over his forearm. He had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt as well as loosened his tie and leaving the top button unbuttoned. You kept looking him over until he stood beside you, looking down at you.

“Hi.” You said softly as you gestured for him to sit. He gave you a nod of acknowledgement before placing his bag and cloak on a chair around the table before sitting down in the seat next to yours. You let him take his time packing up, he was early after all.

“So, is there anything in particular you want to start with?” You asked cautiously when he had placed his copy of the textbook on the table, along with a notebook, a quill and an inkpot.

“I’ve had problems with the locomotion charm.” He shrugged nonchalantly. So, he was not a talkative person, that’s fine, you thought. You were surprised by his honesty, though you by no means had an opinion on the boy beside you, you knew he was friends with a group of troublemaking boys. You had assumed he would wave it all off or say that he didn’t need your help, so when he admitted, although with some air of nonchalance, what he was struggling with it surprised you.

“Okay,” you nodded, “how about we start with that one and then revise the others?” You suggested as you flipped through the worn book to the page of the locomotion charm. You saw how Theodore nodded in agreement with your suggestion. You went over the basic theory of the charm, explaining things such as wand movement and what the spell was useful for. It took you around five minutes before you zipped closed your pencase, plopping it down before the tall, brooding boy next to you.

“Alright, enough chitchat, show me what you’ve got.” You said with what you hoped was an encouraging smile. Not that he was looking at you, he was busy sending an icy glare at your pink fuzzy pencase. He was looking like he was personally offended by its presence. You flicked your hair over your shoulder as you turned in your seat to face him.

“Okay, so what crimes has my pencase committed against you?” You asked, a playful note in your voice as you studied him. This seemed to pull him out of his staring match with the pencase as he raised an eyebrow at you in a silent question.

“Don’t look at me, it was you who was having a staring competition with an inanimate object.” You shrugged, a small giggle escaping you. You saw how he cracked the smallest of smiles at your comment. You had to admit that his smile was cute, really cute actually.

“Alright, come on, show me.” You nodded at your pencase again and his small smile fell. With a sigh he picked up his wand from the table. He cleared his throat as he pointed his wand at the fuzzy pencase in front of him.

“Locomoto pencase.” He said, his voice smoot and deep. He did the upwards motion with his wand, but nothing happened. You noticed right after he had said the incantation that he has mispronounced it. He let out a sigh of frustration as he looked away from you, embarrassed. You felt some sympathy for him as you placed a gentle hand on his arm, effectively making him look at you.

“Hey, you did good. You just didn’t pronounce the incantation correctly,” You said softly, a kind smile on your face, “it’s locomotor with an r.” You explained.

“Alright, let me try again.” He muttered, surprising you with his words. You nodded encouragingly, letting him try again. This time the pencase hovered for a while before falling down on the table in front of him with a low thud.

“See! Try concentrating more next time.” You said, excitement in your voice. Theodore flashed you that small smile again, making you feel warm inside, before trying the spell for the third time. He made the pencase move around the table for a while before it fell with a thud again.

“Good job Theodore!” You cheered him on, “how about some theory?” You suggested, to which he nodded. He placed his wand on the table, scooting back in his chair, sprawling his legs out as he picked up the leatherbound textbook in his large hands, effectively making it look weirdly small. Your eyes travelled up to his face and saw that he was already looking at you, an expectant look in his eyes. You quickly looked away from him as you cleared your throat. You felt a blush dust your cheeks when you heard a faint chuckle from the boy next to you. Straightening in your chair you started to explain some more in-depth theory. Time went on rather quickly as you quizzed Theodore on some things and asked him to explain some others back to you. He was improving quickly, making you feel somewhat proud of him. In the last moments before it was time for dinner, he practiced the charm once more on your pencase. This time the pencase zoomed up and down from the table, making it do flips and other tricks around the table before he stopped it right in front of you. The pencase fell on top of your book with a muted thud.

“Good job Theodore! Look at you!” You said, not being able to contain your enthusiasm. He let out a shy sort of chuckle at that as he averted his eyes from you.

“Thanks for helping me.” He mumbled, still looking away. His words stunned you as you turned your head to really look at him. He didn’t seem like his usual stoic, broody self. He seemed more embarrassed and defeated now, making the sympathy you had for him earlier to come back.

“Hey,” you said softy, placing your hand on his arm effectively making him look at you once again, “we all need a little bit of help from time to time, it’s nothing to worry about.” He looked at you, an unreadable look in his usually tired eyes. The background faded as your heartbeat sped up, making you feel warm inside.

“Thank you.” He mumbled, not tearing his eyes from yours. The air around you shifted as you looked into each other’s eyes, making your heartbeat race even more. The air around you became almost palpable as you sat there together.

“You’re welcome.” You breathed out. Your eye-contact broke when there was a loud thud from someone dropping a book somewhere in the library. Coming back to reality you straightened up as Theodore cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I’ll, uh, see you Thursday?” He said as he hurriedly put his things in his bag. You nodded at him.

“Yeah, see you Thursday.” You mumbled, giving him a small smile before he walked off to dinner. You slowly packed your things away in your bag before you made your way to the great hall for dinner as well. On your walk there he was on your mind. You wondered why he was so cold and quiet. Your mind drifted to his deep, smooth voice as you thought back to the tutoring session. And how he had beautiful eyes, cold, blue and tired, yet they intrigued you. Like he was pulling you into him. You were lost in thought when you arrived at the big oak doors that led to the great hall. You absentmindedly walked in and sat down at the long wooden table, next to the girls in your dormitory. You plated some beef stew and potatoes on the porcelain plate in front of you.

As you ate your eyes drifted over the great hall, scanning the groups of students who were chatting to each other excitedly. Your eyes soon drifted over the Slytherin table. The table was filled with students, some were chatting, others reading or just minding their own business. Your eyes then met the steely blue ones that belonged to Theodore. He caught you off guard, but you couldn’t seem to look away from him either. You sat there looking at each other for a moment, the background once again fading, before he looked away first, laughing at something his friends said. You turned back to your food, eating as you thought about him.

He remained in your thoughts during the next day. You found yourself thinking about him when you were eating your meals, when you were walking to classes, and you even found your thoughts drifting to him when you were studying. You were wondering things about him that you have never cared about before with others. Like where he grew up? Did he have any siblings? What was his parents like? While you found yourself thinking more about him you started to notice him more around the castle too, noticing him in classes or that your paths crossed on your way to different lessons.

The day had passed quickly, now with your thoughts occupied by both Theodore and school. You had just finished dinner and were on your way towards the library to get in some more studying before bed. When you entered the entrance hall you heard rowdy voices from a group of boys and when you lifted your gaze you saw the Slytherin quidditch team. You assumed they were heading to the quidditch pitch to practice since they were walking towards the great doors. A shiver ran down your spine at the thought of being outside right now. The rain was whipping against the windows of the castle as the winds were harsh. Your eyes fell on Theodore who were walking next to his friend, Mattheo Riddle. You never thought you would find a quidditch player attractive but by judging from the leap your heart did when you saw him in his uniform you found yourself proven wrong.

Pictures of Theodore in his emerald green quidditch robes, his broom propped up on his shoulder, flooded your brain as you walked to the library. None of the boys had noticed you when they had stridden across the entrance hall and out into the stormy weather. Opening the doors to the library you were immediately enveloped in a warm hug of burning fires and old books. You slowly made your way to your usual seat in the far back corner. The wooden chair scraped against the floor as you took your seat on the cushioned seat. You pulled out the leather-bound transfiguration book, opting to read up on the topic Professor McGonagall discussed during the transfiguration lesson you had earlier during the day. The rain was smattering against the window next to the fireplace, the sound mingling with the cracks and pops of the burning wood in the fire making you relax as you settled in your seat to study the whole evening. You worked long into the hours of the evening, your numb butt once again reminding you of curfew, making you hastily pack up your books and other materials before making your way to bed.

Thursday went by quickly, lessons flying by in a haste and before you knew it you were seated in the library, a quarter to four in the afternoon, flipping through the Standard Book of Spells, grade 5 again. It was a particularly cold day today, making you wear your Ravenclaw sweater over your button up to shield yourself from the cold mid-November air. The fire next to your table seemed to nothing to keep the chill at bay. You sent a glare at it as you shivered once more, trying to urge it to make the room hotter, or else.

“Look who’s now having a staring contest with an inanimate object.” The deep voice of Theodore pulled you out of your thoughts about threatening a fire, you really needed a good night’s sleep. You looked to the side of you and saw how Theodore plopped down in his chair, his fluffy hair flopping on his forehead in the process. He was wearing his Slytherin uniform in his usual dishevelled way, his robes draped over his arm once again.

“What did that fire do to you, huh?” He asked, a small smirk on his lips when he turned back to look at you, the Standard Book of Spells in his hands.

“It didn’t keep me warm.” You said, your teeth clattering slightly as you spoke. You were rubbing your arms with your hands, trying to warm yourself with the friction. Theodore let out a huff-like chuckle.

“Come on y/n, it’s not that cold.” He said, the smirk slightly wider now, making you smile lightly at him. It seemed like he was more comfortable around you this time, already talking more than he did the last time you met.

“It is, but that’s no- hey!” You let out when he stood up and before you knew it, he had grabbed his robes that he had hung over the back of one of the chairs around the table and draped it over your shoulders. His action stunned you as he pulled the material tighter around your shoulders, fixing it.

“Where did you put your own robes?” He muttered as he sat down in his seat again, looking at you expectantly for an answer. Coming back from your momentary chock you looked at him, sure a blush was on your cheeks.

“I forgot them in my dorm.” You mumbled, now feeling the heat of the blush on your cheeks. Your fingers moved to clutch the woolly fabric of his winter robes, subconsciously pulling it closer around you as his cologne hit your nose. It smelled fresh, like freshly laundered clothes but it had a hint of citrus and the obvious cigarette smell that lingered on the garment. The smell was surprisingly comforting as it surrounded you like a hug. Theodore let out a chuckle at your answer to his question.

“So, what are we doing today, teach?” He then asked, a tone on nonchalance in his voice as he turned back to face straight forward. The nickname made you smile, it made you grateful that he was trying to be friendly too.

“I was thinking that we really perfect the locomotion charm, you know so it really sticks.” You suggested. Theodore nodded as he picked up his wand. He was more eager today than he was last Tuesday, it made you smile as you zipped up your pencase again and plopped it on the table before him. He cleared his throat before performing the spell. You sat next to him as you looked on as he made your pencase move around on the table. It seemed like he lost concentration once because he dropped the pencase. But you encouraged him to go again, and he did. After he was done making your pencase perform circus tricks on the table he tried the charm on something heavier, your stack of schoolbooks that you had placed on the table for later. He had no problem making them move around at his will as he performed the charm.

Tutoring Theodore was easier than you thought, he seemed to have no problem learning and perfecting the spells when you were working on them together. He took his time and perfected the locomotion charm just as you had suggested, even going so far as to answer every question you asked him about it correctly. You felt proud of him when your tutoring session came to an end.

“Really good job Theodore!” You beamed at him, the feelings of happiness and pride taking over you. He smiled shyly as he thanked you, not being used to the praise that you were giving him. You might have been seeing things, but you were sure you saw a faint blush on the boy’s cheeks from your complement. As it was time for dinner he stood up and slowly packed away his things.

“Oh, right, thank you for letting me borrow your robes, Theodore.” You smiled as you started to shrug of the garment that had been keeping you warm the two hours you had been working together. He shook his head at you, making you pause.

“You can keep it for tonight if you want, I have a couple of others.” He said, stuffing his hands into his pants pockets and looked down at his feet. You felt a blush creep up on your face again.

“Are you sure? Aren’t you going to be cold?” You asked shyly making him look at you, that small smirk on his face again.

“Nah, I’m good, you look like you need it more.” He said, his tone considerably lighter than before.

“I’ll give it back to you tomorrow?” You suggested to which he shrugged his shoulders somewhat nonchalantly.

“That’s fine, honestly it’s no stress.” He said as he hoisted his bag on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Theodore.” You smiled at him gratefully as you pulled his cloak tighter around your body again.

“It’s fine, bella.” He said casually, but as he said the nickname it clicked in your head.

“You’re Italian?” You blurted out as he was about to turn around to leave. He raised an eyebrow at you, the smirk back on his face again.

“I am, why?” He asked, somewhat amused by your outburst. You started to feel stupid by your actions, letting out a nervous chuckle.

“I, uh, have been trying to figure out where your accent’s form…” You trailed off, feeling more stupid by the second. He let out a chuckle at this.

“My mum was Italian; I moved here when I was 10.” He explained but your mind got stuck on ‘was’. His mum was Italian, not is. He had lost his mum. The thought weighed on your mind as you looked up at him as he stood beside your chair. You weren’t sure on what to say to this. You saw how his smirk had dropped slightly when he had mentioned his mum as well, it was obviously a painful topic for him.

“Oh, I’m sorry Theodore.” You said softly, feeling heartbroken for him. He gave you a half-hearted smile.

“It’s okay, it was a long time ago.” He shrugged, trying to come off as nonchalant. You gave him a weak smile, still feeling very sorry for him. He gave you a half smile back before clearing his throat.

“Well, I got to go to dinner,” He said, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, “see you, bella.” He said, his small smirk back on his face again, making you smile back at him.

“See you, Theodore.” You said softly before he turned around and walked towards the exit of the library. You looked after him until he was out of your line of sight before you reluctantly turned back to your books, picking up your textbook on the goblin rebellions. You had an essay due next week and decided now would be a good time to start writing it. Once again you worked into the long hours of the evening before you decided that enough was enough and made your way to Ravenclaw tower. Theodores cloak was heavy and warm against your shoulders as you walked through the corridors and up the staircases that lead to Ravenclaw tower. When you arrived at your dorm you folded the cloak neatly before getting ready for bed.

When you awoke Friday morning you were surprised that you felt rested for the first time in a long time. You felt like your mood were better than normal, the usual stress you felt now better. You got ready, collected your books for the day and grabbed Theodores robes before you went down to breakfast, assuming you would see him there, but you were wrong. No big deal, he maybe overslept, and you were just handing him his robes back, you could do that at any time. Throughout the day you looked for Theodore in the crowds, classes and during the meals. It was now dinnertime, and you hadn’t seen him all day. As you walked towards the library after dinner, you decided to actually go to the quidditch match to give him back his robes tomorrow. It was the first game of the season, Slytherin against Hufflepuff and you knew Theodore was on the Slytherin quidditch team alongside his friends.

After another long night of studying you awoke Saturday morning, feeling tired once more. You dragged yourself out of your warm bed, feeling shivers go through your body as your feet hit the cold floor. You made your bed, making sure the royal blue cover laid neatly over your bed before you tied back the blue curtains with the bronze cords. You looked out of the window to see the weather, it looked like a crisp day, the grounds were covered in glittering white frost, but no snow to be seen and the sky was clear. If you had to guess this had to be optimal quidditch conditions. You picked out a warm, comfortable outfit, bringing a warm jacket, mittens and earmuffs to keep warm in the high quidditch stands. Topping it all off with your Ravenclaw scarf. When you arrived at breakfast most of the students had left, probably to get warmer clothes for the match. You ate a piece of toast and had a cup of warm coco before you started to make your way to the stands. You were right, it was very cold out, you were thanking yourself for brining such warm clothing as the icy winds swept through the high stands where you were standing along the rest of your house.

You were standing next to the girls with whom you shared your dorm, Theodore’s robes neatly folded in your mitten clad hands. You made small talk with them as you waited for the match to start. The spectators erupted in cheers (and boos) as the two teams made their way onto the pitch. The seventh year Slytherin captain shook hands with Hufflepuffs captain Cedric Diggory, a handsome sixth year. You saw how both teams mounted their brooms as your eyes scanned the Slytherin team for Theodore. You found him just as they kicked off, he was soaring towards the Slytherin goal posts. He was a keeper. You heard Madam Hootch’s whistle signalling that the game had begun but your eyes were on him the entire game. He was unbelievable. He caught almost every ball, only letting in one or two goals, you weren’t counting. You couldn’t help but think about how good he looked in his green quidditch robes, hair windswept and his usually tired eyes determined. The Slytherin team were making goal after goal and they were leading by so much that, after about two hours, when Cedric had caught the snitch Slytherin still won by sixty points.

You saw how the Slytherin team were cheering on Theodore and Blaise, one of the chasers that did the most goals, when you started to make your way down to the pitch along with the rest of the spectators. You slowly made your way onto the pitch, feeling out of your element and uncertain what to do you decided to stand slightly to the side to let the boys celebrate together. You were standing next to a Slytherin girl in your year, Pansy Parkinson as the two of you waited for the boys to calm down.

“Who’s your boyfriend?” She asked with the same air of nonchalance that most Slytherins seemed to have as she looked at the group. You knew who her boyfriend was, Draco Malfoy, the seeker on the team.

“Oh, I, uh, no-”

“Bella!” Theodore interrupted you as he jogged up to you a surprised but happy look on his face. You felt your face break out in a smile as you saw him running towards you. But before you could say or do anything he had reached you, thrown his arms around you and picked you up, spinning you around. You let out a squeal in surprise quickly letting one of your arms snake around the tall boy’s neck so you wouldn’t fall, you other hand holding the reason you came to the match in the first place, his cloak.

“What are you doing here?” He asked you as he put you down, a broad smile on his face as he looked down at you. You were sure you were blushing from his hug, but you decided to let it go, emotions were just running high after the match. He would have hugged anyone like that, you thought.

“I came to congratulate you on your good match,” You said, and you saw how his smile became even wider in happiness, it made you smile too, “and to give you this back, since I didn’t find you yesterday.” You said softly as you handed him the thick fabric of his cloak. He took it in one of his large hands, the other, you just noticed, was still resting on your waist. If you weren’t blushing from before you had to be now, hopefully you could blame the wind. Just as he was about to say something he was interrupted by his best friend and one of the beaters, Mattheo.

“Oi, Theo, who are you hiding there?” You could hear the teasing note in the voice. Theodore was giving you an apologetic look before he gave you a gentle squeeze on the waist before letting go just as Mattheo, Lorenzo, the other beater, and Blaise joined you. They were looking at the two of you with great interest making you chuckle in embarrassment.

“Uh, hi, I’m y/n, I tutor Theodore.” You said while giving a wave at the boys, to break the weird silence that had fallen upon the group.

“Teach?” They all exclaimed, making you smile and raise an eyebrow in a silent question at Theodore who suddenly seemed to find the sky extremely interesting.

“We call you teach because Theo refused to tell us who you were.” Lorenzo explained.

“Yeah, he thought we were going to hassle you or something.” Mattheo playfully scoffed, making you let out a giggle.

“Yeah, because that’s not something you would do.” You said, a smile on your face.

“Exactly, we would- hang on, you’re being sarcastic, aren’t you?” Mattheo said, his eyes narrowed in a joking manner. You feigned a look of innocence.

“What? No of course not, I would never.” You let out, your voice dripping with fake innocence. Lorenzo, Blaise and Theodore chuckled as you batted your eyelashes jokingly at Mattheo.

“You know what, I like you,” Mattheo turned to Theodore, “I like her, why didn’t you introduce us right away, she can obviously handle some hassling.” He said, a smirk on his face making you laugh. Theodore shook his head in feign annoyance.

“Yeah, yeah whatever Mattheo.” Theodore muttered as he rolled his eyes before turning to you, “we have to go change, maybe I’ll see you later?” He asked, completely ignoring his friends who were now dramatically reenacting people kissing and batting their eyelashes at each other. You let out a chuckle at the groups antics before looking up at Theodore.

“That’s fine, I have to go study anyways.” You said smiling up at him. You missed the flash of disappointment in his eyes.

“Good job again with the match,” You smiled softly up at him before turning to his friends who abruptly stopped their antics, “It was nice meeting you guys, great match.” You smiled as you gave a small wave before turning around to trek up to the castle again. The boys shouted their various goodbyes at you making you turn around to smile and wave again at them. It was like something had shifted between you and Theodore after the quidditch match. Theodore became friendlier with you, he would even make you walk with him and his friends to the classes you shared. Sometimes if you had time after your tutoring sessions, you would join the Slytherin table for dinner, you now had a permanent spot among the group in between Lorenzo and Theodore, across from Mattheo. You found yourself growing fond of the others too, you would bicker with Mattheo like you were siblings, tease Theodore with Blaise and gossip with Lorenzo.

You became happier, more alive as you befriended the boys. You still spent most of your free time in the library studying, but you found yourself joining them for meals more often than not. You still had problems with sleep, sometimes feeling like you haven’t slept for weeks. Days would blur and before you knew it, it was mid-December, and the grounds were covered by a thick blanket of snow. You were sitting in the library under a thick sweater to keep you warm as you waited for Theodore to show up for your session. You had propped up the Standard Book of Spells, grade 5, on your pencase as you refreshed your memory on Descendo. You felt yourself lay your head in your arms on the table. Last night had been a particularly rough night where you had been sleeping so restlessly that you felt more tired after you woke up than you did the night before. You were just going to close your eyes until Theodore came.

“Bella, wake up.” A soft voice said, though it sounded as it came through cotton.

“Please, bella, it’s time for dinner.” The voice said again, slightly less muffled this time. The voice was wrong though, it couldn’t be time for dinner now, Theodore hadn’t shown up for his session yet. You felt a warm hand on your back, shaking you gently. You slowly opened your eyes and saw none other than Theodore. You were confused at first, not knowing where you were and what time it was before it dawned on you. You were in the library; Theodore was sitting beside you saying it was time for dinner. You shot up.

“I’m so sorry Theodore!” You burst out, the feelings of guilt and anxiety washed over you like a bucket of cold water. He gave you a soft smile. It was one of those smiles you rarely got to see, but it made your day better every time you did see it.

“Shhh, it’s okay, bella, you were so tired, you needed the rest.” He said lowly making you frown slightly.

“It isn’t okay, Theodore, we were supposed to work on Descendo today.” You said, panic still evident in your voice.

“Y/n!” He cut off your spiralling, “I’ve practiced, look,” he did the charm perfectly on your pencase, “I might’ve looked at your book to see what you were reading up on. Oh! And I might have looked at your notes too.” He said sheepishly. Your face turned into an impressed expression as you looked at the boy beside you.

“Wow, Theo, you did really good.” You praised him, making him grin at you.

“Thanks.” He said softly before he started to gather his things. When he noticed that you still sat there, the tiredness washing over you in another wave, he closed your book and started to gather your things as well. You looked at him with curiosity in your tired eyes.

“Come on, bella, let’s get you dinner and then to bed.” He muttered softly as he closed your bag shut and hitched it on his shoulder before reaching out an inviting hand to you.

“I’m fine Theodore, you don’t have to take care of me.” You mumbled, the guilt making a reappearance in your chest. He smiled slightly as he grabbed your arm and, rather roughly, pulled you out of your seat, making you face him. His hand slowly travelled down from your upper arm and grasped onto your wrist, engulfing the upper part of your hand in the process. His action made your heart flutter and your breath hitch in your throat. He was looking at you with puppy dog eyes, the smile still on his face. His free hand found its place on your jaw, gently stroking your cheek.

“If I don’t do it, who will, hm?” He asked softly as his thumb continued to stroke your now hot cheek. You averted your eyes from his blue ones, suddenly finding the table beside you very interesting.

“I really need to study, Theo.” You mumbled as an answer. You felt how his hand moved from your jaw to grip your chin, tilting it upwards, making you look him in the eye again. Your heart was beating so fast now you were sure he could hear it, or at least feel it.

“How about we make a deal,” he said, a small smirk on his face now, “you come to dinner with me now, and if you feel like studying after you can come back.” He shrugged before nodding his head towards the exit. His eyes were pleading with you to go with him and before you could even think it through you felt yourself nod in his grasp. A smile broke out on his face, making you give him a tired smile back. He turned, not letting your wrist go, and started towards the exit of the library. You were still feeling very tired as the two of you strolled to the great hall for dinner. Theodore pushed the great oak doors open, leading you to your now usual place, next to him and Lorenzo. The rest noticed you as you came up to the part at the table where they were sitting. Mattheo let out a low whistle.

“Damn, y/n, you look like shit,” he smirked, making Blaise snort into his goblet of pumpkin juice, “is tutoring Teddy that bad?” You rolled your eyes as you sat down in between Theodore and Lorenzo.

“At least I have a reason for looking like shit, what’s your excuse?” You countered making Blaise snort once again and Lorenzo give you a fist bump under the table. Mattheo held up his hands in surrender, an amused smirk on his face.

“Damn, she is snappy today, what happened, library run out of books for you to read?” He asked teasingly. You felt a small smile twitch on your lips, despite your exhaustion. You heard Theodore chuckle beside you as you felt his warm hand on your back in a comforting manner.

“I’m surprised you knew we had a library, Mattheo.” You said, your lips still twitching from trying not to smile. He broke out in a grin making you mirror it as you put some food on your plate, before putting some on Theodore’s. The boy thanked you quietly making you smile softly up at him.

“Yeah, I found it the other day actually.” Mattheo said, mock pride in his voice making you chuckle.

“Good job! Just you wait until you can read, it will be like a whole new world for you.” You teased him. Mattheo was anything but stupid, he was talented in most subjects, he could easily be one of the best students in the school if he put in the effort. But it was an inside joke your group had that he was stupid, mostly due to some of the stupid things he says, he had a habit of speaking before thinking, but that definitely didn’t make him stupid. The group chuckled making you smile once more as you slowly ate your dinner.

“But seriously, why do you look like you just woke up?” Blaise asked, you could see a hint of concern in his eyes making you give him an apologetic smile.

“Because she just did.” Theodore said before you could even think of replying. You turned to Theodore to send him a pointed look, but he was looking at his friends. “I found her asleep in the library.” He added.

“And you scold me for sleeping in class, this is just as bad!” Blaise pointed an accusing finger at you making you roll your eyes in a joking manner.

“Oh, shut up Blaise.” You laughed, tiredness still clear in your voice.

“Are you okay, though?” Lorenzo asked you cautiously. You gave him an apologetic smile, feeling guilty for worrying your newfound friends.

“I am, I’m just having sleep troubles, I have been for a while.” You admitted. It surprised you how easily you admitted that to them, but they made you feel safe in a weird way. You looked around at the group and you saw various looks of sympathy in their eyes.

“Guys, please don’t worry, it’s been like this for as long as I can remember.” You tried to make the problem smaller than it was, but it had the exact opposite effect. You felt Theodore’s hand come up to your back once again, rubbing it in a comforting manner.

“Maybe you need to see Madam Pomfrey?” Mattheo suggested, now serious.

“I mean it has been better now for a while; it was just last night that was bad, I don’t think I need to see her…” You trailed off. You felt Theodore’s hand move around to your waist, giving it a gentle reassuring squeeze.

“I’ll come with you if you want me to, bella.” He said softly, making you look at him. You felt warm inside from the concern he was showing you.

“I promise, I’ll go if it gets worse again.” You said after stifling a yawn. You saw how he smiled softly at you before he let his arm rest around your waist, letting you lean into him. You let your head fall to his shoulder. You looked around the group who still looked worried.

“Guys, I’ll be fine,” You said a smile on your face, “what did you guys do today?” You asked, not lifting your head from Theodores shoulder. The others were quiet for a quick moment before they started to recount their day. How they had pulled some pranks and how they accidentally intimidated a first year. You sent them a glare at this information making them apologize quickly before Lorenzo started to recount some gossip that had made its way around the school. You felt your eyelids droop as you listened to Lorenzo explain something about someone setting off a dungbomb in Filch’s office. The others, who would never admit that they enjoyed gossiping, were listening intently and they even suggested who it could be. Your mind started to focus less on the conversation and more on the warmth that Theodore was emitting. The way he was stroking your waist was comforting as you breathed in his now familiar scent. You started to just hear isolated words from the boys as you started to slip in and out from consciousness and before you knew it you were out like a light against Theodore’s shoulder.

“Is she asleep?”

“Yeah.” The voices were quiet and muffled as you felt someone grab the back of your knees, to lift you up.

“Man try something else.” You heard someone say as a frustrated sigh was heard from above you.

“Stupid riddle, stupid knocker, stupid Ravenclaw common room.” You heard someone mutter angrily from beside you, still sounding like it came through cotton.

“Finis Coronat Opus.” You heard a voice mutter and then you heard stone slide on stone.

You woke up the next morning, utterly confused but surprisingly well rested. You looked around your unfamiliar surroundings. Your eyes scanned the dark green canopy above you before tracing the same green curtains that hung around the bed you were laying in. You saw a desk with a chair against the wall next to you as well as a dark brown dresser opposite the foot of the fourposter bed that you were laying in. The bed was unbelievably comfortable, the comforter thick and warm against the cold air in the room, the pillows were fluffy. You noticed that you were alone in the bed, but you were wearing a big t-shirt and a pair of green plaid pyjama pants. You shot up in panic. These were not your clothes. Just as panic really started to set a door opened and in walked Theodore in just a towel.

“Morning, bella.” You barley heard him over his almost naked form. Your eyes shamelessly scanned his toned torso as he walked towards you with a smirk plastered on his face, using the other towel around his neck to dry of his hair.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked, a teasing hint in his voice as he sat down on the foot of the bed to look at you. You gulped as you felt the bed dip from his weight. You cleared your throat awkwardly.

“What happened?” You settled on asking first. He let out a chuckle.

“You fell asleep by the table.” He said but chose to continue to explain when he saw your confused look. “Me and Mattheo tried to get you to Ravenclaw tower, but we couldn’t solve the riddle to get in. And I didn’t want to wake you since you were so tired earlier, so we thought of the next best thing, to, uh, bring you here.” He finished as he chuckled again. You brain was trying to piece together this information.

“Did you... did you, um, change my clothes?” You gestured to the clothes you were wearing making Theodore let out an actual laugh. You tossed a pillow on his head at this.

“What’s so funny?” You asked as he continued to chuckle, the pillow now on his lap.

“You don’t remember? You’re quite the sleepwalker.” He mused, his eyes sparkling with amusement. You felt a blush creep up on your cheeks.

“Oh, no, what did I do?” You asked as you hid your face in your hands in embarrassment. You heard how he chuckled again before you felt his warm hands around your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face.

“You were adamant that you couldn’t sleep in your normal clothes once I put you down on my bed, and, well, you started to take your clothes off. Don’t worry!” He said as he saw how your eyes widened in panic, “I tossed you some clothes before I turned around, I didn’t look, I promise. But I’m pretty sure you fell sometime while you were changing but when I turned back around you were out cold on the bed again, completely dressed in the pyjamas.” He finished explaining as you let out a groan in embarrassment. He was probably right though; you felt sore on your hip.

“I’m so sorry Teddy.” The nickname just slipped out as you apologised for your antics. You saw how he tensed for a moment before a smile spread on his lips, his hands squeezed your wrists reassuringly.

“Don’t worry bella, I found it quite funny,” he chuckled before looking at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “and you’re always welcome to share my bed.” He winked before standing up, walking towards his dresser. Your eyes raked over his wide shoulders and muscular back. If you said he wasn’t attractive you would be a liar. You felt the blush come back to your cheeks as he confirmed the thought that had been floating in your mind. You had shared his bed. Oh, you hoped that you didn’t do anything else embarrassing.

“You might want to get dressed, unless you want to be late.” He said as he shrugged on his pants, making the towel fall to the floor. You sprang into action, getting out of bed before getting dressed in the outfit you wore yesterday. You thanked your past self for always keeping a spare pair of underwear in your schoolbag, in case you got your period unexpectedly. As you looked at your school shirt, makeup stains on the collar, you wondered for a second if it was too much to ask to borrow one of his shirts. You turned around to face him as he tied his Slytherin tie.

“Teddy?” You said softly making his eyes snap to yours. He smiled at you as you stood there, your school skirt on along with his t-shirt. His eyes drifted to your shirt in your hands.

“Do you mind?” You asked as you gestured to the stains on the shirt.

“Here.” He said, smile still on his face as he handed you one of his school shirts. You smiled gratefully before turning around again, quickly ridding yourself of the t-shirt before slipping on the soft material of the button up shirt. It was quite big on you; you noticed as you buttoned the buttons. You tucked the fabric inside the waistband of your skirt as you surveyed yourself in his mirror by the door. Theodore was sitting on the bed, looking at you. You quickly tied your tie around the collar of the too big shirt before turning around to Theodore.

“Do I look okay?” You asked gesturing to his shirt. He smiled at you from his bed.

“You look perfect, as always, bella.” He said smoothly making you blush. He stood up from his bed, walked over to you, took your hand and led you to the other door of his room, the one he came out of when you had woken up. It was a bathroom. Damn, the Slytherins really had the superior dorms, you thought as Theodore was rummaging through his cabinet before he handed you something. A toothbrush, still in its packaging.

“Here, I thought you might want to brush your teeth.” He shrugged as he grabbed his own toothbrush.

“Thank you.” You said softly as you ripped up the packaging before letting Theodore add toothpaste on it. The scene was painfully domestic as you stood there, looking at each other in the mirror while brushing your teeth. After you were done you quickly splashed your face with water, Theodore, to your surprise, held out a small container with face cream. You smiled at him as you applied a small layer of the cream.

“I didn’t know you cared so much for your skin?” You asked as you walked through the Slytherin common room together. Your eyes wandered around the stonewalls and black leather couches. The common room had large windows that showed the bottom of the black lake. You let your eyes linger on the creatures on the other side of the window as you walked past it with Theodore by your side.

“It’s not all easy being this handsome.” He smirked making you let out a laugh. The two of you walked to breakfast together, his arm found it’s home on your shoulders as you were walking through the corridors littered with students. You noticed that people were looking at the two of you as they were whispering to their friends. Your eyes narrowed at them as you walked past groups and groups of people staring and whispering. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion before you turned your head to look up at Theodore.

“Why are people staring at us?” You whispered up to him. He looked down at you, his eyebrows furrowed at your question.

“Hm, I don’t know, maybe because you’re beautiful?” He shrugged, sending you a wink before moving to hold open the large oak doors to the great hall. As you walked in the hall got quiet before everyone broke out into hushed whispers. You looked at Theodore with suspicion.

“That’s not it.” You said, narrowed eyes.

“I’m sorry bella, I have no clue.” He said with a chuckle as he held up his hands in mock surrender. You decided to let it go as you walked together towards your friends. Theodore’s hand on the low of your back.

“Morning, y/n.” Lorenzo said a broad smirk on his face as you sat down next to him, Theodore next to you.

“Morning, boys.” You said smile on your face as you reached for a piece of toast.

“So, did you sleep well?” Mattheo said before coughing, “with Theo.” He added between coughs. You narrowed your eyes at the boy you have come to look at like a brother. The others let out various chuckles at this. Theodore did tell you that Mattheo tried to help him get you back to your common room last night, so you assumed he filled in the others on what had happened.

“Yeah, did you use protection?” Blaise asked with a shrug making both you and Theodore choke on your tea and him his coffee. You looked at Theodore who was trying to hold in his laughter, deciding to turn the tide you turned to Blaise, a smirk on your face.

“At least there’s a reason to ask us that, when was the last time someone asked you that Blaise?” You asked innocently making Lorenzo and Mattheo laugh.

“Oi, y/n, that was foul.” Blaise said with a grin on his face making you laugh before you turned to Mattheo.

“I heard you couldn’t solve the riddle, what was it?” You asked, curious.

“Oh, I barely remember, like something lost in the day, blah blah, comes at night, what is it?” He said, his mouth full of food. You scrunched your nose at him.

“Do you mean They come out at night without being called and are lost in the day without being stolen.” You asked curiously as you looked between Theodore and Mattheo. They both nodded, making you shake your head at them.

“Yeah, that was the one.” Theodore confirmed as he took a bite out of his toast.

“Stars, you idiots. The answer is stars.” You said with a sigh making Lorenzo let out a chuckle.

“Well, how are we supposed to know that?” Mattheo protested making you chuckle and shake your head before sipping your tea.

“Oh, I don’t know, I suppose I expected more from someone with the last name Riddle.” You said pointedly making the others chuckle again. Mattheo sent you playful glare as he sipped his tea. The rest of breakfast went by quickly, so did the rest of the day and before you knew it you found yourself walking around the grounds with Theodore before dinner. Where the others had gone you had no idea. Theodore’s arm had found its way around your shoulders again, holding you close to his side. As you were walking outside in the thick layer of snow towards the green houses a blonde Hufflepuff boy bumped into your shoulder, making you stumble into Theodore’s side.

“Watch where you’re going.” The boy said, rather rudely, making you look at him stunned when you had regained your footing. You recognised him as Zacharias Smith. You frowned at him and just as you were about to tell him off Theodore had grabbed the collar of his cloak. He was snarling as he dragged the shorter Hufflepuff closer to his face. He had a dangerous look on his face while sending the boy an icy glare.

“Che cazzo stai facendo?” Theodore asked angrily.

“O-oi-” Zacharias protested, trying to get lose from Theodores grip.

“I asked you what the fuck you’re doing.” Theodore repeated, interrupting Zacharias protesting, dangerously slow this time. You saw how he gulped nervously. Coming out of your momentarily shock you jumped into action. Curling your fingers around Theodore’s bicep you successfully got his attention away from the Hufflepuff boy.

“Teddy,” You said, your voice soft, “please, I’m sure it was just an accident.” You looked with a pointed look at Zacharias who nodded fervently in agreement.

“Y-yeah, I’m s-sorry y/n.” He sputtered out. Theodore looked at him, the cold, dangerous stare back in his eyes as he reluctantly let go of Zacharias collar. The moment he was lose he scurried away like a frightened deer. Theodore turned back to you, his eyes now back to their puppy dog look that you’ve become familiar with. But this time you weren’t feeling the usual warmth in your stomach when you gazed into them. No, you were feeling the prickling feeling of annoyance bubble up in your stomach instead, along with something else.

“What did you do that for?” You asked, glaring at the boy with fluffy hair. A small frown made its way onto his lips.

“What do you mean, bella?” He asked, a hint of worry in his voice.

“Why did you have to go all ‘cave man’ on Zacharias? He only bumped into me for Merlin’s sake.” You let out in an exasperated tone, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Cave man? Bella, he hurt you and he was rude to you!” Theodore said as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Sure, he was rud-”

“No one can treat you like that in front of me.” He interrupted you, his voice low. You felt the icy wind nip at your face as the warm feeling returned to the pit of your stomach.

“I- what? Why?” You stuttered, his admission catching you off guard.

“How can you be so smart and so stupid at the same time?” He muttered irritably as he took a step closer to you, snow crunching under his feet.

“I’m not stupid.” You scoffed, sending him another glare. He let out a laugh in frustration as he looked to the side before looking back at you. His hand grabbed your chin making you hold your eye contact.

“You are the smartest person I know, and yet you can’t see what’s in front of you.” He said, his face coming closer to yours. Your heart was beating fast as your eyes searched his blue ones. His eyes were raw with emotion as he was staring at your face.

“What?” You asked softly, still lost in his eyes. He let out a huff, eyes quickly darting to the side before they found yours again. His face was so close to yours that you could see the specs of green and grey in his blue irises. The cold air evaporated around you when his soft lips found yours. His hand that was gripping your chin moved to the nape of your neck to bring you closer, his other finding your hip, squeezing it gently. It took you a moment to realise what was happening. Theodore was kissing you. The boy you had been crushing on was kissing you. Before you could even think about reciprocate the kiss he pulled back. Worry was swirling in his beautiful eyes.

“Bella, I-” He started to apologise but your mind caught up with the situation. You interrupted his apology by kissing him, your hands grabbing onto the ends of his knitted Slytherin scarf, effectively dragging him down to your height. It felt like a breath of fresh air to be kissing him. Like you had been closed in a stuffy room for too long and he was the window that was cracked open. You felt how his soft lips stretched into a smile as he kissed you back in a gentle, slow kiss. The wind swirled snowflakes around the two of you as your arms found their way around his neck to get even closer to him. The two of you smiled as you kissed each other in the cold winter air. Only pulling apart by the loud cheering of three other Slytherins you have come to look at as your friends and brothers. You looked at your friends, laughter in your throat before you looked back to Theodore who was smiling down at you, adoration in his eyes.

“Should we get to dinner, amore?” He asked softly but made no move to go over to your friends.

“Amore?” You questioned, butterflied fluttering in your stomach. He nodded as he gently took on of your hands in his before placing a soft kiss on your knuckles.

“Amore mio.” He said making your heart beat considerably faster. He smiled softly at you making you stand on the tip of your toes to place another kiss on his lips. Yet another loud cheer could be heard from up the hill near the castle. You couldn’t contain your smile as you kissed him, only breaking apart because the cheers became too loud. With a laugh you and Theodore joined your friends before heading to dinner. Maybe there was more to life than studying. What neither of you saw was Professor Flitwick that had witnessed the whole ordeal, a fond smile on his face.

[pizzaapeteer]

Framed

Just a sweet wholesome - and a little goofy - scene where Theo see's you wear your glasses for the first time.

An: I myself wear glasses and went through the I can only assume universal years of feeling unconfident in them. I'm a happy glasses wearer now but my own bf helped my confidence and when i saw this quote from this Tumblr post here (I think last year honestly) I knew i wanted to write some sweet for the glasses pals 🥹🌟

Warnings: The picture provided does not represent the readers looks in anyway. Indicates f!reader from the quote, but don't think I specify gender. No other, just cute fluff. Word count: 1200

The last of the students file alongside you with haste as you make way towards your seat for charms. Sliding yourself onto the long bench, you settle, fixing your disarranged tie and carefully smoothing your hair down as you wait for class to begin. Flitwick announces his presence with the scrapes of chalk on the board and you lift your head, instantly squinting at the blurred vision before you.

A silent curse to yourself with the quick realisation sinking in that you had forgotten to insert your contacts and cannot make out Flitwick's cursive. Favourably, you always made sure to carry your glasses with you as an absolute backup, but a seeping dread and apprehension surges in your chest at the thought of needing to wear them.

Having no choice, you begrudgingly grab them from your bag and slide the frames onto your face, your vision correcting instantly. You pray no one pays enough attention to confidently point them out, leaning your head in your hand in extra effort to hide yourself, glad when your hair falls, creating more of a shield. But of course, the one person you wished wouldn’t notice does. 

Theo, often your desk neighbour who had also been running late, slides into the seat beside you, his head snapping down to the way you're sitting. His eyes trail over you as they usually do, before stopping to rest on the frames perched on your nose. His expression is nothing more than a mere eyebrow raise at the new accessory, though his gaze doesn’t falter despite the class beginning.

Sensing the lingering stares from Nott, you raise your head, glancing at him, reactively lifting your glasses to rest on your head in a moment of embarrassment. The once clear views of the handsome boy in front of you vanishes at your worsening site, and a deep chuckle leaves him when you squint instinctively.

“Huh, didn’t know you were blind as a bat.” His face resorts back to his signature resting face, a small smile peeking through his casual manner. “Cute bat nevertheless.” 

Scoffing lightly at his cheeky compliment, your hands lift, covering your face, trying to hide your obvious flustering. “Shut up Nott, and quit staring. It’s rude.” Lowering your gaze back to your notes and ignoring the rush of heat sweltering within your body, leaving you feeling nervous. 

Theo makes no endeavor to listen, deep eyes taking in every expression your face changes through. He feels lost, spiraling down a hypnotizing well as he drowns in your beauty. He’s drawn by the glasses that seem to enhance your elegance, watching you lower the specs. His lips curl wider. “Ah ha. This makes so much sense ya know.”

“What does?” Quirking your head in curiosity, your brows furrowing. 

His face shifts, exposing his adorable, charming toothy grin, one of your favourite features of him. “This is why you’ve never hit on me isn’t it. You haven’t been able to see how hot I am. Merlin, look at what you’ve been missing out on.” He whispers, emphasizing his face moving his hands in a circle before he runs a hand through his hair. His eyes meet yours with an impudent gleam, raising a brow in a sarcastic manner that he’s right. 

Rolling your eyes, attempting to hide the smile stretching onto your face, you snort. “Theo I wear contacts, you idiot.” You continue focusing on Flitwork's work, looking away from Theo momentarily, giving you time to breathe. “Stupid contacts,” you mutter under your breath, irritation laced in your tone. 

A quiet chuckle escapes him while he studies you, noticing the clear insecurity you're projecting about your eyewear and his heart softens. Here you were worried and anxious about how you looked in your cute glasses, while he thought you’d never looked more beautiful. He’s struggling to wrap his head around why you seem so bothered, asking his next question quietly with a genuine interest, “Why don’t you ever wear them?” 

Theo’s soft and calm tone surprises you, making you raise a brow, heartbeat speeding up, skin sweltering as he continues his wanderlust stare. “I don’t like them.” You mumble nervously, gazing back down, feeling your insecurity grow. A gentle caress brings your gaze back up to him, and he studies your features again, but closer. 

It’s a very intimate moment for the middle of class, your body becoming flustered staring into Theo’s ocean orbs. You always had a hard time giving him direct eye contact, finding yourself melting into a puddle. They held you captivated, saying so much with such little emotion.

Everyone is always comparing them to the ocean, and they were right, not even just for the colour but for how they always acted. His gaze could switch from calm to stormy in a matter of seconds, always so unpredictable, just like the weather. 

His gaze holds a truth to them, while you’re getting lost in his eyes he can’t help but mirror your actions. The colours and emotion swirling in them make it hard to look away, he feels trapped while he flickers between the contrast of your iris and the frames of your glasses.

“But you’ve got them framed now, like a piece of art. Nothing could be more beautiful.” 

Nothing could have prepared you for what he just said, your mouth parting in a state of awe, that the infamous Theodore nott could even hold such amazement for you. Gaping at him, you struggle to absorb his compliment.

Did he just compliment your glasses to art, something that should be marveled at? A piece of work that is admired by many. You can’t help the way your body flushes and the smile that creeps as you gaze at him appreciatively. No one has ever complimented you in such a way, and so casually. “Really?” 

He watches in sweet amusement, a swell of pride blooming in his chest, watching your face light up. A glow of pure happiness takes over your features, and he swears you’ve never looked prettier. He finds himself matching your smile, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, keeping his voice quiet to not disturb the class. “I wouldn’t lie to an angel.”

You’ve never found yourself so flustered before, feeling the heat migrate over your body, looking away from him momentarily. He laughs, breaking the romantic moment and you relax, relishing in the natural manner between you two falling back in. He leans back into the booth, smirking, “you should wear them more often. I like the idea of sitting beside literal art.”

Rolling your eyes but grinning again at his compliments, the idea that he likes you for you is making your heart swell hopefully. “And I get to see you all flustered like this, it’s adorable. It’s just spec-tactular, don’t you think?”  

Snorting a little too loud at his glasses pun you draw the attention of your professor, and he decides now to call on you for a question. Your face flushes in embarrassment at the extreme awareness that now is looking at you and your alternative eyewear.

Theo chuckles quietly once you answer and shrink back in your seat, glaring at him. He can’t help but continue his annoying and starting-to-seem-endless supply of eye related puns. “Hey now, don’t lash out at me, don’t lose sight of what’s important. You're a real vision.” 

The rest of class speeds by in a blur, with Theo never shutting up and your eyes unable to stop rolling, but with a small grin that’s unable to leave your face. Your mind can’t stop replaying his original moment of sweetness and, surprisingly, you feel a new growth of confidence has spurred. You’re seeing a whole new perspective with him.

⤷ navigation. ⤷ masterlist. ⤷ theo masterlist. All work is my own and is not to be copied, claimed or stolen. ©️pizzaapeteer 2024.

@slytherinravebabe I promised I’d let you know when I finished it 🌟

[levandright]

( 니키 ) ﹕ secret glances

pairings : riki x f!reader ☘︎ content / warning(s) : fluff, classmates to friends to lovers, riki is down bad, school au, non-idol au ☘︎ word count : 0.7k enha archive

synopsis. the fleeting glances you've exchanged with riki, quiet and unspoken, each moment bringing your hearts closer together. ☘︎ lev notes : happy birthday to riki <3 this is the surprise i was talking about in my last work hehe :3 i tried out not using dialouges much and i think it worked well ;)

-`♡´- | the first day of school always carries a mix of excitement and nerves, but today felt heavier. new school, new faces—it was overwhelming. as you stepped into the classroom, the buzz of conversation seemed to quiet, and dozens of eyes turned toward you. the teacher beckoned you to the front, and with a deep breath, you introduced yourself, your voice steady despite the pounding in your chest.

and then, you saw him.

among the sea of unfamiliar faces, his stood out the most. dark eyes met yours with a curiosity that sent a flicker of something unspoken through the air. you held the gaze longer than you should have, unsure if it was intrigue or coincidence that kept him looking back.

“take the seat behind nishimura,” the teacher instructed, pulling you from the moment.

he turned slightly as you moved toward the desk behind him, his gaze flicking upward once more before he straightened in his seat. the faintest trace of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, gone before you could be certain you saw it.

sliding into your seat, you couldn’t help but wonder if that fleeting moment meant something—or if it was nothing at all.

-`♡´- | the classroom buzzed with excitement and a little awkwardness as the teacher announced the dance activity. you couldn’t help but glance at riki, who was leaning against his desk with his usual casual air. when the pairs were called, you were matched with someone else, and for a fleeting moment, you thought you saw riki’s relaxed expression falter.

as the music started, you focused on keeping in step with your partner, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of someone watching. you turned your head slightly, catching riki’s gaze. his eyes were dark, fixed on you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

it was during one of the moves—a gentle touch to your waist—that his stare sharpened. he wasn’t smiling, his usual light demeanor replaced with something quieter, almost brooding.

when your partner spun you back into position, you risked another glance at riki. his expression remained unreadable, but the weight of his gaze lingered, leaving you wondering what he was truly thinking.

-`♡´- | the classroom was quiet during the break, with most students chatting softly or scrolling through their phones. riki, however, had his head down on his desk, his breathing steady as he napped. you knew he’d pulled another all-nighter, probably gaming or cramming for an assignment, so you decided to let him rest.

settling into the seat next to him, you unwrapped your snack and quietly ate, trying not to disturb him. but as the minutes passed, your attention wandered to his face—peaceful, so different from his usual playful expressions. his messy black hair fell slightly over his eyes, and you couldn’t help but notice how soft his features looked in the afternoon light.

suddenly he shifted, turning his head toward you. his eyes fluttered open, and before you could react, your gazes locked. you froze, caught in the moment, his sleepy stare holding yours as a faint smirk curved his lips.

-`♡´- | the park was quiet, the world wrapped in a blanket of fresh snow. each flake fell softly, creating a serene, magical scene. your hands were intertwined with riki’s, his palm warm against yours despite the chilly air. the two of you sat on a bench beneath a snow-covered tree, the silence between you comforting, like a shared secret.

you couldn’t help but hum softly, the peacefulness of the moment filling you with warmth. the snow glittered under the faint glow of a nearby streetlamp, and for a moment, it felt like you were the only two people in the world.

but then you noticed—riki hadn’t said a word in a while. curious, you turned your head to look at him, expecting his usual playful smirk or a sarcastic comment. instead, you found him already watching you.

his lips curved into a gentle smile, the kind that reached his eyes. but it wasn’t just a smile—it was full of something deeper, something that made your heart skip. his gaze held a quiet affection, unguarded and tender.

“you’re beautiful,” he murmured softly, almost as if speaking the words to himself. and just like that, the snow wasn’t the only thing melting.

enha perm taglist. @dazzlingjaeyun @honeychocos @manaah02 @kozumesphone @jias-entopia

[thecuriousbeauty]

Different Frequencies- Part I (Harry Styles! au x autistic!reader)

A/N:- Hey guys, know it's been a while but I'm back with a short series for you all! This is my first time writing about autism, and I've done quite some research before writing about a particular scene. Just wanted to try something different and push my own personal boundaries and style of writing. Hope you love this, do let me know what you think!

Word count: 6,068

Synopsis- College heartthrob and football captain Harry Styles needs extra credit to survive the year. His only shot? Mentoring Y/N, a brilliant but blunt autistic student who couldn’t care less about his charm. What starts as an obligation soon sparks something neither of them expected. ________________________________

Harry Styles slumped further into the chair, arms crossed, jaw clenched. He hated meetings like this. Academic probation. Extra credit. Assigned tutoring. It all sounded like a punishment for being a guy who just wanted to play ball and mind his own business.

Professor Langley adjusted her glasses and gave him a look that made him feel twelve again. "Harry, you're two percentage points from failing this course. I’m giving you a chance. This assignment could save your season."

"What kind of assignment?" Harry asked, already knowing he wouldn't like the answer.

She slid a form across the desk. "Communication mentorship. You’ll be helping a student with presentation skills. One-on-one. Weekly sessions."

Harry stared at the paper like it might bite. "You’re kidding. That’s not extra credit, that’s babysitting."

Professor Langley raised an eyebrow. “It’s mentoring. And it counts toward your final grade. Besides, she could use someone with confidence. You’ve got that in spades, Mr. Styles.”

He stood, shoving the chair back with a screech. “This is bullsh—” He stopped himself. "Whatever. Fine."

“Her name is y/n y/l/n.” Langley called as he grabbed the door handle. “She’s in your sociology class. You’ll start tomorrow. Try not to scare her off.”

Harry didn't answer. He was already gone.

The locker room was a sanctuary of noise and sweat. The scent of muscle rub and cheap deodorant hit him the second he walked in. His teammates were already tossing towels and talking trash when he dropped his bag by his locker and dropped himself onto the bench with a groan.

“Yo, Styles,” called Jamal, grinning. “You look like someone just told you no more carbs.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, still annoyed. “I just got assigned to tutor someone for extra credit.”

“Pfft, easy points,” said Nate, slapping on his studs. “Who is it? Hot and dumb? Or just dumb?”

“Neither,” Harry muttered. “Some girl named y/n.. She can’t do presentations or something.”

Jamal leaned around the row of lockers. “Wait. y/n y/l/n? The one who sits in the front row and never talks?”

“I don’t know, man. I guess?” Harry sighed. “Langley said she needs help communicating.’ I don’t even know what that means. I'm not a damn therapist.”

“Dude,” Nate snorted. “Maybe she’s just shy. Help her say a few words, get your credit, move on. Could be worse.”

Harry didn’t answer. He stared at the floor, jaw working. This wasn’t part of the plan. He had enough to worry about with playoffs, scouts, and barely passing classes as it was.

“Come on, let’s hit the field. You can worry about your little assignment later.”, Nate brings him out of his thoughts. The boys hit the field for their practice drills. Harry kicked the ball into goals like it didn’t take any effort. The crowd of students lounging on the bleachers erupted into cheers, mostly girls, mostly there for him.

“Harry!” someone shrieked. He didn’t need to look to know who it was, or at least what type. Makeup thick, smiles plastic, phones pointed at him like he was a zoo animal doing tricks.

He gave a wink, then jogged backward with a smirk, tossing the ball lazily to the sideline.

“Styles!” Coach barked. “Focus up. We’re not out here to show off for your little fan club.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, though the grin never left his face. He didn’t need to try. The attention just happened, always had. He’d always been the guy. Campus darling. Locker room legend.

The girls in the stands giggled again when he peeled off his sweat-soaked shirt during water break. He flexed without meaning to, or maybe he did. 

Nate bumped his shoulder. “You ever get tired of being the main character?”

Harry chuckled, wiping his face with his shirt. “Not even a little.”

But the thought of that meeting with Professor Langley poked at the edge of his mind again. Extra credit. y/n. Some awkward girl who probably hated crowds and wouldn’t survive a minute on this field.

He glanced back toward the stands. The noise. The attention. The weight of always being watched. It was exhausting, sometimes. But it was all he knew.

A nerdy girl who didn’t speak much? Probably afraid of her own shadow?

No way she’d survive a day in his world. And no way she belonged in it.Still... if it kept him on the field, he’d do it. How hard could it be?

__________________________________________

The art room smelled like pencil shavings, old paper, and something faintly metallic, maybe the broken sink in the back again. It was quiet, except for the scratch of graphite against textured paper and the distant hum of a fan that had been dying for weeks.

Y/N sat curled over her sketchpad, fingers steady, her pencil dancing in clean, deliberate lines. She had been working on the shading for twenty-two minutes and forty-eight seconds. Her reference photo, a raven mid-flight, was clipped to the corner of her clipboard, but she didn’t need it anymore. The image lived behind her eyes now. What mattered was getting the wings just right.

Light on the top edge. Darker where the feathers tucked under.

One line. Then a pause to smudge with the side of her thumb.

She didn’t blink much when she was like this, didn't notice the fluorescent light flickering above or the scrape of a chair leg from across the room.

Zayn was talking again.

“…and then she said it’s not a date if we’re just studying, but like, we both know she brought two iced coffees, so that is a date, right? I mean, who brings someone iced coffee unless they’re into them?”

Y/N blinked once, just enough to wet her eyes, then continued shading.

He was sitting on the table next to hers, legs swinging, half-laughing at his own ramble. She didn’t need to respond. He didn’t expect her to. That was why he was safe.

The smudge on the raven’s wing was too sharp. She reached for the kneaded eraser and pressed gently to lift the graphite, shaping the light.

Zayn leaned sideways to peek at her drawing. “Yo, that’s creepy good. Like, museum-level bird vibes. You sure you’re not secretly famous on Instagram?”

“Instagram compresses resolution,” she said quietly, eyes never leaving the paper.

Zayn snorted. “Okay, nerd. Still though, you should post it. People like birds. Birds are, like, emotionally safe or whatever.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t want to think about people looking at her art. Looking at her, period. In here, it was just the bird. The sweep of the wing. The pressure of the pencil. She knew how hard to press for light, medium, or dark. It made sense. Unlike faces. Or voices. Or—

“Did you hear me?” Zayn asked, nudging her arm lightly.

“Mm.” She blinked again, and the bird’s eye looked back at her, perfectly round, perfectly sharp. Alive.

“I asked if you’re gonna go to the art show next month. You know, the show? The one you always skip?”

“No.” She moved to the feathers on the tail. “I don’t know how to answer..questions that people ask. They will ask questions, right? Cannot..cannot explain art.”

Zayn stretched out on the table like a cat. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ll be your bodyguard. Scowl at anyone who talks too loud or smells like Axe.”

Y/N’s lip twitched. Barely a smile, but close.

The bird was almost done. She reached for her thin mechanical pencil, the one with the perfect .3mm tip, and started adding the linework on the beak.

Every line she drew quieted the rest of the world. 

______________________________________________

y/n was called to Professor’s Langley’s cabin. She very well knew what for and it was already making her mind spiral. The hallway outside Professor Langley’s cabin-style office was always too bright. The glass walls caught the noon sun and bounced it everywhere, on the floor, on her face, into her eyes. Y/N kept her gaze low, counting her steps, feeling the seams of her jeans scratch against her skin in that way she hated but tolerated.

Her sketchbook was clutched to her chest. Inside: her latest unfinished work, a fox curled in tall grass. Next to it, a small pouch of pencils, a folded note from Zayn, and a lined index card with questions she’d prepared in case she forgot what to say.

Just a few more steps. Just make it to the door.

She didn’t see the trio of girls until it was too late.

“Watch it, weirdo,” one of them said as she bumped into Y/N’s shoulder,  not by accident.

The sketchbook slipped. The pouch hit the floor and exploded. Pencils scattering in every direction.

Y/N froze.

The hallway felt louder all of a sudden. Too loud. Laughter spiked behind her, sharp and bright and jagged.

“Oh my God, is that like, art?” one of the girls snickered, nudging the open sketchbook with the toe of her boot.

Y/N dropped to her knees, not speaking. If she opened her mouth, she wasn’t sure what would come out. Her hands trembled as she reached for her pencils, fingertips fumbling as she tried to sort them by hardness: 4B, HB, 2H, mechanical...

Breathe. Count. Don’t cry here. Don’t.

From the far end of the hall, Harry leaned against the wall, sipping from a sports drink and half-watching the scene. He hadn’t really noticed Y/N before. Just a quiet girl from sociology. But now, with her on the ground, clutching pencils like lifelines while three smug girls mocked her, he felt... something off.

“She’s not bothering anyone,” he muttered under his breath.

Nate was beside him, chewing gum, unimpressed. “That’s y/n y/l/n.” he said, popping a bubble. “Girl you’re paired with.”

Harry blinked. “That’s her?”

“Yep. She’s kind of… different. Smart, though. Professor Langley’s, like, protective of her or whatever.”

Harry watched her gather the last of her things. She didn’t yell. Didn’t snap back. Just moved with quiet, practiced urgency, like she’d done this before. Been knocked down, cleaned it up, said nothing.

He felt a twist in his stomach. Guilt, maybe. Or just the unsettling realization that not everyone was built to survive this place the way he was.

Y/N pressed the sketchbook tightly to her chest again and stood, her breath catching. The lights were buzzing. Her palms were sweaty. Her pencil pouch didn’t zip right anymore.

But she made it to the office door and hurried inside.

Inside, the lights were softer, the air still. Langley sat behind her desk, glasses low on her nose.

“Y/N, I’m glad you came.”

Y/N nodded once, lips pressed into a line.

Langley gestured to the chair. “I won’t keep you long. I wanted to let you know that your communication mentorship is starting this week.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

“I already heard,” she said, voice barely audible.

Langley folded her hands. “Then you know it’s Harry Styles.”

Y/N looked at her hands in her lap. They were still shaking.

“I don’t..I don’t think he’ll take it seriously.”

Langley’s expression softened. “I think you might be surprised. And I think he might be, too.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her brain was still back in the hallway, on the sound of mocking voices and pencils hitting tile.

Langley didn’t push. “You’re not alone in this, Y/N. And you don’t have to change who you are. Just try. That’s all I’m asking.”

Y/N nodded again. She wasn’t sure if it meant “yes” or “I don’t know what else to do.”

Outside, Harry was still leaning against the wall, watching the closed door.

For the first time, he wasn’t thinking about himself.

_____________________________________________

The classroom was too quiet, too echoey, too wrong. Y/N sat in the far-left corner of the room, her usual spot, back against the wall, nearest the window, away from the center of things. Zayn was beside her, sprawled out in the neighboring chair, legs stretched under the table, chewing the edge of his hoodie sleeve like he always did when he was tense.

Y/N’s fingers tapped a rhythm against her thigh. one-two-three, one-two-three. matching the pattern of her heartbeat. Her brain wouldn’t stop.

He’s late. He was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. Eleven now. Twelve.

“Still no show,” Zayn muttered, glancing at the clock. “Big surprise.”

Y/N didn’t answer. Her thoughts were looping. She had rehearsed the opening of their session, written it down three times in case she forgot. But now she couldn’t even remember the first line.

He won’t take this seriously. What if he makes fun of me? What if he laughs when I try to speak? What if I shut down? What if I say nothing and he tells the professor I’m wasting his time?

“Hey.” Zayn nudged her ankle lightly under the table. “You’re not a problem. You hear me?”

She nodded, eyes locked on the blank page of the notebook in front of her. She’d brought a few prompts, safe topics, simple answers. All neatly organized in a pocket folder. Just in case she couldn't find her words.

Zayn sighed. “Honestly, I don’t even know why Langley thought he was the right person for this. The guy’s a walking ego in cleats.”

The door opened mid-sentence.

Harry Styles stepped in like he’d just rolled off a magazine cover. Wind in his curly brown hair, athletic jacket slung over his shoulder, like he hadn’t kept them waiting fifteen whole minutes.

“Hey,” he said casually, dropping his bag near the door. “Sorry, had practice.”

Zayn stood, instantly.

“So you couldn’t text?” he asked, tone sharp. “You just let her sit here and spiral for a quarter of an hour?”

Harry blinked, caught off guard. “Okay, who are you, exactly?”

“I’m the guy who gives a damn when she’s treated like she doesn’t matter,” Zayn shot back. “You’re just some jock who probably thinks this is a charity project.”

Harry’s posture shifted, eyebrows pulling together. “You don’t know me. Don’t act like you do.”

Zayn took a step forward. “I know enough.”

Y/N stood up too fast.

“Zayn, it’s okay,” she said, voice thinner than usual, like it had been folded too many times. “Please. You don’t have to stay.”

He looked at her, jaw tight, clearly unhappy. But her eyes weren’t angry, just overwhelmed. That look he’d seen a thousand times since they were kids. The one that meant: If you stay, I’ll break.

He exhaled through his nose. “Fine. But I’ll be right outside.”

She nodded.

Zayn gave Harry one last look. Not threatening, but not friendly, then walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

The silence that followed felt like a dropped plate.

Harry glanced around, then scratched the back of his neck. “That your boyfriend or something?”

Y/N didn’t look at him. “No. Friend.”

Harry sat down in Zayn’s empty chair and leaned back like this was just another lecture. “He’s got a hell of a chip on his shoulder.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She was reading the first line that she wrote. Hello. My name is Y/N. Thank you for helping me. I am autistic. I do not communicate the same way as everyone else, but I want to try.

Harry sighed and checked the time, mentally preparing himself to sit through an hour. “Right. I’m Harry. I guess Langley’s already told you things?”

She nodded, still not bringing her eyes up to meet his. “y-y/n.”, she says.

“y/n,look,  I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do. I just need to do this so I can continue playing football, okay? I won’t get in your hair, you don’t get in mine, and we both can go back happy-”

“-Get in my hair?”, she wonders out loud. How could someone get in someone’s hair?

Harry blinks, then thinks she didn’t hear him well so he leans closer and explains. “Yes. You can do your thing during our sessions, I won’t bother you. When all our sessions are over, you can tell Langley I did a good job, yeah?”

“No, nope.” She shakes her head and lets out a chuckle.

“Um, no? And what’s funny about this?”, Harry furrows his eyebrows. 

“I need this, um, these sessions. Cannot lie for Harry.”

Harry groans. He thought he could just convince her to get through this somehow but it seems like she actually cares about the session.

“I really thought you’d agree, y/n. Why make it harder for both of us?”

“I told you, I need this. And you need to work for extra credit.”

Harry couldn’t help but smirk at her disapproving tone. “Alright. Then tell me what you want from me.”

Harry’s voice hit her like warm static, low, rough around the edges, too loud even when he wasn’t trying to be. It had that casual, careless rhythm people used when they expected to be listened to. Confident. Unfiltered. Like he’d never once worried about saying the wrong thing.

To Y/N, it wasn’t just a voice. It was texture.

Every syllable scraped against her thoughts like gravel under bare feet. Not painful, exactly but jarring. Distracting. Unpredictable

“Communication. It’s..it’s not easy for me. I’m autistic.”, she tells him, staring at her desk.

Harry sits quietly, then nods because it makes sense how she has not made eye contact with him all this while and how she’s always quiet and in her own world.

“I want to change, come out of my..my comfort uh box?”

“Your comfort zone.”, Harry corrects, a slight smile forming on his face. This was going to be interesting. 

“Oh! This is for you, please..please read.” She pushes a neatly folded piece of paper towards him. He unfolds it and reads through it.

How You Can Help Me:

Please don’t raise your voice, even if you’re not angry.

I need extra time to think before I talk.

If I go quiet, I’m not ignoring you.

Don’t interrupt when I’m speaking. Let me finish.

I use written words when I can’t speak. That’s okay.

Please tell me what we’re doing before we do it.

Ask direct questions. Not vague ones.

Eye contact is hard. I’m still listening.

Harry read it all without saying anything, and that was good. Y/N couldn’t handle talking and being watched at the same time.

When he finally looked up, something in his face had changed. Just slightly.

“Okay,” he said, voice low again. “I can do that.”

He looked like he meant it.

y/n gives him a small nod. 

“So? You like sketching?”

y/n looks up at him for the first time, eyes briefly meeting his. His eyes were green. Not the flat, predictable green of a leaf or a chalkboard, but layered. They reminded her of moss under water, or the kind of glass that looked cracked without actually breaking. There were flecks of gold near the center, like someone had spilled sunlight there and it never quite dried.

She looked away quickly. “How..how do you know?”

“I know a lot of things.”, he replies, smiling wider, happy with the small moment of eye contact. He couldn’t figure out the color.They had that curious look. Wide, but not naïve. Clear, but not soft. Like she was seeing everything at once.

 This was already different from conversations he’s had with other people. He suddenly wanted to know more about her. He couldn’t deny the fact that she was beautiful. 

She had her hair in a braid, not the messy, flirty kind he was used to seeing at parties, but a neat, practical one, the kind someone did because they needed their hair out of the way. No nonsense. No drama. But something about it pulled his eyes.

Maybe it was the way the braid curved over her shoulder like it belonged there, dark against the pale green of her sweater. Maybe it was how a few strands had slipped free near her temple and caught the light like silk thread.

“Cocky. Zayn thinks Harry’s cocky.”, she blurts out, nodding in agreement to herself and Harry laughs. “Does he now? What else did he tell you about me?”

y/n smiles slyly, and shakes her head. She isn’t supposed to tell him, is she? Instead, she slides her laptop towards him. “My presentation.”

“Okay..and what do you want me to do with it?” He obviously knew what to do, he had to help her speak about it. He starts going through the slides as she frowns. “Uh, help? Help, duh?”

“I got that, but I don’t have the patience to go through all this content, so I need you to brief me.”

y/n’s eyes widen. “B-Brief you? Not prepared, I’m not prepared. Just..just read!”

Harry raises his eyebrows, looking at her. “And I don’t like reading! You don’t have to be prepared for this, cherry, I’m asking you to tell me a summary of the content you already know about. Less of reading, more of talking, that’s what we’ll do, alright?”

y/n fiddles with her fingers uneasily, the Harry boy already getting on her nerves, but something else grabs her attention. “Cherry?” Did he call her Cherry?

“Yeah, cherry. Your top. And your cheeks, they’re red.”, he explains so casually. She doesn’t understand if he has a flirty tone or if he is just teasing her. She did wear a white top with cherries printed on them.

“You said you wanted to get out of your comfort zone. This is how we’re gonna do that, okay?”, he feels like he’s speaking to a small child. He remembers the helpless look she had on her face when those girls made her fall that day, and he feels a little sorry for her now, knowing her condition. “Take your time, and tell me about your slides. Then we’ll make a speech, sounds good?”

It didn’t sound good. She was sure she would stutter a million times and test his patience. But like he said, if this was going to help her get out of her comfort zone, she would try.

“I can try.”, she tells him, not promising anything, and he brings up a fist, wanting a fist bump. Zayn sometimes does it with her. She slowly makes a fist, looking at her palm while doing so quickly touches it to Harry’s.

“That has to be the softest fist bump in history. Anyway..”

Harry didn’t know why he suddenly wanted to take this seriously. He didn’t want to push it away like another project. He didn’t understand, or get her, yet. But he wanted to.

____________________________________________________

Y/N was vibrating with energy.

“I didn’t freeze,” she said, eyes wide, hands moving fast as she spoke. “Not once. He read the note and..and actually listened! I thought he’d make fun of it,you know, the list,but he didn’t. He just said ‘Okay’ and didn’t even talk over me.”

Zayn glanced at her, eyebrows raised. She was smiling,a real one. Not the polite, uncertain kind she gave in class. Her fingers were fluttering in her lap, tapping her jeans in a rhythmic pattern he knew well: processing, but happy.

“Oh! And he called me Cherry.”

“Cherry?” Zayn repeated, blinking.

“Because of my top.” She left out the part where he mentioned her cheeks were as red as cherries.

Y/N stared out the window for a second, biting her lip to hold back a grin. 

That should have made him smile too.

But it didn’t.

Instead, his grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly.

“I’m glad it went okay,” he said carefully. “You were really anxious this morning.”

“I know,” she said, nodding. “But it wasn’t bad. He didn’t talk down to me.”

Zayn exhaled slowly through his nose, watching the red light ahead blink to yellow.

He wanted to believe it. He really did.

But he also knew Harry Styles.

Knew how he flirted with anyone who looked in his direction. Knew the trail of rumors. Hookups, half-truths, one-time girls left on read by morning. And Y/N, with her quiet brilliance and straightforward honesty, wasn’t built to play games.

She didn’t see the signs. And if she did, she wouldn’t understand why someone would flirt just to pass the time.

Zayn glanced at her again, her eyes wide, braid a little messy now, cheeks flushed from excitement.

Innocent.

And way too trusting.

“Just…” he said slowly, “be careful, okay?”

Y/N frowned, not understanding. “Careful of what?”

Zayn didn’t answer right away. The light turned green, and he pressed the gas, more gently than usual.

��Just don’t let him make you think he’s something he’s not.”

She looked down at her hands, smile fading just a little. “You think..you think he’s lying?”

“I think he’s used to getting what he wants,” Zayn said quietly. “And I think you deserve better than someone who’s just looking for extra credit.”

Y/N didn’t argue.

But she also didn’t agree.

__________________________________________________

Y/N was already in her usual seat, second row, third from the left, close enough to hear the professor clearly but not so close that she’d be called on. Her notebook was open, her pen uncapped, and her highlighters laid out in a neat line. The class buzzed around her: idle chatter, squeaking chairs, someone’s pen tapping too fast behind her.

She didn’t look up when the door slammed open. She hated the noise.

Late.

Again.

She knew it was him without having to glance. Harry Styles had a specific kind of presence: loud without trying, confident without needing permission. Normally, he sat in the back with his usual crew, too cool to pretend he cared about lectures.

But then-

He was walking toward her row.

He was in her row.

And-

“Hey,” Harry said, casual as ever, standing right beside her. “Can I sit here?”

Y/N blinked.

He was pointing to the empty chair next to her. Her bag was on it. Her sketchbook was resting half-open on top. No one ever sat next to her in this class.

She stared at him, then at the chair, then back at him, fingers hovering mid-air above her notebook.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Cherry. Your stuff.”

Oh.

Right.

She moved slowly, startled. Her fingers weren’t working right. She fumbled the bag as she pulled it into her lap, closed the sketchbook too quickly and creased the corner. Her heart was beating faster than she liked.

He dropped into the chair beside her with that same easy energy, one arm flung across the back of it, like he’d sat there a thousand times.

People were watching. She could feel them watching.

Y/N stared straight ahead, trying to ground herself. One-two-three, one-two-three, deep breath.

Harry leaned slightly closer. Not enough to touch her but just enough so she could hear him.

“I figured if I’m your partner, I should probably sit like it.”

She didn’t answer, but she could feel the heat crawling up her neck. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t mocking her. Just… sitting.

It didn’t make sense.

Harry Styles never sat at the front. He never sat with her.

But today, he did.

And even though her routine was disrupted, and her chest felt too tight, and everyone was probably looking at her. She could feel it.

Eyes.

All around her.

A few turned heads. A few not-so-subtle whispers. The girl who usually chewed gum too loudly two rows over had stopped chewing, which was somehow worse. One of Harry’s football friends sitting in the back nudged the guy beside him with a grin that wasn’t friendly. Someone near the door actually took a photo. She heard the soft click.

Her fingers clenched around her pen.

Harry didn’t seem to notice  or he did and didn’t care. He slouched in the chair like it was his personal throne, one leg stretched out, arms relaxed, like none of it meant anything.

But to Y/N, it meant everything.

This wasn’t part of the plan. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Not in this class. Not in this seat.

She didn’t do unannounced changes. She didn’t do people this close. She didn’t do rumors, or eyes, or questions she couldn’t answer.

She flinched slightly when he leaned in.

“Are they always like this?” he whispered, eyes flicking to the side.

Y/N kept her eyes forward, voice barely audible. “No one’s ever sat here before.”

Harry paused.

“Well… they’ll get used to it.”

She looked at him then,  just briefly and he was already facing the front, smirking faintly, like this was just another game to him.

But it didn’t feel like a game.It felt like he chose to sit beside her.

And that was scarier than the stares.

_______________________________________________

A week went by quickly and it was time for their session again. Harry, surprisingly, wasn’t late this time. He had snatched a paper y/n was reading from, about conversational tone.

“So, according to this, I’m apparently a communication expert now. Might as well open a clinic. Dr. Styles, speech therapist extraordinaire.”

y/n was still pretty displeased about the fact that he had snatched the sheet from her, but she mumbles, “You can’t open a clinic..no. You don’t have a license.”

“Right. I was being sarcastic, Cherry.”, Harry smirks, putting the paper away so he can look at her. He liked observing her facial expressions and reactions. 

y/n’s confused now. “So..you don’t want to open a clinic?”

Harry laughs lightly. “No, I can barely keep a plant alive, let alone run a clinic.”

She blinks, then says earnestly. “Plantopedia, page number 436. Cactus requires the least emotional labor. You should start with that, yeah.” She smiles, pleased with herself for giving him the right information.

Harry’s jaw drops open and he stares at her for a second before he laughs, uncontrollably. y/n looks at him strangely, wondering what she said wrong. Even the page number was surely right.

“God, you’re brilliant. That was gold, seriously.”, Harry says, leaning forward, now chuckling.

“I wasn’t joking. I don’t know how to crack jokes. Don’t get them either.”, she tells him.

“Even better.”, he said quietly, and for a minute they were both silent. 

“B-But..cacti do need a little emotional labor. Just..not often.”

Harry grins. “Noted. I’ll talk to them once a week.”

She looks at him, then closes her mouth slowly as he continues to laugh. “Right. Harry’s not actually going to talk to it. That’s funny.” 

“See? You get it!” 

y/n lets out a small giggle, before going back to her task. She had to tell Harry the first few lines of her speech by the end of this session. Mid way between her speech, she got distracted.

Her gaze drifted to the window beside their study table. A butterfly had landed on the sill, its wings a fragile kaleidoscope of blues and black, gently pulsing in the golden afternoon light.

Y/N didn’t say anything. She just watched.

Her hands, which had been fiddling, stilled completely. Even her breathing seemed to slow, as if matching the rhythm of the butterfly’s wings. Harry followed her gaze wondering what made her stop talking, then looked back at her. And stayed there.

He meant to say something. A joke, maybe. Something to pull her attention back to him. But the words caught in his throat.

She looked... peaceful. Not the kind of calm people fake when they’re trying to seem composed, but the genuine sort that came from being fully present. Like she wasn’t thinking about how she looked or what he might be thinking. The light made her skin glow soft at the edges, and the faint furrow in her brow, curiosity, not worry, gave her a kind of depth that made Harry feel like everything else in the room had faded away.

He’d always been drawn to noise, to people who sparkled loud and fast.

But this… this was different.

“y/n?” he said softly.

She didn’t answer, still watching the butterfly like it was telling her a secret.

Harry leaned his arms on the table, his gaze not on the window, but on her. The soft slope of her nose, the faint press of her lips, the quiet steadiness in her posture. She wasn’t trying to charm him. Wasn’t even aware of him in that moment. And for reasons he didn’t fully understand, he liked that even more.

Finally, the butterfly flickered its wings once more and took off. Y/N blinked like she was coming back from somewhere far away.

She turned to him. “Sorry. I was watching it.”

Harry cleared his throat, suddenly aware that he’d been staring. “Yeah. No, don’t apologize.”

She smiled, brief but genuine. “I like butterflies. Easy to understand.”

He found himself smiling too. “Wish I could say the same about you.”

She didn’t catch the flirtation in his tone. Harry tapped her hand softly, which made her look up at him with a start. She usually didn’t even like small touches like that, but strangely, she didn’t pull her hand back immediately. 

“Do I have your attention now, Cherry? We have got just 10 minutes more.” 

She blinks, still getting used to the nickname. “Over? Speech is over right?”

“Nope, you only said the first two lines. Just two more. Start from the beginning, please.”

She groaned and he laughed, “Hey, no complaining.”

They wrapped up in another ten minutes. Y/N closed her notebook with a sharp snap and began organizing her pens into color-coded rows, her signal that their session was done. Predictable, precise. It shouldn’t have caught him off guard.

“You heading out?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

She nodded without looking up. “Zayn is waiting for me.”

Harry hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Yeah, makes sense.”

He almost didn’t say it, but something nudged him forward.

“You know, if you ever wanted to, uh… watch football practice or something, you could. I mean, I’d wait with you after, or Zayn could meet you later or-”

“I don’t like watching sports,” Y/N said bluntly, slipping her planner into her bag. “And if there is a change in my routine, it makes me anxious. Uh..thank you, though.”

She said it kindly, earnestly. 

Still, Harry nodded a little too quickly, swallowing the unexpected pang in his chest. “Cool. Yeah. No worries.”

Before she leaves, she turns back. “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Uh..thank you, for helping me..this actually helps, I think.” 

Harry beams. “Not a problem, love, I need the extra credit, might as well do it seriously.”

She nods, her watch telling her it’s time to leave. “Okay. Bye Harry.”

“See you, Cherry.”

________________________________

Harry tossed his duffel bag onto the bench beside the practice field, but his heart wasn’t in the drills. Coach had already yelled at him twice for missing passes. He kept thinking about the way she’d looked at him, like she saw right through the sarcasm and flash, straight into the bare, unpolished bits he didn’t usually let anyone see.

“She’s got you in a chokehold already, huh?”

Harry turned to find Nate grinning, water bottle in hand, eyes sharp.

“Shut up,” Harry muttered, kicking a stray ball toward the sideline.

“I’m just saying,” Nate continued, unfazed. “You’ve been weird lately. You, skipping post-practice hangs? You live for an audience.”

Harry shrugged, wiping sweat from his brow. “It’s nothing. She’s just… different.”

“Different how?”

Harry didn’t answer right away. He flopped onto the grass, staring up at the sky, the clouds too still for how fast his thoughts were spinning.

“She doesn’t pretend,” he said finally. “She’s not trying to impress anyone. Doesn’t care that I’m… me.”

“That sounds kind of great, actually.”

Harry looked over. “It’s not like that. She’s just a project.”

Nate raised a brow. “Right. And that’s why you’ve brought her up every day this week?”

Harry didn’t respond. Because maybe it had started as extra credit. Just a requirement. But the disappointment when she left today? The stupid hope that she might’ve said yes? That hadn’t felt like schoolwork.

Not even close.

_________________________________________

Like it up and reblog so I can get Part 2 out sooner! Please let me know if there are any changes to be made to the tag list.

Taglist: -@livypops12352568 @harrydeary, @harryswifee, @harrysbxtchh, @gracelovesethan, @kiwitsayedsugar, @angeldavis777,@madstyles3204, @youngpastafanmug, @fruity-harry, @wannaliveinparadise@hermionelove@mayalove014 @vikiii07@ell0ra-br3kk3r @thelooneytoon @charlesleclercwifey, @stylesftcher

PART 2!

[bluebutterflytattooed]

Rugby!Sevika x College Roommate Reader

CHAPTER ONE

You stood outside the dorm building, gripping the handle of your suitcase while the other hand held onto a tote bag, which was completely filled to the top with your belongings. The Boston heat clung to your skin, making you wish you’d worn one of your tank tops instead of a band t-shirt from a concert you went to years ago. You adjusted the strap of your tote bag and took a deep breath. This was it. College.

The lobby was chaos. Parents fussed over their kids, students struggled with luggage, and Resident Assistants directed people toward the elevators. The buzz of chatter and the occasional crash of someone dropping a box made your nerves tighten. You were used to the slow and steady pace of your small town, where everyone knew each other and nothing moved too fast. Everything there was predictable. But here, it felt like you were being swallowed by the rush of the world moving around you.

You shifted your weight between your feet, feeling a little lost as you glanced around. Then you remembered—your roommate. Sevika. A very odd name, you thought. You had exchanged exactly one email over the summer, a short, to-the-point message from Sevika that simply read: I’m bringing a mini fridge. Don’t need two.

You had responded politely, thanking her, and never got a reply.

You stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for the third floor. The ride was quick, and soon you were standing in front of your new room. With a deep breath, you pushed open the door.

Inside, the first thing you noticed was that the right half the room was already claimed. The bed near the window was covered in dark blue sheets, and a duffel bag sat open on the desk. A guitar case leaned against the chair, and a strong, spicy scent—cinnamon and something earthy—lingered in the air.

Then you noticed her.

Sevika was standing by the bed, lifting a massive duffel bag like it weighed nothing. She was tall. Very tall. And muscular, like she could bench-press you without breaking a sweat. Her shaggy, dark brown hair framed a sharp face with a strong jaw and a large, arched Roman nose. She had an easy confidence, a way of moving that made it clear she wasn’t fazed by anything.

Your eyes widened as you further took in her appearance, your gaze stopping on her left arm. It wasn’t even an arm, it was a complex metal prosthetic, all the way from her shoulder to her fingertips. What happened to the woman to make her have an arm like that? She’s too scary to ask, is what you ultimately decided.

Sevika turned her head, her sharp, brown eyes locking onto you. A slow, amused smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"You must be Y/N," she said. Her voice was smooth, a little rough, like she didn’t bother with politeness unless she felt like it.

You nodded, stepping fully inside and shutting the door behind yourself. "Yeah. Hi."

Sevika eyed you, taking in your soft features, bright eyes, and the way you clutched the handle of your suitcase like it was a lifeline. You weren’t exactly small, you were average, but compared to Blake’s towering presence, you felt tiny.

"You need help with that?" Sevika asked, nodding at the suitcase.

You hesitated. "Oh, um—no, I’ve got it. Thanks, though."

Sevika shrugged and flopped onto her bed, her human arm resting behind her head. "Suit yourself."

You moved to your side of the room, placing your suitcase down and taking a quick breath to steady yourself. You could feel Sevika watching your every movement, but not in a mean or threatening way—just curious.

It still scared you a little bit.

"Where are you from?" Sevika asked after a beat.

"Small town in Vermont. You?"

"Chicago."

That made sense. Sevika looked like she was from a big city. Confident, self-assured, like she knew exactly what she was doing and didn’t care what anyone thought.

You pulled out a few of your books and stacked them neatly on the desk, placing The Poppy War on the top of your stack. It had been your favorite book for years. Sevika raised an eyebrow. "You, uh… you bring the whole library with you?"

You smiled, just a little. "I like reading."

Sevika smirked. "Yeah, I figured. Law major, right?"

"Yeah. And you’re business?" You’d seen it when you stalked her to figure out who your roommate would be, what she was like.

"Yep."

You nodded, not sure what else to say. The conversation stalled, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Sevika reached for her phone, probably texting someone, and you continued unpacking.

After a few minutes, Sevika broke the silence. "I’m gonna warn you now—I’ve got early morning rugby practice. If I wake you up, don’t kill me."

You glanced at her. "I’ll try my best."

Sevika grinned. "Fair enough. You’re not big enough to kill me anyways.” The remark made your face turn red and frustration spark in your chest.

You could tell the pair of you weren’t going to be best friends overnight, but this wasn’t so bad. Different as you were, you could get along with her. Probably.

You just hoped Sevika wasn’t the kind of person to bring girls back to the room at odd hours, because it seems like she is that kind of person. You can tell already.

Sevika glanced up at you again, as if reading your mind. "Oh, and don’t worry—I’ll give you a heads-up if I ever bring someone over."

You felt your face heat up once again. "Oh—I, um—"

Sevika chuckled. "Relax, I’m messing with you. Mostly."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

This was going to be an interesting year.

———————————————————————

The dorm room was quiet except for the occasional sound of traffic outside the window. The early morning sun peeked through the blinds, casting soft golden lines across the walls. You stirred first (Sevika’s rugby season had yet to start, which meant no practice), blinking sleepily at the digital clock on your desk—6:30 AM.

You turned over carefully, trying not to make noise. Across the room, Sevika was still sprawled out on her bed, her prosthetic arm flung over her face, her thick, muscular frame taking up most of the mattress. Her breathing was slow and steady. She hadn't even bothered with a blanket, just lying there in an oversized t-shirt and athletic shorts, one foot hanging off the side of the bed.

You sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before swinging your legs over the side of your bed. You liked having time to wake up, to ease into your day. You pulled your fluffy slippers, adorned with bunny ears. on and tiptoed over to your desk, where your extensive collection of skincare products were neatly arranged. You’d been perfecting the routine for years, and finally, just in time for college, your skin was so smooth and plush it looked airbrushed.

After splashing cool water on your face in the tiny sink in the bathroom you shared with the dorm next to you, you carefully went through your morning routine—cleanser, toner, serum, moisturizer, SPF. The familiar ritual calmed you. You took her time, just as you always did, making sure your skin looked glowy, flawless. After that, you moved on to your makeup: just enough to enhance your features—light concealer, a bit of liquid blush, some mascara. Well, not some. You’d always been a sucker for mascara. You finished it all with a thick layer of pink lip oil.

Behind you, Sevika groaned softly in her sleep, turning over so her face was half-buried in the pillow. She hadn’t even budged when you got up, and she definitely didn’t seem like the type to wake up early on purpose.

You let out a breath and reached for your cherry-vanilla perfume, spritzing it lightly over your wrists and neck. The familiar scent wrapped around your like a comfort, soft and sweet. In this place, this dorm that you’ve been in for a night, nothing smells like home. This is the only thing that makes you feel truly safe at the moment.

Next was hair. You pulled a brush through the long, wavy strands, adjusting the part just right before making sure everything looked perfect. Satisfied, you grabbed her outfit for the day—a fitted white tank top and a pair of 90s-inspired denim shorts with heart-shaped back pockets. Your mom had given them to you before you came here, saying ‘I wore these when I went to college, I thought you might like them’. And she was right, you loved them

The sound of your dresser drawers opening and closing must have finally stirred Sevika, because behind you, you heard a low, groggy voice say:

"You always up this early?"

You turned to see Sevika lifting her head slightly off the pillow, eyes still half-shut. Her voice was thick with sleep, and she sounded mildly annoyed but not actually mad about it.

"Yeah," You admitted, adjusting the strap of your tank top. "I like having time to get ready."

Sevika blinked at you, as if just now noticing how put-together you already looked. "Damn. You’re, like, fully awake."

You shrugged. "Mornings don’t bother me. I try to be productive."

Sevika let out a grunt and flopped back onto the bed. "Couldn’t be me."

It took everything in you to try not to laugh. You turned back to the mirror, adding a pair of small cherry-shaped earrings before packing your bag for the day. Was it obvious you liked cherries? Probably yes.

Five more minutes passed before Sevika finally forced herself up, stretching her arms over her head and cracking her neck. She looked as if she had not woken up gracefully, like a disgruntled cat—her hair was a mess, sticking up in odd angles, and her face had a crease from the pillow. She yawned loudly, rubbing her eyes before swinging her legs off the bed.

"Class starts at nine, right?" she muttered, voice still rough with sleep.

"Yeah," You said, slipping her notebook into your bag.

Sevika stood up and stretched again, then walked to the sink with the lazy confidence of someone who had no intention of rushing. She splashed some cold water on her face, ran a hand through her hair to smooth it out, and that was about it. No skincare, no careful routine—just a quick shake of her head like a wet dog before grabbing deodorant and slapping it on.

You watched all of this in quiet amusement. Sevika was so different from you!

"You don’t, um… have a whole morning routine?" You asked her, trying to be polite about it.

Sevika snorted. "This is my routine. Wash face, brush teeth, get dressed. Done." She popped a piece of gum in her mouth, apparently deciding that was good enough for now.

You didn’t really know how anyone could be that casual about getting ready. But you supposed it made sense—Sevika had an effortless, scrappy kind of look, like she never had to try too hard at anything.

Sevika pulled open her drawer and yanked out her outfit for the day—loose black jeans and an oversized button-up, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She didn’t wear anything fitted, didn’t seem to care about looking polished, and yet, in her own way, she looked just as put-together as you did.

As Sevika pulled the shirt over her head, she noticed you watching. "What?"

"Nothing," You said quickly, turning back to your bag. "Just… you’re very fast."

Sevika smirked. "Yeah, well. Unlike you, I don’t need a two-hour glam session to look good."

You rolled your eyes. "It’s not about looking good. It’s about feeling good."

Sevika shrugged. "Same thing, isn’t it?"

You supposed, in a way, that made sense.

Sevika grabbed her backpack, slinging it over her shoulder, the one connected to the metal arm. How far did the injury go up? Did she even have a nub? Ew, don’t think about her arm nub, you scolded yourself. "You eat breakfast, or are you one of those ‘just coffee’ people?"

"Just drinks, usually," You admitted, zipping up your bag. “Matcha, more often then not.”

Sevika made a disgusted face, wrinkling up her features. "That green stuff? Looks like blended grass."

You smiled. "It’s really good if you make it right."

"I’ll take your word for it." Sevika grabbed her keys and nodded toward the door. "C’mon. If we don’t leave now, we’ll get stuck behind the slow walkers."

You glanced at the clock. It was still early, but Sevika seemed ready to go. You supposed it wouldn’t hurt to get a head start.

As the couple of you walked out of the dorm together, you realized that despite their differences—Sevika’s laid-back attitude, your own more careful approach to life—you guys somehow balanced each other out. Sevika might never take forty-five minutes for skincare, and you might never roll out of bed ten minutes before class, but somehow, this whole roommate thing wasn’t as bad as you thought it might be.

"Hey," Sevika said as you reached the stairs, glancing over at you. "For what it’s worth, you smell good. Like, uh… cherries or something. So that routine works. I guess."

You blinked in surprise before a small smile tugged at your lips. "Thanks. And for what it’s worth, you don’t smell bad.” She didn’t. She smelled clean.

Sevika snorted. "High praise."

You laughed softly, and for the first time since arriving in Boston, you felt like maybe—just maybe—this whole college experience wouldn’t be so bad after all.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------

The lecture hall was bigger than anything you were used to. Back in your small town, classrooms had at most twenty students. But here, in your Ethics 101 class, there had to be at least a hundred people packed into the tiered seating, all murmuring to each other as they waited for the professor to arrive.

You clutched your laptop tightly as you scanned the rows, searching for a seat. You spotted an open one toward the middle, next to a girl with locs tied into a bun, glimmering brown skin, and pearl earrings, who sat with perfect posture and a soft, inviting expression.

“Hey, is this seat taken?” You asked politely.

The girl looked up and smiled. “Nope! Go ahead.” Her voice was smooth and elegant. She wore a long white skirt and a white tank top, similar to yours, gold jewelry adorning every inch of her skin. You made a mental note to ask where she got her waist beads.

You settled in, setting your pen neatly on top of her Macbook. The beautiful girl turned slightly toward you, smiling brightly.

“I’m Mel,” she said warmly.

“Y/N,” You replied. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too. Are you a freshman?”

“Yeah,” You said, tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “Law major. What about you?”

“Same! Pre-law.” Mel’s hazel eyes brightened. “That’s great—we’ll probably have a lot of classes together.”

Before you could respond, someone slid into the seat on her other side with a dramatic sigh.

“This class better be good,” said the newcomer, a girl with vibrant turquoise hair tied up into impossibly long braids. She wore tiny oval sunglasses inside, despite the fact that the room was well-lit, and her outfit screamed something out of the Scene fashion scene—colorful tights, a tiny denim skirt, at least three studded belts a rhinestone-studded baby tee, and platform sneakers that made her at least two inches taller than she actually was.

You, startled but amused, glanced at the girl.

“Hi?”

The girl grinned. “Hey. I’m Jinx. You?” No way that’s her real name, you thought to yourself.

“Y/N.”

“Nice. What’s your major?”

“Law.”

Jinx let out an exaggerated groan. “Another one? Great, now I’ve got two future attorneys sitting next to me. Personally, I’m going into engineering. I wanna invent shit.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with law?”

“Oh, nothing,” Jinx said, propping her chin on her hand. “Just means if I ever get arrested for something stupid, I know who to call.”

Mel gasped dramatically. “You’re planning on getting arrested?”

“No, but I like to be prepared for every possibility,” Jinx said with a smirk.

You laughed, and Mel giggled behind her perfectly manicured hand.

“Jinx, is that your real name?” You asked her, curiosity getting the best of you

She snickered. “No. My real name sounds even more stupid. Maybe you’ll learn it sometime.”

Something about Jinx’s energy was infectious, and Mel’s calm kindness balanced it out. You felt yourself relax for the first time that morning. Maybe making friends here wouldn’t be so hard after all.

The professor arrived shortly after, and class officially began. You found yourself absorbed in the lecture, taking notes meticulously. Mel was just as focused, nodding along thoughtfully, while Jinx leaned back in her seat, spinning her pen between her fingers, only writing down the things that really seemed important.

When class ended, the three of them walked out together, filing into the crowded hallway.

“You guys wanna grab lunch?” Jinx asked, shoving her notebook into a tiny, glittery purse that didn’t look like it could hold anything practical.

You hesitated for only a second before nodding. “Yeah, that sounds fun.”

“Perfect,” Mel said cheerfully. “I heard there’s a really good café a few blocks from here.”

“I’m in,” Jinx said. “Lead the way, Miss Perfect.”

Mel rolled her eyes playfully, but you could already tell she and Jinx had that kind of opposites-attract sort of friendship.

The three of you made their way across campus, chatting easily as you walked. Mel was from Connecticut, came from a family of lawyers, and was the kind of person who always had a spare hair tie or an extra pen if you needed it. Jinx, on the other hand, was from Los Angeles, had an older sister she constantly roasted but loved more than anything, and wanted to go into engineering so that she could “blow shit up and get paid for it.”

By the time they reached the café, you already felt like you had known them forever.

The place was cute, with hanging plants, warm lighting, and the comforting scent of fresh coffee and baked goods. They ordered their food and sat at a small table near the window.

“So,” Mel said, stirring honey into her tea, “how’s your roommate?”

You exhaled through your nose. “She’s… interesting.”

Jinx smirked. “Interesting how? Like, ‘she collects creepy dolls’ interesting, or ‘she’s secretly a hitman’ interesting?”

“Neither,” You said with a small laugh. “She’s just… very different from me. She plays rugby, doesn’t care about waking up early, has basically no morning routine. And she’s missing an arm.”

Jinx gasped. “Oh, I know exactly who you’re talking about. She’s on the rugby team with my sister. They’re not huge fans of each other.”

“She’s nice, though,�� You admitted. “In her own way.”

As if on cue, the door to the café swung open, and you immediately spotted a familiar figure.

Sevika.

She was wearing black athletic joggers, a fitted long-sleeve shirt, and a backward baseball cap over her shaggy hair. She looked taller than usual, maybe because she was standing next to a few of her teammates—other girls dressed in similar sporty outfits, laughing and joking with each other. One of them had a crooked nose and pink-red hair. Jinx gave the red head a look.

You weren't sure if Sevika had seen her yet, but a second later, their eyes met across the room. Sevika tilted her head slightly, then smirked. Without hesitation, she strolled over.

Mel, who had been mid-sip of her hot peppermint tea, set her drink down and raised an eyebrow. “Friend of yours?” Jinx obnoxiously sipped from her caramel iced latte, getting whipped cream all over her top lip.

“My roommate,” You muttered.

Sevika reached your table, resting her metal hand on the back of your chair as she looked over the group. “Well, well. You’re making friends already.”

You crossed your arms. “What, you thought I wouldn’t?”

Sevika shrugged her massive shoulders. “Dunno. You seemed kinda nervous on move-in day.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s because you are intimidatingly tall and unbothered by everything.”

Mel leaned forward, grinning. “And who are you, exactly?”

Sevika turned her gaze to Mel, amused. “Sevika. I play rugby.”

“That tracks,” Melsaid.

Jinx, impolite as ever, smacked Sevika on the back. “Great to see you again, Sevika.”

Blake rolled her eyes, then looked at Mel expectantly.

Mel just sipped her drink. “I’m Mel. I don’t play rugby.”

Sevika smirked. “Shame. And how are you, Powder?” She addressed Jinx, and your jaw dropped in shock. Powder? She was right when she said her real name was much worse.

Jinx rolled her eyes, refusing to answer, but you could tell she was entertained.

Sevika turned her attention back to you. “Anyway, I’m grabbing food with my teammates, but I figured I’d say hi.”

You tilted her head. “That’s surprisingly social of you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sevika muttered, but there was a small glint of amusement in her dark eyes. “See you back at the dorm.”

She walked away, back toward her teammates, and you let out a breath.

Mel smiled. “She seems… nice?”

Jinx (Powder?) snorted. “She seems like she could crush a watermelon between her thighs.”

You covered your face with your hands. “Oh my God.”

Jinx wiggled her eyebrows. “No, but like, if you ever need protection, I feel like she’d beat someone up for you.”

You shook your head, laughing. “I don’t need protection.”

Mel sipped her tea, thoughtful. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt.”

You groaned, but beneath your hands, you were smiling.

Your roommate was not what you were expecting. Your friends are polar opposites and you already love them. All of this combined gave you the feeling that something very important would be happening to you this year.

—————————————————————————-

oh hey guys😼 i’m back with a new story and i’m SO excited about this one. i’ll try and come up with a title for it! let me know what you think, i always love seeing comments!!

this one is going to be A LOT of fun

love, blue🦋

tag list: @vahnilla @elliesngirl @naniiiii12 @liztreez @eriiwaiii2 @elliesgffrfr @nymanas @yashirawr @leeidk87 @imvioletscupcake @caffeine-pup

[occamstfs]

Marichismo

Allen, a smug engineering student, finds himself seeking shelter from the storm in a museum for Latin American art. By the time it clears up it's safe to say he'll have a more than healthy appreciation for the arts.

Might've gotten away from me a tad but I think it turned out quite well! Latino Race and Cultural change, MG and language change ahead. Also a couple more people have hopped onto my Challenge since I last mentioned it! Otherwise, espero que disfrutes! -Occam

Allen was on a side of the campus he’s never quite made it a point to explore. In undergrad and in his Masters of Engineering program so far there has simply never been a need for him to venture too far from the engineering building or the architecture library. That is until his partner on a superfluous project requested he venture into the no man’s land that holds the campus’ main library, one that runs absolutely rampant with students he sees as far beneath him.

Even worse than simply venturing beyond his comfort zone, as soon as the pair have wrapped up their progress for the day, heading off on their less than merry ways, it begins to rain. As the first raindrops begin to fall, Allen scoffs at himself for being anything less than optimally prepared. Before he’s able to reflect too deeply, the snobbish student clenches his tech-filled book bag to his chest and sprints into the nearest building, apathetic to whatever space he noisily barges into.

Before his eyes can adjust to the dim light of the new space he finds himself in, Allen hears a crack of thunder as the heavens open up behind him. Sighing in relief at successfully staying dry, Allen keeps his guard up, eying the lobby of whatever building this is that he’s never deigned to step into before now. He grimaces as he finds himself in an art museum. He does not like art museums. It’s not so much that Allen sees himself as above fine art, it’s- well no it is that. Immediately, he begins scanning the lobby for a power outlet so he may continue working while he waits out the downpour.

Head shoved under a lobby bench Allen ignores a caution sign as he forces his charger in, causing an inevitable shock that forces out a less than respectful expletive in this place of introspection. He eyes the empty room around him, slightly grinning at just how barren the lobby is. Clearly he’s not the only one apathetic to this nonsense. Shaking his hand to reawaken its nerves, he hears the clicking of footsteps against the gallery floor as a small woman walks around the corner carrying a stack of books that block her view. Allen eyes a handful of escape routes to hide from the older woman before lightning strikes once more and she trips over in shock, dropping her small stack of books, “¡Dios Mio!”

Judgemental asshole Allen may be but heartless he is not. Setting down his bag with a sigh and a roll of the eyes, the student walks over to help the older woman gather herself. Barely avoiding reflexively chiding his elder as he offers her a hand, he helps her up. The attendant pushes a large pair of glasses up her nose and squints at him with a kind smile, “Ah! Gracias, gracias mijo.” She pulls herself up on Allen’s hand and he cringes back as some kind of aftershock of static goes up his arm. Thankfully it doesn’t seem to affect her. Dusting herself off, she does a double take at Allen and adjusts her glasses, “¿Qué te trae aqui hoy, mijo? (What brings you in today dear?)

Allen hesitates, blowing air as he tries to understand why this woman thinks he knows spanish. Scratching the back of his head he finally looks to see the text blazoned across the front desk, El Gustavo Ramirez Museo De Arte Latinoamericano. Putting two and two together as he is ever so proud of doing, Allen immediately apologizes for intruding. “So sorry uh, Ma’am. I didn’t mean to wander into your, uh, space.” gesturing to the woman and the building around him in a manner to distinguish it not so much as beneath him but as an other. Something that is simply a bridge too far for him to gap. “This place isn’t for me so I think I’ll go ahead and step out.” Thunder peels before he can start to gather his things, immediately reminding him why he is in here at all. 

The older woman also relents, switching to English since, despite some instinct saying otherwise, the man before her clearly speaks only english. “Ah don’t you worry yourself mijo. The museum is for all, para todos. Free with your student ID,” she tacks on with a wink. Allen smiles uncomfortably, baring teeth enough that it could be mistaken as a grimace. 

He can’t just tell this old lady that he hasn’t a thought to spare, in his mind: waste, on the collections behind her. Still he doesn’t want to make conversation indefinitely waiting for the storm to clear either. Fearful of the outlet he’s used thus far he convinces himself there must be one hiding somewhere in the exhibition hall. He’ll just pacify her with entry and go find some place in between ostentatious paintings and droll statues to insert himself and get some actual work done.

Producing his ID wordlessly, he hands it to the elderly woman and she quickly shuffles behind her desk to type his name into some registry. Handing it back with a smile she leaves her hand hanging for a shake, “Wonderful to meet you Allan! Soy Lupe Carvajal. But you can call me abuelita, mijo!” Pocketing his ID with a dismissive laugh he notices not that his name is apparently misspelled on his ID card, instead he packs his charger up and shakes Lupe’s hand. “Hah. Uhm, whatever you say Mrs. Carvajal.” Her hand is wrinkled and frail but surprisingly warm, as if his hand were receiving the full body experience of a hug in but a single shake. 

“You know Allan, I must have thought you know spanish because you look quite like my nieto, my grandson.” Allan puffs his cheeks to bite his tongue, holding a picture in his mind of what this granny’s descendants must look like and knowing there’s simply no permutation that lands at himself. She continues, “Es un joven fuerte! Haha!” She does a little bicep pose which allows Allan to understand exactly what she means without her translating. He shyly smiles looking down at his own thin arms and wondering why this lady seems to be mocking him. After doing her bit, Lupe moves to sit at the desk and pulls a book off her stack, “You just let me know if you need anything mijo, si?” Allan nods and reflexively responds, “Si ab- Mrs. Carvajal.”

Odd taste in his mouth at almost calling this random woman grandmas she asked, he shakes it off and wanders into the exhibit hall, decidedly less worried about using her museum’s resources to his own ends. It has probably been over a decade since anyone was able to drag him into an art museum. Even then was he vehemently against wasting his time visiting. He just didn’t get art, and not for not trying. It’s just, aggravating that some people can get so much from some splotches of paint and he just sees a picture on some paper. Feeling himself get riled up he turns to the exhibit hoping for some distraction, which he finds in an elaborate statue of some dog. himself. 

Allan stands beside a huichol coyote covered in beads about two feet high. Spotlighted in the dim gallery he circles it like a predator, inspecting the bright beaded beast from every angle. See this he gets. This took time, this took care. Leaning in close the warmth of the overhead light pleasantly burns the top of his head. Absorbed by the shimmering light off the beads, Allan is unaware as his hair suddenly begins to lengthen. The buzz he has always kept short for sheer manageability begins to curl over his ears, growing warm even quicker as it tints darker. Not quite black but certainly not the blonde shade he was always happy to keep despite his spending as few hours outside as possible.

Before curls can begin to crest over his forehead, his face is not spared the glare of the spotlight. Immediately as his olive eyes glaze over, absorbed into the intricate stitched patterns they begin to stain darker. The jade he has always seen in his own reflection shades darker ever so slightly. Not brown. No he doesn’t have brown eyes, they’re just hazel? His eyebrows match the suddenly darkened hair on his head as he stands staring at the beast. Not expanding to cover more of his face but growing thicker, denser. Almost as if to shade his eyes from the light. His lips thicken as a grin begins to tinge his face. Reaching up Allan feels stubble begin to prickle his chin and upper lip, as if he spent time shaving this morning. 

Allan moans contentedly as he gives in and reaches fully into the spotlight to touch the coyote. Rules and codes of propriety fall to the wayside as he reaches beyond the realm of rationality to touch the statue of the trickster. His hands burn as they tint ever so slightly darker under the glare of the spotlight. As soon as his middle finger feels the warmth of the first bead he recoils in shock. “Q- What?!” He falls onto his ass, no time to inspect his decidedly browner hands as the commotion made immediately summons Abuelita Lupe. The elderly attendant meanders as quickly as she can into the showroom, “¿Qué pasó Alan?” Alan flexes his hand in shock. Whatever just happened it can’t be his fault.  Surely he didn’t just unprompted mess with some artifact on display. “I, um? No sé?” He pauses, unsure of what he just said, nonsense he thinks. “I mean um, I’m not sure?”

Lupe goes to help him up with what little strength she can muster only for him to wave her off, sure that she would only get in the way. He finds standing takes more effort than usual as he does so with a grunt. Nervously patting him on the back, Lupe asks him if he’s alright after the spill, buzzing around him with concerned pleasantries. Alan doesn't quite hear her as he instead inspects his own body. His clothes are tighter. He stretches and pulls at them, presuming them to just be falling weird on him after the fall. But close inspection shows otherwise. Looking at his cardigan it is clearly strained by his chest and stomach. Blushing at the idea he’s put on weight, Alan crosses his arms and notices how snugly his arms fill the sleeves, how his wrists hang out further than they should, not only that but they are unmistakably darker. Not brown, but without a doubt a few shades darker than his usual porcelain tone.

Recovering from being lost in his thoughts he looks to find Lupe staring, “Oh! Lo, uh sorry. Did you uh, ask me something Senora Carvajal?” Looking down at a sharper angle than he did earlier, he sees the abuela looking at his head with a tilt. “Did you do something different with your hair mijo?” eyes narrowing with concern and suspicion he thrusts his hair into his new curls. He immediately gasps in shock before reconsidering. This is how he’s always looked right? 

Thank god his hair is naturally curly so he can just leave them as they fall without much ado. He smiles and shakes his head at Lupe and she nods happily in return. Reaching up she puts her small hand on his bicep and squeezes it, Alan can barely hear her as he is struck with just how powerful his arm seems next to her small hand as she continues, “Well I like it mijo.” With that she aways and leaves Alan be. Having the floor to himself his expression grims as he pulls out his phone to look for a picture of himself. Something is off. His mind tells him everything is normal. When he looks at his hands he sees them as they have always been right? Why would he have a buzz cut when his hair is so naturally nice? Something in his gut screams out that something unnatural is going on. His camera roll should hold proof. Going through his phone he barely holds back a gasp that would surely summon the docent back as he is immediately greeted by a folder of his own nudes.

“Que chingado…” He whispers under his breath as his face burns redder than the scarlet beads on the coyote. He didn’t take these did he? Zooming in he is once more floored to see tattoos on his body. Looking down at his arm he sharply inhales as there's a sting and suddenly his wrist matches the image on his phone. Or no. He’s had that tattoo for years?

 Aghast at himself he still feels he wouldn’t have taken these photos of himself. Vain in many ways, his appearance is not one of them. He wonders if he’s been set up or hacked or something before he reminds himself no one would be able to do so without his knowledge. He’s a pro after all. Mind going to his technical skills, his chest puffs with pride as it grows to match the one he finds in the nudes soft-core and otherwise on his phone. Alan quickly shoves it in his pocket, finding it a much tighter fit than when he retrieved it. 

Looking around nervously, he walks close to the coyote once more. Narrowing his eyes he feels new memories come to mind from his childhood. Memories of hearing story after story of the trickster, he tilts his head as the slightest whiff of something amiss hides behind them. Staring into the eyes of the beast with suspicion the image of reading Greek mythologies by himself fades away to be replaced by his mother telling him stories from her own childhood. The coyote playing tricks and la Llorona terrorizing their little town just to make sure he stays in line. Alan smiles as he shakes out of the reverie, my mom wasn't morena was she? Headache rising as seconds pass standing near the beast he wanders away, muttering to himself without awareness, “didn’t want him in the main hall anyway.”

His hair continues to thicken and curl darker as he moves deeper into the exhibition space. Scratching at his stubble lost in thought he finds it defining itself into a goatee with a matching mustache. His phone still unlocked in his pocket shifts displays his form as he continues to change unawares. He feels himself begin to sweat intensely as his cardigan grows even tighter. His body decides to ramp up his masculinity as he starts to outright swell with muscle. His whole body twitches larger as he briefly recalls Lupe playfully flexing, “un joven fuerte!” He clicks his tongue and grins as he sees his biceps strain his sweater, almost enough to see his button up through the threads. He fights back a smirk feeling his shirt underneath hug the sides of his chest as his soldiers expand. Feeling his thicker pits start to sweat through said shirt and into the jacket he resolves to remove the cardigan.

His struggled grunts echo through the museum space as he struggles to get the cardigan off over his chest. The sound of fabric tearing rips through the room as stitches finally give way down the whole front of the garment, his pecs bursting larger into the open air. The top few buttons of his dress shirt also explode open as he is finally freed from the constricting sweater, “ayy dios- fuck…” He whispers to himself as he appreciates the ice cold air of the museum on his sweaty skin. The white dress shirt may as well be sheer with his sweat soaking it, allowing any gawkers to easily see tattoos running down his arm and the nipples almost poking through the shirt.

Only briefly does he wonder why he’s not self conscious about being exposed in the gallery before he notices a side-exhibition hall. “Ah si, uh. The temporary exhibit,” he whispers dreamily. Keeping quiet as any respectful museum-goer does. Though he doesn’t quite have the bodily awareness to mute his increasingly loud footsteps, each one growing louder as his upper body expands. He looks up to read the title of the exhibit as the sound of his shoulders widen enough to tear the back of his button up. Marichismo: Taking Back Latino Masculinity. He smirks as he finds the idea compelling, he’s uh, not hispanic of course. Nor has he ever been intrigued by ‘art’ in the slightest, he thinks. But something draws him deeper. Something pulls him further. Something in him begs for more.

His pants creak as he crosses the threshold into the new space, his ass expanding beyond the pale. Similarly does his crotch demand both more room and his attention as Arlad is immediately face to face with a deliberately provocative statue. The blush burning his face is just as soon hidden as his tan grows darker as he’s overwhelmed by everything in front of him. It’s as if Tom of Finland were Chicano. Bulges beyond belief force their way out at every angle. Rigid thick mustaches hang stoic on every face as Arlad feels his own stubble grow darker, thicker, itchier.

The student is torn between instincts, just as he feels increasingly torn between two worlds. His body continues ballooning and his shirt bursts clean off, buttons scatter to the floor and sharp tears launch down his arms. He can’t help but hungrily scan the floorspace as the bright lights bore into him, exposing him as if he were a piece of art on display. He looks down just in time to see his cock burst large enough to blow his zipper out which only addles his mind further, “Tal vez, just a minute…” He wanders into the exhibit hall proper as his eyes finally make the jump into a rich chocolate brown. He trips over his feet, gasping as he feels them stuffed uncomfortably tight in his oxfords before kicking off the shoes altogether. Just as soon do his pants rip off and he is left almost entirely nude in this exhibit hall.

His mouth hangs open as his cock acts almost like a dowsing rod in between pieces. The language in which Arcad thinks rapidly begins to change altogether, already a bilingual medley, with each starved look at photographed vaqueros or bulge forward paintings does English drift farther away. Maintaining fluency in both of course, the man would never let that tongue take predominance over that of his madre y su madre before her. His pecs pump even larger with pride as thick curls begin itching up from his crotch. He scratches at his stomach as he smirks at his body finally getting on brand. This whole show is about displaying masculinity and he needs to be the apex. He needs…

Arcad twitches as these definitive thoughts cut through the fog in which he has been going about. Why does he care so much about this place? He doesn’t like art. Certainly not this uh smut. He twitches as he argues that being provocative is the point, sexualization of the male form is the point. Why could he know that? How does he know anything about this exhibit? Looking around at the photographs he sees men who are almost a parody of masculinity. Fighting back the overwhelming pervasive horniness issuing forth from balls bulging larger he takes a deep breath and ignores the temple to the male form around him. 

It’s impossible for him to notice as his thoughts crest fully into español. After all it simply is the language in which he has always thought, no matter what his teachers demand of him. Back to the matter at hand he is struck with the urge to create. Mierda- this exhibition really inspired him, he should really write an essay about this. Or, no. He moans and clutches at his temples as the shining lights out of sight gleam even brighter, sparkling off his sweaty muscled form as he’s racked with the pain of opposing realities. No, that isn’t right. He doesn’t do essays anymore. That’s not how he creates. 

Memories of long hours at the lab and in dark rooms sitting at a keyboard dissipate. Haughty superiority over fields and forms he deems insignificant thankfully blast away as images of the photographs and artworks around him come to mind with an ease that makes him uneasy. Creeping in from the edges of his lived memory are other exhibits, many that he has visited, some that he has put on of his own accord. 

Tattoos continue to drip down his arm as his treasure trail rushes onto his chest, blooming out to cover his pecs. The space in between his mustache and goatee is quickly filled, as are the entirety of his cheeks as his eyes shut even tighter. Independent muscle groups twitch as his body struggles to forge him even larger, to be more. The lengthy curls on his head fall away as his head returns to a buzz cut, this time black as the night. This time impossibly deliberate. 

Arcadio buzzed it himself, he loved his curls. But he knew for this exhibition he had to sacrifice. Anything for his art. The phrase burns across his mind, Marichismo. It, it was his exhibition. Arcadio opens his eyes to find himself standing across from an oppressive statue staring down at him in disdain. His blood boils as his fight or flight activates. Though staying strong he just clenches his fist as his body bulges larger one last time. “Papa.” He made that statue, he isn’t about to be shoved around by his own art. The feeling of confidence filling him at standing up against the domineering statue is more than he could have held within him as Allan. Reverbs of confidence go through his psyche as he finally gets it. Turning around the confidence that fills him rapidly dissipates as he sees a man posing like a dog.

He exercised complete creative control of the exhibition, but did he take this? Memories of being behind the lens of the camera dance through his mind for most of the images, this one seems obscured. He ignores the cold sudden sting of a nose ring as he leans in close to inspect it, smirking all the while. Who’d he get to model this? Looking at the jockstrap he nods approvingly, mierda it is certainly hot though. His underwear stretches to its absolute limit as he forces his large hand down to paw his cock at the image. Looking down at his hairy forearm he gasps as he sees the tattoo on his forearm perfectly matches that of the model. 

At that moment his underwear burst free from his body and he suddenly realizes that being nude in this space is far worse a breach of etiquette than touching that coyote. Arcadio sprints to his bag and digs around for anything he could possibly use to hide his still bulging cock at half mast. “¡Gracias a dios!” he whispers under his breath as he wraps a towel around his waist, perfectly mimicking a photograph behind him. He smirks at the man thinking how proud Jose will be when he gets to see himself on a gallery wall. Arcadio grunts and clenches his head as memories of the man ahead of him fill his mind. Lightheaded he leans against the wall grimacing as he leads a sweaty handprint on the pristine white wall.

Turning around seeing the exhibit hall as a whole he almost falls over with a rush of memories. Advanced math and the life he once lived as Allan are dust in the wind as his childhood growing up the son of first generation immigrants in San Antonio rises to take their place. Living alone with his mother before his abuela moved up from Mexico to help raise him as if he were her son. Understanding himself and the world around him as he discovered who he was and what he had to do. Finally achieving success, winning grants, booking galleries as an artist. Not too bad for a maricon eh? He winks at the statue of his father, smirking as he feels his power as a man and artist grow.

Looking down at some engineering homework scattered from his bag the last pangs of a headache buzzes through him before he shakes his head and the work is gone. The last shreds of a life he once lived dissipate. Walking out into the lobby he sees his abuelita. She smiles at the massive man before adjusting her glasses and shouting out, “¡Ay! ¿Qué estás haciendo? ¡Ponte algo de ropa! (What are you doing! Put some clothes on!)” Arcadio laughs and waves her off, knowing the museum is closed while he preps his exhibition for opening tomorrow. 

His new voice is rich on his tongue as he speaks up, “Espero que les guste. La universidad no sabe lo que pagaron ¡ja! (Hope they like it. The uni doesn’t know what they paid for ha!)” His abuelita clicks her tongue, she loves her grandson more than the world but boy if he hasn’t made her old beyond her years. She digs through the lost and found next to her for something that might fit her larger than life grandson and throws it at him. The man laughs and his abuelita can’t help but join in the reverie. She wouldn’t dream of going through his exhibit- que obsceno, que cachondo! But he could do no real wrong in her eyes. So far he’s blown her expectations out of the water with his success and she can’t wait to see what Arcadio gets up to next.

[nataliasquote]

Honesty | n romanoff

beep beep bitch

summary: College. A horrendous prospect for any graduating high school student. But it's not so bad when you're going with your best friend... who's going to be your roommate. Plus, Kaia and Yelena have been inseparable since 5th grade. This seems like the perfect scenario. But Natasha Romanoff doesn't agree. As a junior in college, the thought of having her little sister and best friend coming to terrorise her life and ruin the reputation that she had built up so well... it made her feel sick. It's fine. She could just avoid them... right?

pairings: enemies-to-…, (nat, O!C)…

wc: 4.4k

note: if you’ve read this before, you’re a real one. i’m bringing it onto tumblr to motivate me to update, and with all the yelena hype rn, I thought we could all do with some bestfriend!yelena content… :) nat appears more in the next few chapters, don’t worry :))

-⧗-

The classic ringing of an incoming facetime call sounded through the speakers of a MacBook, which made a rather exhausted 18 year old leap up from her sprawled out place on her bed. She threw herself onto her spinning desk chair, which spun a bit too far, meaning she had to grab the edge of her desk and haul herself back around before she fell off.

She lifted the lid and quickly typed in her password as an excited face filled the screen, their voice far too loud as the volume had been left turned all the way up from last night's dance session. Dark curly hair swung against her back as the girl winced at her friend's squeal.

"Have you looked?" The blonde girl screeched, far too close to the camera to create a flattering angle.

"Lena, it's 8am. It's a miracle I'm awake at this point." Kaiiarina groaned before she was cut off by a yawn, which only emphasised her point. She'd been awake since 7, knowing that today was one of the most important days of her life. Every possibility and outcome of her future was shuffled through her head as she tried to grasp any ounce of sleep that made itself available to her. But instead of blissful dreams, she was faced with pits of anxiety that made her dream feel like her worst nightmare.

"We promised we'd open them together, so hurry up!" Yelena was horrendously impatient, which was a huge contrast to Kaia's more laid back approach in life. But they'd planned this day since they were 11 years old, having been inseparable since they were 6.

Their first day of ballet class. Yelena was only there because Melina wanted her to follow in Natasha's footsteps; the golden child. But, naturally, the blonde wanted to be anywhere else, so she was stubborn in not moving from her spot on the bench. Her hair was pulled up into what could have been a neat bun, but she had wriggled so much that her baby hairs were everywhere.

Kaia, on the other hand, couldn't have been more different. Her uniform was pristine, tiny feet slipped into perfectly tied ballet shoes. Her almost black hair was pulled into a braided bun, secured perfectly on the top of her head, not a single hair out of place. She sat on the bench with her back straight, her hands folded in her lap. She looked alert, attentive; her blue eyes wide as she took in every person who walked past. She looked in wonder at the older girls who walked past, admiring their pointe shoes with lust. She was going to be like them one day.

Their teacher called everyone into the studio as a group, knowing a lot of the children would be nervous. Kaia walked in with her head held high; this was where she was meant to be. But out of the corner of her eye, she saw Yelena putting up a fight with her mother, who was trying to coax her defiant 6 year old from the bench.

What spurred her to do this was a complete mystery, but Kaia found herself wandering over to Yelena and extending out her hand.

"I'm Kaia." Was simply all she said. Yelena stopped squirming, peering up at the girl with her big green eyes. She looked at her mother briefly, who just smiled.

"Yelena."

"You know that class is about to start, right?" Kaia stated, confused as to why the girl wasn't in the studio like everyone else.

"Yes. But I'm not going." The young Russian was stubborn and folded her arms over her chest, pouting slightly.

"Ballet isn't sissy, you know. It's strong. You don't see the 'tough' boys doing it, do you?" Yelena shook her head, slightly confused at her point. Kaia leaned towards Lena and whispered in her ear. "It's because they can't handle it. They're not strong like we are."

Yelena smiled at the thought of being stronger than the boys in her class. She was fiercely competitive and she revelled in the idea of being better at something than someone else. Kaia's hand was still outstretched and so the blonde Russian took it gladly, their tiny hands clasping tightly together.

Melina watched the girls disappear into the glossy studio, a proud smile on her face. Those girls were going to be best friends, she just knew it.

And she was exactly right. Kaia transferred to Yelena's school in 2nd grade, and they became inseparable. Even the teachers knew they wouldn't be able to find one without the other 2 steps behind. And when one of them were sick and off school... it was like the one left behind was missing a limb.

When they transferred to middle school together, they made a pact. The girls would go to the same high school and the same college.

And that day had finally come. Acceptance letters were being sent out and the girls had applied to the same university. Which was what prompted Yelena's early morning facetime call.

Kaia scrolled through her emails, her heart pounding out of her chest. This was what they'd worked towards for 4 years. Their extra-curricular activities, sports, dance, languages... everything leading up to this moment.

"Oh fuck." Kaia muttered, seeing the email appear in her inbox. "I've got it."

On the other side of the screen, Yelena had her email open too, the link tempting her mouse, but also making her hesitate. What if their plan didn't work out?

"Wait." Yelena rushed, making Kaia freeze. "Whatever happens, we stay best friends, right?"

"I can't believe you just asked me that question Belova." Kaia scoffed, slightly offended as she adjusted the neck of her hoodie.

"I just had to be sure. Okay," Yelena let out a big breath. "It's now or never."

There was silence on both ends of the call as they waited for the link to load up. Time seemed to slow down, seconds turning into minutes as the loading circle span round and round. Yelena had picked up a hair tie and was spinning it around her finger as Kaia chewed on the edge of her thumb.

But the circle stopped spinning. The girls stopped fidgeting. They both held their breath as a message appeared on their screens.

Pale Oak University is delighted to offer you a place on your chosen course. We hope that you accept our offer and will join us in August on campus. Please click 'confirm choice' at the bottom of the page to secure your place.

But neither of them said anything. They tried to read each other's expressions as they looked back at the camera, but they were so scared of not going to the same college that neither wanted to burst the bubble.

But Kaia couldn't help let a small smile slip, which prompted Yelena to do the same.

"Did you-"

"Are you-"

Both girls started to speak at the same time but paused for the other continue. Kaia just nodded at Yelena's question, not trusting her voice to be strong enough to speak.

"Oh my god, me too." Lena's voice came out as nothing more than a hushed whisper, her hands flying to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes.

"Lena." Kaia croaked out, a tear slipping down her cheek. "We did it." She laughed lightly, which blended into a choked sob.

"We really did it."

"We fucking did it!" Kaia leaped out of her chair, spinning around like an excited puppy. "Mama! Dad! We did it! I got in!" Although she was still on facetime, Kaia sprinted downstairs to find her parents, screaming her results to them.

On the other side of the screen, Yelena did the same thing, racing into the kitchen where her parents and sister were sat.

"I GOT IN!" She announced as she skidded to a halt in her fluffy socks, grabbing onto the back of a chair so she didn't slip. "I'm going to Pale Oak!"

Melina and Alexei scooped their youngest into a huge group hug as they cheered, leaving Natasha sitting alone at the table. She would have joined in, if it wasn't for the news that her little sister was going to be at the same university that she was currently at.

"Natasha, come and congratulate your sister. You know out of everyone just how hard the entry process is." Melina said, giving her 20 year old daughter a stern look as she rolled her eyes.

"Nice job Yelly." Nat said, ruffling her sister's hair, purposely messing it up even further. "Just don't bother me okay? I don't want you hanging onto me all the time. It's annoying."

"Natasha be nice." Alexei said disapprovingly. "Your sister is blessing to us all. We are so so proud." He pulled Yelena into his side, which she did not appreciate as she pushed him away with a disgusted look.

"Don't worry Nat. I've got Kaia. We're gonna be just fine."

Nat's head whipped round and she stared at her sister with a raised brow. "Wait... Kaia's going?"

"Duh. She's my best friend." Yelena rolled her eyes, not believing her sister's comment.

Nat shrugged, turning back to her phone. "Wow. Didn't know she had what it took." She mumbled under her breath for only Yelena to hear.

Rage flooded the blonde's cheeks and she clenched her fists at her side. "You're a bitch." she spat through gritted teeth, before marching up the stairs and slamming her door shut, slumping onto her chair in front of her laptop where Kaia was waiting.

"I'm guessing Nat didn't take it too well then." Kaia quipped, throwing an m&m up in the air before catching it in her mouth.

"You know me too well."

"No, well yes, but I also know just how much your sister hates me." Natasha always had a distaste for Lena's best friend, but no one quite knew why. Maybe it was due to them being in the same ballet class, despite Kaia being 2 years younger, or maybe how much time Kaia spent at the Romanoff's. But the brunette didn't really care. Having Nat like her wasn't exactly on the top of her to do list.

"Well, forget about her. She's not going to ruin it for me, or for you. We've had everything planned out since we were 10 years old Ky, and it's actually going to happen."

"Still gonna be roommates right?" Kaia asked, reading over the email one more time to cement it into her brain. It still felt surreal that they were actually going to college. No more high school. No more living at home. No more living 25 minutes away from each other. It was perfect.

"If you really think I'm gonna sleep in the same room as some random ass girl who snores and talks in her sleep, then think again. I'm sleeping with you or not sleeping at all."

"Well then I think we need to contact someone about it, because I don't even know if you can pick your roommates."

"I'll just say I have major attachment issues and breakdown into floods of tears whenever I'm not around you." Yelena said, spinning around on her chair before getting distracted by her massive shark plushie. She reached for it and pulled it onto her lap, stuffing her face into its fur.

Kaia just rolled her eyes. Yelena was always one for the dramatics. "Well that's going to work so well seeing as we are taking different majors, but sure." Yelena was majoring in sports science, seeing as she was on the women's football team and she loved it with all of her heart. Ballet was never really her thing, so as soon as she could quit, she did.

Kaiiarina was majoring in dance and they both were taking a Russian language class, as it was easy credits seeing as they both wanted to be fluent in their 'motherland' language.

"Well if that doesn't work, we can just get your brother to intimidate them all into putting us together." JB Lenkov (or James Buchanan) was in the army and had been away for 8 months. He was 5 years older than Yel and Kaia, so they joked about him a lot. Plus, he did try to ask Natasha out on a date, only to be turned down by her harsh words. "If you have a dick, I'm not into you."

"Let's just email them. See what they say." Kaia clicked on the email link, excitement surging through her body. It felt real now. But with the excitement came a lot of nerves. The kind that sent butterflies swarming in all different directions, extending from her fingertips to the depths of her stomach. A nauseating feeling descended in her throat, but she swallowed it down.

New experiences weren't really her thing. She grown a lot more self conscious from the bold and daring 6 year old she once was, but within the duo she was still the sensible and down to earth one. A stickler for the rules, which Yelena often felt were mere suggestions.

"I know its 8:30, but something in my body is screaming for a Starbucks right now, and unfortunately my asshat of a sister won't drive me." Yelena peaked over the top of her shark, which she had nicknamed Brucie, and batted her eyelashes rather dramatically at her best friend, who payed absolutely no notice to her.

"Kaia..." Still nothing.

"Ky!" Crickets.

"Kaiiarina!" Oh now she'd done it. The brunette's blue eyes seemed to darken as she peered up at the camera, narrowing her eyes into what became a bone chilling glare.

"Yelena Fyodorovna Belova. Did you just use my government name?" Although she was joking, Kaia made no effort to smile or even lighten her expression, loving how scared her friend looked. Similarly to a deer in headlights.

Lena flashed a sheepish smile. "Coffee?" Was all she offered, trying to hit Ky's sweet spot. "Caramel iced coffee?" Kaia was still glaring. "I'll buy you a blueberry muffin."

Now that was a deal breaker. "Even when I hate your guts, you still manage to win me over." Kaia groaned, pushing away from her desk and wheeling over to her closet whilst still sat on her chair. She grabbed a jacket and stood up, walking over to her table to grab her keys. "I'll be there in 20. Be ready or I'm taking Nat instead." She leaned over her laptop and hovered her mouse over the red 'end call' button.

"Oh wow. Threat of the century." Yelena feigned offense and Kaia blew a raspberry. Childish, yes, but

"Bye bitch."

-⧗-

Kaia's family was rich, very rich, but it hadn't gone to her head like many privileged girls she could mention. Her father was the CEO of a major jewellery company back in Russia, that had gone global in the last 10 years.

She had all the physical signs of a rich girl; expensive clothes, dainty jewellery, designer sunglasses that were nearly always placed in her wavy hair, pristinely manicured nails and of course, her most prized possession... her tesla. It was an extravagant 18th birthday gift from her father, and as normal as it seemed in a life like hers, Kaia burst into tears when she saw the sparkling white car parked on their driveway.

Yelena seemed more eager to show off Kaia's new car than she was, hopping into the front seat and immediately connected her phone to the aux, Mitski blasting at full volume.

And even though it had been 6 months since Ky's birthday, Yelena still clambered into the sleek white car with a gleeful expression, her phone ready in her hand to Bluetooth. Kaia's once peaceful music was soon replaced with songs more to Yelena's taste, reflecting her wild and chaotic personality.

"This is just like a free taxi service for you isn't it?" Kaia commented as Yelena clearly made herself comfortable, her hands adjusting the direction of the aircon as Kaia pulled away from the drive.

"Yeah, but you're rich so it's fine." It was true. Kaia didn't care about giving Yelena lifts. And besides, it's not like she payed for the electricity that powered her car.

10 minutes later she swerved into the Starbucks parking lot, a smile gracing her face as she saw the all-too-familiar store. The girls pushed the doors open and went inside to order their drinks. Yelena offered to collect their drinks so Kaia took a seat in a booth next to the window and peered outside, watching the hustle and bustle of the world outside.

Her hand was propped up under chin and she soon drifted into her thoughts, trying to process the events of this morning even though it was only 9:20am.

Yelena observed her best friend from afar, watching how she retreated into her head. She knew Kaia's concerns about college, especially with Natasha who was also doing the same course. The tension between the 2 could be cut clearly with a knife, which made thanksgiving and birthdays slightly awkward. But Yelena's outlandish personality always helped muffle the discomfort with a joke or a random song, which Kaia was thankful for.

She carried their coffees and blueberry muffins over to the table and slid in opposite Kaia, who was still staring into space out of the window. Her bottom lip was pulled between her teeth and Lena could feel Ky's knee bouncing up and down as their legs touched under the table.

"Hey. Kaia." Yelena said gently, placing her hand on her friend's knee. "I got that muffin you wanted." She slid the muffin across the table and watched as Kaia's eyes flickered into focus and she took a deep breath.

"I was beginning to think you'd forget." She joked, taking a sip of her coffee and smiling at the taste. Her grin was slightly forced and Yelena could tell it didn't quite reach her eyes.

Yelena laughed, her adorable giggle making Kaia smile harder. "Me? Forget? Never." She watched as her best friend slowly picked apart her muffin, breaking it into pieces on the wrapper. "What's going on?"

Kaiiarina sighed. Her anxiety wasn't anything new, and the duo had learned to cope with it really well. Yelena was goofy but always understanding, switching her naturally comedic tone to a more serious one when she needed to. And she was an excellent observer, which definitely came in handy as Kaia usually withdrew into herself whenever anxiety took over.

"Oh nothing." She said casually, more so to convince herself than Yelena. "It's just- well, college is a lot."

Yelena knew where this was coming from. They'd spoken about it a few times, but Ky still struggled to wrap her head around it. "Yeah... but it's not different for us."

"Why?" Kaia questioned as she bit into a chunk of muffin. A blueberry exploded on her tongue and sent a fuzzy feeling in her stomach. That's why those muffins were her favourites.

"Because we're still together. And we always will be."

Kaia thought for a moment as she chewed. Yes, they would be together, but they'd also be around Natasha and a bunch of new people they'd never seen before. Plus, they were doing different courses which meant different people, different professors, different buildings, different schedules... it was a lot.

Yelena took her silence as a hint to keep talking. "You're worried about Nat aren't you?"

"No." Kaia snorted. "Well... I'm hoping your sister is too busy to worry about making my life a living hell... but you know..." she trailed off and Yelena smiled, having figured out the root of her worries.

"You'll be fine. Besides, you won't even see her. You have me instead!"

"Hmmm... I wonder which Romanoff-Belova sibling I like best..." Kaia pretended to think long and hard, knowing it would mess with Yelena all too well.

Yelena narrowed her eyes and lined up a blueberry to flick, her lips curling into a pout. "For the sake of your white sweatshirt, you better say me. Or I'm gonna find another roommate."

"Okay Miss 'I breakdown in tears when I'm not around you'. Can't fool me Belova.". A smug expression crossed Kaia's face and Yelena huffed, sinking into the soft leather seat as she tossed the blueberry into her mouth and chomped on it with force.

"I hate you." She mumbled, glaring around the half empty coffee shop as her arms folded across her chest and one foot came to rest on the maroon seat.

Kaia chuckled at her childish behaviour, expecting nothing less. "No you don't."

With her infamous pout and inability to look her friend in the eye, Yelena answered "Yes I do" whilst eyeing up the baristas working quickly behind the counter, taking drive-thru orders as they drizzled caramel onto several frappuccinos.

"Okay then. See you around." Kaia grabbed her keys and iced latte and made a move to stand up from the booth, before Yelena put her leg on her seat so she couldn't get out. "No wait! I need a lift!"

Kaia sat down with a scoff. "Wow... so you are using me!"

"Yeah I am." Yelena said with no shame with a mouth full of muffin. "What about it?"

"Remind me why I'm friends with you again?"

"Because you need someone with good music taste to test your car speakers. And someone to bring banners to your dance recitals." A cheeky glint shone in Yelena's eyes as Kaia groaned, her head falling into her hands at the memory.

"No! Never again." She peeked through her fingers to see her best friend sniggering, to which she kicked her rather hard in the shin, earning a pained yelp from the blonde. "You may find it hilarious, but I will never live that down. I almost got kicked off the team for that!"

Yelena rolled her eyes. "Oh shut up. Natty was only jealous because I didn't make her a sign. She would never kick you off. You're too good. They need you to win." She was right. Kaia was unbelievably talented, although she would never admit it.

One of the many things the girls had in common was their dedication. When they wanted something, they were some of the most driven teenagers around. Both sets of parents were proud, although Yelena's showed it a lot more than Kaia's did. Her's seemed to think that the money they gave her was enough to make up to the detached and cold behaviour they showed towards her and her brother. But it just brought the siblings closer than they ever would be.

"We have 3 months until college. What the fuck are we gonna do?" Yelena asked, slurping the last of her coffee. It seemed like a hell of a long time to sit around stressing, which is what Kaia would do.

"We need to buy stuff for our dorm. And I want to go to the beach."

"Okay Ky that's boring stuff. I'm talking sleeping under the stars, going to haunted houses, days at the lake, getting drunk whenever we want! We have all this time and no pressure to do anything. We can't waste it!"

Kaia chewed on her lip before smiling. The sun as shining and it was warm. Perfect May summer weather. "Okay fuck it. Lake day?" She asked, grabbing her keys and adjusting her sunglasses on her head.

"I love you!"

They dumped their trash and ran out to the car, jumping in before racing home to collect their stuff. Kaia's parents weren't home (surprise surprise) so she didn't need to ask permission from anyone. And Yelena never asked permission She was 18 and frankly Melina and Alexei trusted her enough for her to do what she wanted.

"First day of stress free summer is about to commence!" Yelena announced when they were both back in the car. The electric guitar intro of 'Sweet Child O'Mine' blared through the tesla speakers as they pulled out of the driveway and it suddenly felt real.

It was summer.

They were going to college.

Together.

10 year old Kaiiarina and Yelena would be proud.

part 2